No one spoke as the sun rose and we moved east, approaching one of the big wooded hills that framed the valley around the city. We began a slow ascent, Harthon’s forearms brushing my thighs as the horse rolled beneath us. Occasional bird calls filled the air, and crackly brush rustled with small movements. There were far more animals here than in my trapping grounds.
I shook off the final whispers of sleep. “How are there so many animals?” I wondered softly, watching as my breath condensed into a cloud that quickly drifted behind us.
“We’ve been trying to increase their populations. We limit hunting to only a few certain areas, and every season, those areas rotate. The goal is to allow the animal populations time to recover before they’re hunted again,” Harthon explained.
I was glad he couldn’t see the surprise painted on my face. There were no such practices in Two, though they were desperately needed.
“Has it been working?”
His hips shifted behind mine as we circled around a cluster of boulders and trees. “We’ve seen some progress. If we decide it’s successful, we’ll be doing it across the Territory, but it’s only a temporary solution.”
Because inevitably, as the land continued to die, animal populations would never be able to keep up with human demand.
But the resources beneath the Domus could.
Suddenly uncomfortable, I changed the topic. “Why require education across the Territory?”
A hand on my stomach kept me in place as we traversed a steep divot. It didn’t move once we came up the other side, and I found that I didn’t want it to.
“Education is necessary for any successful society. It gives us the knowledge to solve problems, to innovate. If only the wealthy are educated, we miss out on the ideas that could come from a majority of our people.”
It was a simple logic I never thought I’d hear from the mouth of a Princeps.
“Education also has the power to disrupt the social hierarchy,” I challenged.
“You say it like it should bother me.”
It should bother anyone who’s wealthy, a Lord, or a Princeps.
“What made you care about those things?” I asked, knowing the implication behind the question was clear:You’re not what a Princeps is supposed to be.
“I care about all our people,” was his vague reply.
“Why?”
Harthon paused for a moment. “Because enough wrong has been done to them, and wrongs must be made right.”
His tone hinted at a finality that I didn’t push. I stopped talking, basking in the sounds of animal life as we continued up the hill. Eventually, the ground began to level, and ashen skies peeked through the spiderweb of branches above us.
“Wait here,” Harthon ordered his men, and he pulled us sharply to the right and onto a sharp ridge of earth that made for a steep ramp.
“Where are we going?”
Harthon firmed his hand against my stomach as the horse gracefullystepped over roots. My shoulders bumped his hard chest as the horse tilted, crawling up the precarious incline. The path narrowed even further, and precipitous drops sliced down on both sides of us, flatter earth too far below for comfort.
Skies, how Ihatedheights.
“Harthon?” Panic edged my voice as I gripped his hand.
“Almost there,” he murmured, his body at ease while mine tightened.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I held when the path grew wide and leveled again.
He chuckled. “Afraid of heights?”
Remembering my hand was holding his like a lifeline, I quickly pulled it away, though his grip on me fortunately remained. “They’re not my favorite thing.”
“And yet you still crawled down the wall outside your window,” he noted.
