The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  Leila’s jaw went slack, Her starlight snuffed.

  Romulus’s eyes shrank into slits. “Artist, repeat yourself.”

  “I have nothing,” Tobias said. “No gift.”

  A groan tore from Leila’s throat, and She cradled Her face, wearing his shame as Her own.

  “You dare to disrespect The Savior by withdrawing from today’s challenge?” Romulus barked.

  “It was not without effort. I by no means intended—”

  “Silence! This insolence will not be tolerated. Know that the matter will be handled with swift and stern action.”

  Leila sat up straight.

  Brontes.

  “I understand.” Tobias turned to Cosima, his gaze pleading. “And please believe me when I say I am so, so sorry—”

  “Enough!” Romulus ordered. “Kneel, Artist.”

  Tobias did as he was told, while Leila anxiously bounced Her knee. Swift and stern action. No, that wouldn’t be happening.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  Tobias rose and left, not bothering to look back. Seething, Leila turned Her attention to Romulus, a vision of complacency.

  “You seem distressed.” His voice was smooth, almost pleased. “Are You offended by the Artist’s poor display?”

  “He will not be punished,” She said.

  “That is not for You to decide.”

  “I command you—”

  “Your father reviews all tournament challenges, all results and rulings. There is no reality where that man goes undisciplined.”

  Leila grimaced. “My father doesn’t care about this tournament—”

  “But Your people care, and Brontes caters to their favor. You must know there are systems in place solely for occurrences such as these.”

  “Systems? What kind of systems?”

  “Why do You care, Your Holiness?” Romulus cocked his head. “He is but one man. Several have died before him. Where were Your protests then?”

  “Don’t you dare turn this around on Me—”

  “I will do no such thing,” he said. “In fact, I’m removing myself from this discussion entirely. The men have waited long enough. I’ll bring in the next.”

  “Romulus, if you even think—”

  He left the room, following in Tobias’s footsteps. Leila spun toward Her sisters. “Can you believe him? He just walked out on Me! I am his master!”

  “Well then, I suppose we’re starting with the bad news,” Delphi mumbled.

  “You knew about this?” Leila spat.

  “I’m sorry, why are we so flustered?” Cosima fiddled with one of her many trinkets. “I’m not sure I’m following the commotion. All this upheaval for…the Artist?”

  “Oh, you’ll like the Artist,” Pippa said. “He’s kind, and friendly, and very gracious. And he shares his food, which Faun says is the sign of a generous lover. I’m not certain what that means, but surely he must love an awful lot.”

  “Can we focus, please?” Leila barked.

  They couldn’t, as Romulus arrived with Flynn at his side, ready to bestow a gift upon The Savior. Cosima was happy to partake in his swordsmanship lesson, but all Leila could do was stew over Tobias’s fate. Why didn’t he draw something?

  All the competitors lined up before Her. The challenge was over, decisions had been made, while Leila fell prey to Her havocked thoughts. Tobias’s green mist entered before he did, and his fear did little to quell Her own.

  “Your challenge is finished. The Savior has reviewed the gifts presented, and a winner has been chosen.” Romulus’s gaze swept the men. “The winner of today’s challenge is the Prince. Your reward is extended time in The Savior’s company. You will be summoned shortly, this afternoon.”

  Flynn beamed. “And I look forward to it.”

  “Now, for more pressing matters,” Romulus said. “This challenge, unlike some of the others, wasn’t designed to have a loser. However, in light of recent events, changes have been made. One of you has failed to complete today’s challenge, and thus steps have been taken to…correct this matter.”

  Curious whispers filled the room, while nausea heaved in Leila’s gut.

  “Any man here today must be fiercely devoted to the tournament. Willing to risk his life, to do all that is asked of him for the sole purpose of pleasing our Savior. If this doesn’t describe you—if you are unwilling to lay down your life for the woman before you—then you are unfit for the Sovereign’s Tournament. You are unworthy.”

  Romulus’s words came out severe—well-rehearsed lies fed straight from Leila’s father.

  “Right now, I present you with a task. Each of you will have the chance to nominate a single competitor, one whom you believe is unworthy of this tournament.” Romulus glared at Tobias. “And we’ll start with the Artist, seeing as he was the only man unable to complete today’s challenge.”

  Tobias’s mossy cloud burst around him, painting the walls in his disgrace.

  Romulus instructed him to step forward, his voice coming out in snaps and growls. “Who do you believe is most unworthy of this tournament?”

  Tobias’s carriage was strong, the churning of his thoughts explicitly clear through his tight jaw, his pensive gaze. He looked straight at Leila.

  “The Giant,” he said.

  Leila’s stomach dropped. Antaeus’s frame shifted, his teeth gritted—an assassin ready to spill blood.

  “And what is your reasoning?” Romulus said.

  “He’s admitted time and again that he isn’t here for The Savior. He’s referred to Her in lewd terms, has openly confessed he cares not for Her but for coin and glory exclusively.” Tobias’s eyes narrowed. “And his contempt extends past words, as he has murdered a man for defending The Savior’s honor and assaulted a woman of The Savior’s court—”

  “You fucking shit,” Antaeus hissed.

  “Silence.” Romulus raised a hand. “Artist, you may step back. Giant, since your name has been called, you are next to speak.” He waited as Antaeus came forward. “Who do you feel is unworthy of this competition?”

  “The Artist,” Antaeus spat. “Cunty little shit didn’t even complete the challenge. Hasn’t the cock to stand beside us men, nor the stones and spine to wear the crown.” He glowered at the line of men. “And I dare any one of these fucks behind me to say any other name but his.”

  Another man stepped forward, then another, though they were a blur in Leila’s vision. All She could comprehend was the laurel leaving each of their mouths.

  The Artist.

  Antaeus stood smugly in line, content in his dominance, and his haughty posture only aggravated Leila’s rage. Flynn was called forward, then Orion, and their nominations broke the trend. “The Giant,” they said, as did the rest of Tobias’s allies, and though She wanted to feel hopeful, it was futile.

  There are systems in place.

  “Each of you has spoken,” Romulus said. “The nominations have been made. Six votes for the Giant, and eight for the Artist. Due to the nature of the information presented, there is only one possible course of action. Tomorrow, in our first public viewing at the fortress arena, the Giant and the Artist will fight to the death.”

  Loathing ignited within Leila, and She ran from the room.

  “Leila, wait!” Delphi’s voice echoed behind Her, but Leila didn’t stop. A hand seized Her shoulder.

  “Leila—”

  “Not now.” She ripped Herself free.

  Delphi grabbed Her wrist. “Come with me.” She yanked Leila forward, leading Her toward a speck of light in the distance—torches, water barrels, wooden benches.

  “The sanctuary?” Leila staggered backward. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Just move.”

  Delphi pulled Her through the sanctuary, shoving Her into one of the tents. A table and chair sat in its center as opposed to the standard cot. This was the tent Leila had requested, though that didn’t matter much now.

  “He took pity on frogs, Delphi. Frogs.” Leila paced a
s Delphi snatched up a series of scrolls from the tent’s corner. “You know how fond I am of animals, but in these conditions, such compassion is a curse. God, right then and there, I should’ve known he was a dead man. But no, I sat there thinking he’s so sweet. He’s so charming. Yes, what a charming dead man. Dead men are such charmers. And don’t you dare say I told You so, because I swear to God, I am in no mood—”

  “Look,” Delphi said.

  Four canvas sheets lay on the table—one a scrawled, blackened mess, the others like looking into a mirror.

  Portraits.

  Leila’s throat caught. Intricate charcoal drawings, each in Her likeness. Every strand of hair, the light in Her eyes, even the freckle above Her cheek—all of it was captured with meticulous detail, with attention and care.

  She forced Herself to speak. “Who—?”

  “Who do You think?”

  She tried to breathe, managing little more than a quiet gasp.

  Tobias.

  Delphi gestured toward the canvas covered in scribbles. “Looks like he got frustrated with himself on this one, but the rest of them… All You.”

  He drew Me. On the outside Leila stood paralyzed, but Her chest was swimming with life and vitality.

  “He’s quite talented,” Delphi said.

  “He’s brilliant. This is not apprentice-level work.”

  “Are You all right?”

  “Apologies. I just…” Leila’s lips stilled, Her gaze fixed on the drawings.

  “Tobias… I’d wager he’s very fond of You. Do You feel the same?”

  Another breath. Leila tried to center Herself, but everything was muddled and raw. It was both the best and worst feeling—too much and not enough at all.

  “Leila?”

  “I can’t believe he did this.” She turned to Her sister. “What does this mean? What if this is just some cruel joke?”

  “How could this be a joke?”

  “I don’t know… What if he’s just…just playing with Me?”

  “He humiliated himself in front of the court, the Proctor, his entire competition,” Delphi said. “And he is to fight to the death tomorrow. You think he’d risk so much just to tug at Your heartstrings?”

  The words were of little comfort. Dread picked at Leila’s mind, leaving Her doubts bloodied and exposed.

  “You’re nervous.” Delphi spoke in hushed tones. “It’s completely natural.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Leila snapped. “I’m just…a little overwhelmed, is all.”

  “You know You need to speak with him, yes?” Leila nodded, and Delphi’s voice darkened. “He’s to fight the Giant tomorrow.”

  “I know.”

  It was Delphi’s turn to be quiet, staring at Leila with a knowing gaze.

  “What?”

  “It’s not my place to make decisions for You,” Delphi said. “But if a kind, gentle man were to express such fondness for me—and I were of the disposition to enjoy kind, gentle men—I’d help him with such a perilous endeavor. Use my resources to ensure his win. If I had resources. Like You do.”

  “I could expose Myself.”

  Delphi cocked her head at the portraits. “It appears he’s already exposed himself a bit, hasn’t he?”

  Fiddling with the folds of Her dress, Leila turned once again to the drawings.

  Delphi gave Her a squeeze. “I’ll leave You with Your thoughts.”

  He drew Me—the only words on Leila’s mind as Delphi disappeared, and for an eternity afterward. One portrait detailing Her face, another with a glow cast over Her hair, a third with ash smeared across Her cheeks, and a blackish mess with the word FUCK written through its center; She opted to ignore the last one. Three wonderful portraits. This was surely something from a dream, or at least one of those erotic scrolls She’d read late at night. She nearly expected the canvas slips to disappear, a vision fabricated by Her fantasies, but they remained before Her. All beautiful. All real.

  Delphi was right. She needed to speak to him.

  Oh God. I have to speak to him.

  Joy morphed into panic. Gnawing at Her lip, She paced the tent, fighting to muster the right words. Noise filtered through the space; the men had arrived, however long ago, She wasn’t sure, and their presence wound Her tighter. Wrangling confidence, She practiced.

  “Tobias, I had no idea…” She cringed. Too presumptuous.

  “Tobias, I demand an explanation.” Too forceful.

  “Tobias, if this means what I think it means… God, does it mean what I think it means?”

  Cursing, She resumed Her pacing. If only Cosima were here. She’d know what to say. Meanwhile time slipped through Her fingers, the floor beneath Her surely wearing away with each step.

  “Tobias.” Maybe starting with his name isn’t a good idea. “Good day to you. As you can see, I’ve come across these stunning portraits.” Beautiful portraits. Lovely portraits? “I’ve come across these lovely portraits. Can you tell Me, by chance, what this means?” Too prying. Needs finesse. “I was wondering…if I could inquire as to the meaning behind this delightful gift.” No. “Gesture.”

  Perfect.

  “Good day to you. As you can see, I’ve come across these lovely portraits. I was wondering if I could inquire as to the meaning behind this delightful gesture.”

  You’re a natural.

  The tent flap flew open, and Pippa frolicked inside. “Delphi sent me to check on You.” Her gaze flitted to the portraits. “Oh, pretty!”

  “Little duckling, if a man were to give you a gift like this, what would you say to him?”

  “I’d kiss him,” Pippa said.

  “Anything else?”

  Pippa closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

  Leila sighed. “Can you do Me a favor? Could you go fetch the Artist for Me?”

  “Are You going to kiss him?”

  “No. Well…” She shook Herself. “Can you just fetch him?”

  As Pippa darted from the tent, Leila’s heart rate climbed. “Good day to you…” She repeated Her words, the slightest bit soothed each time they left Her lips.

  The tent rustled, and Tobias stumbled inside, staggering to a halt. His eyes locked with Hers.

  The words were gone. She had no words. Where were Her words?

  He stared down at the portraits and froze. “Oh God.”

  Dammit, say something! “Can you explain this?” She choked out.

  “How did you get those?”

  “Delphi.” Her voice cracked. “Did you really think you could just toss them aside and no one would notice?”

  Color lifted from his flesh—hideous green spots. “Please, Leila. You can’t tell anyone. If this gets out…”

  “What is this?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I need to know.” She clenched her jaw, Her cheeks flaming. “I need to know what all of this means. Because if this is some…some joke…”

  He stepped forward. “Leila—”

  “If you blew the whole challenge to taunt me—”

  “Leila, please—”

  “Because this is serious, and if you can’t see that—”

  “For God’s sake, I tried!” he said. “I tried, I just… I saw you.” His voice softened. “I saw you.”

  Swirls swam through his greenish cloud, permeating his fear with something new.

  Pink.

  It billowed through the tent in rivers, and when it washed over Her, She swore She could feel his heartbeat, could taste sugar and cinnamon. The ugly green mist was still there, but God, there was so much beauty, growing, surging.

  All for Her.

  She breathed in deeply. “Tobias…”

  “You can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell Cosima.”

  She trailed Her fingers over the portraits. “Tobias, these—”

  “You can’t—”

  “These”—She pointed to the drawings—“are beautiful.”

  Tobias wavered. “Come again?”

  “
Absolutely remarkable. The most wonderful portraits I’ve ever seen. Not solely because they’re of me, mind you. I’m certainly biased, but I’m by no means vain. No, they’re all, individually, quite stunning. Amazing, really.” She plucked up one of the drawings. “This one—it’s the stairwell, isn’t it? When we sat together in the stairwell. It’s so apparent. You can distinctly make out the glow of the moonlight.” She grabbed another. “And this one… Well don’t just stand there, come look.”

  She burst through his pink cloud, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the table. “This one.” She held out his drawing. “The stark contrast between the light and the shadows. You didn’t learn that from Petros, did you?”

  “It’s mine.” He cleared his throat. “My own technique.”

  “I knew it. It’s different. Poignant, even haunting. Elegant, but dark.”

  “Your name means darkness.”

  She gazed up at him, slack jawed. “Is that what that is? Tobias, that’s utterly brilliant.” Her mind moved quickly, taking Her back to the drawings. “Now this—the keen attention to detail. That’s from Petros, yes?” Tobias nodded, and She grinned. “I can tell. His influence is unmistakable. But you…you are your own creature. An original. It fascinates me, how you can train under someone so closely and still carve your own path. The authenticity—this looks like your art and no one else’s.” Her face flushed. “I’m sure this is all so trite to you, you probably hear this all the time.”

  “I don’t hear this. Ever.”

  Leila scoffed. “How is that possible?”

  Tobias didn’t answer, or perhaps She hadn’t waited for a response. She snatched up another drawing. “Look at this one. The smudges. You drew the smudges on my face.” Chuckling, She shook Her head. “Tobias, you’re so silly.”

  She turned to the spread again, stopping at the canvas ravaged by scribbles. “It seems you got a bit frustrated with yourself on that one. The mark of a perfectionist. I get frustrated with myself all the time. And here.” Another portrait, and another flurry of thoughts She couldn’t contain. “You even got my freckle. How you noticed it to begin with is beyond me. You miss no detail, do you? I’m rather fond of my freckle, you know. It’s the only one I’ve got. Oh God, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  “No, no—”