Page 38 of Bloodguard

She is primped and pressed to perfection, white jewels sparkling in her rich auburn hair, her blue dress trimmed with shimmering sapphires that reflect the flashes of lightning. Maeve appears every bit the royal she is…all signs of the rustic healer from the cabin gone. Her gaze darts around the arena as though she only just arrived and is trying to catch up on anything she missed.

I wasn’t sure she’d be here today. She made a blood oath to help me, but I’m not sure how she’ll live up to it or if the information she finds will even be useful.

I roll my shoulders. For all she’s trying to pretend not to notice me, her blue eyes finally land on mine, and she stills, her expression unreadable from this distance. All I can tell is she isn’t smiling. I give no indication I recognize her. Our engagement is a ploy to help her achieve her own goals. Boasting about it or letting people know our intentions will only get me killed faster. Even if she wanted to make it public, I’m not the guy who blows kisses. I’m the man who casts the last blow.

I put her out of my mind as I continue moving. Knowing she’s watching and expecting me to win is a distraction I can’t afford.

Lightning and thunder continue their dance, their booming effects escalating as I close the distance between the mage and me. I pretend not to notice that I am a mere toy and this display is meant to unnerve me and inflict terror. I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me cower.

With a swoop of her hands and a flutter of fingertips, the mage lowers the tumultuous sky she’s constructed, quieting the crowd as they watch to see what’s coming next. As if they have anything to worry about, the royals huddle closer, using their robes and hoods to protect their fine hair and jewelry.

These fools are too spellbound to see past her conjurings. But I notice everything. Whatever magic she’s concocted allows her full control of the storm. I’m not a fool, nor am I so arrogant that I don’t respect her skill. What I am is a man determined to bring her down.

Having played this game enough, I understand the objective. These royals enjoy mayhem. The mage won’t strike me down,yet, or do anything so silly as to transform me into a rabbit that a random lion thrown in could easily maul.

No. She was brought in for a specific purpose, and she will not disappoint.

She is facing in my direction now. I know her type. She’s smiling and very much enjoying what she believes is the start of my inevitable doom.

I reach the center and stop. Bow my head slightly. Clasp my hands in front of me and set my back as rigid as a slab of quartz.

It’s time to simply wait for weapons to arrive—if they arrive—and for her to cast the first stone. I don’t have to wait long.

Ribbons of purple form around her body, the final loop winding over her throat. I expect a taunt as sharp as a battle cry and as magnified as the lords when they speak.

“Are you ready to die?” the mage asks, her voice magically amplified.

I raise my chin and reply as loudly as I can. “No. But I am ready to kill you.”

Laughter scatters across the arena like pollen over a field of tulips. Some of it is forced and mocking, some of it genuine, but what interests me are those whodon’tlaugh.

That group knows better than to count me out. Jakeb is among them, and Maeve, the soldier, and Giselle.

“Youwould killme, gladiator?” the mage mocks. “You’re a pig. Weak, whining, and so easily gutted.”

“Now, now, you shouldn’t talk about your father that way,” I reply.

The laughter this time is almost as thunderous as her storm clouds.

“I’m going to destroy you.” She sneers at the insult. Then she smiles in a way that promises a long, slow death.

I’m starting to think she doesn’t like me.

At a snap of her fingers, a thunderous boom echoes across the sky, its magnitude vibrating the sand and creating small fissures along the stone walls. I crouch and spread my arms, expecting an attack from all sides.

But instead, it comes from above. A massive downpour. And because that’s not enough, the arena floor rapidly sinks. I didn’t even realize it could do that—and maybe it can’t. Maybe magic is playing a part. For the moment, that’s not my priority. I’m just trying to breathe.

There are storms that have flooded the caves of Siertos so quickly, if you aren’t skilled at breath-holding, you can’t make it out before drowning. I’ve never been so thankful in my life that the elders trained me to farm for belladom among the caves. I take as deep a breath as I can, expanding my lungs as I was taught, getting ready for that one last breath I might be allowed.

But this flooding is unlike anything I’ve ever endured. The rain she conjures doesn’t start with a sprinkle or those heavy drops that promise soggy lands and overfilled barrels. The makeshift sky pours water like a spout into a bucket where an unsuspecting insect awaits. Except this time, the quickly sinking arena is that bucket, and I’m the bug—just as screwed.

The entirety of the arena almost instantaneously floods, even with the added volume as the floor sinks. I’m drenched and already standing in thigh-high water.

Luther…he wasn’t soaked with sweat when I saw him. He was half drowned. He wasn’t thirsty—he was trying to warn me.Water.

Except one word could not have prepared me for this.

The force with which the deluge pounds into the ground creates dangerous waves. I ride the first few, but as the level rises, I’m compelled to swim under them and across the arena.

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