The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  “But Your cover…”

  Leila threw Her cloak around Her shoulders. “I need answers.”

  She left Her chamber in a whirl of black fabric, heading past the courtyard down the long path to the labyrinth. Shadow walking wasn’t an option; the palace staff was waiting to see Her walk through the gardens, off to deliver a harsh blow to a man who would surely lament his fate. None of this resonated with Leila. Release from the tournament was more gift than burden.

  Upon reaching the latch, She abandoned Her escorts, plunging underground alone. The sanctuary was eerily quiet, the men fast asleep. Hope swelled within Her, and She crept toward a familiar tent, Her hand on Her blade, until rustling sounded inside along with low voices. Of course Her assassins were awake. Growling, She sheathed Her weapon, finding the original tent She had come for and tiptoeing inside.

  Tobias lay belly-first in his cot, his strong back rising and falling. She watched him for a moment, Her impulses writhing, urging Her to go to him. She turned to the cot at the other side of the tent.

  “Enzo.” She shook his meaty shoulder. “It’s time to wake up.”

  He roused effortlessly, looking Her way.

  “Follow me,” She whispered.

  She led him through the portal, traveling a winding stretch before reaching a small grey room. Enzo appeared behind Her, glancing over the walls.

  “Come in, please,” Leila said.

  He did as told, standing a comfortable distance away from Her, arms behind his back. Every facet of his being was that of a soldier, from his sturdy carriage to his muscular build, but the blackish blue cloud encircling him spoke of deeper wounds he wasn’t inclined to share.

  “Do you know why you’ve been summoned?” Leila said.

  Enzo’s accent came out stiff and broken. “A challenge?”

  “No. There’s no challenge.”

  Confusion filled his gaze. Leila took a step back, resting Her hand on a brick. “There’s something I need to show you.”

  She pressed down on the red crown, and the wall at Her side caved in, each brick collapsing onto the next until a staircase to the surface was created. Sunlight poured through the opening, and She stepped into the white rays.

  Vacant awe swept Enzo’s face. Leila stood in silence, waiting as he took in Her glow, his beady eyes larger than She’d ever seen.

  “You… You are the holy Queen.”

  Leila nodded. “I am The Savior of Thessen.”

  “And the other?”

  “Merely playing a part.”

  Enzo swayed from side to side, then abruptly came to life, kneeling.

  “Oh no, that isn’t necessary, please stand,” She said.

  He did as instructed. “They say You glow. I did not believe…” He scanned Her over. “It is like sunlight on fresh snowfall.”

  “Do you need a moment?”

  Enzo shook himself. “’Pologies, I…I did not believe. But now…”

  He never finished. Leila swallowed the knot in Her throat. “Zander was one of the kindest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. My heart breaks for his cruel death…and for your suffering.”

  “He was good man. True comrade. But…I do not understand…”

  “I know of your affection for one another.”

  His eyes widened.

  “It’s all right,” Leila said. “I’m not upset. I’m just sad he’s gone. I’m sad for you as well.” She choked over Her words. “I feel responsible. He died in My tournament. I couldn’t stop it.”

  “It is not Your fault. You were not there.”

  There it was again—the steadfast soldier, all trace of emotion gone in an instant, save for his dark colors streaming through the air.

  “There’s no need to be stoic with Me. I have lost before. I won’t judge.” Leila inched toward him. “May I?”

  Enzo eyed Her glowing hand, nodding before She rested it on his chest.

  Anguish plowed through Her, sending tears welling in Her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix it.”

  “I wish I could fix it too.”

  She kept Her hand in place, enduring the hurt. This was a pain She knew well, yet it still cut so deeply.

  Enzo’s face dropped. “No, don’t cry.”

  She wiped Her cheeks. “Apologies. It’s not My place. It’s just, there are so many things I can heal…yet I can’t heal this. But I want to so, so badly.”

  He glanced down at Her hand. “You feel?”

  As She nodded, his eyes glistened over. He pulled Her hand from his chest, freeing Her from his torment. “You are strong and good.” He nestled Her hand in his. “Heart of true queen.”

  Her stomach lurched. “There’s another reason I’ve come to speak to you. I’ve heard things…about Kovahr. And I have reason to believe that perhaps You didn’t join this tournament to seek My hand. Is there something I should know?”

  He didn’t answer, though the shift in his gaze told Her everything. Her heart sank. “Enzo…”

  He dropped to his knee, bowing. “Hanzipo, please forgive, I obey orders. I do what I must for my realm.”

  “You were commanded to come here. To spy.”

  “It is as You say.”

  Leila looked away, swallowing the bitter taste of his words. “I don’t understand. Why do your people seek to harm Me?”

  “Harm? No no, that is not the way.”

  “Then why spy? What purpose does it serve?”

  “My Queen does not say.”

  When Leila didn’t respond, Enzo stood. “She is good. I come to observe and report.” He planted Her hand on his chest. “Can You feel? I speak truth.”

  She cringed as pain rushed through Her in torrents. “I…want to believe you.”

  “Feel. You will see.”

  “It doesn’t exactly work like that—”

  “She rules with honor. Her word is true.”

  Leila nearly scoffed. People made the same claims about Brontes. She pulled away.

  “As The Savior of Thessen, I am awarded one act of power in this tournament: the ability to release a single man with his life intact.” She displayed the stairwell. “I release you. You are free from this cruelty.”

  “But—”

  “Mourn the loss of your love in the comfort of your homeland. Know you will forever be held in My highest regards.”

  He stared back at Her for a long while before bowing and heading for the stairwell. “The Artist,” he said. “He is good man. He will protect You.”

  Leila’s voice wavered. “I’m trying to protect him.”

  “You are good for each other then.”

  He continued on his ascent, and Leila sealed the wall once he disappeared, encasing the room in darkness. Some semblance of calm should’ve claimed Her, but the nagging of Her mind continued, as did the restlessness of Her gut.

  Sleep came easily. She hadn’t expected it, given Her tumultuous thoughts, but after a night of emotional labor, She had drifted away as soon as She met Her pillow.

  “Hold Her down.”

  Leila’s eyes shot open. Armored guards hovered over Her—ten, maybe more. One on each side took hold of Her arms, pinning Her to the bed.

  “What is—?” Leila thrashed beneath Her sheets. “Let go of Me!”

  “Keep Her still.”

  Brontes appeared within the pack. Two more guards held Her ankles, while Her father pulled a dagger from his belt.

  “No!” She kicked Her legs. “Stop him!”

  A guard yanked Her arm, pushing it flat as Brontes dug his dagger into Her flesh. Pain sliced through Her, and She screamed. Shadow walk, but Her mind was too havocked to command.

  Brontes pointed a vial to the wound, collecting a trail of blood. “It’s done.”

  The guards released Her, following Brontes from the room. Breathless, Leila sat up as they retreated. Asher stood dumbstruck in the doorway, glancing between the disappearing line of soldiers and Leila.

  Wrapping a sheet around Her body, She c
harged ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” Asher said. “The Sovereign ordered… I couldn’t stop—”

  She slammed the door in his face.

  Pressing Her back to the golden surface, She fought to both catch Her breath and wrangle Her dignity. The wound stung, trickling red onto Her white sheet.

  Brontes had Her blood.

  She bandaged Her arm and dressed, bolting to Her sisters’ chambers and forcing them from their beds. The women headed to the eastern end of the palace, plowing into the scroll room, a crowded space with cream walls and endless shelves filled with weathered parchment. She stopped in front of the far left corner, where each record from every tournament past was stored, and dumped the scrolls onto the floor.

  “Begin,” She ordered.

  The women took root around the pile, scanning each scroll before tossing it aside. Cosima sighed. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “The blood of The Savior.” Leila’s eyes panned the parchment in front of Her. “The labyrinth depends on the blood of Saviors past. It can’t function without it. But the men are being released today, so we need to know how the blood is used above ground.”

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Cosima said.

  “It’s for Tobias.”

  “Who?”

  “The Artist,” Pippa chimed in.

  “Brontes vowed that if I didn’t release Tobias, he’d have him killed. And now it’s happening…” Leila’s gut lurched. “God, I’m going to be sick.”

  “Yes, I understand all that, but how does this benefit Your cause at all?”

  “It doesn’t.” Delphi didn’t bother looking Cosima’s way, reading over a slip of parchment. “We’re saving Tobias. Now get to work.”

  “Leila, please don’t tell me You ripped us all out of bed just so we can save the Artist. I know You’re fond of him, but You do realize there are other men—”

  “I am searching for the answer,” Leila spat. “You can either help, or you can leave. But I refuse to listen to you prattle on for another moment.”

  Rolling her eyes, Cosima grabbed a scroll.

  Leila skimmed infinite streams of text, Her brow wet with sweat. Time wasn’t on Her side; the sun was high in the sky, and there were still hundreds of scrolls to go through—tales of violence, heroism, and not a single mention of The Savior’s blood on palace grounds. “We have to find it. I won’t allow—”

  “Calm Yourself,” Delphi said. “We’ll see it through.”

  “I found it!” Pippa held up her parchment, then faltered. “Wait. Never mind. I’ll keep looking.”

  Leila glanced out the window. “When are they to be released?”

  “I would’ve assumed it happened long ago,” Cosima said. “We very well could be wasting our efforts.”

  “We have time.” Delphi shot her a glare. “Keep going.”

  “I found it!” Pippa wrinkled her nose. “No, wait. That’s someone else’s blood. There’s a lot of blood in these scrolls.”

  “You know who else is handsome? The Regal.” Cosima nudged Leila’s shoulder. “Why don’t You play with him instead?”

  “He’s dead,” Delphi said.

  “Since when?”

  “I found it!” Pippa squealed.

  Leila sighed, digging through the pile. “That’s nice.”

  “It’s the garden of Meg…aera.” Pippa shoved the scroll in front of Leila. “See?”

  A single word cried out to Her: blood. She read over the text.

  For when The Savior marked the statues with Her blood, She gave to them a power bestowed by God, and each man who gazed into their eyes or touched their marble figures saw an end most gruesome and vile. Such was the legacy of Megaera and Her deadly garden.

  “Oh My God.” Leila snatched the slip from Pippa’s hands. “You found it.”

  “I said I did.”

  Tears brimmed in Leila’s eyes. “Little duckling, thank you. Thank you so much.” She threw Her arms around her.

  “Did I help?”

  “You saved a man’s life today. Do you know that?” She cupped Pippa’s face. “You’re a hero.”

  “I don’t want to be a hero. I want to be a sorceress.”

  “Sorceresses can be heroes too.”

  “Oh, good!”

  “I have to go.” Leila kissed Pippa’s cheek. “Thank you.” She squeezed Delphi’s hand. “You too.”

  “What about me?” Cosima huffed.

  Leila burst into blazing heat, Her sisters dissolving behind Her. Black brick and brown canvas stretched far ahead; She had been far too hasty, shadow walking straight to the sanctuary, but the men were off by the fire pit talking amongst one another, and it seemed no one had noticed Her at all. She tiptoed toward the voices, peering past a tent. The men had formed clusters, their bodies adorned in leather straps and shining armor, and in the middle of the mess stood Tobias.

  “Did you hear about Enzo?” he said.

  “I know.” Flynn shook his head. “Poor bastard, he’s missing the best part.”

  Leila cleared Her throat, once more a bit louder, and Tobias glanced over his shoulder, meeting Her gaze. His eyes widened, and he slipped away from the others.

  “Leila…” He joined Her behind the tent, checking for prying gazes. “I take it you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Not exactly. Keep your voice low.”

  “About last night—”

  “You needn’t explain yourself,” She said. “Fuck Caesar. May he rot in the ground for all eternity.”

  Tobias exhaled. “Enzo… He was honorably released.”

  Her chest pulled taut. “I know.”

  “He was released by The Savior. That means She has some semblance of power in this tournament. And maybe I could appeal to Her, could help Her see reason, and you and I—”

  “She can only release one man. Just one. And She chose Enzo.”

  Tobias’s shoulders dropped, and the disappointment in his eyes unleashed every ounce of guilt within Her. “Tobias…”

  “It’s all right. It was wishful thinking. Nothing more.”

  She took his hands. “I don’t have much time. Listen carefully, all right?”

  “Always.”

  “You’ll be leaving the labyrinth and entering the Garden of Megaera. It’s filled with statues, each in the likeness of a past Savior. Absolutely stunning, flawless faces immortalized for all eternity.” She tightened Her grip. “You mustn’t look at them. Any of them.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t look at them. Don’t touch them. Make your way through the garden, and do so quickly.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “I am.”

  Tobias furrowed his brow, perplexed concern streaking his face.

  “I’ll be waiting for you.” Her voice trembled. “In the palace.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  “Promise me. Promise you’ll see me there.”

  He leaned closer, his voice strong and even. “I swear it.”

  “I have to go.”

  Taking Her chin, he left Her with a kiss. “Go.”

  Every part of Her wanted to stay, but She did as She was told, weaving between the tents before summoning Her light. The black bricks turned to grey, and the heat of daylight spilled over Her. The watchtower was empty per usual, and She had counted on that. Its perch had the perfect view of the Garden of Megaera.

  A summer breeze carried the sound of distant cheering; tiny bodies speckled the fortress walls, waving banners Leila couldn’t make out. She ducked, shielding Her glow with the tower sill only to realize how silly that was. The people weren’t looking Her way. They were there for the same reason as Her—to see the men emerge from the labyrinth.

  Far off on the fortress grounds, a tuft of grass caved in, creating a crater—an exit. As the men trickled out, the spectators’ cheering grew louder, as did the noise of Leila’s thoughts. Wembleton’s voice echoed in the distance while She analyzed the men, trying
to make out one speck from the next. There. Brown hair. She was certain it was Tobias. Now all he had to do was get through the garden.

  The garden. She’d traveled its grounds countless times, even played there as a child, but now it felt ominous. The destruction from Her encounter with Phanes had long been cleared, the grass lush and green. Marble statues lined the pathway, each Savior dressed in a flowing gown and adorned in feathered wings. So many statues. Too many.

  A lump lodged in Her throat. The men were heading off, their slow pace a sharp poker to Her patience. Tobias was keeping his head down—or was he? It seemed as though he was, but then nearly all the others looked the same, save for Beau, who flitted through the garden like a child. In fact the entire journey was monotonous, hardly the spectacle the onlookers likely anticipated. Maybe they’d get through without issue. Leila squinted, straining to see. The men were staring at the ground—even Her assassins.

  Brontes had told them. Of course he did.

  Movement flitted in Her peripheral vision, though She couldn’t place it. The men continued on their lackluster stroll, while Beau fluttered between them, gazing up at the statues without care. Then it happened again, and Her blood ran cold.

  A statue turned its head, watching the men as they passed.

  One by one the Saviors observed them, until every statue they passed was looking their way. Beau hopped onto a marble pedestal, and Leila clasped a hand over Her mouth.

  The statue beside him came to life, burying its teeth in his neck.

  His scream ripped through the air. The statue spat out the remains of his throat, crimson streaking its face. As Beau toppled to the ground, the other men spun in place.

  “Don’t!” Leila shouted, but it was useless.

  Tobias’s voice cut through the quiet.

  “Run!”

  The men dashed through the garden, unleashing an onslaught. The statues had been roused to life, some stepping down from their pedestals and trailing the men, others beating their wings and soaring into the sky. Leila kept Her eyes on Tobias, willing him through Her thoughts to keep moving.

  He skidded to a stop as a statue landed in front of him.

  Tobias and the others wove between the marble figures, their heads down and movements calculated. Saviors congregated nearby, touching him, and goose bumps traveled across Leila’s skin as if She too could feel their fingertips. Don’t look at them. The order repeated in Her mind, and it seemed to do the trick, as the journey continued with little disarray—until Flynn gazed up at a statue, frozen.