stared past him, shooting dagger eyes through the man at Tobias’s side.
“Brave,” Drake called out.
Garrick spun toward him, and a thin-lipped glare spread across Drake’s face. “Who’s the immortal one now?”
The color drained from Garrick’s face. Drake pointed a single, tattooed finger his way.
“You’re next.”
Seconds of petrified silence passed, and Garrick’s stark-white face suddenly flushed red. “Fuck. This.”
He shoved his way through the courtyard, stomping up the palace steps. Confused, Tobias hurried after Garrick as he charged through the palace, grabbing a passing servant girl by the arm.
“Sir—”
“Find me the Sovereign,” Garrick barked.
The girl eyed the fast-forming crowd. “The Sovereign?”
“I demand to speak with him.”
“I’m sure we can arrange a meeting—”
“Now!”
A flurry of servants fluttered down the corridor, circling a woman in purple—Leila. Her eyes flitted up from her scroll to the spectacle before her, and when her gaze locked on to Tobias, she staggered back through the shadows. “What’s going on?”
“You.” Garrick barreled toward her. “Bring me the Sovereign. I need to speak with him immediately.”
“He’s tending to other matters—”
“This can’t wait. It has to be now.”
“What has to be now?”
Garrick clenched his jaw. “I’m quitting the tournament.”
The servants gasped, and the men glanced between one another, perplexed.
Leila furrowed her brow. “Come again?”
“I’m quitting,” Garrick 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.” Garrick leaned in closer, his face lined with an anxious sweat. “Now my life is in jeopardy.”
“Were you not aware that was a byproduct of this endeavor?”
“I’ve served The Savior’s army. I’ve paid my dues. The Sovereign knows this, and he will release me.”
“It isn’t that simple—”
“Listen, woman.” Garrick thrust his face in front of hers, pointing a trembling finger her way. “You tell the Sovereign, and you tell him now, I quit.”
Storming off down the corridor, he disappeared into his room and slammed the door. The other competitors and servants lingered, whispering amongst one another, but Tobias hurried to Leila’s side, fighting all urges to wrap her in his arms.
“Can he do that? Just quit?”
Leila’s expression turned grim. “No.”
“Then what’s going to happen?”
Her eyes traveled the path Garrick had walked. “I have no idea.”
The unmarked canvas taunted Tobias, daring him to make a move. For days it had remained blank, his paints untouched. He stared at the stretch of beige challengingly, his eyes shrinking into slits—you can’t defeat me, I will control you—but still his inspiration remained as bare as the canvas before him.
“You know, I’m no artist,” Orion said. “But I think you’re supposed to pick up those things”—he pointed to the brushes at Tobias’s side—“and scribble ’em about on that canvas.”
Tobias chuckled. “Very funny.”
“I could be wrong.”
Tobias cast a frown at the blank canvas. Bastard. He’d been grappling with it the entire morning, but all he could do was sit, stare, and wonder why his muse had forsaken him.
The door crept open, and a servant with spiraling tattoos entered—Faun, Tobias’s dance instructor from the bathhouse. “Hunter.” She nodded at Orion, then smiled at Tobias. “Artist. The Sovereign requests your presence in the arena.”
“The arena?” Tobias said. “For what purpose?”
“A hearing is being held for the Brave. The whole of Thessen has been invited to observe the proceedings.”
A hearing? Tobias and Orion glanced at one another, equally surprised.
“Come.” Faun cocked her head at the doorway. “The girls and I will get you washed up, and then you’ll be escorted to the arena.”
The two men followed Faun to the bathhouse, where she and a flurry of girls stripped them down and cleaned them up. All the while, Tobias couldn’t help but dwell over the day to come. No one had seen Garrick since his outburst; Tobias had assumed he had already been executed, but a hearing, of all things?
Perhaps quitting is an option.
He scoffed aloud. There’s just no way.
The girls finished their work, and Tobias headed across the fortress, following two armored guards. Eventually he reached the arena, filing into a small, dank holding cell filled with people. Servant girls scampered through the cramped space strapping golden armor across the competitors, all of whom were present.
Except for Garrick.
Tobias wove through the cell, searching for a spot to stand that wasn’t in someone’s way. His eyes locked with Raphael’s, who quickly looked away, and he forced aside the awkward tension. You’ll handle him later. A servant appeared at Tobias’s side, dragging him to an unoccupied nook and fastening his armor, while Flynn waited across from him, already adorned in gold plates.