Chapter 23
Iwas well and truly fed up with old script writing.
So many swirls. So many tall Ts and Is. So many tiny, smeared letters in between.
I swear, the elaborate cursive in every damn book was more about looking pretentious than actual readability.
The only benefit was that the letter J was easy to pick out of a page, thanks to the enormous loop on the bottom and the fancy scroll on the top. You’d think J was their favorite letter to write. The most pretentious in all the alphabet.
Yet, even with the letter’s visibility, I still hadn’t found a passage regarding King Jamison IV. Every book I pulled from Aric’s massive library seemed to love the Henrys, Jonathans, and our very own Donon—but not a single Jamison.
Stefano grunted beside me.
“Anything?” I asked hopefully.
He held up the book in his hands. “Not what you’re looking for. But this one has an interesting illustration.”
Stefano wasn’t necessarily literate, but he could spot a Jamison, so I’d enlisted his help. I was fairly certain he hated me for it, not that I could blame him. But between training and waiting for Jac’s return, there was nothing else to do—other than replay last night with Harthon in my mind.
His body had been prepared for a repeat this morning, when I’d woken to him against my lower back, hard and persistent.
That was all it had taken for my own body to rise, the juncture of my thighs pulsing in wait.
But nothing had come of it. Harthon’s first words demanded to know whether I was sore, and when I’d lied, he’d easily discovered the truth and refused to do what we both clearly ached for.
Of course, I’d protested, to which he’d responded, “Some pains serve to heighten pleasure, and I look forward to teaching you what they are, in time. But this is not one of them.”
Of course, those words only made my body needier. Never would I have thought the threat of pain would be so attractive, but coming from Harthon, well—
“How many of these books do you think we’ll need to go through?” Stefano asked, wrenching me back to the present.
We’d only made it through twenty books so far. I nodded toward the bookshelves surrounding us. “Could be all of them.”
Stefano groaned. “Whatever you have us searching for better be important.”
I pursed my lips because I wasn’t sure if this was important at all. It was more curiosity about what that book on the ship had referenced.
He read that all over my face. “We both know hitting things is more fun. Let’s train instead.”
“We trained all morning. My body can’t move.”
“And my eyeballs are bleeding from staring at these words.”
“For such a tough warrior, you’re very dramatic.”
He frowned. “I’m not dramatic. You are.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look. I get it. I’m a quiet, loyal soldier. Your business is your own. But you and you-know-who would give any bystander whiplash.”
I blinked, because did he really just say that? Granted, it was warranted.
He confirmed he hadn’t lost his mind when he sheepishly added, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“You know, maybe we should train, just so I can hit you.”
Not that I was particularly craving violence. I was obnoxiously content from last night.
“Your eyes just got this dreamy look to them—”
I glared daggers at him as the doors burst open. Aric filled the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Your man has returned,” he announced.
The books were immediately forgotten as we jumped to our feet. “Did you tell Harthon?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, leading us through the hallway. “I told him I’d let you know.”
Hopefully Jac brought good news. As in, there were no Horrads to be found and the mountains were little more than grassy hills.
And squirrels can fly.
“Harthon would have come here to tell you himself, but he would have had to backtrack through the Citadel,” Aric added, completely unprompted.
“Makes sense,” I murmured. Why was he going out of his way to paint Harthon in a favorable light?
Aric answered the unspoken question a moment later. “I like you two together. You may make him less of an ass.”
Apparently everyone wanted to share their thoughts on our relationship. I didn’t respond, not wanting to encourage Aric to voice more of his opinions—or give him any ideas of how to use me against Harthon. It was bad enough he’d witnessed this entire mess.
We exited through the stables to a small swarm of commotion. Harthon watched, his broad back to us, as a flurry of stable hands congregated around something in the yard. I spotted Joris, a horse’s brown head visible above him.
Harthon turned as we approached. “Etarla.”
With that one word, I knew this wasn’t good news. Whatever Jac had found was going to ruin our day, and likely our journey into the Domus.
Harthon seemed to hesitate before settling on, “This isn’t the sight you’re expecting.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“I do not want to tell you what you can and cannot handle, but you should go back inside.”
How bad could it be? And more importantly, where was Jac?
I ignored Harthon’s warning, stepping up beside him instead. He didn’t push me on it, something I appreciated.
Until the stable hands parted and I saw exactly why he suggested I go.
Jac was there.
But he was…not complete.
His body was lax, tied chest-down to the horse’s saddle, hands that were too pale dangling by the animal’s belly. That was what I saw first, before I mustered enough bravery to glance at his face.
It wasn’t there.
His head had been severed, the horse’s entire side stained crimson from his blood.
My belly rolled as I shifted my gaze—a shift that only made things worse, because then I was looking at the horse’s rump, where a rope had been secured, the loose end tied around a clump of long, gray hair attached to the very head that was missing—
I managed to turn away from Harthon before losing my stomach. Aric danced out of the way just in time.
Hands tugged my hair away from my face, then thinking about my own hair had me thinking about Jac’s hair, still attached—
I vomited again.
Harthon tugged me upright, bravely placing himself in my line of vision. “Breathe,” he ordered, hands on my cheeks.
“Who did that?” I gasped, wiping my mouth.
“Horrads.”
“How can you be certain?”
It was Aric who answered. “Aside from them being some of the only people beyond those mountains, they were kind enough to leave us their signature.” I didn’t want to know what that was, but Aric elaborated anyway. “They cut into his cheeks and stitched his mouth into a smile.”
“Breathe,” Harthon murmured again, no doubt sensing the bile crawling back up my throat.
“Why is that their signature?” I managed.
“Could represent how they feel about this victory, or could just be a damn effective warning to stay away,” Aric mused. He humphed with an inappropriate amount of amusement. “Tell me you aren’t still considering going into First to say hello to the Princeps.”
Harthon’s lips flattened. Dragging his gaze away from mine, he looked at Aric. “If you have any information that will make the venture easier, I’d appreciate you sharing it.”
Aric considered him for a beat before stating, “You’re going into First for something else. Something so important you’d risk all of your lives for it. And it involves our dear Etarla with the magvis’ eyes, which means it probably has something to do with those big old shimmering walls.”
Harthon didn’t respond. Neither did I.
Aric shrugged. “Out of everyone in this Territory, I’m the man with the most experience sneaking into my neighbor’s yard, which means I can prepare you best.” Knowing eyes landed on me as he grinned, the expression edged with bite.
“But you’ll finally have to admit she isn’t the magvis.
And I’ll most likely want to come with.”
* * *
We sat around the fireplace again, the hollow eyes of Aric’s trophies watching us like an audience. My skin didn’t prick as it had the first time, though.
The skeletons were nothing compared to what had been done to Jac.
I’d seen death. The aftermath of battle. The pain Koerlyn inflicted on innocent villagers. But nothing could have prepared me for that sight. Even Stefano’s face had taken on a green tinge.
“Here. You could use this.”
I glanced up to see Aric offering me a drink. I took it, because he was probably right. Though I’d need more than one cup to erase the gruesome image from my mind.
He settled into his chair with a dramatic sigh before cutting straight to the point. “So. You aren’t the magvis, but you have her eyes, which means you’re…something.”
Ally or not, it was a terrible idea to trust Aric with this information. We were in his Citadel, surrounded by his soldiers and his people. He could betray us, kill Harthon, and force me to take him into the Domus, where he would have full control over the resources there.
But our chances of making it to that hidden path alive were terribly small without his help. Neither option was good, but one of them offered a greater chance of survival. Still, I deferred to Harthon, allowing him to make that final decision. I sure as skies didn’t want that responsibility.
In a voice that suggested he wasn’t worried at all, Harthon confirmed, “She is not the magvis, as far as we know. But she knows where we can enter the Domus.”
“And that location is in First,” Aric concluded.
Harthon dipped his chin.
“You want to go into the Domus to…what?” He waved his hand. “Kill the king? Take his place? Steal whatever resources you find thriving there?”
“You said it yourself. The Domus is killing our world. Whatever resources are found within it can help us. That is the primary objective.”
Aric’s mouth curved. “How benevolent of you.” He mulled over a drink before asking, “What if they don’t allow you to take those resources? We don’t know the state of things within Centralis, but regardless of whether Donon or another king still rules, I doubt its people will want to share.”
“I won’t be asking if they want to share,” was Harthon’s direct response.