“Son of the gods,” one man grumbled from the side of the ring. “How long do we have to put up with this child? If the queen is ever attacked, he’ll do nothing to help her. He’ll only get himself killed.”
Jarrett eyed the man, his gaze cutting sharper than the finely honed steel of his sword. His scrutiny fell upon Tressa. She shifted from one foot to the other, curious. “He’s protected,” Jarrett said.
The golden-haired man, Aland, snorted. “Only by you. We did what was asked of us. Got him into the guard. Nothing else was required.” Aland circled Jarrett and Henry, his sword raised. “Why are you still protecting him?”
Jarrett turned his back on Henry. He motioned for the boy to run by Tressa. She shook her head. She had no reason to protect the kid. Not when her arse would be on the line with the other men. Jarrett rolled his eyes at her reluctance. Henry fidgeted next to Tressa. She pretended she didn’t notice him.
“The guard are not supposed to fight each other,” a short, stocky man called out. Tressa struggled to remember his name. Warrick. No, Barden. Yes, Barden. He was twin brother to the largest man Tressa had ever seen, Marden. They shared the same womb, but the two couldn’t be more different. He stalked off toward the outer ring where his brother stood, calmly watching over all of them like a mountain.
Jarrett held out an arm toward Aland. “Listen to Barden. I protect the boy because he can’t protect himself.”
“But you’re not teaching him anything. You let him prance around like a pony on parade. It’s embarrassing to the rest of us. The next time we’re called to attend the queen at a public event, he’ll make a joke of us all. Let me work with him.” Aland feigned an attack at Jarrett, and then switched direction. His feet pounded in the dirt as he ran toward Tressa and Henry, his sword held at his hip.
Tressa pushed the boy backward with her hand and stepped between them, her steel in the air, ready to block Aland’s attack. His sword fell hard on hers. She slipped to her knees, still trying to push him off. Aland’s upper body strength was far more than hers. She fell to the ground and he pressed on.
“Your quarrel isn’t with Max,” Jarrett yelled, referring to the male name Tressa had taken. “If you want blood, then fight for it.” He swung his sword, level with Aland’s neck. A gush of blood fell on Tressa, drenching her face in the copper scent. A sticky trail dripped down her cheek toward her ear.
Aland fell backward. Tressa scrambled to her feet. Had Jarrett killed the man for his bravado? And to what end?
Before she could determine his fate, Henry pushed down on her back. She fell again.
“Are you okay, Max?” he whispered in her ear.
“No.” She swatted him back again. This time to protect him from her anger. “Leave me alone and I’ll be just fine.”
She looked up at Aland. His chest was moving up and down. Alive.
“Why did you do that,” she hissed at Jarrett.
“He cannot touch Henry.” Jarrett calmly explained. “Tomorrow when he wakes up from the nasty headache I gave him, he’ll think twice about ever coming near Henry again.”
“Why is he so important?” Tressa eyed the boy. He was rubbing his elbow as if he’d been hurt as badly as Aland. The sad thing was that Aland was right. The boy would embarrass all of them. She wouldn’t blame Stacia if she disbanded the guard and held another tournament. One whose outcome wasn’t partially predetermined because men were paid off to protect another.
Though Tressa couldn’t hold it against him too much. The same had been done for her. At least she tried to appear as if she knew what she was doing.
Jarrett leaned over, offering Tressa a hand. She hesitated to take it. Her palms were calloused just as much as any other hardworking person, but her fingers were slight and delicate like a woman’s. She wasn’t even sure they could pass for a young boy’s digits. Though she kept them hidden in heavy gloves, the grasp of one person helping another to their feet could give her away.
She placed both hands firmly on the grass and pushed to standing.
Jarrett offered the same to Henry. He, of course, eagerly took Jarrett’s hand, as if there was no other way he could have gotten up.
“Henry is my secret weapon. I paid these men to protect him, though they don’t know that. An emissary contacted them for me.” Jarrett spoke while he cleaned his blade. The other men were staying far away, presumably waiting for his temper to calm. “I need him here and I need him alive.”
Tressa took another look at Henry. She couldn’t see how he could be dangerous, much less a secret weapon against Stacia. She’d eat him alive.