Chapter 17 #4
Tobias hoisted the supplies over his shoulder, careful to reposition his cowl before it slipped from the bridge of his nose. The heavy load on his back was certainly enough to sustain them. All that was left was to hear the herald.
As if summoned by his thoughts, metal clanked in the distance, and the hair on the back of Tobias’s neck stood straight.
A horde collected around the dais, but he didn’t bother to look its way.
He’d been here before, could still hear the soldier announcing his new, heinous title.
Fugitive. Traitor. Tobias thought to summon Leila’s blessing and shadow walk away, but he resisted.
Braced and readied, Tobias wove through the crowd, hiding amid the masses.
The soldiers were taking formation around the dais, forming two long rows with their spears crossed like X’s.
There wasn’t a single herald in sight. Tobias had expected as much, but that didn’t stop him from gripping the hilt of his sword and hovering his free hand over the sheath on his thigh.
A single soldier stepped onto the dais, his helmet covering most of his face, and spoke over the murmuring spectators.
“Citizens of Thessen, we bear news from the south. Our quest for The Savior has not been fruitless.” The soldier raised his chin. “She has been seen.”
Gasps sounded through the capital, and Tobias tensed. The south. Leila was there in that very moment, along with his mother and sister.
“Our source has convened with our righteous sovereign and, in doing so, has earned his respect.” The crowd’s chatter climbed higher, and the soldier raised his voice. “This man speaks no falsehoods. The palace trusts his claims implicitly, and the people of Thessen must do the same.”
Go back to Leila. Warn Her. But he couldn’t remove his eyes from the dais, nor could he blink as the soldiers behind their speaker parted, carving a narrow pathway.
The speaker removed his helmet and bowed. “Today I bring to you Flynn Joseon, the Prince of the Sovereign’s Tournament, Giver of Gifts, Friend to the Artist, the Savior’s Champion, and your future sovereign.”
Applause surrounded Tobias, or perhaps it was simply the thundering of his heartbeat. What he knew for certain was that Flynn was marching among the soldiers, guarded by their numbers. The thirst for violence bubbled within Tobias, strong enough to coax one of his blades free from its sheath.
Flynn stood on the dais, his carriage proud, skin glistening with oils, and reddish-brown drape shining with golden thread.
Scabs and scars marked his lip and brow, but the greatest reminder of Tobias’s fists was the black bandage covering his eye and wrapping his skull.
Something akin to pride burned in Tobias, but the feeling was snuffed as soon as Flynn spoke.
“It’s true. I’ve seen Her Holiness.” Flynn’s voice carried through the capital. “She is alive, but I regret to inform you, She is unwell.”
The people around Tobias whispered, though it was lost on him. His eyes bore through Flynn—and the blackness surrounding them, brick upon brick, sealing them in.
“She is indeed being held captive by the Artist,” Flynn said. “The very man who left me marred.”
The surrounding people stood unblinking while Tobias’s logical mind grappled with his flaming impulses. How easy it would be to launch his dagger straight through Flynn’s throat.
“Like our valiant soldiers, I searched far and wide for my bride. I fought to free Her from bondage, and I succeeded in my task to find Her. She was gracious for my intervention, fell weak and willingly into my arms.” Flynn shook his head.
“I’d never seen Her in such a state. Good people of this realm, I must speak candidly—She is terrified of that savage creature. ”
Tobias tightened his grip on the hilt, his nails digging into his palms. He’d told Leila he wouldn’t kill anyone, but perhaps one broken promise wasn’t so bad. He cursed under his breath. The guards would seize him in seconds, with or without Leila’s light.
“Unfortunately, I failed you all, just as I failed Her,” Flynn said. “I battled mightily against the Artist, but his strength wasn’t his own. It was coupled with dark magic, a curse from the Outlands. After hours of bloodshed, he overpowered me and left me with this reminder of our encounter.”
He pointed to his bandaged eye, eliciting more whispers from the crowd. Certainly the people saw Flynn as a victim—no, a hero. A scathing heat burned through Tobias’s veins. If Flynn was a hero, surely Tobias was darkness itself.
“That traitor may have bested me once, but know this—I will be silent no more.” Flynn unsheathed the sword at his hip and raised it high.
“I vow to stand beside the sovereign in his pursuit to save our queen. I will fight and bleed until my bride is returned safely to my side. And I denounce my laurelite as Friend to the Artist and promise to earn one anew—the Artist’s Executioner. ”
The slight patter of clapping hands rang forth from the otherwise still horde.
Tobias was cold and stagnant, his mind flitting between calm and chaos.
Flynn stood recognized by the palace and dignified with an audience, while Tobias hid amid the masses, a fugitive fleeing for his life.
It was all so familiar in a twisted way, and his thoughts screamed as Flynn spoke his final words.
“Please join me in my crusade to bring the Artist to justice.”