And Tobias did, swinging violently. Weakness fell by the wayside, as every lunge and jab came with intention, with a force and exactness he didn’t question. I don’t know what I’m doing. He had thought that once, but now it was a lie. The moves were natural, guided by something otherworldly—by his burning rage.
Except the heat within him spread, pulsing through his chest, his back—through every handprint on his skin. The Savior’s mark lit him from the inside, and his mind sank into the background, allowing the heat to take over.
The power.
His hands moved of their own bidding, working with a skill born in that moment. He swiped Kaleo’s chest, then just as swiftly marked his ribs. Red splattered the sand like rain, but it wasn’t enough; it needed to pour. The power within him turned primal, and he launched his foot into Kaleo’s gut, sending him tumbling to his knees and dropping his sword.
Tobias kicked the fallen sword from Kaleo’s reach and drew both his blades, crossing them like an X at his throat.
Wembleton barely croaked above the cheering. “The Shepherd’s disarmed!”
Kaleo’s wide eyes darted between the swords. “Well, this is an unexpected turn of events, isn’t it?”
Tobias shook his head. “I don’t think so, no.”
“ARTIST. ARTIST.” The crowd chanted for him, keeping pace with his pounding heart. Still Kaleo remained unmoved, as if his own death was inconsequential to him. As if the bloodshed was little more than a game.
“Perhaps it’s for the best. I hadn’t a clue what I’d do with all that coin.”
Tobias said nothing. This was the man who had murdered his brothers. The man he had waited thirty days to kill.
“Well then, since it seems I’ll be leaving this world, a moment for my parting words—”
Tobias launched both swords through Kaleo’s throat, slicing his head clear from his shoulders. The head rolled to the ground, its blue eyes pointed at nothing, its smile finally stripped away.
“Fuck your parting words.”
The crowd went wild, pulled to their feet as they flourished their banners.
“The Shepherd has been defeated by the Artist,” Wembleton announced, not bothering to mask his despair.
The Sovereign’s face went flaming red, his expression livid. Cosima sat at his side frozen stiff—the Woman who had called Tobias Her favorite, yet She looked shocked, even horrified to see him still standing.
Shuffling sounded behind him. Flynn stood unarmed and rid of hope, and the two stared at one another, once allies, now enemies.
“So here we are, brother,” Tobias said.
Flynn nodded. “Here we are.”
Tobias’s eyes bored through him. This is the man who separated you from Leila. Who tried to end your life, even today. He tightened his grip on his swords. Kill him.
He tossed his swords to the ground.
“I concede defeat in the Sovereign’s Tournament. The Prince is Champion and your future Sovereign.”
Gasps muddled the noise of the crowd, and shock streaked Flynn’s face, but Tobias had made up his mind. This tournament was never his to win.
Cosima hesitated, glancing at the Sovereign before standing. “Artist, explain to the people why you’re choosing to forsake the most noble of endeavors.”
“Because the Prince is utterly enamored by You.” He stared up at Her, disgust plastered across his face. “And I am not.”
Banners fell, and vitriol spilled from the once-adoring audience. His laurel vanished from their mouths, replaced with “Blasphemer,” but still he didn’t waver.
“Congratulations, Your Highness.” Tobias turned to Flynn. “You’re getting exactly what you deserve.”
The Sovereign lurched from his seat. “Kill him! Kill the Artist!”
Flynn’s face dropped. “But…but he conceded. There’s no need—”
“Do it!” the Sovereign barked.
“But—”
“I am your Sovereign, you do as I say!”
A lump formed in Tobias’s throat. “Flynn—”
“Now!”
Flynn punched Tobias in the nose, collapsing him to his knees. Cradling his face, Tobias froze.
Flynn had procured one of his swords, pointing it at his throat.
Tobias’s heart raced, beating behind his ears. “You don’t have to do this. You’re your own man.”
The fear in Flynn’s eyes morphed into terror. “He’s the Sovereign.”
“You’re the Sovereign. You make your own choices. No one can force your hand.”
“Kill him!”
Flynn winced at the Sovereign’s words. “You’re a traitor. You’ve brought this on yourself. You’ve earned it.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Tobias said.
“You stupid cunt, do it now!”
The Sovereign’s voice echoed through the arena, and Flynn’s hands began to tremble. “You betrayed your realm and your Savior.” His voice broke. “Your blood isn’t on my hands. This is on you.”
Tobias’s stomach sank. “I was always a means to an end. You meant