The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  Romulus’s footsteps echoed through the hall—empty. Perfect. She quickened Her pace, matching his gait. “You have words for Me? I thought you no longer had the means.”

  Long purple robes with golden seams covered him, but even beneath the rich fabric She could see his shoulders tense. “There was nothing to proctor today, nor the day before, and thus I had time to show my service to You,” he said.

  “Then by all means, enlighten Me.”

  “Kastor is Your next mark.”

  “For what reason?” She asked.

  “It appears Phanes had several unique responsibilities. And now that he’s been relieved of his position, the task falls to Kastor.”

  A lump lodged in Her throat. “Kastor is to leave the fortress? To speak with the Kovahrian traitor?”

  “Your father was vague on the details. I don’t know of the task. But he’s to complete it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Where? At what hour?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  Leila sighed. “So Kastor is to do something, somewhere, at some time. Wonderful.” Growling, She took Her leave.

  “Your Holiness.” Romulus remained rooted where he stood, his gaze lit with severity. When he spoke next, his voice chilled Her. “From the moment day breaks, do not let that man out of Your sight.”

  21

  The Dressing Room

  Light pulsed from Leila’s flesh, pouring into the ground beneath Her. The swampy blackness reached up with eager claws, much closer to the surface than it should’ve been. She hadn’t blessed the land in days.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with other matters. Important ones. Ones that will allow Me to bless you for years to come.” She rolled Her eyes. “Why am I talking to grass? God.”

  She sent one more surge of power before hopping to Her feet, heading into Her chamber, and throwing on a simple pink dress. Sickness or none, She had far more pressing concerns. Day had already broken, and Kastor was Her mark—for what reason, She hadn’t a clue.

  As She bounded through Her doorway, an unwelcome pair of honey brown eyes met Her. She growled, shouldering past Asher.

  “Leila, wait,” he said.

  She turned to face him, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor.

  “The other day, I…” He cleared his throat. “What His Highness did to You… It shouldn’t have happened. And I want You to know, I have Your back.”

  “Is that so? Did you have it when I was pinned to My bed, screaming? When I was assaulted? Humiliated?”

  “It was a momentary hesitation. I assure You, You can count on me.”

  “And when exactly have you proven that to be true?”

  Asher stared at Her, slack jawed and stupid. She continued down the corridor.

  “It’s the Artist, isn’t it?” he called out. “The man You spend Your time with each night.”

  Leila fell silent, meeting his gaze.

  “The two of you were dancing at the Welcoming,” he said. “I’ve never seen You smile like that. Not once.”

  Warmth swirled in Her cheeks, and She walked off before he could see the rosy flush.

  The palace opened up around Her, and for once She was starkly aware of its enormity—the light pouring through the stained-glass windows, the eyes following Her. The competitors lurk within these very walls, and here You are waltzing down corridor after corridor, glowing like the sun in the sky. She kept to the shadows, forcing Her thoughts to Kastor, who was hopefully far from wherever the competitors had congregated. She had memorized his schedule with little confidence he’d keep it, certainly not if he was to do Brontes’s bidding. As suspected, She reached the scroll room, and Kastor was nowhere to be found. Off somewhere being duplicitous, no doubt.

  A pair of servants rounded the corner. “Leila!” Faun flagged Her over, laughing with Nessa. “Would You like to join us in the entryway? Your suitors are training for the Reverence as we speak. We plan to feast our eyes on the display.”

  “Especially since we aren’t permitted to attend tomorrow,” Nessa said. “It’s a bit rude, I think. I’ve so been looking forward to it. They wear golden armor, You know.”

  The entryway. At least Leila knew where to avoid. “I’m actually needed elsewhere. Do you happen to know where I can find the Senate?”

  “What Senate? It’s so scant these days.” Faun bit back a chuckle. “Apologies, that was in poor taste. I’m not sure about Wembleton or Romulus, but Erebus is likely prepping the soldiers for the Reverence, and Kastor I’m sure is in the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen?”

  “He’s always in the kitchen.” Nessa sighed. “Precious, isn’t it? What I wouldn’t give to be the cooking staff on days when he visits.”

  Befuddled, Leila shoved Her questions aside. “These windows. It’s rather bright in here, yes? See to it they’re covered.”

  Faun wrinkled her brow. “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “Yes, and everywhere I turn, I’m…” Leila gestured at Her own beaming skin, “…like this.”

  Nessa and Faun stared back at Her in confusion.

  “My suitors are present,” Leila said. “I don’t want to pose as a distraction.”

  Faun let out a knowing laugh. “She doesn’t want them to faint. Bless You, Leila, for shielding their pride. We’ll take care of the windows.”

  The servants began tugging the curtains shut, and Leila resumed Her quest. What business did a Senator have in the kitchen? The hair on Her arms stood straight as worst-case scenarios bombarded Her thoughts.

  Laughter bounced off the walls, and the warm scent of baked goods filled the air. The kitchen was a short distance away, and Leila kept Her steps light, willing each to be quieter than the last. The rounded arch of the doorway appeared ahead, and She shielded Herself with its stone frame, peering inside.

  The kitchen staff bustled through the space, rolling dough and tending to the fire. All of them wore the same cheeky grin, their eyes on the handsome man in their company. Kastor’s long, black hair was tucked behind his ear, his hands sticky as he molded mounds of dough into balls the perfect size for sweet rolls.

  He was helping them cook?

  Leila blinked once, twice, but still Kastor rolled each pastry, placing them on a silver pan. She focused on his nimble hands, searching for hidden vials or herbs to sneak amid the ingredients, but there were none. Instead, he dotted a servant on the nose with his doughy finger, then snapped a rag at another’s bum and sent her squealing. The staff chased him through the kitchen, playful and delighted.

  What in God’s name…?

  Mousumi entered through the back way, sending the servants into obedient formation with a chastising glance. Kastor bowed, squeezing one of the girls’ arms affectionately before heading for the exit—for Leila. She hurried away, positioning Herself behind a pillar as he gave parting.

  The Senator headed through the palace, and Leila stalked behind him, maintaining a cautious distance. His first stop: the scroll room, just as his schedule had suggested. Keeping up appearances, no doubt. She waited behind the doorframe as he flipped through parchment, scribbled notes, dictated orders to the keepers. Next he visited the soldiers’ keep, collecting figures for Erebus, and afterward he broke his fast in the garden, eating the exact sweet rolls he had assisted in baking hours prior. One by one, he completed his scheduled tasks, and he did so with a smile, with please and thank you rolling off his tongue. Nothing about his behavior was crooked. He was charming, even kind.

  Kastor stopped in the middle of a corridor to marvel over a child, crouching low to play with him while his servant mother beamed. A smile flickered across Leila’s lips, but She stifled it at once. Romulus had made Kastor’s deceit clear, yet nothing had happened. Had Romulus sent Her on a fruitless task? Was he the one deceiving Her?

  Kastor continued through the palace, and She followed.

  The entryway appeared, stopping Leila in Her tracks. The competitors stood in the distance, clumped into groups
with wooden staffs at their sides. Tobias led his group, twirling the staff between his hands, and Leila lost Herself in his fluid movements.

  Focus. She tore Her stare from Tobias as Kastor disappeared beyond the entryway. Dammit. Clenching Her jaw, She dashed down a neighboring hallway, dodging the competitors in a roundabout fashion before following Kastor’s path.

  Staggering to a halt, She glanced across the darkened corridor. The Senator was gone. Her nerves spiked. A doorway stood to Her left, and She peered inside. Nothing. Another, and it was as vacant as the last.

  She’d lost him.

  Cursing, She dragged Her feet. Unbelievable. The defeat was not only ill-timed but embarrassing. Soon She reached Her dressing room and trudged inside, mentally berating Herself as She slammed the door behind Her.

  Kastor sat in the chair in front of Her.

  “Senator.” Leila stiffened. “What are you doing here? These are private chambers.”

  “Apologies, Your Holiness. But I figured if You were seeking my attention, I ought to be a gentleman and offer You my willing ear.”

  “What would make you think I seek your attention?”

  “You’ve been following me all day.”

  His words plowed through Her gut. “You’re mistaken.”

  “Apologies, but I don’t believe I am.”

  She stood like a statue, petrified. Casually, Kastor plucked a pitcher from the end table at his side, gesturing toward the chair across from him. “Please, these are Your chambers. Have a seat. Would You like some wine?”

  Leila wavered, Her mind a blank canvas. She took the seat across from him, Her hands locked in Her lap.

  “Your Holiness, You seem uncomfortable,” Kastor said.

  “You’re in My dressing chamber without express permission.”

  “But Leila—may I call You Leila?” He handed Her a chalice of wine, and when She didn’t budge, he sipped it himself. “I saw You today. Watching. Hiding in the shadows. I simply aimed to end our little game.”

  “What game?”

  “There’s no need to be coy. Your pursuit today made Your intentions clear.” His hazel eyes never once broke their hold of Her. “Initially I thought it wrong to indulge, but…I suppose I can’t help myself.”

  She stared back at him in confusion, then started. “Oh My God. Senator, you’ve completely misjudged the situation.”

  “I’ve seen the way You stare at me during meetings. So boldly too, right in front of Your father. I’d be lying if I said my gaze hadn’t lingered as well. Though You know that already, don’t You? That’s why You’re here.”

  “Your ego has blinded you,” She said. “You are far too old for My tastes.”

  “I am not much older than You are.”

  “Ten years.”

  A bashful smile swept his face. “Thirteen. You flatter me.” He leaned in closer. “Does not every woman long for a man of experience? Certainly a woman of superior wisdom such as Yourself.”

  Leila dug Her fingers into Her thighs, gripping the blade beneath Her dress. “I have suitors within these walls.”

  “They’re not Your suitors. Well, perhaps the Artist is, but I took that for a tryst. The most desired woman in the realm choosing an artist? I always thought You a ruler who values power.”

  “What do you know of power?”

  “I am the only Senator in Your father’s cabinet of common birth. I escaped my meager circumstances, climbed my way from noble house to noble court, until finally I earned the title of the second youngest Senator to ever sit alongside the royal family. I am power.”

  His words came out strong—too strong, as She nearly bent beneath them. Nothing about this was as She had predicted, and She found Herself second-guessing each assumption She had made, doubting Her instincts.

  “I’ve entertained this conversation far too long,” She said. “Please leave. I want nothing to do with you.”

  “Then what other reason is there for Your presence? Why follow me from room to room, watching with such fire in Your eyes?” Kastor scooted onto the edge of his seat, closer to Leila than he’d ever been before. “Tell me Your reasons. Otherwise I will take Your heavy breathing as wanting. The same way that I want You.”

  Her heart hammered. I followed you so I could learn your secrets. So I could kill you.

  “These are private chambers, Your Holiness. We can do whatever we please.” He placed his hands on Her knees, running them up Her thighs, through the slits of Her dress. “My deepest desire is to serve You.”

  Leila slapped him across the face. “Don’t touch Me, you fucking pig!”

  Stroking his jaw, Kastor chuckled. “You’re not interested. Understandable. I suppose if You’re not trying to fuck me, that means You’re trying to kill me.”

  Every faculty within Leila came to a halt. She grabbed the sheath on Her thigh.

  Empty.

  Kastor raised Her blade, wiggling it between his fingers. “I’m not going to hurt You, but I do need to take You to Your father.”

  She lunged forward, tackling him and his chair to the floor.

  They crashed into the hard surface, fumbling free from the limbs of the chair. Kastor was on top of Her before She could gain Her bearings, a wall of muscle crushing Her against the tile, Her blade still wedged in his grip.

  “Be reasonable.” He blew the hair from his face. “I’m not here to hurt You. Just keep still.”

  She struggled beneath him, heedless of the sharp steel nicking Her flesh. The man didn’t give, so She thrust Her knee into his groin, sending him slack. Wriggling free, She grabbed Her blade right as Kastor snatched up Her wrist. Her arm flailed, the blade waving wildly as they fought for control. Grunting, he shoved Her into an end table, and as She toppled back with the wooden limbs, the blade flew from Her grasp.

  Her back hit the floor, and once again Kastor was on top of Her. “Be still!” He seized Her wrists, pinning Her down. “You’re only making this worse for You!”

  She thrashed Her legs, desperate to inflict pain. Nothing. She sank Her teeth into his forearm.

  Kastor cried out, loosening his grip enough for Her to grab hold of something—the end table, now in pieces. She lifted one of its legs high and slammed it down on Kastor, again, beating him until it snapped in half. He shielded himself, taking blow after blow before grabbing what remained of the table leg and tossing it aside.

  Kastor punched Her in the jaw, sending Her sprawling to the floor. Thundering pain exploded through Her cheek, and She lurched backward, dragged by Her ankle across the tile. The blade—it was paces away, and She slammed Her heel into his face. As Kastor fell, She scrambled toward Her weapon, closer and closer—

  A hand grasped Her leg, yanking Her back, then suddenly both his hands were on Her, flipping Her over. He was on top of Her again, blood dripping from his nostrils.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he growled. “Just stay still.”

  Do something. Her blade was out of reach, and Kastor was slamming Her against the floor, hard enough to rattle Her bones, to shake the table at Her side.

  The table.

  She reached overhead, clawing at everything above Her—Kastor’s face, the table’s edge. He swatted Her away, but that didn’t stop Her from patting down the wooden surface. Her fingers dug into something silky—a table runner—and She gave a hard yank, sending gold raining down upon them.

  Kastor flopped onto his ass, shielding his head from the onslaught of ornaments. Free of his grip, Leila scanned the sea of gold surrounding Her—and the crown sitting close by, a circle of pointed spikes.

  A weapon.

  Snatching it up, She threw Herself toward Kastor.

  His eyes shot wide. “Leila—”

  She smacked the crown against his jaw, landing him flat on his back. Blood burst from his lips, and She straddled his waist, taking aim again, spikes down.

  She slammed it into his face. Crimson pumped from his cratered flesh, his breathing morphing into ragged, wet
hics. Another blow. Another. Her hands dripped red, and the body beneath Her fell limp, his beautiful face now a pulpy mass of flesh.

  Leila fell back onto Her palms, sucking air into Her strained lungs. Her favorite crown clattered at Her side, its spikes painted red with the Senator’s blood. It had never been this close before. She had allowed the man to disarm Her. Worse, She hadn’t a single answer, not even a hint of information. Another Senator was dead, and She had nothing to gain from it.

  She looked to Kastor, moving quickly from his unrecognizable face to his body. There had to be something. Her trembling hands flew across him, unraveling his drape, fiddling with his tunic. No hidden pouches, no rings with loose settings. She plunged Her hands into his pant pockets, grabbing fistfuls of something hard.

  Jeweled necklaces.

  Her necklaces.

  22

  The Jewels

  “He stole Your jewelry?”

  “He stole My jewelry!”

  Leila sat on the watchtower sill, clutching Her procured necklaces as if they might once again disappear. Delphi stood with Her arms crossed, the morning sun illuminating the golden undertones of Her skin. She snatched one of the strands of jewels and examined it. “There was a necklace among Phanes’s things. Was that Yours as well?”

  “God no,” Leila said. “It was a terrible piece.”

  “Why would Brontes need jewelry?”

  “Maybe he’s selling them.”

  “Is all the coin in the vault somehow insufficient?” Delphi said.

  “Maybe it’s a message? Some kind of signal?”

  “Maybe Brontes just wants to feel pretty.” Delphi held the necklace against her décolletage, waggling her eyebrows.

  “What if they’re gifts?”

  “For who?”

  “An ally.” Leila’s stomach lurched. “The Queen of Kovahr.”

  “Plausible. But that doesn’t explain why he’s having jewelry brought into the fortress versus the other way around.”