by Jenna Moreci
“I fear I’m becoming him,” She said. “Each day I look in the mirror, wondering if this is when it’ll sneak up on Me. That I’ll stare at My reflection, and all trace of Myself is gone. All that remains is My father.”
“Just because You carry his blood does not mean You’ve inherited his heart.”
“We both kill people.”
“Everyone who crosses paths with Brontes becomes a killer,” Talos said. “It is his legacy. His Senators align with him, and thus they must kill. I am his warden, and thus I must kill. You are his mark…and so You must kill.”
His words offered little comfort, and She shook away the tension. “Enough of this. How about more pleasant conversation. My mother… Was She a lush? Spare no details. I’m a grown woman after all, I can handle it.”
The trap door rattled. “Diccus,” Talos whispered.
With a kiss to his temple, Leila summoned Her light, reappearing in Her chamber. Golden rays crawled up the marble steps from Her garden—the only speck of sunlight within the palace, at least if Her servants had heeded Her warning. A part of Her wanted to wait until nightfall before showing Her face, but hiding was beneath Her, and there was work to be done. She’d worry about Tobias another day.
She crept from Her chamber only to meet Asher’s wide-eyed stare. As he opened his mouth to speak, She swerved down the corridor, heading as far from him as possible.
“Your Holiness.” The pitter-patter of feet echoed behind Her, and soon a servant appeared at Her side. “Have You been locked in Your chamber all morning?”
A growl bubbled in Leila’s throat. “It appears that way.”
The servant—Eos—shoved a scroll into Leila’s grasp. “I hate to intrude, but Mousumi has asked that You approve Your schedule for the day.”
“For what purpose? I approved it yesterday.”
“It seems You missed Your bath. And all Your other morning activities, actually.”
Leila sighed. “Apologies. I had a meeting.”
“I thought You were in Your chamber all morning?”
“Leila.” Faun fluttered up beside them. “I was wondering when You’d show. You missed Your bath. I came to fetch You, but You weren’t in Your chamber.”
“Nonsense, She’s been in Her chamber all morning,” Eos said.
Leila kept Her eyes on the scroll, Her patience waning. “I’ll have My bath tonight.”
“It’s awfully dark.” Eos glanced across the corridor. “Why are all the drapes closed?”
“I like it like this,” Leila said.
“Really? I find it a bit unnerving.”
“You heard Her.” Faun gave Leila a wink. “She likes it like this.”
“But surely I can open the drapes if—”
Shouts echoed off the walls. The entryway loomed ahead, its golden doors open wide, and sunlight spilled across the tiled floor like boiling pitch. A horde of men stood amid the rays, and Tobias was among them, staring right at Her.
Leila staggered back into the shadows. The competitors had returned from their challenge, and one of them was gripping a servant’s arm, his face flaming red.
“What’s going on?” Leila said.
The man spun toward Her. Garrick. She’d hardly noticed him the entire tournament, but now She couldn’t escape his heated gaze.
“You.” He rushed toward her. “Bring me the Sovereign. I need to speak with him immediately.”
“He’s tending to other matters,” She said.
“This can’t wait. It has to be now.”
“What has to be now?”
“I’m quitting the tournament.”
She looked back at Her servants, who stood in slack-jawed bewilderment. “Come again?”
“I’m quitting,” he spat. “I need to get out of this fortress.”
“You can’t just quit the Sovereign’s Tournament.”
“I’ve worked hard and true these past nineteen days,” he said. “Now my life is in jeopardy.”
“Were you not aware that was a byproduct of this endeavor?”
“I’ve served The Savior’s army.” His breathing became heavy. “I’ve paid my dues. The Sovereign knows this, and he will release me.”
A laugh caught in Leila’s throat. “It isn’t that simple—”
“Listen, woman, you tell the Sovereign, and you tell him now, I quit.”
Her servants gasped, but the shock was lost on Garrick, who stormed off to his chamber. The other competitors lingered, a mere fog in Leila’s periphery, but Tobias broke through the haze, stopping at Her side.
“Can he do that?” he whispered. “Just quit?”
She shook Her head. “No.”
“Then what’s going to happen?”
“I have no idea.”
The commotion materialized: the competitors’ perplexed stares, Her servants’ hushed voices, and the daylight streaking the floor paces ahead.
“Leila, are you all right?” Tobias said.
“Yes, I just…” She wrangled composure. “Apologies, I have to go.”
She rounded the entryway, keeping to the shadows before disappearing into a hallway. Garrick was quitting, a nuisance She hadn’t the time nor care for. Perhaps it was a good thing, would distract Brontes with bureaucracy. Soon Garrick had left Her mind entirely, and by the time She reached Her study, Her intentions were yet again sound.
Leila took a seat at Her desk, rifling through Her drawer before grabbing a fistful of jewelry. Gifts for the Kovahrian Queen. Why else would Phanes smuggle them into the palace? Why would Brontes instruct Kastor to steal more?
A knock sounded at the door, and a servant poked her head in. “Pardon the intrusion. One of Your suitors has requested to see You.”
Tobias. Leila straightened Her dress. “Bring him in. Discreetly, please.”
The servant bowed before departing, and not long after, a man made his way into the study—long and lean, with brown skin and short, black hair.
Leila frowned. “Ugh. It’s you.”
“Who were You expecting?” Raphael stopped short. “Oh. Right.”
With a snort, Leila went back to Her jewels, ignoring Raphael.
“You saw what happened?” he said.
“Of course I saw. He was yelling in My face, wasn’t he?”
“What are You going to do about it?”
“Nothing. It’s beyond My control and none of My concern. Why is he quitting anyway?”
Raphael shrugged. “Drake threatened to kill him.”
“A threat of death? In the Sovereign’s Tournament? Unheard of.”
“Well, the threat came right after Drake gutted Bjorne, so it left an impression.”
Leila tensed. “Bjorne’s dead, I take it.”
“Unless he can somehow function with his insides on the outside.”
She waited for the gloom to wane before meeting Raphael’s gaze. He still stood by the doorway, anxious and fidgety.
“Is that why you’re here?” She said. “To discuss Bjorne’s demise?”
“You promised me an out.”
She sighed. “God, this again.”
“Things have gotten more…complicated. With this challenge in particular.”
“Are you scared Drake might kill you as well?”
“I’m scared anyone might kill me, but that’s not the point. My place here is getting more precarious by the day. You’re supposed to find a solution.”
“I’m supposed to find a solution.” She scowled. “What delicate wording for the position you’ve put Me in.”
Raphael went rigid, as if Her words were a slap to the cheek. “The Sovereign’s Choice. I have to be released at the Sovereign’s Choice.”
“You know about the Sovereign’s Choice?”
“I’m a keeper at the Thessian Archives. Of course I know. I know the full tournament history.”
Leila cast him a sidelong glare. Raphael was right; Brontes was allowed to release one man from the bloodshed. It was a tournament tradition—
a challenge of sorts, though to Leila, it was merely a means for placating the male ego. With each tournament, the Sovereign chose one suitor he felt unworthy of his daughter’s love. Men like Raphael. Men like Talos.
“Well, I was planning for you to be released then, anyhow.” Leila waved Raphael away. “There was no need to barge in like this.”
“So, You’ve asked him?”
“Asked who?”
“Your father,” Raphael said. “I’m assuming You’ve asked him to release me.”
“I can’t ask him.”
“Then how are You going to make this happen?”
“I have other means.”
“But—”
“I have other means,” She growled.
Raphael hardly seemed convinced. He ambled into the room, leaning onto the chair in front of him. “When’s the Sovereign’s Choice?”
“Perhaps a week from now,” She said.
“Dammit. That’s too far off.”
“Gives us plenty of time to influence Brontes’s decision—”
“I don’t see why You can’t ask—”
“Do you want release or not?” Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re to leave this tournament, you will do so by My terms.”
Raphael exhaled. “All right. Fine. Thank You.”
Finally. She waited for him to leave, but he stayed put, his eyes tracing the walls. “So, this is Your study?” he said.
She clenched Her jaw. “It is.”
“And do You often study…jewels?”
She shoved the necklaces aside. “They’re gifts for the Kovahrian Queen.”
“I see.” He pursed his lips. “A rather inappropriate gift, if I do say so myself.”
“Inappropriate how?”
“She’s the Queen of Kovahr. What need does she have for jewels?”
“I pity your future wife. Your understanding of women is supremely lacking.”
“She’s Kovahrian,” he said. “They place no value on jewels outside matters of trade. They prefer metals. Steel and silver. Armor and accolades. Has Your father not taught You this?”
Leila sat up straight. “You’re telling Me not even a queen would wear these?”
“Certainly no queen from the north. You know, The Savior is supposed to be made aware of neighboring customs in preparation for Her reign.”
Leila ignored the slight, twirling the glittering strands between Her fingers. “Then who would they be for?”
“You just said they were for—”
“I know what I said. I’m not speaking to you.”
“Then who were You—?”
“Did you need anything else?”
Raphael glowered. “No.”
Leila went back to Her jewels, but She could still feel Raphael in front of Her, hovering as if he had something to say.
“You know, the rest of my day is free,” he said. “I could help You with…well, whatever it is You’re stewing over.”
Her muscles loosened. She could certainly use the help, as all She had were Talos, Delphi, and Her own two hands. Perhaps Raphael could do some good. He was the Intellect, after all.
He was also threatening to reveal Her secret.
Raphael nodded, as if he could read Her churning thoughts. “Right. You don’t trust me. I’d forgotten.” He wavered. “I know it’s my fault. I’m sorry for that.” He headed for the door, then stopped short. “If I can offer a suggestion—”
“That’s highly inappropriate—”
“Keep an eye on Your father. I don’t know how Tobias has gotten so deep under his skin, or maybe he’d just prefer You marry a more accomplished warrior…”
Leila went rigid. "What about Tobias?”
“Kaleo and Drake. They weren’t looking to kill Bjorne. Or Garrick for that matter.” He hoisted the door open. “Tobias was their mark, as ordered by the Sovereign. We heard them discuss it clear as day.”
Sickness spread through Leila as Raphael left Her with his parting words.
“Your father wants Tobias dead.”
23
The Hearing
Leila’s footsteps echoed off the palace walls, Her shoulders low, chin high. Perhaps Her poise would mask the strain on Her face and the circles under Her eyes. She hadn’t slept most of the night, not with Raphael’s words plaguing Her thoughts.
Brontes plans to kill Tobias.
She had known this of course, for days really, but She had hoped he’d moved past this nonsense, was back to plotting Her death instead. She cursed Her foolishness. Brontes never left a plan unfinished or a man unmaimed.
The Senate room appeared ahead, and She readied Herself. As She shoved the door open, a mess of male voices bombarded Her, deep in conversation. “Did you start without Me again—?”
The sentence died in Her throat. Erebus, Romulus, Wembleton, and Brontes waited in their usual seats—and across from Her, sitting in silence, were an old man with clouded eyes and a wiry beard; and a young man with long, black hair and anxiety written across his freckled face.
“What is this?” Leila said.
Brontes’s drapes were finer than usual, stitched with intricate black thread, and a golden crown sat amid his dark curls. Why is he wearing a crown to a Senate meeting? He cocked his head at the two new faces. “You’re familiar with Diccus, the palace apothecary, and Hylas, my former page.”
“Why are they here?”
“They’re the new members of my Senate.”
His words hit Her hard. She took Her seat. “Where’s Kastor?”
Brontes glowered. “Since most of the Senators have disappeared, positions need to be filled. Diccus and Hylas were thrilled to hear of their promotion. The Senate will be as it was shortly.”
“You didn’t answer My—”
“The Brave.” He turned to the others. “Are we in agreement?”
“We’re not in agreement. I’ve only just arrived.”
“The Brave has asked to be released from the tournament.” Romulus nodded at Leila. “We were discussing the proper course of action.”
“Your perspective is always welcome,” Wembleton added.
Garrick. Leila shrugged. “Let him go. He’s an ass. If he wants to leave, he can leave.”
“Not an option,” Brontes said. “The Brave must die.”
“And why’s that?”
Diccus’s shrill voice sounded from across the table. “Every man who’s conceded throughout the history of the Sovereign’s Tournament has faced execution. If Your father pardons him, he’ll be seen as weak. Or worse, a blasphemer.”
“Or maybe he’ll be seen as merciful.” Leila flashed a scowl at the supposed Senator. “That’s how mercy works, after all.”
“The decision is made.” Brontes shuffled through slips of parchment. “The Brave dies today.”
“Then what exactly was the point of this meeting? To perpetuate the façade that I have a modicum of authority? I’m fully aware that I don’t. There’s no need to pretend.”
An awkward silence lingered, leaving Diccus to fiddle with his gnarled thumbs and Hylas to shift in his seat.
“Your Highness, may I suggest calling the issue to a vote?” Romulus gestured toward the two uncomfortable faces. “So our newest Senators can see how the law is upheld.”
“Who votes to execute the Brave?” Brontes said.
One by one, the Senators raised their hands—save for Hylas, his eyes flitting between the others. Brontes glared at the former page, his gaze sharp enough to draw blood, and Hylas raised a meek hand.
Brontes turned to Leila. “More than enough to make the call, though I do hope You feel included.”
Frowning, Leila pushed the loss aside. There were more important concerns to consider, as Raphael still buzzed in Her thoughts. She had to get him out of the palace, not only for his sake, but Her sanity as well.
“Will Garrick’s absence have any bearing on future challenges?” She said.
“Tomorrow’s will be canceled.” Brontes scribble
d along a parchment sheet. “All others shall resume as promised.”
“What about the Sovereign’s Choice?”
Brontes raised an eyebrow. “What about the Sovereign’s Choice?”
“I’m just wondering if you’ve given it any thought.”
“You’re wondering if I plan to send Your Artist home.”
Leila lurched back in Her seat. “That hadn’t at all crossed My mind.”
“We haven’t the time for this.” Brontes waved Her away. “Who motions to end this meeting?”
“Why haven’t we the time? It’s still the morn.”
“The hearing.” Erebus’s deep voice filled the room. “It begins shortly.”
“What hearing?”
“The Brave is to plead his case in the arena, before the citizens of Your great realm,” Romulus said.
“But you’ve already made your decision. What’s the point if you’re just going to kill him?”
“Your Holiness, as much as we’d love to hear Your thoughts, Your people have already arrived.” Wembleton smiled, though his voice wavered. “We mustn’t keep them waiting.”
“They’re here?” Leila started. “Right now?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“So now these events are planned without even notifying Me?”
“Enough.” Brontes pushed his pile of parchment aside. “Who ends this meeting?”
“I do,” Erebus said.
“Second,” Diccus eagerly added.
Brontes stood, cocking his head at Leila. “What are You waiting for? Up.”
Leila’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“The hearing. Our escorts are waiting.”
“I’m to attend the hearing? For what purpose?”
“To support the Sovereign’s decision,” Wembleton said.
“But I don’t support the Sovereign’s decision.”
“Your Highness, with all due respect, won’t The Savior’s presence pose as a distraction?” Romulus added. “After all, this is your ruling. The people must feel your greatness.”
“The people need to see a united front,” Brontes grumbled.
“Are you certain—?”
“A united front!”
A knot wound in Leila’s throat. A public hearing. In broad daylight. All these weeks of keeping Her title concealed, for what? For one coward to ruin it all?