by Jenna Moreci
“It’s the excitement. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. It’s all just a little…”
She took in an unsteady breath. Each of Her emotions brimmed at the surface, threatening to spill over. It was all too much. Too amazing.
Tobias rested a hand on the small of Her back. “Leila…”
“They’re perfect,” She said. “The most incredible gifts I’ve ever received… Well, I suppose I didn’t receive them, per se. You threw them away. But I’m still counting them as gifts. I get to keep them, right?”
“Of, of course.”
“I’ll keep them private. In my chamber. No one will know.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She dragged Her fingers over the portraits, passing through his streams of pink. “I do receive gifts on occasion but…nothing like this.” She met his gaze. “I can’t believe you did this.”
Tobias stared at Her, silent. She hadn’t noticed how close he was, how his skin against Hers both soothed and awakened Her nerves.
“Leila…” he said softly. “Why did you summon me?”
“I just wanted to thank you.”
The tent had filled with color—more pink than Leila had ever seen, enough to get lost in. But that ugly green soup was still there, marring the beauty.
Tobias was fond of Her. He was also terrified.
Leila squared Her shoulders. “And now, I’m going to help you kill Antaeus.”
11
The Blessing
Leila quickened Her pace through the labyrinth. “Hurry. We haven’t much time.”
Tobias and Flynn followed far too slowly for Her liking, muttering amongst one another as if the severity of the moment was lost on them. There was a battle to prepare for, an assassin against an artist. A father against a daughter.
She stopped in front of the wall. Here. She was sure of it. Hastily, She peeled off the blackened wood, brushing away the pungent soot until the tiny red crown was barely visible. One push of the marker, and the bricks retracted, revealing a stairwell toward the surface above.
“Bloody fuck, will you look at that?”
Flynn’s voice faded behind Her. She darted up the stone steps and out of his and Tobias’s line of sight.
The training room.
Light engulfed Her, and She stood in a vast palace room made entirely of white marble. Blades, swords, and spears lined the walls, and antiquated helmets and armor sat neatly on shelves. She dashed toward the corner, scooping up wasters, wooden staffs, and a handful of crinkled scrolls.
The stairwell.
The scent of burnt wood invaded Her nostrils. Grey steps extended below Her, and She headed down, meeting an expectant Tobias and a fumbling Flynn in the labyrinth.
“All right. Let’s get started.” She plopped Her things onto the floor. “Clear the area.”
Tobias went to work, while Flynn dawdled at his side, frowning. “You know, neither of you have asked about my time with Cosima.”
“Yes, well, we have far more pressing concerns at the moment, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Leila said.
“Well, it’s awfully rude. I feel slighted, really.”
“You can tell us all about the feel of Her breasts some other time.”
Flynn did a double take. “Wait, I never said I felt Her breasts. I mean, I never said I didn’t either. I mean… Wait, what has She told you?”
Groaning, Tobias dropped his armload. “Will you just shut up?”
“I will not. Didn’t you two explicitly request my assistance?”
“Yes, and I’m regretting that decision,” Leila mumbled.
“And why are you helping him, anyhow? Not that I’m against it. I’m rather fond of the poor bastard, myself. I’m just confused. Does Cosima not like Antaeus?”
“I don’t like Antaeus. To hell with Cosima.” Leila wavered. “No disrespect, of course.”
Flynn muttered behind Her, but She ignored him, scanning Her procured parchment. “First order of business: the advantage.” She unrolled one of Her scrolls—the weapons inventory. “Judging by history, Antaeus will be selecting both his weapon and yours.”
“Fucking hell,” Tobias grumbled.
“This could certainly make training precarious, but fortunately for us, Antaeus is a predictable shit. The man fights for glory. He will choose his weapon based on the roar of the crowd. Of course, the crowd doesn’t know a thing about fighting, so they will roar for whichever weapon appears the largest—the most gruesome.”
“You say this as if it’s a good thing,” Tobias said.
“Just because a weapon looks fierce doesn’t mean it’s the wisest decision. A gruesome weapon isn’t necessarily swift or maneuverable. But he’ll choose it anyway, because he’s stupid. And proud, but mostly stupid.” She took root at his side, displaying Her scroll. “These are his options. Which do you think he’ll choose?”
His eyes panned the painted images, moving from piece to piece before honing in on a long staff with a large, hooked blade. “Good God…”
Leila nodded. “The bardiche. I thought the same. A Kovahrian weapon, hence the grim appearance. Lethal, but certainly a questionable choice for the arena. And since he’s picking yours, we should prepare for that as well. Tell me, which weapon looks the most pathetic?”
Frowning, Tobias pointed to the bottom corner of the scroll at a short, plain sword.
“The gladius of Northern Thessen. Still a fine weapon, but compared to the others, it’s a flaccid cock.” Leila gave a dismissive flick of Her wrist. “It’s of no matter. You can kill a man with a gladius all the same.”
Flynn wedged between them. “You know a lot about weapons for a woman.”
“How observant you are,” Leila said. “Next you’ll tell me my hair is brown.”
“I thought it was black,” Flynn muttered to Tobias.
Tobias scowled at him. “It’s brown.”
Leila sighed. “Second order of business: assessing our opponent’s weakness. Antaeus is a professional fighter. He’s large, he’s strong—”
“None of these sound like weaknesses,” Tobias said.
“But that’s where it ends. He has build and brute force, and nothing more.”
“I do hate to be the withered tit, but isn’t brute force really all you need in a fight to the death?” Flynn scoffed.
Leila spared him a glare and turned to Tobias. “You are smart. Creative. You can use this against him—turn his stupidity into a tactical disadvantage.”
Tobias shook his head. “Apologies, but I’m failing to see how my creativity is an asset for tomorrow.”
“You’ll find opportunities. Take the arena, for example. It’ll be adorned in some way. In tournaments past there were glass walls, sinking sand. Once the men fought blindfolded.”
“Wonderful,” he mumbled.
“It is. For you, at least. A fool will fall victim to the arena, but a cunning man will use it to his benefit. Antaeus knows only how to wield a weapon. He doesn’t know how to work the elements in his favor.”
“Though I’d argue the weapon-wielding is rather important,” Flynn said.
“Which is our final order of business: we practice.” Leila sorted through Her things, handing a waster to Tobias. “A gladius for you…” She tossed a staff to Flynn. “A bardiche for you…” She took the final staff. “And a bardiche for me.”
Chuckling, Flynn slugged Tobias’s arm. “She gets one too. Isn’t that precious?”
Leila raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“I’m just saying, it’s awfully kind of you to want to assist, but perhaps you should let a trained fighter do the honors.”
She spun Her staff and slammed it into the pit of Flynn’s gut, then once more across his back.
“I’m getting tired of this one.” She gestured toward Flynn, who was writhing on the floor. “I don’t know how you put up with him all day.”
“You can fight?” Flynn wheezed, climbing to his feet.
&nbs
p; “Of course I can fight! What do you think the slits in my dress are for?”
“To entice men with the subtle glimpse of your milky thighs.”
Tobias cradled his face in his hands. “God…”
“Ignore him. We haven’t time for this.” Leila nodded at Tobias. “Go on, take your stance.”
“What stance?” Tobias said.
“Your fighting stance.”
“There’s a stance?”
“Wait…” Flynn furrowed his brow. “You don’t know how to fight?”
“Of course not. I’m an artist. Why would I know how to fight?”
“Your tutors never covered the art of swordplay?” Leila said.
“Tutors?” Tobias glanced between the two of them. “I live in a village.”
“I don’t follow.” Leila turned to Flynn, befuddled. “Do you follow?”
“Not really. I’ve never been to a village.”
“I had no tutors.” Tobias leaned in closer, speaking as if to a child. “I live in a village. My entire home is smaller than the sanctuary.”
“Seriously?” Flynn said.
“Never mind that, we must continue.” Leila grabbed Tobias by the wrists, pulling him into the center of the tunnel. “This is a fighting stance. Your feet…” She kicked his sandals, pushing them apart, “…the same width as your shoulders. Your knees bent. Your body squarely facing your opponent.”
She wrested his hips into place, and pink burst from his body like loose sugar. She eyed him sidelong. “Are you going to be able to concentrate?”
His cheeks reddened. “Of course I can concentrate. Why wouldn’t I be able to concentrate?”
Nodding, She guided his forearm. “Elbows bent. Your sword—pointed at me.” She hesitated. “I suppose that’s incorrect. Your opponent is much, much taller than I am.” Fuchsia wafted from his flesh as Her fingers traveled up his arm, positioning his sword. “Much better. You’ll wield your weapon with one hand. Leave the other free. You never know when you’ll need it—to disarm your opponent, or maybe to punch him in the cock. I don’t know why you’d punch him in the cock, I just rather enjoy the thought of it.”
“Oh, she’s brutal,” Flynn mumbled.
Leila set Her attention on Tobias’s waster. “The gladius holds a set function, but since it’s likely your sole aid in this fight, we’ll have to improvise—put it to use in a variety of ways. For this endeavor, your weapon will serve three purposes: to block, to cut, and to thrust.” She took Tobias’s arm, guiding his movements. “You block for protection. If you can deflect or counter, all the better. Dodging Antaeus’s moves will be your primary objective, but if you cannot dodge…” She angled his waster in front of his face, “…the gladius is your shield.”
Tobias’s attention didn’t waver, and his steadfast stare made Her stand taller.
“You cut to weaken. A good slash at the tendons goes a long way. And when you swing, you use your whole body.” Her hand followed the path of Her words, tracing his form. “Your legs will become tense, the movement will flow up into your gut, you’ll feel it in your chest, and then it’ll travel through your arm, into the blade.”
Her fingers swept up his abdomen, and pink followed Her touch, marking his body with swirls.
“You thrust to kill. You’ll carry the intention in your arm and shoulders. A firm, powerful push is all you need.” She drove his arm forward. “Thrust. Make contact, and you win the battle.”
Tobias stared back at Her, seemingly focused, but the colorful cloud around them said otherwise. She breathed him in, filling Her lungs with sweetness.
“Am I the only one who found that extremely erotic?” Flynn said. “There’s something about violence that really gets the blood flowing. Or maybe I’m still worked up from my reward with Cosima—the one neither of you has asked about.”
The pink dissolved, and Leila cleared Her throat, backing away. “We’ll cover the kill later. For now, we practice.” She raised Her weapon. “Ready?”
Tobias assumed his stance. “Ready.”
With a swift swing of Her staff, She swatted the waster from Tobias’s grasp.
“Tobias!”
“What?”
“Hold firm!”
“Apologies. I’m a novice, remember?” He snatched up his waster. “All right. Ready.”
She brandished Her staff once again, slapping Tobias in the gut. Coughing, he staggered forward. “Son of a—”
“Tobias!”
“What?” he barked. “You hit me.”
“Yes, and you’re supposed to block it. Or at least hit me back.”
“I can’t hit you. You’re a woman.”
“I’m not a woman!” She flailed Her arms. “I’m a stupid, ugly giant!”
“You are most definitely none of those things.”
“Attack me!”
“Maybe this is a futile endeavor.” Flynn swaggered up between them. “Maybe we should just help the man enjoy his final hours. Find him a woman to fuck.” His eyes brightened, and he turned to Leila. “Oh, actually, you could help with that.”
Growling, She pinched his nipple and gave it a sharp twist.
“Mother of God, woman!”
“No more from you, do you hear me?” She set Her sights on Tobias. “And you. Fight me.”
He let out a defeated sigh. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try? What if I appeared more fearsome—mirrored the look of Antaeus?” She spun toward Flynn. “I have an idea. Flynn, over here, we’ll make you useful yet.”
“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Quiet, you.” She tapped Flynn with Her staff. “Let me sit on your shoulders.”
She was climbing onto his back before he could rebut, cursing and wobbling until finally seated atop his shoulders. “How about now?” She kicked Flynn in the ribs, directing his movements. “Together, we’re the Giant. Do you see it?”
A laugh sputtered from Tobias’s lips.
“Tobias!”
“I must thank you both.” He shook his head. “I truly didn’t think I’d be capable of laughing today.”
“Oh, piss off, we can’t possibly look that absurd,” Flynn said.
Footsteps echoed behind them. Flynn spun around, nearly throwing Leila off his shoulders as Raphael appeared from the shadows.
“Flynn, where the hell did you—?” He stopped short, staring at Leila and Flynn. Rolling his eyes, he headed off. “Never mind.”
Leila sighed, resigned. “All right, put me down.”
Flynn lowered Her to the floor, and She took Her place at Tobias’s side. “Listen to me: Tomorrow, you face the most dangerous obstacle of your life. So tonight you’ll fight us both, for however long it takes, until we’re good and bruised.”
“I’d rather not be bruised—”
“Shut up, Flynn.” She looked Tobias in the eye. “The sole intent of a battle is to eliminate your opponent. And if I’m your opponent, you will hit me. I’m giving you permission. No more of this nonsense, all right?”
Gnawing on his lip, Tobias nodded. “All right.”
“Good.” She resumed Her stance. “We fight.”
She trained him with a firm hand, parroting Talos’s teachings as best She could. Flynn was eager to showcase his prowess, and so they took turns, then worked together, fighting as a dexterous team against a novice. Each blow She landed reverberated through Her, the welts on Tobias’s body like marks on Her conscience. But instead of wincing, She fought harder, trying to harden the man who hurried Her heartbeat.
Lunging forward, She swung Her staff at Tobias’s throat. Another sure-hit—except he dodged Her assault, whipping his waster into Her ribs and toppling Her to the floor.
“Oh God.” Tobias rushed to Her side. “I’m so sorry.”
Pain pulsed through Leila, and She relished it. “Don’t be sorry, you’re just getting good.” She stumbled to Her feet. “Again. But harder.”
Hours raced past as they bounded through the tun
nel. Ash covered Her dress and filled Her lungs, yet She didn’t waver, not even when Her muscles began to ache, when Her stomach growled for sustenance. At some point Flynn retreated to the wall, so Leila fought with the power of two, resolute in Her intention. Tomorrow, Tobias would win. He had to.
“It’s time for your final lesson.” Taking in a much-needed breath, She tossed Her staff aside. “The kill.”
Sweat coated Tobias, yet he stood flexed and ready as She stalked closer.
“Don’t rush for the kill. Be patient. Eventually one of you will grow weary. Don’t let it be you.” She took his waster, rotating it between Her hands. “Antaeus feels at home in the arena. But that means he might become complacent. He’ll make mistakes because he thinks he can. Your aim is to prove him wrong.” She enunciated each word, hoping to ingrain them in his mind. “Once he falters, you go for the kill. And if you go for the kill, you must commit. You must act quickly.”
She eyed the wooden sword, imagining it was steel. “Obviously, there are many ways to kill a man, but given the situation, we’re aiming for a degree of certainty, yes? So I would suggest…” She pointed the waster at his neck, “…the throat…” She dragged the tip to his chest, “…the heart…” She stopped it below his navel, “…or deep in the belly.”
“You speak as though you have experience,” Tobias said.
“I never said I was a saint.”
The words left Her mouth before She could stop them. Flynn’s eyes went wide, while Tobias’s expression became empty, unreadable. She waited for color to flood forth, to give Her some indication of his thoughts, but there was nothing.
“Are you all right?”
Tobias flinched. “Apologies. I was in my head for a moment.”
“All right then. Take your stance.” Her voice came out meek, cowed by the look in Flynn’s eyes.
By the fact that She hadn’t seen a speck of pink in hours.
She centered Herself. Now wasn’t the time. After tossing Tobias his waster, She snatched Her staff from the floor and leaned in.
“Now fight to kill.”
“So, it’s settled,” Brontes said. “Taxation in the central villages will be adjusted to account for military spending. All those in favor?”