Waytreader (Through an Amethyst Gaze #2)

Chapter 1

Throbbing aches were the first sensation to reach into the deep, blanketing darkness, slicing holes through those peaceful, empty walls.

Next came the warmth pulsing in my chest, as if the elusive sun were beneath my ribs.

It was a pleasant feeling, but too foreign to be dismissed, cracking the walls around me further.

Had that been all, I might have slipped back into that blissful, inviting void.

But it wasn’t.

What completely shattered the embrace of sleep was the warm scent of musk and leather that could only belong to him. It was everywhere—in the soft weight draped over me, the cushioned furs beneath my cheek, the cool air itself.

At the recognition, the heat in my chest expanded. I came awake with a gasp, flying forwards.

A heavy woolen blanket pooled at my waist. I was dressed in something thick and warm—an oversized, long-sleeved tunic that swallowed my hands.

Braced behind me, my fingers curled into soft fur, set low to the ground.

I wasn’t on a mattress, but a covered mat.

Ivory canvas walls surrounded me, sunlight seeping through the fabric.

A tent.

I held my breath, waiting for those dreadful wailing cries.

A heartbeat passed, and none came. But other sounds did. Clanging metal, indistinguishable conversations, the occasional shout of a man’s voice. The sounds of work…and weapons?

“How do you feel?”

My attention snapped to a voice on my right.

Ruddy cheeks, a boyish face, shaggy brown hair. Stefano. A bruise marred the skin of his neck where it appeared above tan leathers.

Oh, skies.

There was no easing into awareness, now. No gentle introduction to what I’d done and what I’d learned. Instead, the events of the past days crashed upon me all at once.

The first realization I grasped was that I wasn’t in Koerlyn’s tent, but Harthon’s camp. The second was that those marks around Stefano’s neck were there because Jac had strangled him, while I watched and did nothing.

From the look in Stefano’s blue eyes, he remembered it all.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked. Not for what I’d done—Koerlyn might have had Merelda, and I could never risk her life. But I was so terribly sorry he’d been hurt as a result.

He straightened in his wooden chair. “Why would you even think it’s acceptable to apologize?”

My lips parted. “I—”

“I failed. I failed you. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

For a moment, I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. “What are you talking about?”

He ran a hand through his hair, and it was then I noticed how his boyish features were unusually dull, dark circles sweeping beneath his eyes.

“It’s my job to protect you. If I’d been more alert, if I’d had my guard up, I would have been able to help you. Could’ve stopped you from going to Koerlyn.”

No matter how alert, he couldn’t have anticipated Jac’s treachery. No one could have, not when Jac had been so trusted and respected that he’d been assigned as my riding instructor. And he certainly couldn’t have anticipated that I’d allow Jac to deliver me to our greatest enemy.

Stefano was a victim, but he was blaming himself for what I’d been complicit in. That was unacceptable. Skies, it was worse than him being angry at me.

“I didn’t want help. I wronged you. I stood there, watching as Jac strangled you unconscious, and did nothing.” His tortured expression didn’t budge, and my voice found some strength. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this, do you understand me?”

He shook his head, the apple in his throat bobbing. “Under my guard, Koerlyn got his hands on you. There’s nowhere else the blame can rest.”

How could anyone in his position think such a thing? Unless—

“Is that what you’ve been told?”

He stiffened. “Harthon doesn’t put the blame on me, but I know better.”

At the mention of Harthon, a whirlwind of chaotic emotions battered my belly. “Where is he?”

“In the war tent,” he answered. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a full day, and I’m supposed to notify him when you wake. I’ll send someone over now.” He rose to his feet. A heavy sword hung at his hip, and daggers dangled from straps across his chest.

Stefano was always armed, but never so heavily.

I flung the blanket off me and scooted to the edge of the furs. “I’ll go talk to him myself.”

Like it was listening, the warm sensation in my chest flared, and I flinched—not because it was painful, but alarmingly odd.

Foreign as it was, I knew its presence was a blessing.

It was there that the way into the Domus now lived—an underground path only the magvis had known of, before passing it to me as she died.

The same path that would bring us through the walls that killed our land, and to the thriving city within them.

Finally, we could access the resources there, and stave off the suffering of our forsaken, withering world.

But that was difficult to appreciate as I shoved to my feet and pain radiated through every muscle, reminding me I’d just run through the woods and flung myself down a roaring river.

Crisp air brushed my exposed calves as my gaze moved around the tent, searching for the boots I’d come here with. “Where’s the war tent?”

“Etarla, you can’t.” Stefano’s words brought my search to a halt.

“What?”

He grimaced. “You can’t go talk to him. You need to stay here.”

“Are we under attack?”

He shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. “I can’t allow you to leave the tent.”

The heat within me instantly cooled.

Allow?

There was a time I had been Harthon’s prisoner, but now I stood at his side as an equal.

I’d attended meetings with his cabinet. I’d helped him secure an alliance with Sixth Territory’s Princeps, Aric.

I posed as the all-powerful magvis, for Domus’ sake—she who could manipulate the natural world. The weapon of kings past.

I was no prisoner.

Yet, as I stared into Stefano’s regretful eyes, I began to doubt that.

“If I tried to walk out of this tent right now, what would happen?”

“I would stop you.” By the set of his shoulders, he spoke the truth. And he was far too skilled for me to outmaneuver him.

Outrage took root, souring my empty stomach. “Under whose orders?”

It was a wasteful question. I already knew the answer. I just didn’t want to believe it.

“Harthon’s.”

The now-familiar feeling of betrayal settled on my chest, suffocatingly heavy and terribly sharp. “Why?”

He glanced at the tent’s entranceway. “Look, they’re preparing for an attack out there. Koerlyn will be charging us within the day, and—”

“Give me the real reason, Stefano.”

His chest rose on a labored inhale. He sighed it out before delivering the blow. “He doesn’t trust you not to run off to Koerlyn again.”

I recoiled like he’d slapped me.

“It’s not like I did it because I wanted to. Koerlyn doesn’t have Merelda. There’s no need for me to go to him again. It’s not like I…betrayed Harthon. I was forced.”

“That’s not how he sees it.”

This had to be jest. But there was no humor on Stefano’s face.

Disbelief spiraled, making me dizzy.

Harthon viewed me as a traitor.

A traitor.

I was still asleep, and this was a twisted dream. It had to be.

But the chilled air cooling my lungs and the ache of my body felt all too real.

“So I’m a prisoner, then?”

Stefano seemed profoundly uncomfortable with the label. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Harthon sees me as a traitor—” I spat the word out “—and I’m confined to this tent.

I can’t leave.” I took a shaky step forward, hardly believing this conversation.

I’d thought the nightmare had ended when I escaped Koerlyn.

I was wrong. “You’re not keeping me safe—you’re keeping me here. Does that not make me a prisoner?”

“I am here to keep you safe.”

I lunged to the left, toward the flaps that marked the entrance. Quick as a striking snake, Stefano moved, hand shooting out to grab me. I drew back before he needed to make contact, crossing my arms to hide their trembling.

His features fell.

My point was made.

After a heavy silence, Stefano murmured, “I’ll send for Harthon.”

His was the last face I wanted to see. “Don’t bother.”

“You’re awake. I have to notify him.”

Of course. It wasn’t up to me what Stefano did. I had no authority.

I stared down at my tunic while Stefano spoke to a leather-clad soldier outside the entranceway. The clothing dwarfed me, draping to my knees and smothering my hands. Shrugging my shoulder toward my nose, I inhaled.

This, too, smelled like Harthon, just like the bedding. Another glance around the tent told me my own clothes were nowhere to be found.

“Who changed me?” I asked once Stefano finished delivering his message.

“The healer, I think.”

If he had named Harthon, I didn’t know what I would do.

Already, I was fairly certain this was his tent.

Aside from the bedding, two chairs, and a small chest, it was bare.

Whereas most Princepes would have elaborate accommodations, Harthon was practical.

He didn’t care much for embellishments or wasteful comforts.

The thick bedding was the only feature that went beyond necessity to hint at status. Given its scent, this space was his.

So was the tunic.

I scowled.

Harthon had dressed me in his tunic, but thought me a traitor. I wanted to tear it off, but could see nothing else to wear.

I was about to ask where my clothing went when I was struck by something Stefano said. “What did you mean before—that Koerlyn will attack within the day?”

His hand subconsciously went to his sword. “He wants you back, and he’s chosen immediate action. He’s made it no secret that he’ll be marching his forces into our Territory immediately. It could be as soon as today.”

War. What Stefano spoke of was war, and it might be coming today. And we were just standing here, making small talk in a tent.

“Why are we not heading back to the city center, gathering our forces?”