Those relaxed fingers were no longer at his side, holding the dagger.
I heard the moment the sharp edge whistled past my ear and into the man’s face. There was no terrible arc of blood—just the feeling of his body turning limp against me before crumpling to the ground.
Dazed, I didn’t move an inch as Harthon stalked toward me. The threat was gone, but the violent mask remained, veins straining against the skin of his arms. Skies, he was so big, so damned good at killing.
Those arms moved, and I flinched. It was a natural response for anyone who’d just seen the man kill three men with no effort.
His hands only grasped the sides of my face in a gentle hold. With light pressure, he turned my head, studying the welt that throbbed on my cheekbone. I didn’t think it was possible for that chiseled jaw to get any harder, a muscle throbbing in his cheek. I remained still as he ducked his head to examine the cut on my neck. It stung, but I no longer felt the trickle of blood.
Harthon straightened and dropped his hands. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His voice was only soft in volume. He was livid, and that anger was probably directed toward me.
I shook my head, which swam with the movement.
He likely thought I’d run away from Callen in an attempt to escape. Swallowing my trepidation, I met his intense gaze. “I wasn’t trying to run away.”
“I know. I watched what you did for Joris.”
“I—”
Harthon cut me off. “It was stupid. Definitely fucking stupid.”
I closed my mouth. Though he wasn’t wrong, the words still struck me.
He tilted his head. “As reckless as it was, you might have saved his life,” he admitted, shocking the sense out of me. “But don’t pull a stunt like that again, or I’ll have to think of more creative ways to keep you out of trouble. You’re too important.”
I doubted those “creative ways” would be anything remotely enjoyable.
“It would be nice to know why I’m so important.”
Harthon stepped out of my personal space and placed a hand on my back, guiding me with light pressure. “You’ll know when we return home.”
“My home is in Second. You meanyourhome,” I corrected.
Harthon didn’t respond to that. Not a minute later, we were back where I started. The fight was over, having ended as quickly as it began. Blue tunics and pools of blood littered the ground, but I didn’t see any tan leathers among the fallen. All of Harthon’s men still stood, though some were bleeding from various places. Relief flooded me, leaving confusion in its wake.
I shouldn’t care about these men.
Callen and North strode up to us as soon as we arrived. There was no warm greeting from the former. He avoided my gaze, looking only at Harthon.
“Send two men to scout for stragglers. I want to make sure word doesn’t get back to Koerlyn sooner than it should. We leave as soon as we can. Don’t bother hiding the bodies,” Harthon swiftly instructed, and the two men departed.
He turned to me. “Stay here. Someone will bring something to clean your neck.” Then he left, presumably to do whatever a leader does after battle. Beat their chest, bathe in their enemies’ blood, kicka few bodies—things like that, probably.
I leaned against a tree, watching as a team of two went to every fallen body and jammed their swords into them. They almost seemed bored as they ensured that every one of Koerlyn’s soldiers was dead.
The gory scene didn’t bother me as much as it probably should have. Whether it was my time with Koerlyn or the fact that these attackers had wanted to hurt me, I couldn’t find it in myself to react. What did that say about me? I’d never been soft-hearted or particularly empathetic, but it seemed wrong not to be bothered by the sight of lives being robbed before me.
The horses returned soon after. As everyone found their steeds, one of Harthon’s men approached me. His weathered skin was deeply tanned, and long, gray hair was pulled into a tie. He had to be the oldest of Harthon’s group, but even with his apparent age, his body was thick with strength.
I straightened as I noticed the small brown cloth in his hand.
His voice was raspy when he spoke. “This is for your neck. There’s a balm already on it. Pat it into the cut thoroughly, then leave it uncovered.” He handed the fabric to me but didn’t immediately leave. His light brown eyes studied mine for a moment. “I’m sure Harthon gave you his mind already, but thank you for what you did for Joris. Few in your position would have done so,” he said, then he turned and walked away.
Few people in my position would be so idiotic.
I did as instructed, cleaning the dried blood from my skin. The men mounted their horses, and Harthon appeared, summoning me with a sharp nod. I lifted myself onto the saddle, and then our group was underway again, moving at a faster clip than before.
It was a silent journey as we rode for a seemingly endless amount of time. When the sun had nearly set, we emerged from the thousandth patch of woods to a scene that would have stolen my breath, had Inot been so tired.
