The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  Hands shot up, while Leila picked at Her dress. The Senate meeting had dragged on longer than She had anticipated, each passing second one She hadn’t to spare.

  Counting the raised hands, Brontes scribbled along his scroll. “So it is written. Changes will go into effect come our next rotation. The common folk will be glad to spare their coin for the safety of our realm. Onto the next item: Tariff agreements with the Kovahrians are at a standstill. Kastor proposes—”

  “For God’s sake, can we hurry this up?” Leila barked.

  The room went quiet, all eyes on Her.

  “Am I boring You, Daughter?” Brontes’s unfeeling voice contradicted his glare. “You’re free to leave at any time.”

  “She’s anxious to bless the realm.” Phanes chuckled. “Been thinking of nothing else all day, no doubt.”

  “I imagine our Queen is eager for the theatrics.” Wembleton’s cheeks were rosy with glee. “Today one of your blessed ones, the Giant, is to battle another in the arena. A Savant, the…” he pulled out a pocket scroll, scanning it over, “…Artist. Are we finally coming around to the tournament? Enjoying the spectacle?”

  Leila’s lips curled. “Immensely.”

  “Wonderful. The people will be thrilled to have Her Holiness in attendance.”

  Leila nearly started. “In attendance?”

  “Surely You’re attending the battle?”

  Nothing. She had no counter, certainly none She could speak aloud.

  “Of course She’s attending.” Romulus’s voice broke through the quiet. “That’s why She’s so impatient to see this meeting end. To watch the battle.” He cast a knowing stare Her way. “Isn’t that right, Your Holiness?”

  Her stomach clenched, but She forced a smile. “For once, I’m in agreement with our little vulture. I’m positively delighted for the bloodshed.”

  “Splendid!” Wembleton said. “What marvelous news.”

  Brontes was quiet for a long while. “We can postpone the rest of our meeting. Wembleton, prepare the royal balcony. And when the guards escort us—”

  “Us?” Leila spat. “You’re attending as well?”

  “Does this bother You, Daughter?”

  She faltered, sitting tall. “I assumed you hadn’t any interest in tournament events. You threw such a fit over the prospect of attending the Commencement.”

  Brontes frowned. “My blessed one is fighting. I aim to show my support.”

  “Sounds to Me like you don’t trust his prowess.”

  “The people will expect my presence.”

  “The people will think you a coddling mum.”

  “Your Highness, with all due respect, the Artist will surely lose,” Romulus cut in. “You’d waste your time watching a Savant get slaughtered by one of your greatest fighters? Surely your presence is of value elsewhere.”

  Brontes said nothing, lips tight and fingers drumming his armrest, while Leila’s knee bounced beneath the table. He turned to Wembleton. “You’ll report the specifics to me, yes?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “Who motions to end today’s meeting?”

  “I do.”

  “Second.”

  The men shuffled from their seats, and Leila released a breath.

  “Your Holiness.” Romulus flipped through several sheets of parchment, not once glancing Her way. “A word about the upcoming challenges.”

  The others filed from the room, and Leila slumped in Her chair once the door closed behind them. “Make it quick.”

  Romulus continued his parchment-perusing. “Tournament law dictates The Savior is to choose one of the challenges. I’m here to collect Your decision.”

  “That’s it? This is really about the tournament?”

  “You’ve made me the Proctor. This is me proctoring.”

  Groaning, She dropped Her head in Her hand. Challenges were the least of Her worries, as inconsequential as Flynn’s ramblings about his reward or his rants as he toiled over those canvas cards.

  She sat up straight. “Match the Eye.”

  Romulus’s lips pursed. “The card game?”

  “A sharp mind is important to Me in a partner.”

  “It’s a card game.”

  “It is My choice.”

  “Very well,” he said. “How exactly are You going to manage today’s battle?”

  “Simple. Cosima will take My place on the royal balcony.”

  “Wembleton will be there.”

  She stood. “Then I suppose Wembleton will have to die.”

  She abandoned the Senate room, a wide-eyed Delphi waiting for Her in the neighboring corridor.

  “Finally.” Exhaling, Delphi kept pace with Leila. “What took so long?”

  “There’s been a change of plans.” Leila glanced across the hallway. “Where’s Cosima? The Savior must attend the battle.”

  “Are You serious?” Delphi stopped short. “No. There’s no way.”

  “It’s one appearance. She’ll do fine.”

  “And what about Wembleton? The Master of Ceremonies? Is he supposed to just look the other way?”

  “I’ll handle him.”

  “How can You—?”

  “I’ll handle him,” Leila spat. “Bring Cosima to My dressing room. Now.”

  The sisters parted ways in a flurry of panic, meeting soon after in Leila’s dressing room. Luxury surrounded them, each jeweled diadem and florid sconce glittering against the sunlight, though only Cosima seemed taken by the opulence. Delphi scowled in the corner, while Leila dressed Cosima in soft green linens.

  “I swear, this has to be the most beautiful room in the palace.” Cosima spun in a circle, eyeing their accommodations. “How come You’ve never taken us here?”

  “Probably because it’s The Savior’s dressing room,” Delphi said. “For The Savior.”

  “Look at these crowns…” Cosima wandered to the side of the room, half-dressed with her breasts exposed. “You usually wear this one, yes? It’s lovely, but I think I prefer this piece. These rubies are divine.”

  Leila steered her back to the mirror, tying the straps of her dress. “I’ve spoken with the guards. They’ve called off your escorts. You’re to enter the royal balcony alone—no witnesses from the palace.”

  “Except Wembleton,” Delphi added.

  “Right.” Leila turned to Cosima, stringing jewels along her wrists. “Don’t engage with him if it can be avoided.”

  “And if it can’t?”

  “Keep him docile.”

  “And what of the people?” Cosima studied her reflection as Leila draped her in diamonds. “This is their first time seeing their Queen. Should I address them?”

  “Don’t say anything,” Leila ordered. “Smile, wave, and let Wembleton manage his duties. The quicker we can get through this, the better.”

  “Are you sure you can handle this?” Delphi gave Cosima a critical once-over. “This is no small task. There are grave risks, yet you seem utterly unfazed.”

  “I’ve been posing as Her Holiness for over a week,” Cosima said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re about to face thousands of people—”

  “From a great distance. Many of whom won’t be able to make out my features, let alone hear my voice.”

  “No one will hear your voice.” Leila’s tone became severe. “You won’t be speaking.”

  Cosima gave Her a flick of the wrist. “Of course. But if I can spend hours alone with a man and leave him convinced of my divinity, surely I can maneuver my way around this. Ask the Adonis, the Prince. Are they not worshipping at my feet?”

  “It’s fine,” Leila said. “We were just making sure.”

  Cosima chuckled. “Speaking of, the Prince is rather impressive. He’s no Adonis, but my, what a gorgeous smile. Have You noticed how white his teeth are?”

  “I’ve been a bit busy trying to prevent My death,” Leila grumbled.

  “He comes from a great deal of power, but he thirsts for more. He
didn’t say as much, but you can always tell a man’s true disposition by his lovemaking.”

  “Fascinating. Now if we could focus on your appearance—”

  “I didn’t bed him, if that’s what You’re thinking,” Cosima continued. “But the way he touched me was ravenous. Like he was seeking claim of my body. And when he undressed me, there was no time or care, just an eagerness for flesh. Such men are usually poor lovers—so wrapped up in wanting, they forget to please. Anyhow, there was no point in continuing. I told him we’d save the rest for another time, if he’s lucky.”

  Swallowing profanities, Leila stepped aside. “I think we’re done.” She threw Cosima’s cloak over her shoulders. “Steer clear of the sun. The people will grow suspicious if their Savior doesn’t glow.”

  “I’ll be extra careful.”

  “Promise Me you won’t let Wembleton out of your sight.”

  “You have my word.” Cosima smiled. “I won’t fail You.”

  “I mean it. When you exit the balcony, exit with him. He mustn’t stray.”

  Cosima patted Leila’s cheek. “You can trust me, sweet Sister.”

  With one last caress, she turned on her heel and heading for the arena, leaving Leila to stew. How had things gotten so out of control?

  “This is a mess,” Delphi said.

  “I’m taking care of it.” Leila paced the floor, only half believing Her own claim. “Cosima will play My part. Brontes isn’t attending. I’ll dispose of Wembleton.”

  “And Tobias? Did You help him?”

  “I trained him all night.”

  “You trained him?” Delphi spat.

  “In the art of the sword.”

  Delphi’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant by helping him! He can’t learn to kill an assassin in one evening. He needs Your magic!”

  “You’d have Me reveal Myself to him?”

  “Of course not. Just bless him discreetly!”

  “Discreetly?” Leila hissed. “He’s to fight in the arena. In the sunlight. You don’t think the glowing handprint might tip him off?”

  “God, the handprint.” Delphi cursed under her breath. “This whole thing would be a lot easier if You didn’t glow.”

  The blaring of distant trumpets filtered through the space. “The battle’s approaching.” Leila grabbed Her cloak and satchel. “I have to go.”

  “But Tobias—”

  “If you have a solution, out with it,” Leila said. “Otherwise it seems the only other option is to sacrifice My life for his. So what is it?”

  Delphi stared back at Her, mouth agape. Leila’s heart sank.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She stormed from the room, charging through the palace as Her thoughts spiraled. Once the hallway emptied, She summoned Her light, the white marble around Her replaced with stacked stones, the speckled tiles now hard dirt.

  The arena.

  She wound Her way through the inner corridor, choking on dust. The muffled cheering of the spectators rang overhead, resonating through the ceiling. She shrank beneath Her cloak and carried on, eyeing wooden door after wooden door, each identical to the last—save for the one enveloped in an olive-green mist.

  Tobias’s cell.

  She stuck Her blade into the door’s lock, wrestling it open. Tobias sat on a bench, leaning on his knees. His bronze skin was smooth, free from any hint of soot, and his brown curls spilled over his ears and brow. Leather straps wrapped his chest, iron plates adorned his arms and shoulders, and a green fog rose from his exposed flesh.

  “Leila.” He burst through the mist, barreling toward Her. “What are you doing here?”

  Behind him loomed the barred gate to the arena, the daylight creeping between its slats. She forced a smile, steering clear of the sun’s rays. “Seeing you, of course. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, just wonderful. The servant girls got me all clean and presentable. So glad I’ll be looking handsome when I die.”

  “Tobias…”

  “And this armor.” He gestured toward his leather straps. “It’s magnificent, truly, how it exposes all my most vital organs. But thank God my shoulders and forearms are covered. Never mind my heart. Or my gut. Or my fucking head.”

  “Tobias, you’re panicking.”

  “Of course I am. I’m nearly ’bout to piss myself.” His expression turned bleak. “I have to fight Antaeus. The Giant. To the death.”

  “And you’ll win.”

  “He’s a professional killer. He kills as a profession.”

  “Tobias.” She took his chin. “Still your heart. Listen to my words: You’re afraid. That’s a good thing. Fear is the knowledge of danger. If you know it’s there—if you see it—you can conquer it. There is no courage without fear. Do you understand me?”

  He swallowed. “I’ve never killed before. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if it’s in me.”

  “You’d be surprised what the human will is capable of when it has no other choice.”

  A wave of applause sounded from beyond the gate, along with an ugly phrase—the Master of Ceremonies. Tobias’s gaze drifted.

  “Tobias, hear me. Today you’ll face an option: Either be good and die, or be dark and live. You're a good man, but you will choose the darkness.” Leila crossed Her arms. “And you should. Is it really so bad to rid the world of Antaeus? Not all men deserve the life they’ve been given.”

  Tobias’s frame was solid, but the grimness of his expression didn’t lift.

  “Are you feeling any better?” She said.

  “Not especially.”

  “Tobias…”

  “God, there are so many people.” Staring back at the gate, he raked his fingers through his hair. “All the spectators, the other competitors, the Sovereign—”

  “Brontes isn’t here.”

  “He won’t be watching? Why not?” Tobias’s gaze glassed over. “Oh God, he has me dead and buried already, doesn’t he? He doesn’t need to watch because he knows I’m going to lose.”

  “And we’ll prove him wrong.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Calm yourself.”

  “Be truthful,” he barked. “You can’t possibly believe I’ll win today. I’ve trained for but a night. Antaeus has fought and killed for years. My chance of survival is slim to none.”

  Leila’s shoulders sank. He was right—the training, the finagling, it was all for nothing. Antaeus had won the moment Her father hired him. Chaos swirled in Her gut, but amid it rang one honest instinct: Tobias was going to die.

  Tobias scooped up Her hands. “Leila, if I die today—”

  “You won’t die,” She said.

  “I need you to know—”

  “You won’t die—”

  “Please, just let me speak. Please.” He pulled Her close. “If I die, I need you to know I don’t regret entering this tournament. I don’t even regret the drawings. My only regret is that I didn’t take advantage of every opportunity I had to spend my time in your company.” His fingers entwined with Hers. “These days have been hellish and miserable, but you…you have been my one pleasant memory. And I thank you for that. For making some part of this torment worthwhile and good, if just for a short while.”

  Bless him. You have to. Her thoughts unraveled, dissecting each word he had spoken, each plan She had considered and abandoned, while light tickled Her fingertips, begging for release. There had to be something, but all She had were an arsenal of powers She couldn’t dare reveal and a satchel of perfumes, soaps—

  Clay.

  Tobias was still staring back at Her, still holding Her tight. Don’t do it. You’ll expose Yourself. Cursing under Her breath, She dug through Her satchel.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  Tonics, bandages. Leila jostled the items aside until She found it—a glass jar filled with bathhouse clay. She poured the grey sludge into Her hands and slapped Her palms against Tobias’s chest.

  “Leil
a, what the—?”

  “This clay is blessed by The Savior.” Heat burst through Her palms. “And now, so are you.”

  “What?”

  “With this blessing, you will have the utmost advantage in today’s battle.” Her power mirrored Her words, obeying Her command. “You will be untouchable. You will walk in the shadows.”

  “Walk in the shadows?”

  “Imagine a place in the arena where you’d prefer to be, and it will be so.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Any place at all. See yourself there, and it will be done.”

  “Leila—”

  Wembleton’s voice cut Tobias short—“the Giant”—and the people roared.

  “There isn’t much time,” Leila said. “Use the blessing. Win the battle.”

  “But what of Cosima? Will She care?”

  “Why would She care?”

  “It’s Her magic. We’re using it without permission.”

  “Oh, right.” Leila wavered, then shrugged. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

  “We’ll see?”

  Give him the gift. Leila ignored his qualms, Her attention split between Her holy bidding and Her desperate plea. If this clay doesn’t stifle My glow, I swear to God…

  “Leila…” Tobias’s voice startled Her. She followed his gaze to Her hands—still planted on his pecs.

  “Oh God, apologies.” Dragging Her palms, She smeared the clay into an X. “There. Looks menacing, doesn’t it? Like war paint. Though I imagine it’d look even better in blood.”

  “Leila—”

  “The Artist!” Wembleton’s voice boomed, chilling Her. “No more talking. They’re calling you.” She yanked a rag from her satchel and wiped Her palms down. “Use the blessing and win.” She grabbed his hands, Her heart lurching into Her throat. “Then…you can live your life without regrets.”

  His silence picked at Her nerves. Then his thumb glided over Her knuckles, back and forth, a calming caress.

  A clank sounded, and the gate rose, sending sunlight spilling across the floor.

  “I’ll be cheering for you. Down here.” Leila stepped back into the shadows. “Go on.”

  His gaze lingered, and he nodded, heading into the arena.

  The gate slammed shut behind him, and Leila plowed toward it before stopping short at the edge of the shadows. Sunlight crept between the bars, and She tiptoed around it, nestling Herself within the smallest sliver of darkness while peering out into the arena.