Page 33 of Bloodguard

Maeve, your charming and talented fiancée

I almost chuckle. The woman is nonsense. Alluring but pure nonsense.

Regardless, I toss the note on the table, open the small package, and pull out a vial with bright-green liquid inside. I don’t even hesitate, just pop the cork and down half the elixir. And immediately regret it.

“Forfuck’ssake,” I bark to the empty room as the liquid burns its way down my throat and sets my stomach on fire. The inferno soon engulfs my entire chest before sparking through my veins to muscle, skin, and bone, my blood and tendons aflame from head to toe. Sweat beads along my forehead within seconds, and I feel dizzy. I stagger, catching myself just as I stumble to my knees. The damn woman has poisoned me.

And I have no one to blame but myself. I should have known not to trust her.

I blink through the pain, my vision blurring as the agony singes away every thought but the fury at Arrow and everyone in this fucking kingdom.

But the thought has no more than formed before a cool iciness replaces the burning, then a sweet, blissful numbness. One, two breaths of nothingness, and then I’m back in my body—a body alive with feeling but no longer in pain.

I stagger back to my feet. My palm presses onto the stone table, where the note is flipped over. I reach for it when I realize there’s writing on the back.

P.S. — Dilute the tonic with a large goblet of water. Otherwise, it will set your insides on fire.

“Thanks, Princess,” I mutter, but I don’t actually care. Not when every gouge and laceration on my body feels like new. I put the cork back in the bottle and shove the remaining half of the elixir inside my pocket.

I flex my left hand, examining the two-inch scar that now mars the space between my fourth and final fingers. I curl my fingers in toward my palm and immediately recoil at the sudden, sharp discomfort.Oh no, no, no, no.I reach for Maeve’s knife, already knowing what I’ll find.Fuck.

My grip is weak. Too weak to effectively two-hand wield a heavy blade. I am a gladiator with one hand tied behind his back. It dawns on me that this injury could realistically cost me my life, and for the first time in a very long while, I am scared.

Another knock sounds at the door, and my stomach sinks as I swing the door open and find Jakeb on the other side. His visit can mean only one thing… I’ve been called in to fight again.Fuck.

As Jakeb escorts me back to the arena of hell, I try to find the silver lining in being called to fight again so soon. At least I’ll be one fight closer to freedom.

Three more challenges.

Three more battles left to win.

One more that can save Dahlia. The second to push me to the last. And the very last to spoil my family for the rest of their lives. I’ll have the means to bring them here, to Arrow, and away from the destitution found in Siertos.

Jakeb and I trot to the city on horseback, my chest roiling when we pass a rickety wagon filled with impoverished men of varying species from different parts of Old Erth. Headed to the barracks, no doubt.

There’s a young wizard from Tanlita. I can tell by the intricate tattoo that runs bilaterally along her skull. She looks like she just turned twenty-two. I don’t know who to be angrier with—the recruiters or her elders—for encouraging her to die.

It’s too late. Everyone in that wagon signed their lives away. Even if they didn’t, even if escape didn’t mean death, they could never afford passage back to their homelands.

I shove the feelings of bitterness away. I can’t save them. I can only save Dahlia. Maybe Maeve will do as she says and end the games when she takes the throne. I don’t even consider what I might be able to do as her husband. We made a deal, and evil or not, I’d trade every gladiator’s life for my sister’s. I proved as much in the last match, didn’t I?

In no time, we reach the city center. This section is bustling and noisy, filled with the Middling merchants and their shops.

Sprites scurry from one table to the next at their stands, cutting and sewing sheets of leather for shoes and boots, their gossamer wings flapping madly. A band of dwarves pushes a cart of fresh vegetables up the hill toward the food market, the traditional pointy yellow-and-brown hats they wear soiled from hard work in the fields. Two ogres walk hand in hand, peering at wares from a cart featuring bracelets of various shapes and colors.

A noble human in a long silk dress strolls with another human wearing garish purple, coral, and bright-green robes. She laughs and slides her arm through his crooked elbow as they meander around the market. They ignore all the workers among them, their extreme wealth worn like a mask over their eyes, until a small child pulls on the man’s purple robes, seemingly begging for scraps.

The man rears back and slaps the child clean across the face, yelling something about soiling his finery. The revolting action has me seeing red, but when the woman laughs, that red deepens and my body demands action.

“Something troubling you, Leith?” Jakeb asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, clenching my fists as the woman pushes past the child to continue her leisurely stroll. Those “with” rarely understand the world of those “without”—no sense wasting my breath, even on Jakeb.

When we reach the edge of the square, a horn blasts twice—a gladiator just won a match. I frown in the direction of the arena. According to the position of the sun, it’s hours earlier than we usually start.

“We had better hurry,” Jakeb says.

With a squeeze of my legs, my mare takes off, coming to a canter slightly behind Jakeb’s horse. The sheer height of the coliseum makes it easy to spot from almost anywhere in the city, as does the magic being unleashed within the arena, making the sky above it blur and shimmer like a mirage.

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