Chapter 18
The sound of the door opening jolted me awake. Mind still foggy from sleep, I thought I might be reliving the previous evening, because Harthon was in the doorway again, and I was alone in bed.
Then all that fog cleared, and I realized that the blanket had pooled at my waist and my entire bare chest was exposed to him. Harthon wasn’t taking any efforts to avoid the view. I yanked the blanket up, as if I hadn’t willingly bared my body to him last night as he tended to my bruises.
He noted my hurried movements, but rather than teasing me, he only said, “We’re here.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve reached Sixth.”
Rubbing crust from my eyes, I struggled to understand. “I thought this was a three-day journey.”
“It normally is. The seas were favorable yesterday, and overnight, we were given a strong following wind. We moved quicker than anticipated. Much quicker.”
He sounded displeased, which I couldn’t understand. We were one day closer to entering the Domus. This should be a good thing.
He began to retreat.
“Why didn’t you return last night?” I blurted. Weeks ago, I wouldn’t have allowed the question, but for the second time now, I’d woken up disappointed with an edge of something like hurt.
Just hours ago, his body had begged for my touch. Yet he didn’t return here to sleep, even though these were his quarters and no argument was had.
He froze, not speaking right away.
“You needed rest,” he eventually said, voice flat. “I had Joris outside your door. You were protected the entire night.”
“You sleeping here doesn’t disrupt my rest.”
“If I was suddenly needed, it would have.”
It was like talking to a stone wall. Why was he being like this?
My shoulders stiffened. I was sure he noticed. He was too observant not to. Yet he didn’t say anything to ease my discomfort, just looked at me with a blank expression that was so starkly different from last night’s reverence.
I was baffled.
What is this, between us? I wanted to ask. But he was watching me with too much apathy for the words to come out, so I asked instead, “Did you mean what you said back at the Citadel? About not allowing yourself to hurt me?” Because you are.
His fingers tightened on the door, and I prepared myself for a denial. His lips parted to respond. No sound came out.
A rock lodged in my throat as I said, “You’re not the type to say words you don’t mean.”
He stepped back into the hallway, my fragile question unanswered, until he gritted out a quiet, single word just before the door closed.
“Yes.”
The wood slammed shut.
I stared at the entryway, entirely thrown. As the seconds passed, confusion morphed into frustration, which morphed into anger, because how dare he?
I’d forgiven his past. Allowed him to tug at places in my chest. Allowed myself to tip over that edge I’d been toeing for so long, and this was all it got me.
A shipload of confusion, and a man who was hot one moment, suggesting things with his words and his actions, and entirely cold and closed off the next.
If the people knew how complicated and wavering Princeps Harthon could be, they wouldn’t find him nearly as terrifying.
I washed, dressed, and made my way to the deck, making a point to not seek out that man.
Instead, I found Stefano and Joris standing by the side of the ship, illuminated by the faint sunlight that had decided to break through the clouds.
They were watching the land in the distance, deep in conversation.
Their conversation halted as I approached. “Don’t stop on my account,” I told them.
Joris waved his hand dismissively. “We were discussing naval tactics and battle strategies. Nothing important.”
Because what else did warriors talk about?
“Thank you again for being here with us,” I told him sincerely. “I know you recently had another child. You’re leaving a lot at home.”
He smiled kindly. “I know what you’re here to do. The best way for me to care for my children is to support you and this quest.”
I knew the fate of this world depended on my ability to bring us into the Domus, but to hear someone I hardly knew acknowledge it—and stake themselves on it—was both moving and unsettling.
Talk about pressure.
Beside Joris, Stefano appeared bright-eyed and well-rested.
“How are your injuries?”
“Took the sutures out this morning. I’m good as new.”
My eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you supposed to leave them in until we reached the city center?”
Shrugging, he said, “I felt fine, and they were getting itchy. Besides, what difference will a day or two make?”
“Enough for the healer to tell you to wait.” Apparently, being able to kill trained men made him think he could also defeat infections.
“You’re awfully bossy.”
Why did people keep saying that? “No, I care.” He opened his mouth to rebut, and I lifted a finger. “And I’m older than you, and I’m the magvis, in everyone’s eyes. So if I want to be bossy, I can be.”
“She has a point, kid,” Joris said.
Seeing he was outnumbered, Stefano rolled his eyes, setting them back on the land.
The coastline here was different from the one we left. Towering, rugged cliffs connected land to sea, jagged rock faces as dark as the water. The soft sunlight filtering down did nothing to soften them, instead accentuating their sharp edges and intimidating size.
They were magnificent in a deadly way. A commanding, striking feature created by nature, back when it had power.
Before the Domus took it all away.
But even then, the cliffs still stood—just like the mountains and hills I’d discovered the last few weeks—as if to tell the Domus it couldn’t take everything.
A shrill, piercing screech cut through the sky. Our heads jerked at once to see a mottled gray bird soaring toward the ship, feathers spread as it sailed the wind. It was skinny and ratty-looking, some of its feathers missing, but it was unwavering in its course.
A course pointed directly at me.
I flinched as it swooped onto the railing in front of me, perching gracefully on webbed feet, one of which was torn. It cocked its head, snapping left and right, then settled two beady, gray eyes on me.
It was so close, I could touch it.
If I was still in my village, I already would have snapped its neck and roasted it for dinner. For some reason, that thought riddled me with guilt now.
Cautiously, I lifted a finger, waiting for the bird to scamper away. It was prey, and I was predator. But all it did was open its pointed, sharp beak and release another ear-piercing screech.
It was met with a chorus of other screeches.
Again, I looked to the sky, this time to see a flock of twenty, maybe thirty of those same scrappy birds moving toward us as one.
“What in the…” Stefano muttered.
It struck me that they might be here to attack us, to try and make a meal of the humans sitting exposed on deck. But the bird in front of me seemed, I don’t know, relaxed, somehow. Did birds relax?
Stefano, Joris, and some of the sailors drew their weapons as the birds approached, fearing the worst. But the birds merely fanned out, slowed, and calmly found perches, some on the ship’s side, some up in the sails.
Murmurs arose around us, words of wonders and confusion as the birds just… sat there.
The one before me continued to stare at me, and I finally extended my hand to touch its folded wing. It didn’t so much as flinch, letting me make contact with its crusty, veined feathers.
I pet it a few times before drawing away.
Stating the obvious, I said, “This isn’t normal.”
“No,” Joris confirmed.
Around me, every man was transfixed by the birds, the ship’s captain included. Well, everyone except for Stefano, who was watching me.
“I think you’re doing this,” he said slowly.
“I definitely am not.”
“Your eyes are glowing.”
That wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. Still, I scoffed. “It’s the light.”
If they were glowing, I’d feel them glowing. Right?
But then Joris said, “It isn’t the light.”
I looked between the two of them, where they stood transfixed by my eyes. My attention went to the ball of warmth in my chest, which wasn’t flaring, but remained hot all the same. It was probably to blame.
“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it. It’s just happening,” I defended.
The bird cocked its head as if to say, Is that so?
* * *
The port was nestled between two domineering cliffs, a handful of ship-laden docks and a small village situated at the base of a steep, grassy decline that broke the monotony of the vertical rock faces.
Aric’s second-in-command was waiting for us when we disembarked.
While he was a shorter man, he looked every bit an intimidating warrior, black scaled armor hugging his muscular frame and weapons dangling from his waist. His pale, gray-tinged skin was marked with the occasional battle scar.
Big brown eyes and a clean-shaven jaw made him seem no older than me, but closely cropped black hair, a stiff posture, and a stoic facade gave him a serious aspect, one I supposed was necessary for earning his position at his age.
His stoicism didn’t budge, not even as that strange flock of birds finally took to the skies. There wasn’t even a flicker of interest when we stopped before him and he saw my eyes.
Not that I was expecting him to faint in awe, but my eyes usually warranted some reaction.
“You’re early,” was his clipped greeting.
Harthon raised a brow. “Favorable winds.”
“No one has favorable winds.”
“Okay,” Harthon said with boredom.
Well, this wasn’t off to a good start.
“Consider yourself fortunate I arrived here early as a precaution. Our men may have assumed we were under attack.”
He seemed to wait for an apology that didn’t come.
Mouth twisting, he instructed, “Gather your things. Our envoy leaves in minutes.” He turned, as if to dismiss us.
Harthon began to chuckle. There was no humor in it, only dark challenge. My limbs stiffened.
This man hadn’t shown even a shred of respect, never mind the base level of propriety expected by a Princeps. And Harthon wasn’t just a Princeps, but a warrior famous for his ruthlessness. Whatever game this soldier was playing was a foolish one.
But he had some small bit of sense, because he turned stiffly, facing us again.
When Harthon spoke, it was in a calm voice laced with steel. “Is it the ax or the daggers?” The man stared back at him silently, and Harthon clarified, “The weapon you think you can kill me with.”
His jaw worked, and I hoped to the skies above he was considering an apology, because the tension running between them was edging toward violence.
He replied, “I haven’t decided yet.”
I silently sucked in a breath, wondering if I should intervene if Harthon decided to lob off his head. Aric wouldn’t welcome us if we killed his most valued soldier. Then again, he was practically asking for it, speaking to Harthon like this.
A malevolent smirk cut into Harthon’s cheek. “When you do, my bare hands will be ready.”
The man’s jaw ticked again, and I saw what I’d missed before. Pure, unadulterated hatred. The kind rooted deeply in the soul.
The stoicism was a mask.
“And Torr,” Harthon continued, revealing the man’s name, “you will bow your head in respect to the magvis, or you will choose your weapon right now.”
I prepared for Torr to choose the second option as his impossibly hard eyes slid to me. His thin lips wobbled toward a sneer.
But then he very rigidly lowered his head.
I didn’t say anything in response, as if my words might shatter the fragile peace. When the deed was done, Torr spun on his heel and stalked toward the line of horses being readied.
Joris cleared his throat and Stefano released a breath.
“What did you do to him?” I asked Harthon.
Without any concern, he answered, “No clue. But we’ll find out soon enough.” He pinned me with his gaze. “You will not be alone with him.”
I wouldn’t want to be. But I was still angry with Harthon, so I didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. When he heard nothing from me, his gaze slid to Stefano and Joris, communicating they shared the responsibility.
Then we prepared to travel to Aric’s city center with a man who very much despised us.