Bloodguard

chapter 18

Leith

The moments that follow are like patches on an old man’s coat, barely held together by a common thread and not enough to protect him.

There are jolts of that burning, numb feeling. They start and stop, scattered for a time or coming all at once. My body bounces in an erratic cadence.

I am in the water until I’m not.

I am choking and desperate for air until I am breathing and clearing my lungs.

Rancid water in my throat and stomach causes me to spew in surges. I’m cold, I think.

It’s dark, late. Hours, maybe days since I first entered the arena. I should be dead. It’s a miracle I’m not.

Well, mostly.

I think I won. I think I saved Dahlia.

Voices trail in and out, or maybe I fade in and out. The words don’t make sense right away. Eventually, I start understanding the conversation.

It’s about me.

“He won,” Jakeb says.

“He killed Count Nathanial and his new bride. He doesn’t deserve honor. I should feed him to my dogs!”

It’s Soro’s voice. He’s a few feet from me. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, and it’s too bad I don’t have the energy to kill him where he stands.

“All the rules were followed by this young gladiator,” Jakeb says in a level tone. “He fought his opponents, and while he didn’t slay them directly, his strategy bestowed him the win.”

“Count Nathanial is dead!” someone else says.

“With all due respect, my lord,” a young woman with a light voice replies. Giselle . “Count Nathanial was about as bright as a donkey’s asshole at midnight. Is this really a loss for his court?”

“Giselle,” Jakeb warns.

“Father,” Giselle says.

There’s murmuring. Lots of it. A crowd has formed around me.

“Give him to me, Soro.” Jakeb addresses that bastard once again. “Leith remains in good standing. He is worth more alive than dead.”

Someone nudges my side with their foot. I cough up more water.

“Father?” Soro says.

So, Vitor is here, too.

“High Lord Vitor, if I may remind you,” Giselle says, addressing the regent, “Nathanial has no heir, and as your liege, his house’s riches and that of his bride now belong to you.”

“What say you, High Lord? May we depart?” Jakeb asks. His words are polite. His tone is not.

My legs are on fire, and my vision blurs, then goes dark again.

A few disgruntled lords and one sharp-voiced female continue to object, demanding my head. Hmm, no one put up such a fuss when I beheaded Lord Peacock. So, it’s not really about what I did, just about who I did it to. Interesting.

“He followed the rules,” High Lord Vitor says simply. He pauses. “He’ll fight again.”

Will I? I’m not so sure.

Soro argues and curses. Other voices are yelling.

“Enough,” Vitor declares, and his sharp tone silences everyone around me. “This gladiator is strong and smart. In the arena, we honor these qualities. We honor our laws . I, for one, look forward to seeing what he does next.”

There’s a pat on my arm. “Do try to survive, Leith of Siertos,” Vitor says smoothly. It’s Leith of Grey, asshole, but whatever. “And if you can’t, be sure to die in the arena next time, will you, young man?”

The joke has some of these lords laughing. Although it breaks the tension, there are still grumbles and mumbled complaints as strong arms hook under mine and lift me. “Try to prevent his feet from touching the ground, Caelen,” Jakeb says.

“Yes, Lord Jakeb,” the man holding my right side replies. There’s a faint brush of long braids against my shoulder as he adjusts his hold. It’s that soldier…the one who keeps Jakeb’s company.

As I’m carried away, the arguing royals are replaced by familiar voices.

The gladiators. They’re still here. Instead of fighting, they’re headed back to the barracks.

“He’s alive,” Sibor mutters.

“Are ya sure?” Ned asks.

Giselle assures him as only she evidently can. “He’s alive. He just looks like shit.”

“He won’t stay alive if we don’t hurry,” Caelen adds. “Look at his leg. It’s twice as large as the other.”

“Oh, that is nasty,” Giselle says. “Look, it’s purple and his skin is all stretched to hell and back. That can’t be good.”

“Eels aren’t venomous,” Caelen says, keeping his voice low. “They’re only known to shock and bite.”

“Unless they were fed poison,” Jakeb adds. “Look at that red web of veins. It’s spreading.”

Giselle gags. She’s all sorts of helpful.

I try to open my eyes at the approach of the squeaky wheels, but I can’t see past my wet lashes. The back gate of a wagon drops open with a loud thud . Caelen’s braids slap against my face when he and someone else lift me and carefully place me on the hard wagon floor.

The weight shifts on either side as two others join me—Giselle, I guess, and by the sudden annoyed huff, Jakeb.

But not Maeve. Where is she?

I don’t know why my thoughts are drawn to her. It must be the poison.

“How is it possible to poison those creatures in that way?” Caelen asks. “Have you heard of such a thing?”

“There’s another mage who holds Vitor’s favor. Her specialty is poisons, I think,” Giselle says, but she sounds distracted. “It’s all right, Father. Caelen and I will take it from here. Return to the horses, and we’ll meet you back home.”

From one moment to the next, Jakeb is gone, the anger encapsulating the small space trailing behind him. There’s a bump, then another bump. I tremble, growing hot until beads of sweat form across my forehead.

A bundle of sorts is placed beneath my head, and then the wagon lurches into motion, causing ripples of pain to flood my body like the water in the arena.

“You did well, Leith ol’ boy,” Giselle says from somewhere nearby. “So well, there’s nothing left for your friends to play with in the arena. I suppose they owe you their lives or something like that. At the very least a bit of gratitude, don’t you think?”

I don’t know Giselle and especially not Caelen, but I recognize humor when it finds its way into Caelen’s voice. “You talk too much, Giselle.”

“I have heard that once or twice before,” she says. She sighs. “Maeve prepared him well by providing all those daggers and that trident. But that sword—whatever she wrapped around the hilt prevented or damn well lessened the effects of those shocking currents.” She pauses. “I don’t think Leith could have fought off those eels without it.”

No. Perhaps not.

We travel in silence except for the clomping of horses’ hooves, the crunching of wagon wheels over dirt and rock, and my groans of pain. I groan with every bump in the road, and my skin grows slick and hot. My fever climbs with each mile that passes. Burns I don’t remember receiving scrape my body raw. I jump. The pain surpasses my ability to control it. I jump again. I think it’s related to the injuries, until I can no longer make sense of what’s happening.

Giselle’s voice is shrill. “Shit. He’s convulsing. Hurry, Caelen.”

I don’t comprehend what happens next. I’m only partially aware of the cold slab of stone where I’m laid. Then there are hands all over me. Some touch me using care. Others rip off my clothes.

Every movement is torment. My skin is on fire.

No. I am on fire.

I can’t move.

They’re burning me.

They’re burning me alive!

Voices, speaking all at once, surround me. I can’t see. All I feel is the fire and those damn hands.

“Cut off his leg,” Caelen says. “It’s too late for him.”

“No!” Maeve’s voice is unyielding. “He won’t last in the arena with one leg.”

“You’ll find another gladiator,” Caelen insists.

“There is no other gladiator this close to Bloodguard,” Maeve snaps back.

I’m in the small cottage where Maeve treated me before. I don’t know how. I’m just there, spread out like a goat for the butcher to carve.

Maeve’s hair skims over my brow, the scent of lavender distracting me for a moment.

“I must lance it,” she says. “Hold him down—no, harder . Keep him from moving!”

What feels like a burning arrow punctures my leg. I howl, tears of agony overflowing from my eyes.

“Maeve, you’re mutilating him,” Jakeb warns.

“I don’t have a choice,” Maeve snaps back.

“Then give him something for the pain,” Jakeb pleads. “He’s only human.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Maeve counters. But the tremor in her voice belies her words.

“Are you sure?” Giselle asks. “You’ve never treated something like this. I don’t think—”

“Do not question me, Giselle—not now. Just hold him,” she commands. “And keep him still.”

“Daughter, you must sedate him,” Jakeb urges.

Maeve’s voice is quiet, the warning behind it leaving no room for argument. “I need him awake. Do you understand? If he falls asleep, the poison will claim him, and he’ll never wake again.” She pauses, then adds, “He’s survived worse. He’ll survive this.”

Have I? It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it, but I latch on to the confidence in her voice anyway.

“I can’t look,” Giselle says, coughing and gagging. “This is too much.”

“You don’t have to look. Just hold him,” Maeve counters sharply. “Everyone ready?”

There’s a small grumble of affirmation. My arms are wrenched above me, strong hands clasp my legs—and a pain beyond belief suddenly tears through my leg. I can’t keep still—I must make this stop—and I start to thrash against my restraints like a wild man.

Fucking hell, they are torturing me. Maeve was wrong—I have never experienced pain like this before.

If I could speak, I’d scream to let me sleep. Forever if need be. Anything to make this stop. I thrash again when a cool hand cups my cheek, a soft voice brushing against my ear as Maeve whispers for only me to hear, “You can do this, Leith. Trust me , just as I trust you.”

Trust her? I wouldn’t even know how.

Something wet drips on my cheek and slides down behind my ear as Maeve whispers again, “Please trust me, you big oaf.”

Something in the way her voice breaks on the insult calms me, and I find my body settling into the waves of pain radiating up my leg. I imagine I’m bobbing on the water—granted, eel-infested water zapping me with what feels like lightning over and over. The pain is unbearable, but this time I welcome the agony—at least it means I’m still alive.

“Thank you,” she says before going back to her torturing ways. I brace myself.

“I must cut deeper. The poison is trapped inside his muscle,” Maeve says. “If he moves, I’ll nick the artery and kill him. Do not let him move.”

I holler in agony. I’m on fire. My “ally” is burning me alive.

“Hold him!” Maeve cries out.

This time, my ingrained need to fight swamps my mind and body. Instinct takes over, and I break free, flinging away those holding me.

I fall from a long table, disoriented and groping. I crawl a short distance before staggering upright and dragging my useless leg.

A river.

A well.

I need to find water.

My smoldering body remains my only weapon. I swing my arms, trying to feel my way as bodies surround me again.

I connect with a face, a chest, and something soft. Something burly gets in my way, but I shove through it. Glass breaks. A heavy object is thrown. I still can’t see.

She’s killing me. I knew I couldn’t trust her.

My fists connect with flesh. Objects shatter at my feet.

Furniture cracks.

Where’s that damn spring? The one where they get water?

I must put out these flames.

Someone else finds my fist, and another my injured foot.

An eruption like an avalanche of stone has me whirling and falling over. I don’t quite hit the floor. Something strong snatches me up by the throat.

Maeve screams. “No!”

My legs kick hard and my fists swing, trying to connect with what has me. A roar, primal and animalistic, blasts against my face.

Whatever has me shakes me hard, trying to snap my neck.

Air is squeezed out of me. I start to sleep.

No.

I start to die.

Forgive me, Dahlia…

Maeve’s screaming jolts me awake. “Caelen, rein in your beast!”

I’m thrown on something hard. A… creature crawls over me, holding me in place and making it almost impossible to keep breathing, words fading, then returning to scream over me.

A sword pulls free of its sheath. “He dies, you die with him,” Maeve warns.

“You dare challenge me ,” an unearthly voice growls.

“Not a challenge,” Maeve says. “A promise. Hurt him, and I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

Giselle’s panicked and furious voice calls from across the room. “Enough. This ends now.”

There’s a moment when everything stills, between my almost breath and the flames blistering my skin.

Before life as I know it ends.