Chapter 12 #2
My finger shook from where it was jammed into his chest, fear and outrage coursing through my veins. His fingers flexed on my biceps, where he’d caught me.
He had the sense to appear cautious, for once. “Your eyes…” He squinted in the low light for a moment, then shook his head. “They’re not in a cell, but they’re here, just around the corner. They were armed, and we still haven’t confirmed their identities.”
No explanation could stop me from seething, “If she was hurt coming down here, I’ll kill whoever was responsible. Even if it was North.”
Not waiting for his reply, I tore myself from his hands and rounded the corner. Soft voices came from behind a battered wooden door. I flung it open, and my entire world reduced to one small room.
Soft, white hair pulled away from her face. Kind eyes. Smile lines framing her mouth, and tanned, freckled skin that could make you believe sunshine was abundant. Dark clothing that likely hid dirt. A deep groove formed a dimple in her cheek.
“I never thought I’d see you flaunt your breasts, dear, but you are a sight.” Her voice was hoarser than I knew it to be, but it was still warm, woven with kindness and humor.
I glanced down at my chest.
The neckline. The crown. Right.
“Way to make us all uncomfortable,” Marsik grumbled. He stood behind her, his bald head covered in splotches of dirt, his bushy gray eyebrows askew.
Merelda laughed, the sound melodic and so damn familiar. “It’s true.” She shook her head, taking me in from where she sat. “She’s…magnificent.”
“She’s frozen there like a rabbit.”
I was. Rooted to the spot, because my mind and my body still didn’t know if this was real. If she was before me.
Of course it’s real, you fool.
Why wasn’t I hugging her?
I launched myself across the room. Without giving her the chance to stand, I threw myself into her arms—the same arms that raised me and gave me a loving home amidst a cruel world.
I buried my face in her hair, not caring that she reeked, still able to smell her hint of lavender beneath the grime coating the strands.
“She certainly doesn’t hug like a rabbit. She hugs like a boar,” she said, holding me as tightly as I held her.
“A boar with strange eyes,” Marsik murmured.
“Beautiful eyes,” Merelda corrected, her words muffled against my hair.
I wanted to hug her forever. But we needed to talk, and she needed to be taken care of. Fed. Given water and a bath. Who knew what she’d gone through? She wasn’t even standing up. She was sitting, and she never sat, which meant—
“Tell me you’re okay.”
She rubbed my back. “Etarla, dear, I’m better than okay.”
It was painful to pull away from her, but I did, scanning over her filthy form.
“Don’t you go judging me by appearances, now,” she admonished.
Behind me, Harthon stepped closer. “Let’s go up to your room, Etarla. Where they can get what they need and you can have some privacy.”
There were so many things to say, but not with the guards here.
“You must be Princeps Harthon,” Merelda said to him.
“I am.”
Most people would probably be wary of him. She certainly wasn’t, because she said, “Your rumors precede you. The ruthless mercenary who stole a crown. A leader who is more beast than man. But the rumors did not speak of how handsome you are.”
Did she really just say that?
“Skies, Merelda.”
“What?” she asked innocently. “Your eyes may not be brown any longer, but you can certainly see. And the sight is superb.”
“We can talk about the Princeps in private,” I tried.
But she was on a roll. “I’ve been so worried about how you were faring, but clearly, it couldn’t have been so bad with this as your view.”
“For Domus’ sake, Merelda.”
She patted my arm. “Just an observation. Nothing to get worked up over.”
I should’ve turned around to tell Harthon that, yes, we would go to my room. But now I was too embarrassed to face him.
Fortunately, Harthon cleared his throat and said, “Follow me.”
As I helped Merelda up from the chair, she whispered, “The fact that you’re all flustered tells me all I need to know.”
“You could’ve just asked me what you wanted to know.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” She leaned heavily on my arm when she rose to her feet. “All I need is your arm, dear.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just my age,” she answered soothingly.
She’d never been one to limp around. She slept long nights, but she never rested during the day, constantly doing laundry or cleaning despite me telling her to rest.
Something had happened. But I let it slide, because I was just so relieved she was here. Reality could crash down on us later.
When we reached the first set of stairs, Harthon circled back to us. “Allow me.” He gestured at where she held my arm.
I swear Merelda’s eyes sparkled. “Why, yes.”
With delicate movements, he lifted her in his arms like she was a piece of fine porcelain and carried her up the stairs. My heart jumped as I followed in their wake. He didn’t set her down, even when we reached the top and continued on.
“Making me look bad,” Marsik complained beside me.
“Don’t take it personally. He does that to everyone,” I told him.
“What, carry them? Or make them look bad?”
Well, he sure liked to carry me around when he felt I needed it, but I’d meant, “The second one.”
“I’ll have you know that back in the day, I was a strapping young man, too. And I was a force on the battlefield.”
Marsik drank a lot, but when he was sober, he was still mighty capable. “I imagine that’s how you survived the past few weeks.”
“All I know is I need a fucking drink,” he muttered.
Of course he did. For once, I didn’t think I could be mad at him for it.
Once we reached my room, Harthon carefully deposited Merelda in a seat. “Food and water will be here soon, and your guest rooms are being prepared. Do you need a healer?”
Merelda patted his shoulder. “You are a gracious host. But no, there’s nothing that won’t heal with a bit of rest.”
Eying her leg, I said, “You need to see a healer.”
“Still as bossy as ever, I see,” she chided.
“I’m not bossy. I’m concerned.”
“Brother? What do you say?”
Marsik chose her side, the traitor. “Bossy. Per usual.”
I gave him a pointed look, one he received from me often. “You only say that because I keep telling you not to drink.”
He nodded emphatically. “Exactly—bossy. I’m a grown man who can do whatever he wants.”
“I’m concerned. There’s a difference!”
Logs rustled in the fireplace, where Harthon was stoking the low flame.
The bouncing light revealed what looked suspiciously like humor on his face.
It vanished when he stood and came over to us.
“I’ll send the healer to your rooms, and you can make the decision to either turn him away or let him help. ”
“An excellent compromise,” Merelda applauded with far more enthusiasm than necessary. Skies, she was smitten with the man.
Harthon gave her a nod, then extended his hand toward Marsik.
Marsik eyed the appendage like it was an insect. With a scoff, he crossed his arms. “We didn’t make it this far, son, for me to hand you the only thing that has kept us alive.”
My lips parted as realization dawned.
Harthon wanted his weapons.
He didn’t trust them—the people who’d raised me.
Spearing Harthon with a glare, I pointedly said, “You don’t have to hand anything over, Marsik.”
Harthon didn’t even regard me. “Etarla might know you, but I don’t. And I’m not taking any risks where she’s concerned.”
Marsik, who stood half a head shorter than him, puffed out his chest.
I rolled my eyes. “They are the furthest thing from a risk to me.”
“If there is a weapon here, you’re in danger. I’m not allowing you to get hurt again,” he stated implacably.
Pushing down my temper, I rose and approached their stand-off. Marsik’s lip was curled beneath his mustache—a tell-tale sign that he was eager to escalate the situation.
“Harthon,” I prodded.
He ignored me, his hand still extended.
Screw it.
I physically inserted myself between the two men, Harthon at my front so he couldn’t ignore me. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I tried again. “Harthon, I need you to trust me. Let them keep their weapons.”
Trust.
After everything, that was a heavy word. A telling word, too, because I realized in that moment how much I wanted him to trust me. How much I needed him to forgive me, to know me.
As he stood there, unmoving, I readied myself for the burn of disappointment.
With painstaking slowness, he lifted a brow. “You’re right.” My head tilted in confusion, because it didn’t seem like he was talking to me. “She is bossy.”
The heavy tension in the room broke. Merelda chuckled while I stood there wide-eyed, too surprised to argue back.
Harthon lowered his hand. “I will be right outside this door,” he informed us. “If I hear anything out of place, I’m coming in, and I won’t be knocking.”
When he didn’t move away, I realized I still clung to his shoulders.
I quickly dropped my hands. “What about the celebration?” From the noise that shook the walls, it wasn’t even close to ending.
Earnest eyes met mine. “This is more important.”
I watched him leave the room, still stunned that he’d given me his trust. It was over a trivial matter, but the implication behind it was so much more. And I felt it in the weight that lifted from my shoulders, the way relief and something else feathered through my chest.
“So,” Merelda said, thankfully waiting for the door to close before asking, “have you two kissed?”