through the tents, stopping at one in the back corner. This was Leila’s tent—or was it?
Hesitantly, he leaned in toward its entrance. “Leila?”
“Come in.”
Tobias ducked inside, and there she stood. Thank God. Her back faced him as she fiddled with the mess on her table—pearlescent vials, her satchel, her cloak—and he admired her long hair, her narrow waist. Then visions of Zander’s face in Enzo’s lap bombarded his thoughts, and he cringed.
Leila looked over her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Tobias shook himself. “Apologies. I just had a very strange encounter, is all.”
“Well, go on then, close the door. Or the flap. Whatever you call it. I’m not particularly tent savvy.”
Tobias did as he was told, slowly making his way into the space. “I wanted to thank you. I wouldn’t have won without your help. These men, they should be lifting you on their shoulders.”
Leila spun toward him. “You can’t tell them.”
“I won’t. I just need you to know that. I’m alive because of you.”
Leila wavered, then patted the seat of the stool beside her. “Come. Sit.”
Tobias obeyed. Leila grabbed a vial of water and doused a hand rag, folding it neatly before pointing it at him.
“You don’t have to—”
She swatted his hand away, and so he sat in silence as she scrubbed the clay from his chest. His gash pulled with each delicate wipe, though the pain was inconsequential compared to the day’s dramatics.
“You’re quiet,” Leila said.
“I’m thinking.”
“Of?”
“You’ve done so much for me. And I fear I can never repay you.”
Leila smiled. “You’ve done things for me.”
“Not enough.”
“More than you know.”
“Still, what you did today, with the blessing…” He carefully eyed her over. “You put yourself at risk, helping me the way you did.”
“It was no trouble.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is.”
“You’re lying.”
Leila’s eyes lifted from his chest, the look in them challenging, as if daring him to continue—or warning him to refrain.
“How long have you had that clay in your satchel?” He cocked his head at her bag. “Yet you waited until the last possible second to share it with me, not because you’re impartial or uncaring, but because you didn’t think it an option. Until you made it one.”
“You jump to conclusions.”
“Say what you will, but I saw that look in your eye. You’ve put yourself at risk. Made some kind of grave sacrifice. You don’t have to admit it, but know I don’t take it for granted.”
Leila went silent, and her expression morphed into a palpable fear—the same look he had seen in the holding cell.
She lowered her voice. “Just, please. You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“I had nothing to do with it. If people were to find out—”
“You have my word.”
“You couldn’t possibly understand the danger—”
“You have my word,” he said firmly. “No one will ever know. I swear it.”
His vow fell on deaf ears; Leila was trembling, and the realization shook him.
“Do you think I’d betray you? The woman who saved my life?” He took her hand, holding it tightly. “I am not that man.”
Long seconds passed, until finally her chest rose with a steady breath. “Be still.” She nodded at his wounds. “Let’s have a look at these marks.”
Her shaking subsided, and despite his lingering concerns, he abandoned the topic. “More stitches?”
“Unnecessary. These wounds are superficial.” She plucked a pink vial from the tabletop, smearing its contents between her hands. “They just need a bit of attention, is all.”
“Well, take as much time as you need… Or maybe longer.”
Smiling, she pressed her hand against his gash; it stung, but she was touching him, and the pain was a worthy compromise. The sting faded to numbness, an ease that only came with her company, but almost instantly it died.
Cosima.
She tore through his thoughts, replacing his peace with a bitter reality—that he was there to win Her affection, to be Her husband. This is blasphemy. Leave Leila alone. Then Leila leaned in closer, and the flowery scent of her hair made his heart beat faster, his eyelids heavy.
Leila caught his tired stare and chuckled. “You must be exhausted. You’ll sleep like a rock tonight.”
“Not soon enough. I’m expected to celebrate with everyone else.”
“The trials and tribulations of a champion. I’m surprised you’re of sound mind. I assumed you’d be drunk with the rest of them.”
“God no.” He shook his head. “No wine for me. Never again.”
“Why’s that?”
“I suppose I’ve lost the taste for it.”
“It’s not poisoned.”
“Still,” he muttered. “Once is enough.”
Leila nodded, treating the gash along his ribs. “You were quite impressive, you know. Very creative, using the mirrors