Bloodguard

chapter 69

Leith

Soro and his cohorts exchange a round of stunned glances.

“What’s wrong?” I call out. “If you’re not brave enough to accept a challenge, you’ll never be brave enough to be king.”

The murmurs of the audience questioning Soro’s leadership are nothing compared to the excitement that builds.

“Bloodguard! Bloodguard! ”

Soro raises his chin, takes in every section of the arena cheering for me, not him, and curses through his clenched teeth.

If I win, it’s over for him, and he knows it. But if Soro wins, it’s over for everything good in Arrow.

“Very well,” Soro says, his tone flirting with boredom. “If this is what you want.” He holds out his hand, where a servant is quick to place his sword.

As if he has all day, Soro makes his way down the arena level, but he doesn’t climb the retaining wall to enter.

I wait, eager to unleash the ass-beating that’s long overdue.

Soro takes the stance of a soldier prepared to fight. The wind is strong enough to flutter his ridiculous sparkly braid, and that evil grin gleams against his skin.

I relax my stance. My sword out.

He shouts to that snake Ugeen, who scrambles to his side. Soro mutters something. Ugeen nods in my direction, not that dick-suit bothers to engage me directly.

From one hell-bent breath to the next, Soro leaps into the arena, rage reddening his face. Resolute to prove he’s the better man.

I think I’m ready for his speed, but I’m wrong.

I don’t think I’m that hurt, but I am.

Something swipes me across the face and knocks me to the ground. I roll to the side, barely avoiding Soro’s sword as it comes down.

As I start to rise, I’m kicked in the head.

Another kick belts me in the gut, spinning me away from the royal box.

I land with a grunt, the side of my face scraping against the sand.

My body demands I don’t move, begs me to rest.

It’s my own stubborn will that allows me to force myself to my feet.

The blur coming at me is impossible to track. I pivot and slice my sword up and down in quick motions that do absolutely nothing but cut through empty air and make Soro laugh.

He’s no wimp. He is a fighter like me, but he’s healthy and using his elven speed to his advantage.

Something hard nails me in the gut and sends me whirling and crashing to the ground once more. I try to spit out sand, but I can barely do more than keep breathing.

Except then Maeve cries out in pain, and everything that hurts me turns to nothing.

This is the woman I love.

My pain will never best hers.

I lie still, pretending to be more injured than I already am. It’s not hard. I’ve had a hell of a day.

Soro kicks my leg.

My stomach.

My chest.

And a second rib snaps.

The pain in my ribs is overpowered by the stinging cuts that crisscross my palms when I push my hand into the sand intermixed with salt.

Soro is still here. He’s not far. He’s behind me somewhere, gearing up for that next blow.

I rise slowly, purposely leaving my back vulnerable. Surrendering myself completely to instinct and intuition, I react to something I sense rather than something I see or hear.

I spin on my heel, the butt of my sword coming down in an arc and slamming into Soro’s sternum. His spine bows, and he falls. I flip my sword, hovering over him as the point of my blade pierces the flesh above his heart.

My breaths come in quick bursts full of pain and rage.

“Go ahead,” he dares me. “Do it. But if I go, she goes with me. No way in fuck will I ever allow someone like you to take my crown.”

My eyes dart to the royal box. Ugeen has my Maeve by the hair, her neck exposed and a dagger pressed to her throat.

I fall to my bloodied knees.

No.

Not her.

Every ache in my body, all the pain from my injuries—they don’t hold a candle to the deep chasm breaking open inside my chest. There is no choice here. I told myself I’d die for her, and I will, without hesitation.

She shakes her head to stop me, her eyes ramming closed when the tip of the dagger cuts a shallow line along her throat. Drops of blood well, staining her snow-white dress.

Soro is already on his feet, sword raised. I toss the king’s sword to the side. “Do it,” I say. “Just spare the woman I love.”

Maeve locks eyes with me. “Leith,” she pleads.

“No,” I say. “No life is worth living without you.”

There are calls for action from the spectators, some demanding I fight, some begging for Maeve’s release. But then the air shifts between me and Maeve, and suddenly we’re back behind the cottage on that day we first sparred. “I’m sorry, Leith,” she says, just like she did that day. “I’m not like you. I can’t make them bleed. I can’t make them pay.”

Yes. She can. And with those words, I know she will.

Soro brings down his sword, aiming for my throat—knowing I’ll kill him if he doesn’t finish me first—as Maeve slams her head back to break Ugeen’s nose.

I throw myself backward and roll away, grabbing my sword.

Soro misses me by inches.

I leap, tossing my sword into my left hand and taking one long swing.

There are images that are etched in our brains forever—my mother’s somber features when she told me goodbye, Rose’s silent tears as she held tight to Dahlia, who begged me not to leave her behind, Sullivan’s face when he knew his time had come, and Gunther as he clutched that bent nail in his small hand.

This is one of those moments and the first for which I am grateful.

Maeve launches herself into the arena as a swarm of guards tackles Ugeen.

Her feet stomp into the sand, releasing puffs of dust into the air as Soro’s decapitated head rolls past her.

Soro’s problem is that he learned to torment and humiliate in a fight.

Three years in the arena taught me to dominate, to anticipate everything, and to respond to the impossible.

It’s what secures me my final win.

The thunderous applause and cheers I received in the past pale compared to the cacophony now threatening to tear the arena apart.

“Bloodguard. BLOODGUARD! ”

I pay them no mind. They’re not important. All that matters is the woman throwing herself into my arms, begging me to never leave her and vowing to love me forever.

My vision blurs, and tears, those fucking tears I was never supposed to shed, fall for my Maeve.

Those who are scared always cry.

I’m no exception.