“And why is that?”
“Cities have walls. They’re too confining.”
“And mercenaries aren’t able to kill if they’re confined,” I finished.
“Mercenaries can kill anywhere,” he corrected. “But my targets rarely existed within cities.”
He spoke of killing so easily, as if it were some mundane occupation, not an act that irrevocably altered lives and caused excruciating pain. An act that added to this world’s already abundant suffering. The same act that stole my birth parents from me. And yet here I was, engaging in easy conversation with the man.
I stopped.
The sun eventually rose, tendrils of orange and pink coloring the clouds that were split open. It was one of the prettier sunrises I’d seen. In Second, the clouds were almost always layered in a blanket too thick for color to leak through. Here, cracks of sky peeked between them. Some of the sun’s gold bled onto the taller hilltops in the distance, casting their brown summits in a soft glow. Several shallowstreams cut through the valley, and while they seemed only inches deep when our horses plodded through them, they were enough to allow some green amongst the yellow grass.
The city grew in size as the sun’s morning colors left and a breeze started in the valley, blowing harder as the morning passed. Hood pulled high, I spent my time analyzing the wide stone walls that were interrupted by towers. It was the kind of man-made structure that made you feel as small as an insect.
I supposed that anything less wouldn’t be worthy of a city center.
Harthon pulled us to a pause at the base of the final hill. At the top of the incline, those walls stood high and domineering. A dark wooden gate and what looked like guards marked the entrance.
Anyone trying to attack the city would have to approach from below. I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving under the city’s shadow as we were.
I turned my head as Harthon released the reins to reach under his cloak. When I saw what he’d retrieved, something like betrayal sliced through my gut. My mind grappled for an explanation. Now he chose to take away my freedom? For what?
How naïve was I to think that he wouldn’t throw me in a dungeon just because he’d been a little nice to me? I was afool—
“From the look on your face, the conclusions you’re making aren’t very accurate,” Harthon remarked all too casually as he rested the strips of fabric on his lap.
“Why don’t you enlighten me, then,” I demanded.
He lowered his chin. “You remember why I blindfolded you in Carmen, yes?”
My nod was stiff.
“This city is nothing like Carmen. There will be swarms of people welcoming us, studying us, giving offerings, and asking questions. All eyes will be on us, and if those eyes see yours, chaos will erupt. Ideaswill spread that you’re a witch or spirit or some ridiculous monster, and some will want to kill you. Koerlyn already assumes you’re here, so spies aren’t my concern, but the last thing you or I need is for people to see those eyes right now.”
“If my eyes are the problem, why do you need to tie my hands?”
“Because it’ll look like we have something to hide if I cover your eyes but don’t present you as a prisoner.”
My initial reaction faded as I took in his words. It was replaced with trepidation. None of this seemed like it was going to be a pleasant experience. More or less, this city was a pit of vipers for me, and he was going to parade us into the center of it.
“You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”
His expression flattened. “No, but this will go easier with your cooperation. Otherwise, I’ll have to hog-tie you to my horse, and that’ll waste time.”
Of course. Because he was taking me with him, willing or not.
Sensing my acceptance, Harthon straightened. “Swing your leg over.”
Gentle hands grasped my forearms and crossed them over one another. It went against every natural instinct, but I fought to stay relaxed as he wound the fabric around my arms. He secured it with a neat knot.
I pulled at the bindings. They were firm, and worry surged at the sudden loss of movement.Please don’t let this be a mistake.
He lowered my hood and brought the fabric to my eyes. Pressure built in my chest as my surroundings disappeared. Light fingers smoothed hairs away from the fabric, ensuring they didn’t get snared in the tie. Then Harthon roped an arm around my waist and tugged me into him. My hip met his lap as I fell into his solid length.
His next words were more vibration than sound. “It’ll be easiest if you lean into me and pretend you’ve taken another draught. It’ll beloud, but it’ll be over soon. You won’t leave my horse,” he assured as the horse began to roll beneath us again.
“But won’t people think it’s odd that your prisoner is sitting comfortably with you rather than on the back of a soldier’s horse?” Nervous curiosity, not logic, drove the question. If Harthon handed me off to another, I didn’t think I could stay calm.
