his hands together. “Before I continue, are there any questions?”
Tobias spoke before he could stop himself. “Are we ever going to get shirts?”
All heads turned toward him, and Wembleton’s face twisted with confusion. “Pardon?”
“I’m just curious,” Tobias said. “We’re in the palace now, and it seems most of the men here are fully clothed.”
“The Sovereign is often shirtless. He wears his drapes alone and with pride.”
“A choice, I imagine. I’m assuming he owns shirts, yes? It’s just a bit vulgar, is all.” Tobias nodded at the guards behind Wembleton. “He’s wearing a shirt. He’s wearing a shirt. You’re wearing a shirt—”
“I’ll speak with Cecily,” Wembleton said. “See to it that you have shirts by the morn.”
Orion and Raphael snickered at Tobias’s side, and Flynn elbowed him in the ribs. “Artist, what the hell?”
“What?” Tobias whispered.
“Well then, assuming there aren’t any other questions, let us begin.” Wembleton gestured for a staff, nearly dropping it when the guard tossed it his way. “The ceremony begins simply enough. You’ll march out of the fortress in groups, armored like soldiers, a spear in hand. I suppose you can march in groups of four—”
“Group of four.” Flynn slung his arm around Tobias and cocked his head at Raphael and Orion. “Right here.”
Wembleton nodded. “Once all of you are properly displayed, the true fun begins. You will dazzle the crowd with your spears—staffs of manhood, as I call them. You’ll showcase your ardent masculinity. You’ll pound your chest like a proud king.” He slammed his fist against his chest, sending his breasts jiggling. “And you’ll raise your hands high, letting out a mighty roar, like a warrior.”
Wembleton let out his own roar reminiscent of a dying cat, while Tobias stewed over his words. Pound your chest, let out a roar, not like a king or a warrior.
Like an animal.
“And the highlight of the ceremony.” Wembleton angled his staff against his hand. “You will take your spear and carve a line into the center of your palm.”
Tobias’s back stiffened. Wait…what?
“You will clench your fist, spilling your blood onto the sands of Thessen. And you will smear your blood onto your flesh, symbolizing your bravery in battle, your fearlessness in the face of danger, your—”
Penchant for gratuitous violence.
“Naturally, you will do this with courage,” Wembleton said. “No flinching, no wavering of any sort. You are gods, and gods feel no pain.”
Except I feel pain, and that sounds painful.
“Which brings me to our next topic: demeanor. Shoulders down and muscles flexed.” Wembleton attempted to flex, though his portly body remained unchanged. “You will not look at the people, you will look through them. You are there for the people to behold you, and that means you must be steadfast at all times.”
The men stood in silence, taking in the instructions or perhaps indifferent to the display, while Tobias dug his fingers into his palms.
“Well then, let’s get to work. We’ll start from the beginning.” Wembleton waited as the guards distributed the staffs among the men. “You’ll enter the Reverence grounds in your designated groups. Each group will learn a march and progression.” He turned toward Garrick, Bjorne, Drake, and Kaleo. “You four will enter first. Dragon, Shepherd, as the Sovereign’s blessed ones, you will each prepare an entrance—a demonstration of your choosing, designed to enchant the people.” He turned to the final four. “Next, the four of you will appear. Artist, you will prepare your own entrance as well.”
Tobias flinched. “Wait, I have an entrance? Why?”
“Because you’re favored,” Wembleton said.
“Favored?” Flynn spat.
“By the people.” Wembleton smiled, though it seemed forced. “Commoners, specifically. You, the Shepherd, and the Dragon have been the topic of great discussion. Thus, you must have an entrance.”
Wembleton’s words repeated in Tobias’s mind, bringing clarity to the chatter in the bathhouse, to the banners boasting his mark.
“You’re appealing to your admirers,” Wembleton continued. “And you have many. As it is, you and the Shepherd have the most laurelites of any man here.”
“Laurelites?” Tobias said. “What are laurelites?”
“Titles—given to you by the public in addition to your laurels.” Wembleton’s forced smile lost steam. “You’re the Artist first and foremost. But you’ve also become the Giant Slayer, the Blessed One, the Keeper of Kin—”
“Keeper of Kin?”
“In the arena, after your battle, you blew a kiss to your sister.” Wembleton waved his hand dismissively. “Or something of that nature. And I believe you were seen speaking to a small child. People adore a man of the home.”