since his time in the labyrinth. Glistening, he followed the girls somewhere else; he wasn’t certain where, nor did he care. My execution, perhaps. The end result was far worse, as he entered a dimly lit room with Kaleo, Drake, and Flynn.
The men stopped pacing, staring right at him, and his rage began building on top of itself like bricks.
Arms crossed, Flynn tapped his foot as if he were summoning Tobias. Fucking Flynn. Tobias headed his way, rivaling Flynn’s glare with his own, hoping it unsettled him.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Has the Artist finally pulled his head out of his ass? I’m shocked.”
Tobias made sure Kaleo and Drake were far enough away, then lowered his voice. “You can report me. Tell whoever you want that I’ve been unfaithful, have me condemned. But I swear to God, if you reveal Leila’s involvement in any way, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. Bone by bone, I will break you.”
“A hard feat to achieve if you’re already dead.”
“I wouldn’t question it.” Without another word, Tobias trudged off.
“Artist.”
He spun around, met with Flynn’s horrid glower yet again, except behind it was a hint of unease.
“I won’t reveal Leila,” Flynn said. “She’s a stupid girl. Fell victim to your coercion, didn’t know any better. She shouldn’t have to suffer for your misdeeds.”
The words were both a relief and an affront, and Tobias didn’t know how to react. Really, he wasn’t sure of any of his feelings anymore—except for his hatred.
The door swung open, and Wembleton and his guards flooded the room. “Gentlemen.” His voice was flat, his spunk nonexistent. “Line up.”
The men ambled into a line, each as lackluster as the next. The scant light reflected off their gleaming skin, and Wembleton admired them before launching into his speech. “Welcome to the Viewing. Last night, the palace welcomed its most esteemed guests. Royals from across the map will join us today to feast their eyes on the four of you, our final competitors. This should be a proud moment for you all.”
He forced a tired smile. In fact, his entire appearance was haggard, and Tobias could’ve sworn his belly had shrunken.
“A few rules before we proceed. Maintain your stances. Break hold only if asked. Keep your gazes straight ahead; do not look any royal in the eye, for your eyes belong to whom? The Savior, of course.” Wembleton’s voice cracked. “And lastly, no speaking unless spoken to. You’ll be in the presence of the finest company, and we mustn’t be rude, yes? Show them your respect.”
He looked right at Tobias, waiting for a reaction that never came, then turned toward the guards. “Bring them in!”
The guards yanked the double doors open, and in waltzed a small group of liberally embellished bodies. The Sovereign led the pack, his arm linked with that of a young woman, and her eyes lit up.
“Is that them?” she asked.
“That’s them,” the Sovereign said.
“Oh my, look at them! Aren’t they shiny? Like polished toys.”
An old man chuckled. “My rosebud, calm yourself. They’re warriors, not playthings.”
Five people wafted through the room, each a vision of opulence. A man with brown skin and a shiny bald head glided to the front, his eyes lined in blue paint. The Monarch of Ethyua. His flowing white linens looked more like a dress than anything else, and pounds of gold hung from his wrists and fingers. The woman at his side was his opposite, her skin fair and plain, her long brown hair tied into an elaborate braid. The Queen of Kovahr. Nothing she wore was suited for the Thessian heat, as heavy metal plates lined her dress, and a fur pelt wrapped her shoulders.
Then there were the last two royals: an old, fat man with rosy cheeks, white hair, and the most elaborate ensemble of gems, cords, and tassels. The woman accompanying him still clung to the Sovereign’s arm, her dress covered in colorful crystals, her hair…pink? Trogolia. They have to be from Trogolia. She broke free from Brontes, examining the men up close. Despite her painted lips and hoisted breasts, she was clearly more girl than woman, younger than Tobias by several years.
The Sovereign stalked alongside the men. “These are my blessed ones, the Dragon and the Shepherd.” He nodded at the two Beasts, then at Flynn. “This is the Prince.” He stopped in front of Tobias, his nostrils flared. “And this is the Artist.”
“The one The Savior favors?” the Kovahrian Queen said, her accent hard and broken.