Bloodguard

chapter 33

Leith

Vitor beckons Pasha and Musy closer. “We ate before our arrival. But there’s always room for tea and cake…” He laughs. “And, of course, more wine.”

Lord Dickless isn’t asking. He’s behaving as if this is yet another space he commands.

Pasha and Musy respond as if fearful of angering a nest of hornets as they back out of the way when Vitor, with his head high, stands abruptly and strolls from the library, crosses the hall, and opens the door to the parlor as if he owns it. I don’t understand the look Vitor throws to Maeve’s father, but Jakeb must, because he nods slightly and rises from his chair.

Soro rises as well, pausing when Jakeb offers Maeve his arm.

Pasha and Musy, their hair a mess and sweat darkening the cloth of their light-blue dresses, look to Jakeb for guidance.

“Please set up drinks on the terrace, if you will,” Jakeb instructs the women. “And kindly enjoy your supper without us. We will take ours later.”

Maeve leans her head against Jakeb’s shoulder, and Soro follows them toward the terrace. It’s only because Jakeb motions me with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the parlor that I don’t shadow them. What is he thinking?

If Soro tries something with Maeve, I’m confident Jakeb can protect her long enough for me to kill Vitor and his bastard son. It’s the only reason I stalk in the direction of the parlor.

Sonofabitch, tensions are high. Soro is a hairsbreadth away from snapping. I’ve seen his type before. He’s too entitled. And the entitled don’t do well with opposition.

I enter the parlor almost silently. Vitor stands before the marble fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back, the tip of his dark braid a breath from touching his wrists. It’s a beautiful room from its brilliant floors to the domed ceiling of white birch. But it’s absolutely my least favorite room in the manor.

There’s no warmth to it. No sense of the family Jakeb has created. It’s as if every exquisite item they brought from the castle was dumped in here. But the one thing I dislike most in this room is the painting that hangs over the fireplace—the very one Vitor is studying.

He knows I’m in here. It bugs the shit out of me that he doesn’t turn to acknowledge me. My fingers grip the hilt of my sword. I’m dangerous. Didn’t he, himself, make me this way? I walk closer, entertaining ways to kill him. I could stab him through the throat with my dagger or hang him from the rope tassels tied to the drapes. They’re thick enough to hold him. And maybe Pasha will find it in her heart to forgive me for the amount of blood she’ll have to clean. I can picture it so vividly—Vitor swinging from side to side, the blood from his opened throat spraying the leaded glass and the pristine white window coverings, turning the marble floor red.

Side to side, he’ll swing. Kicking until he can’t. The last twitches of his feet signaling his highly anticipated death.

One swipe of my sword could do it, too. It would be clean, quick, quiet. But that’s too easy. This bastard deserves far worse.

From near the left row of windows, a moon horse whinnies, followed by another, their impatient stomps along the moist landscape expressing their demands to return to their stalls. Heavy voices curse them and order them to settle. A resounding slap of a hand strikes the haunches of a moon horse farther down the lawn. The guards should know better than to treat creatures bred for war—and capable of understanding human speech, no less—so poorly.

Another slap and more harsh reprimands. Hell, at this point that entire herd would bond with anyone who offered a gentle hand or word. But within those ranks, they’ll never find that kindness that drives them to please. Not when their own high lord throws people like meat to ravenous dragons. Just as he did during my final moments with Sullivan.

I glance at the ornate stone table near the fireplace. A black onyx statue of the phoenix rests at the table’s center. Hmm. Looks about heavy enough to crush Vitor’s skull and cave in his chest. Yes, chest first, and just his face. That will hurt. Almost as much as it hurt me to kill Sullivan…if only it wouldn’t make so much noise. Then again, who would stop me?

I come to stand beside Vitor, setting aside, for now, all the ways I could kill him.

“Have you considered how hard it will be to be king?” he asks.

I don’t take the bait and barely blink. “I’m sure any son of yours could handle it,” I say.

“Is that so?” he asks.

His attention is on me. Mine is on him, too.

“Do you like her?” he asks.

I almost deny it, believing he’s referring to Maeve. But his obsession with the painting above the mantel stops me. Not that he wasn’t intentionally trying to trick me.

The imposing portrait is of the Great Avianna of Iamond, Maeve’s beloved grandmother. Her battle armor is depicted in hues of black and gray, symbolic of the night all light abandoned the sky as she slaughtered the phoenix. It’s a hell of a morbid scene. Dead soldiers spread out around her, their broken bodies partially burned. Avianna could pass for Maeve’s twin were it not for the brutal glint in her eyes.

Avianna stands with her feet at parade rest, a silver-hilted sword dripping blood in one hand and a gold sword with a massive ruby in the pommel held skyward in the other. I offer Vitor a one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t know her,” I finally reply.

“That’s true. How would you?” Vitor chuckles but then loses his humor. “Avianna was a remarkable leader. A true ruler who followed the law absolutely. Her granddaughter, though…” He shakes his head. “Maeve is soft. Too tender for what must be done for Arrow.” He watches me closely. “It’s why she will need a strong king to support her.”

What the fuck is he getting at?

In the fireplace, a small log perched atop a stouter chunk of wood cracks in half and tumbles to the bricks below, its crumbling remains hissing. Vitor waits for me to say something. I’m happy to disappoint.

He keeps his arms behind his back. “What happens after you win and help your family?”

Mm. It’s like he wants me to kill him. “What makes you think I have family?”

Vitor chuckles. “I make it a point to know about everyone and everything that affects my court.” He raises a thin eyebrow. “So, tell me, gladiator. What comes next? You help your family in Siertos—what of the others? What of the realms that may soon encroach upon the borders of Arrow, where your family, I presume, may soon reside? And what about the threats to the other people you care about?”

He means Maeve. But it’s not a threat—it’s something I wasn’t expecting. Vitor appears to be feeling me out as Maeve’s king.

Vitor motions back to the painting with a jerk of his narrow chin. “The questions I present to you… She’d already have the answers. That’s what an amazing woman Avianna was.”

I edge closer to the picture. Bloody hell. That coveted mark—the one with the sword and vines, the one I’m all but throwing myself into a lion’s mouth to earn—is etched into several of those dead soldiers’ arms. They’re faint but definitely there. I walk closer to the painting.

I point upward. “There.” Vitor follows the motion as I continue to point. At least nine have the emblem traced into their skin. Whoever Avianna solicited to create this supposed masterpiece painted the faces of the dead away from the viewer to give them anonymity and soften the horror of the murder scene it is. To Avianna, this was a moment of celebration. To me, it’s not even close.

Vitor doesn’t react. Which means this ball-less bastard already knew what I do now. I don’t bother to sugarcoat my response. “Nine,” I say. “I count nine dead Bloodguards. You see an amazing woman,” I tell him flatly. “I see a killer queen, a fallen king, and too many who recklessly died for glory.”

He doesn’t react other than to say calmly, “We saved Old Erth that day. The phoenix was a herald of death, razing friend and foe in the thick of battles.”

“How many died so that Arrow could claim victory that day and every one since?”

Vitor chuckles. He nods as if I didn’t just insult his precious Avianna. “One of our most costly victories, indeed,” he says and looks at me. “I should know. I was there.”