Bloodguard

chapter 25

Leith

I shadow Maeve for several hours through Arrow’s main market in Ellehna Square. Caelen or Giselle must have reported back to her about our barracks visit yesterday, because we’ve been winding through the crowded market for hours now, in search of herbs and plants. What seems like every variety of them.

I’m alert to anyone who might harm her. It feels unnecessary—the people of Arrow are far less a threat to their princess than her own noble class—but old habits die hard.

Maeve seems distracted, her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pressed thin. She’s different today. Sad or frustrated, maybe.

I’m not sure what changed her mood, and though I’m of a mind to ask, sometimes we need to hold fast to our grief and anger. It gives us the strength to do the things we need to do.

And Maeve does a lot of things, I’m learning.

She gathers whole handfuls of dried herbs from a market stall and shoves them into the basket she carries before handing over several coins from her belt pouch without haggling. We move to the next stall, where an elderly ogre greets her in his native tongue, a series of clicks and words that feature chuffing and whistling sounds.

I glance at Maeve again. I think she intends to heal every fighter in the barracks. Maybe she’ll be able to return things to the way they used to be in the arena.

What stands out most about her is that she doesn’t do anything by half measures, and, well, I like this trait of hers a whole lot.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders today, two thin braids on the sides keeping the rest of those smooth strands off her face. A faint breeze blesses us, and the smell of her homemade mint-and-rosemary shampoo distracts me momentarily.

When she looks up, I pretend I’ve been watching a little girl with brown curls and brown eyes who’s holding tight to her mother’s skirt with one hand and a doll in the other. The mother is placing an order for purple flowers for the upcoming festival commemorating the death of the phoenix. “Hmph,” I say.

“My, you’re in a chatty mood today,” she teases. She nudges me with her elbow. “What’s on your mind this time, you wizard of words?”

You , I want to tell her, but I don’t because that’s the way it should be. I think. “That little girl looks like Dahlia,” I say. “Except Dahlia never had a doll. The only thing she really had to call her own were these green shoes Rose passed down to her. She slept with those things, she loved them so much. And when she slept, Rose would sew any small holes shut and reinforce the stitching so she never had to take them off.”

“Oh,” Maeve says, suddenly lost in thought.

I cock an eyebrow, unsure whether she’s pitying me, my sisters, or all of us. But I don’t push. Not this time.

“Leith, look.” Maeve points ahead excitedly.

My hand drops to the hilt of the sword Jakeb gave me as I narrow my gaze. I don’t see any immediate threat, and our exit pathways are plentiful.

Maeve hurries forward, and I follow her to another market stall. This one has red silks draping over the top and amber flags anchored above it that hang lankly and slither in the slack breeze.

The colors are of my home country.

“Belladom,” she says.

I frown as I draw even with her and the dwarf manning this booth. His bright smile is smarmy, and I wonder for a second if I should just take him down. Probably not, though. Pity.

“Come, Princess,” the dwarf says. He lifts a vial containing belladom oil and removes the stopper. He wafts his hand over the perfume. “The rarest and most prized scent in all the realms.”

I huff. “Our ancestors used it for bug repellant.”

The dwarf frowns at me. He recovers his smile and continues selling Maeve on his wares. “The scent is nature’s purest aphrodisiac.” He waggles his eyebrows.

As if she needs any help in that department.

I reach for one of the actual seeds. It’s large, about the size of my fist, and oblong. Holding it triggers a slew of memories. Roasting the outer leaves over the fire, my mother wrapping rice and legumes in them to give us extra nourishment. It was the main staple of my people’s diets for centuries. Until the outsiders discovered the hard seed’s unique scent and the wealthy classes of the realms began to covet it.

Maeve’s brow furrows with confusion as she addresses the peddler. “It attracts…”

“Anyone you wish to attract,” he promises.

Bullshit.

“I always thought belladom was some sort of cactus,” Maeve says, eyeing the seed I hold and glancing between it and the many perfume bottles the dwarf has arranged.

“Belladom grows in the desert,” I say, “but it sprouts underwater during the flood season. Don’t ask me how, but the floodwater mixes with the sand in a way that fertilizes the plants. Each flower produces a single, prickly fruit containing one of these. The needles must be scraped off with a knife before you can eat the flesh or get to the seed.”

Maeve’s hair sweeps over her shoulder as she turns to me. “That’s very laborious.”

Indeed. I spent eighteen hours a day suffering in those belladom fields, and this merchant will make more money off the sale of one vial than I made in a year. I set the seed down. A vicious urge to grab the man and drag him out of his fancy stall has my hands curling into fists.

I step away before I do something stupid.

“Don’t go, my lord. Come, have a sample,” the dwarf insists.

I’m not his lord, and I want no part of this. The mere aroma of that shit churns my gut and brings back harsh memories I’d sooner forget.

“Leith, wait,” Maeve calls.

But I keep walking.

“Leith.”

I pause farther down the line of market vendors. It’s not her I’m mad at. It’s the memories that surfaced upon seeing belladom again.

She grabs my hands when she catches up to me, and I look down at them, hardly recognizing them anymore.

“We’d wrap our hands the best we could,” I tell her. “It was painful. And it was hard watching the children learn—”

“Children?” Maeve asks, horror puckering her brow.

I don’t need a mirror to know my features harden. The kids would cry, thinking they were being punished. I push away the memory of when Rose and Dahlia were old enough to work. Dahlia sobbed as I pulled the needles from her bloody hands every night, and Rose would clamp her jaw and go deathly silent as I removed the spikes rammed into her nail beds. I curse a few times. It’s what ultimately led me here. I just wanted my family to stop hurting.

Maeve’s fierce eyes stare straight ahead. “That perfume will be banned.”

Yeah, it should be. I agree. But…what would Siertos have to barter or sell without it? The region relies on belladom for its entire economy now. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that, Maeve.”

She sighs. She knows it isn’t.

“Come on,” I say, turning away from her. “Let’s finish this excursion and head back to the manor.”

“I’m almost finished here,” Maeve says, grabbing my hand to lead me around an ogre pushing a fruit cart.

I thread our fingers together. I don’t question the rightness of it. I just enjoy the feel of her hand in mine and the reassuring squeeze of her fingers as she offers me a silent comfort for all the pains of my past.

There is no need. I am determined to live in the present.

Eye on the prize , I remind myself.

She leads us to the craftsmakers section of the market, plopping me in front of a case of big, shiny knives while she speaks to a man selling baby toys at the next cart over. I look at her quizzically, and she mouths the word estrellas with a smile . I can’t help but smile back. Of course the lemur puffs get a gift, too.

“This will be perfect for Toso,” I hear her tell the man. “He’s learning advanced commands already. Can you believe it?”

Keeping one eye on Maeve, I allow myself to admire the gorgeous feats of blade smithing in front of me. It only takes a moment for my eyes to catch on something wonderful.

“May I?” I ask, reaching for the lone boomerang blade on display. I can hardly believe she even has one—what citizen of Arrow is going to purchase a weapon native to the southeastern deserts of Siertos? Other than me, of course. Once I secure my Bloodguard winnings, perhaps I’ll commission a few. I always meant to teach Dahlia and Rose the art of its wielding.

“Good…taste.” The giantess nods eagerly. “One of…my favorite.”

“Mine too,” I say, testing its balance in my hands. “This is beautifully crafted. And wicked sharp, too.”

The blacksmith beams, then even more so when I toss the weapon in the air, one end spinning over the other in consistent, precise rotations, and catch it with ease.

“Ah! Not many…can wield…boom…er…ang.” I toss it once more, even higher this time, and once more on top of that, to make us both happy.

“Impressive!” Maeve says, returning to my side. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Back home.” I shrug, but pride is brimming in my chest.

“Then we’ll take it,” she says to the bladesmith, passing over quite a few coins more than it’s worth. I should probably protest, but, well, I want it, this little slice of home. And who am I to take coin out of such a lovely craftsmaker’s hands?

“Thank you, Maeve,” I breathe. “Really. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“My, there’s no need for all that.” She winks. “You’ll be a great help to me with this thing. The wizard’s elm grows all its most potent leaves at the very top, after all, and it’s not the only one.”

“Then those branches don’t stand a chance.” I grin and tuck the boomerang blade into my waistband. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a day this good.

Maeve takes my hand and guides us out of the market and down a desolate alleyway.

The quality of the homes diminishes quickly.

“Where are we going?” I ask, unease settling in my bones.

“I have one last stop,” Maeve says. She must sense my tension, because she adds, “I’m sorry, Leith. I’m not purposely trying to frustrate you.”

“I’m used to it,” I grumble.

She chuckles, and I feel my mood lighten even more. Funny how a day out with Maeve will do that to a person.

There are few shops on this primarily residential street. One barely the size of Maeve’s cottage, but with tables spilling out into the street before it, advertises hot, spicy cider and meat breads. The scent has my stomach growling, and luckily for me, this seems to be our destination. Unluckily, Maeve drops my hand before stepping inside. The place is nothing special by noble standards, but it’s dark and defensible, and the scent of warm bread mingles with that of freshly brewed ale. It’s my kind of place.

A seleno fairy, as sensual as they are frightening, fans the hot cups of cider she places on a large tray with the fingered tips of her leathery black wings. I tense. In terms of mobility, winged creatures have a natural upper hand. Thankfully, the room we’re in is too small for flight. Her ebony bat ears droop when the bang , bang , bang , crash of steins and ceramic plates precedes a row of cursing.

A guapilla struggles to place the broken plates and cups she’s dropped back onto her tray, her long green-and-blue hair as frazzled as she is and her gray skin blushing to purple. “Stasia, I’m so sorry,” she says. “It won’t happen again.”

Stasia, the seleno fairy, blinks back at Maeve and gives her a look—one that says she curses the day she hired the girl. “It’s fine , Gabi,” she bites out through her fangs.

It’s not fine. Not for Gabi. At least not on land. In water, guapillas use their flippers to swim impressively quickly and majestically. On land, be it genes or some type of curse cast onto her people, their feet face backward. She must have some reason for being here instead of her homeland, but I’m sure as shit not asking her.

Gabi walks forward—I mean, backward—or…never fucking mind. I don’t know where the hell she’s going, and neither does she. The precariously stacked pieces of plate and stein clink , clink on her tray. She kicks forward—yes, definitely forward this time, seeing as her knees are backward, too.

“Your order will be up soon, Princess,” Stasia tells Maeve—two meat pies, four sausage rolls, one cup of hot cider, and their tallest mug of ale. I almost swooned when she said it. Stasia takes in Maeve’s scars. She reaches out to hold her chin. Maeve, understandably caught off guard, freezes. Gently, Stasia tips Maeve’s face to the side to better see the injured tissue. It’s only because Maeve allows it that I allow it, too. Stasia releases her. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Thank you, Stasia,” Maeve says quietly.

“But it is good to see you again after all these years.” Stasia bares her fangs, and Maeve responds with a smile.

Gabi finally makes it back to the serving station. Stasia, who looks tired and broken for reasons bigger than anyone present today, pats Maeve with her leathery wing-hand. More vampiric than their colorful and pretty fairy cousins, the seleno are fierce warriors. They fought against Arrow when Old Erth was still young. It’s odd to find one here.

“A friend?” I ask.

Maeve doesn’t answer me until Stasia enters the small kitchen. “I cared for her daughter,” she says.

“A child?”

“No,” she replies. “Stasia and her daughter, Sueneh, came to Arrow like many others looking for work. When they couldn’t find a way to support themselves, Sueneh signed a contract to fight in the arena. She…didn’t win her last fight, and I couldn’t save her. What little she earned was enough for Stasia to start her business. It wasn’t enough to mend her heart. Losing her daughter broke her.”

“I can only imagine,” I say bitterly. I don’t have children, but may the heavens help anyone who hurts my little sisters.

Maeve glances up and rises to greet a pair she introduces to me as Uni and Neh-Neh, a cyclops couple and proud new parents. Maeve gushes when she sees the baby girl clutched in Uni’s beefy arms—apparently, she not only delivered the little thing but saved her life somehow. “She’s so curious,” Maeve says. “Look at the way her eye darts all around, taking everything in. Smart baby!” she coos.

After a brief catch-up—and who knew there were so many questions one could ask about one newborn baby?—Maeve returns to her seat and reaches for the cider Gabi successfully dropped off along with our food, pausing to blow on it before taking a sip. “I love babies.” She tastes her drink and smiles, then asks, “Do you…” Her voice trails off as a red flush creeps over her face.

Want children? Dream of family? I don’t know exactly what she’s about to ask me about babies. I only know that I refuse to let myself think that far ahead about my life. Not yet. Not until I’m a Bloodguard. “We should eat quick. It’s late,” I say, shoveling in a bite.

It takes only a few minutes to finish our meals, and soon we are headed back toward the market square to retrieve our horses.

The squalor of Arrow is too vast to hide in this area. The houses, which I can imagine were once made of brightly colored stones and sweeping curved roofs, with blooms overflowing their flower boxes, have been reduced to dull, empty spaces with broken roofs, the plant life dead and hanging like the long, blackened fingers of a goblin oak.

“I never would have known this part of Arrow existed,” I admit. “Even if I did and reported it back to those in Siertos, they’d never believe me.” I curse under my breath. “None of the realms would. Everyone outside this kingdom thinks it’s a paradise. What fools we’ve been.”

“You’re not fools,” Maeve quietly insists. “It was better when my grandmother still ruled, but it wasn’t perfect even then. Upon her injury, Arrow suffered—and it’s not just our realm but also abroad. Vitor balances our interests with the larger economy of Old Erth. We send aid to our allies where needed, and we barter and trade to keep our defenses and coffers strong. But the entirety of Old Erth is strained. Soro believes war is inevitable.” She glances at me. “Maybe it is.”

“What will Arrow do then?” I ask.

Maeve’s face stills, but she keeps walking. “Arrow will fight.”

“What about Vitor?” He’s the one in control now. He makes the decisions.

She lowers her voice. “My uncle will do whatever he must to keep Arrow strong.”

Maeve’s hair flutters like wings against her back as a brisk wind cuts through the alley. Mm, rosemary and mint. I wish she would wear it loose like this all the time. It suits her.

We proceed. Some ransacked shops and two-story homes are roofless, their wooden upper floors falling through the ceiling and pushing out through once-grand windows.

“Many of these houses look abandoned,” I say.

Maeve nods. “Soro claimed he was stopping crime in these poor areas, but it appears all he succeeded in doing is ridding the poor areas of people.”

She glances at the remains of a home three stories tall. “Papa loved Arrow. He would have been a good king—the best—following in my grandmother’s footsteps. When Papa is free, things will be different.”

“If you free your papa, will you step aside and allow him to rule until it’s your time again?”

“I thought I would. For a long time, that was my plan.” She’s quiet for a moment. “But this is my time, Leith,” she says, her voice reflecting her determination and her misery, too. “Papa will never be the same after…everything.” She lifts her chin like the queen she will be. “I will free him and make Arrow as wonderful as he dreamed.”

The fierceness Maeve regards me with when speaking of liberating her biological father rivals some of the worst opponents I’ve encountered in the arena.

I thought we had nothing in common, but here we are, both willing to take on monsters to help the ones we love.

My duty was to play bodyguard today. Between watching out for potential threats and dissecting our conversations, I haven’t contributed much…but some things should be said. “Maeve, you could take on the world.”

Her reddening cheeks don’t stir a grin from me this time. I regard her as intensely as she regards me.

She looks away first, whispering, “With you by my side, nothing shall stop me.”