CHAPTER 1: THE SENATORS

“Grow.”

Heat pulsed from Her body, seeping into the ground beneath Her. Everything around Her was warm—the dry summer air, the harsh rays of the sun—but nothing compared to the light within Her. She was always warm. She couldn’t escape it.

“Be alive. Be well.” She breathed in. “Grow.”

As Her light poured into the dirt, She sifted Her fingers through the grass, taking in its response—vitality. A soupy blackness lingered deep underground, waiting to snake its way to the surface.

“Settle down now. Back to where you came from.”

A pounding sounded at the door far behind Her. “Leila?” Delphi called out.

Leila sighed. “I’m busy.”

“Everyone’s waiting for You. Have You forgotten Your meeting?”

“I’m blessing the realm,” She shouted.

“Then bless it quickly.”

She groaned. “Give Me a moment.”

One last pulse of light, and She propped Herself upright. A sea of color stretched ahead—an elaborate garden filled with manicured trees, mosaicked pots, and flowers of all kinds. Wiping the grass from Her naked body, She hopped to Her feet and headed up the steps, past the white pillars and black velvet curtains, and into Her bedchamber.

A stately bed with crimson throws, tall walls lined in gold molding, speckled tiles along the floor. Hers was the most lavish chamber in the palace, certainly the only one with a private garden. She threw open Her wardrobe and pulled on a lavender dress, its braided straps settling on Her shoulders, the neckline hanging low between Her breasts, then tied a pair of tanned leather sandals onto Her feet. Sticking Her leg out from one of the slits in Her dress, She buckled a blade to Her thigh—the final piece of Her ensemble, one She never went without.

Leila closed the mirrored doors of Her wardrobe and studied Her reflection, combing Her locks into place. Two other faces reflected back at Her—a woman with strawberry blonde hair and icy eyes, another with hair like ink and a sable gaze.

Leila cracked a smile. “Hello, Mothers.”

She bounded through the chamber door, met with a pair of blue-green eyes.

“Good morning!”

Pippa threw her arms around Her, knocking Her off balance. Leila pulled back, patting down the flyaways of Pippa’s blonde hair and giving her pale cheeks a pinch. Delphi stood at her side, her long black braids hanging over the front of her shoulders. God, she looked so much like her mother, especially those sable eyes.

“Took You long enough,” she scoffed.

Taking Pippa’s hand, Leila nodded at the corridor ahead. “Walk and talk?”

The three sisters made their way through the palace. Marble busts lined the walls, stained glass windows cast rainbows along the floor, and vaulted ceilings loomed high overhead, rendering them mere specks amid the majesty. The palace was as grand as it was vast, its enormity eclipsed only by the fortress surrounding it; gardens and vineyards peppered the royal dwellings, encircled by a tall stone wall. Beyond it lay Thessen, the realm Leila was to govern and rule.

The realm She had never seen.

The girls headed into the heart of the palace. Servants bowed, but Leila paid them little mind, occupied with more pressing thoughts.

Delphi squeezed Her arm. “You know what You’re going to say?”

“Every word,” Leila whispered.

“Really sell it. Lay it on nice and thick.”

Leila snorted. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You can’t fault my worry. Weakness has never been Your strong suit.”

“I’m not going with weakness. I’m going with anger.”

Delphi’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Much better. That’s completely in character, they’ll never suspect a thing.”

Another woman wafted their way, and every male gaze in sight followed. Cosima—Leila’s third and final sister, arguably the most enchanting. Pippa had delicate features and wide-set eyes, while Delphi was a vision of regality with rich brown skin and elegant curves. But Cosima commanded attention in every room she entered—her skin was like porcelain, her eyes apple-green, and her hair came down in fiery red waves, landing just shy of her full, enviable breasts. A dazzling smile sprang to her lips, and Leila could’ve sworn the room became brighter.

“Good morning, doves.” Cosima nestled alongside them. “What are we whispering about?”

“The meeting,” Delphi said. “She’s on Her way.”

“Ah, yes. How exciting.”

The atrium opened up ahead—the largest, most lavish room in the palace, but today it was a cluttered mess. Baskets of ribbons were strewn across the massive dining table, and servants zigzagged through the space, wrapping garlands around the marble columns and hanging stars from the chandeliers.

“For Your birthday tomorrow,” Cosima said.

Her voice hardly registered. Leila stopped in Her tracks, eyes locked on the opposite end of the room where a man stood reading over a scroll. “Who is that?”

Delphi followed the path of Her gaze and shrugged. “Some guard.”

He was surely more god than guard, miles tall with sculpted arms. Shaggy, golden-blond hair danced across his brow, catching the light of the sun like a halo. It was rare to see young men in the palace, especially men who were this striking.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Leila said. “I mean… I’m certain I’ve never seen him before.”

“Oh, that’s Asher.” Cosima leaned in closer, speaking in hushed tones. “He’s new—recruited from the border, just took his vow yesterday. You know how your father is: more soldiers, more guards.” Cosima eyed the man over. “Divine, isn’t he?”

Asher. He gnawed at his bottom lip, focused on whatever he was reading, and a tremor ran through Leila. God, if I could be that lip.

Cosima chuckled. “You little minx, look at You! You’re flushed!”

Leila scowled. “I most certainly am not.”

“Oh stop it, no one can blame You. The man’s a work of art.” She eyed him up and down. “He’s lovely too. Would You like to meet him?”

“What?” Leila snapped. “No. Definitely not.”

“We haven’t the time,” Delphi said.

“Nonsense.” Cosima grabbed Leila’s wrist. “Asher, dove, look who I’ve found!”

Leila’s eyes widened. “Cosima—”

Cosima ignored Her, dragging Her down the corridor. “Asher, have you had the pleasure of meeting Leila?”

Asher glanced between the two women. “No, I don’t believe so.”

Leila’s throat caught. Tan skin, broad shoulders, and honey-brown eyes gazing straight into Hers. Say something. She mustered a smile. “Hello.”

An infinite silence followed. Cosima let out a laugh. “Well, don’t be rude, shake his hand.”

She shoved Leila, sending Her staggering over the polished tiles, straight into a stretch of sunlight.

Oh, shit.

The glaring heat beat down on Her, and in turn every exposed inch of Her flesh was radiant.

Glowing.

“Oh my God.” Asher stumbled backward. “You’re…”

The words never came. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and he collapsed to the floor with a hard smack.

Gasps sounded across the atrium, and Leila cringed. Not again.

“Oh dear, I hadn’t anticipated that,” Cosima murmured.

Servants circled, gaping at the glowing woman and the man sprawled at Her feet. How many times must this happen before it stops being humiliating?

“Should we get a healer?” A servant said. “I can summon Diccus—”

“No, it’s all right.” Leila squatted beside the fallen guard. “I’ll take care of it.”

Delphi sighed. “Your meeting…”

“I’ll take care of it.” Leila looked her hard in the eye. “This is My duty.”

She turned to Asher, pulling his eyelid open only for it to snap shut. Out like a snuffed torch. Tilting his head, She combed through his golden mane—no blood, no cracked skull. Blips of pain stung Her fingertips, traveling from his battered head to Her hand. Concussed. An easy fix. She planted Her palm on his forehead.

“Rouse his senses,” She whispered. “Ease the ache. Bring him back.”

Her hand went from warm to hot, burning in a way She was accustomed to. Light flooded from Her touch, flowing through him in waves, and the traces of his pain began to fade.

Asher stirred, and Leila dropped Her palm, revealing a bright white handprint beaming from his forehead.

“What is…?” He winced. “What happened?” His eyes fluttered open, settling on the woman hovering over him.

Still Leila. Still glowing.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You’re… You’re—”

“The Savior.” Cosima jutted her head into his line of sight. “The holy gift of Thessen. She’s blessed you with Her divine light. Isn’t that marvelous?”

Asher stared up at Leila in shock, then scrambled along the floor, kneeling before Her. “Apologies, Your Holiness—”

She stood. “It’s Leila.”

“I didn’t mean to…” He wrinkled his nose. “Did I faint?”

“Yes, you did. It’s quite common, actually—”

“How unseemly. Please forgive my weakness, I meant no offense.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s an honor to serve You, Your Holiness,” he said. “I took an oath to devote my life to Your safety and to the safety of Your palace. My body is Your shield.”

My body is Your shield. She could think of better uses for it. “That’s nice,” She muttered.

Asher rose to his feet, staring at Her with a look of awe. Of disconnect. “Apologies for my lack of decorum. I am humbled to have met You, Your Holiness.”

A frown fought its way across Her face. “Please, call Me Leila.”

“Of course, Your Holiness. Good day, Your Holiness.”

He shuffled off, ignorant to the bright white eyesore on his forehead.

“He’s nice,” Pippa said. “We should keep him.”

Cosima chuckled. “Well, You created quite a scene, didn’t You?”

“Yes, She did.” Delphi scowled. “Who could’ve possibly predicted such a thing?”

Cosima ignored her, sighing. “Leila, if I’ve told You once, I’ve told You a thousand times: If You want a man’s affection, You mustn’t be so intimidating.”

“I wasn’t seeking his affection,” Leila spat. “I was simply introducing myself.”

“You’re sure? You seemed rather taken. At least until, You know…” Cosima’s gaze traveled to the spot where Asher fell. “Boom.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Well, You would know best.” Smiling, Cosima cupped Leila’s cheeks. “You look beautiful, by the way. My sweet sister. Such a gift, You are.”

She flitted off, leaving Leila glowing on the outside, muted within. A gift. Many made such claims—that Leila was divine, that Her light was a gift from God—but in moments like these, being The Savior was more burden than blessing.

Leila wasn’t the only Savior to have graced the realm. The first was born centuries ago during a time of plague, a beacon of hope with striking eyes and ivory skin that glowed the moment it caught the sun. The light of Her body was strong enough to leave a person faint, but its true power manifested in the realm around Her. Desert lands flourished, crops sprouting from the arid sands, and the people were healed, free of disease and suffering. With this girl’s birth came a cleansing, and the people gave to Her the title She had earned: Her Holiness, Ruler of Thessen.

Their Savior.

As the realm grew in prosperity, so did the royal line. The Savior birthed a daughter of equal power, who birthed adaughter as well, and each girl was welcomed with a beautiful fortress, loyal servants, and a court of sisters elected to grow alongside Her. The bloodline thrived, a succession of rulers with celestial flesh, piercing eyes, and an array of magical gifts, namely Their divine, healing light.

Like the Saviors before Her, Leila made the palace Her home, was bathed in riches, was appointed three sisters, Her faithful court. Still, Her reign was unique. She was the first to remain hidden within Her fortress. She was the first to be a mystery to Her people.

She was the first birthed from a corpse.

Delphi poked into Leila’s line of vision, nodding at the path Cosima had taken. “She did that on purpose, You know.”

Leila shook the debacle from Her mind. “We have more important concerns.”

The women continued through the palace, stopping just shy of a large black door. Delphi turned toward Her. “You’re sure You’re prepared?”

“I am.”

“Me too!” Pippa said.

Leila sighed. “Little duckling, I know you want to come along, but this meeting is just for The Savior. You understand, yes?”

Pippa pouted. “All right.”

Delphi grabbed Leila’s hands, squeezing them. “For Your realm.”

Leila nodded. “For Mother.”

She opened the door and headed inside.

Stark white walls, pitch-black floor, a domed ceiling—everything about the Senate room was severe. A map of the realm covered one of the walls, and a large, round table loomed ahead, encircled by nine men.

I hate you.

“Leila.” The man seated across from Her scowled. “How kind of You to finally join us.”

Her eyes bore through him—the red drape across his bare chest, the glower on his face.

Brontes. She hated him most of all.

Leila made Her way to the table, not once breaking his gaze. Their hair was the same deep brown, just shy of black, but Leila’s was long and sleek, while Brontes’s was flecked with grey. Brontes was large and brawny with bronze skin, while Leila had always been small and slender, Her skin ghostly in the shade, aglow in the sun. Then there were the eyes; Leila’s were amber-gold in the shadows, but in the light they were wild flames. Brontes’s didn’t look anything like that, and he only had the one, his left socket hidden behind a thick black patch.

My nose is different. I have that freckle above my cheek. Never mind She had his full lips, that Her cheekbones sat high just as his did. Leila always looked for differences. Anything that told Her She was nothing like him.

She tore Her gaze from Brontes, eyeing the other men. Phanes. Erebus. Qar. The palace Senators, eight in total—and several empty seats.

“No Toma, I see?” She said. “Are we to start without him?”

“He’s been missing for three days,” Brontes muttered.

“Is that right? Another man gone? Well, we’re better off for it. I never cared much for him anyway.” She took Her seat. “Shall we begin?”

Brontes grumbled under his breath, “Who calls this meeting?”

“I do,” Leila said.

“Second,” Kastor added.

“First order of business: your retirement.” Leila clasped Her hands together. “Tomorrow’s My twentieth birthday. I’m of age. I haven’t a need for you any longer.”

The men glanced at one another, silent. Simon cleared his throat. “Your Holiness, with all due respect, we’ve discussed this at length many times over. The position we hold is binding.”

“And I’ve told you at length that come My twentieth birthday, I will be severing whatever it is that binds us together,” Leila said.

“Your Holiness, the law states we are to serve You indefinitely.”

“The law you yourselves have written. How convenient.”

Another man, his tawny skin weathered with age, offered a smile. “Your Holiness, allow me to speak on behalf of the others when I say we understand Your opposition. You are a grown woman, and what a woman You’ve become.” He glanced at Brontes, bowing his head. “But Your father, our righteous Sovereign, nominated us for a reason. The burden You carry is heavy. It is our duty to lighten it, for no purpose other than to benefit our One True Savior.”

Gelanor—the Vault Keeper, easily the most well-spoken Senator of the bunch. The king of discourse. The master of bullshit.

“Your mother, God rest Her soul, was to teach You the art of governing,” Gelanor said. “And as She is not here with us—a very sad turn of events indeed—we have taken it upon ourselves to aid Your hand.”

Leila’s lips pursed. Bullshit.

“So alas, in Your mother’s departure, You have inherited this merry lot.” He opened his arms wide. “Consider us Your surrogates.”

Leila let out a laugh. “My surrogates? Is that right? Tell Me, are you going to whip out your tit and have Me suck it dry, Mother?”

“Leila, You vulgar shit, still Your tongue,” Brontes snapped.

“I will not sit tolerantly while you lie to My face under the guise of duty. Tomorrow, I am of age. I demand My crown.”

“For God’s sake, You have a crown,” he scoffed. “You have a whole collection.”

“It is My purpose to govern. It is My birthright to lead—”

“You’re not governing Thessen. Not now, not ever.”

“Why?”

“Because You’re incapable,” he spat. “This outburst of Yours has proven that.”

Leila glared at Her father, wishing Her eyes would tear through him.

“Who motions to keep the law as it stands?” he said.

“I do.”

“Second.”

Brontes cast Leila a glower. “The law remains.”

She looked away, unable to stomach his gaze any longer. “Well then, it seems you all can continue to handle Thessen’s affairs, and I will continue to do absolutely nothing. How free I feel, with My burdens lifted. They seem nonexistent, in fact.”

An old, round Senator with plump, pink cheeks and unkempt white hair cut in. “Oh, that’s not true, Your Holiness. Your duties are vast.” He fiddled nervously with his sapphire drape. “Why, You bless the realm each day. Such a taxing process, I’m sure. The realm is eternally grateful.”

Wembleton. The Master of Ceremonies. Another ass.

“Second order of business: the Sovereign’s Tournament.” Leila crossed Her arms. “That won’t be happening.”

Brontes groaned. “For the love of God…”

Wembleton’s face dropped. “Your Holiness, it’s tradition.”

“Isn’t tradition ours to break?” Leila said. “After all, we’re not following the tradition of having The Savior lead Her realm. We’re not following the tradition of allowing The Savior to leave Her fortress—”

Gelanor gasped. “Your mother was murdered in the streets of Thessen. Surely You must know we keep You here for Your own safety.”

Leila resisted the urge to roll Her eyes. “With all these traditions abandoned, what’s one more? Why not break tradition and nullify My tournament?”

“My tournament,” Brontes said. “It’s called the Sovereign’s Tournament, is it not?”

“Yes, to find My husband.” Leila shrugged. “Something I’m not particularly interested in.”

Wembleton shook his head. “Your Holiness, You say that now, but when You meet these men, I assure You—”

“Perhaps I’m not interested in men at all. Maybe I like women. Developed a taste for cunt and tits.”

“Enough!” Brontes slammed his fist against the table. “You are out of line!”

“The Sovereign’s Tournament is a disgrace to Thessen. A bloodbath passed as spectacle, turns men into animals and The Savior into a prize. I will not have it—”

“You will if I say so.”

“I am The Savior. My word—”

“Means nothing,” Brontes hissed. “Haven’t You learned, precious daughter? You hold no power. So be as insufferable as You’d like, but know it accomplishes nothing, same as always.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on Leila.

“Tomorrow is Your birthday. The next day is the pool, and the day that follows will mark the start of the Sovereign’s Tournament as planned.” Brontes leaned forward. “And You will shut Your mouth and take it, do You understand me?”

I hate you. The words took shape in Her throat, begging for release.

“See? Isn’t that so much better than Your ranting?” Brontes glanced around the table. “Who motions to end today’s meeting?”

“I do.”

“Second.”

“Today’s Senate meeting is terminated.” Brontes flashed one last look of disdain Leila’s way. “And what a waste of time it was.”

The room filled with mutterings, some about Leila’s candor, though most of it was riddled with those three heinous words: the Sovereign’s Tournament. Thirty days of violence, all in the search of Leila’s Champion. My husband.

“Your Holiness?”

A lean man with wrinkled copper skin, black-and-white hair balding at the crown, and a hooked nose hovered beside Her. “A word alone? To solidify terms for the tournament.”

Romulus. Frowning, She mumbled under Her breath, “Fine.”

The others filed from the room. Romulus trudged to the door, shutting it before turning Her way. “And what exactly was the point of all that?”

“I have My reasons,” She muttered.

“They think You’re weak now. Helpless, even.”

“Then it seems My meeting served its purpose.”

He faltered. “You have a plan.”

Leila didn’t bother responding, studying the ends of Her hair. “What of the tournament?”

“It is as You suspected. Brontes moves against You.”

“Against Me how?”

“You know how. He’s already taken Your power. But he wants the glory, always has. The people only worship him if You’re gone.”

A weight dropped in Her gut. “He’s made the call. I am to die.”

“The Sovereign’s Tournament will mark Your assassination.”

She sat calm and stoic, but rage bellowed within Her, screaming for action.

“The Senate?”

“All complicit,” he said. “The guards, the soldiers—they know nothing of his plan, but they are loyal to Your father. They will aid him, knowingly or not.”

“By what means?”

“Pardon?”

“The assassination. What is his strategy? How am I to be killed?”

Romulus wavered. “I don’t know.”

“You lie to Me.”

“He scatters the information. No one man knows everything, it’s how he retains his control.”

Leila bit down on Her lip. “Give Me a name.”

“Your Holiness—”

“A name.”

Romulus tensed. “Gelanor.”

“The Vault Keeper.”

“He’s met with Brontes several times recently. There’s been discussion of a large transfer of funds. He’ll know the most of anyone.”

“And that slow trickle?”

“Still nothing,” Romulus said. “No one knows where the coin is going.”

Leila sat still, sorting through the mess in Her mind. “The tournament is to have a Proctor, yes? Someone who oversees the competitors?” Romulus nodded, and Her eyes narrowed. “You will be that Proctor. Make it so.”

“I doubt I’ll be his choice—”

“Make it so.”

Romulus’s nostrils flared. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

Leila rose from Her seat, making Her way to the door. “Well then, I suppose I have to pay Gelanor a visit.”

“A brief request that I imagine will fall on deaf ears,” Romulus called out behind Her. “Consider mercy for these men.”

“Mercy? For the men who plan My assassination?”

“They’re foolish. Influenced by greed. And they greatly fear Your father.”

“You’re right. They are foolish. They fear the wrong person.” Her hands curled into fists. “No mercy. If they want blood, I will give it to them.”

She threw open the door and was met with two faces—one wearing a wild grin, the other fierce and focused. Leila glanced between Pippa and Delphi, gesturing at the corridor ahead. “Walk and talk.”

The two hurried alongside Her, Pippa taking Her hand while Delphi leaned over Her shoulder. “How’d it go?”

“As expected,” Leila said.

“What now?”

Leila looked her in the eye. “Gelanor.”

“Gelanor.” Pippa giggled. “He’s fat.”

“Pippa, it’s not polite to tease people for their shapes and sizes.” Leila turned to Delphi. “I’m going now.”

“You think he’ll be there already?” Delphi said.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.”

“It’s that urgent?”

Leila’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s what we thought.”

Delphi wavered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “To his chamber then.”

“Meet Me there.”

Delphi nodded. “I’ll wait outside. Clear the area.”

The women parted ways. Leila ventured through one corridor, another, studying the passing staff out of the corner of Her eye. Quickening Her pace, She headed into an adjacent hallway—empty—and Her destination materialized in Her thoughts.

Gelanor’s chamber.

The corridor burst into rays of light, leaving Her weightless. Soon the light faded, revealing brown walls, an umber rug—and Gelanor.

He sat on his bed with his back to Her, tugging feverishly at his cock. Cringing, She cleared Her throat.

Gelanor looked over his shoulder, then jumped. “Mother of—”

“You can finish, if you’d like.”

The old man fumbled to put his bits away. “Your Holiness…”

“Apologies for the interruption. I honestly didn’t expect to find you here so soon. Figured you’d be occupied with more important matters.” She watched him pull up his pants. “But apparently not.”

“What are You doing here?” he stammered. “How did… How did You get in?”

“The same way I’ve gotten in each time before.”

“Before?”

“I’ve been through this chamber many times.”

Gelanor’s expression turned bleak. “What do You want?”

Leila slid Her hand into the slit of Her dress, pulling Her blade from its place on Her thigh. “You and I are going to have a conversation.”

Wide-eyed, Gelanor sprang for the window with the energy of a man half his age. Leila flung Her blade at him, launching it straight into his shoulder.

Wailing, he toppled face-first to the floor.

Leila hovered over him, unimpressed. “Calm yourself. There are much more painful spots, I assure you.” She ripped the blade from his shoulder and waited for his cries to die. “Are you ready for that conversation?”

When Gelanor said nothing, She held Her blade low, making sure he caught sight of its bloody edge. His eyes widened. “Yes, we can talk. Just don’t—”

“Hurt you? I’ll try My best.” She tugged at his arm, trying and failing to get him standing, then cocked Her head at a nearby chair. “Sit.”

With a whimper, Gelanor pulled himself up. Once he was seated, Leila yanked his sheets from his bed, twisting them like rope and wrapping them around his ankles.

“Oh my God.”

Her head perked up. “Is there a problem, Senator?”

Gelanor went quiet, and Leila continued Her work, tying his legs to the legs of the chair, his wrists to the armrests.

“It’s You,” Gelanor said. “All the Senators gone missing… It’s You.”

“How very astute you are.”

“I don’t understand. You’re just…killing us? One by one?”

“It seems you understand perfectly.”

“Have You gone mad?”

“Well, it’s not as though you’ve left Me any choice,” She scoffed. “You’ve imprisoned Me in My own home, have taken all My authority, and now that you’ve properly picked Me apart, you wait for Me to die—hover over My body like a flock of vultures. And on top of that, you leave Me with no political means of disbanding you all. You’re here to stay, and I have no say in the matter. If I can’t cast you out through legal means, then surely I must cast you out through death.”

Gelanor didn’t speak, his eyes darting between Leila and Her blade.

“I imagine you’re wishing you had revoked that law earlier today,” She said.

“I can do that for You. We can go right now—”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I think I prefer it this way, to be honest.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “You twisted bitch.”

“I’m twisted? Me?” She laughed. “You conspired to kill My mother. You conspired to kill Me when I was just a child. And now you plan My death yet again. You long to steal My realm from My line, and you do it all at the expense of My people—people who are healthy and prosperous because of Me. And I’m the twisted one for burying My blade into your throats? You understand, My duty, My birthright, is to purge this realm of sickness and evil. And I have found the foulest evils in My very own palace. In people like you.”

“It’ll never work, whatever You’re doing. Brontes’s network is vast, his plan extensive—far beyond what You know, what I know—”

“Of course. Why do you think he’s still alive?”

“You are The Savior,” he said. “A woman of light and purity. Not of…murder.”

“Senator, I was born in death. You and your men made it so.”

The Senator went silent, his mouth hanging open stupidly.

“You’re going to answer a few questions for Me,” She said.

“If You’re to kill me, why should I answer anything?”

Leila slammed Her blade into the Senator’s hand, nailing it to its armrest. He howled in agony, but Leila was immune to the sound. To the blood.

“A large sum of coin has been transferred from the vault. Where is it going?”

The man moaned, squirming in his restraints, but he said nothing. She ripped the blade from his hand, sending him reeling again. “Where is My coin?”

“How do You know any of this? You’re not permitted in the vault.”

“For My own good, yes? You know, if I was allowed to access My own coin, I wouldn’t be standing here. Do you see the trouble you’ve put upon yourself?”

Tears dribbled down Gelanor’s face. She tapped Her foot. “The coin. Where is it going?”

Silence.

She thrust Her blade toward his other hand.

“Wait!”

The steel tip grazed his wrinkled flesh. Her eyes panned to his.

“Three men,” he said. “He’s using the coin to pay three men.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but they’re of an…unsavory disposition. He aims for them to move against you. In the tournament, somehow.”

“Somehow?”

“I don’t know his methods, I just know…” He sucked in a shallow breath. “I just know what I’ve already said. There’s three of them, they’re working within the Sovereign’s Tournament…and none of it’s good for You.”

Tendrils of swampy-green oozed from his flesh, filling the space around him—the color of his terror.

“There’s been a slow trickle of coin leaving the vault for some time now,” She said. “Where’s it going?”

He faltered. “I don’t know.”

“You’re the Vault Keeper. You expect Me to believe that?”

“Brontes is handling those funds exclusively. He won’t talk. It’s very… It’s very private, he says.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No,” he spat. “Your Holiness, no, I swear it.”

She lunged forward, grabbing his face hard and tight.

“Your Holiness, please, I’ve told You all I know,” he said. “All of it. I’m utterly useless to You now. Have mercy. I’ll put this treachery behind me, I swear it.”

She tightened Her grip, and putrid green spilled from his pores. Each emotion carried a color, and his, like every other man of his kind, was repulsive. She studied his rotten hue—the fear of a man who had played his cards. Who had nothing left to give.

“Please, I’ve told You everything,” he stammered. “I’m useless.”

Leila hesitated, then dropped Her hand. “I believe you.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Thank You, Your Holiness. Thank You.”

She slammed Her blade into his throat.

Blood poured from his neck, saturating the front of his tunic. As his life drifted away with the river of red, his eyes locked with Hers.

Leila frowned. “Oh, don’t give Me that look. After all, you are useless to Me.”

His stare went vacant, his body an empty vessel. Yanking Her blade from his flesh, Leila called over Her shoulder.

“Delphi, I’ve made another mess. Help Me clean it up, would you?”