Bloodguard

chapter 28

Leith

That kiss marked the first of many.

It’s not something I meant to happen the first time—or many times thereafter—but I won’t regret it. With Maeve, each moment seems to take on more meaning. Or maybe it’s just that time is not on our side.

Maeve’s birthday draws near.

Only a couple of weeks away.

Soon, I’ll be called back to the arena. If it wasn’t for this Memorial of the Phoenix festival, I could’ve been summoned to fight today. I’m healing but not near my normal bearing. I can only hope I regain as much of my strength as I can during this reprieve.

“This is foolish,” I tell her. “If you wanted to attend the parade, you should’ve gone in your carriage with your father and sister and a full regiment of guards, as your station demands.”

“I wanted to go with you,” she says simply.

I let those words settle over me.

Her eyes are bright and hopeful, her smile tremulous.

She tugs the hood of my cloak down, covering the top half of my face completely. “It’s more dangerous for you than for me.”

I debate reminding her that there is no escaping the danger ahead. I need to become a Bloodguard. She needs to become queen. Instead, I say, “It’s fine. It’ll be dark soon.”

“This way,” she whispers.

Her smooth hand wraps around mine, and then she’s tugging me ahead, through the steep, upward-sloping alley on the north side of the city, closer to the castle.

Maeve continues to keep her head down, and I do as well. She leads us through a small gate and into a garden, where vines of starberries the size and color of ripe plums twine along the dilapidated posts of a graying fence that’s one strong gust of wind away from falling apart.

Maeve kneels in front of the fence and motions me over. I steal another glance behind me before closing the gate and falling to one knee beside her.

I peer out and down to possibly the very best view of the main street. A fairy with light-green skin zings from side to side above the crowd, her shimmering wings fluttering with the escalating frenzy of the stragglers trying to find a good view.

“Sweet bread, fresh sweet bread!” she yells. Her accent, faded from her years in Arrow, reminds me of Sullivan. Her homeland must be Witoria. I make a fist when that familiar sense of grief threatens to pull me in. He should still be here, strategizing with me to take these evil games down. But he’s not. I’ll need to figure out things on my own in order to prevail the next time my feet press into that filthy sand in the arena.

Maeve rests her head on my shoulder, and as naturally as I blink, my anxiety fades. I curve an arm around her, relaxing my clenching fist, and sweep a kiss along the top of her head. With her, loneliness fades and the grief lessens.

“Ale,” the light voices of sprites carrying mugs call out. They zip down the street opposite and then back, their strength far surpassing their tiny bodies. “Some ale to enjoy during the parade,” they say in unison.

We’re high enough to easily see everything through the wide slats in the fence. But it’s almost impossible for anyone to see us, even without the camouflage the berries and vines provide. Beings from all walks of life take up every inch of space along the sidewalks and rooftops below. Given the garden rests almost at the peak of this hill, we’re well above the winged sprites flying below.

I have a good view of what’s coming, and I’m fairly comfortable. There’s just one last thing I missed. Maeve squeaks as I yank her into my lap, her back resting against my chest. I tug her earlobe with my teeth. “Shh,” I say. “The show’s about to begin.”

Her back bounces against me when she laughs, and while I can’t see her, I can picture her smile.

“How in Old Erth did you ever find this place?” I ask.

Maeve angles her neck so I can see her face, but she’s no longer smiling. “The house with the white door used to be Neela’s home when she was little. Her family couldn’t afford it, so they lost it. She used to bring Giselle and me here as children. I think she missed living here, but I also think she wanted to show us how easy it is to gain and lose in Arrow.”

I nod.

Many fortunes are made—and lost—in the arena.

Maeve motions around. “Father built this garden for her in honor of her family. It was something her mother always wanted. And he purchased her home so that she’d never lose it again.” Tears find their way into Maeve’s voice. But like always, she forces them away. “As queen, I’ll make sure everyone can have a home.” She turns to see my expression. “You think I’m foolish, don’t you?”

“No.” Optimistic, perhaps, but never foolish.

“There are ways to create opportunities. It isn’t simple, but it is possible. Investing in our communities benefits all of Arrow.” She waves a hand, and I sense her frustration. “I’ve shown Vitor the programs I want to implement. When I’m queen, I won’t have to ask or plead to initiate my plans.” She takes a deep breath. “I won’t have to try and convince my peers to do the right thing.”

I only nod. She has ideals and hope, and though I suspect she recognizes she won’t always win and her plans won’t always yield the results she seeks, Maeve will not give up the fight. Of that much, I’m certain.

When those dreadful drums begin, I clutch her hand harder than I intend.

“Leith?”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

She pats my hand. “As queen, I’ll end these games.”

She felt my tension, and again she eased it.

Cheers erupt along the winding road, closest to the edge of town, and they grow as the procession commences.

The celebration of the phoenix has begun.

The purples and blues of twilight have barely begun to crawl across the horizon when the first eruption of magic paints the sky in a mix of green, gold, orange, and red. Oh, what lengths Vitor and his minions must have gone through to put on this farce of a show.

The speckles of color spread out, and the shape of that damn phoenix forms, her wings expanding before soaring ahead, evaporating as she passes us.

“That fucking bird,” I mutter, watching the fragments of her wings dissolve above us. I think these nobles will look for any excuse to celebrate.

“That fucking bird was actually a monster,” Maeve says in the same enthusiastic tone.

I wouldn’t know. In Grey, we had only the belladom fields and our dry and rainy seasons, the caverns and cisterns. We have no mythic history like Arrow’s. Or if we do, they stopped teaching it long ago.

The drumbeats draw closer.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

My heart beats hard and fast in my chest. The rush of my blood makes my muscles tense, and I squeeze my eyes closed, focusing on Maeve and her presence. I breathe in her sweet scent, like mint and sunflower oil, allowing me to return my attention to the road. The drummers are in the lead, a band of acrobats mere feet behind them. The entertainers walk forward, each holding a partner balancing on their shoulders, save for a giant and a cyclops who balance their partners out to their sides on their hands.

With each bang of the drum, members of the troupe are thrown in the air by the strong bases charged with catching and then flinging them to each beat.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Those horrid beats increase in speed, pushing the performers to toss higher and faster, inciting the crowds to scream and clap, demanding more, even as sweat soaks the cyclops’s dark-brown skin and blood reddens the faces of those attempting to stay balanced on just their toes.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Maeve angles her body, swinging her legs so she rests over my lap. She nuzzles her face into my throat, and her arms wrap around me. I didn’t realize how on edge I was…until I’m not. At least not as much.

Hell, she really is everything .

“Will you please distract me?” I ask.

She smiles softly as her face meets mine. “Leith,” she says as if it’s the most important word she knows—no, as if I’m the most important person she knows.

But that can’t be right.

That shouldn’t be right.

Even if we marry like we’re supposed to, like we planned—and I become a king—she will always be a princess, and I’ll always be that poverty-ridden boy who just wanted more.

Until she says, “Don’t you know that I would do anything for you?”

I lift my hand when she nibbles on her bottom lip as she does when she’s nervous, and I glide my thumb across it. Her large eyes melt me in their bottomless blue depths, and I want to kiss her.

Instead, I ask, “So, what is so important about the bird?”

Her mouth briefly dips. But then her expression evens out. If she’s disappointed in me, she hides it well.

I want to tell her, to admit to the longing, the sheer adoration I feel for her in my heart—to give her those three short words that will convey it all.

In the time I’ve known Maeve, I’ve come to see that she deserves them. But until I’m a Bloodguard, I have no control over my life, and I need to take care of my family before I can think about my own happiness.

Still, the weight of her is nice, and the scent of her skin. I tug her closer, hoping she understands.

She pats my hand again.

“Killing ‘the bird,’” she says, using the same wry tone I did, “is what elevated Arrow to greatness.” She leans forward for a better view. “Ah, that’s Kopper.”

“What?”

“Not a ‘what’—well, I suppose it is. Though more of a ‘who.’” She points at the parade. They carry lanterns and blow whistles that make a sharp call. “The noble houses have begun their procession. Kopper is the first.”

The first fifteen black-robed people form a triangle, and then every member behind them—all garbed in red—fans out. Their long red robes have wide, thick sleeves, and as they lift and lower their arms in waves, the fabric ripples. From our height, the full effect is clearly visible.

“It’s a beak,” she says.

I huff, wondering how I didn’t realize as much. “The beak of the phoenix,” I say. The red-robed members of the house walk in formation to create the shape of a head and neck.

Maeve makes a face when they blow their whistles again. “And that is its supposed call.”

“They should have opted for the talons,” I mumble, wincing when they let that caw rip once more. “They’re quieter.”

Maeve surprises me by laughing, though it lacks genuine humor. “The honor of talons belongs to Olgden, but Damella is next. Their symbol is the wings of the phoenix, purple with ribbons of red spiraling from the feathers.” She sighs, mumbling as an afterthought, “This is Aisling’s house.”

Sure enough, here comes Damella. All women. All in purple. All pirouetting in tiny dresses of, you guessed it, purple . Their sole accompaniment is a male soprano on horseback, his eyes rimmed in black.

Fifty or so feet below us, on the other side of the street, I spot Neh-Neh, then Uni beside her, their little one strapped against his chest.

Damella is a house of mages, it seems. Arcs of their magic light the sky above the beak formation, and streams of red fall from the sky. The women of Damella cascade red ribbons over the crowd with their magic.

“The phoenix…” I know the answer, but I feel compelled to ask anyway. “Queen Avianna of House Iamond killed it?”

“Yes.” Maeve slides her hand along mine so that when our fingers meet, they intertwine. “That’s what the realms decided—that the phoenix must die. From what Uncle— I mean, from what Vitor and my grandmother shared with me, the phoenix circled the sky at every battle during the great wars, her flames raining down on all those engaged in combat.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” she says, shuddering against me. “Good stars, can you imagine fighting your mortal enemy, unsure if you’d ever see your home or your family again, only for some giant fiery bird to burn you alive?”

“The former, yes. The latter, no thanks.”

She groans. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”

No. She didn’t. Which is why I squeeze her hand in comfort and support.

We’re quiet as we watch the mages continue to draw on their elemental magic. Their wind scatters red ribbons and purple flower petals through the sky like ash. The mages at the fore of those assembled—Aisling and her family members, Maeve points out—conjure a giant bird of pure fire that soars overhead.

The display is impressive, and the crowd claps and cheers.

Maeve and I stay silent.

I wonder why her house isn’t represented, why she isn’t down there with Jakeb and Giselle. I want to ask, but she looks sad again.

“Which house is this one?” I ask to distract her.

“This is Olgden. Ugh.”

“Olgdenuh?”

“What? No. I was just grumbling.” She chuckles and points to a short, heavy-set human leading the procession. “That’s Ugeen.”

I’ve heard his name mentioned around the manor.

“He proposed to me,” Maeve says.

“He’s old enough to be your father.”

“Not technically. But he’s power hungry. The man cares for nothing save amassing more wealth. He has no interest in politics and nothing but disdain for the Middling and Commons.”

Sounds like most of these houses. “Do any of your nobles care much about those beneath them?”

“Some do. But Ugeen…” Her eyes narrow. “He’s a liar and a cheat, Leith. Ugeen was one of the witnesses who claimed my papa had long been plotting against my grandmother.”

So Ugeen wanted Andres to fall. It’s not surprising. He no doubt stood to gain.

“Vitor despises him,” Maeve says.

“Because of what he did to your papa?” I didn’t think Vitor believed in Andres’s innocence.

“No. Because he dared to try and become king through me.”

We watch his house. They don’t dance or sing. They wear gold, from the cloaks that drape across their backs to the bright-gold shoes with upturned tips. Ugeen waves haughtily, his brethren pausing occasionally to toss coins to the crowd.

I thought Soro and Vitor were the worst foes Maeve would face. But she’ll have a hard time with these other nobles, too.

“There go the talons,” Maeve says, rolling her eyes when Ugeen’s family members lift their hands and curve their fingers to resemble claws.

It’s a weak display at best. We’re already looking ahead as the next wave of the parade approaches.

Each house member rides on a black moon horse. They carry black flags. “House Paragrin, body of the phoenix,” Maeve says quietly. “You decapitated the last eligible bachelor of their family.”

“Oh, Filip. Your former fiancé… Sorry about that,” I say, not meaning a word. Giselle mentioned how he frequently berated Maeve about keeping her scars covered.

Between Ugeen and Filip, I can’t help but ask, “Were there no other eligible options for you?”

I’ve watched throngs of nobles from four houses parade by. Surely there is some other suitable partner?

I don’t want Maeve to marry someone else. But the fact remains that I might not survive the arena. And Soro—hell, I know that won’t end well for her.

She looks at me, and her eyes are sad. “I did make the rounds, Leith. Not many nobles are willing to challenge Soro. He made his claim clear the moment the queen became incapacitated. And, uh, Filip was not my first fiancé. I was engaged to a childhood friend from House Kopper. But he…died.”

So they’re threatening any potential suitors.

I can’t say I’m surprised.

Soro was quick to goad Filip into the arena that day. I don’t think he would bat an eye at murder. Does Maeve suspect foul play?

The drums beat again.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Maeve stands. “This is the tail. House Revlis.”

Vitor’s house.

They progress in military fashion. Equal rows. A mix of genders, all garbed in silver robes. Then a few feet behind the nobles, a full regiment of Arrow’s actual army marches, shields and swords, maces and clubs held at the ready.

“Crowd control or part of Soro’s detail?” I ask.

Maeve huffs, and I have my answer.

I rise until I’m standing beside her.

She crosses her arms. “Vitor has hired a wizard for a magic display that will light up the night sky. There will be music and more performances.”

I see some of the commoners already walking in the direction of the castle.

But then those dreaded drums start up again.

Vitor sits upon a throne that is carried by a slew of servants. He is surrounded by guards.

“Revlis. Revlis,” the crowd chants.

But Vitor and his entourage aren’t wearing the same colors that Soro and the other members did.

“Vitor’s colors are silver and blue,” Maeve says. “Same as Soro’s.” She sounds so far away even as she remains in my arms.

“Yet they wear Arrow’s colors,” I acknowledge. Blue and green trimmed with gold.

The strands of her thick braid slide along my chest as she shakes her head. “No, Leith. Those are the colors of House Iamond.” She looks up at me. “The colors of my family.”