The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  A red-streaked Orion and Flynn appeared from the darkness with Raphael held limply between them, and Leila shoved through the mob, grabbing Orion by the wrist and leading them to Her tent. She bolted through the flap and dragged the table aside, clearing a spot on the floor. As Orion and Flynn laid Raphael flat, light crackled at Her fingertips. If She was going to this, it had to be now.

  Flynn hovered, hands on his hips. “What if we—?”

  “Clear the tent.” Leila dropped down at Raphael’s side. “I need space.”

  Orion leaned forward. “Is there anything—?”

  “Just go.”

  “We could—”

  “Clear the tent,” Leila spat. “Now.”

  Orion and Flynn wavered, mumbling something before plodding out. She was alone—just Raphael, his leaking ribs, and his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

  “Raphael.” She shook him. “Are you with me?”

  Nothing. His jaw hung low, and Her hands were already smeared red. Heat pooled in Her palms.

  “Mend the flesh.” She pressed down on his ribs. “Slow the bleeding.”

  Her touch burned like wild flames, hot enough to melt through him. Normally She relished the pain, but not in this moment. Raphael was fading in front of Her.

  “Mend the flesh. Hear My command. Slow the bleeding so he may live.”

  She dug in Her nails, repeating the words again and again. How long had it been? Had She missed Her chance? No. This had to work. Bodies were already piling up around Her, and She didn’t need another.

  “Please,” She whispered. “Just do this one thing for Me.”

  The heat of Her touch died, and Her heart lurched. He was gone. Her frame went limp, and blackness splintered through Her insides, filling Her up with despair.

  But then his chest rose and fell beneath Her fingertips, and She lifted Her trembling palms, revealing the half-circle of cavernous punctures—dry.

  Exhaling, She leaned back on Her hands. “Thank you.” She gasped for air, Her lungs haggard and strained. Had She breathed at all this entire time?

  A rustling sounded behind Her, followed by a soft voice. “I’m here to help.”

  “Pippa, guard the tent,” Leila said. “See to it that no one enters. This man will be in My care for some time.”

  Another rustle, and Pippa was gone, no doubt taking post with the resolve of a soldier. Finally composed, Leila rummaged through Her satchel for the proper tools. “All right then. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  “Thank You.”

  Leila froze. Raphael’s weak, chestnut gaze was pointed right at Her.

  “Your Holiness.”

  17

  The Slap

  Leila stormed down the corridor. Anger had been building within Her for a full day, festering without any means of release. She wasn’t waiting any longer.

  She thrust the door open and charged ahead. Cosima stood at the far end of her chamber, flipping through multi-colored reams of silk. “Dove, what a pleasant—”

  Leila slapped her across the face, sending her stumbling. “How dare you defy Me?”

  “Sister, please—”

  “You may play the part, but never forget your station. I am The Savior. You do not get to wager a man’s life for your own pride and pleasure. Do you understand? Your crown is a lie.”

  Cosima’s lips trembled. “Apologies. But You overstepped—”

  “I overstepped nothing—”

  “They think You’re a healer, but You behaved as a queen. I sought to bring reality to the ruse.”

  Heaving breaths filled Leila’s lungs. She hadn’t realized Her hands were balled into fists, that Her powerful frame betrayed Her small stature—or that Her sister cowered before Her, tears streaking her cheeks.

  “I sacrifice myself for You, Sister,” Cosima said. “Have You forgotten?”

  Leila’s gut pulled in opposite directions. Clenching Her jaw, She left the room.

  Shame nipped at Her insides, a punishment She surely didn’t deserve. She headed down the corridor into a second chamber, where Delphi lay across her sheets wrapped in a sheer blue robe, Nyx nestled at her side. Delphi dragged her fingertips up the curve of Nyx’s hip, then stopped, eyes on Leila. “Now’s a bad time.”

  Leila cocked Her head at the door. “Leave us, Nyx.”

  Nyx bowed before darting from the room, while Delphi gaped at Leila. “You’re a real bitch, You know that? I understand Your plate is full, but I’m allowed my own life.” She plucked a long, braided belt from her sheets. “Look, she left this behind. Now You’ve given me a chore. Or perhaps You’ve given me an invitation. Maybe I should thank You.”

  “Raphael knows,” Leila said. “Who I am. He knows.”

  “And how exactly did that happen?”

  “I blessed him.”

  Delphi rolled her eyes. “And You were being so discreet.”

  “He was dying.”

  Sighing, Delphi tightened her robe. “All right then. What now?”

  “I don’t know.” Leila took a seat at her side. “Everything is so wrong.”

  “Not everything. One of Your assassins is dead. Only four Senators remain, two of whom aid Your endeavors.”

  “They aid Me? The men who exposed My shadow walking to My father and saved My assassin from death? What fine assistance.” Growling, She snatched the note from Her pocket. “We still haven’t a clue what this note says, or the purpose of those stupid jewels. And now it seems I can’t control My light.”

  “Perhaps Your power has expanded. Untethered by a kiss.”

  “No,” Leila said. “I refuse to believe that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s trite. Untethered by a kiss. Do you hear yourself? No, the kiss was just a coincidence. Or a participant. But it didn’t untether anything.”

  “Well, that’s another good thing to add to Your list, yes? A lovely man who kisses You.” Delphi flopped onto her sheets, eyeing Nyx’s belt. “And I have a lovely woman who kisses me.”

  “You have many women who kiss you.”

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I think I like her a bit more than the others. I think she might be the one.”

  Leila scoffed. “You can’t have just one.”

  Delphi winked before directing her attention back to the braided leather, humming as she wove it between her fingers.

  Leila hopped from the bed. “I’ll leave you to your lecherous thoughts. Thank you for being absolutely useless.”

  “Thank You for ruining my fun. They’d be lecherous acts if You hadn’t come along.”

  Leila waved Her sister away before taking leave, returning to Her chamber. Pressing Her back to Her golden door, She drew in a long breath. Not everything is wrong. She tried to believe Delphi, but it was hard when even the light coursing through Her had betrayed Her trust. She stared at Her glowing palms as if they could provide clarity, and when they didn’t, She turned to Her mirrored wardrobe, eyes fixed on Her mothers, particularly the one with the pale blue eyes.

  “Say, Mother, on the off chance You decide to speak today, I have a question. Did Your light ever…act of its own accord? Pour into another person without You knowing?” She gazed at the ceiling, wrangling the right words. “Did You ever bless someone without intending it, without thinking or uttering a word? Say, in the middle of a very…involved exchange. Intense, even. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  Her mother’s lips parted, but She didn’t speak.

  “Nothing?” Leila said. “Because I’m stuck here. There are no other Saviors around. No one to guide Me.”

  Silence. Leila scowled. “Fine.”

  She stomped to Her desk, rummaging through scrolls and trinkets. The crystal rose Cosima had given Her glittered in Her periphery, and She pushed it away with a huff. Her healer’s satchel sat in a pile, bombarding Her with thoughts of the last challenge, with Raphael’s blood on Her hands, his knowing gaze. He had fallen unconscious shortly after their exchange, leaving
Her with no answers—something She’d have to rectify on this day. She shoved Her satchel aside.

  Steel scattered from its opening.

  Keys.

  She plucked one from Her desk—long and thin with a heart-shaped grip. The keys from the challenge. How had they gotten there? She dug through Her things, stopping at the sight of a message scrawled along the fabric of the satchel itself.

  Nothing’s changed.

  Tobias had done this.

  Her heart raced—so many keys, certainly enough to have won the challenge with—and a smile played at Her lips. Another reward thrown away, and he had done it for Her.

  “Which one is he?”

  The voice startled Leila. Faun stood in Her doorway, her tattooed arms folded.

  “Pardon?” Leila said.

  “You’re floating. You have been for a while now. Carried by clouds, I’m certain.”

  “You’re silly.”

  “Don’t try to pretend otherwise. We know You sneak into the labyrinth.”

  Leila’s panic must have been written across Her face, because Faun laughed in response. “Calm Yourself. We won’t tell Your father. Heaven forbid he learns his daughter is off gallivanting with all the men.”

  “I’m not gallivanting.”

  “I know that. You’re not the type. Which means there’s one man in particular who’s caught Your attention, and I want to know who.”

  Damaris popped her head in. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’m just asking Leila who She’s been sneaking off with,” Faun said.

  Hemera barreled into the chamber. “Oh, tell me too! I’m dying to know!”

  The girls surrounded Leila, prodding and cooing while ushering Her to the royal bathhouse. She had a reward to prepare for—one Cosima would be attending in Her stead—but Leila sat in silence, enduring the prattling servants as they lathered Her in sweet-smelling soaps. At some point Nyx joined the madness, flushing beneath Leila’s gaze, though Leila was more concerned with the questions being thrown Her way.

  “All right then,” Faun said. “This man of Yours—”

  “I don’t have a man,” Leila maintained.

  Damaris shook her head. “She’s never going to tell us.”

  “Is it the Adonis?” Hemera came in close, clutching a rag. “Please say it’s the Adonis. You would have the most beautiful baby.”

  “It’s no one.”

  Nyx scoffed, “It must be him. He’s an Adonis.”

  “He’s also as dumb as a bag of stones.” Leila pointed Her nose to the ceiling. “I can barely tolerate him.”

  “Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Damaris said. “All beauty and no brains.”

  “What about the Regal?”

  Groaning, Leila splashed at Hemera. “No!”

  “The Prince?” Hemera continued. “Is it at least one of the Lords?”

  “Of course it’s not one of the Lords.” Faun chuckled, brushing out Leila’s hair. “Leila has a fine palate. She can’t be satisfied off appearances alone. And She certainly doesn’t need the coin.”

  Hemera’s eyes grew large. “What about the Intellect? He’s smart, yes? It’s in his laurel. Or the Brave. Such courage!”

  “Ladies, there is no man—”

  “It’s the Artist,” Damaris blurted. “She loves art. It has to be the Artist, right?”

  The girls stared at Leila, waiting, while She sank into the water, trying and failing to muster a response. The servants burst into squeals.

  “I knew it!” Damaris clapped her hands.

  “How was he not our first guess?” Faun said. “She falls weak at the sight of a painting, just imagine Her reaction to a painter.”

  “Has he painted anything for You?” Hemera sat on the pool’s edge, her duties abandoned. “Please tell me he has.”

  The charcoal drawings filled Leila’s thoughts, fueling Her heartbeat, and She could’ve sworn the girls heard it pounding when their squealing resumed.

  Hemera scooped up Leila’s hands. “Is he handsome?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I have no interest—”

  “He’s very handsome.” Delphi’s voice echoed off the walls as she walked into the bathhouse, her sheer robe replaced with a teal dress. “Lean but strong, with large, emotive eyes. And his hair is lovely too.”

  Leila frowned. “Thank you, but your opinions aren’t required—”

  “Have you fucked?”

  “Hemera!”

  “I’m just curious!” Hemera giggled, tawny hands clasped beneath her chin. “He’s a creative. Perhaps he’s creative in other ways as well.”

  “Well, we haven’t fucked. Tell Me, who would want to fuck in the labyrinth? It’s filthy down there. God, these questions…”

  “Have you kissed?” Faun said.

  Leila opened Her mouth to speak but fell short, groaning once another swell of shrieking nonsense resounded around Her.

  Damaris buffed Leila’s nails, a grin on her round cheeks. “Do You think he’s the one?”

  “What?” Leila wrinkled Her nose. “I don’t know. It’s been but a week or two.”

  “He’s a cut above the rest,” Delphi said. “A kind soul. You’d all really like him. He’d make a fine and fair Sovereign. And he is utterly enamored by Leila.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Damaris asked. “They’re competing for Her.”

  “The others are fools. The Artist is a man deserving of The Savior.” Delphi smiled. “And he wants Her. Badly.”

  The girls around Her were clapping and squawking yet again, fueling Leila’s chagrin. “You’re all making Me feel very embarrassed.”

  Faun blew a raspberry and waved Her away, continuing to lather Her up and polish Her down until Her skin glowed without the help of Her light.

  The questions continued, leaving Leila to count the hours until Her grooming was over. Each girl paid extra close attention to their work, tying braids around the back of Her crown and laying them over Her freshly combed locks. “It opens up Your face. I’m sure the Artist adores Your eyes.” They draped Her in the finest silks and sparkling sapphires, layering not one, not three, but five bangles on Her wrists. “The Artist will love it.” At some point Delphi left to prep the challenge winners, and Leila bid the servants farewell, disappearing into Her chamber. She stared at Herself in the mirror, admiring the ornaments before stripping them away.

  Tan leather sandals and a flowing periwinkle dress were all that remained of the servants’ work. She gathered Her satchel and summoned Her light.

  The sanctuary.

  Tents loomed ahead, a flurry of male voices in the distance. She stood against the back wall of the sanctuary, out of sight, but not for long. She had matters to address.

  She charged ahead, winding past the stretch of canvas before reaching the men. No injuries, no blood, no challenge at all, as Brontes had deemed it so. “Too many competitors dead, and too soon,” Romulus had said. “The tournament must last thirty days, and at this rate, there won’t be anyone left at the end.” And so a day of rest was granted—such generosity from the merciful Sovereign, so he could resume their slaughter a day later.

  She stopped short. Tobias stood at the water barrel, gazing Her way. Her heart hammered in Her throat, but She swallowed it down.

  “Raphael,” She said. “Come. Let’s look at your stitches.”

  Raphael waited at Tobias’s side, his eyes boring through Her. He mumbled something before following Her through the sanctuary, his clomping steps keeping pace with Hers until they slipped into Her tent.

  They stood across from one another, braced as if for battle. Leila cocked Her head at the stool. “Well, go on then. Sit down.”

  “You’re actually going to look at my stitches?”

  “I said I was, didn’t I?”

  Reluctantly, Raphael took a seat, cringing as he shifted his weight. Leila unwrapped his bandages in delicate strokes, revealing the massive wound and the black thread piecing it together. His muscles tightened as Sh
e pressed Her palm to the bite, but all She could think of was the look in his eyes the night prior and the words that had left his lips.

  Your Holiness.

  “No potions?” Raphael said. “Or, wait… Are they potions?”

  She dug through Her satchel, tossing him a random vial. “Smell this.”

  He uncapped, then sniffed the vial. “Smells like vanilla.” His eyes widened. “Have You been slathering us in perfume?”

  “Not just perfume. Sometimes it’s water.”

  He muttered something under his breath; Leila didn’t know what, didn’t care. She pressed Her hand to his ribs, contemplating Her next move.

  “Are You doing what You did yesterday?” he said.

  “No. That was a blessing.”

  “And what’s this?”

  “I’m touching you, clearly.”

  Raphael was visibly confused, and Leila sighed. “Light pours from Me regardless of My bidding. Touching you is healing enough. Yesterday, however, required reinforcement.”

  Raphael said nothing—still. She tried to focus on Her light, to will him to speak through the sheer power of Her silence, but the tension ate at Her.

  “So tell Me, Raphael… Now that you know who I am, what do you plan to do with this information?”

  “That depends on what You’re willing to do for me.”

  Leila grimaced, and Raphael mirrored the sentiment. “God no, not that,” he said. “I’m not a savage.”

  “Yet still, you threaten Me.”

  “It’s not a threat. Just an agreement.”

  “That suits you exclusively.”

  “It’s clear You mean to conceal Your true title,” he said. “I haven’t a clue why, and frankly, I don’t care. But I’m willing to keep this secret for You, however long You require.”

  Leila raised an eyebrow. “Provided…?”

  Coming in closer, Raphael lowered his voice. “Provided You get me out of this Godforsaken tournament.”

  Leila leaned back against the wooden table, cursing under Her breath. “You have no idea the hardship you’re placing upon Me.”

  “Then call us even. I did, after all, enter this tournament for You. In theory.”