Page 170 of Bloodguard

We slip from our horses, passing the reins to a stableboy who is notably not Gunther. My stomach twists at the thought that he may have been harmed for his show of loyalty toward me that night Vitor and Soro dropped in at the manor. I will find him when this is over and make certain that he, at least, enjoys the life that my sisters could not.

“I wish you luck, Leith of Grey,” Caelen says as we clasp arms. I nod, and he releases me. After a moment, he says, “You shared your plan for today with me in confidence, my friend, but sometimes confidences must be broken to protect those we love.”

Prickly dread trickles through my bones. Has my friend betrayed me and alerted Soro? No. I know this man. His loyalty is to Giselle and her family. But before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he strides away, calling over his shoulder with a wave, “I’ll see you inside. We’ll have the best seats in the house.” And with that, he disappears into the crowd of people streaming through the arches.

By the time I enter, pandemonium has already been unleashed. Lines by the dozens form for keepsakes, food, ale, and more outside of the arena. Stasia waves from the cider stand she erected, pausing to sigh deeply when Gabi’s backward-facing feet take her in the opposite direction to where Manu, a giantess, is selling sweet bread.

The dwarves who carried the cauldron of eels now stir a cauldron of boar hooves in lizard broth. The aroma of the broth and vegetables clashes in the most delicious way possible with the turkey legs Neh-Neh and Uni are coating with butter and herbs to sell to the masses. As much as it pains me to see them here, I know they’ve got three big mouths to feed, and I can’t begrudge them the coin today’s “festivities” will bring.

Spectators stop to watch me, point in my direction, wave, and, of course, heckle.

An elderly lord with gentle mannerisms and soft words lights up when he sees me. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, jackass!” he hollers.

I return his grin. “Not as much as I’ve enjoyed your wife,” I reply.

Look at that. He’s no longer smiling.

All the noise should overwhelm me. But my focus hasn’t wavered since my mind was made up.

To the left, the line for the Commons has formed. At the center, the Middlings await. Those in the Noble Ring—closest to the arena floor—don’t stand in line. The gentry cross the bridge that connects the castle to the coliseum. There’s no wait, and there’s no rubbing elbows with the riffraff or need to talk to anyone deemed beneath them. At the bridge, they’re bowed to, given programs, and escorted into their designated boxes.

Through the archway of the gladiator entrance, I can see that the pens are nearly empty. The only evidence of the other gladiators is the imprints of bare feet through the mud toward the tunnel that leads into the arena. From here, I can see them stuffed in one narrow and cramped cell. They stand shoulder to shoulder behind bars that run along the tunnel wall. Their view is minimal. Those assholes have moved them closer to screw with their minds. They’ll be able to hear all the torment and not benefit from it. Shit. I never thought anything would be worse than those damn pens. One more flex courtesy of Soro.

Well, by the great phoenix, it’s time we change all that.

chapter 62

Maeve

There’s so much bloodshed to be had today, and I want no part of it. At least Soro allowed Giselle to meet me at the entrance and escort me inside. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to see her since before my family and home were destroyed. I take a shuddering breath and square my shoulders, knowing all eyes will be on me today.

My white, diamond-stitched dress makes a swishing sound as we step from the bridge sectioned off for royalty to the slick stone floor of the arena complex. I tug at the uncomfortable sleeves as Giselle and I walk down the corridor in the direction of the royal box. I agreed to wear the gown, but I drew the line at the veil. I want Soro and everyone here to see my face when I’m forced to go through with this farce of a wedding.

I take my sister’s gloved hand and pull her to a stop. “Any word of Leith?” I whisper.

An odd look crosses her face, like when she was caught in mischief as a child. “He’s not happy about the situation, of course, but he is good otherwise. Caelen has spent time with him frequently.”

Relief floods my chest, letting me breathe a bit more easily. He is well and will not be putting his life on the line in this horrible place ever again.

Beneath the first archway, a few ladies, their dresses in alternating pastels of silk and satin and their noses high in the air, whisper as a servant fills their bejeweled chalices with wine.

“She ran off, I tell you,” Lady Zizi, a troll, insists. “She can’t be queen here, but knowing Aisling, she’ll be queen somewhere else.”

Um. I don’t think she will.

They fall silent when they see Giselle and me, and they huddle closer together. “Do you think Soro killed her?” Lady Urt, a cyclops with short green curls, whispers.

The ladies flap their hands and shush her, warning her to watch her tongue.

Too late. The servant pouring wine hurries away in Soro’s direction, his thin legs moving fast and his feather cap bouncing in his haste.

The women gasp when Soro bends to hear what the young elf has to say. My, and doesn’t that make them scatter? I don’t feel sorry for Urt or Zizi for however Soro chooses to punish them. These “ladies” were Aisling’s closest friends, following her lead in their relentless harassment of Giselle, who now shifts uncomfortably beside me.

I squeeze her hand, and we continue our slow progress through the crowd.

“I must tell you something,” Giselle whispers when we reach the landing above the steps leading to the box reserved for top-ranking royalty.

I glance around to be certain we cannot be overheard. “About Leith?”

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