a matter of seconds. Damn Her.
“You’ve surmounted grave obstacles, the most daunting of any tournament to date,” She continued. “And while others have perished, you live to compete another day, thriving in the face of danger—”
“My friend died,” Tobias said. “On the very first day of this tournament. He died. I watched it happen.”
Cosima’s face dropped. “My dear Artist, you have My deepest sympathies.”
Finally, there it was: emotion swirling in Her gaze, some semblance of feeling. Perhaps it had been there all along and he hadn’t noticed.
“No wonder you’re so solemn. Carrying such heartache—the loss of a beloved friend.” Her cheeks lifted into a smile. “I can help you, you know.”
“How?”
“My divine light.” She raised a single white palm. “The key to My magic.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Well, I’ve seen a bit of how Your magic works already.”
“Oh, but there’s so much more you’ve yet to experience. What man in his right mind would refuse such an honor?”
Her smile remained intact, but Her words carried power, and behind Her stare lay something hard—an order he ought not to challenge.
She scooted along the couch, patting the spot beside Her. “Don’t be shy.”
Reluctantly, Tobias set aside his chalice and took a seat on the couch. She nestled closer to him. “Don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to touch you.”
“Why would I be alarmed?”
She cast him a sideways glance, then pressed Her hand to his chest. “Tell me, do you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“My light. Do you feel it?”
Her palm was cold, Her touch odd, even unsettling, but that was all. “I’m sorry, how exactly is it supposed to feel?”
Cosima frowned, then pressed Her hand harder against his skin. “How about now?”
Her hand wasn’t cold any longer; if anything it was a bit sweaty, or maybe that was the oil smeared between their flesh. “Apologies, perhaps it’s me. I must be doing something wrong.”
Cosima dropped Her hand. “You’re just nervous, that’s all.”
Tobias went loose, relieved to have Her hands elsewhere—until he noticed how close She was to him.
“I swear, just look at you, you’re still so tense.” She cupped his cheek. “Are you always like this?”
“I suppose being in Your company has me anxious.”
“Well if My touch can’t ease your mind, I have the perfect solution.” She pulled Her palm from his face—thank God—and grabbed his hand. “My kiss.”
A knot coiled in his stomach. “Your kiss?”
“A blessing just for you—the Artist, the Giant Slayer, and as of yesterday’s challenge, the Man with the Purest Intent.”
A blessing. Why did it sound like a punishment? Cosima had already closed Her eyes, was leaning into him—kiss Her, just get it over with—but as soon as Her lips brushed against his, he jerked away.
Cosima’s eyes fluttered open. “Artist?”
“Apologies, I—”
“You don’t want to kiss Me?”
“It’s not that, I’m just…”
Uncomfortable. Nauseated. Bored. He shook himself. Dammit, think of something.
“Shy?”
“Very,” Tobias said. “It’s a curse, I swear. Ruining beautiful moments such as these. Know that I’ve been enjoying our time together so much. It’s just this reserved nature of mine holding me back again and again.”
“It’s all right, Artist. I understand.”
“You’re so kind. Too kind, really. It would be the utmost privilege to kiss You, if it weren’t for my damn nerves. Perhaps another time?”
She offered him a slight smile. “Perhaps.”
Tobias let out the subtlest breath he could manage. Nothing could salvage the moment, but the resulting tension was far more tolerable than the alternative.
Cosima scooted down the couch and plopped onto Her stack of pillows. “I suppose we can talk for the rest of our time, yes?”
Tobias had only barely heard Her; his thoughts were wrapped up in Leila, imagining what it would’ve been like if she were with him instead. He forced a smile.
“You have my full attention.”
***
Tobias stared at the back of the Proctor’s head, the only clear sight in the dark passage. His reward had come to an end, and for the first time he found himself eager to be heading into the labyrinth, relishing the thought of the sanctuary, of playing that stupid card game—and of maybe, possibly, seeing Leila.
Black brick, flickering torches, stone floor—the same dismal tunnel he was used to, but this leg of the labyrinth was new. The other men had continued on without him, and he couldn’t help but eye the walls, wondering what horrors they encompassed. Soon the sanctuary appeared a short distance away, and ahead of it in the center of the floor was a massive hole.
Tobias wrinkled his nose. “What the—?”
The Proctor stomped at the floor, and