I waited for Harthon to react to the insult. All he did was subtly shake his head in annoyance. That was it.
Confusion mixed with frustration. Did his “no tolerance for disrespect” policy only apply to me?
Harthon lowered his head. “Callen is my friend. He’s also my third-in-command. Don’t be fooled by his easy demeanor, and definitely don’t take cues from his behavior,” he said in a voice only I could hear.
Yet again, it was as if he knew the direction of my thoughts.
I couldn’t imagine the pretty man and his friendly demeanor charging into battle, never mind commanding some level of authority.
“Why did you take me?” I asked.
“For a reason I can’t tell you here and now.”
How specific.
“How did you hear of mytemporaryeyes?”
“That is another answer I can’t give.”
“Why can’t you answer either question?” Frustration burst through the question before I could squelch it. I looked up at him, searching for a reaction, waiting for a consequence.
He studied me for a moment, dark eyes evaluating as they darted between mine. Decision crossed those rugged features. “Two reasons. One is that our conversation needs to occur in private, and the second is that if you are captured by Koerlyn before we make it back, he’ll torture you for information. I can’t give you anything important to offer.”
The wails and cries I’d heard over the last four days rushed back in a torrent. The images of bodies turned inside out, parts of limbs scattered in pools of blood—I would rather die than be tortured by Koerlyn. I would…I would kill myself before he touched me. I would have to. There wouldn’t be any coming back from what he would do.
Nausea took root in my stomach as I quickly looked away. Harthon wasn’t ignorant. He knew the reaction his words would produce. He said them as a threat, a reminder of what could happen if I escaped. He was calculated. I would need to be, too.
No one spoke again as we rode. Eventually, the sky grew darker, muted hues of orange and red struggling to appear between gray clouds. Harthon pulled to the side of our path. We came to a stop as his men continued past us.
He shifted, and I watched as he dug through a saddlebag. He twisted back to me, a long strip of brown fabric in his hand. I stared at it, then at my arms, which were still fully bound. My eyes flew to his face as I reared back.
“It’s for your safety,” he said, cutting off any protests.
Safety? Being blindfolded and restrained was the completeoppositeof safe. Everyone knew that.
I was about to tell him this when he continued. “We’re almost at the city of Carmen. We’ll be greeted when we enter. Your eyes are too unique, too odd, to not be noticed. They’ll scare some people, and fear always gives way to reckless action. They’ll interest others, who will gossip about you, inevitably informing spies that you’re here. I’ll remove it when we arrive at the inn.”
I stared at him dumbly. He was explaining his reasons…to me, a captive. While I’d never been a captive until a few days ago, I was fairly certain that went against the captor code of conduct. Still, that didn’t make this remotely acceptable. “I could just close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
If my eyes were as fear-inspiring as he believed, I’d be opening them, causing chaos, and escaping the moment we went through those gates. Keeping those thoughts from my face, I met his eyes andspoke with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Yes.”
He grunted. “You’re a terrible liar. Now turn around.”
I spun with a huff. “Forgive me. Seeing as I’m not a Princeps, I don’t have much practice in the art of lying.” My back immediately stiffened, my body realizing what my mouth just spewed before my brain caught up.
But Harthon didn’t do anything but say, “You don’t need to be a Princeps to practice.” His touch was an anchor as he set the fabric over my eyes and fastened it behind my head, effectively blinding me. Bits of light were all that trickled in through the bottom of the blindfold. “Try not to react to the crowd. The less attention you draw, the better.”
The horse began to move, and I teetered, unable to orient myself. Harthon’s hand landed on my waist and pulled me into his chest.
“Your balance needs work,” he said, not in a mocking way, but as a critique.
It was my fear of repercussions that stopped me from elbowing him. “I’m blindfolded on a moving horse,” I ground out instead.
I knew I should sit up straight and refuse his help, but I found myself leaning into his heat instead. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the acute sense of vulnerability that gripped me. I’d grown used to not having my hands free, but at least my eyes had provided awareness, knowledge, and the ability to anticipate threats. I had none of that now. Even though Harthon was my enemy, we had the same goal of keeping me alive for the next few hours. Not that he’d told me that directly, but it seemed implied at this point. It only made sense to embrace protection, no matter how temporary.
Sounds of conversation told me when we’d caught up with the group. Someone laughed.
