Chapter 23
HARK
Upon finding the space beside him empty, a cold wave of dread doused Hark with the fear that Arla had returned to Hadalyn in the night and told her king what she had found. Or worse, that she regretted what they’d done last night.
His lungs were burning by the time he’d raced through the inn to find both horses still content in their stables and Arla’s saddlebags hanging by Vetta’s stall. The sun had hardly risen; it was just a blend of pink and oranges bleeding into the sky.
Where could she have gone?
Sighing, he walked out into the empty streets of Vorstrum.
It had been beautiful once – not too long ago actually.
But the strain of a crumbling kingdom and its punishment at the hands of the gods had hit Vorstrum hard.
Now it was dreary and miserable, lacking colour and …
and she was running herself ragged up the hill that sat behind the town.
How she was managing it, he wasn’t sure. The muscles in his legs were burning just on the walk to the foot of the hill, the cobbled road looking like a staircase it rose so steeply above him.
She hadn’t seen him yet. Or perhaps she had – it wasn’t often that something slipped her attention.
He watched her sprint up, up, up. He watched her thighs tense with the strain she placed on them as she hauled herself – as well as a saddle pack he hadn’t noticed was missing – back down the road. She looked wild, and sweaty, and alive as she pushed her body hard.
It wasn’t strange for her to be training before the world was awake.
He had lived in Castle Grey long enough to have become accustomed to a knot of wild blonde tangles scaling the tower he slept in as his wake-up call, but this was hard work even for her.
The pack looked heavy, and he knew if he opened it he would find it filled with rocks and solid objects.
He could see her chest heave even from this distance.
How long had she been at this?
He squared his shoulders as she headed towards him, and his jaw ached with the pain of clenching it as she strode straight past without a second glance.
Fuck. Last night had ruined everything.
‘Stop it,’ he ground out.
He watched her back stiffen and her footsteps halt, and for a moment he wondered if it was wise to have this conversation so early in the day. ‘You’re pushing yourself too hard. We still have a long day ahead of us.’
Nothing.
‘Are we at least going to address what happened last night?’ His cheeks heated at the thought of it, but he didn’t miss the way her hand reached for the knife he knew she carried on her belt. She didn’t follow through with the threat, instead making to stride off again.
His arm was outstretched and tugging the strap of the saddlebag before he knew what he was doing. The weight of it jerked her back, and she spun quickly, if only to avoid falling at his feet.
‘Get off me.’ Gods, she sounded lethal. Deadly. Dangerous. ‘Last night was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake that will never happen again and we shall never speak of it.’
He’d known the minute he had woken that she would do this, but it still tore something open in his chest that she could hardly bear to look at him.
And there was still the issue of what had led her to his room in the first place.
‘Are you going to let me explain what you heard last night?’
Fire burned in her eyes. ‘No, I won’t. I don’t care what you have to say.
You cannot justify what you have done.’ Her voice was breaking again, and silver lined her narrowed eyes.
‘You let Kastonia take them, and sell them, and I know most of them will end up dead and you didn’t do anything.
There are people from Hadalyn down there, Stappen.
My people. Suffering beneath your king. Again. And you didn’t tell me.’
Gods, is she … is she crying?
‘I won’t let you break my kingdom again. I won’t—’
‘Cryus knew.’
Her face paled, her lips parting but releasing no sound. The gentle arch of her eyebrows furrowed so slightly he might have missed it if he hadn’t known to look for the subtlest of changes from the expression on Hadalyn’s assassin’s face.
What have I done?