The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  Tobias yanked the Lord from the statue’s clutches, bolting through the grass as chaos ensued. The palace wasn’t much further, and when Tobias shot up the courtyard steps, Leila’s heart raced. He was so close. He was going to make it. But the courtyard was dense with horrid statues and howling men, and it was nearly impossible to make out anything amid the madness. White stone streaked with blood, tan flesh marred with gashes. Where was Tobias? She had lost him in the shuffle, and when She finally spotted him, Her breath caught.

  He was pinned to a pillar, a statue looming before him.

  He strained away as the creature dragged its face against his neck. The courtyard lay just beneath the watchtower, and Leila could see everything—Tobias’s cringe, the familiarity of the statue’s face. Bile rose in Leila’s throat.

  Her mother.

  Tobias darted around the pillar, and Leila tried to shake Her horror, tracking his movements. The other competitors were gone, and he wove through the horde, tottering over fountain edges, zigzagging between grasping white hands. He was nimble, resilient, and a part of Her recognized the thriving competitor Delphi had described—a man who could be Champion, if only he’d reach the palace.

  He catapulted up the front steps and disappeared from sight.

  Leila’s heart stopped. The tower sill blocked Her view of the palace entrance, but when the slamming of its double doors rang through the air, the tension within Her released.

  Tobias had made it.

  A deathly silence stretched across the grounds. The statues trudged back to their pedestals, leaving dirt, blood, and destruction in their wake. Beau’s corpse lay in the distance, the lone fatality, while the other men were tucked away within the palace walls. Leila took in an unsteady breath. Tobias was safe.

  And so were Her assassins.

  20

  The Welcoming

  The hum of voices filtered through Leila’s bedchamber, the palace so roused not even Her thick golden door could block the noise. She sat at Her desk, staring at the crumpled parchment. Kovahr’s threat. There was little point in reading it again. She had Her answers.

  The door swung open, and dancing feet pitter-pattered across the floor. “There’s a party tonight!” Pippa spun in circles. “I’m going to wear pink. Or powder blue. Or maybe lavender.”

  Delphi came up to Leila’s side, wrapping her arms around Her shoulders. “Today’s the big day. Well, one of them. There are so many big days lately.”

  The Welcoming was approaching, a grand event honoring the men of the tournament, one of the palace’s most anticipated traditions. But while the servants buzzed with excitement, all Leila felt was dread. On that night, She would dine and dance with the palace hands—everyone who worshipped Her as their One True Savior—along with the exact eight men who knew nothing of Her title. And She needed it to stay that way.

  “We’re going to have to be…careful,” She said.

  Delphi nodded. “I agree.”

  “I want you, Cosima, and Pippa to attend My dressing, so we can prepare.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  The softness of Delphi’s voice did little to calm Her. She scanned the note for the hundredth time.

  “I imagine something else is on Your mind?” Delphi said.

  “The assassins are in My home.” Leila clenched Her jaw. “I want them dead.”

  A knock sounded, and a zaftig girl came into the room, bowing. “Your Holiness. It’s time for Your bath.”

  Shoving the parchment into the desk drawer, Leila eyed the girl over—a servant She didn’t recognize. “Is Faun already there? She usually retrieves Me.”

  “Apologies. Your servants are required elsewhere today.”

  “There must be a mistake.”

  “The competitors of Your father’s tournament are being prepared for the Welcoming,” the girl said. “Your servants offered their assistance. I believe they were eager to meet one suitor in particular. A crowd favorite.”

  Leila’s gut turned. Her servants were with Tobias. What if they revealed Her?

  The girl paled. “Have I upset You? Your Holiness, forgive me, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. Let’s tend to My bath.”

  The hours passed with painstaking slowness, as Leila sat flexed and on edge in the warm pool, deadened to the soft hands and sweet smells. The unknown servants worked in silence, a relief, though She wouldn’t have engaged regardless. Tonight was no celebration for Her; the Welcoming was a battlefield riddled with traps, and She’d have to maneuver it with caution.

  It’s just one evening. But how could She keep Her assassins in the dark in a room full of people who bowed to Her?

  Properly bathed, She retreated to Her dressing room. Delphi, Pippa, and Cosima were already lounging on the couches, conspicuously quiet. As Leila changed into a sheer violet robe, Cecily and Mousumi arrived, nearly starting at the sight of all four sisters waiting expectantly.

  Cecily’s stunned expression morphed into an awkward smile. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Having the royal court present for Her Holiness’s dressing.”

  “It’s odd,” Mousumi said.

  Leila stood tall. “They’ve played an integral part in this tournament. I’m indebted to them. I’d like them to be made just as beautiful as Me. The finest silks and jewels.”

  Cecily chuckled. “Child, they’re of Your court. They already wear the finest silks and jewels.”

  “As fine as your Queen’s?”

  Cecily shrank beneath Leila’s challenge. “Well, the more the merrier, I say.” She gave the court a nod before beginning her measurements. “It seems I have many to dress today. I’m draping Your suitors, in fact. The fabric is exquisite, hand-stitched and the blackest black I’ve ever seen. Eight warrior drapes for eight tried and true warriors.”

  “You’re draping all of them?” Leila said.

  “Oh dear, no. Nessa has half, and I have the others. Let’s see, I’ve been assigned the Brave, the Shepherd, the Dragon, and the Artist.”

  Tobias floated through Leila’s mind, and a hint of Her dread thawed.

  “You take precedence, of course.” Cecily brought several strings of jewels to Leila’s throat. “That reminds me, weren’t You to give them gifts? What did You decide upon?”

  “Garrick got a sword with a golden pommel.” Pippa plucked a cylindrical bottle of perfume from one of the tables, brandishing it in the air. “The weapon of a mighty hero.”

  “Paying tribute to their laurels? Let me guess, a bow for the Hunter, jewels for the Prince, an easel for the Artist…”

  “Paints and brushes too, of course,” Leila said before She could stop Herself.

  Cecily smiled. “What about the Sovereign’s blessed ones? The Dragon and the Shepherd? I can’t imagine gifts that would match—”

  “Nothing,” Leila said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I gave them nothing.”

  The palace fitter stared back at Her, slack jawed.

  “I told Her it was highly inappropriate,” Mousumi grumbled.

  “Enough of this nonsense, let’s get our Leila dressed up.” Cosima hopped up from the rose couch, fluttering toward one of the racks. “I’ve been dying to see Her gown. She has the most beautiful collection.”

  Cecily’s eyes lit up. “I have the perfect piece in mind.”

  She joined Cosima, flipping through an entire rainbow before plucking one gown from the others: deep scarlet, a color only suitable for a queen. Leila’s blood ran cold as Cecily headed Her way, the gown in hand.

  “It’s much more extravagant than Your usual tastes, but given the circumstances—”

  “I’d like to wear the black one,” Leila blurted.

  Cecily halted. “But You always wear red for these occasions. An event such as this demands a royal color.”

  “I’m feeling daring. This is My preference for the night.”

  “But black—”

  “Is the warrior’s color. The very color t
he competitors will be wearing. I aim to honor them.”

  “A sign of solidarity,” Delphi said. “Your suitors will be pleased.”

  Cecily frowned. “With all due respect, I imagine most of them are unfamiliar with the color’s meaning.”

  Delphi raised an eyebrow. “You belittle The Savior’s kind gesture?”

  “Oh, it’s a gesture in more ways than one. This gown is utterly explicit.” Cosima grabbed the dress in question, a mischievous grin on her face. “Look at this neckline. Leaves nothing to the imagination, that’s for certain.”

  Leila laughed. “Cosima!”

  “You know I’m right. And who could blame You?” She pressed the dress to her figure, sashaying through the room. “Who wouldn’t want to look seductive for eight valiant suitors? No doubt the men will beg for more once they’ve laid eyes on Her.” She swirled toward the servants. “Of course She chose this piece. Don’t pretend you can’t relate. We all can.”

  “I can’t,” Mousumi muttered.

  Cecily cleared her throat. “Apologies, it just occurred to me that if I’m to dress all four of you, I’ll need a much larger wardrobe. Excuse me.”

  She left in a hurry, likely escaping the turn in conversation, and for that Leila was grateful.

  “There are formalities to cover before tonight’s festivities.” Unamused, Mousumi pulled a scroll from her pocket and scanned it over. “The event will begin with entertainment, followed by dancing and feasting. Your sisters will enter first, then Your suitors, and finally Yourself.”

  “Bring My sisters out at My side,” Leila said.

  Mousumi met Leila’s gaze. “Your suitors, then You…and Your sisters?”

  “Yes. All together.”

  The servant keeper’s lips twisted in disapproval.

  “I don’t want a big fuss, is all,” Leila mumbled.

  “The Welcoming is to honor the competitors of the Sovereign’s Tournament.” Delphi made her way to Leila’s side. “Surely Her Holiness isn’t trying to upstage their glory.”

  “Exactly. I want them to feel like the kings they so rightly are.” Leila’s eyes widened. “In fact, I’d rather not wear a crown tonight.”

  Mousumi recoiled. “Your Holiness—”

  “A fine idea.” Cosima joined her sisters, standing with them in a line. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Not to be left out, Pippa marched into formation with them. Leila was glad for her presence, stronger with Her court at Her side. “I’d also like My throne removed.”

  “Your throne?” Mousumi groused.

  “I’d like to sit on equal ground with My sisters. They’ve served as such fine council. The least I can do is show My appreciation.”

  “Oh Leila, how very thoughtful.” Cosima swerved in front of Her, taking Her hands. “I swear, we’ll remember this night for the rest of our lives.”

  Mousumi sighed. “Your Holiness, that throne weighs—”

  “If that’s the last of this, why don’t you see to its removal,” Leila said.

  “But—”

  “Your Savior commands it,” Delphi ordered.

  Mousumi scanned the line of soldiers, her annoyance written across her face. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

  With much less grace than Cecily, she left the room. Exhaling, Leila slumped into an armchair. The Welcoming hadn’t begun yet, and already She was exhausted.

  “How long do You expect to keep this up?” Delphi said. “We won’t always be here to fawn over Your wondrous decision-making.”

  “It worked for now.” Leila massaged Her temples. “That’s what matters.”

  “And what about the next time, and the next?”

  “Oh, relax.” Cosima spoke over her shoulder, flipping through Leila’s gowns. “There’s a party tonight.”

  Leila’s nerves hadn’t time to lift, as Cecily returned with more servants and even more gowns. The room filled with noise and color as the palace staff decorated each sister with crystals and creams. Leila eyed Her reflection as Her visage transformed—soft pink for Her lips and cheeks, jeweled sandals lacing up Her calves. After much arguing, Cecily convinced Her to abandon Her blade for the evening, and in its place She was showered in jewels. Black garnets lay in tiers across Her neck, in a belt at Her waist, and a glittering headpiece atop Her hair.

  “There.” Cecily tied off the last stitch. “I believe we’re finished.”

  Leila beamed. Cosima was right—the gown was a coquettish delight, its neckline plunging nearly to Her navel, Her back bare and legs peeking through long slits. There was a boldness to the look—a power She had never known, certainly not in Her other gowns.

  Once properly ornamented, the sisters left for the parlor, sipping wine and making final preparations. Pippa, dressed in dusty pink with rose quartz braided into her bun, snuck a peek into the atrium, where four onyx thrones waited for the sisters much like the ones in the labyrinth. Leila let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps tonight would run smoothly, though that seemed a whole lot like wishful thinking. She downed Her wine and refilled Her chalice.

  A hand rested on Her shoulder. “Calm Yourself.”

  Delphi. It was as though she could see straight through Her. “This needs to work,” Leila said.

  “Our thrones are identical. We’re entering together. And there isn’t a speck of red among us. We’re dressed as equals.” Delphi eyed Cosima, garbed in teal and embellished with peacock feathers—on her neck, across her crown, in the layers of her dress. Delphi’s nostrils flared. “Well, almost.”

  “I suppose it’s a good thing. She’s The Savior, after all. Perhaps she should look—”

  “Ostentatious?”

  Anxiety rolled in Leila’s gut. She sucked Her wine down, grabbing the pitcher for a third pour only for Delphi to yank it from Her hands. “I imagine You’re at least somewhat excited to see the men.” Delphi gestured toward the atrium. “Or rather one man in particular.”

  “There are too many complications to entertain such thoughts.”

  “He looks handsome. Your servants did a fine job. Even cut his hair—”

  “They cut his hair?” Leila spat. “Why would they do that?”

  “Ladies.” Wembleton peeked into the parlor. “It’s nearly time. Places.”

  Once the Senator left, Leila turned to Her sister. “His hair was perfect as it was. Perfect.”

  “Leila.” Delphi cupped Her face. “Breathe.”

  Chagrin burned Her cheeks. “God, look at you.” Leila sighed, eyeing Delphi up and down—her sky-blue gown tied at the neck, her armlets and circlet in gleaming gold. “You may not know it, but each day you’re more beautiful than the last.”

  “I know it.” Delphi smirked. “And You. I swear, You look positively sinful. Nothing about this number says pure. Tobias is going to blow his load right in his pants.”

  Leila burst into laughter. “Delphi! My God!”

  “He’s going to dream naughty dreams about stripping this dress right off You.”

  “Do You really think he’ll like it?”

  “He will die. His feet will lift from the floor, and he will float up to the heavens above.”

  Voices filtered through the parlor; the Welcoming was beginning, and Leila wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement parading through Her stomach.

  “Are You ready?” Delphi said.

  She wasn’t, though Wembleton’s voice carried from the atrium regardless.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please stand in attention for Her Holiness and Her court.”

  The parlor doors opened, and Leila’s heart pounded as She dragged Her feet past the armored guards, the burgundy curtains. The palace hands stared at Her, but with Her sisters at Her sides, perhaps it wasn’t so obvious. Perhaps they could be staring at any one of them. The dining table was gone, the ebony floor open wide, and far across at the other end of the atrium sat eight suitors’ thrones with a line of men standing at attention before them.

  Tobias.

  Breathing fell by t
he wayside. No more tournament rags; he wore harem pants in black linen, a perfect match to the golden-stitched drape wrapped across his bare chest and thrice around his arm. His flesh shined against the candlelight, polished and smooth, as if it had turned to actual bronze overnight. His hair delighted Her in ways She hadn’t anticipated, shorter on the sides but still long on top, his dark curls spilling over his brow. Whatever hint of boyhood he previously possessed had been washed or snipped away, as a man stood before Her, broad and striking. She shouldn’t stare, not so openly, but She wasn’t the only one. He was staring back at Her, wide-eyed and wanting.

  “Kneel.”

  Tobias dropped to his knee, as did the seven other competitors whom She had forgotten entirely. She took a seat in Her throne, and when Wembleton ordered the men to rise, Tobias’s eyes went straight to Her.

  Music filled the space, and dancing girls pranced across the floor in gowns of yellow and fuchsia, with purple ribbons streaming from their wrists. Once they departed, fire-breathers took their place, shooting bursts of orange across the atrium like dragons. The guests laughed, gasped, and drank, save for Tobias; his eyes belonged to Leila, fierce and unwavering, and She cooled Herself with a feathered fan to keep contained.

  Cosima sat at Her side, shielding her knowing smile with her fan. “My beautiful sister, I believe the Artist is undressing You with his eyes.”

  Leila’s throat caught. “What do I do?”

  “Has he been a good boy? Treating You the way You long to be treated?” She nudged Leila. “Then reward him. Go on, give the hound a treat.”

  Leila hesitated, then threaded Her leg through the slit of Her gown, crossing it over Her lap as seductively as She could manage.

  “Good girl,” Cosima said.

  “I don’t look silly?”

  “God, no. You’re a natural. Look at him stir.”

  Tobias’s chest rose with a deep breath, and his hungry stare sent a tremor rolling through Her. “This is exhilarating.”