the air as if he were battling an invisible opponent.
“I’m going to teach Her the art of swordplay,” he said. “Women love it. You expand their horizons while showcasing your masterful masculinity. It’s brilliant, really. You put your arms around Her, place the sword in Her hands, and just like that She’s imagining what other long, pointy things She could be handling in your company.”
“Oh, shut up,” Raphael muttered. “So crude.”
Flynn swatted Raphael, then turned to Tobias, just noticing his presence. “Artist, are you all right?”
What was I thinking?
“Artist?”
“Fine,” Tobias mumbled. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t fine; he was fucked, so utterly ruined and with no means to correct himself. I could change the drawings. Make them look like Cosima—except Leila had such large eyes and dark hair, and Cosima’s eyes were small, Her hair red. I can do something else. I can sing—except he couldn’t sing, or dance, or do much of anything but draw, and even that he’d managed to sabotage.
Delphi glided through the sanctuary, her satchel of perfumes in hand. The challenge. It’s almost time. One by one the men sat with her, but Tobias paid no attention, his mind swirling with self-hate. I have no one to blame but myself.
“Tobias.” Delphi patted the bench beside her. “Your turn.”
Pulling himself from the floor, he made his way to Delphi’s side. She fiddled with her vials, glancing out of the corner of her eye at his ashy body.
“I see you had no intention of making this easy on me.” She chuckled. “Though I must say, you’ve got a ruggedness about you, all dirtied up like that.”
Tobias didn’t respond. Delphi wetted a rag, wiping down his chest.
“I hear you’re expected to win the challenge.”
“I’m not going to win,” he muttered.
Delphi wavered. “Is that so? You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
She followed the path of his gaze to the labyrinth—and his canvas rolls. “Are those your drawings?” She headed for the tunnel. “Can I see them?”
He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”
Delphi froze, staring down at her wrist locked in his hand. “Tobias…”
He released her. “Apologies. Just…don’t. Please.”
“Is something wrong?”
Tobias said nothing, but Delphi persisted, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Speak your mind. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
Well, you see, I have feelings for your sister—the one I’m not competing to marry. And because of this, I’m about to fail today’s challenge. Because of this, I’ll likely be killed. Yes, something is very, very wrong.
“I just don’t want to talk right now.”
She frowned. “Then we won’t talk.”
Tobias sat in silence while Delphi polished his body, making him presentable for his inevitable fate. Eventually he ambled away and resumed his waiting, the passage of time lost on him. He was vaguely aware of the Proctor’s arrival, that he was following the men through a hidden portal, spilling into a bleak holding cell. One by one, the men entered another room—a room with The Savior—and with each man who completed the challenge, Tobias’s nerves climbed higher.
I am so fucked.
“Artist.”
The Proctor stood beside the portal, staring straight at Tobias.
“You may proceed.”
Tobias swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth and followed the Proctor.
They reached a small room with grey walls, a grey floor, and an unseen source of light—a room Tobias had been in before, or perhaps one like it, on the day he first met Cosima. Expectedly, there She sat draped in Her emerald cloak, and along either side of Her were Pippa, Delphi, and Leila.
Leila. He knew she’d be there, but God, did she have to be there?
“Artist, it’s time for you to present your gift,” the Proctor said. “Please, show us what you’ve prepared.”
Cosima’s stare cut through him, leaving him bloodied and raw. He cleared his throat. “Apologies. It is with great humility and regret that I inform You…I was unable to complete the challenge.” He took in a shallow breath. “I have nothing for You.”
The four women gaped at him, and the Proctor’s face dropped.
“Artist, repeat yourself.”
Tobias’s muscles went taut. “I have nothing. No gift.”
An audible groan traveled through the space. Leila slapped her palm against her forehead, and whatever was left of Tobias’s pride shriveled away.
The Proctor glowered. “You dare to disrespect The Savior by withdrawing from today’s challenge?”
“It was not without effort. I by no means intended—”
“Silence,” the Proctor spat.
Leila cradled her face in her hands, but for once Tobias’s gaze was drawn to Cosima, who frowned lightheartedly, as if the moment was trivial to Her.
“This insolence will not be tolerated,” the Proctor said. “Know that the matter will be handled with