Page 37 of Bloodguard

He kicks me in the gut—twice. It’s impossible to hold back my reaction this time. Hell, it’s impossible just tobreathe. I fall to my knees, coughing as my shackles are unlocked. This is what I get for trying to help someone. To hell with these guards. To hell with the royals.

To hell witheveryonein Arrow.

“This one wants to go first.” The guard shakes me. “Don’t you, pretty boy?”

My toes drag along the soil as I’m carried, and the laces of one of my boots fall loose. The shoe slides off my foot as the sound of opening gates echoes in my ears, and a laughing guard rips off my other with a joke about how dead men don’t need nice leather. I’m down to my socks now. Another disadvantage.

I try to regain my footing, but it’s pointless. The bright arena opens before me, and I’m hurtled onto the sand.

chapter 15

Leith

The first thing I notice as I stumble into the arena alone is that the sand is wet. But it hasn’t rained for a couple of days, not even from the magically produced storm clouds above us.

Why is the sandwet?

The cheers spreading along the arena at my arrival turn heady. As I push to my feet, bearing most of my weight on my right hand, the thunderous clouds roar in welcome. Lightning replies with equal menace, decorating the sky in sparks of green and alternating shades of purple.

My socks, already soaked through, leaden my steps. They’ll limit my movements and could cause me to trip, so I shuck them off, my toes sinking into the wet sand. I concentrate on the human mage standing on a small terrace above the royal boxes where High Lord Vitor and General Soro sit.

The mage appears youthful, but her short gray hair gives away her true age. Either way, I would have pegged her at about three hundred years old based on the strength of her magic.

She’s dressed in a gown of bloodred with lips painted the same revolting color.

To draw more attention to her presence, sparkles of purple appear above her, each detonating and showering her with bright light.

If I could reach her from this distance, I wouldn’t hesitate to attack. I’d race forward, side to side, back and forth, avoiding her spells. I’d leap onto the wall and scale it. Before anyone could move to defend her, her skull would meet the lip of the terrace.

That would be my plan. It would work, too, if this damn arena wasn’t so huge.

More lightning crashes, and more dark clouds appear to join the rest competing for attention. I keep waiting for something,anything, to happen aside from the magical performance. There are no weapons. None have been brought, and nothing indicates they’re coming.

Maybe the lack of weapons is my punishment for winning too many times.

No. Forget that. Back-to-back slaughters aren’t ideal for spectators thirsty for action. They’re too quick. These sadists are setting up for a nice, long, torturous event.

I take deep, calming breaths. Three more matches. Only three.

I’ve already beaten the most extreme odds just to make it this far.

The rush I feel is familiar. It rides the knife’s edge of fear, but I use it to narrow my focus and strengthen my resolve to fight, kill, survive.

To win.

I walk farther toward the center, ignoring yet another stupendous display of magic that the attendees can’t get enough of. They applaud and cheer with every deadly roar of the mage’s thunder and every strike of lightning that crackles across the clouds. She’s riling them up and personifying the danger that awaits.

As always, I scan the area, searching for weak points and anything I can use within my reach.

When my gaze comes to the royal box, I spot Jakeb first as he makes his way down a row, his light silk robe fluttering in the breeze. A familiar black-haired elf with braids, the sides shaved close to his copper skin, stands to permit him through, his military robe of green and blue just as regal.

Jakeb shakes his head, the slow, purposeful motion a warning. He says something to the soldier, and both turn to see me, their faces as ominous as the sky above.

Very deliberately, he rights himself and sits between his daughters. Maeve’s sister—Giselle, I think—hooks an arm in his, appearing to comfort Jakeb. Her robe is the color of light sandstone and blends in with the stands so well that I would have missed her entirely had she not stood when her father appeared. When she sees me, she pulls her hood up and forward so her hair is covered and her face is only partially exposed.

Weird. What is she hiding?

Jakeb nods as I pass. He’s oddly calm. The soldier with black braids next to Giselle isn’t. His gaze shifts from side to side, his fingers thrumming the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t seem to notice me. It’s just as well—I’m not here to impress him. When my attention latches on to Maeve, she pretends not to notice, but I definitely see her.

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