“The four of them are from our regular ranks. None of them were on duty tonight,” I heard North say.
“They wanted to steal some ale or f-find a kitchen worker,” I stammered through my chattering teeth. The gentle caresses along my scalp continued, and I latched onto them as pain began to bloom.
“Save the bodies. They’ll be used as a message,” Harthon instructed.
“She did a good number on them.”
I was too overwhelmed to appreciate that North had just complimented me.
Those fingers on my scalp stopped. I felt Harthon shift, and then his arms carefully slid behind my back and under my knees.
I lifted my head. A piece of hair had fallen from his tie, framing his face.
“We’re going back to your room,” he explained. He stood then, cradling me to his chest as easily as every time before.
“I can walk,” I protested without any conviction.
“I know you can.” With efficient steps, he brought us into an empty flame-lit hallway. “You can also rappel, apparently.”
“It was more of a controlled fall,” I said numbly. My teeth no longer chattered, a sense of dullness pervading my body.
We climbed a spiral staircase, passed through another hallway, and then we were back at my room. There was no guard outside.
This one would probably get punished too, just like Stefano.
Harthon nudged the door shut behind us, carrying me to a chair where he set me down. I tracked him with wary eyes as he closed the window, lit a wall torch, and retrieved a small washing basin, a cloth, and nail scissors that sat beside the tub. He still wore the leathers and black tunic from earlier.
He’d never harmed me, and part of me was convinced it wasn’tin his plans. But while he no longer exuded the savage tension I’d sensed in the kitchen, I was well aware that he’d killed the two men with effortless efficiency, and he wasn’t above punishing his guards.
He set the basin down at my feet, dragged over another chair, and sat. “Are you only hurt where I can see right now?”
I nodded dully.
“There’s blood on your lips. Is it yours?” he asked, dipping the cloth into the water.
“I just bit my cheek,” I answered, exhaustion weighing heavy.
He brought the damp fabric toward my face, and I jerked away. His eyes flashed with something that looked like disappointment. “Etarla, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You’re angry, aren’t you?”
“Furious, actually,” he clarified in a calm voice. “But not at you.”
That made no sense. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. You’re not here of your own will. And I’m rather impressed that you scaled the wall.”
Something warm and unfamiliar unfurled at the praise. “Who are you angry at, then?”
“Myself, for not anticipating your move and keeping you safe. The guards outside, for not realizing what you’d done. And the wastes of life lying dead in the kitchen,” he listed, tone darkening at the end.
“Oh.”
“You can relax, Etarla. Rest your head back.”
It was tempting, but I shook my head. “I can clean myself.”
He quirked a doubtful brow. “Just like you cleaned your wrists back in Carmen?”
