59. Harper
59
HARPER
H arper steeled herself as they returned to the cursed jarlshalle where no jarl now sat. Saradon greeted them, sending the pascha and his scourge of goblins scurrying away. To her surprise, he stood with his arms wide at her entrance, a beaming smile upon his face—as open and friendly as his dark visage could manage. A tingle of suspicion curled through Harper.
“Daughter of my blood, welcome.”
Even as he spoke, beckoning her—Dimitrius helped her along with a subtle nudge in the small of her back to propel her forward—she felt the subtle fingers of Saradon’s mind invading her own. It brought a dull, throbbing ache that sharpened into stabbing probes which had her gasping for breath with the impact of each lance deep within her. She stiffened but kept walking. Dimitrius’s hand did not leave the small of her back. Saradon gave no sign or hint that he invaded her, clasping his hands together as his lips closed over gleaming white teeth, though his grin remained wide.
Through her mind he stalked, rifling through memories, from her time in Pelenor with Aedon and his companions, to her incarceration in Tournai at Toroth’s hands, to her time in Caledan with Betta and the years before… which she spoke of to no one. Harper stumbled and fell to all fours, her hands clawing into the stone-flagged floor. She bared her teeth at Saradon in a feral scowl as he touched those memories, but as much as she gathered her magic to push him away, she could not budge him from his possession of her most secret memories. Her back arched as the pain intensified, but she would not be defeated. Harper forced her screaming body to move. One inch closer at a time, she crawled across the floor to Saradon.
Finally, he rifled through the most recent memories, until he saw the burned land and the pale figure of Erendriel. She felt a flicker of fear, but she was not sure whether it was her own or his, so entrenched in her mind was he. It was all she could do to see the stone beneath her as her vision swam in and out of focus.
Harper halted before Saradon with Dimitrius close beside her. His presence lent her comfort and strength, a familiar anchor in the dark hall. A part of her hated to find strength in him, because he still felt far too much like an enemy, but it was true that he was the closest thing to an ally she had in that cold place. She dared not wonder if he knew what Saradon did to her at that moment. Surely he must have, she reckoned. There would be no other explanation for her reaction—and his lack of one. Saradon withdrew, and Harper sagged, shuddering. Nausea rolled over her. She was glad for an empty stomach.
Shadows moved as Dimitrius dropped to a knee beside her. “Allow me to help you,” he murmured. Perhaps it was the only kindness he dared to offer her. She allowed herself to take his hand, and he bore her weight without a word as he helped her to her feet. Her legs felt molten. Her limbs shook. She felt as though she had been tortured physically, not just mentally. Dimitrius did not let go, but stood there silently—a lifeline, although she would not admit to it—until she reckoned that she could stay upright. No matter what, she could not afford to show weakness before Saradon. Harper withdrew from Dimitrius, and, impassively, he turned back to Saradon as though nothing had happened.
They waited. Moments stretched into lifetimes. Saradon’s hard gaze bored into her as he picked apart her memory of Erendriel’s vision—and prophecy. “Well met, daughter of my blood,” he said more softly, cocking his head as he sized her up anew. “It would seem we have many things to discuss, and your whole life to catch up on. We will spend much time together henceforth, I think.”
That filled her with horror and trepidation. It was obvious she would be no challenge for him to overpower at any opportunity. She knew that no matter what Saradon said, she would never trust him. Yet something within her remained desperate, defiant. “I’d rather not,” she said, scowling as much as she dared.
Saradon laughed, delighted at her defiance, but his eyes remained predatory, dark. “Whyever not, daughter? You are of my blood, and I yours. The last of our line—the end of our house. Whyever ought we not be close? You shall inherit my legacy.” Saradon paced slowly around her. Harper shifted, never taking her gaze from him, but Dimitrius remained still. Perhaps he was used to it, but she did not dare take her attention from Saradon for fear of what he might do. It felt uncomfortably like she was a rabbit in the sole attention of a wolf about to pounce.
“Is this how you treat your family?” She looked down at herself for the first time, and her own lips curled in disgust. She was filthy. Not just with dirt, but with blood and gore. She already felt immune to the smell of it, for which she was grateful, for the stench of the battlefield had been enough to make her want to vomit.
Saradon paused before her, raising his eyebrow and cocking his head. “What do you mean, daughter?”
“You keep your family in filth and squalor? I have been locked in a windowless, airless tomb for heavens knows how long. You would treat me so, yet desire my respect, my loyalty, my familial love?” She scoffed at the ridiculousness of the idea.
Saradon drew himself up, and Harper felt the crackle of his anger in the very air. “You will not disrespect me again thusly, daughter. Yet I will be merciful. I will show you the kindness which you so clearly do not expect to see. You will be moved to better quarters at once, as befits my heir.” He nodded at Dimitrius to make it so.
Harper narrowed her eyes. “Will you do the same for my friends?”
Saradon laughed. “No.”
“I demand it!” she said, puffing out her chest with far more bravado than she felt.
His brooding anger cracked like a whip around them, as though lightning rove the air. “Do not presume your status grants you the right to act with such impunity.”
Her own anger rallied against his, but his was the weight of the mountain, quashing hers.
“Why care you, daughter? They are no one. Forget them. You are where you belong at last. With your kin.”
“I’d rather be anywhere else.” She turned to leave, but he froze her where she stood. She screamed in frustration. “Let me go!”
“Not until you learn respect for your elders and your betters, daughter,” he hissed. “I own you and your loyalty. I shall have it, whether you will it or not.” His bared teeth mirrored hers as he drew closer, bending until they were level, their eyes locked.
Panic clutched her chest at his words. His power clamped down upon her until she could not so much as blink of her own volition, and even her chest ceased rising and falling. Dizziness swooped over her as he held on, like a wolf to her throat, slowly starving her body of air. All at once, his control vanished. She crumpled to the floor, smashing against the stone. Harper lay upon it, gasping, as her vision cleared and her body stabbed with pain.
“Rise.” His command was laced with magic. Her protesting body slowly forced itself to kneel, then stand. Dimitrius still stood immobile beside her. Why would he not help her—say something? But she knew the answer. He did not dare.
“Will you give yourself to me, daughter? Or must I show you the error of your ways and the righteous path?” Saradon’s tone was hard, brittle. When he drew himself up, she realised just how tall and imposing he was.
I am a fool, but I will not yield , she thought. She said nothing, forcing herself to stand properly—to straighten her shoulders, hold her head high, and stiffen her limbs. Last of all, she walled away the fear, which sapped at the dregs of her depleted energy.
“Answer me,” Saradon growled. Darkness clung to him as the shadows deepened.
“I will not serve you,” she answered through gritted teeth.