Page 31 of Bloodguard

“You weren’t born in the time of the Great Wars, Maeve. Goodwill falls away faster than you can blink when people have nothing to eat.”

When I glance at him, all condescension is gone, and my caring uncle stares back. “You and Grandmother have overcome such difficulties,” I say. “Your sacrifices have brought Arrow wealth and peace.”

“Indeed.” He scans the glittering party. “There is no realm more respected, no culture that has thrived more successfully.”

And yet the kingdoms around us starve and send their warriors to die in our arena. I can’t help wondering again how badly other realms must be suffering for our stores of grain to already be competitively bid on. I make a mental note to ask to sit in on the next cabinet briefing.

An ogren server offers us wine from a carafe. With grace that would make my grandmother proud, I take a leaf from Aisling’s book and raise a goblet to Vitor. “To Arrow.”

He clinks his chalice to mine and drinks deeply.

“You will attend the games tomorrow, Maeve?” It’s phrased as a question, but I know he isn’t really asking.

“Of course.” I sip my wine carefully to buy myself a moment’s reprieve. Then I set my goblet down on a stone pedestal behind me, lest I spill cherry wine on this gown.

“Soro has something spectacular planned,” Vitor says proudly. “These delegates will return home with tales of our engineering and ingenuity!”

Lovely. That doesn’t sound ominous or anything.

Soro takes perverse pleasure in the games. In crafting feats that push these gladiators to the brink and keep attendance high.

I swallow hard. I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the fight ahead of Leith. I need him to win, to become a Bloodguard, but I don’t wish anyone the torment of those games.

“What does he have planned?” I lean in conspiratorially, like Vitor might tell me the secret. Leith needs every advantage he can earn, and I vowed to help him win.

Vitor drinks more. “It’s a surprise. One I think even you will find impressive.”

Doubtful. Highly. Peoplediein that arena.

I try venturing a few guesses, rattling off names of all manner of beasts, but Vitor only laughs. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

All right, if he won’t confide in me, maybe I can get him to move away from fatalities within the games. “Uncle, I know the arena generates revenue and creates jobs, fosters solidarity, bringing together the community—”

“Is there a question in there?” he asks bemusedly.

I take a deep breath. I’m not good at ass-kissing, let alone being sly.

“Well, yes. I do have a question. Given all the benefits, why do we—a realm at the pinnacle of culture and civility—promote such…brutality?”

“Ah, but that’s the point, my child. Look around you,” Vitor says, indicating the many delegates and foreign dignitaries. “We have alliances, peace treaties. Strong relationships with the realms surrounding us and beyond. We have wealth—more so than any other sovereign nation. They fight amongst themselves.” He scoffs as if our neighbors and allies are fools. “Let them. We remain neutral. We remain at peace. Why do you think that is, Maeve? What do you think keeps these warring realms from claiming what we have?”

“Well, you said it yourself. We have alliances—”

“Bah.” He laughs dismissively. “Our brutality, as you put it…thatis what keeps potential enemies at bay.” Vitor accepts another goblet of wine from a passing servant and gestures with it toward his son. “Even Soro has purpose, Maeve.”

To be evil? Infuriating? Elitist?

I straighten as I realize what he means. “You want them to fear us,” I say slowly.

“Of course. Theymustfear us. Just as they mustneedus.”

Hence the loans and the donations, the stockpiles that we trade as needed. The gambling, which isn’t contingent on harvest or commerce, only desperation, ensures a continuous stream of revenue regardless of the season.

These machinations do not sit well with me, but I’m not so naive to deny their effectiveness. And I’m certainly not dumb enough to argue—at least not yet. “Wouldn’t the gladiators be of more use at the frontline of our armies?”

He nods. “Undoubtedly. But the arena serves its purpose. It feeds our greatest weapon.”

“And what is that?” I ask cautiously.

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