CHAPTER 3: THE POOL

Grow.

Hot summer air filled Leila’s lungs as Her light bled into the ground. It wasn’t often She was able to bless the realm without interruption, but this morning had been particularly uneventful—thanks to the pool.

Fuck the pool.

She shook the thought from Her mind. The blackness beneath the soil reached toward Her, tirelessly longing for release, but She was more than used to forcing it down. Everything about that morning was effortless—there were no meetings, no staff summoning Her, no Senators to manage.

Because of the pool.

“For God’s sake,” Leila groaned, Her light dulled by Her sour mood. Pool or none, She had other matters to tend to, so She hoisted Herself from the grass and scampered to Her chamber. After slipping Her dress over Her head, She strapped Her blade into place, stopping to wipe a spot of dried blood from its edge. Her gaze floated up to the mirrored wardrobe where Her mothers waited, their lips pursed.

“Oh, don’t look at Me like that. You know I haven’t a choice.”

With Her nose in the air, She left Her chamber, letting the door swing shut behind Her.

“Good morning, Your Holiness.” Asher stood beside Her door, a proud smile on his face.

She glowered. “It’s Leila.”

Still frowning, She continued on Her way, winding through a maze of corridors. Cream walls and potted trees blurred in Her periphery, but there was nothing else. No people. Delphi’s door appeared, and She held Her breath.

Let’s get this over with.

The door flew open, and a servant dashed out.

“Your Holiness,” She panted, tying Her dress into place.

Leila watched her dart away before heading into the chamber, where Delphi lay across her bed in a turquoise dress.

“Nessa was in quite the hurry,” Leila said.

“She’s late for the pool.” Delphi winked. “My mistake.”

Leila flopped down beside her. “God, the pool. Don’t remind Me.”

“You should know, the turnout has surpassed all expectations.” Delphi rolled onto her stomach, scooting closer to Leila. “Have you ever seen the palace so empty? Nearly all Your servants were called in for assistance.”

“All this fuss so seventeen men can be slaughtered for no good reason.”

“Or maybe we’ll thwart Your father once and for all, and You can still have Your happy ending with Your handsome Champion. Can you imagine? Hundreds of tents are stationed outside the Ceres Fountain, and the love of Your life could be standing inside one of them this very instant.”

Leila rolled Her eyes. “Don’t make Me sick.”

“He’s likely naked and humiliated, but still—”

“I have a plan.”

Delphi sat upright. “You have a plan?”

“It came to Me last night. Perhaps sooner. I’ve been musing over it for a while, I just needed to put the pieces together.”

“Well, go on then.”

Leila situated Herself across from Her sister and took in a steady breath. “Three men were hired by Brontes. They’ll join the tournament, no doubt try to kill Me. No matter the steps we take, I’m in jeopardy. I am their mark.”

“Right. We know this.”

“But what if I wasn’t The Savior?”

Delphi faltered. “But…You are The Savior.”

“I don’t have to be. Brontes has kept Me locked in this fortress My entire life. Perhaps for once My imprisonment can be of some use to Me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No one knows who I am.” Leila gripped the folds of Her dress. “They don’t know what I look like. They don’t know My name. So if twenty men were to compete in the tournament, and a woman were to stand before them and call herself The Savior… Well, they’d have to believe her, right? Even if that woman wasn’t Me.”

Delphi furrowed her brow. “Are You suggesting we enlist a…fake Savior? A decoy Savior?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Are You mad?” Delphi spat.

“It’s a solid plan. With My title hidden, I can continue My efforts against Brontes without having to look over My shoulder any more than I do now. We afford ourselves some safety, and meanwhile the men compete none the wiser.”

“That’s all well and good, but there are so many things left to be considered.”

“Name them. I promise you, I’ve considered them all.”

Delphi crossed her arms. “All right, here’s an obvious one: Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who’s our new Savior? Or do You happen to know of another woman made of magical light that I’m unaware of?”

“Cosima.”

Delphi’s eyes widened. “Cosima?”

“She’s perfect. Beautiful, eloquent. Her eyes are striking, her skin is fair.”

“But does it glow?”

“The labyrinth is underground,” Leila said. “There’s no sunlight in those parts. When she makes her visits, no one will be expecting a glow of any kind.”

“And what about the last two weeks of the tournament? They’re held in the palace. Above ground. Beneath the sun.”

“We’ll find ways around it. Close the shades. Plan her appearances in the evening. There are a million things—”

“You and Your father look alike,” Delphi cut in. “There’s a resemblance. For God’s sake, You have the same hair. You don’t think the men will question it?”

“Cosima is stunning. Men worship her.” Leila’s voice became hard. “They’d be more than happy to compete for her, willing to turn a blind eye to any red flag.”

Delphi scowled. “What of Brontes? You think he’ll just allow this little switch to happen?”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“How will he not know?”

“Do you actually expect Brontes to involve himself in this tournament? As The Savior, I’m required to attend most of the challenges. My father can hardly tolerate being in the same room as Me.” A pang ripped through Leila, but She held firm. “Brontes may pull the strings, but he won’t bore himself with the formalities.”

“You hide your identity for thirty days, and all the while Brontes remains oblivious?”

“I’ve been shadow walking through this fortress for years, and he hasn’t a clue.”

Delphi crossed her arms. “All right then, say all of this is true. The switch is made. The men compete for Cosima. Brontes suspects nothing. What will You be doing while all this is happening? Hiding like a scared little girl?”

“Of course not,” Leila said. “The tournament is to be my assassination. I need to study these three men and stop it from happening.”

Delphi arched an eyebrow. “And You’ll do that how?”

“By going into the labyrinth.”

“Leila!”

“What?”

“You hide Your title to protect Yourself, then venture into the very place that puts You in harm’s way,” Delphi said.

“Yes, but I’ll be entering the labyrinth as someone else. Not as The Savior.”

“Who?”

“A member of Her court.” Leila raised Her chin. “I’ll be The Savior’s sister. Like you.”

“And what reason would The Savior’s sister have to visit the labyrinth? Did You just wander down there? Tell me, oh loyal sister, what is Your purpose?”

Shit. Her mind went blank, and She glanced across Delphi’s chamber, searching for an answer amid the framed paintings, the wooden wardrobe, the tonics. Tonics. The back shelf boasted jars of herbs and physics—mementoes of Delphi’s late mother, each with its own healing property.

“A healer.” Leila spun toward Delphi. “I heal people, don’t I?”

Delphi let out a laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re going to use Your divine light to heal these men, and none of them will ever suspect You’re The Savior. A fine plan.”

“It’ll work. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s dangerous. This whole thing… There are too many risks.”

“I have no other options.” Leila’s voice came out sharp. “Three men are coming to this fortress with the intention of killing Me. How does it benefit Me to sit here on display wearing My title like a target?”

“And You think Cosima would be happy to wear the target instead?”

“How many years did we play together, and she insisted on being queen? She covets My crown. You know it as well as I do. Perhaps we can put her malice to use.”

Delphi fell silent, and Leila leaned in closer. “I know there are dangers. But I am already in danger. I am to die.”

Still Delphi didn’t respond, visibly conflicted. Lit with resolve, Leila spoke firmly. “Cosima will play the role of Savior. I’m certain I can convince her. And while she entertains the men, I will visit the labyrinth, locate the assassins, and have them killed before they can kill Me. I will ruin Brontes’s plan, and I will ruin Brontes. But none of this works unless I can exist within the tournament as someone else. As anyone but The Savior.”

“A last resort.” Delphi looked Her in the eyes. “I will accept this as a last resort.”

“Delphi—”

“Promise me You’ll consider other options. I’m still willing to spy for You.”

“Two spies are better than one.”

“Leila—”

“I’ll consider other options.”

Delphi exhaled. “Thank you.”

A last resort. It wasn’t quite victory, but it was close enough.

Delphi shook her head, and Leila scowled. “What?”

“If You go with this plan,” she said, “it’ll be much harder to find a man.”

Leila groaned. “No more of this, I swear.”

“Your cunt will turn rank, just like Your mood—”

“If it’s so important to you, I’ll find one through some other means. The world is filled with men. I have plenty of options.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Hylas poked his head in. “Your Holiness?”

Leila flagged him over, and he bowed. “Apologies for the interruption, but there’s a meeting in the Senate room.”

“A meeting?” Leila said. “When?”

“Now, Your Holiness.”

“I didn’t see it on the schedule.”

“Changes were made due to unforeseen circumstances.”

Visions of Her blade ripping through Simon’s throat flashed through Her thoughts. “I see. I’ll be right there.”

With one last bow, Hylas dipped from the room, leaving the two sisters alone.

“You know, Hylas just proved My point.” Leila turned to Delphi. “He’s a young man right here in this very palace. I could very well wind up with him.”

Delphi laughed. “You could, could You?”

“Sure.” She eyed the spot where he had stood. “He’s handsome…in a sweet way.”

“Isn’t he? And You know, the two of You have so much in common.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh yes, you’re both of age, you both enjoy the arts, you both like men—”

“Dammit,” Leila grumbled.

Chuckling, Delphi nudged Her shoulder. “Go on then, Your Holiness. Go address these unforeseen circumstances.” She hopped to her feet. “I’ll be at the pool. Maybe I can find a few men who suit You in case You change Your mind.”

“I won’t.”

Delphi waved Her away, waltzing from the room and leaving Leila on Her own. With a grunt, Leila picked Herself up and headed through the palace. Soon the Senate table loomed before Her, circled by seven faces—some cross, others nervous, though one in particular was its usual vision of contempt.

“Senators.” Leila turned to Her father. “Brontes.”

“If You’re not going to address me as Father, You can at least call me by my title, Daughter,” he growled.

“Would someone care to tell Me the purpose of all this?” She took Her place at the table, studying the empty seats. “Or perhaps we should wait for the others to show.”

“That, Your Holiness, is the exact reason for this meeting.” Kastor gestured around the table. “Everyone’s here.”

“But there’s only six of you.” Leila sneered at Her father. “And Brontes, of course.”

“Simon and Gelanor are missing,” Kastor said.

“You’re certain? For how long?”

“No one’s seen Gelanor since our last meeting.”

“Is that right?” Leila’s eyes widened. “What a mystery.”

“And Simon’s been absent since Your birthday feast,” Wembleton added.

“But that was just last night. Have you checked his chamber? I imagine he’s just sick from the wine. It was quite strong. Even I felt a bit fuddled. I opted to turn in early, in fact.” Leila flashed Brontes a smirk. “My birthday gift can attest to that.”

“We’re not here for speculation. We’re here to redistribute duties,” he said. “It’s too soon to assume foul play—”

“Foul play?” Leila gasped. “In this very palace? You think so? My word…”

Brontes’s one eye narrowed. “But the Sovereign’s Tournament begins tomorrow, and all relevant commitments need to be resolved immediately. Simon was to proctor the tournament, and his position must be filled at once.”

“If I may interject, I’m sure you recall our conversation from the other day.” Romulus turned to the others. “I’ve expressed to his Highness my interest in proctoring the tournament. I humbly conceded in favor of his judgment, but now that the position is available once again, let it be known my offer still stands.”

A smug laugh sounded from across the table. Phanes leaned back in his seat, stroking his patchy beard while giving Romulus a critical once-over.

“Is something funny?” Romulus’s face was unchanging, though his tone carried his scorn. “Have I told a joke without knowing it?”

“I just find it odd you’d volunteer for such a position.” Phanes chuckled. “Proctoring the Sovereign’s Tournament. When Simon was chosen, I assumed it was a punishment. No sane man longs to spend his days in the labyrinth.”

“A sane man may not long for it, but a man of duty makes sacrifices for those he serves.” Romulus glanced at Brontes, bowing his head. “Are we not here to serve your daughter? To ensure the tournament unfolds in a manner worthy of Her glory?”

Brontes stared at Leila, his gaze venomous. “Shall we bring it to a vote?”

“All those in favor of Romulus holding the role of Proctor?” Wembleton said.

Arms shot overhead, though Phanes barely lifted his from the table. Brontes scanned the room, stopping at Leila, Her hands folded in Her lap.

“You don’t vote, Daughter?”

“I haven’t an opinion.”

Brontes glowered. “Seven votes in favor, one abstention. Romulus is now Proctor of the Sovereign’s Tournament. Allow me to personally commend your sense of duty. May the rest of you learn from his example.”

Phanes’s nostrils flared as if he smelled something rotten, and Leila basked in his offense. Everything about him repelled Her—his wavy tangles of carob-brown hair, his thin mustache, the gold chains hanging down his sculpted bronze chest. He was younger than most of the others, perhaps in his late thirties, but he carried himself with the hubris of a man far more seasoned.

Meeting Her prying gaze, he smiled and blew a wretched kiss.

“Next item.” Brontes rustled through a stack of parchment. “The pool.”

Leila nearly winced. The damn pool.

“Turnout is steady,” Romulus said. “Two men have already been selected.”

“Are the allowances prepared?”

Kastor cleared his throat. “Gelanor set the sums aside before his…parting. But guards are prepared to distribute the funds tomorrow morn.” He glanced over a scroll. “Fifty thousand coin for each family.”

“Fifty thousand?” Leila spoke before She could stop Herself. “That’s over double the allowance of the last tournament. More than any tournament in history.”

Brontes let out a grunt. “Inflation rates.”

“Inflation isn’t that high.”

“Your Holiness, Your competitors will be battling grave dangers in the pursuit of Your affection,” Wembleton said. “Surely their families ought to be honored for releasing their sons for such a heroic endeavor.”

Leila scowled. “Honored? Do you mean incentivized?”

“There is no incentive greater than the love of The Savior. And such a generous allowance is in keeping with Your father’s pious reputation.” Kastor leaned in closer to Her, offering a smile that matched his soft, low voice. “There’s no need to be wary. I assure You, You are more than worth it.”

Leila looked him in the eyes, wishing the Senator’s hazel gaze wasn’t so gentle, that his handsome face matched his ugly insides. Kastor was the youngest of them all—thirty or so—with long black hair, a short, groomed beard, and copper skin chiseled and carved. His act was more convincing than the others, nearly enough to make him seem warm, as if he wasn’t abetting Her end. But he was.

Leila turned away. “Well then, if that’s all—”

“Actually, Your Holiness, there are other matters to discuss,” Wembleton said. “Namely tomorrow’s commencement ceremony.”

Leila faltered. “The commencement ceremony?”

“For the tournament.” Wembleton beamed. “The ceremony marks its grand introduction, and it’s imperative that all things run smoothly. Thus, if I could humbly steal a moment of Your time so we can discuss the formalities, the decorum, Your entrance—”

Leila’s stomach clenched. “My entrance?”

“Of course. You’re the most esteemed guest of the ceremony. The people of Thessen will be overjoyed to finally lay their eyes upon their Queen—”

“I won’t be attending,” Leila said.

Wembleton’s face dropped. “Come again?”

“I won’t be attending the ceremony.”

All eyes panned to Leila, but She held firm. Come tomorrow, She was anyone but The Savior, and no ceremony was going to ruin that.

Brontes’s jaw tightened. “Do not play games with us. I haven’t the patience.”

“I’m not going. No need to trouble yourself with My entrance, because I won’t be making one.”

“Your Holiness, You’ve expressed such disdain over Your confinement,” Wembleton said. “Don’t You see, this is Your opportunity to finally reveal Yourself to Your people.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Brontes growled. “A royal is required to attend—”

“Then you go, Your Highness.” Leila met his glare with Her own. “This is your tournament after all. Isn’t that what you said?”

“You’re going to that ceremony. You will sit with Wembleton, and You will make Your plans—”

“Wembleton, let it be on record that My father will be attending the ceremony in My stead.”

“Enough—”

“While the Sovereign is in full dictatorship of his tournament, there is no law that states he can force The Savior’s hand,” Leila said. “You can search the scrolls, but trust Me when I say I have them memorized. And it seems you haven’t the time to change the laws yourself, as the lot of you have done so many times before.”

“One more word, and I swear—”

“You’ve made it clear this tournament is yours to control. But you cannot control My participation. If a royal must attend tomorrow’s ceremony, that royal will be you, because it most certainly will not be Me.”

Brontes’s lips curled into a grimace. “You little bitch.”

“My decision is final.”

“I’m warning You—”

“I said I’m not going!” She barked.

Silence filled the space. Brontes’s glare turned sinister, and color lifted from his flesh, swimming through the air.

Red.

Rage.

“A word alone with my daughter,” he said.

Wembleton cleared his throat. “Who calls this meeting to—?”

“Now.”

The Senators shot up from their seats and hurried from the room, leaving a heavy quiet. There was only Leila, Her father, and his seething red.

“Don’t you have arrangements to make?” Her nerves stirred, but She played with Her hair, feigning indifference. “For your appearance at the ceremony?”

Brontes circled the table. “You dare to defy me? In front of my entire Senate?”

“It wasn’t the entire Senate. Remember, Gelanor and Simon are missing.”

“You humiliated me in front of my constituents.”

“I was exercising My legal right. Perhaps if you were more educated in Thessian law, this humiliation would’ve been avoided.”

Brontes stopped at Her side. “You raise Your voice to me, the Sovereign of Thessen, in his own Senate room.”

Leila’s knees wobbled, but She stood. “I can speak to you how I please. You are beneath Me.”

His hand plunged into Her hair, grabbing a fistful and slamming Her against the table. Pain fired through Her cheek, a familiar ache, yet it never ceased to shock Her. He wrestled Her wrists behind Her back, pinning Her down.

“Am I still beneath You? From where I’m standing, it doesn’t appear so.”

Yanking Her from the table, He shoved Her against the wall, sending new aches splintering through Her.

“Where’s that light of Yours?” he hissed. “All that power You boast of? Will it show itself? Will it stop me?”

Shadow walk. The urge was fierce, but She forced Herself still. She wouldn’t reveal Her hand.

“You know, there was a time when You weren’t such a wretched cunt,” he said. “Whenever did that change?”

Leila spoke through gritted teeth. “I took after My dear father.”

“You remember that nanny You had when You were young? Delphinium’s mother. I’ve forgotten her name. She pulled Your wet body from Your mother’s corpse. Brought You to this palace. You were an ugly shit, small and hairless, horrid to look at. She insisted I give You a name that carried meaning. So after some thought, I decided on Leila. Darkness. Because the day You arrived here was the darkest day of my life.”

Another ache shot through Her, one She had known since She was a little girl.

“Years later, the name continues to suit You well,” he said. “Because since that day, You’ve never ceased being a black cloud over this palace.”

“So sorry to have burdened you, Father,” Leila muttered.

“I don’t blame You for hating this tournament. I actually admire Your foresight.” He loosened his grip, running his fingers through Her hair. “How painful it must feel, knowing twenty men are about to come upon this fortress, and none of them will care for You. As soon as they make Your acquaintance, they’ll see what I see.” He brought his lips to Her ear. “A mistake. And not a single one of them could possibly bring themselves to love You.”

Leila said nothing, festering in Her indignity.

“You’re smart, my little Dark One, to see this. Gives You time to prepare for the hurt.”

“Can I go now?”

Brontes released Her, sending Her staggering across the floor before charging from the room.

Leila headed through the palace, holding Her head high—a bitter lie. Perhaps Brontes was watching Her, reveling in his victory.

Don’t let him win.

She rounded the corner, and tears flooded Her eyes. Her insides stirred, piqued and trembling, and soon the rest of Her followed suit, Her hands shaking at Her sides, Her feet walking, then running through the corridor, up the stairs. Shame, hurt, and humiliation bombarded Her, tearing holes in Her pride, but the burning of Her blackened insides filled Her with purpose.

As Leila barreled into the chamber, Cosima spun around, startled. “Leila, what a pleasant… Oh my God, are You all right?”

Don’t let him win. Leila forced the tears aside.

“I need to ask for a favor.”