Bloodguard

chapter 46

Maeve

It feels like a fever dream. One I can’t wake from.

One in which I can’t see.

One in which I can’t breathe.

Is this what it is to die?

Alone in a suffocating inferno, unable to move my limbs?

I turn my head, searching for my fathers in the darkness so they can tell me it’s going to be okay. Or Neela so she may stroke my hair to soothe my fear. I keep turning my head or at least trying to. Where are the little estrellas? They need to sleep with Father so they may keep him warm and feel safe.

But I don’t need warmth. I need water. My stars, why is it so hot?

“The princess is waking.”

It’s Tut, the ogren general in charge of surveillance. Vitor’s loyal follower. I recognize his voice.

“Remove the covering,” Vitor says. There’s a long pause, and his voice tightens. “I said remove the covering.”

Metal slides against thick leather as a sword is pulled from its sheath. “Now, gentlemen, there is no time for posturing,” another voice says. Wonderful. It’s Lord Ugeen. The kiss-ass worm sounds mere feet from me. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” he says.

Something is yanked from my face, pulling strands of my hair. I’m upright, bound tightly to something hard and bumpy, but my vision is blurry and I cannot make out what it is. Immediately, I try to lash out, to kick and claw, but my arms, legs, and body are bound.

My face is swollen, my right eye reduced to a slit. That, combined with the dimness of my surroundings, makes it hard to see, but eventually my eyes adjust.

And when I finally make out where I am, I shudder.

Shit.

Though I’ve never seen them before, it’s obvious where we are.

We’re in the catacombs.

I had no idea a cavern so vast existed within them. Piles and piles of skulls and bones from past wars, including those who perished attempting to kill the phoenix, are neatly stacked like trophies between stalagmites of varying widths and lengths. Heat…so much heat…pulsates against me in waves.

The only thing remotely reassuring is the statue of my grandmother carved from the stalagmite across from the one I’m tied to. My head lifts upward as I take in the Great Avianna of Iamond. In her left hand, she holds her own blade against her side. In the other is King Masone’s golden sword, raised in victory. This is where Vitor hid away the ancestral swords.

The statue mimics the painting in our former parlor, in which those who died following my grandmother lie dead around her. Except here, her likeness is depicted in greater detail.

The eyebrows are carefully chiseled, angled rather than curved, as they were in life when she was feeling exceptionally righteous. The dimple carved into her right cheek is set perfectly in line with her regal nose, which tips up slightly at the end. Her hair is cut short. She never liked it long—she was certain someone would use it to strangle her in her sleep.

The battle armor is perfection, the indentations of the mail curved and angled just right. But it’s the weapons, not the statue, that are the true treasures.

Each is a masterpiece, a startling reflection of their personalities and indicating the stark contrast between them. Grandmother’s sword is… feral , that’s the word that comes to mind. The hilt is a large raw diamond snaked in silver-and-green ivy that matches the tones of the blade. Grandfather’s sword is regal, the epitome of strength and endurance. The hilt is gold with a bloodred ruby fixed at the end. The blade is thin, long, lethal, and becoming of the king Leith deserves to be.

If he’s still alive…

Good stars, he needs to be alive! Just like Giselle and Caelen. But if they were somehow captured while we fought in the raid…

The raid. Ah, yes, where I saw my entire world implode.

My head pounds. My body burns . Every injury I endured sings the melody of pain.

I loll my head to the side to see Vitor waiting several paces away to my left.

“You fucking traitor,” I say, my voice raw and harsh.

The beating at the base of my skull makes it hard to think, hard to simply breathe. I try to focus, but incessant nausea surges, and my thoughts spin, leaving me faint. I’m dizzy from the blows to my head and weak from pushing my body to the extreme.

“Why didn’t you just kill me?” I ask. “Why did you force me to watch my family die?”

Vitor does little more than press his lips together tight. But then he speaks, and I wish he’d kept his mouth shut. “It was never my intent to hurt you, Maeve. By the great phoenix, all I ever wanted was to keep you safe.”

“You failed,” I say, or I at least try to.

Vitor’s hands are mildly crossed behind him, as always. Pua and Tut stand at attention on either side. Tut mutters something to Vitor, who responds with a few words I fail to catch. Pua lifts a piece of hair caught on the front of his tusks and lets it float away.

They stand in front of my grandfather’s statue. Like my grandmother, it’s also delicately carved into a stalagmite. “The Good King Masone of Iamond,” I say, laughing without humor. “I suppose as regent, this is the closest to a king you’ll ever be, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say that, Maeve,” he says.

“Don’t say what?” I respond, the effort causing pain like glass scraping over my vocal cords. “Don’t speak the truth? Someone must. What a fool I was to think that maybe, just maybe, you were still the man I called my uncle.”

Anger deepens his scowl, but then he looks to Soro—shouldn’t he be at the arena?—and Ugeen, who are standing alongside a wall of stacked bleached femurs. They speak in low whispers, and Ugeen nods at everything Soro says.

I stare at Soro with fury flooding my veins. My lungs sting when my breathing picks up. I try to calm myself by making out the words chiseled into the rock formations.

The one closest to me tells a story in the language of my elven ancestors. It’s of Skyla the Sun, who loved Milagro the Moon. They wanted to be together, but they always remained apart.

From the stone ceiling covered in wine-colored stalactites, moisture rains down along with the sounds of muffled but familiar cheers. We’re below the arena, then, and a match is already in motion. Is it Leith’s? My head sags forward, my body begging for sleep. Even if it is Leith, even if he is already fighting, he could never hear my screams. And if Grandmother was truthful with me, the catacombs are only accessible through the castle, where no one would let him in.

I fight the urge to fall asleep and force myself to focus on my surroundings.

We’re on an incline of soil and rubble. Below, more bones and stones make up a maze that supposedly leads into and out of the catacombs, according to what little was shared with me in my childhood. But that’s not enough information to help me now.

I shift my stiff shoulders, but the ties hold strong.

Vitor takes in how I absorb this unfamiliar place for any speck of anything that could help me escape. “By all of Old Erth,” he says. “You really don’t remember this place, do you?”

It’s an odd thing to ask. Of course I don’t remember this place. Grandmother was always so secretive, as if you had to possess a certain level of clearance and majesty to have the barest inkling the catacombs even existed. I reply with a scowl, hating the idea of speaking to him.

My ears twitch as the muffled sounds of screams and pounding hooves above us grow more pronounced. I think I hear a horn blast. That can’t be right. Didn’t that match just start?

Perhaps not. All I’m certain of is that I’m badly hurt.

My body bellows from the magnitude of injuries I’ve sustained, punishing me with stabbing pains and dull throbbing aches.

It’s hard to focus on anything. I try anyway. After all, I’m not dead yet.

A golden gate to my right separates us from the largest stalactites. They’re immense, stretching from the cavernous ceiling to the hard gravel floor. Should any of these wine-colored monstrosities break, we’d all be crushed.

I peer closer, past the gate. There’s a large mound of soil there but not much more. Could that be another way out? Maybe. The bars look spaced far enough apart for me to squeeze through. I must figure out how to break free.

“Maeve,” Vitor says quietly.

I wish my voice didn’t leak the misery I feel. It kills me just to look at him. “Don’t,” I say. “You’ve done enough.”

“My darling daughter, forgive me for my part in this.”

“I’m not your fucking daughter.” The words tear through my throat. “And nothing you say or do will make me forgive the unforgivable.”

I didn’t think tears were possible in heat this wretched, but they are. I can’t even swallow without coughing. Gone. My family is gone.

“Give her water, Soro,” Vitor orders. “Now.”

“Shut up!” I tell him. That’s it. That’s all that I have for a man I loved and learned from. From the man who threw me into the air as a child and who taught me to throw a spear not long after.

Vitor stares at me for a beat—long enough for me to ponder how to kill him, how to make Soro pay. How to gut Ugeen and the generals.

I jerk my head when the galloping above makes condensation drip onto my forehead. The screams from the arena grow in severity. Leith… Is he fighting for his life above while I’m trapped here, unable to help him? Has he even gone?

Is he dead already?

Soro raises his head from where he’s speaking to Ugeen.

Another drop from above has me shuddering with disgust, which causes pains to shoot through my body. By all the stars, everything hurts like hell. I take slow breaths through my mouth. My nose is broken, and the tissue surrounding it is so swollen I can barely feel my face move even when speaking. I must have been close to joining Father and Neela if it’s taking this long for just my face to heal. Toss in the awful heat, and every breath is grueling.

Father and Neela. I’m so sorry.

Soro looks up as more drips pelt my head. “You hear those screams?” he asks no one in particular. “No one’s getting through today. This was my idea. Mine .”

Leith is still alive. He must be. He’s the main event, and this monster wouldn’t dream of missing his match.

Soro starts to say something but stops when he notices more drops falling on me. Slowly, he smiles, reminiscent of the smiles from his youth, before his bitterness turned him into who—or what—he is now.

“What a childish, hateful villain you are,” I say.

He chuckles without humor. “I gave you a chance. I gave you a choice, Maeve. You could have had it all…” he replies.

“Soro,” Vitor says. “Do not disrespect Maeve. She’s exactly like her grandmother—a fierce warrior who took on everything thrown at her. You would do well to learn from her example.”

From one short breath to the next, Soro shoves his face into Vitor’s. He was always absurdly fast, his speed a marvel, even among elves.

“You believe her so special. Why? I’ve done everything , all my life, to please you. And it was never enough, was it?” He turns his head, glaring at me with unapologetic loathing. “No, your little Maeve always came first.”

“Not little Maeve. Queen ,” I fire back. I spit out blood, straightening as much as I can while ignoring the pull of my strained muscles. My eyes, ablaze with fury, shift between Vitor and Soro. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? That’s why you didn’t kill me along with my family!”

Vitor maintains his composed demeanor, as he always has, hands behind his back and shoulders relaxed. I wait for him to degrade Soro for his insolence. But that well-earned knockdown doesn’t come. He nods thoughtfully. “You’re here to make my son a king, yes.” Darkness overtakes the sharp planes of his face, and it scares me more than a strike ever could. “As a regent and his heir, we will never be kings unless we marry the heirs to the throne. With Andres out of the picture, you’re the only one with the power to change our station and keep power consolidated in one house.”

“Why even mention Andres?” Soro asks, scowling. “After what happened, he proved he’d never be strong enough to do what it takes to keep Arrow in power.”

My throat is on fire. Everything I had is gone. And here these knobs stand, without care for anyone but themselves. “How dare you speak of Papa that way?” I demand, grunting when more of that damn condensation trickles onto my head. “He would have made my grandmother proud—”

“How?” Soro asks me. The faraway screaming switches to abject terror. But Soro stands before me unaffected. “Andres refused to do what needed to be done. And so did you.”

What?

Vitor curses, then throws back his head and laughs. “What a fool I was,” he says. “Why, why did I tell you?”

Soro spits on the ground. “Because like always, you underestimated me.” Hurt punctuates each syllable, compounded by rage. He turns back to me. “You had everything, Maeve. Same as your father. Instead, you both fucked over our great leader.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the darkness in his expression makes my heart hammer. “I know Papa didn’t kill the queen. I know it!”

Soro saunters toward me, adjusting the dagger secured to the sheath at his hip. “Then who did, Maeve?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Vitor. “Tell everyone here who killed our queen.”

“It was—”

I cut myself off, examining everyone in my cramped surroundings. Ugeen and the ogren generals wait for my response, curious as to who I might accuse.

Who will I accuse? It wasn’t them—they’re genuinely waiting for my answer.

Was it Vitor? No, not with how he loved the queen.

Soro raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t me. I was with these very men in the castle before the fire started and I was forced to intervene.”

Vitor’s forehead creases, creating four deep lines soaked in sweat.

It had to be someone who isn’t here. Or dead, or…

I start breathing fast. Too fast. I start coughing, no, choking. I know Father was wrong about what happened. How could my sweet papa have left his beloved mother to die, let alone shoved her into the flames, as Soro accused?

The thundering hooves above force the stalactites to release their moisture like falling rain. Thick drops the size of pebbles fall from overhead

My body crumbles. No. Not my papa. They are all wrong.

Soro is mere feet from me. I should be thinking of ways I can secure his dagger—get him close enough to do something. But I can’t.

“Tell her,” Soro says quietly. “Tell her what you finally admitted to me.”

Vitor’s jaw clamps shut.

Soro removes his dagger from its sheath, tosses it into the air, and catches it. By my next pant of air, he’s on me. He yanks my hair, pulling up my chin. As if he has all the time he needs, he skims the tip along my jugular.

“ Don’t hurt her,” Vitor says.

Soro squares his shoulders, the tip pushing into my throat even as he replies in an eerily calm voice. “Then tell her, Vitor ,” he says.

Vitor doesn’t move. And even in this heat, he fails to take a breath. Pain wells in his eyes along with tears. Pua shoves him forward. It’s then I see the shackles binding Vitor’s arms.

The ropes dig into my breasts when I startle. Vitor is Soro’s prisoner…just like me?

Soro nicks my chin, making me jerk. I startle again when another drop of fluid falls from the ceiling and dribbles along my ear. “Tell her,” he says. “If you really see her as a daughter…”

It takes a strange amount of effort for Vitor to speak. “You were right, Maeve. All these years, you were right to believe in Andres’s innocence. Even when his own lover lamented over his sentence, you kept the faith.”

Soro slowly releases his hold on my hair. “Then who killed my grandmother?” I ask.

Anguish destroys what remains of Vitor’s resolve. “You did,” he says.