Bloodguard

chapter 38

Maeve

Leith and Caelen have been gone for hours, but I know it will be many more before they return. The trip takes between seven and eight hours in each direction—and that’s without stopping or taking the time to meet the smuggler, Xavier, if he was even there. I worry that Caelen’s contacts in his homeland may not be reliable or that relations with Arrow might test their loyalties. Every minute that passes feels like days.

I look up from the ledger I’m reading through and stare out of the parlor window. Within that spread of forest lies our spot beside the lake.

My thoughts keep circling to the events of last night with Leith.

The passion he awakened in me is like some invisible ribbon tethering us together. I want to do what we shared again. I want to do everything with my gladiator.

I feel my mouth curving, and I get it now. I understand what makes Leith so arrogant. Be it in the arena, beneath the stars, in a bed, or against the wall, he is…unequaled.

I want to dwell in the blissful memories. I want to take us back to those intimate moments again and again. But as beautiful as the memories of last night are, there are too many other harsh realities staring me in the face.

Leith still faces two matches in the arena.

My birthday is twelve days away—and I can only imagine what will unfold with Soro and Vitor when I’m fully eligible to marry and rule.

Leith’s family is vulnerable.

There is unrest along the borders following Vitor’s decision to close them.

Rumors of war abroad.

And here within our own realm are the stirrings of dissent. Ugeen, Aisling, Soro, Vitor.

All this while Papa rots in prison, Dahlia’s health fails, and more fighters fall in the arena at Soro’s whim.

“Maeve,” Neela calls as she enters the parlor. “The courier came.”

I rise when she hands me two letters, her expression grim. I’m not sure I can take more bad news or much more stress.

The first letter comes from Soro’s desk and is addressed to Leith.

I hesitate only for a second before ripping the seal and unfolding the parchment.

Leith of Siertos, you are hereby ordered by General Soro of Revlis in observance of your contract heretofore signed upon your arrival in Arrow to report to the arena tomorrow, where you may or may not be summoned to compete in battle.

Shit. Legs unsteady, I lower myself into my chair near the window.

I knew this was coming, but seeing the proof of it makes my stomach churn with dread. They will show Leith no mercy. I already visited the castle this morning to speak to the guards I’ve bribed. They claimed they had no new information, and I believe them. Whatever Soro has planned, he is not discussing it with anyone.

This is bad.

I wring my hands, then catch myself and settle them on my breeches. Leith will be exhausted when he returns. I already have tonics prepared, fresh blankets on the bed, and food waiting, so he can rest and eat and sleep. But he might not have time for any of that. And I hate to think of him being disadvantaged when he steps into the arena.

He still isn’t fully healed from the last match.

I force myself to remain calm. I need to think. I ready for the second letter, and when I see the scribbled marking on the cover, my heart skips a beat. I shouldn’t open it, but I need to know that my medicine arrived in time. Need to prepare myself to care of Leith’s family in the event that it did not. In this moment, I choose to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

It’s a short, barely legible note, scribbled by Leith’s sister Rose’s hand.

I skim it quickly and sigh in relief.

His “little shadow” is still sick with fever, but she lives. It’s hot where they are instead of cold and rainy as it should be this time of year. Perhaps the instability of the weather plays a part in why sweet Dahlia continues to fall ill. Stars know it’s causing problems in every other corner of this world.

I hope Leith’s mission with Caelen will prove fruitful.

It won’t be easy. With the borders closed, arranging passage out of Siertos may be impossible. But as Father pointed out, we have a better chance of defending them here.

But if they can’t reach Arrow…

I return to the ledger I was skimming through, only to slam it shut and toss it back on Papa’s desk, stirring Toso awake from where he naps on the windowsill.

Toso is our largest estrella, his size similar to a full-grown lemur. I smile when he chirps and leaps onto my shoulder, and I stroke the fur on top of his head. Estrellas are smart and can understand sentiments and even some words. Not like moon horses but more than any non-magical beast, to be sure. And while I don’t think he can understand me now, I speak aloud nonetheless. “I’m worried about Leith,” I say.

Toso nestles against me.

I can’t just wait here. I must do something. Think, Maeve. Think.

Should Leith and Caelen fail to secure passage for Leith’s family, if they must remain in Leith’s home of Grey, then they’ll need food and supplies in order to survive.

My darling fuzz ball chitters and clings to me. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little company, especially from someone protective. “Neela, do we have a large sack I can fit Toso in?”

Neela eyes me. “And why, my dear?”

“I need to get to town, and I’d like a little company.”

Neela crosses her arms. “Why can’t your company consist of guards, as your station requires?”

I scratch Toso’s furry back, making his hind leg twitch. “Guards would attract attention.” I shrug. “Attention is not something I need right now. I’ll only be to the aviary and back.”

Neela raises her bushy eyebrows but doesn’t question me further. “Fine. But don’t dawdle and be back before supper.”

She flaps her hands and heads in the direction of the kitchen. Toso leaps from my shoulder and races after her.

I hurry to the stables. I saddle Knight and mount quickly, then circle back to the manor, where Neela waits. She lifts Toso, who grips a leather sack with a long strap in his teeth. The moment I loop the strap over my shoulder, Toso jumps in, burrowing and squirming inside the thick leather until he’s comfortable.

Then Neela hands me three pouches of gold. “The proprietor drives a hard bargain.”

“Of course he does.”

“The aviary is in Lady Ashara’s former abode.”

I nod.

“Be careful, Maeve. Don’t draw attention.”

She knows what I mean to do, and she’s not trying to talk me out of it. I urge Knight forward, and he charges away from the manor.

“Try not to look so smug,” I tell Knight when we pass the main city stables. Moon horses are intelligent and full of personality, too. He knows what I’m saying.

He huffs and swings his tail, communicating that he can’t help it if he’s pretty. I laugh and stroke his mane. “Yes, you’re the prettiest,” I agree.

The elderly human woman who sells turkey legs looks up from her stand as I enter the city, her thick brush dripping with the honey, salt, and pepper combination she uses to baste the legs. “Princess—” she begins.

I cut her off by pressing a finger to my lips. She nods and whispers to the fairy helping her. He flutters off to spread the word that I’m trying to go unnoticed.

Neela mentioned that the mailing service is in what used to be Lady Ashara’s home before she was stripped of her title and banished from Arrow. I never met her, but Papa told me she was one of the few ladies of privilege to openly speak out against Vitor and my grandmother for their role in slaughtering the phoenix.

Lady Ashara was tough and loud, and it cost her. Grandmother could be generous, but she had little patience for anyone she suspected of disloyalty.

Knight’s hooves clop-clop along the cobblestone path that leads to the older part of town. The run-down neighborhood once brimmed with affluence. As we reach the top of the hill and look down, I catch sight of the glass dome of Lady Ashara’s former home.

Papa mentioned that she was a bird and butterfly aficionado and that she kept them in a massive solarium. “It makes sense that the mailing service would set up their shop there,” I tell Knight and Toso. “It’s the perfect place to rest and care for the messenger hawks.” As I say it, one takes flight from the rooftop, its large wings stretched and several packages tied to its talons.

When I dismount from Knight in front of the shop, I tug my hood farther down my face. I readjust Toso’s bag so it’s more comfortable over my shoulder, then grab my saddlebag.

I reach the entrance, noting all the available merchandise lining the windows. There’s quite an eclectic collection of everything. A bell rings above me as I open the door to the shop.

“Hello? Hello?” a voice calls.

I deepen my voice to mimic Leith’s and do a terrible job. “Good day,” I say. “I need to place an order.”

The front of the shop is what was likely a grand foyer. Erected walls have cut the room in half, and they feature rows of shelves filled with trinkets, bags of rice, beans, flour, and even sweets. Soaps, perfumes, and more luxury items line the shelves behind a long counter where the shop owner waits. The counter takes up almost the entire wall save for the two closed doors at the far end. The glass cases display simple jewelry, silver pipes, and frames of gold sparkling with crushed stones—none well-made or befitting of the royals of Arrow’s court. They are made for those of far less fortune.

A human man not much older than me with long blond hair motions me to the desk, scroll and plume ready in hand. A chain links the piercings on his nose and ear—oddly regal and expensive jewelry for a simple shopkeeper.

“What do you wish, and where, son?”

His voice is quick and animated. I slip the wide strap of Toso’s pouch off my shoulder and set it gently on the floor, then fumble through my saddlebag and pull out several vials of carefully wrapped elixirs and crushed herbs that help with fever. He places them on a scale.

I hold tight to my altered voice. “I’d like to send these to the village of Grey in Siertos.”

He stiffens, his bright-green eyes shifting in my direction. “It’s good that you came. This is the only way to get anything there,” he says. “Who is this on behalf of, boy?”

My muscles tense, and I slide my hand to the hilt of my sword, camouflaged by my cloak. I’m unsure he knows who I really am, but his stiff demeanor bothers me. “It’s on behalf of Leith—”

“The gladiator,” he says. “Yes, yes, I know of him.” He scribbles the weight on parchment, resuming his work. “Anything else you wish to add?” he asks.

“A bag of flour, a sack of rice, and a pot for boiling.”

His eyes light up, no doubt because he charges by weight. “My hawks can carry a bag of dried corn as well, if that is to your liking,” he adds, trying to sound subtle and failing miserably. I get the feeling he’s trying to take advantage of my need to get things to Siertos. While I’m certain Vitor taxes him an outrageous amount, the jewelry he wears suggests he does remarkably well.

Something here is off.

Toso must feel it, too, because he climbs out of the leather pouch to stand defensively at my feet. Behind the counter, the shop owner is too busy tabulating the riches he’ll make ripping me off to notice.

“Yes, corn,” I say, voice pitched low, “and five pounds of dried bison meat.”

It’s all this man can do not to dance. “We only sell increments of ten pounds,” he says. When I sigh and nod, he adds, “I must warn you, boy, such a heavy transport will require more coin and, well, more hawks. We can’t overburden my children.”

No, we can’t, can we? “That’s fine,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my tone as I toss more coin on the counter. Is it a wonder these gladiators must save money to send money?

“Anything else?” he asks. “Perhaps something pretty from my shop?”

Before I can reply, there’s a smack of wings and a deep shriek from a hawk behind the set of double doors. “A delivery,” the shop owner announces. He scoops up the payment with a large smile and pockets it before slinking away. “I’ll be right back with your receipt. Please, look around. I discount my items with every mailing.”

“Sure you do,” I say.

He grins, not caring what I say now that he has his payment, and disappears through the double doors behind the counter. I sigh and do indeed look around while I wait for his return. Perhaps I’ll find some yarn Neela could use to knit Papa another blanket. The way he gathered it against his face during our last visit makes me think he misses the smell of home. As I walk down the display case, I notice a pair of sparkly hair clips. Perhaps Leith’s mother and his sisters might enjoy something pretty of their very own. I step around the counter to get a better look.

They are dazzling and better quality than the other items on display. The price isn’t terrible, even for this sleazy owner’s standards. Mailing shouldn’t be much, and perhaps I can convince him to waive the fee. I start to lift them when something in a cubby beneath the counter catches my eye.

Feet.

Doll feet.

Covered with green leather shoes just like Leith told me his little sister wears.

I wouldn’t have seen the doll from the other side. I wouldn’t have seen it from this side had the owner shoved the doll in just another inch.

Anger heats my skin. I pull out the doll with big brown eyes and short black curls I had made for a little girl who has never had a fucking doll .

As I do, several envelopes fall to the floor. When I recognize the handwriting as Rose’s, I stop breathing. Toso, shadowing my every move, takes a sniff. Each envelope is marked with a number scribbled in what I recognize as the shop owner’s hand. I reach for one, fury causing me to tremble.

I pull out the letter written on a tattered scroll. Unlike the other letters Leith received from home, this one has a date on top.

A date from three years ago .

The heat my anger stirred plummets, replaced by a frigid spike of cold down my spine. “No,” I say. “Please, no.”

I gather the envelopes from the floor and several others that remain in the cubby and sort through them by number, starting with the lowest first. My breathing is quick and painful. Every single letter is from three years ago.

There are several out of order—and it wasn’t because of the extreme weather affecting the seasons. It’s that Rose never learned her months in the right order, misleading the shop owner into numbering them incorrectly.

I must go by the seasons to properly sort them and read them. It’s the only way I finally learn the truth. One by one, I read the brief letters.

Wer r u, Leith? Did u fawget us?

I cover my mouth. No, sweet one, he never did. He never would.

Dahlia is verry sic.

No.

Mama is sic. Shee gaeve Dahlia all her fude.

No.

Mama did ent make it.

Oh, stars.

Dahlia wonet waek up. Leith, help me. Whut do i do 2 waek hr up.

No!

Dahlia dyd. Imma lone. R u ded? Please dount be ded, 2.

In the last few letters, Rose’s handwriting is barely legible. I know she’s sick and starving even before she finally admits that she’s dying, too. She pleads for Leith to help her, to save her, that she’s scared and doesn’t want to die alone.

The final letter is from a leader from Leith’s village. It’s dated fourteen months after Leith arrived in Arrow.

Two Leith of Grey,

I'm surry. We fond ur family and buried dem together. Dey wer ded a long time.