Page 110 of Bloodguard

“Oh, the slippery devil can’t keep his hands to himself.” She bats the air. “In other words, good as new.” She pauses when she looks at me. “Princess, have you been crying?”

I try to smile and fail miserably. “I just need to speak to my father.” I glance past her shoulder. “Is he here?”

“Not anymore, dear,” Ula says. “He went on to New Arrow a bit ago.”

“Right.”

“Are you listening, dear?” Ula asks.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” I meet her eyes. “I need to speak to Father.”

Ula nods and points. “Just cut through the alleyway there. One block from the end, make a right, then go straight until you reach the new inn. That’s what he’s working on today.”

“Thank you.” I pull my hood back over my puffy, crying eyes.

I don’t have to walk long before the steady beat of hammers and the back-and-forth sliding of saws echo down the alleyway. My duties at the castle and in service of my community have kept me busy, and I haven’t stopped in to see how New Arrow is coming along in a few weeks, but my, have they made progress.

Several elven and ogren women call from a rooftop, demanding more shingles.

“Come on with ye, Ostie!” an elf says. “We need to finish before the rain comes.”

A giant with auburn curls down to his butt replies something in clicks and hisses and throws a large stack of tied shingles at them, not to them.

The elf, who has a tattoo on her face and piercings all along her eyebrows, catches it and places it between the two other women and scowls. “Ostie, there was no need to comment on my mother like that. I toldye ye can help us on the next roof that can better support ye weight.”

Oh, and Ostie is not happy about it. More clicks and hisses precede a very angry fist and one irate finger.

“Come on, Ostie, ye know I didn’t mean it that way!”

Just last week, they were working on the other block. At this rate, they’ll be onto the next in a few days.

My feet have never failed me, and they don’t fail me now. I jump out of the way, barely missing getting soaked when a troll empties a large bin of water and lye soap out from a third-floor window.

“Sorry, lad,” he tells me, his beard soaked with sweat. “Didn’t see you there.”

I wave to those who smile as I rush by. They’re not welcoming me as a princess. They’re welcoming me as another of their own. Many women stroll along in simple cotton dresses in dark shades of red, green, and gray, their baskets stuffed with fresh vegetables and their faces absolutely beaming as they speak in their native languages.

A troll laughs with his wife as he turns a goat on a spit. Across from them, just a few yards from me, an elderly giantess sweeps her front stoop.

This is the Arrow I always wanted for my people. It may have been Papa’s dream, but Father turned it into a reality. I never imagined the wonders a group made up of so many people from different walks of life and languages could create.

In another block, I’m at the inn. “I was told my father Jakeb is here?” I say to the human painting the exterior of the brick structure.

He smiles. “Down the hall, last room.”

My hand slips over the handle more than once when I reach the door, my palms sweaty and shaking. With more effort than it should reasonably take, I push it open.

In a barren room, with a paintbrush in hand, wearing an old pair of overalls and his graying hair tied in a high bun, stands the great Lord Jakeb of Iamond, husband to Andres the once future king.

Royal by marriage.

Former High Guard of Arrow.

Philanthropist.

And a man with a broken heart.

In large, bold letters,Andresis emblazoned across the wall. Father must have written Papa’s name with the blue paint he’s using. As I watch, he paints over Papa’s name with quick brushstrokes. “Sorry,” he says. “I was just thinking of him.”

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