“I’ve ridden with him many times, but coming to Fifth is more of a diplomatic mission. It’s usually better suited for the older men.”
“Clearly, he thinks you’re suited for it too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here,” I told him.
He blushed at the compliment, the reaction completely wholesome.
“You could have gone to the party, you know.”
Scratching his head, he shrugged. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing.”
“Which part? The self-righteous guests, the drunken antics, or the beautiful dancers wearing hardly any clothing?”
The red marking his cheeks deepened at the mention of the women. “Uh, probably all of it.”
It was ironic how he could be so deadly in battle but so innocent and naïve at the same time.
Taking mercy on him, I nudged his arm. “Well, I don’t think anyone should be cut out for that sort of thing. It was torture.”
“I’m sure you handled it well.”
I cringed. Getting drunk, drooling over the Princeps, and throwing intelligence to the wind didn’t exactly qualify ashandling it well. “There’s room for improvement.”
“Always is.” He paused, seeming to get lost in my eyes for a moment. Then he scratched his head again. “Well, uh, I should go mount my horse. You probably should too. Harthon’s waiting.”
As much as I wanted to stall further, the dismissal was awkward enough that keeping Stefano any longer would be torture for us both. I spun to see that Harthon was, in fact, waiting on his horse for me, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling just so.
I grabbed the hand he lowered toward me when I approached and ignored the lurch of nausea when I landed in the saddle. I didn’t say a word, not wanting to invite any conversation that would foray into yesterday’s idiocy.
Harthon was the one to break the silence as we left Botton, and it was only to pleasantly say, “Do me a favor and give me fair warning before you vomit. The horse won’t react well.”
Chapter 18
“Remind me again why your men had to wait behind?”
The fog we’d entered an hour ago had thickened into a heavy milky haze that blanketed us in cool moisture. It swallowed most of the crooked trees we wove through, so dense that anything beyond twenty paces from us was shrouded in cloud. The looters’ attack was still a fresh memory, and my skin crawled with invisible eyes that could be anywhere.
“Josenne doesn’t like visitors. If we want anything from her, it’s best to adhere to her preferences.”
But Josenne’s cottage was not in view, and it hadn’t been for the last ten minutes that we’d traveled alone.
“Could they not have accompanied us any further?” There could be ten, fifty, or hundreds of adversaries hiding in the fog, waiting to descend upon us.
“Yet again, I’m getting the feeling you don’t have faith in my ability to keep us safe. We’re almost there.”
Somewhere to our left, a stick cracked, and I jolted. Tension held my body taut as I sat rigid in the saddle, wishing I had a weapon in case something happened. Not that I would know what to do with it.
Hoping to distract myself, I asked, “What’s the plan with Josenne anyway? Ask her our question and leave?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously? That’s kind of rude, is it not?” Not that I was particularly well-versed in manners, but common sense suggested that bursting through the door, demanding an answer, and immediately leaving was impolite.
“Josenne will consider our arrival itself rude. The quicker we leave, the better the experience.”
I bit my lip in frustration. Not only was there no route locked within my mind, but we were pestering a woman who despised our interaction. “If she hates company so much, what makes you think she’ll offer any information?”
“She’s in my debt. She hates it, but she honors it.”
It was an odd circumstance, for a woman not even within his Territory to be indebted to him. Either Harthon had saved her from looters, or something had occurred before he’d become Princeps. Something within that elusive timeframe that he and his friends were so tightlipped about, save for his admission about his childhood last night.
