25. Harper
25
HARPER
B rand retreated back down the hall and into his room, his wings scraping on the doorframe with a ssshhh . His door closed with a snap.
“Right. I’m going to gather the shreds of my dignity in private. Sleep well,” Aedon said as he stood, cracking a small grin her way. He disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door without another word.
Harper glanced between Brand’s closed door and Aedon’s. She swallowed. The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin, and it made her shudder with the wrongness of how it felt to stretch that budding friendship into something so romantically intimate. She could still taste his lips upon hers. In the silence of her solitude, she was even more deeply glad she had stopped the kiss—and averted what would have been a terrible mistake.
Harper crossed to her room and closed the door, grateful for privacy. Her pack rested beside the bed. A wave of exhaustion, kept at bay by what had just happened, engulfed her. The room moved as she swayed. She had no energy to take note of her surroundings. She slid off her boots and tumbled onto the bed fully clothed.
That night, nightmares haunted Harper. Spectres of Ragnar and the goblins, twisting and mutating into each other in the darkness. Then it shifted and the spymaster was before her—and it was him she kissed, not Aedon—for she could not escape herself in her dreams, nor find it in herself to feel shame at her desires. However, his face blurred between the two of them, Aedon and Dimitri, Dimitri and Aedon, and she fought revulsion and attraction as the conflicting feelings rolled over each other, as turbulent as rushing water.
Her rest was fitful, and in the morning, she woke bleary-eyed and with a throbbing head to the sound of running water. The faelight in the alcove above her head glowed brighter, as if daytime. Harper sat up with a groan, both at her tiredness and her aching body. She stumbled to the other room in her suite to find a bathing room similar to the one she had used in Dimitrius’s quarters at Tournai—and through her dizzy exhaustion, that left her with a pang of something else she did not want to name. Here, a small trough had continuously running water flowing from one side to the other, then out through a pipe. She washed her hands and face gratefully. The cold water was a sharp relief that banished some of the haziness.
It was silent outside her room, and she surmised the others had not yet roused, so she stripped off her clothes, peeling away the last layer that stuck to her skin with sweat and grime, and dumped them unceremoniously onto the floor. Harper wrinkled her nose at the thought of having to put them back on, but there was no other option.
She ran the taps until the bathing hollow filled with hot, steaming water, and eased herself in with a grateful moan. The heat stripped away the worst of her aches. Grabbing her shirt from the floor, she dunked it into the water, scrubbing it with the soap and wringing it out. She held it up. It looked slightly cleaner, which was better than nothing. The water turned from clear to murky as she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. After she was done, she sat for a few minutes with her knees drawn up to her chest, deep in thought as the previous night washed over her. Aedon’s actions played over in her mind. His unexpected advance, her rebuttal, and the aftermath. And more than that, what it meant for her—that she wanted the spymaster.
Dimitrius .
She shuddered as she thought his name, torn by revulsion and longing that distance from him only intensified. Why was she so fixated by him? What did this desire that threatened to become an obsession make her? A fool? Or worse? Harper did not know. Perhaps mercifully, no answers returned. Her thoughts returned to Ragnar and her resolve steeled as she pushed aside her selfish concerns with a tinge of guilt. Ragnar needed them.
No one remarked upon what had transpired the previous night. Judging by Erika’s silence and her curious glances between Harper and Aedon, Brand had already told her. Jarl Halvar’s knock upon the door was a welcome relief from the air of anxiety that curdled any conversation between them. Harper could barely eat as it was—she felt far too nauseated at what they were to face that day.
“Konig Korrin will see you now,” the Jarl said. It was not a request.
They made ready and followed him into the city. They passed through long, soaring hallways, vast caverns filled with buildings carved into the rocks, and grand courtyards with skies and trees of stone. Bright faelight illuminated all, and Harper gaped at the details she had missed in the gloom of the previous night. Now, Keldheim bustled, dwarves rushing to and fro with purpose.
They were dressed much like Ragnar, though their clothes were far less ragged and patched. Some were clad in the same garb as Halvar, marking themselves as Korrin’s army. Many sported tattoos upon their fingers and foreheads, just like Ragnar and Korrin, with similar patterns and designs stretching down their necks, up their sleeves, and out of sight. They marched through the streets with double-headed axes strapped to their backs and single-headed axes or maces to either side of their waists.
Halvar led them through a bustling underground market, where Harper was surprised to see men and elves trading alongside dwarves, hawking wares at the top of their voices. The cacophony echoed around the space as the companions hurried through, the scent of spices and foods wafting around them. They soon stood before the grand doors of the konigshalle once more. Self-conscious, Harper smoothed down her still soggy shirt and tugged her cloak around herself to conceal it.
The warm hall was full of feasting and conversation as the dwarves of his court sat at the several trestle tables and breakfasted at leisure. In the corner, a rowdy bunch of dwarves howled a bawdy drinking song to the merriment of their kin, the words incomprehensible to Harper. They followed the jarl through the heart of the hall—the unusual mix of their company garnering the interest of all those dining—to the king sitting upon his stone throne at the far end who idly picked foods from a plate on a table next to him.
“Konig.” Aedon greeted Korrin with a clenched fist to his breast and a bow.
“Elf Felrian and your companions, I bid thee welcome.” Korrin nodded.
“Call me Aedon, if you please, Konig. I no longer represent House Felrian.”
“Very well, Elf Aedon. I have thought long and hard this night past of Ragnar’s predicament. As much as I am loathe to enter into such a foolish venture, I cannot deny that I owe him by blood.”
“You will save him, Konig?” Aedon asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“Perhaps,” Korrin corrected. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, so the throng of people filling the hall could not hear him. “Afnirheim, as you may be aware, has fallen silent. No trade enters or leaves. No scouts. Nothing. It is as if they all vanished upon the road. I have no doubt the goblins are to blame. They breed worse than rodents and, once in a while, must be put back into their place. If they have grown so bold as to take my roads, I shall show them where they belong. Their domain is to the east of Afnirheim. Though they may dare to trespass in my territory, they would not dare to remain. If my cousin is still to be found alive, it will be there, in their stronghold. It is not unheard of that they capture dwarfs for their cruel sports.” His lips curled in distaste.
“I will send you forth with Jarl Halvar and his scouts to discover the truth of what bars the way to Afnirheim, and there we may find some trace clue of my cousin’s fate.”
An ember of fear burned into life in Harper’s belly. Korrin would send them to find Ragnar—the very breath after declaring none who ventured to Afnirheim returned?
“Perhaps you may discover my cousin’s fate along the way, but I will not ask my dwarves to put themselves in danger for this mission.” Korrin glared at them under his bushy eyebrows, as if daring them to disagree.
Aedon bowed again respectfully. “I would be glad of the chance to discover my friend’s fate. He is a dear companion to us all.”
Korrin harrumphed, as if he could not believe it. “You will leave after midday meal. You may take what you need from our stores in preparation. Our roads are the finest, but they are long and hard, and my people shall not wait for you.”
Harper held in a groan at the thought of having to walk even farther, but she knew there was no choice. They had to follow Halvar’s scouts, for it was their only chance to find Ragnar before the worst happened. If it had not already.