Considering how often I’d landed on the ground, the praise didn’t seem deserved. I needed to be aquickerlearner if I was to benefit anytime soon.
“We’re doing it again tomorrow,” I told him.
He cocked his head. “I tend to give orders, not take them.”
“It’s a strong request, not an order.”
His eyes flicked between mine, studying the colors there. “Whatever themagvissays.”
At the term, the responsibilities ahead of me rushed in like a torrent. I had a role to play today, and while I’d owned it in front of Ellan’s soldiers last night, I’d have to play it well enough to convince a Princeps that I was something I was not.
At a party.
A soul-sucking event, according to Ana.
And I couldn’t fail. Convincing the world that I was themagviswas paramount to Harthon securing alliances and limiting attacks. While I didn’t care about Harthon’s success, I cared about my own safety. The last thing I needed was to be hunted by more Princepes who knew that I was a powerless villager who could only guide them into Centralis. The more of them who supported Harthon, the better off I was.
There is a lie within there,a voice in my head whispered.
No. I hadn’t wanted him to die when the looters attacked. But I didn’tcareabout his success. That was no lie.
Is that so?
A soft nudge on my elbow pulled me from the confusing thoughts,and I refocused on Harthon who nodded toward the woods. “Time to go. We have a few more hours of travel, and then we get to enjoy Ellan’s festivities,” he said without any enthusiasm.
“Does anyone actually have fun at his parties?” I asked, trudging beside him.
“Yes. Not my brand of fun, though, and probably not yours.”
Like he knew what I considered to be fun. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ll wish those pretty eyes of yours were kind enough to blind you.”
Chapter 16
The moment we entered Ellan’s periphery city of Botton, I knew I’d hate every moment of the remaining day. Trumpets—real, live trumpets—welcomed us into the city’s streets with their obnoxious, regal tones, and we were bombarded by food offerings and praise from the townspeople as we followed Edmund to the central hall.
Harthon simply looked ahead, enduring the onslaught with grim stoicism, while I struggled to stifle the grimace that pulled at my lips.
I lost the fight when we entered the hall, Edmund trailing behind us. It was a single, cavernous room, a tall ceiling arching high above us and thin windows spread amongst the walls. Tables formed neat rows across the space, and at the front of the room, separated by a wide gap and raised by a stone platform, lay a single table surrounded by cushioned chairs.
But the furniture wasn’t what created the bitter taste in my mouth.
It was the overflowing vases of flowers placed atop each table. Vibrant green and soft pink erupted from each vessel, not a single indication of wilting or rot visible in any display.
I didn’t dislike flowers. They were beautiful. More than that, they were extremely rare. So much so that I’d only ever seen a few because, like most plants, they no longer grew in nature. These stunningflowers had to have come from special farms or gardens that cared specifically for their growth—spaces that could instead be growing food for starving people.
But Ellan prioritized useless, frivolous flowers that served no purpose other than overindulgent decoration.
“Harthon!” a rich voice boomed across the space. The speaker waddled across the room toward us. His belly strained against the velvety, orange tunic that was tucked into gold-colored pants, the shiny hue matching the heavy chains on his neck and the crown on his short brown hair. A frizzy beard wrapped across his chin, and his cheeks were red with alcohol, heat, or a combination of the two.
“Ellan,” Harthon greeted with far less excitement.
“My friend,” Ellan exclaimed, wrapping Harthon in an enthusiastic hug as if they were old friends. Harthon stiffly patted him on the back. Ellan pulled back, squeezing Harthon’s shoulders as he grinned, revealing a gold-painted tooth. “It is so wonderful to see you. How kind of you to visit me.”
“Thank you for having us.” Harthon’s polite words lacked any sort of sincerity.
Without a speck of gray hair, Ellan couldn’t be much older than Harthon, but I’d never seen such greater contrast between two men in my life. I would bet my next five meals that Ellan had never wielded a weapon, much less fought to protect his Territory.
