Page 47 of Bloodguard

Giselle gags. She’s all sorts of helpful.

I try to open my eyes at the approach of the squeaky wheels, but I can’t see past my wet lashes. The back gate of a wagon drops open with a loudthud. Caelen’s braids slap against my face when he and someone else lift me and carefully place me on the hard wagon floor.

The weight shifts on either side as two others join me—Giselle, I guess, and by the sudden annoyed huff, Jakeb.

But not Maeve. Where is she?

I don’t know why my thoughts are drawn to her. It must be the poison.

“How is it possible to poison those creatures in that way?” Caelen asks. “Have you heard of such a thing?”

“There’s another mage who holds Vitor’s favor. Her specialty is poisons, I think,” Giselle says, but she sounds distracted. “It’s all right, Father. Caelen and I will take it from here. Return to the horses, and we’ll meet you back home.”

From one moment to the next, Jakeb is gone, the anger encapsulating the small space trailing behind him. There’s a bump, then another bump. I tremble, growing hot until beads of sweat form across my forehead.

A bundle of sorts is placed beneath my head, and then the wagon lurches into motion, causing ripples of pain to flood my body like the water in the arena.

“You did well, Leith ol’ boy,” Giselle says from somewhere nearby. “So well, there’s nothing left for your friends to play with in the arena. I suppose they owe you their lives or something like that. At the very least a bit of gratitude, don’t you think?”

I don’t know Giselle and especially not Caelen, but I recognize humor when it finds its way into Caelen’s voice. “You talk too much, Giselle.”

“I have heard that once or twice before,” she says. She sighs. “Maeve prepared him well by providing all those daggers and that trident. But that sword—whatever she wrapped around the hilt prevented or damn well lessened the effects of those shocking currents.” She pauses. “I don’t think Leith could have fought off those eels without it.”

No. Perhaps not.

We travel in silence except for the clomping of horses’ hooves, the crunching of wagon wheels over dirt and rock, and my groans of pain. I groan with every bump in the road, and my skin grows slick and hot. My fever climbs with each mile that passes. Burns I don’t remember receiving scrape my body raw. I jump. The pain surpasses my ability to control it. I jump again. I think it’s related to the injuries, until I can no longer make sense of what’s happening.

Giselle’s voice is shrill. “Shit. He’s convulsing. Hurry, Caelen.”

I don’t comprehend what happens next. I’m only partially aware of the cold slab of stone where I’m laid. Then there are hands all over me. Some touch me using care. Others rip off my clothes.

Every movement is torment. My skin is on fire.

No.Iam on fire.

I can’t move.

They’re burning me.

They’re burning me alive!

Voices, speaking all at once, surround me. I can’t see. All I feel is the fire and those damn hands.

“Cut off his leg,” Caelen says. “It’s too late for him.”

“No!” Maeve’s voice is unyielding. “He won’t last in the arena with one leg.”

“You’ll find another gladiator,” Caelen insists.

“There is no other gladiator this close to Bloodguard,” Maeve snaps back.

I’m in the small cottage where Maeve treated me before. I don’t know how. I’m just there, spread out like a goat for the butcher to carve.

Maeve’s hair skims over my brow, the scent of lavender distracting me for a moment.

“I must lance it,” she says. “Hold him down—no,harder. Keep him from moving!”

What feels like a burning arrow punctures my leg. I howl, tears of agony overflowing from my eyes.

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