Bloodguard

chapter 10

Maeve

I mix a new batch of peels and leaves in a bowl and move toward the gladiator—the heavily muscled, naked gladiator. With my head held high, I sprinkle the contents onto the water’s surface, beginning with the area over his groin.

“Something troubling you, Maeve?” he asks. “You seem distracted.”

Good stars. Sometimes there just aren’t enough orange peels in the world.

He chooses to look up at me then and smirk. Of course, even his smirk sets my pulse thrumming.

I return to my workstation. I must fix him. Not fixate on his body.

“Nice place,” he says, taking in his surroundings.

“It’s where I work,” I reply. “Now quiet and let the herbs do their job. I need you slightly numb.” If he’s drugged enough, I should be able to treat him. And if I treat him well, he’ll see that we’d make a good team. He scratches my back…damn, his hands are huge…and I’ll do some scratching of my own.

“What are you thinking?” he rumbles.

I blush, because clearly I haven’t humiliated myself enough.

“Oh, I see…” he says.

He winks at me, and I almost drop the jar I’ve pulled from the shelf. Gladiators don’t wink. They don’t flirt. They puncture chests and make their opponents eat their own lungs.

I shoot him a glare, then take a deep breath. He’s not weak, and he doesn’t act like he’s hurting, even with so many injuries. He’s simply—

Spectacular , if I’m honest.

I grip the sides of the stone table and bow my head, giving myself time to settle. When I’ve gathered my fortitude, I turn and say, “All right, Keith. This might hurt a little.”

His eyes are closed, but he still manages to growl, “It’s Leith , and there’s nothing you can do to me that I haven’t felt before.”

Based on all the scars marring his body, I’m sure it’s true. “You’re a mess,” I admit, and his eyes snap open. “In order to heal you, I must lance and drain the wounds your body failed to fully mend.”

“I thought you were just treating the current ones.” His face could chill even the harshest winter. “How long will it take all this shit to heal?”

“Probably a week.”

He doesn’t like what I said. “I don’t have a week. They could call me back tomorrow .”

Which is true. Gladiators don’t have a posted schedule, and some can go weeks between bouts. Soro once told me they do that to whip the betting into a frenzy when a favorite reappears, but looking at the bleak expression Leith is currently trying to hide, I think it might be to break the fighters’ spirits as much as their bodies.

I lift my chin. “You can’t fight with your body this wounded,” I say, matching his sharp tone.

“Wounds have never stopped me before, and they sure as sin won’t stop me now.”

No…they probably won’t. “Well, if that’s what you want, fine.” I sigh.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t, either. I can’t treat him without his consent. It’s unethical.

Finally, he mutters, “You can heal me fully?”

“I’ll do my best.”

He studies me closely. I don’t know what he sees, but for once, he doesn’t have much to say. He just stares at me for several long moments, judging his options—judging me. Then he mumbles, “Fine.”

I shudder and hope that I really can help him as much as I claim. As committed as I am to healing, I’m incapable of miracles.

I couldn’t save my grandmother. I couldn’t heal myself fully. I can’t seem to help Giselle.

“Lean forward and let me see your back.” When he does, his skin stretches out like a map, a landscape riddled with war and pain and fire—burns, so many burns. My fingertips inadvertently pass along the scars on the right side of my jaw. I wish I could remember more about that day. All I remember are flames and pain. So much pain. Sometimes, I swear I can feel it still.

And still my scars are nothing compared to those Leith bears.

How is this man alive? When I’m queen, I’ll free Papa, and we will end these games forever.

I dip my fingers into the paste I made, strengthening the mixture by adding the purple dust from aja mushrooms. It took months for me to find a fairy circle strong enough to grow them, but even then, I only found three and collected two.

Aja mushrooms are one of the only things that can heal not only a late-stage infection but the charred flesh that, under non-magical circumstances, would take months to painstakingly regrow.

An ache builds in my bones—that feeling of doubt that plagues me more than I wish. But if I am to be queen, there can never be doubt. Only action.

I shake off the fear. This mixture is potent, and it must be formulated just right. If I somehow missed a step, it will not only kill the infection. It will kill him.

The ingredients sparkle, brightening the paste. I exhale with relief. That’s a good sign.

I apply the mixture to his left hand, starting with a stab wound straight through his palm— it may be too late to preserve full mobility in that hand —and onto the series of gashes crisscrossing his arms. He doesn’t even flinch as I attend to these injuries.

But his jaw clenches when I move to his back. There’s a large wound on his shoulder that the dragon fire only partially cauterized. Whatever made that gash dug deep. He’s lucky to be alive.

He hisses as I glide my finger along the inflamed lesions and the deep burns. The paste is working as I intended. It sizzles across the skin, eating away at the damaged tissue and stirring new skin to form.

He grips the edge of the bathtub tighter.

Come on, heal…

The scar bursts open, and I gasp.

Leith twitches but otherwise remains still. I’d expected to find more injured tissue. I hadn’t expected to find a pus-filled sac at the base.

“Uh…this might sting a little,” I warn, trying not to gag.

With a sickening pop , yellow fluid mixed with spots of green oozes out.

My face puckers, and I struggle for balance. It’s only because of the pain he’s in that he doesn’t notice my reaction. Good. Despite my chosen specialty and unusually strong stomach, this is all sorts of disgusting.

The cleaning stone absorbs the contaminants like a sponge, rapidly pulling them in and keeping the water clean. I’ve never treated someone this injured before. Not even close.

With a trembling hand, I add more paste.

Then add some more.

In fact, I keep adding paste like his life depends on it—because it does. Honestly, the color drains from his skin and mine. “Ah, this might add to your discomfort.”

“Discomfort is stubbing a toe,” he seethes. “Am I going to have a fucking shoulder by the time you’re done?”

I take another good look and consider how much paste I have left.

“Um, maybe?” I offer.

“Maybe?” he barks back. Tremors rack his frame. He grips the edge of the bath even tighter, his knuckles discoloring. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Yes.” Usually . I close my mouth tightly. It’s better than vomiting on my patient. That has to be a rule, right? Thou shall not hurl on thy patient?

I order my body to settle. He still needs me, and I can’t stop now.

His right shoulder makes an odd twitch. There’s an eruption of fluid and—

Yes!

Leith jerks forward, and I crouch at the side of the tub. As hard as I’m breathing, his respiration is deeper and dangerously fast. His eyes are wild, and I’m certain he’ll collapse. But then his breathing slows, and relief floods me from head to toe.

“What the blazes just happened?” he groans between gritted teeth.

If I wasn’t clutching the side of the tub for balance, I’d applaud. “Fresh blood is spilling from the wound.”

“Wonderful,” he mutters. “Indeed, miraculous news.”

I shift to my knees and begin to gently cleanse the wounds with a sponge. “Don’t worry. Nothing a good leeching won’t fix.”

“Leeching?” Water sloshes over the edges of the tub as he twists to gape at me, and I can’t help it—I start to giggle.

“I’m joking,” I say with a strangled laugh. “The next time you’re in the city, see about buying a sense of humor.”

“You seriously expect me to laugh? Now? ”

“No,” I say, managing a smile. “But some gratitude would be nice.”

He grumbles something that may or may not be about my mother. I don’t let him catch my grin this time. Squeezing the sponge, I stream water over the wounds to make sure all the infection is gone.

Leith rolls his shoulder, still looking groggy, and adjusts his back. His voice is gravelly following the stress on his body. “You helped me.”

I wag a finger at him. “And saved your life. You’re welcome, big guy.”

He grumbles again. Surely, it’s a compliment about my incredible skills.

My, there are so many scars layered one on top of another, it’s difficult to discern where one ends and the next begins. I give him a moment before I slather paste over the patches of fragile, textured skin marring his back, the scars that most closely resemble my own, then tend the wound on the back of his head and what must be at least two cracked ribs.

By the time I finish treating him, the twilight owls have begun welcoming mother moon.

Leith rises when I do, steadier on his feet than he was before. That’s a good sign. His attention wanders to the cleaning stone that went from white to a sickly green throughout the course of his care.

“That was all inside me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit.

He’s only a few feet away, giving me a clear view of butt cheeks capable of snapping a wand in half and making a wish. Beads of water glide over muscle as his bare feet slap against the wood floorboards. His wavy hair teases his spine right between his shoulder blades. The new skin that’s replacing the burns remains pink and fresh and will need more time to toughen up.

I take a deep breath and swallow as heat flares up my neck and over my face. Leith is beautiful in the scariest way possible. I pass him a thick towel, trying to appear professional and failing miserably.

He drags the towel down his face and wraps it around his waist. “Why did you do all this? I’m nothing to you.”

“That’s not true.” My voice quiets as I sweeten each word. “You’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever treated.”

He chuckles in a way that sounds too good.

“Don’t laugh,” I say. “I don’t come cheap.”

He crosses his massive arms. “Jakeb made a blood oath that I wouldn’t owe him a thing.”

“I’m not my father,” I remind him, ignoring his death glare. “And the way I look at it, you owe me for my services and for killing my fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” he asks with one eyebrow raised and annoyance poignant in his tone.

“That’s right.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I take a deep breath and blurt out the question that’s been plaguing me since I first came up with this crazy idea. “Leith, will you marry me?”