72. Harper
72
When the three figures drew close enough to see, relief flooded Harper, a rush so vast her legs nearly buckled. Aedon, Erika, and Ragnar approached, each on horseback.
“Well met,” Brand said, as though they had stumbled on each other by chance on a relaxing summer stroll.
“Another job well done.” Aedon grinned. “Are you two all right?”
Harper grinned shakily. She hurt all over, and her nerves felt like they were frazzled beyond repair, but the bubble of relief consumed her. “Never better,” she bluffed. “How did you know that staircase was there? And your escape route? And where did you get horses?”
“Lucky hunch, bold guess, and I’m tired of walking.” Aedon shrugged.
Erika snorted. “Lucky hunch, my left arse cheek. It’s not the first time we’ve raided that henhouse, if you catch my drift. We always research all the entry and exit routes. You never know when you might need one.”
“Come now. We need to be far from here by dawn, then we can rest,” Brand chivvied them along. Ragnar yawned, but nodded.
They trekked through the night, with Harper on Aedon’s horse whilst he led them on foot with Brand. Harper was so weary, her eyes shut of their own accord, threatening to send her to sleep in the saddle. When they finally halted, she sank to the ground with a sigh of relief and promptly went to sleep.
The sun was high when she woke. Near the fire, Aedon sat chatting with Erika, who tended to her weapons. Ragnar was their silent companion, busy carving a twig with his knife. Brand flitted through the trees on the fringes of camp, no doubt keeping watch. Something warm bloomed in her to be with them again—and to be free, with the canopy of leaves and the sky above her.
For a long moment she simply laid there—still reeling from all that had passed. They now had the Kingsguard of Tournai and the elves of Tir-na-Alathea chasing them. Perhaps Dimitrius too, whatever his agenda entailed, because she did not entirely trust she was free of it. Harper shivered at the memory of him staring her down as they had parted for the last time.
Would any of them ever give up? Of the king and the wood elves, she doubted it. She did not yet know what to make of Dimitrius. She fleetingly wondered how many other enemies Aedon and his friends had made over the years before a pang of hunger wiped such thoughts from her mind. Harper sat up and stretched with a groan.
“Good morning,” said Aedon with a grin, though judging from the position of the sun, it was clearly afternoon.
“Hmm,” she said through a yawn.
“I think you owe us another story.” Aedon glanced from her to the rest of them. “A rescue for a story. That seems to be a tradition we’re making. Tell us what in Pelenor happened—and how the spymaster is embroiled in all of this.” His tone grew more cold at the end, and Harper knew Brand had told him exactly how their escape had succeeded.
“Only if you tell me how you escaped Tournai,” she said, her own tone guarded.
Unable to resist, Aedon puffed out his chest. “Naturally. I’m happy to recount our escapades!”
Erika rolled her eyes.
“And we talk about what happened,” Harper added pointedly.
Aedon’s smile slipped. He swallowed. His hands fussed with the twig in his hands. “Yes. About that. We’re sorry, Harper. We shouldn’t have gone about it like that.”
Harper stared him down until he squirmed and dropped his gaze.
Erika straightened. “I’m sorry too. I should not have tried to take the stone from you.” She swallowed and scowled. Harper waited. “It was my fault that things went so badly. And I am deeply sorry for that. For how you must have suffered. You did not deserve that.” Her eagle-eyed glare met Harper’s.
“Thank you,” said Harper, giving her a sharp nod. The nomad’s apology meant more to her than anything else—because she knew that the woman meant every word of it, and that her loyalty and favour were hard-won and well-earned.
“What happened?” Aedon asked. His voice was subdued—laced with guilt, she realised, and the hardness within her softened to that. She told them what had happened since they had parted, not sparing a detail of her treatment in the dungeons, nor her inexplicable encounters with Dimitrius or her audiences with the king. They listened to her in silence.
Aedon blew out a breath once she was finished. “The spymaster’s still plotting away, I see. Goodness knows on what. You were just a pawn to him in whatever scheme he has, Harper.”
She nodded, though she was not entirely convinced. Some of the moments with the spymaster had felt so genuine, and that had taken root inside her somewhere. It hurt to cut that down, but she had to. She had survived in a court of lies and shadows. The spymaster had been using her and nothing more. She was back where she felt like she was finally starting to belong.
Yet still, she could not banish those violet eyes of his and the way they burned with so much unspoken feeling, making her long to understand his story. Harper cleared her throat. “Well, we agreed a tale for a tale. What’s your story?”
Aedon told her of their gallant escape. After sneaking out of the dragon hold using hidden ways Aedon knew and with fresh sets of Kingsguard cloaks and helmets, they had ‘borrowed’ three horses and rode from the city.
“You make it sound easy,” Ragnar murmured in disbelief.
“That’s hardly as daring as our escape,” Brand said.
“Perhaps not, but it required just as much guts.” Aedon grinned crookedly.
Brand scoffed.
“Where to now?” Harper asked.
Now that she finally had a moment to think, with her life not in imminent danger, it struck her that she was once more without a way home. The city of Tournai, the king and his magic, were closed to her.
“To continue our quest,” said Aedon. “Now we have a way to cure the sickness and eradicate it.”
Harper’s attention snapped to him. “Really?”
“Erika?” He looked at the quiet woman.
Erika stirred. “We had our own task to complete before we could think of rescuing you. I’m sure you understand. There is a particularly ancient text in the citadel archives that references an everlasting potion. If you can find this Dragonheart and have the method to use it correctly, you can make an infinite supply from the smallest drop.”
She pulled out a tightly rolled scroll that looked hundreds of years old. “Now we can spread the cure as far as it is needed, for we have the perfect way to make enough to heal anyone and everyone afflicted.”
“How is it done?” Harper whispered in awe.
“As luck would have it, a forgotten piece of magic that, when combined with the stone, has staggering potential,” Aedon replied.
“That’s incredible.” Her thoughts strayed to the desperate villagers—this would be life-saving for them.
Aedon dipped his head to her. “The choice is yours, Harper. We would be mighty grateful for your assistance. I’m afraid our Dragonhearts were lost in the escape.”
Erika shot him a glance.
Aedon returned it, shrugging. “Lost, used—what does it matter? Semantics. I had no choice if we were to escape alive.”
Harper glanced between them, wondering quite what had happened in the vaults. That fire had been completely out of control.
“We’re alive, but we only have your Dragonheart now, Harper,” Aedon said. “May we use it? The choice is yours.”
Harper did not know what to say. Her plans had changed by necessity, she realised. The Dragonheart was no longer her means to return to Caledan. Now, the Dragonheart had a greater potential use. The magic of how it had moved her was so unknown it could not be replicated. The king would most certainly not trade it for passage home. And, her time with the spymaster and his promise of freedom had never extended so far. He sprang into her mind—the slump of his proud shoulders, and his parting words. “Go do some good with that.”
She realised that she might have started to relinquish that idea after all—to return home. What kind of home was it? She had wanted to leave so badly, and she had nothing to want to return to. Only Betta. The thought of the old woman stirred familiar guilt, but if Harper was so far away it was nigh on impossible to return anyway, at what point did she have to accept that the notion of returning was nothing more than that—a thought that kept her trapped in an old life she did not want anyway. Betta would have to survive without her, because there was no other way about it—and Harper could not be responsible for that. The old woman was fiercely independent. She had survived before Harper and she would survive after.
This? This was an opportunity for Harper to find the courage to step up and embrace the opportunity she had always dreamed of. Everything she wanted to achieve lay on the other side of the fear standing in her way. Would she allow it to defeat her after what she had faced? Being dropped into a new and unfamiliar land, hunted by wood elves, withstanding the cruelty of a malicious king, surviving a court of sorcery and secrets—surviving the spymaster—and more. Whilst she had scrubbed tankards, served patrons, and avoided their lecherous attention… this was exactly what she had dreamed of. Wasn’t it?
Brand strode back into camp, distracting her. “No scouts that I can see. Perhaps we outran them, or maybe your charms have worked better than the last time we fled, Aedon.”
Aedon winced. He would not live down that the elves of Tir-na-Alathea had tracked them so easily for quite some time, Harper surmised. She stifled a small smile.
“We’re safe for today?” Ragnar asked.
“For today, and it’s worth us lying low and resting. We have a tough journey ahead, even with the horses to speed our return. On the morrow, we must leave with the dawn.”
Aedon turned to her, his face filled with expectant hope.
There were so many other questions she had—about Aedon’s fearsome display of magic, about Dimitrius. So many about Dimitrius. Yet one was most pressing upon her mind.
Another journey, thought Harper, but am I to join them on it?