Chapter 5
Tobias
“Mend the flesh.”
Tobias winced. The burn of Leila’s light wasn’t always so vexing, but when pressed to an open wound, it was hard to ignore. He set his jaw, counting the seconds as Her palm seared his mangled flesh.
“All right.” He pulled away. “That’s enough.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Leila said.
“It feels fine.”
“It’s bleeding.”
Tobias ignored Her, threading his green tunic overhead.
Leila had been blessing him ever since they’d set up their new camp that morning.
She’d started with his gashes from yesterday’s ambush, then moved on to his stitches from the Culmination which were long overdue for removal, only to circle back to his newest collection of wounds.
Her concern was endearing, but he’d grown indifferent to injury.
Little over a week ago, his back was a mess of crisscrossing lesions, but the new scar tissue barely pulled when he dressed.
Perhaps by the end of their journey, there wouldn’t be a single part of him unmarred.
“Tobias,” Leila said. “Are you upset with Me?”
“What?” He searched Her gaze. “Darling, no. Why would You think that?”
“You wouldn’t be in this situation if not for Me.”
“None of this is Your fault. Do You understand? You can’t blame Yourself for Brontes’s actions.”
“Still, I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“That’s because You’re used to doing everything by Yourself.” He offered Her a smile. “Apologies, but You’re stuck with me now.”
She cracked a smile of Her own, taking his hand and dragging Her fingertip down the scar trailing his palm.
Bringing it to Her lips, She pressed a soft kiss to his flesh, a memory reenacted.
The throbbing of his wounds retreated, the first hint of calm he’d felt in days.
Leila was in his life—something good. Something real.
The whinny of a horse sent them lurching apart.
Tobias’s mother stood with their steeds, patting the bay mare’s muzzle and cooing.
She’d been silent for most of their journey to their newest site—as had Naomi, who sat by what would eventually become a firepit.
They’d watched as Leila weighted the dead soldiers with rope and stones while Raphael and Tobias dragged them into the lake, and their unblinking gazes had seared holes in his flesh.
Leila rested a hand on his thigh. “You should probably—”
“I know. I’ll talk to them.”
He squeezed Her palm and headed off, dread slowing his stride.
His mother was scraping out the muddled contents of a hoof.
Something about her wasn’t familiar anymore; it had been picking at him for days, a flitting gnat he couldn’t quite catch.
Perhaps she had changed, or maybe it was him, but the air between them had thickened since his return, and each day it was more tangible than the last.
“I’m just checking to see how you’re faring,” Tobias said, stopping at her side and clearing his throat, “after yesterday.”
His mother dropped the hoof and scooped up the next. Her movements were clipped, her mouth pressed into a straight line. Who was this woman?
“So, now you’re not speaking to me?”
She sighed. “Tobias, stop it.”
“Well, I’m trying but getting nothing in return.”
She released the mare and stood upright. “What am I supposed to do?”
Confusion swept Tobias’s gaze. “Pardon?”
“I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you. But this?” She gestured at the woods around them. “How am I supposed to protect you from soldiers? From the sovereign? How am I supposed to just . . . just sit back and watch?”
Tobias’s stomach sank. His mother’s eyes glistened, and he suddenly felt years younger and older at the same time. “It’s not your job anymore.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You can’t say that. You’re not a parent. You don’t understand.”
As she wiped her eyes, he scooped her up in a hug. “I’m sorry, Mother.” He rested his cheek against her hair, keeping his frame solid and strong. “What can I do?”
“Stop getting into trouble.”
He chuckled. “I’ll try my best.”
She squeezed him tighter before turning her attention to the horses, each flick of her hands once again short and clipped. He was getting to know the new version of her, albeit slowly.
A smile sparkled from across the campsite—Leila, ever-encouraging—and he forced one in return before turning on his heel.
Naomi sat on a folded grey blanket sorting dry wood for the evening’s fire, and he took root at her side, crossing his legs.
One down, one to go. Perhaps he’d survive the day after all.
“Are you all right?”
Naomi scoffed, tossing a wet twig aside. “I’d be doing a whole lot better if there wasn’t a traitor in our camp.” Raphael was keeping watch yards away, oblivious to their conversation, but she glared at him nonetheless. “Have you noticed how loudly he breathes? It drives me mad.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. You’re coddling us, and it’s silly.” She cast Tobias a sideways glance. “We’ve struggled too, you know. We’re not fragile.”
Tobias’s cheeks burned as if he’d been stripped naked. Naomi kept her gaze on her pile of sticks. Perhaps she was trying to appear unfazed, but her neck and shoulders had stiffened, and she held her chin high in a posturing way.
“You were very brave yesterday. I never thought my brother would become a warrior, but you make a fine one.”
“Kind words from my sister? Do my ears deceive me?”
Silence—not even a pity laugh. Her hands had stopped working, and her eyes were pointed at her lap, the turning of her mind clear by the stillness of her body.
“What now?” Tobias’s stomach twisted. “Is this about—?”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I should say it. I fear it’s no good for you. But I can’t stop thinking . . .”
“Just say it.”
Sighing, she met his gaze. “Milo.”
The name ripped the air from Tobias’s lungs, bringing forth visions of large eyes, a prominent nose, mousy brown curls.
He saw his childhood friend every day, sometimes laughing, other times sprayed across a brick wall.
Milo had taken up permanent residence in Tobias’s mind, a ghost he was accustomed to, but something about hearing the name aloud turned his muscle to stone.
“I need to know . . .” Naomi took in a breath. “He died, and . . . Were you there?”
Tobias tried to move his arms, his hands, but they were solid rock. He nodded.
“Did you see it happen?”
“I did.” Blood. “I saw it. I felt it.” On my eyelids, on my lips—salty and metallic. “He was killed right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything.”
Naomi paled. “Tobias—”
“I spent the entire day looking after him.” The black bricks of the labyrinth materialized around him, building one on top of the other until they blocked out the sky.
“Obstacle after obstacle. I nearly killed myself keeping him safe. Then it was almost over, and I let my guard down, and . . .” His voice caught, and his words forced their way up his throat like bile.
“It was so fast. He was dead, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing. ”
Silent tears fell down Naomi’s cheeks. “Come here.”
“I’m fine.”
“Shut up.”
He didn’t move, so she slung an arm around him instead, rubbing his strained shoulders as she cried at his side.
He wanted her presence to soothe him like it used to, but her hand on his back only wound him tighter, coiling his insides until they were ready to snap.
Black stacked bricks surrounded him, some caked in soot, others smeared with blood and entrails and Milo.
Tobias’s fists began to tremble. He’d left the tournament behind weeks ago. How was he still lost in the labyrinth?
“All right. Now seems as good a time as any for a meeting.”
Raphael appeared before them, hands on his hips as he surveyed the woods. Tobias growled under his breath.
“I propose we discuss a course of action,” Raphael said. “Find some direction from this point forward.” He caught Tobias’s and Naomi’s twin glares. “What? Was something going on?”
“We can sleep here tonight.” Their mother hurried toward them, seemingly eager to diffuse the tension. “Figure out a plan in the morning.”
“With all due respect, it’s best we start sooner rather than later,” Raphael said. “Even with the bodies disposed of, more soldiers are bound to find their horses, wherever they are. It’ll set them on our trail. We’re running out of time as it is.”
Tobias shook Naomi’s arm off his shoulders. Raphael hadn’t said anything revelational. He’d merely drudged up Tobias’s existing concerns, sweeping them to the surface like the rolling tide.
“We need to leave the woods,” Tobias said.
“The issue is, where to?” Raphael was quiet for a long moment, then nodded as if agreeing with his own thoughts.
“I say Leila shadow walks us to the Trogolian palace. The sovereign won’t suspect it, given the realm’s questionable reputation and duplicitous policies.
We can request their assistance with some level of discretion. ”
Leila sighed as She joined the group. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“What doesn’t work like that?”
“Shadow walking,” Leila said. “We can only go places one of us has been to before. Unless you have ties to the Trogolian king that I’m unaware of, we’ll have to think of something else.”
Groaning, Raphael threw his hands in the air. “Well, if that’s the case, our options are slim to none. Between our lack of resources and Tobias being labeled a fugitive, the sovereign has us cornered at all vantage points.”
Fire blossomed in Tobias’s chest, but he rooted himself to the ground, festering in the flames.
“Is there no use in returning to the palace—speaking with the soldiers or Senate?” Tobias’s mother glanced around the circle. “Surely they must trust the word of their Savior.”
“They’re in Brontes’s pocket,” Tobias grumbled. “Have been for years. It’s a dead end.”
“And there’s no reasoning with them?”