Bloodguard

chapter 7

Maeve

My heart nearly soared out of my chest as I watched the final gladiator rise from the sandy arena floor victorious. An hour later, I’m back in my bedroom and my insides are still twisted in knots, the image of the tall fighter covered head to toe in sweat and dirt and blood burned in my mind.

Our little estrellas chitter as they bounce along my bed like the little non-magical lemurs they resemble, their soft calico fur bristling as they watch the two smallest ones fight it out for the pillow.

“Bethina, Tibeta, behave,” I admonish. “There’s plenty of room—”

Quick steps racing up the stone stairs of the manor have me whipping around. My sister, Giselle, appears, her straight, honey-colored hair all a flutter, her matching eyes wild.

“It’s all over the city. Filip’s dead ?” she gasps.

I barely catch her before she stumbles into my room and lands on the dark wood floor. Her escalated voice sends the estrellas into a frenzy, small but mighty claws scratching the floor as they chase one another. “Giselle, be careful!”

“ I need to be careful?” she demands, allowing me to steady her. “Maeve, your birthday will be here in less than three months. What are we going to do now?”

My twenty-first birthday. When I’ll be old enough to take the throne…provided I’ve married well.

My sister is only a few months younger than me, but at barely over five feet, she’s short for an elf. I tower over her. It shouldn’t matter, but because of her petite frame and her other, um, abilities , I’ve always felt protective of her.

My fingers brush across her cheek, smoothing her long hair behind an ear. “You don’t look well,” I say. “Did you take the elixir I made?”

“Yes, but I threw it up,” she says, her wide eyes unblinking.

“Why?”

“Because it tasted like shit.”

I sigh. “It’s not supposed to be tasty. I developed it to suppress some of your…issues.”

Oh, there’s that questioning eyebrow lift Giselle is known for. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

I quiet. “Did you give some to Papa, like I asked?” She nods. “Oh, good.”

“No. Not good.” She grimaces. “He threw it all up. Because it tastes like shit.”

I want to laugh. If only this were a laughing matter. Instead, I step away from her and groan. “How is he?”

Her petite features soften with palpable sadness. “Terrible, Maeve, just awful . What are we going to do?”

“It’s not we. It’s me . And I’ve already come up with a new plan.” I cross my arms, tilting my chin up. “I’m going to marry a Bloodguard.”

Giselle nods thoughtfully, flopping onto my fluffy white bed now free of estrellas. When she turns her head, I know she’s ready to talk, or at the very least tear my idea apart. “What size?” she asks.

My brows knit together. “What size Bloodguard?” I question.

“What size coffin, Maeve? Are you mad?” She throws her arms out for emphasis. “Bloodguards kill, like, everything and anyone in their path. And you want to marry one?”

My spine stiffens as I straighten to my full height. “If that’s what it takes to free Papa, I’ll do it.”

“Which Bloodguard, Maeve? Ditrese the bear shifter is on wife number three, due to the ‘accidental’ demises of the first two.” She blows out a breath. “Damn shame. You would have loved shaving his back twice a week.”

“Giselle…”

She holds out a finger. “Oh, there’s Aeet, the mage, but while she likes women, she’s so traumatized from the arena, she won’t leave her cottage. A million gold coins. That’s how much she won. And she’s used all of it to fortify her home against, well, everyone.” She lifts her head. “No one who’s tried to enter it has yet returned. Are you planning to be the first?”

“Giselle,” I say.

“And let’s not forget Situ. ‘Where are my toes? Where are my toes? Has anyone seen my toes? I’ll kill you for hiding my toes!’ I mean, how many times can you tell a wizard he ate his own toes before he starts to believe you?”

“That’s just a rumor.”

“Is it, Maeve?” She shakes her head, quieting me as she repositions against the pillows. “There are only five Bloodguards in Arrow, all either dangerous to you or dangerously loyal to the regent. The other two moved as far away from the arena as they could go. And can you blame them?”

“No,” I admit. My sister is right. Seven Bloodguards in my lifetime… Seven deeply traumatized individuals, the latest two faithfully serving Vitor. “All that senseless death…”

I move over to the wardrobe, grab the hem of my dress in my fists, and yank it over my head. I toss it into the basket next to my bed and wish it was as easy to get rid of the memories from today.

I pull my wardrobe open, grab breeches, and tug them on with jerky movements. My hands tremble as I fasten the hooks on a clean shirt, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. “But someone new will soon become a Bloodguard. I just know it. And I will make a deal with him to be my husband as well.”

“This is an absurd plan, Maeve. No.” She scooches up on the bed, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “No. Absolutely no .”

I don’t bother arguing. There really is no other choice.

The door to my bedchamber creaks open. I don’t have to turn to know it’s Neela, the matron troll who’s cared for us since we were children. She was our governess and tutor and family, which is why Neela was more than happy to come with us when Father, Giselle, and I left the castle in exchange for this manor.

Her extra-wide shoes tap against the oak floors as she walks over.

She blinks her small black eyes, her hooked nose crinkling as she tilts her head at me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“A lady of your position should dress to impress,” she reminds me in a comment that bears remarkable similarity to Vitor’s. She’s short for a troll—coming only up to my shoulder—and ancient, as the gray tuft of hair on top of her head suggests. Her large ears droop, an unfair show of disappointment. “If you seek the throne and the crown that comes with it, you should appear worthy.”

“I’m wearing a dress, Neela,” Giselle says with a wide smile.

“That’s nice, dear,” she says, her gravelly voice cracking with age.

If Giselle had long ears, they would droop as well. Neela wasn’t trying to hurt her, but the naturally brusque woman hit a very sore spot nonetheless.

Father and Giselle were given titles by Papa following his marriage to Father. Father was an accomplished soldier but had no connection to royal bloodlines. He was accepted into the court favorably due to his military accomplishments as the former High Guard of Arrow. His daughter, Giselle, never was. Short and supposedly lacking the magical prowess of her mage mother, she was snubbed.

A distant horn blasts, announcing the start of another match. “I’m going to see Papa,” my sister says, and a pinch of jealousy tightens my chest. Papa has refused my visits thus far.

I nod, and Giselle heads back down the stairs, the gentle aroma of jasmine oil trailing behind her. I hope the tincture I concocted to ease her discomfort is working.

Neela waits until Giselle’s light steps reach the lower level before saying, “She’s upset.” My hands disappear within her large grasp as she gives mine a gentle squeeze. “And so are you.”

Of course I’m upset. I have no power. No way to free my father. No right to even visit him, to see with my own eyes that he’s okay. And what happened today in that arena— “Neela, there was only one survivor in the match I watched. All ten gladiators were forced to fight at once, with only one winner in the end.”

She sighs. “General Soro is cruel.”

My uncle might sit on the throne and rule in my stead, but in doing so, he allowed Soro to rise to High General of Arrow. And the general has final say on all matches in the arena games.

“But I think Vitor is in on it, too,” I tell her.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Aisling was all too happy to share that Vitor has been killing fighters about to be crowned Bloodguard. She said he doesn’t much care for allowing gladiators he hasn’t sponsored to win.”

Neela tsk s. “The High Lord has always been a fair man, Maeve. That doesn’t sound like him at all.” She smooths her hands down her apron as her gaze focuses in the direction of the arena. “Although…I have heard the odds have been favoring the Commons lately. And you know how the Middling hates to see a commoner rise in rank.”

“Almost as much as the nobles hate for someone to join their rank, I’d imagine.” I frown, realizing Aisling might have been right. “Between the dragon and the surprise melee combat, I must wonder if Soro intended anyone to walk out of that match today, favored or not.”

Neela plucks a speck of fuzz from the ends of my hair, her opinions clear in the silence.

“Life should not be wagered for sport,” I mutter.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Neela tries to soothe, but her words only make my stomach twist more. She means the fights weren’t to the death before Papa struck down my grandmother.

“ I’m going to the garden,” I announce abruptly. “ Father has gone to fetch a gladiator. He’s hurt and needs my herbs to heal him.”

Her eyes darken as she stares at me. “ Be careful, child,” she says. “Gladiators are not soft—or easy to win over.”

She knows me too well.

“ I mean it, Maeve,” Neela says, her crackly voice stern. “They break those fighters down until they have nothing left to lose—and that makes them more dangerous than even you can realize.”

As I head toward the back stairs, I toss over my shoulder the absolute truth. “ That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”