The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  “Not even a month ago.”

  “Savior’s Day?”

  She faltered. “It was a birthday gift.”

  “Well, that’s unfortunate. A gift for Cosima…”

  A sting lanced through Her. “When I first saw it…it took my breath away.”

  “Then I take comfort in that, knowing you enjoy it.” A true smile spread across his face, though it melted soon after. “Leila, there’s something I need to tell you. I fear it’ll ruin the moment, but it wouldn’t be right not to mention it.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s only six days left in this tournament…and I’ve been told that I’m favored.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Leila chuckled. “The Giant Slayer. The Keeper of Kin.”

  His gaze drifted. “What if this favor includes The Savior?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t concern yourself with that.”

  “I hadn’t planned to, but then we had that banquet, and Cosima grabbed my leg beneath the table.”

  Leila whipped toward him, nearly toppling over. “She did what?”

  “She grabbed my leg,” he said. “My thigh. She squeezed it.”

  “You’re certain.”

  “I nearly choked on my damn food.”

  Panic took hold of Her. “What kind of squeeze? Like a friendship squeeze? Maybe it was a friendship squeeze.”

  “She was a hair shy of my balls.”

  It couldn’t be. Cosima hadn’t an interest in Tobias. She had made that clear.

  Tobias’s face dropped. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

  “I just don’t understand. I don’t see why She would…” The words died in Leila’s throat. Cosima had been behaving strangely for days. What exactly had changed?

  Brontes.

  “So…She doesn’t favor me?” Tobias said. “She’s never said anything?”

  “No,” Leila barely whispered.

  “Then maybe it was nothing. A fleeting impulse, gone in an instant.” Tobias took a step closer. “I don’t want Her. I just had to tell you…”

  “I know. I’m glad you did. Thank you.” Leila forced the worries aside. She had brought Tobias here for a reason. Cosima wasn’t going to sour that. “I nearly forgot. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Another?”

  Grabbing his wrists, She pulled him through the gallery, stopping in front of Her grand creation: an empty wall.

  “Right here.” She planted Her hands on Her hips. “What do you think?”

  Tobias furrowed his brow. “It’s a wall.”

  “Yes. For you.”

  “You got me a wall?”

  “For your paintings,” She said. “It’s the best spot in the room, wouldn’t you agree? I moved some of the pieces so your art can be the focal point for all to see. Your sketches are in my chamber. I’m keeping them to myself. But anything else—any future pieces—they can go right here. And everyone in the palace can admire them whenever they please.”

  “You did this for me?”

  “Of course. Well, it’s mostly for me, to be honest. So I can stare at your art all the time. It’s a selfish endeavor, truly—”

  Tobias pulled Her close and kissed Her hard. Speckles of orange and pink poured from his touch, flowing through Her like sugar and honey. Happiness. She had done that.

  As their lips parted, he spoke against Her cheek. “Thank you.”

  “It’s just a wall.”

  “For everything. For all you’ve done for me. I feel like an ass. I have nothing to give to you in return.”

  She waved him away. “Oh, that’s all right. I have plenty of walls already.”

  “Then tell me, what do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  “Stay alive.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll try my best. I think I’m managing all right thus far.”

  “Fill the wall. So I have something beautiful to admire.”

  “Of course. What else?”

  Her throat caught. “Be good to me.”

  A cheeky grin spread across his face. “Leila, are you not the most demanding woman I’ve ever met? God, these requests.” He basked in Her laughter, kissing Her bottom lip. “I’ll be good to you, my darling.”

  She sank into his arms. “I want to show you something.”

  “There’s more?”

  She was already pulling him across the space, winding between statues. “The wall of scrolls. Poems, epics, all legendary.” Compartments descended from the ceiling to the floor, and She snatched up a single piece from one of them. “Are you familiar with the work of Karti?”

  “Of course,” Tobias said. “Who isn’t?”

  “This is ‘The Warrior’s Chant.’”

  “That’s one of his greatest pieces.”

  Leila smiled. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Well, you’re lucky to have a copy. They’re hard to come by.”

  “Copy?” Leila snorted. “This is the original.”

  Tobias’s eyes shot wide. “You lie.”

  “I do no such thing. Care to look?”

  “Are you joking? I can’t touch it! My filthy peasant hands. No, I’m unworthy.”

  “Go on,” She said. “You know you want to.”

  “You’re mad. I can’t.”

  Leila tossed the scroll into his grasp, and he gaped at Her, gobsmacked. “Leila! What if I dropped it?”

  “It’s parchment. It’s not going to shatter. Go on, open it.”

  He cast Her a critical look, then slowly, gently unrolled the scroll. “Oh my God.”

  “Isn’t it glorious?”

  “This is the original.” His eyes panned the text. “This is the bloody fucking original.”

  “I said that already, you know.”

  “There are scribbles in the margin and everything. Look, he misspelled sanguinary.”

  “You like it?” She asked.

  “Like it? People would kill to see this.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to get into trouble?”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. For fiddling with palace property.”

  Leila’s lips flattened. “Tobias, this is mine.”

  “This is yours?”

  “I get gifts sometimes.”

  “Gifts like this?”

  She nodded, giggling into Her hands. “Do you want to see more?”

  His eager gaze spoke volumes, and She scoured the scrolls, snatching up famed pieces, historic lore. Once the stack of parchment was nearly too much to manage, She dropped it to the floor.

  “You’re making a mess!” Tobias laughed.

  “Oh, hush up, I know where they go.” She took a seat in front of the pile, patting the spot at Her side. “Come. Sit.”

  Tobias obeyed, while She displayed each prized piece. “This is ‘The Hero’s Escape.’ And this is ‘Reclaiming the Crown’—”

  “No.” He snatched the parchment from Her hands. “Original?”

  “Not original, but penned in her very own ink.”

  “Original enough.” He locked onto another slip. “Oh my God, is this the Epic of Ethyua? Fucking hell, this was my favorite growing up. Had it memorized—I still do, I’m certain.” Laughing, he read over the text. “This is madness.”

  He fawned over each poem and fable—pieces Leila had dissected since childhood, but never with this passion, this love. She took in a long breath, holding it in Her chest—clean and pure. Tobias’s cloud was gone. No darkness. No misery.

  Tobias’s gaze strayed from the epics to Her, tracing Her jaw. Without a word, he tugged Her onto his lap and kissed Her.

  “What was that for?” She said.

  “I know what you’re doing. Thank you.”

  “I just hate to see you sad.”

  He nuzzled against Her cheek. “You make it difficult to remain sad for long.”

  Her gut twisted. “I won’t be seeing you tomorrow. You’re to spend the day with Cosima. All five of you.”

  “Well then, if I don’t get
to see you, I suppose we’ll have to make the evening count, yes?”

  His words sent chills rolling through Her, and then his lips did the same. He took Her face in his hands, and She could’ve sworn his gaze penetrated past Her flesh, a balm against every bruise and scar, the bloodshed, the lies.

  He cleared his throat. “All right then, back to the epics.”

  Chuckling, Leila swatted him on the arm, nestling into his lap as they scoured the pieces together.

  “He’s not doing anything,” Delphi said.

  “Quiet,” Leila muttered.

  “It’s been hours.”

  “Quiet.”

  The two sisters lay on their bellies, peering between the balusters of the second story. The passing servants stared at them, their brows twisted in confusion. Perhaps Leila should’ve been more discreet, but She wasn’t hiding from Her staff—She was hiding from Brontes standing in the entryway below.

  He’d been speaking with that guard for ages, going over slips and scrolls—trivial matters reserved for Senators, though there were considerably fewer of them as of late. She narrowed Her eyes, trying to bore through him, to read his mind. Maybe She’d discover the traitor that way, since all Her other attempts had failed.

  A servant snorted as she walked by, eyeing the sisters as if they’d sprouted horns. With a huff, Delphi stood upright. “This is ridiculous. You’re a queen, yet You have us sneaking around like roaches.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously at all.”

  “Because nothing has happened,” Delphi said. “Your father’s broken his fast, he visited his study, he’s looked out the damn window—”

  Leila clambered to Her feet. “This sort of work takes time.”

  “Wembleton is a worm. He was exploiting Your paranoia for his own gain.”

  “You think I’m paranoid?”

  “There is no traitor. Not within these walls. We’ve been following Your father all day, and nothing.”

  Leila shook Her head. “I can’t accept that.”

  Sighing, Delphi straightened her dress. “I’m leaving.”

  “But I need you—”

  “You need to take care of the Senators.” Delphi lowered her voice. “We’ve done what we can. Your father and the Kovahrian Queen are in league. It’s clear as day. End this now so we can get on with our lives.”

  She flipped her braids over her shoulder and headed off, leaving Leila rattled. Growling, She stared down at Her father. Do something, you worthless sack of—

  Laughter echoed off the walls. Cosima waltzed down the entryway, her suitors—Leila’s suitors—trailing behind her. The men of the tournament were to spend the day touring the palace with The Savior Herself, though only Flynn appeared interested, the others trudging along in the most lackluster fashion. Leila nearly reveled in their distaste until Cosima and Brontes locked eyes, nodding at one another before Cosima disappeared with her gaggle down the corridor.

  Brontes headed in the opposite direction, and Leila flew through the hallway, keeping the man in sight.

  As She followed Her father, Her confidence withered. Brontes’s activities were innocuous, and Leila found Herself wondering what kind of ruler had nothing to do but wander and talk. You wander. You talk. But that was different; She’d been stripped of Her power. Meanwhile Brontes spent an eternity with Erebus, sharing military stats of little importance; then discussed the arrival of the royals with Wembleton, who remained shielded by his legion of guards. No secret meetings, no traitors, at least none Leila wasn’t already aware of.

  Brontes made his way up the grand staircase straight toward Leila, and She darted behind a column, peering around it. Her father stopped by the window at the top of the steps, leaning against its frame while staring out at the courtyard. Again.

  Delphi was right. This was useless.

  Brontes plodded off, but this time, Leila didn’t follow. She sank to the floor, grumbling to Herself. Five days—that was all that remained of the tournament, all She had left to uncover Her father’s network. She had wasted Her time following him from room to room, watching him scribble across scrolls, converse with Senators, and God, how often did he have to look out that window?

  The window.

  Leila bolted upright, racing to the window in question. Was the courtyard really that interesting? She pressed Her hands to the glass, searching the view. Nothing about the courtyard was unfamiliar or different, so She studied the window itself, its glass and panes. Nothing. Desperation clawed at Her as She dragged her fingers along the frame—cool, polished metal. Then something rough.

  Parchment.

  The frayed corner barely stuck out from behind the pane. Pulling the parchment slip free, She unfolded it with trembling hands.

  Plans have changed. Meet soon. Wait for my word.

  A bitter blend of anger and validation spun within Her. Her shaking turned violent as She stuffed the note back into its hiding place.

  Someone—the traitor—was waiting for this note. And She would be waiting for them.

  She rushed down the corridor, leaning against a nearby pillar, hoping the mass of marble would shield Her. As She waited, Her eyes danced between the hallway, the window, Her nails, the window, the ends of Her hair, the window. Each time a servant or guard walked by, She stiffened, waiting for them to pause at the window, to run their hand along its pane. Nothing. Restless energy flurried within Her, but She held firm, eyes trained on the spot where Her father’s note was tucked away.

  “Your Holiness.”

  She spun toward the voice—a woman, eyes narrowed, lips in a straight line. “Yes, Mousumi.” Leila exhaled. “Make haste.”

  Mousumi’s gaze strayed. “Why are You waiting here, staring at the windowpane?”

  “I’m not staring at the windowpane, I’m…admiring the courtyard.”

  “You’ve been here a long while.”

  Leila scowled. “Have you been watching Me this entire time?”

  “Your presence is quite evident, if You weren’t yet aware.”

  Leila’s scowl deepened. A throng of servants hurried around the corner, catching up to Mousumi as if she’d left them behind.

  “Your Holiness,” Mousumi raised an eyebrow, “a word while You…do whatever it is You’re doing.”

  “I haven’t the time.”

  “The royals arrive tomorrow. I am under order by the Sovereign to make relevant arrangements with You regarding their stay. To shirk Your duties would be highly inappropriate.”

  The servants behind Mousumi whipped out scrolls and reeds, their eyes wide and eager. Leila swallowed Her protests. “Fine. Walk with Me.”

  The servants kept pace at Her side, their eyes on their parchment while Hers actively searched. Delphi. If She couldn’t wait for the traitor, She could at least find Her sister, could have her keep watch instead. Mousumi dove into her instructions, rambling about guest quarters and banquets, none of which held Leila’s attention. Soon they reached the atrium, and Leila stopped in Her tracks. Cosima and a handful of the competitors sat at the dining table drinking wine and picking at fruit—save for Drake and Kaleo, who stood off with Brontes, whispering in the shadows.

  “Your Holiness?”

  Leila cast a critical look Mousumi’s way, and the servant keeper returned it with vigor. “Apologies, Leila. Your guests are expected to arrive at staggered intervals, but once they’re comfortably accommodated, Your father and sister will greet them with a proper welcoming—”

  “My sister?” Leila lowered Her voice. “I didn’t realize we were keeping My title from the neighboring royals as well.”

  “We are simply honoring Your request.”

  Dread turned in Her gut. She glanced across the atrium where Her father once stood, but he was gone.

  Her breath caught. Tobias was staring at Her, and Her heart beat faster.

  “Provided You’re comfortable with these orders, all You’ll have to do is avoid drawing attention to Yourself. Which seems to be Your prefer
ence.” Mousumi rolled up her scroll, and the other servants followed suit. “Do these terms suit You, Leila?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Mousumi started to bow, then faltered, offering Leila a nod instead. Eager to be free, Leila hurried away, adamant in Her purpose. Find Delphi.

  She threw open the doors to the gallery, giving it a quick once-over. Dammit. She had hoped She’d find Her sister picking over the scrolls as she often did, but all that awaited was silence. Leila nearly frowned, but Her eyes landed on that empty wall, and She smiled instead.

  The doors shut behind Her, and She turned around.

  Drake stood paces away.

  A chill rolled through Her. Had She ever spoken to the man? He hadn’t seemed to notice Her before, but now She couldn’t escape his beady gaze.

  “You’re lost,” Leila said. “Cosima’s in the atrium.”

  Drake didn’t move. Tensing, Leila stood tall. “Cosima isn’t—”

  “I’m not looking for Cosima.” His voice shocked Her, low and gravely. He took a step forward. “I’m looking for The Savior.”

  Ice spiked through Leila’s veins. She grabbed the sheath on Her thigh, but not soon enough. Drake lunged at Her, moving with a grace and speed that contradicted his bulky frame. She dodged, but his hands connected with Her, grabbing Her shoulders and driving Her backward.

  Her spine cracked against the wall, sending Her crumpling. She scrambled for Her blade, thrusting it forward only for Drake to snatch up Her wrists and throw Her against a table. Glass shattered beneath Her, and Her stomach lurched when Her blade fell to the floor.

  Before She could cry out, Drake grabbed Her throat, wrenching Her from the table and pounding Her against the wall. Aches pulsed through Her, muted compared to the pull of Her lungs. Shadow walking was impossible, not when She couldn’t channel Her light, couldn’t even breathe. She clawed at his grip, Her mouth open wide as She fought for air that never came.

  Shards of ceramic burst over Drake’s head, and he staggered away, dropping Leila to the floor. She gasped for breath, black speckling Her vision, Her ears ringing with chaos—fists slamming into hard flesh, bodies crashing into walls. It wasn’t until red splattered Her dress that the madness took form; Drake’s mouth was stained with blood, and across from him stood Tobias, lit with rage.