Chapter 24
When Harthon had first stolen me away from Koerlyn, he’d blindfolded me each time we entered a city.
At the time, he did it to hide my eyes from his people, wary of the fear it might inspire.
I’d hated the experience then, but I sort of wished for it now, because then I wouldn’t have to withstand the bold hatred seeping from every pair of eyes that watched us enter this village.
If Aric wasn’t with us, there was probably a good chance these people would have burned our accommodations down as we slept.
Though maybe that’d be good preparation for the Horrads.
The village was much like my own in Second Territory—small and weather-beaten.
Stone-walled, thatched-roofed homes formed rows in the dirt, a community firewood stockpile sitting in the middle of them.
The only difference between this village and the one I grew up in was found in a simple tilt of the head.
Glance up, and half the sky was seized by the jagged mountains that began their ascent just outside the town borders.
Dead trees blanketed their base, growing sparser the further skyward you looked, sharp rock the color of steel replacing the vegetation.
I knew there were white peaks at the top, but today, they were swallowed by clouds.
It seemed impossible that something from the land could reach so high into the sky.
Those imposing masses distracted me from the villagers as we made our way to the inn, a ramshackle structure that was more of a large home.
The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman, greeted us outside after we dismounted, bowing only to Aric.
Her lips pursed like she considered spitting at Harthon, but before she had the chance, a child flew out of the door behind her.
She swiped, trying to catch the young girl who was no older than six or seven, but missed.
Which was how she ended up directly in front of Harthon, the frizzy hair atop her head barely reaching his waist. Her delicate features scrunched in anger as she cranked her arm back and threw an object with all the might in her tiny body.
Harthon caught the rock just before it connected with his face.
A collective gasp came from the crowd behind us.
The innkeeper paled, all her bravado vanishing in an instant.
She jolted forward, fear in her eyes, mouth opening on silent words.
But the little girl—her child, most likely—was immune to both the crowd’s horror and the danger she’d just put herself in.
She growled in frustration at her failed attack, picked up another rock, and threw it with a mighty cry.
Harthon caught this one, too.
The mother made a sound of anguish, rushing toward us. Aric held up a hand, halting her in her tracks.
“I—she didn’t—”
A quirk of Aric’s brow silenced her.
Harthon regarded the small girl, towering above her, his expression unreadable. Behind us, all that hatred and disgust had turned to fear. Their Princeps and one of his soldiers were there, but neither seemed inclined to stop whatever was about to happen.
Harthon had a reputation to uphold, a facade he always wore in public. I’d watched him maim Jonathan before killing him, slice ears and tongues off of criminals, stare down crying, quivering faces with cold apathy, and drive his blade through more men than I could count.
He’d perfected his image, built it on blood and brutality. But I knew in my bones he would not hurt this child.
What I didn’t know was what he would do instead, which was why my breath caught as he came to a kneel before the girl.
Even then, he was like one of the mountains above the village, and she didn’t have the self-preservation to step away.
Instead, she looked to the ground, searching for another rock.
Harthon grasped her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “Enough of that,” he said, leaving no room for argument.
The girl’s eyes grew wide as she realized her predicament. She tried to jerk away, then froze when he held fast.
“Do you know who I am?” Harthon asked.
The girl nodded against his grip.
Not a soul around us breathed. She’d knowingly attacked a Princeps—the very Princeps who’d once dealt death in these lands. Tears trailed from the innkeeper’s eyes as she anticipated the inevitable violence.
Harthon spoke into the silence. “You have the heart of a warrior, little one.” Harthon released her and tapped her head. “But now, you need to train the mind.”
The girl’s little face wrinkled.
“All of that bravery, that fierceness in your heart, must be tempered by cleverness and strategy,” Harthon explained. “This is how you will be the victor more often than not. Yes?”
She thought about his words. Her head bobbed.
“And I would appreciate it if, in exchange for this lesson, you do not throw any more rocks at me or my people.”
She frowned, not liking that compromise.
Harthon’s lips twitched. “It is only fair.”
It must have made sense, because she nodded again.
Harthon rose to his full height, the child gaping like she just now perceived how intimidating he was.
“Here, Charlotte,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling.
Harthon allowed her a moment to scoop the girl into a desperate hug before addressing her. “There is nothing inherently wrong with hatred. But when it’s bred into a child, without any strategies for tempering it, it can be deadly.”
Only now did anger thread his tone, and for good reason. Had Harthon been another Princeps or the man he was rumored to be, that child might be dead.
The woman nodded and stuffed her face into her daughter’s hair. But then her jaw grew tight, some of that loathing seeping back into her expression. I glanced around to see the same expression in the faces that were fraught with terror just a minute ago. When I landed on Aric, my stomach sank.
He didn’t appear the least bit displeased by the emotions around us.
He was our ally in entering the Domus, but he was very much aware that, should he choose to challenge Harthon after the fact, his people would fully support him in the endeavor.
A war may very well be coming—against the man beside us, no less.
* * *
We made it through the night without being burned at the stake or poisoned, probably because the inn consisted of one large room filled with individual cots. Aric and Conrad slept beside us, their presence a small comfort in such hostile territory.
That protection hadn’t come for free, however. We’d paid a price. That of no sleep.
Because Conrad snored like a damned boar.
I yawned for the seventh time since we began our slow climb up the base of the mountain.
Harthon, who rode beside me, lifted a brow. “I don’t recommend falling asleep on a horse.”
Even without rest, he was devastatingly handsome in that rugged way of his. The soft light of dawn trickling through the branches above only illuminated the strong angles and lines of his face.
“And here I was, thinking this is the perfect opportunity for a nap.”
His body swayed as our horses navigated a divot.
The terrain was already rocky, and we were still far from the steel-colored slopes above.
Slopes we would be encountering. Any passes at a lower elevation would be monitored by looters, Horrads, or anyone else waiting for easy prey, so we would be crossing elsewhere.
“You’re still relatively new to horses,” he replied, a teasing lilt to his words.
“Not so new to common sense, though.”
“Are you certain?”
I eyed him. “I am armed, you know.”
A grin crept across his face. “There was a time, not long ago, you refused to have food and water just to summon me when you knew I was already planning to come.”
“I stand by that decision. At the time, it was a perfectly sensible thing to do.”
He snorted. “I think most people would argue against that.”
“You just didn’t like me forcing your hand.” I smiled. “You can’t stand not being in control. Of everything.”
He scoffed. “That is not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
We split around a tree. “No,” he argued when we rejoined. “I know when to relinquish control. I delegate to Ana, Cal, and North all the time.”
“Only when you know they’ll do exactly what you would do.”
He shook his head, opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head again before deciding, “I’m Princeps. Not only have I earned the right to control, but it’s gotten me to where I am now.”
Oh, this was too fun. “So you admit it, then. Everything needs to be done your way, or it’s wrong.”
“And why is that such a bad thing?”
I shrugged. “Not bad. Just…overbearing sometimes.”
“Overbearing,” he scoffed, frowning as he mulled that over.
I watched as his frown suddenly morphed into a cocky grin.
“What?” I asked warily.
“Your critique is selective.” Lowering his pitch so only I could hear him, he said, “You don’t seem to mind my being overbearing when I tell you to share those beautiful sounds you make, or to relax while I taste you, or to keep your eyes on mine while—”
I poked his horse’s flank with my foot, and the animal sidestepped, cutting him off. He easily righted his course and opened his mouth, no doubt to tease me more, when Aric came to a sudden stop ahead.
“Shit,” Aric cursed, drawing his sword.
Harthon immediately did the same, edging his animal in front of mine. The zing of metal behind me indicated Stefano, Joris, and Conrad followed suit.
My heart stuttered. We were still on Sixth’s side of the mountains. It was too soon to come across adversaries.
A wolf silently wove through the dead trees ahead, its filthy white coat shifting over bones and shriveled muscles, silver scars slashed across its body. But its eyes, the color of molten gold, glowed with life, so vibrant I could see them from where I sat.
I’d only encountered wolves once, with Harthon. It had been a battle to the death.