Page 126 of Bloodguard

“By all the glory,” Rye says. “It’s Leith.”

Murmurs erupt, spreading down to each pen. Gladiators I know pull against their restraints, trying to get a look at me as I pass. They’re arranged in a new pattern. It’s odd. There are too many unfamiliar faces intermixed with seasoned gladiators. The ones with the greatest number of wins are split far apart from one another.

“Oi,” Ned calls. “Oi. ’Ere I thought you was dead.”

The corners of my lips tug into a grin. It’s a strange feeling to miss them. It’s even stranger to hear warmth trickle through their surprise. My old barrack mates are happy to see me. Meatheads or not, we are one. It’s something I learned from Maeve: you don’t have to be blood to be family.

I pass Pega’s pen. Rye’s and Ioni’s, too. They look good. So good they’re almost unrecognizable. Their faces are clean and filled out, their stances solid. Before Maeve and her family, all we knew were injuries, illness, and pain.

After them, I don’t recognize anyone. In my absence, more have died and even more have come to take their places.

Angry faces greet me as the gate of a particularly nasty pen is pulled open. I’m pushed inside and almost collide with an old human man who spits at my feet. The move reminds me of Sullivan. This man is not impressed by new clothes and sturdy boots. He sees me as weak and glares. I glare in return. He hasn’t seen what I’ve seen despite his years. He has no idea the shit I’m capable of.

It becomes a mind game of sorts to see who looks away first. It’s always someone else.

Today, it’s me.

“Leith.”

I turn when a familiar voice calls my name from the back of the pen.

Luther.

The giant recovered and beat the odds. He’s shoved into a corner, waiting for his turn to go.

No one moves to allow me through.

Ah, yes, we’re back to this.

I shove anyone in my path aside, using my shoulders to jab them.

There’s no way I’m not talking to Luther.

I trudge over the muck, kicking aside rotting pieces of vegetables the newer gladiators lunge for.

Luther’s giant bottom lip tilts up. I return his grin.

“Still alive,” I say.

“Because you,” he admits.

His foot is twisted, the leg thinner and plenty scarred, but it holds his weight. And like he said, he’s still here.

Luther favors the damaged leg as he stands, but not so much that I’m not confident he’ll keep fighting and keep winning. As long as he can move, Luther’s better off than most.

“She good?” he asks.

“She’s amazing,” I admit.

I haven’t told them who “she” really is. They presume it was Giselle, and none of us told them otherwise.

Pega surely suspects, but she’s been loyal to her sponsor and to me.

“You good friend,” he says. “Today win. Then next. Then Blood…guard.”

“That’s the plan,” I say. I place my hand on his shoulder. With Sullivan gone, Luther and the others have become more than competition.

Luther keeps his voice low and his speech short, as always. “Saved me. Saved many.” He jerks his large chin in the direction of the other pens. I catch sight of Ned and Ioni trying to draw closer. The others are too far.

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