61. Harper
61
HARPER
T he next time Harper awoke, Dimitrius sat beside her again, holding the cloth and a warm, fragranced bowl of water. Harper considered tipping the water over but was too tired to berate him. Questions assailed her—and she needed answers more than to antagonise him again.
“What happened?” She struggled to sit up, propping herself up on shaking arms.
“You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for a day or so now. I was hoping you would wake soon. I am sorry—I did not anticipate he would use such powers upon you. I would have intervened.” Dimitri’s smile was tired, but the fury that lined his eyes was razor-sharp. His familiar scent of him—sharp, sweet, and the hint of musk—teased her. It had been Dimitrius caring for her all that time. She did not quite dare ask why. The truth of that was too uncomfortable to face. “You haven’t been lucid much, mind. Incoherent mumbles at best.”
The back of her neck prickled, and her cheeks heated. Oh goodness. What had she said? She dreaded to think. “Where am I?”
“In Saradon’s own quarters.” His voice was quiet. Dimitri’s assessing gaze swept the room. He caught her wide eyes as she glanced down at the bed—wondering if it was his. Bile filled her as revulsion reared. “He has the jarl’s wing. You’re in one of the other suites—as far from him as I could settle you. You’re safe here. As safe as you can be. I promise.”
I promise . Did that reassure her or not? Harper swallowed past the nausea and took a moment to examine the room. She reclined in a large bed—wider than she was tall—finished with thick coverlets. The stone-flagged floor was set in a diamond pattern tooled with geometric designs. Smooth walls held tapestries for warmth and alcoves for windows, each holding a stained-glass window that backed onto stone, with a faelight in a sconce to cast warm light over the room. A large fur on the floor—a bear of some kind—provided a touch of comfort, and at the foot of the bed was a closed chest of wood carved with knots and dragons. Through a rectangular archway, she saw a curl of steam emerge. A bathing chamber? She frowned and her gaze passed on, snagging on a wooden armoire and a desk—Dimitri sat in the matching chair, she realised.
Much like the quarters at the konigshalle in Keldheim, it was practical but comfortable, but she could tell these were furnished for a higher class than their spartan quarters. Windowless, though. She fought the ever-present current of claustrophobia at the realisation of being under immeasurable tons of rock.
“Why are you here?” she asked. She drew her hands over the coverlets, clenching the fabric.
“I promised I would see us both through this. I don’t know how, I wish I did, but the least I can do is ensure you are not wholly at his mercy.” Dimitri twisted the cloth in his hands. His throat bobbed.
“Thank you,” she said softly, looking away. “Where is he?” She did not want to say Saradon’s name.
“Away.” Dimitri’s tone was hard. “He seeks alliances wherever he can find them. At present, he’s with the Indis peoples.”
“The warrior nomad women?” Erika’s people.
“Yes.” Dimitri looked at her sharply with a frown, then nodded. “Of course. The elf’s companion. You would know. There are few enough of them left, but they are a fearsome people. He hopes to leverage their anger after half a millennium of persecution in his name against those who hunt them.”
“Erika would never fight with him.” Harper was utterly certain.
“Then let us hope the remainder of her kin feel likewise, but I fear it will do little good. He will enslave them regardless.” Dimitri’s shoulders slumped. “This is madness. I see the chaos approaching, yet I feel powerless to do anything. This great storm shall devour us all.”
His voice was devoid of hope and strength, in a way she had not heard before. It dawned on her then. “You stay because you have nowhere else to go, yet you feel bound to try, don’t you?”
He nodded but did not speak.
“Perhaps I can give you a reason to hope.” Erendriel’s pale form hovered in Harper’s mind. It was nothing more than an impulse born of instinctive compassion, and he did not deserve it, but she reached out. He startled as she grasped his hand, laced her fingers through his, and pushed Erendriel’s vision to him. Dimitrius felt so reassuringly warm and solid amidst the uncertainty, and she enjoyed the contact more than she knew she ought to. Guilt twinged her at the realisation. His face slackened and he grasped Harper’s hand until his knuckles whitened. Only when the vision faded did his grip ease.
“What was that?” he breathed.
“Perhaps our only hope. I can’t decide whether it’s madness.”
“All has turned to insanity, Harper. And yet you are still here, living, breathing—hoping.” Dimitri gazed at her with ferocity—and the way he looked at her, as though she were the sun in the sky, stopped her breath. Did she imagine the fragile stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand before he pulled away? She could not ignore the low sweep in her belly at this thing growing between them.
“If that vision be true, higher powers than us are at work. Valxiron and Erendriel… Legends indeed. It makes sense now. How the half-elf with no magic now has power beyond measure—and darkness within. It is so much worse than I could have ever feared, yet if Erendriel herself speaks, acts, through you—if you are the light against the dark, then I have more hope than I have yet found. Perhaps there is a way to somehow unmake all of this by the magic of the Dragonhearts.”
“I don’t know how to make it come to pass, though,” she admitted, shivering at the recollection of the dark place within the vision that was scorched and dead.
“I would trust to Erendriel’s words. ‘If thou standest true and with faith unwavering, thou shalt triumph over Valxiron’s servant.’ Let that be your guide, whatever is to come.”
“What do you think she meant when she said, ‘beware the Tainted Star, and heed the Shadow’?”
Dimitri just shook his head, looking at the stone walls all around them. “You must hope that becomes clearer, too.”
“Can we not leave whilst he is gone?” she asked, disappointed, but struck by sudden inspiration.
“It is not so simple. We are bound now. I gave my word to him, and you cannot defy his strength. My blood and magic are his to command. We could probably walk through the very gates, but if he commanded it, I would have no choice but to return and he could drag you back, no matter how much we tried to resist. We would be punished savagely for it.” He scowled. “For now, we must remain wherever he commands us.”
Harper closed her eyes in frustration. “There must be a way.”
“There may be,” Dimitri acknowledged, but his reply was half-hearted. She realised why a heartbeat later. If there was a way, any loophole at all, he would have already found and exploited it. “Do not lose hope, Harper.” He rested his palm atop her hand with surprising softness before standing. “Come. I’ve drawn you a bath. You’ll feel better if you’re clean.”
Something warm settled in Harper’s chest. He had thought to do that for her?
“I will leave,” he said quickly. “As long as I can make sure you’re in there safely. I have done my best, but I do not know what lingering hurt may remain.”
He looked at her with an open question in his gaze, and his expression neutral—carefully so, she reckoned. Her eyes flicked to that coiling steam and back again. She nodded and swung her legs from under the coverlet. A groan escaped. She hurt . Every inch of her was stiff and painful. Harper took his offered hand and staggered to her feet.
“Thank you,” she muttered. The rub of his thumb across her knuckles was his only answer—and it did nothing to lend steadiness to her legs.
“In here,” he said, drawing her through the archway. She gasped. Inset into the floor was a stone depression as wide and long as the bed—and it was filled with hot, steaming water covered in white foam. It smelled delicious . Floral and fresh, it was a world away from—she caught a sniff of herself and grimaced, the back of her neck prickling with discomfort at the state of herself.
“Can you undress yourself?” he asked evenly, but the look he shot her was loaded with heat.
“Yes,” she forced out. She could not—would not—let him help her. Not in this state. Not ever. That was too dangerous. Harper tugged her hand from his.
“I’ll return in an hour.”
“Please don’t leave.” The words escaped before she realised. His lips parted. She licked hers. Her voice fell to a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone here.” Her attention flicked to the door. She did not trust—not at all—that she was safe here. Except with him, she realised.
“Of course. I’ll remain in there. Out of sight.” He nudged his head towards the bedroom.
Harper did not dare reply. Dimitri pulled a tall wooden screen across the entry to the bathing room, and Harper noted the large dark towel slung over it. She took a long, steadying breath, her body torn between fighting and submitting. She would be completely at his mercy, with just that flimsy screen in the way.
And yet, this felt so different to the first time they had met in close quarters, when he had offered her the common decency of a wash and clean clothes. Because now… her throat closed, and she swallowed past the thick lump there. Now she trusted Dimitrius, she realised, in a way she trusted so few others in her life. She had no doubt that she could take a bath there and he posed no threat to her—rather the opposite. Now, she felt as though she could count on him to defend her. That felt altogether too complicated. She tugged her stinking shirt over her head and kicked off the close-fitting leggings before she could delve into the danger of that thought and crossed to the bath.
She sat—gasping at the cold stone—upon the edge and swung her feet in. She could not see under the white foam. As her feet touched the bottom, Harper surmised that the depression was only knee high. In she slid, groaning with delight at the hot water melting the tension in her body, and the soft kiss of the bubbles that popped against her skin. A build-up of pressure threatened a headache, and agitation lurked at the fringes of her mind—this kept both at bay, and she was glad for it.
“Are you quite alright in there?” Dimitrius called from the other room.
Something clenched within her. “Yes,” she forced back. There was a scrub and a bar of soap across the other side of the vast bath. She sloshed to them, grabbed both, and set to cleaning herself as vigorously as possible, until every inch of her gleamed and the soreness of her limbs had been banished to a dull ache.
A quick duck under the surface with her eyes scrunched shut rinsed the suds from her hair and she erupted from the water, surging to her feet with renewed vigour. The stone bottom of the bath was warm and smooth under her feet, and the water sluicing down her body a sensory pleasure in contrast to the grit and grime that had ingrained itself in every pore. This felt delicious . She let out a sigh of relief. Dimitrius had been right. She did feel better for being clean.
At the thought of him, she whirled around, clutching her hands over her chest—but he was not there. The screen remained in place. Beneath it, no shadows, no hint of his feet, nor anything untoward. It was quiet—so silent, her ears rang. “Dimitrius?” she called.
“Yes?”
The panic clutching at her chest receded and she took a deep breath. “Nothing. Sorry.”
Harper squeezed the water from her hair and padded to retrieve the towel from the screen, leaving a trail of watery steps behind her. With brisk strokes, she dried herself, grateful for the warmth of the steamy room, because already, chills bumped across her skin.
“I don’t suppose there are any fresh clothes out there I can use?” she asked, staring regretfully at the pile of dirty garments next to the bath. Even if she washed them now, they would take a day to dry, if not more. Harper finally felt deliciously warm for the first time in goodness knew how long—she had no desire to don cold, damp, battle-damaged clothes.
The chair in the bedroom scraped as Dimitri moved. A drawer screeched open. The armoire doors clunked. “Hmm.” His voice was muffled as though he rummaged inside it. Harper wrapped the towel around her chest, tucking a corner in to secure it so it covered her to her knees, and pulled back the screen slightly to watch him.
Dimitrius had his back to her. He’d taken off his dark jacket, and she could see the hint of his muscled form beneath the midnight shirt he wore. He had dropped to one knee, elbow deep in the chest at the foot of the bed and pushing aside throws. Something clunked against the wood. As he withdrew his arms and huffed with annoyance, she drew a sharp breath at the sight of his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and the flex of his forearms—covered in more of those exquisite, dark tattoos. She had not realised they stretched all the way from his neck to his wrists, and some irrational, primal part of her wanted to see them all.
At the sound, he turned to her—and his eyes instantly darkened. His voice, when it emerged, was carefully even. “I’ve found a tunic I think might fit you, and some leggings. They might be a little large, but there’s a belt.” He held it up.
“Thank you.” Harper slipped from the bathing room and padded across the fur on the floor towards him. It was deliciously soft and warm on her feet in contrast to the cool stone.
Dimitri rose to hand her the garments. She took them—freezing as his hand tightened on her forearm to stop her turning away. He drew her closer, running the tip of his nose up the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist and inhaling deeply. “Your scent is exquisite,” he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. Her heart skipped a beat to be this close to him again, with nothing between them save for their own decisions. Dimitri’s dark eyes took every inch of her in. “You’re making it incredibly hard to be a gentleman right now, Harper.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to be,” she breathed. That pressure was building inside her, a desperate need for some release in the face of such overwhelming darkness and a loss of control over every other part of her life.
Dimitrius laughed harshly. “You are going to be my ruin. Say the word, and I will do whatever you let me. I am yours to command.”
He was so close. Close enough that her nose filled with citrus and musk, and his warm, firm hand upon her stole away all reason. In that moment there was only her, him—and the choice hanging between them. “Then kiss me.”