stood in formation, while Tobias hoisted Raphael onto solid ground, throwing himself at the man’s side. Deep punctures circled Raphael’s ribs, leaving the two men in a fast-forming puddle of blood, and though Tobias planted his hands on the wound, streams of red steadily crawled between his fingers.
“He’s badly injured.” He spun toward the Proctor. “We need the Healer now.”
Leila hurried toward the pair, stopping short as the air in front of her rippled—another invisible barrier. She turned to the Proctor. “Lower the wall.”
“Such action is unpermitted,” the Proctor said.
“I’m permitting it. Lower the wall now.”
“He’s losing blood.” Tobias glanced between them. “We need to act quickly.”
The Proctor didn’t waver. “We will count the keys. You will return to the sanctuary, and then the Healer will assist the competitors.”
“For God’s sake, we don’t have that sort of time!”
“Romulus, let me tend to him,” Leila said.
“The challenge will continue as planned.”
“You bastard, I command you—”
“The only commands I obey are those of The Savior.” The Proctor turned to Cosima, bowing his head. “If She wills it, it will be done.”
Tense and rigid, Leila faced her Sister. “Cosima…make him lower the wall.”
Silence. Cosima stared at Raphael—through him, Her thoughts seemingly faraway. Dammit, Woman, do something.
Leila clenched her jaw. “Cosima—”
“Be mindful of your tone, sister. I am The Savior. You cannot force My hand.” She lowered Her shoulders, sitting tall. “We will continue the challenge as planned.”
Leila’s face dropped. “Cosima—”
“Her decision is made,” the Proctor said. “Artist, unhand the Intellect.”
“He’ll bleed to death!” Tobias spat.
“It’s all right,” Raphael panted.
“It’s not fucking all right—”
Leila balled her hands into fists. “Proctor, you will lower the wall, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself—”
“Sit down.”
“Do as I say—”
“Learn your place, Healer,” the Proctor barked. “Sit down.”
Leila froze, her white-knuckled fists trembling at her sides. Slowly, she made her way to her seat.
The Proctor spun toward Tobias. “Unhand him.”
Raphael grabbed Tobias’s wrist. “It’s all right.”
He’s going to die—and there was nothing Tobias could do about it. Reluctantly, he released the spilling wound and took his place in line, wincing as Raphael struggled to do the same.
“The counting will commence,” the Proctor said. “Each of you will present your keys, and we will determine who has triumphed and who has floundered.”
“Get on with it,” Leila growled.
The Proctor’s nostrils flared. “The three men with the most keys will win today’s challenge—”
“Faster.”
“And while these three men partake in their reward, the remainder of you will be confined to the sanctuary.”
Leila groaned. “Cosima, he’s stalling intentionally to spite me.”
“Proctor,” Cosima said. “Count the keys. Quickly, please.”
The argument faded from Tobias’s consciousness. Confined to the sanctuary. No loser. No punishment.
I can throw the challenge.
The Proctor made his way down the line, counting the contents of each satchel, while Tobias’s mind spun with strategy. All he needed were three men to surpass him, but as the Proctor announced the counts, the odds of that looked slim. Seventeen. Twenty. Tobias certainly had more than that. What’s one more reward with Cosima? He grimaced, Her wretched display replaying in his mind. No, I can’t stomach it. I’m throwing the challenge. He just hadn’t figured out how.
“Thirty-eight for the Cavalier,” the Proctor announced.
Thirty-eight keys—the highest thus far. Do I have less than thirty-eight? He studied his satchel out of the corner of his eye, trying to count the keys, but it was impossible.
“Forty-one for the Shepherd—”
Raphael collapsed in a puddle of blood, sending all heads turning his way.
“Hurry,” Leila cried.
The room was abuzz—distracted—and Tobias grabbed a fistful of keys from his satchel, shoving them into his pocket. He glanced from side to side; all eyes were on Raphael staggering to his feet, and Tobias hoped to God he’d gone unnoticed.
The Proctor continued down the line, dropping Caesar’s satchel. “Thirty-six for the Regal.”
That was the number Tobias had to fall below. Just then, the Proctor stopped in front of him, flashing him a scowl before yanking his satchel away. Tobias tried to follow his count, but with each passing key, his stomach wound tighter.
The Proctor dropped his satchel. “Thirty-three for the Artist.”
Tobias let out a long, quiet breath. He had only barely lost the challenge, and losing had become the greatest victory of all.
“The keys have been counted. The Cavalier, the Regal, and the Shepherd win the reward of extended time in the Savior’s company.” The Proctor turned to the three. “You will see your reward tomorrow. Until then, seek comfort in the sanctuary.” He eyed the others, wearing a look of repugnance. “You’re dismissed.”