Chapter 32 Leila
Leila
“You didn’t tell her we were coming?”
Leila paced the stone floor, Her footsteps echoing through the vast chamber.
One of the queen’s guards had escorted Her to a sitting room, a cold, dreary place much like the rest of the citadel.
She wasn’t particularly concerned about Her accommodations.
She was concerned about the man sitting in front of Her—Enzo, his expression blank, even nonchalant. The bastard.
He shrugged. “There is no problem.”
“Oh, there’s a problem, Enzo. There’s a big problem.” Leila stopped pacing. “You said she would lend us her army. You said she sent you.”
“I did not say this.”
“You most certainly did.”
“I said meeting is good for both.” He nodded, casual in a way that boiled Her blood. “If she is as I think, she will say yes.”
“If being the key word here.” Leila harrumphed beneath the gifted furs cloaking Her shoulders. “And right now that if is shaky, seeing as your queen is pissed to shit.”
“She is fine.”
“Really? Is that why she banished you from the throne room? Why we were manhandled by soldiers?” Leila flung Her arms overhead. “For God’s sake, you’re her personal guard. What could you have possibly done to make her so angry?”
Something shifted in Enzo’s gaze. He bowed his head, eyes cast to the floor.
Leila folded Her arms. “What aren’t you telling Me?”
Enzo was quiet for a long while, and Leila tapped Her foot impatiently. “When I was in tournament,” he finally began. “When You show me Your light.” He raised his head but refused to meet Her gaze. “I know then that You are Savior of Thessen.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I come to tournament to spy. To tell her what I see. But . . . I did not tell her all I know.”
The realization hit Her like a gut punch. He hadn’t told the queen of Leila’s true identity.
“Somehow, she know that I know and said nothing,” Enzo continued. “And she . . . how you say . . . iznohnya.”
Exile. Leila’s Kovahrian accent wasn’t polished, but She was nearly fluent, and She certainly knew that word.
It seemed like a lifetime ago when She’d first met the Queen of Kovahr, but the encounter filled Her mind, replaying before Her eyes—how the queen had insisted Leila was the true Savior, how She had surmised it through little more than careful observation.
Leila’s response replayed in Her thoughts, and She winced.
Or perhaps Enzo told you.
“It’s My fault,” Leila said. “I told her you knew. I just . . . I assumed . . .” She pinched the bridge of Her nose. “I thought you would’ve—”
“I am to blame. I dishonor my realm.” He stood, finally looking Her in the eyes. “I am here to make right.”
His words did little to quell Leila’s guilt. She kneaded Her temples, fighting against a fast-forming headache. “The allegiance between Thessen and Kovahr. Is this your peace offering?”
“If she accepts.”
If. The word picked at Her, reigniting every fear She’d hoped to abandon. Kovahr was supposed to be their salvation, the end of Her long, laborious road. Tobias’s freedom, Her army—all of it was at Her fingertips, and She was helpless as it drifted away.
“I make You much angry,” Enzo said. “I betray Your trust.”
“Seems to be a habit of yours—withholding information.”
“If You must iznohnya me, I understand.”
Enzo remained stoic, but shame and sadness tendrilled from his flesh in the most delicate shade of blue. She almost never made out his colors, and the sight alone was enough to thaw Her hardened heart.
“A proper apology would suffice.”
Enzo dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Hanzipo Kelziah syetpo. I will be better.”
A gentle rap sounded at the door, and Hylas entered, sending Enzo scrambling to his feet.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” Hylas said.
“Our chambers are prepared. I’ve requested a private meeting between the queen and Her Holiness and am awaiting her response.
For now, she’s agreed to let us stay the night. ”
For now. Leila offered a cordial nod. “Thank you.”
Hylas’s eyes flitted between the two of them before he closed the door behind him, and Leila resumed Her pacing.
This is a mess. No. It was manageable. She’d spoken to the queen before.
Hell, the queen had even claimed to like Leila.
More than Brontes, at least. She turned to Enzo, opening Her mouth to speak before stopping short.
Enzo’s gaze was pointed toward the door—and the exact spot Hylas once stood—and his blue tendrils were peppered with pink. Leila might’ve smiled had it not been for their awful circumstances.
“He’s lovely, isn’t he?” She said.
Enzo started. “Who?”
“Hylas.”
“I know not of this Hylas.”
Leila raised an eyebrow. “The man who was in this room just moments ago? Who has been traveling with us for weeks? Who hauled your body from God’s River?”
Enzo didn’t respond, scratching his arm and shifting from foot to foot, restless in a manner Leila wasn’t accustomed to.
“Enzo, are you shy?”
He stiffened and scowled. “I am not shy. You are shy. Pah! Shy.”
Leila stifled a laugh as She sidled up to him. “When you and Zander were . . . together . . . who initiated the—?”
“Fucking?”
Leila faltered. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
Enzo avoided Leila’s gaze and resumed scratching the surely nonexistent itch on his arm. “Zander is . . . was very . . . how you say?”
“Charismatic?”
“Yes,” he said. “The ’risma.”
“Well, I think with Hylas, you’re going to have to take the lead.”
“I told You, I know not—”
“Oh, stop it, Enzo.” Leila rolled Her eyes. “I’ve seen your lecherous staring. You’re not particularly discreet.”
His cheeks reddened. “I have other concerns.”
“Yes, and I imagine your heart hasn’t yet opened itself to new opportunities, what with Zander’s passing, bless him so. But your tryst was just a short two weeks.”
Enzo shot Her a glare, and She softened Her tone. “All I’m saying is, you have many years left in your life, and wouldn’t you like to share them with another?” She placed a delicate hand on his back. “Hylas is good, he is unencumbered, and he is here. And he’s practically salivating over you.”
His flush crept down his neck to his chest, and though he remained hardened, the corner of his lips curved into the slightest hint of a smile.
She knew that feeling—the lust and excitement, the newness and anticipation.
She’d felt it all with Tobias. Something jagged tore into Her heart, but She kept steady, fighting past the cruel and ever-present reminder of what She’d lost.
“These are frightening times. But amidst this chaos, you could have a soft, easy love.” She swallowed Her emotions down. “Don’t let it go to waste.”
Shouting rang out beyond the door, and She flinched. A deep and resonant chant rumbled through the space, loud enough to shake the walls if they weren’t made of stone. Before She could speak, Enzo was clasping his fur mantle and heading for the door.
“Enzo—”
He barreled past Her, throwing the door open and disappearing from view.
Leila chased after him only to find the corridor had filled with people, all heavily muscled, layered in furs, and headed in the same direction.
Leila immersed Herself in the crowd, jostled between the burly bodies until the ceiling gave way to the dim light of the sky.
They’d reached a balcony lined with soldiers, and in its direct center sat their queen, her nahvalya on full display.
The noise intensified, and Leila nudged Her way toward the railing, peering out at the madness—a sea of people stretching far into the distance, fists in the air as they roared to their queen.
The sound was deafening, a wild, almost primal howling echoing in Her ears and vibrating against Her flesh.
It was too familiar, an excerpt from Leila’s life, and She half-expected the grounds below to morph into the palace arena.
Someone let out an “oomph” at Leila’s side. Hylas wriggled between two soldiers, and Raphael was close to follow, straining his eyes as he peered at the commotion below. Leila came in close to them and whispered out of the side of Her mouth, “What is this?”
“I don’t know.” Hylas didn’t so much as blink, hypnotized by the scene. “They just keep chanting, I don’t understand—”
“Aht vhrald,” Raphael translated.
Aht vhrald. Leila heard it then, the words muddled amid the disorder. “The trial.” Her stomach soured. “Is this a hearing?”
“It’s a test.”
The voice startled Leila. A man had appeared at Her side—a soldier, still and unflinching.
He had deep brown skin that contrasted the usual Kovahrian pallor, with black locs tied at the nape of his neck and a long, straight scar beneath each of his exposed pecs.
He was shorter than Enzo, likely Leila’s height, but his muscled form was like something from a painting, perfectly honed and chiseled, a vision of silent strength.
“A test?” Leila said.
The soldier nodded. “A sacred rite few survive.”
“Sacred?” Raphael wrinkled his nose. “Kovahr has no gods.”
“The art of battle is our faith.”
His words shook Leila. She set Her eyes on the mob below—familiar chaos in a foreign land, a dichotomy She struggled to digest.
“Welcome to Kovahr, Your Holiness.”
The soldier was staring at Her, a small smile on his full lips. She pulled Her furs tighter around Her neck. “You know who I am?”
“The sky is grey, but still You glow,” he said. “Plus, You do not look Kovahrian.” His eyes flitted to Raphael and Hylas. “None of you do.”
Leila shrank, raising Her hood over Her head. She nearly flinched when the soldier turned to Her, his hand outstretched.
“Magnus.” He clasped Her hand and shook it firmly. “High General of the queen’s army.”
Hope flickered in Leila’s chest. “It seems you’re the exact man I’ve been looking for. I need to speak with your queen, and I could greatly use your influence—”
Magnus stopped Her short with a single raised hand. “It is beginning.”