Ignoring Harthon’s command, I swung from the horse, diving for a knife in a fallen man’s hand. I crept through the blood-stained vegetation that nearly reached my waist, tracking the rustling strands as they moved closer and closer to Harthon, who sent three of the looters to the ground. Three more took their place, apparently eager to die.
I closed the distance until I could see the filthy thief, his eyes trained forward on his target.
He was big. But I had the element of surprise.
I launched myself onto him, driving the dagger into his neck before he could even react. His body flopped twice beneath my thighs, and then he went limp.
I panted as I stared at the blood spurting from the wound, staining the earth. It had been too easy. He was dead. Just like that. Years of life, of conversations, of relationships, gone within half a heartbeat.
I’d never killed anyone before. Blood became a roaring river in my ears.
My breath shuddering, I pushed to my feet just as Harthon killed a final man with a stab in the kidney. Slowly, he turned to me, his face the brutal mask it always was in battle.
He opened his mouth to say something, but a small body hugged me from behind before he could speak.
“What the—” I lurched forward, ready to spin, when something sharp dug into my stomach. I looked down to see a dagger pressedinto my clothes and immediately stilled. The hand around the hilt was covered in grime and blood, but it was far too small to belong to a man.
Around me, the sounds of battle stopped, and a quick glance told me that no more looters stood.
Except for the one at my back.
I met Harthon’s eyes, waiting for him to unsheathe a dagger and prepare to throw, just like last time. But the lethal calm in his irises was tainted by…by pain or regret or something like it. His men crept forward, and that small hand jammed the dagger further into me.
The leather vest still protected my skin, but it could only withstand so much force.
“Stop!” a voice yelled. It was high-pitched and scared—the voice of a boy. A young boy, by the way it came from below my shoulders.
“Put the dagger down,” Harthon said slowly, inching forward a step. His gaze was hyper-focused on that hand, which now shook. The skin beneath the mangled fingernails was white with the pressure of his tight grip.
“I said,stop!” the boy shouted again.
Harthon displayed empty palms, continuing his slow crawl. “You don’t have to hurt people just because they did. Put the dagger down and I won’t kill you.”
The arm tightened and jerked me back. The force was weak, but I went anyway, not wanting to increase the tension.
A muscle popped in Harthon’s jaw. “You’re just a boy. You are not them. I know that,” he said, a plea mixed with the dark intensity of his voice.
Harthon didn’t want to kill this boy, but he would if he drove that dagger into me. But if the boy stabbed me, it wouldn’t be from malice. It would only be from fright and whatever he thought was the right thing to do because of the people he’d been with. Dread bandedaround my chest, much tighter than the boy’s scrawny arm.
Harthon was only paces away now. “I know what it’s like to think that a bad way of life is the only way of life because of your upbringing. You have a choice. You can be like them, or you can choose good.”
This was more than just a negotiation. This was personal to the warrior before me.
“How do I know you won’t kill me?” The small voice quivered with fright.
“You have my word. Now put down the dagger.”
The dagger only shook more, staying at my belly.
“Put it down now. I won’t say it again.” Harthon’s tone hardened.
“Y-you’re too close. Get away! I’ll do it!” The boy’s arm tensed, and I held my breath, dreading the moment that I was either stabbed or he was killed.
Harthon’s eyes slid to the side, and I followed his gaze to watch Stefano throw a dagger.
The boy screamed, and Harthon lunged, throwing the hand with the dagger away from my body as the arm around my waist disappeared. Grabbing my arm, he whirled me behind him before crouching low.
The boy’s screams turned to moans.
