Chapter 36 Leila #3
Leila exhaled as one of Her many weights unburdened itself from Her, leaving Her the slightest bit lighter. Yucana rubbed her thumb over Leila’s knuckles the way Tobias often did, and Her heart lurched and seized, pulling Her back to Her sorrows.
“I know You can’t begin to like me overnight. I certainly haven’t earned Your fondness. But no young woman should have to cry alone.” Yucana poked her head into Leila’s line of sight. “I may not be the face You were hoping to see, but I’m here. And You can cry in my arms if You need to.”
“I feel silly.”
Yucana’s eyes glistened, and she offered a sad smile. “My daughter, it’s perfectly all right to feel silly.”
Leila’s lip wobbled despite Her resistance. Her eyes flitted back to the two red ribbons lacing Her wrist, then to the single tear tracking down Yucana’s cheek, and Leila sank into the woman’s embrace, Her grief for once not Hers alone.
Muffled voices from beyond Her chamber sent Leila jerking awake. She rubbed the sleep from Her eyes, then She stiffened, spinning toward Her window. The veil of night was lifting, shifting to a cool grey. Dawn was nearing, yet no one had woken Her.
She couldn’t have slept for more than a few hours.
Perhaps Her grief had finally exhausted Her, granting Her the rest She’d so desperately needed.
Yucana was nowhere to be found, and a pitcher of water along with leftover stew sat at Her bedside.
She scarfed down Her cold meal, then braided Her hair, letting it fall down Her back like a whip.
It wasn’t until She’d layered Her coats, cloaks, and fur mantle that the reality of the journey ahead sank in.
The masses awaited Her death.
A mirror gleamed in the distance. Her mothers were likely waiting in the reflective surface, and She couldn’t bear their worried stares. If it was Her day to die, She’d see them soon enough in the next life. Whispering an apology, She tossed a blanket over the mirror.
As She headed for the door, She stopped Herself.
A clean slip of parchment lay on the floor.
She opened it, finding a note scribbled in black ink—clearly Kovahrian, but the words were unfamiliar to Her.
Kovahr and its fucking dialects. She charged down the corridor, pounding a nearby door twice before flinging it open.
“Hylas, do you know where . . .”
Her voice died. Hylas sat naked in his bed, a sheet clutched to his nethers, while a bare-assed Enzo squatted low to the floor, rifling through a pile of discarded clothing.
Leila averted Her gaze. “Apologies for the disruption.” She cleared Her throat, Her cheeks flushed. “Enzo, do you have a moment?”
Enzo grunted in response, holding up a single finger. Pants in hand, he sauntered toward the connecting washroom while Leila looked at something, anything other than his dangly bits. Once he’d disappeared, She took a seat at Hylas’s side. “You have to tell Me everything.”
Hylas shifted uncomfortably, pulling the sheet over his chest. “Another time, perhaps.”
“I’m curious, is the height difference difficult to manage?
I mean, you’re so tall, and Enzo is rather short.
I’m just wondering.” Enzo strode back into the chamber dressed from the waist down, and Leila waved Hylas away.
“Never mind.” She rushed to Enzo’s side, shoving the parchment in front of him. “What does this mean?”
Enzo scanned the parchment, then handed it back to Her. “It is directions to trial. Queen’s Forest is very large. Much different ways to enter.”
“Why can’t I read it?”
“Is wartongue,” Enzo said. “All challengers receive such message.”
Leila growled. She’d heard of wartongue—a dialect used in times of battle, somewhat of a code for the Kovahrian people. “She must know I wouldn’t be able to read this.”
Enzo shrugged. “It is way of the trial.”
Leila resisted the urge to curse aloud. She was already at a stark disadvantage, and language was being used against Her. Was She too late? Would She miss the trial entirely? Her frustrations must have been written across Her face, because Enzo’s expression softened.
“Come,” he said. “I will take You.”
He and Hylas finished dressing before the three of them spilled into the corridor, Enzo leading the way.
Eyes followed them as they passed, and though Leila didn’t dare meet their gazes, She knew what each person was thinking—they were witnessing the final march of a dead woman.
She raised Her chin. She’d prove them wrong.
After all, She’d lost count of the men She’d killed in Her lifetime.
But no matter how much She tried to convince Herself, how fervently She clung to those words, Her doubts gnawed at Her.
She was in Kovahr, where citizens trained in the art of warfare since childhood. Everyone knew She was out of Her depth.
The citadel gate lowered, and a gust of icy wind blew back Leila’s hood.
Hylas shivered at Her side while Enzo continued on, immune to the cold.
Leila’s stomach roiled. Her opponents had yet another advantage over Her—they were accustomed to the ungodly temperature, whereas Leila’s teeth were already chattering, and She struggled to walk as Her leather boots sank into the snow.
She was relieved when they finally reached the citadel stable, each taking a steed.
Leila chose a dapple grey with a gentle disposition, though the glistening of the mare’s kind eyes made it seem that even she pitied Leila.
Frowning, She mounted the horse and followed Enzo’s lead.
The Queen’s Forest appeared in the distance, and a long stretch of people waited before it with Prisca standing in their direct center.
Her fellow challengers were mounted atop their own steeds, eyes trained on the forest while many familiar faces stared intently at Her.
Raphael, Yucana, Naomi, Delphi, and even Leila’s servants were waiting to see Her off, and Her heart both swelled and sank at the sight.
Tears already welled in Naomi’s eyes, and Yucana clutched at her cloak as if it were a lifeline.
Raphael’s gaze betrayed no emotion, but Leila could make out his nerves in his rigid stance, and Hemera was sobbing loudly onto Nyx’s shoulder.
Delphi ran up to Leila’s horse. “I love You.” She took Leila’s hand, eyes glistening over. “I love You so much.”
No sassy quip, no sardonic jab. Even Her own sister didn’t believe She could do this.
Prisca strode up to Leila, eyeing her up and down. She held out a hand. “Weapons?”
Leila couldn’t help but grimace. The other challengers’ weapons were already discarded in a pile in the snow. Despite Her misgivings, She unsheathed the blade from Her thigh and handed it to Prisca, who retrieved it with a nod.
A chuckle broke through the quiet. The prisoners stood at the opposite end of the line, and a tremor rolled down Leila’s spine.
They were already armed, some with simple swords and daggers, others with spears, axes, and even a spiked mace.
She pushed aside Her nerves, trying to study their faces—eight men and two women wearing tattered cloaks and tunics.
One of the men was short and wide like Enzo, with stringy blond hair tied into a ponytail, and one of the women had a long scar tracing her jawline.
But the prisoner who most troubled Her was the largest of them all, with legs like tree trunks and arms nearly the width of Leila’s waist. His face was mostly hidden by a brown beard, but his small blue eyes were penetrating, and they were pointed Her way.
“Places.”
Prisca’s voice pulled Leila back to the task at hand.
With Her gut wound tight, Leila commanded Her horse to trot, sidling up beside the other two challengers.
The man with the auburn beard looked Her way and scoffed, but the rotund man with the long braids offered Her a cordial nod, reviving some semblance of Her dignity.
“Ready.”
Leila gripped tight to Her reins. One of the prisoners hadn’t stopped laughing, but She kept Her eyes straight ahead, fighting against Her frenzied nerves.
She didn’t look back at Her loved ones, certain their colors would further mangle Her pride.
Nothing could change Her mind anyway. The trial wasn’t about Her. It was about Tobias.
A horn blared in the distance, and Leila squeezed Her horse with Her calves, launching them into the forest. Trees blurred around Her, and frigid air pelted Her face.
She’d been riding for mere seconds when another horn sounded off.
The prisoners had been released behind Her, and She dug Her heels into Her horse’s sides, quickening its pace until the forest around them was a vortex of ice and snow.
Leila tugged on the reins, slowing Her horse to a steady trot.
They were near the center of the forest, and Leila’s hands were trembling, stirred by Her frantic heartbeat.
She glanced over Her shoulder. Hoofprints littered the snow, leaving a trail directly to Her.
Grunting, She hopped down from Her horse, landing in the snow with a crunch.
With a pat on its rump, she sent the mare trotting off, leaving Her alone in the forest with the whisper of the wind.
The silence picked at Her. Nothing but barren trees and snow stretched ahead of Her, yet She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
She reached for Her thigh out of habit, wincing to find nothing but Her trousers.
She was naked without Her blade, and the weight of Her trial became tangible.
She’d killed men before, but never without a weapon.