Sheep. Like Flynn, the idiot. He’s as sheeplike as they come.”
“This whole tournament is shit,” Tobias muttered.
“There was a time when it made sense—centuries ago, when savagery was the norm. But people don’t kill one another for claim or sport anymore. We’re supposed to have evolved. But the tournament continues, because it’s tradition. And sheep never question tradition. They just follow the flock, same as always.”
“Well then, it seems the sheep have led us to slaughter.” Tobias’s jaw tightened. “Lucky us.”
A grim quiet followed, the tension between them replaced with a shared longing, their eyes trained on the faraway wall.
“Eight days,” Raphael said. “That’s all that remains of this tournament.”
“Eight days. And still five of us need to die.”
“Not five of us.”
“There are six of us left. Only one man can be Champion.”
“That doesn’t mean the rest have to die.”
Tobias turned to Raphael, confused.
“I did my research. Studied tournaments past,” Raphael said. “All have varied from term to term, but there were two components that never changed. The first is The Savior is allowed to honorably release one man at the halfway point.”
“Enzo. And the second?”
“The second is the Sovereign’s Choice—a challenge of sorts. Near the end of the tournament, the Sovereign releases one man. Whoever he feels is least worthy of his Daughter.”
Tobias’s eyes widened. “You’re certain this is happening?”
“It happens every tournament. There’s never been an exception.”
Tobias’s heart raced. The Sovereign’s Choice—his last opportunity to leave the tournament. To be with Leila.
“That’s my goal.” Raphael slung his arms over his knees, a derisive frown on his face. “To last long enough to reach the Sovereign’s Choice, then to be released. Fuck being Champion. I aim to leave this fortress with my life and never return.”
“Why are you telling me this? You know I don’t want Cosima. And you know I’ll be striving for release as well. You’ve eliminated your advantage.”
“Not everything’s about strategy.” Raphael offered him a slight smile. “Under different circumstances, I imagine you and I could’ve been friends.”
An ease drifted through Tobias, and he gazed once again at the fortress wall, imagining it crumbling in front of him.
“Besides, the Sovereign isn’t going to release you.”
Tobias spun toward Raphael. “What makes you think that?”
“He just isn’t.”
“You realize he hates me, yes?”
“Still, I’m fairly certain you’ll be in this tournament until the end.”
“Why?”
Raphael shrugged. “Just a suspicion I have.”
Tobias turned away, his mood soured.
“I know you want release,” Raphael said, “but I imagine you long to escape with more than just your life.”
“I’m not leaving without her. Leila’s not safe here.”
“Have you talked to her? Told her of your concerns.”
“Vaguely.” Tobias waved his hand, brushing the topic away. “She has her own troubles. I aim to lift her burdens, not add to them.”
“Perhaps it’s worth discussing with her. No harm in trying, at least.”
Tobias didn’t respond, too overwhelmed by his thoughts.
Raphael watched him curiously, as if he could perfectly see the turning of his mind. “When do you see her again?”
“Artist?”
Both men flinched, turning to find Damaris standing behind them.
“You’ve been summoned,” she said.
Raphael chuckled. “Never mind.”
Tobias’s face flushed, and he followed Damaris back into the palace.
The thumping of his heart echoed in his ears. Tobias stared at the back of Damaris’s head, trying to appear aloof, but every nerve in his body stirred, eagerly awaiting what was to come—a night just like the last. Can we please walk faster?
The two trekked through the palace for an unbearably long time, until a familiar sable door appeared in the distance. Damaris continued with her leisurely pace, and Tobias tapped her on the shoulder. “Same spot as last time?” Damaris nodded, and he smiled. “I can see myself there, thank you.”
Damaris hesitated before flitting away, leaving Tobias to charge toward the study. He grabbed the door handle, ready to thrust it open, then froze. A voice sounded from within the room.
A man.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The Sovereign. More voices joined the conversation, and Tobias’s muscles went taut once he heard Leila’s. The door was already ajar, and he glanced from side to side, making sure the corridor was empty before pushing it the slightest bit open.
The Sovereign paced the floor, his hands balled into fists. Cosima and Delphi waited in silence, poised, worried. Leila stood tall and assured, shielding a cowering Pippa, but behind her gaze was a palpable fear.
The Sovereign shook his head. “I can’t believe this. The entire time?”
“There’s no need for hostility,” Cosima said. “No one meant any harm—”