Upon reaching the sanctuary, the men clumped into groups, prattling about the day’s dramatics. A few stared at Tobias without reservation, while others scoffed under their breath—“Some artist”—and the words rang loudly in his ears, adding insult to injury.
Flynn grabbed Tobias by the arm. “Artist, what the bloody hell happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“How could you—?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m just struggling to understand—”
“I’m going to be killed tomorrow. Publicly.” Tobias ripped himself from Flynn’s grasp. “Will you leave me in peace?”
Flynn went silent, glancing him over with a critical eye before heading off. Sighing, Tobias leaned against the wall, sinking to the floor with his head in his hands.
Orion plopped down beside him. “Have faith, brother. Nothing’s promised for tomorrow. Battles have been won with worse odds.”
“I’m sure,” Tobias muttered.
The two sat in silence. Tobias rubbed his forehead, trying to work out the ache of his thoughts, while Orion simply watched.
“You need a moment?”
Tobias nodded, and Orion hopped to his feet, pausing to wipe the dust from his pants. Tobias looked up at him. “Thank you. For what you said in there.”
“Spoke the truth, brother.”
He patted Tobias’s back and shuffled off, leaving him with his bleak thoughts for slow-moving hours. Flynn departed for his reward, while Tobias sat in the same spot, dissecting each moment that had led to this point: the charcoal drawings, the challenge itself, the nominations. Leila’s anxious, angry gaze filled his mind, and a pang shot through him, ripping him apart from the inside.
A pair of tiny feet compromised his view of the floor. Pippa stood before him, her head cocked inquisitively. “You’re so sad.”
“I’m going to die,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve made a foolish mistake.”
“Oh.” She wavered, and her face lit up. “Maybe The Savior will save you!”
Tobias let out a snort. “I highly doubt She will.”
His gaze drifted, his thoughts clouded with Cosima, Her apathy. All the while Pippa stood before him, shifting from foot to foot.
“Did you need something, Pippa?”
“You’ve been summoned.”
“Summoned?”
“To the tent.”
“The tent?” His eyes widened. The Healer’s tent. “Oh God.”
Pippa nodded at the stretch of brown canvas behind her. “Come.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Come.” She grabbed his wrists and yanked him upright.
Tobias followed her through the sanctuary, each step resistant. I can’t see Leila, not after today, but it seemed he had no choice, as soon her tent was right in front of him. Before he could prepare himself, Pippa shoved him through the flap and frolicked away.
Tobias staggered into the space, quickly composing himself. Leila. Her stern expression was hardly inviting, but he admired her anyway, her dark hair, her purple dress—and the four slips of canvas laid out on the wooden table beside her.
His drawings.
His stomach dropped. “Oh God.”
Leila pointed to the drawings. “Can you explain this?”
“How did you get those?”
“Delphi. Did you really think you could just toss them aside and no one would notice?”
His heart raced, each beat hammering in his throat. He took a hesitant step toward her. “Please, Leila. You can’t tell anyone. If this gets out…”
“What is this?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I need to know.” She clenched her jaw, her cheeks flaming red. “I need to know what all of this means. Because if this is some…some joke…”
“Leila—”
“If you blew the whole challenge to taunt me—”
“Leila, please—”
“Because this is serious, and if you can’t see that—”
“For God’s sake, I tried! I tried, I just… I saw you.” His eyes became large, pleading. “I saw you.”
Leila fell silent. Her body went loose, her chest rising with a slow, full breath, but Tobias was her opposite—tense and distraught, his lungs violently fighting against him. He looked at the drawings and cringed. She knows. Oh God, she knows.
“Tobias…”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he said. “You can’t tell Cosima.”
Leila ignored him, staring down at the slips of canvas. “Tobias, these—”
“You can’t—”
“These”—she pointed to the drawings—“are beautiful.”
Tobias flinched. “Come again?”
“Absolutely remarkable. The most wonderful portraits I’ve ever seen.” She stared at them, her eyes bright. “Not solely because they’re of me, mind you. I’m certainly biased, but I’m by no means vain. No, they’re all, individually, quite stunning. Amazing, really.” She plucked one from the rest. “This one—it’s the stairwell, isn’t it? When we sat together in the stairwell. It’s so apparent. You can distinctly make out the glow of the moonlight.” She picked up a second slip. “And this one…” She glanced up at him. “Well don’t just stand there, come look.”
Grabbing his wrist, she pulled him toward the table, blind to his bewilderment. What