Bloodguard

chapter 61

Leith

The drumbeats started at sunrise and continue to bang away in that same steady, deliberate rhythm. They speak of war and death, which is…appropriate.

Caelen and I march our horses into the arena complex. “Is it odd being here when you’re no longer required?” he asks.

“It is,” I say. “But I wouldn’t miss this for all of Old Erth.” Not when it’s my only chance to secure the title Maeve needs me to have.

Caelen grins. Not something he’s known for. “Neither would I.”

It’s arena day. It’s also Maeve’s birthday, her coronation, and the day of her unholy union with Soro, who has surely planned a masterpiece of atrocity to celebrate.

Asshole.

Old and young, poor and rich, all have arrived today. Whether they are loyal attendees or first-timers just looking forward to watching the surprises in store for a final Bloodguard trial doesn’t matter—the entire complex is packed. But I’m not here for them. I’m here for Maeve.

We slip from our horses, passing the reins to a stableboy who is notably not Gunther. My stomach twists at the thought that he may have been harmed for his show of loyalty toward me that night Vitor and Soro dropped in at the manor. I will find him when this is over and make certain that he, at least, enjoys the life that my sisters could not.

“I wish you luck, Leith of Grey,” Caelen says as we clasp arms. I nod, and he releases me. After a moment, he says, “You shared your plan for today with me in confidence, my friend, but sometimes confidences must be broken to protect those we love.”

Prickly dread trickles through my bones. Has my friend betrayed me and alerted Soro? No. I know this man. His loyalty is to Giselle and her family. But before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he strides away, calling over his shoulder with a wave, “I’ll see you inside. We’ll have the best seats in the house.” And with that, he disappears into the crowd of people streaming through the arches.

By the time I enter, pandemonium has already been unleashed. Lines by the dozens form for keepsakes, food, ale, and more outside of the arena. Stasia waves from the cider stand she erected, pausing to sigh deeply when Gabi’s backward-facing feet take her in the opposite direction to where Manu, a giantess, is selling sweet bread.

The dwarves who carried the cauldron of eels now stir a cauldron of boar hooves in lizard broth. The aroma of the broth and vegetables clashes in the most delicious way possible with the turkey legs Neh-Neh and Uni are coating with butter and herbs to sell to the masses. As much as it pains me to see them here, I know they’ve got three big mouths to feed, and I can’t begrudge them the coin today’s “festivities” will bring.

Spectators stop to watch me, point in my direction, wave, and, of course, heckle.

An elderly lord with gentle mannerisms and soft words lights up when he sees me. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, jackass!” he hollers.

I return his grin. “Not as much as I’ve enjoyed your wife,” I reply.

Look at that. He’s no longer smiling.

All the noise should overwhelm me. But my focus hasn’t wavered since my mind was made up.

To the left, the line for the Commons has formed. At the center, the Middlings await. Those in the Noble Ring—closest to the arena floor—don’t stand in line. The gentry cross the bridge that connects the castle to the coliseum. There’s no wait, and there’s no rubbing elbows with the riffraff or need to talk to anyone deemed beneath them. At the bridge, they’re bowed to, given programs, and escorted into their designated boxes.

Through the archway of the gladiator entrance, I can see that the pens are nearly empty. The only evidence of the other gladiators is the imprints of bare feet through the mud toward the tunnel that leads into the arena. From here, I can see them stuffed in one narrow and cramped cell. They stand shoulder to shoulder behind bars that run along the tunnel wall. Their view is minimal. Those assholes have moved them closer to screw with their minds. They’ll be able to hear all the torment and not benefit from it. Shit. I never thought anything would be worse than those damn pens. One more flex courtesy of Soro.

Well, by the great phoenix, it’s time we change all that.