Before I could ask what he meant, Harthon leaned close to my ear. “He’s giving you an escape. Take it and run so at least one of us isn’t miserable,” he whispered, and I cracked a wry smile.
Ellan watched the exchange with a faltering grin. “What’d you tell her?”
“I reminded her not to burn your hall to ashes before the party,” Harthon answered casually.
The grin vanished, replaced by wariness. “She wouldn’t…there’s no…there’s no need to do that. She wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that, right?”
But I was already walking away, not caring that the two women by the door could see the silent laughter escaping my lips.
They led me to a sitting room tucked behind the hall, where I was met with a steaming bath, a decadent spread of bread and cheese, and chairs upholstered in a loud orange velvet.
Orange was apparently Ellan’s color.
Without meeting my eyes, one of the women told me I’d have a few hours to bathe, relax, and prepare myself. When she offered to return to style my hair and help me dress, I refused. I didn’t need strangers tugging on my hair and smearing colors onto my face.
The moment they left, I stripped off my cloak and began one hundred repetitions of each jab and kick just as Harthon had instructed. I needed the practice, and it was the only way I could release the vexation Ellan had awoken with startling efficiency. WhenI finished, I ran through a series of evasions, combining spins, ducks, and step-backs in an effort to familiarize my muscles with the foreign movements.
The bath was cool by the time I got in, but the fireplace kept the water from freezing, and I indulged in a long soak after going so long without a rinse. Afterward, I braided my hair and pulled on the same clothes I’d come in, realizing that my clean garments were left with the horse. Nothing was keeping me from leaving the room and getting them myself, but I didn’t want to traipse around Fifth on my own.
My aversion was silly. I was with Harthon as the Princeps’ guest. There was also the fact that I was a terrifying, mysterious being, at least in the eyes of the people. It was unlikely that anyone would try to harm me.
As I worked through the logic, I realized that it wasn’t fear of danger that kept me from opening the door. It was the knowledge that I was an imposter in an unknown world, and I didn’t want to navigate it alone.
You need Harthon.
I audibly groaned, collapsing onto the couch.
I did need him, more than I should.
At some point, I’d started relying on him for more than physical protection. He…he was the one to ground me when I was so far outside of my element. He opened my eyes to new knowledge, invited naïve questions with patience, and held me upright when every new experience knocked me off-kilter.
I hated it.
I hated how I depended on him, and yet I couldn’t stop, because he was all I had in this nightmare I’d been thrust into—a nightmarehewas responsible for.
The angry thought immediately felt…wrong.
Harthon hadn’t given me these eyes. He hadn’t even been the first to take me captive. It’d been Koerlyn, and had Harthon not ambushed us and stolen me away, I’d still be with that cruel, evil man. I might even be dead.
None of that made Harthon a hero, though. He still kept me from home. He was still determined to use me to enter Centralis. Being with him had brought me more danger than my previous life had ever delivered. These were all things forced upon me.
And yet, if Harthon weren’t the one doing it, it would certainly be someone else, because those tree men had seen my eyes change at themagvis’ hand, and there was no escaping that fact. If anything, Harthon had given me all I needed to understand my situation, leaving me better informed and more capable of survival than I would have been otherwise.
So this nightmarish reality was themagvis’ fault, not Harthon’s. I couldn’t hold that against him.
I didn’t think there was much to hold against him at all, not if all he’d shown me of himself was true. He cared for the well-being of his people and shirked the selfishness of high society. With the exception of North, his friends were kind, and he’d saved that boy when any other soldier would have killed him like the rest. He wasdifferent.So incredibly different from what I expected him to be, and he only continued surprising me.
Would it really be so bad to lead him to Centralis and make him king?
Of the two other Princepes I’d met, Harthon was certainly the best leader. Koerlyn would raze villages to the ground, and Ellan would, I don’t know, force everyone to wear that horrible orange and replace their food gardens with flowers.
Compared to that, Harthon was by far the best option.
But power had a way of warping the minds of men, of making them into monsters, and I didn’t want the responsibility of giving anyoneaccess to that kind of control.
Itwasn’tmy responsibility to have.
For the thousandth time, I wished that I’d never left the village boundaries and encountered themagvis.If I was home, I’d be trapping at this moment, hopefully catching a meal to cook tonight after selling firewood. Routine would be carrying me through the day, and I would remain an insignificant speck—as Harthon had so bluntly put it before—controlling my own survival, caring for Merelda, and doing nothing more. None of these confusing, loud thoughts would be racing through my brain, bombarding me with feelings and decisions and too much uncertainty.
