“Are you upset with me?” She spread her oils along his shoulders. “I do believe if I hadn’t shown Leila those drawings, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”
“Still…I don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why you told Leila…instead of Cosima.”
Delphi stared down at her work, deep in thought. “Cosima’s a compelling Creature. Clever, resourceful, and certainly beautiful.” She looked Tobias in the eye. “But Leila is my sister.”
“Your loyalty lies with her.”
“And it is unwavering.” She doused her hands in something flowery and ran them through his hair. “You’re a good man. A good man isn’t something Leila’s accustomed to. And perhaps I think it’s time she get acquainted with one.”
Tobias smiled. “A true meddler. I knew it.”
“Would you prefer I stop?”
“Not if your meddling continues to work in my favor,” he said.
“You like Leila.”
“I do. And I fear it will get me into an immeasurable amount of trouble.”
“Perhaps.” Delphi spun a strand of his hair around her finger. “Or perhaps structures such as the ones we’re confined in were built to be torn down. Perhaps it’s time to create a little trouble, yes?”
Tobias stared back at her, confused. “This tournament is very strange.”
Delphi laughed. “Poor Tobias, sweet puppy dog. Everything will be all right.”
“Did you just call me a puppy dog?”
“All done.” She tapped the tip of his nose. “Run along now, love.”
Tobias scampered off, still perplexed. Perhaps he should’ve asked about the challenge, but that worry came and went, replaced once more with Leila. Her image monopolized his mind, and he held on to it as he spoke with Flynn and the others, as they played their card game—until a portal materialized in the wall, and the Proctor came gliding through it.
His eyes swept the oiled bodies. “Line up.”
The men hurried into formation. The Proctor’s presence was always troubling, but his vacant gaze was particularly unsettling on this day.
“Before your challenge today, we have a guest.” He stepped to the side, revealing the passage behind him. “Kneel for your Sovereign.”
Tobias nearly flinched. The Sovereign? He dropped to his knee, and footsteps echoed off the walls, steady. Ominous.
“Rise.”
Tobias made his way to his feet. Brontes, the Sovereign, stood in the portal, a beast of a man barely past his peak, his body bronzed and robust, his dark hair and beard slightly peppered with grey. A crown of gold leaves sat on his head, and a burgundy drape wrapped his waist, stretched from hip to shoulder, then looped three times around his arm—the traditional attire for a man of eminence. He oozed regality, certainly out of place among the oiled competitors—save for his eye patch, the only visual confirmation that perhaps he belonged amid the bloodshed.
The Sovereign walked down the line, nodding as he passed Drake and Kaleo, scrutinizing the others. Then he came to a stop, staring long and hard at the man before him.
Tobias.
“You’re the Artist,” the Sovereign said.
Tobias dipped his chin. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I didn’t say you could speak.”
Tobias went silent, his back rigid.
“You won yesterday’s battle. Killed the Giant. Pierced him through the belly, is that correct?”
Tobias said nothing.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You carried my Daughter’s blessing, did you not?”
“I did, Your Highness.”
It was the Sovereign’s turn to be quiet, his eye squinting into a slit.
“Is that all, Your Highness?”
“I’m just trying to understand. You’re an artist, yet somehow my Daughter finds you worthy of Her blessing.” His nostrils flared. “Why do you think that is?”
Tobias’s muscles tensed. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Not a single idea? You haven’t even a guess as to why you’re still standing here alive and well? Because surely you would’ve died without my Daughter’s blessing. You know this.”
Tobias hesitated. He had no answer—certainly none he could say aloud—and the weight of the Sovereign’s glare left him with his own uncertainties.
“Your Highness, permission to ask a question.”
“Speak.”
“Your Highness…” Tobias spoke slowly, carefully. “Have you come down here because I’m still living…and the Giant is not?”
The Sovereign glowered. “The Giant was of my kind. I gave him my blessing.”
“The Giant wasn’t a good man.”
“You challenge my judgment.”
Silence. The Sovereign took a step closer, his stare rancorous. “I’ve seen your records. You’re a villager. Hardly an artist. You labor like a mule for paltry coin to care for the remains of your broken family.” His eye narrowed. “Is this true?”
The men alongside Tobias muttered amongst one another, but he was numb to it, his blood simmering. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“The Giant, on the other hand—he was an esteemed fighter. A public