Chapter 3
The victory was swift. Koerlyn’s soldiers were all but demolished, the fake funeral and ambush proving incredibly effective. For now, we couldn’t know whether the Princeps himself lived, but even if he did, it would be a long recovery for both him and his forces.
I sensed Harthon intended to capitalize on Third’s weakness, hammering hard and continuing his takeover of the Territory.
I should have felt relief at Koerlyn’s defeat.
He was no longer a threat. He couldn’t cause me pain again, hurt others, or search for Merelda and hold her over my head.
But as the quiet post-battle hours rolled into days of trekking to Harthon’s city center, relief was nowhere to be found.
It was as if thick ropes had been wrapped across my chest and torso, inescapably tight and relentless in their pressure.
It was no great wonder why. The warmth in my chest, ever present, urged me to take Harthon, a man who despised me, into the swirling walls of the Domus.
But there’d been no opportunity to act on it yet.
I imagined that opportunity would come when we arrived at the Citadel tomorrow, but even then, it wasn’t like we could just go.
While I knew the route into Centralis, I didn’t have a concrete map in my head—more of a sense of the right direction and wrong.
I would need to find some way to visualize the path so we weren’t blindly following my feelings.
When my thoughts weren’t unpacking that dilemma, they turned to images of the battle and its brutal aftermath.
I’d done my best not to look at the bodies we’d passed, but with how they littered the ground, blood covering every inch of earth not occupied by flesh, it was impossible.
Those scenes would then morph into the memory of the three lives Koerlyn had ruthlessly slain before me while I was his captive, unable to do a damned thing but watch as life vanished from pleading eyes.
Perhaps they would still be alive had I not brought myself to Koerlyn. Just like every person who had died in that battle.
It was that torturous thought that consumed me as I sat, back against the rough bark of a tree trunk, sky growing dark as fires were lit and camp was made.
“Fish Eyes.”
I chased the infuriating nickname to its creator. In the muted light, Callen’s green eyes were vivid against his sun-pinkened cheeks as he approached. Spine stiffening against the tree, I warily gauged his attitude.
This was the first time I’d seen him since my escape from Koerlyn.
His hands had been the first to reach for me as I’d raced to camp, barely conscious on horseback.
But as third-in-command, he’d been occupied since then.
Callen had always been friendly, but he might share Harthon’s feelings about what I’d done.
His handsome face was indecipherable, so I heaved a sigh and asked, “Do you consider me a traitor, too?”
Callen’s eyebrows shot up to the muted red hair brushing his forehead. “What kind of greeting is that?” With athletic grace, he dropped down beside me, elbows resting on knees.
I ignored his teasing. “Do you?”
“Should I?”
“Depends who you ask.”
He shrugged a muscled shoulder. “I’m asking you.”
I shook my head, watching flames dance in a distant fire. “I’m no traitor. I didn’t have a choice in what I did. I couldn’t risk Merelda’s life that way—not with Koerlyn.”
“Then you aren’t a traitor,” he stated. So simply, as it were some obvious, accepted fact.
I didn’t realize how much his answer mattered until my throat swelled. I tipped my head back against the tree, staring at the shadowed branches above. “I’m glad at least one of you thinks so.”
“Don’t get me wrong. What you did was incredibly dangerous. Extremely questionable. Before we found the note, it didn’t look good on your part—”
“I’m well aware.”
“—but if it were Hart or North or Ana who’d been threatened in that way, I might have made the same choice.”
I looked at him, needing to see that he was being sincere. For once, there was no levity on his features, no teasing tilt to his lips. “Have you told Harthon that?”
“Harthon is…” He squinted into the distance, frowning. “He’s like a bear.”
“I’ve never met a bear.” They were too big an animal to survive in these withering lands.
He whistled. “Lucky you. Years ago, I had the honor. Twice. They’re vicious things that can tear you to shreds. Takes at least three men to put one down.”
It required more than three men to take Harthon down.
“Are you calling him vicious?”
“Harthon is vicious, but no, that isn’t my point.
Bears are also incredibly protective. And strict.
They’re apex predators who are used to defending what is theirs, and winning.
” He blew out a long breath. “You didn’t give Harthon the option to protect you, and by going to Koerlyn, you put all he has at risk. ”
“So I angered a bear?”
“Yes, you angered a bear.”
I tried to track his logic and came up short. “That doesn’t answer my question about whether you tried showing Harthon reason.”
Callen stared at me as if I were a dimwit. “Would you try to reason with a bear?”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I guess not.”
“Exactly.”
We went quiet, the buzz of conversation between soldiers filling the silence.
“So do bears ever end up seeing reason on their own? Or do they just stay angry?” I asked.
He cocked his head, mulling over my question. “I don’t know. We’ve always killed them the second they lose their shit.”
Seriously?
“Anyway,” he patted my thigh and lithely came to his feet, “it’s good to see your eyes are still terrifying.”
“And useful, too. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I can access the path now.” At least there was that.
“I did hear, and it’s about time, Fish Eyes.” He poked my shin with the toe of his boot, lips pulled downward. “Get some sleep. You kind of look like shit.”
I didn’t doubt it. While I’d washed off the mud after the battle and Stefano had provided me with new clothes, I had yet to bathe away the events of the past few days.
I ran my hands over my matted hair as Callen disappeared into the camp, fingers catching in the tangles left from Harthon’s handiwork with the mud. I’d already spent hours trying to tear them apart with my nails to no avail. By now, there was no saving them.
Tomorrow, I would ride through Harthon’s city center, pretending to be the all-powerful magvis. Dignified. Chin held high. After the mess I’d just created, I couldn’t afford more missteps. I needed to appear strong, and this hair was that of a haggard victim.
I ate a meal of tasteless meat and flatbread beside Stefano before telling him I needed to relieve myself. It was the only time he allowed me privacy, as he continued to stick to me like a shadow, despite there being no threat to me here.
In the battle, he’d protected me. Now, he guarded a prisoner.
Skirting the edges of the sprawling camp, I delved into the brush, finding a hollow that hid me from view. Freeing the dagger from my waist—the one I’d stuck into that soldier’s neck—I gripped a clump of hair. The first knot I found was at ear level. Bringing the blade to the strands, I hesitated.
My hair was nothing special, but I’d never worn it short. To chop it now would be to cut away a familiarity. Something I didn’t have much of these days.
But it was just hair. And it was currently ruining the image I needed to portray.
My grip tensed.
“Your angle is wrong.”
Jolting, I pivoted, dagger tip pointed at that derisive voice.
My eyes tripped over a broad, leather-covered chest past a square, stubbled jaw to an unreadable face. Recognizing Harthon, I didn’t lower the weapon.
He acknowledged the blade with apathy. “Still the wrong angle.”
“We both know angles make no difference when a weapon is pointed at you.”
“Then why are you still wielding it?” Every sardonic note of his voice frayed the edges of my sanity.
He was right. Why was I still wielding it?
Riding pure, reckless impulse, I cocked my arm and threw the knife, aiming straight for his heart. He easily shifted to the side, the movement casual, and the blade sailed ineffectually past him, disappearing into the woods.
He faced me slowly, a muscle in his jaw snapping. “Don’t release your only weapon unless you know it’ll give you an advantage,” he said, voice deceptively soft. Then he moved, eating the space between us with the power and lethality of that massive animal Callen compared him to.
I stood my ground, even as my feet vibrated with the need to flee.
I’d just thrown a dagger at a bear. A bear who already might want to maul me to death. I’d done the complete opposite of giving myself an advantage.
His hand snaked out, and I flinched. That massive paw halted mid-air, inches from my face. For an instant, it looked like he might say something, but then he finished his motion, his palm making contact with—
My hair.
His fingers scooped a clump of the tangled strands and lifted them. I didn’t move, his dangerous hands too close to my face for comfort as he palmed another section and studied it.
He grunted. “If you’re going to cut it, you need to slice away from your face. At your angle, you would have cut your cheek.”
He was probably right, but I wasn’t about to thank him for the advice. His actions were what caused my hair to be like this.
“It wouldn’t kill me, so I’m not sure why it concerns you.”
My hair still draped across his hand, he regarded me with an unreadable expression. “It wouldn’t be good for you to appear injured as we return to the city center. That would look far too human for the magvis.”
His impassivity pricked at something within me. The fact that it did showed some small, na?ve part of me hadn’t received the whole “he hates you” message—still thought he might care for me beyond my use to him.
How pathetic was that?
Frustration bloomed, more with myself than him. “Having a tangled mess of hair also wouldn’t look very magvis-like.”
He dropped my hair. “No. It wouldn’t.”