Page 15 of Bloodguard

Jakeb leaps onto his horse and motions with his hand.

Gunther walks forward with a spotted moon horse, overjoyed by leading such a fine steed. The mare’s nose has a splash of white, as do her hindquarters. Gunther offers me the reins. I don’t take them. This is a test, and one I should use care to pass.

Jakeb laughs, the sound strangely absent of the evil I expect from someone of his status. “You’ll need a horse when you’re a Bloodguard. Her name is Star. She’s a good one, smart and obedient. If you like her, she’s yours when you win. If you don’t like her, give her back to me.” Humor leaves his features. “There will come a time when royals will offer you gold in exchange for favors. Use your earnings to buy a grander steed if you prefer.” He seems to think about what he’s saying. “Choose your allegiances wisely. Not all those in Arrow are as they appear.”

The same could be said of him, but I just nod and take the reins. I’m not the best horseman. My only experience comes from riding nags to plow fields.

So I take a deep breath, shove my boot into the metal stirrup, and pull myself up and over the saddle, biting back a groan of pain from the sudden jostling of my ribs. The arena definitely broke a few bones today. Not to mention what was left of my soul. But I pay neither any mind as I grip the reins tighter.

Jakeb gives me his back, urging his steed forward, and I follow. One guard bows his head as we pass, but the other shakes his head. Whatever.

After we leave the complex, Jakeb urges his moon horse into a canter, and my mount follows with little effort. The mare has an even gait, but still, every bump and clop of her hooves rattles my broken body, and I struggle not to pass out from the pain. We turn onto the road that leads away from this hell, toward the forest lands just outside the city, and I gather my wits, focusing on everything as we pass.

Grass and wildflowers bend away from the wide road like a parting sea. My mother has never seen a flower. Neither had I until I arrived in Arrow. She’d only heard they were pretty. It’s why she named my sisters Rose and Dahlia—she wanted to say she’d held a flower in her lifetime. Most of the kingdoms outside of Arrow are poor, the people fighting over the few scraps of food they’re able to scrabble out of the dead earth. A flower would feel like a betrayal.

When I become a Bloodguard, I’ll buy my mother flowers every day if it makes her smile. I frown, taking note that as we travel farther out of town, the blooms have begun to wilt, their colors not as vivid. Weird.

My stomach twists, and I can’t help but wonder if this is a bad omen.

chapter 7

Maeve

My heart nearly soared out of my chest as I watched the final gladiator rise from the sandy arena floor victorious. An hour later, I’m back in my bedroom and my insides are still twisted in knots, the image of the tall fighter covered head to toe in sweat and dirt and blood burned in my mind.

Our little estrellas chitter as they bounce along my bed like the little non-magical lemurs they resemble, their soft calico fur bristling as they watch the two smallest ones fight it out for the pillow.

“Bethina, Tibeta, behave,” I admonish. “There’s plenty of room—”

Quick steps racing up the stone stairs of the manor have me whipping around. My sister, Giselle, appears, her straight, honey-colored hair all a flutter, her matching eyes wild.

“It’s all over the city. Filip’sdead?” she gasps.

I barely catch her before she stumbles into my room and lands on the dark wood floor. Her escalated voice sends the estrellas into a frenzy, small but mighty claws scratching the floor as they chase one another. “Giselle, be careful!”

“Ineed to be careful?” she demands, allowing me to steady her. “Maeve, your birthday will be here in less than three months. What are we going to do now?”

My twenty-first birthday. When I’ll be old enough to take the throne…provided I’ve married well.

My sister is only a few months younger than me, but at barely over five feet, she’s short for an elf. I tower over her. It shouldn’t matter, but because of her petite frame and her other, um,abilities, I’ve always felt protective of her.

My fingers brush across her cheek, smoothing her long hair behind an ear. “You don’t look well,” I say. “Did you take the elixir I made?”

“Yes, but I threw it up,” she says, her wide eyes unblinking.

“Why?”

“Because it tasted like shit.”

I sigh. “It’s not supposed to be tasty. I developed it to suppress some of your…issues.”

Oh, there’s that questioning eyebrow lift Giselle is known for. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

I quiet. “Did you give some to Papa, like I asked?” She nods. “Oh, good.”

“No. Not good.” She grimaces. “He threw it all up. Because it tastes like shit.”

I want to laugh. If only this were a laughing matter. Instead, I step away from her and groan. “How is he?”

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