by Jenna Moreci
The pull of Her lungs burned deeper, reducing Her breathing to gasps. How long had She been running? It was hard to tell with nothing but blackness to guide Her, but the throbbing of Her legs told Her She was wasting time. She staggered to a halt. Another crossroads. Tunnels spiderwebbed beneath the palace, too many to count. Where did they lead? Leila bounded down a tunnel at random.
Light appeared in the distance, igniting Her hope only to snuff it in an instant. A blazing torch sat in a receptacle, illuminating grey, stacked stones.
A wall.
A dead-end. Well, not exactly, as this wall almost certainly opened up to a wing of the palace, or some part of the fortress, or perhaps the pits of hell. But still, no Cecily.
I lost Her. No, that wasn’t an option. She had to be somewhere in these tunnels. She couldn’t have gotten far in her condition.
Leila grabbed the torch, heading down the path She had taken. Her throat rubbed raw, and Her nerves screamed, but She kept Herself steady, Her eyes straight ahead. Nothing, not for the entire stretch, until that familiar crossroads appeared. Four separate tunnels. She swept Her torch back and forth, hoping to get a glimpse of a white dress, of curly hair. The first tunnel was empty, as was the second, the third—save for a red patch along the dirt floor.
Fresh blood. Leila swallowed and followed.
Cecily’s blood tracked down one tunnel, another, and all the while Leila’s heartbeat surged behind Her ears. The red became thicker—puddles and mangled footprints. Her wounds were getting worse. She’d have to stop at some point.
The footprints ended.
Silence. The torch’s glow faded paces ahead, the rest of the path cloaked in darkness. Cecily had to be there somewhere, watching, waiting. Charge, but Cecily was armed. With little options, Leila braced Herself.
“Cecily?”
The servant leapt from the shadows, Leila’s blade held high. She pounded Leila against the wall, the torch falling to the floor while the two women fought against the stone surface. Cecily swiped the blade in a frenzy, but Leila latched onto her arms, keeping the weapon at bay. Grunting, She pushed Cecily off Her, sending her collapsing beneath her marred foot. Cecily lunged forward, slashing at Leila’s legs, then grabbed Leila’s ankle and toppled Her to the dirt.
The women rolled barely out of the torch’s light, leaving Leila with shadows of movement, the occasional glint of Her blade. A blow to Her gut sent Her gasping, and a second later Cecily was on top of Her, straddling Her waist. Blood covered her chest, yet she fought with unrelenting desperation.
With a shrill cry, Cecily thrust the blade at Leila’s throat, but Leila caught her wrist, struggling for control. Her arms ached, and the weapon inched closer, grazing Her skin. Gritting Her teeth, Leila forced Cecily back farther, prying at her fingers. Rage roared within Her, and She twisted the blade around, swiping it across Cecily’s face.
Howling, Cecily dropped the blade and stumbled backward, allowing Leila to stagger to Her feet. Blood dripped down Cecily’s chin, Her top lip split open, torn up around her nose. She slammed Leila against the wall, a fraction of the woman she was before, her weakness clear in her strained face, her loose grip. Leila lunged forward, ramming Cecily into the opposite wall again and again. Cecily didn’t bother to hide her suffering, wailing with each attempt. Another thrust, and Leila kicked something against the floor.
Her blade.
As Cecily recoiled, Leila ducked low, snatching up Her weapon. Cecily lunged at Her, and Leila drove the blade into the woman’s gut.
Cecily froze, her eyes wide. She drooped in Leila’s arms, limp as Leila pinned her to the dirt. Leila pointed the blade at her neck, though it didn’t matter. Cecily had lost the battle, and she knew it.
“You can’t.” Cecily laughed, her teeth stained pink. “We’re family.”
Leila fumbled for Her torch, illuminating Her captive. Blood blossomed across Cecily’s stomach, spreading through her dress. She didn’t have much time.
“Tell Me about Kovahr,” Leila barked. “Tell Me now.”
“To hell with Kovahr.”
“You’ve aligned with them. Tell Me the plan.”
Cecily’s breathing became thick, her gaze glassy. Think. What had Cecily told Her already? What could She work with?
“Your father.” Leila’s pulse quickened. “He’s a man of the military—”
“He is the military.”
“Explain.”
Cecily coughed, then hardened herself, glaring at Leila.
“I understand,” Leila said. “You won’t tell Me because you know I’ll kill him. You know he’s weak—”
“He is anything but weak,” Cecily spat. “He trains the finest. Brontes sought no one but him.”
“Your father trains soldiers.” Leila faltered. “For Kovahr?”
“For the purse.”
Leila went rigid. The empty vault.
Her coin had paid for mercenary soldiers.
Her disbelief must have been plastered across Her face, because Cecily chuckled in response. “Glory doesn’t come for free.”
“Brontes doesn’t need sellswords. Thessen has an army.” Leila waited for a response, then pressed Her blade deeper against Cecily’s throat. “Tell me about Kovahr.”
“Kovahr dies first,” Cecily murmured.
“Kovahr is your ally, I saw the note—”
“I knew it would work. I knew the people would see and believe.” A crimson smile spread across her face. “My father… He’s such a learned man. Knows all the dialects. I could never hope to achieve his greatness.”
Leila lurched backward. “Your father wrote the note.”
“To place beside Your corpse.”
Sickness plowed through Leila’s gut. “Brontes is framing Kovahr for My murder?”
“My darling will wage war against the north, then every other realm in his way. He will make the world his own. Everyone will bow before their king.”
The churning of Leila’s insides turned violent. The planning, the tournament, each intricate maneuver—it all made sense. This wasn’t about Thessen, or even Leila. Her death would be a spectacle—the beginnings of a war. Brontes would conquer the other realms.
Brontes would colonize.
“I love him, You know.” Cecily was barely lucid, her voice slurred. “He’s a flawed man, but they all are.”
“You don’t love My father. You would’ve never spoken if that were so.”
“It doesn’t matter. Brontes has an army, and You have nothing but Your black shadow and Your precious light.”
Cecily’s delirious laughter ate at Leila, prodding at Her mounting rage. Leila dug Her blade into Cecily’s throat, blood spurting as the soft flesh split apart.
“Goodbye, Cecily.”
Cecily’s mouth hung open, gaping like a caught fish—marred and coated in crimson, a mess of a corpse mangled by Leila’s hand.
Leila’s knees wobbled as She stood. She had imagined this moment differently—the fight of Her life, Her ultimate triumph. Instead She was exhausted and launched headfirst into a war.
She wiped Her blade dry. What now? I could kill Brontes. But what about Cecily’s father? She didn’t know how to track him. I should warn the Kovahrian Queen. But she was surely at the Culmination alongside Brontes at that very moment.
Tobias. She was going to tell him the truth. She had promised.
Her hands trembled, but still She closed Her eyes, summoning Her light.
My bedchamber.
Birds warbled in the distance. She had arrived, but She refused to open Her eyes, afraid of what would happen next. Tell him while You’re good and naked. But She was worn and haggard, Her dress streaked with the blood of a woman She’d murdered. Not only that, the story She’d have to tell had become so much darker.
I’m The Savior.
My father is going to kill Me.
To start a war.
To colonize and kill.
With a deep breath, She opened Her eyes.
>
Her chamber was peaceful, the drapes parted, welcoming the sunlight. The bed was empty, its sheets tossed to the side.
“Tobias?” She searched through the space. “Tobias, I’m back.” Only birds answered Her. He must’ve been in the garden.
She headed its way, then stopped short. My light. She dug through Her wardrobe, snatching up Her black cloak and throwing the hood overhead. Calling his name, She headed into the garden, winding past trees, craning to find a headful of brown curls. She walked past roses and hydrangeas, even visited their spot along the grass, but Tobias was nowhere to be found.
“Asher!” She shot up Her garden steps. “Asher, where did he—?”
As She thrust Her door open, the words died in Her throat. Asher lay on the floor, eyes wide, neck twisted.
Dead.
A weight dropped in Her stomach. Where the hell is Tobias?
She launched Herself through the palace, running down hallways, screaming his name. Servants gawked at the new mad Savior, but their judgment didn’t stop Her. Rational thought had fallen by the wayside, and panic took over, fueling Her limbs, sending Her voice climbing higher.
“Tobias?”
“Leila!” Delphi shot around a corner, sweat slick across her brow.
“Delphi?” Leila glanced across the palace, still searching. “You’re supposed to be at—”
“The Culmination,” Delphi panted. “Something’s happened.”
“I can’t find—”
“It’s Tobias. He’s at the Culmination.”
Leila froze.
“He’s competing.” Delphi sucked in a breath. “It’s bad, Leila. It’s really bad—”
Leila burst into light, turning the world around Her from marble to stone. She ran through the inner corridor of the arena, barbs and jeers resounding through the air, the rattling pews sending dust bursting from the ceiling. Elbowing past guards, She bounded up the stairs, faster, until She reached the top. Two golden thrones, servants with pitchers of wine, and liberally decorated guests, all shielded from the sun by a canopy.
The royal balcony.
“Tobias!” She threw Herself into the throng of people, pushing aside the Monarch of Ethyua and a shrieking Trogolian. “Tobias?”
The arena opened up before Her. Spectators howled, but Her eyes went straight to the sand—to Kaleo’s head lying a considerable distance from the rest of his body.
To Tobias on his knees, the tip of Flynn’s sword pointed at his throat.
Her final assassin was dead, and Tobias was about to join him.
Tobias’s eyes latched onto Her. “Leila!”
He turned to Flynn, barking orders that faded into the back of Her mind. Glowing handprints marched up his skin, another blessing She hadn’t intended, though that was the least of Her concerns. Blood covered him, slashing his ribs, crisscrossing his chest. The worst of it was his back, painted red from his nape to his waist as gashes upon gashes tore through his flesh.
“Get rid of her!” Brontes spat.
Leila spun around, bearing Her blade as guards swarmed Her. “Any closer and I gut you. You know I will.”
Cosima rose from her throne—Leila’s throne—and approached. “Leila—”
Leila recoiled, Her blade readied. “Don’t touch Me, you vile bitch.”
The pews gasped, but Leila didn’t falter, glaring at Her sister—a traitor.
“Leila…” Tobias’s voice awakened Her from Her spell. She turned to the arena, Her gut twisting. So much blood.
“Tobias,” She said. “Oh My God…”
“There is no darkness when you’re near. You are the light. You are everything.” His chest rose and fell. “I love you, Leila. So much. I love you.”
Disarray ensued around Her, a vague obscurity in Her peripheral vision. She reveled in Tobias’s penetrating gaze, the rawness of his words, the glowing handprints across his body. Her handprints. Her man.
Tobias nodded at Flynn, who positioned his sword, ready to kill.
Leila gripped the balcony sill. “Wait!”
“Do it!” Brontes called out.
Clenching Her jaw, She summoned Her power. “Stop!”
A fire roared beneath Her flesh. Her body erupted with light, then became whole again, the rays of the sun beating against Her back, the gasps of the audience echoing in Her ears. Sand crunched underfoot, and a sweaty, armored man stood paces away, a sword in his hands.
She was in the arena.
Flynn tottered backward. “What the…?”
Leila charged at him. “You drop your sword, or I swear to God—”
“How did—?”
“As your Savior, I command you, drop your sword.”
She threw back Her hood, and Flynn’s eyes shot wide, the sword falling from his grip. Shrieks spilled from the stands, followed by the thumping of fainting bodies, but Leila held firm. There was no use hiding any longer.
“Leila?” Tobias said.
She spun toward him. “Tobias.”
He stood paces away, staring at Her quizzically. Then he lurched backward as if struck by a bolt of lightning.
By the force of Her glow.
Leila pressed Her hands to Her mouth. “Oh, shit.”
He fell like a tree cut down at the roots, his back slapping against the ground.
Silence loomed over the arena. Tobias didn’t move, didn’t stir.
“Tobias?” Leila rushed to his side. “Tobias.”
She shook his shoulders, patted his cheeks. Nothing. Pulling his head onto Her lap, She scanned him over—so much blood, on his face, his chest.
“Tobias, wake up.” Tears pricked Her eyes. “Darling, please.” She planted Her hand to his chest, Her power flooding forth. “I love you too. I love you, just wake up.”
A heartbeat thumped against Her palm. Thank God. Exhaling, She stared up at the sky, wrangling what little composure She could manage.
The hum of voices filtered into her consciousness. She’d forgotten about the arena, but the stillness had turned deafening.
Rows upon rows of Thessians gawked at Her, beholding The One True Savior.
Panic skittered beneath Her skin. So many people, more than She’d ever seen in Her lifetime. Flynn pivoted through the sand, his face twitching between shock and confusion as if he were trying to decipher how he felt. The royal balcony boasted an array of bewildered expressions, save for the Kovahrian Queen, who appeared entertained, even smug. Then there were Brontes and Cosima, who glanced across the pews, nervous.
Afraid.
The voices grew louder, a rumbling of murmurs, then shouting. They pointed ahead, the path of their ire leading straight to Cosima.
“Who is she?” Outrage spilled from the pews. “Fraud!” Brontes raised his hands, trying to subdue the masses, and when that didn’t work, he glared at Leila.
“Seize Her!”
The arena gates clanked open, and guards spilled forth, their spears drawn. Leila latched onto Tobias.
Away.
The noise vanished, and a bedchamber appeared around Her—Delphi’s. She couldn’t think of any other place to go, as Her own chamber had been compromised. Was She safe anywhere? Was She endangering Her sister?
Her fingers slipped, wet with Tobias’s blood. How much time did he have? Tobias’s head rolled in Her lap, and every visible inch of him was gritty and red.
Grunting, She linked Her arms with his and heaved, but only his torso lifted. Another hoist, and She dragged him across the floor, collapsing beside him. Blood streaked Her arms. You’re making it worse. Her tears came out in sobs, and She clung to Tobias, desperate to keep him close—to keep him alive.
The door flew open. “Delphi, where the hell is—?” Faun staggered to a halt. “Leila?”
Several others followed, plowing into Faun’s back. “Leila’s here?” Hemera tumbled inside. “Oh my God, we’ve been looking—”
Nyx’s gaze landed on Tobias, then widened. “What happened?”
“Oh God, th
e Artist,” Damaris said.
Leila pulled Tobias against Her chest. “Stand back!”
One last servant joined them—Mousumi. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Leila said nothing, Her eyes darting between the women. Cecily had betrayed Her. Perhaps they had as well.
“You’re looking at us as though You’re afraid of us,” Hemera said.
Faun took a step forward. “Leila?”
“I…” Leila swallowed a sob. “I don’t know who I can trust.”
Hemera’s face dropped. “We’re here to serve You.”
“We love You,” Damaris said.
Leila didn’t speak, Her arms trembling around Tobias.
Mousumi turned to the others, her face its usual brand of apathy. “Hemera, fetch supplies. Rags, a mending kit, balms from the apothecary closet, a fresh pitcher, and a clean dress. Nyx—find Delphi. Alert her to Her Holiness’s whereabouts. When you return, knock twice in rapid succession, then state your name. Is that understood?” She cocked her head at the door. “Go. Swiftly.”
As the twins departed, Mousumi continued down the line. “Damaris—lock the door. No one is to enter without two knocks and a name, are we clear?” Damaris did as told, returning to Faun’s side and standing at attention. Mousumi gestured toward Tobias. “Carry him to the bed, both of you. Roll him on his side. His back requires treatment. Stabilize him with a pillow or two.” Mousumi met Leila’s gaze. “We’ll clean him up. Then You can heal him.”
Faun and Damaris scooped Tobias from Leila’s hold, rousing the panic within Her. “Please don’t hurt him—”
“No one’s going to hurt him,” Mousumi said. “You are The One True Savior. We’re here to serve. You may not trust us, but we’ll prove ourselves faithful yet.”
Two quick knocks sounded, followed by a muffled voice. “It’s Hemera.”
Mousumi opened the door just enough for Hemera to slide inside, a lumpy satchel over her shoulder, a pitcher and basin in her hands. “Cleaning supplies to the bed,” Mousumi barked. “Balms and mending kit on the desk.”
“And the dress?”
“To Her Holiness. She’s filthy.” Mousumi turned to Damaris and Faun. “Wash him gently. He’s wounded.”
“We can see that,” Faun muttered.
Hemera appeared at Leila’s side, smiling. “Let’s get You out of these rags.”