Chapter 29 #2
“It’s a genuine question. If you’re scared, I can get Aric to come in here and tell you it’ll all be just fine.”
This earned me a rather grumpy side-eye.
Wringing out the fabric, I walked to his side to tend to his head wound.
“What, am I hurting Princeps Harthon’s delicate feelings?
” I meant for it to sound teasing, but the fun died from my question when I saw how deep the cut and severe the swelling was.
It had reopened during the battle, now seeping fresh blood.
The image of him crumpled on the ground after being struck in the head when we were first captured shot to the front of my memory.
I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, which had paused mid-air. He took a break from watching the entrance to look at me and gently reassure, “I’ve walked away from fights far worse than this.”
He’s fine. Get it together.
I forced a small smile and started at the perimeter of the blood. Cleaning his matted hair as gently as I could, I said, “They haven’t removed their challenger’s body to bury it.”
“No,” he agreed curiously. “Perhaps because he lost.”
I felt no sympathy for the dead man, but I could still acknowledge how wrong that felt. “He didn’t make a sound, not even as you killed him.”
The Horrads didn’t speak, but for a man to not cry out when he was being mortally wounded…I didn’t know that was something a person could even control.
“Years ago, when I encountered them outside of First, it turned into a fight to the death. Even with limbs missing, they would not make a sound,” Harthon revealed as I took a clean section of cloth to the laceration.
“How do people even come to be that way?” I asked as I studied the wound. For all that blood, it didn’t appear to be as deep as I’d first thought, but it was still oozing. “Dammit,” I muttered.
“I’m assuming it needs to be sewn.”
“I’m no healer, but it’s still bleeding.” And the Horrads had provided us with a threaded needle for a reason. I’d never sewn a wound before.
Harthon brushed my hands away and dabbed at the sliced skin, his fingers much rougher than mine. “Should only take a few stitches,” he determined. “I’d do it myself, but we have no mirror.”
Even if we did, I wasn’t going to allow him to tend to himself after all he’d just done.
“Can’t be very different from sewing clothes, right?” I chirped, retrieving the needle. The thread appeared to be clean, at least.
Fortunately, he didn’t appear unnerved by my lack of experience. “Just requires a little more force,” he coached calmly. “Knot your starting point, pinch the skin, then three or four passes should be enough. Knot the end when you’re done.”
I held the thin, razor-sharp tip to the skin, fighting a surge of nausea and reminding myself not to be a coward. He’d just fought off a giant with his bare hands, for Domus’ sake.
Harthon kept me distracted with his voice as I made contact.
“As you know, the Horrads only came into existence once the Domus appeared,” he said, like I wasn’t jabbing a needle into his skin.
“Before that, they lived the same life that many did. They were farmers, hunters, traders. It’s said a few may have even been nobility. ”
His voice remained steady and unbothered as I sealed the first quarter of his gash.
“What changed?”
“The walls appeared, King Donon sealed himself inside the Domus, and First Territory’s Princeps was given free reign over his people. He was just as mad then as he is now. His people didn’t like it, and fears about the Domus spread quickly.”
Three sutures down, one to go.
“The Horrads began as small factions that broke away to live in the quiet of the wilderness, but they quickly grew. The silence and clothing supposedly developed later as their numbers increased and the land continued to die.”
It felt like no coincidence that they’d begun concealing their skin and voices as the Domus’ impact worsened. A strange theory surfaced. “Do you think they’re trying to hide from the Domus?”
“I’ve always wondered that myself. After this, I’m even more certain,” he replied. “From the way they reacted to your eyes, their beliefs do seem directly connected to those walls.”
“Maybe it isn’t belief so much as fear. Like they think the Domus will suck the life out of them, too, if they expose themselves,” I suggested as I delicately tied off the end.
The stitches were a little uneven, but decent for my first time.
“Whatever it is, I’m surprised they adopted such a drastic change in such a short amount of time. ”
“I’m not,” Harthon said.
I set the needle down and dampened another rag. Kneeling at his back to clean the scrapes there, I asked, “Why?”
“Our beliefs are what drive us—our actions, thoughts, emotions. Once you establish a belief, all of those things follow immediately. I’ve found it doesn’t matter how extreme they might seem.”
“You’re speaking from experience?”
“When I was young, I believed I needed to make my father happy. When I grew older, I believed my sole purpose was to destroy him.” The muscles of his back expanded on an inhale.
“Everything I did from then on worked toward that goal. When I broke from my father with a few men who followed me, we continued as mercenaries, killing for payment so I could amass the wealth I needed to build and arm our small force. None of our targets were ever innocent, but we did the bidding of bad men because it was a temporary need in pursuit of the greater goal.”
Harthon didn’t speak about his past often.
I knew enough about its horrors to understand why, so it felt like a precious gift any time he shared it with me.
And he could take it away the moment he felt too vulnerable, like a frightened hare darting from a threat.
For that reason, I made sure to keep my touch steady as he continued.
“Once I did kill my father, my belief evolved. My purpose was to destroy Princeps Tamen, the man my father had committed so many crimes for. So I did that, I took his place, and now my purpose is to repent for all the suffering we caused—to end the terror that comes at the hands of greedy men. To try to do some damned good. So I took you captive and forced you to help me, and now I’ve taken you into hostile lands any sane man would avoid. ”
I stopped my ministrations. “Don’t oversimplify my involvement.”
He twisted, peering at me over his shoulder. “My point is, I have gone to many extremes for the things I believe in,” he said quietly, before facing forward again. “In that way, I understand these people, even when they intended to kill us.”
This conversation was no longer about the Horrads. It was about the troubles that haunted him, the thread of guilt that was so tightly woven into the fabric of his soul.
“Do you regret those extremes?” I asked gently.
He answered easily. “No—not those that led to my father and Tamen’s deaths.”
“And what about the others?
“I don’t regret those that brought you to me, carella.” He released a labored sigh. “But as for everything else? That depends on how successful our journey into the Domus is.”