Bloodguard

chapter 62

Maeve

There’s so much bloodshed to be had today, and I want no part of it. At least Soro allowed Giselle to meet me at the entrance and escort me inside. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to see her since before my family and home were destroyed. I take a shuddering breath and square my shoulders, knowing all eyes will be on me today.

My white, diamond-stitched dress makes a swishing sound as we step from the bridge sectioned off for royalty to the slick stone floor of the arena complex. I tug at the uncomfortable sleeves as Giselle and I walk down the corridor in the direction of the royal box. I agreed to wear the gown, but I drew the line at the veil. I want Soro and everyone here to see my face when I’m forced to go through with this farce of a wedding.

I take my sister’s gloved hand and pull her to a stop. “Any word of Leith?” I whisper.

An odd look crosses her face, like when she was caught in mischief as a child. “He’s not happy about the situation, of course, but he is good otherwise. Caelen has spent time with him frequently.”

Relief floods my chest, letting me breathe a bit more easily. He is well and will not be putting his life on the line in this horrible place ever again.

Beneath the first archway, a few ladies, their dresses in alternating pastels of silk and satin and their noses high in the air, whisper as a servant fills their bejeweled chalices with wine.

“She ran off, I tell you,” Lady Zizi, a troll, insists. “She can’t be queen here, but knowing Aisling, she’ll be queen somewhere else.”

Um. I don’t think she will.

They fall silent when they see Giselle and me, and they huddle closer together. “Do you think Soro killed her?” Lady Urt, a cyclops with short green curls, whispers.

The ladies flap their hands and shush her, warning her to watch her tongue.

Too late. The servant pouring wine hurries away in Soro’s direction, his thin legs moving fast and his feather cap bouncing in his haste.

The women gasp when Soro bends to hear what the young elf has to say. My, and doesn’t that make them scatter? I don’t feel sorry for Urt or Zizi for however Soro chooses to punish them. These “ladies” were Aisling’s closest friends, following her lead in their relentless harassment of Giselle, who now shifts uncomfortably beside me.

I squeeze her hand, and we continue our slow progress through the crowd.

“I must tell you something,” Giselle whispers when we reach the landing above the steps leading to the box reserved for top-ranking royalty.

I glance around to be certain we cannot be overheard. “About Leith?”

She shakes her head. “I just want you to know.” She swallows. “I want you to know that I will always support you and protect you any way I can.” She looks so serious I find myself holding my breath, but then something over my shoulder catches her eye, and her expression brightens. “Caelen has arrived. I must go.”

The look on her face makes my heart ache. She loves him.

After giving my hand a squeeze, she practically skips away, but then she rushes back to me. “I, uh, borrowed a couple of things from your room last night. Hope you don’t mind.”

I know we are being watched by those around us, so I school my features to prevent my confusion from showing. Soro ordered that no one be allowed entrance to my wing except my maids. It would be impossible for her to borrow anything.

Before I can even take a breath to respond, she says, “Brynne and Lita are really nice. I met them in the city yesterday, and we had a long talk.” And with that, she spins and pushes her way through the sea of jewels and silk and satin toward a box two down from mine, where her love awaits.

Chin high, expression neutral, I make my way across the landing to where Soro and Ugeen are deep in conversation by the arched corridor entrance. Ugeen is dressed all in pink, because he didn’t look enough like a knob already. The color bleaches his already pasty skin, and since today is extra special, his head is polished to a high shine.

Ugeen steps away from Soro and the servant and shakes his head as I approach. “What a poor excuse for a queen,” he says. He’s speaking loudly, belittling me so others will, too—no doubt part of a plan to weaken me in the eyes of my people to allow Soro more power.

Soro sends two guards in the direction of where the ladies disappeared, their quick steps echoing along the high walls and ceilings of the immense corridor.

Ugeen leans into Soro and smiles. “You’ll do better your next go around, my king.”

He’s still angry at me for slapping him.

I learned my lesson, though. No more slapping Ugeen.

“Pfft,” he says, wrinkling his nose as if I smell bad. “Disgusting.”

I respond with a regal wave to his face and a right hook to his jaw.

See? Lesson learned. I didn’t slap him once.

Ugeen falls on his ass, as per usual, smacking the hands of the guards who try to help him up. He lunges at me but is cut short when the guards assigned to me swarm him with their swords out.

“Uh, uh, uh,” I say. “Mustn’t attack the queen. Her royal guards don’t like it.”

Ugeen no longer has anything to say.

But Soro will have plenty. I groan when he bypasses Ugeen and marches to my side.

Soro is all dolled up in dark-blue breeches and shirt with a matching robe for our special day. And don’t get me started on the sheer volume of gems woven into his hair.

“Would it kill you to behave like a decent bride?” Soro asks.

“Hard to be decent when I’m engaged to an overly bedazzled prick.” I don’t finish speaking before Soro raises his hand to strike me, and I instinctively cover my face. I immediately regret it and lower my hands, not wanting to appear weak or cowed by this man. I’m the queen, dammit.

With a growl, Soro reins in his anger and drops his arm, hand clenched. “If I find out you had anything to do with Aisling’s disappearance…” he warns, voice shaking in a way that suggests… My, does he actually have a heart in there?

Too damn bad.

I lift my chin and regard him as if his mere presence makes me ill. It’s not hard. “You said it was Tut. That they fought when he tried to free the—”

His seething scowl cuts me off. “I don’t think it was him. Tut was ruthless, but Aisling was, too.” Coming from him, it almost sounds like a compliment.

I raise my eyebrows. “Aisling was an opportunist, just like Ugeen.” I give the man a glare. “What makes you think she didn’t side with Tut and make the catacombs appear as if they fought?” My, that doesn’t sound so bad, so I keep going. I sidle closer, as if he didn’t almost strike me—as if I want to help him rather than feed his paranoia. “What if Ugeen is in on it with her? Hasn’t he already proven he’s willing to lie about such things to suit his interests?”

Soro’s features sharpen to obsidian blades. I tilt my head as if confused. It’s better than appearing like I’ve knowingly gone too far, which I fear I have.

He stares at me for a beat, then hooks my arm and drags me forward. “Come on. You’re late enough.”

The bright sun stings my eyes as we step out into the stands. Soro releases me, not bothering to help me on the stone steps I want to push him down. So help me, if I ever get the chance, I’ll fling him from the royal box.

The overhang, swathed in white, affords some relief from the sun’s bright rays. White silk is draped over every seat, starting in the Middling section, and white petals are strewn along the rows where bet takers run up and down. Bouquets spilling with white-flowered vines are placed at each row. This is a spectacle indeed.

I slow my pace to take every bit of it in before focusing on the arena. An orchestra tunes its instruments just to our right on a newly constructed platform, also decorated in white.

On the arena floor, eight large crates are arranged in a circle. My attention shifts to the royals on my left. Everyone there is either casting their bets or trying to guess what fresh torment they’re going to put the gladiators through today. Having been sequestered since Aisling’s disappearance last night, I haven’t learned a thing. But based on the size of those crates—my eyes widen when I glance down to see two of the boxes thrashing independently—these poor people are up for the torture session of their lives.

“Sit down,” Soro hisses.

For a moment, I picture gouging his eyes out with my bare hands, but I resist the temptation.

I sit, horrified by a glimpse of caged gladiators through the arched opening at the other end of the arena. I desperately wish I could do something—anything—to help them.

Soro empties his goblet down his throat. A servant appears and sets the contents of a brass container on fire while another sets a quiver full of arrows beside it. A third offers Soro a bow. He examines it carefully and pulls on the string. My attention jerks back to the boxes in the arena. What are these gladiators in for? And how many of them are mere civilians who will die for the crime of seeking refuge in our land?

These “royals” have poisoned my kingdom, and I don’t believe I can ever atone for my part in allowing it to happen.

The quieting of the crowd gives everyone around me pause. Their chanting begins low, building upon itself until it reaches a mighty crescendo, and everyone is on their feet.

“Bloodguard!”

“Bloodguard!”

Soro rises slowly beside me. I stand, too, when Leith enters the arena and marches across the sand.

I cannot breathe or even form a coherent thought. Leith shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. I agreed to marry this despicable man beside me today and live a life without him so he wouldn’t ever have to enter this arena again.

So he wouldn’t die.

It takes a while for Leith to reach the area closest to the royal boxes, given the massive diameter of the arena, and I swear to the moon and stars my heartbeat stalls with every step he takes. No guards escorted him into the arena. No one commanded him here.

He’s here by choice.

His eyes meet mine, and I take my first full breath since he stepped onto the sand. My heart hammering so hard I fear it will break through my ribs, I place a hand over my chest. This warrior—the man I love—is here for a reason. He’s here for me.

“You,” Soro says.

“That’s right. Me ,” Leith shouts back.

Soro’s body stiffens, and he scowls, clearly unhappy that the crowd is losing their collective selves at Leith’s presence. But then, Soro smiles.

Oh, mercy. I glance between them. All Soro has to do is find an excuse not to put Leith in the arena, but he’s too cocky for that.

“You made a blood oath that he would not be called into the arena to battle,” I say, panic causing my voice to come out thin and raspy.

Soro’s smile remains in place. “He was not called here.”

No, but he intends for Leith to die today regardless.

And Leith couldn’t give a damn.

“You think you call the shots? You think we fight for you ?” Leith says, his ire elevating each word to a credible threat. “Today, I’m the one in charge.” His voice reverberates through the massive amphitheater as his gaze sears to mine. “Today, I fight for Maeve of Iamond, my queen.”