filed from the sanctuary, and meanwhile all eyes panned to Tobias, either gaping with intrigue or glaring resentfully. A while later the portal reopened, and the girls returned, each holding a different tool or trinket—a harp, a waster, a rabbit. A rabbit? A final girl staggered in with a wooden easel, the most cumbersome item of all, and hobbled Tobias’s way.
“Your canvas.” She plopped the easel in front of him.
Tobias glanced between the girl and his aid. “You brought me an easel too?”
“Do you not like it?”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You have multiple sheets, just in case you’d like to prepare more than one.” She smiled. “We’re all quite excited to see what you create.”
She bowed before scurrying away, leaving Tobias with his aid. God, it was a beautiful sight, and the lingering stares of his competition faded from his mind. He dragged the easel into the labyrinth, and a childish excitement pulsed through him. It had been so long, too long, and no matter the heat or the smell, standing there in that labyrinth felt good—like home.
Picking up a piece of burnt wood from the floor, he broke off the blackened ash until only the charcoal remained. He rotated it in his palm, quickly turning his fingers black—God, I’ve missed this—and pointed the charcoal at the canvas, ready for his artistic instincts to take hold of him.
Nothing.
His eyes flitted between the charcoal and the canvas. Nothing; no thoughts, no ideas, not a single drop of inspiration. His mind was devoid of meaningful content, and his excitement morphed back into that damn anxiety. Think. It had never been this hard before, yet the simple act of drawing felt daunting. Perhaps it was to be expected; after all, he hadn’t drawn or painted a single piece in two years.
What if I can’t draw anymore?
The portal reopened, and while Tobias half-expected to see more servants, Leila and Pippa scuttled out instead. Leila wove through the men, counting them just as the Proctor had, while Pippa plopped a heavy sack onto a bench, unwrapping its contents—meat.
The men swarmed her like animals, but Tobias ignored his hunger pangs, focused on the task before him. Staring at the canvas, he rested his chin in his palm; still there was nothing, so he rubbed his forehead, hoping to stir his senses. He sighed, then realized he had smeared ash across his face. This is stupid. I look stupid.
Just as he was about to curse aloud, a pair of blue-green eyes darted into his periphery. Pippa waited beside his easel and gestured toward the spread of food behind her. “Eat.”
He shook his head. “I can’t right now.”
She rummaged through her pockets, pulling out a green apple and offering it his way. He plucked it from her hand, then stopped short. “Is it safe?”
She nodded.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He hesitated, then bit into the apple.
Pippa dipped her chin meekly. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, Pippa. I’m not mad at you.”
A smile sprang across her cheeks. “Good.”
She kissed his cheek and skipped away. Tobias chuckled, taking another bite of his apple; it tasted like shit, as he had smudged ash all over the peel. He growled, eating his ashy apple while staring hopelessly at his canvas. This shouldn’t be so difficult. Perhaps laboring had dulled his mind. Perhaps the tournament had crippled his spirit. Perhaps he was never a real artist to begin with. Dammit, why are you doing this to yourself?
A pestering gaze latched on to him, threatening to ruin his already weak focus. He peered around his easel, ready to curse at whoever had come his way, only to find Leila, her hood down and her hair pulled over the front of her shoulder.
She smiled. “You’re standing.”
His anger dissipated, and he met her smile with his own. “I am—thanks to my secret weapon.”
She pointed to his wounded thigh. “Can I look?”
“By all means.”
She shuffled to his side, kneeling beside his leg and unwrapping his bandage. Cringing, he braced himself for her painful prodding, but his wound was only slightly tender, her touch soft and warm. He relaxed himself. “Better?”
“Better.” She unrolled his pant leg and stood. “But still, be careful.”
“As you wish.”
She hovered for a moment, studying his face. “Your nose… It seems to be on the mend as well.”
“Is that so?”
“Hardly any sign of bruising.” She looked him up and down. “No new injuries, I take it?”
“It appears I’ve managed to escape the labyrinth unscathed.”
“Then I suppose you don’t need my assistance.”
Silence. Leila fiddled with her cloak, while Tobias stirred