Page 14 of Bloodguard

“How old are you?” I ask.

He tilts his head as though surprised I acknowledged him. “Almost fourteen, sir,” he says.

I thought he was maybe nine at most. He’s probably malnourished, which must have stunted his height.

He points to my forearm, where the fresh tattoo still burns. “I’m going to get a sword like you someday,” he says.

I attempt to soften my tone. He’s the same age as my oldest sister, Rose. It’s hard, though. My voice is still rough from battle. “What’s your name?”

“Gunther,” he replies.

I bend to meet his gaze and press a hand to his shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Gunther.”

“You too, sir! Only three matches more.” Hope that I didn’t intend sparks to life in his soft brown eyes. He pumps his fist and chants as he leaves the stables, “Bloodguard. Bloodguard…”

“Make way!” one of the guards shouts as an elf on horseback rides into the stables. He’s all alone and not in finery, but I recognize him as one of the two men who’d not been cheering in the royal box earlier.

He dismounts, whispering something to his brown-and-white horse that keeps the animal in place.

The lord doesn’t make a sound as he unhooks a large sack tethered to his saddle or as he moves forward. Elves are like that—silent, deadly, keenly skilled. Regardless, he’s no threat to me physically. I can see in his eyes that whatever fight this elf might’ve had in him is long gone. The lonely ones always give in.

“Congratulations on making it to the finals,” he says to me with a nod. He’s older, with dark-gray hair. “I’m Lord Jakeb.” He says it as though being from here is a right, not a privilege. He offers me the sack. “It’s Leith, right? Leith of Siertos?”

It’s Leith of Grey, which is within Siertos, but I don’t correct him. To people like him, everything beyond Arrow’s borders is of no importance.

I take the sack and lower it to my side, my eyes narrowing. “What’s this?”

“A set of clean clothes to celebrate your advancement,” Jakeb explains. “I hope they fit. I had to guess your size.”

“No, I can’t afford this,” I protest. No way am I adding more debt to my ledgers.

“It’s a gift,” Jakeb insists. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

I hold his gaze before asking, trepidation crawling over my skin, “Why?”

“To be kind,” Jakeb replies. The cunning I expect from the aristocracy skates across his features. He’s up to something. I just haven’t figured out what yet. He adds, “You’ve been through a lot.”

“You think?” I ask, then laugh bitterly.

Whatever the reason, I guess keep the free gifts coming. It’s the least these bastards can do. I sling the pack of clothes over my shoulder and level another pointed stare at Jakeb.

He takes a half step back as though realizing he’s too close for my comfort—or his. “I’d like to invite you to stay at my home. There’s plenty of food, a warm bed, and someone to see to your needs. If you have any hope of winning your next three matches, trust me, you’re going to need help.”

My stomach curdles. I don’t like this at all. I’ve had sponsorships before, but this feels…different. This elf doesn’t frequent the arena. He isn’t one of the heavy gamblers who sit along the rail, screaming for a win. Those patrons are easy to distinguish, and the kindness they show us is only to ensure they have an edge for their next bet. This elf… I don’t know what his angle is.

But…a warm bed and food… This bag of clothes he’s handed me alone could resell for a pretty price. My sister Dahlia needs anything she can get. Just because I can’t trust this man doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to turn his agenda to my advantage.

“All right,” I tell him carefully. “Make me a blood oath that there are no charges or fees to be tacked onto my ledger for anykindnessyou offer, and I accept.”

“As you wish,” he says. From deep within his robes, he produces a dagger and slices his palm, muttering the words elves use to form the binding oath. When he’s done, he offers me his hand. I take it, keeping my attention on his eyes and not on the words traveling from his hand and into my arm, making the small hairs tingle as his oath disappears into my skin.

Once finished, he uses a cloth to wipe the dagger and his hand clean. “Let’s move along, shall we? I’ve already sent word of your arrival.”

I pause. “What if I’d said no?”

Jakeb chuckles. “Oh, my daughter isn’t one to take no for an answer.”

Hisdaughter? I see. I knew there was more to the bargain. He might not be charging me coin for his kindness, but it appears I do have a duty to oblige. There are worse fates. The aristocracy are hedonistic and think nothing of paying for a good time. If fucking his daughter is the “payment” Jakeb expects for not sleeping in the barracks and pissing in a bucket tonight, I’ll screw his daughter all night long.

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