But the look in his eyes wouldn’t get us out of this mess. We were surrounded by more bodies than even he could fight off. The only thing that would make these final moments easier was holding on to the strength in his gaze and returning it with my own.
I clung to that small comfort as the flaps of the tent parted and three Horrads emerged from its depths. The leader was obvious. Though significantly shorter than the two bodies flanking them, the central Horrad wore a long, swooping necklace of earth-toned beads. No one else I’d seen was wearing ornaments like this.
I waited for them to say something, because that was what leaders did: speak, enjoy the sound of their own voice, and make decisions and decrees. But this one didn’t.
Their silence, the way the Horrads covered their bodies entirely—it was almost as if they were hiding. Fromwhat, exactly, was the question. As far as I knew, they were the greatest predators in this Territory.
I wondered if I would even have the chance to solve that mystery.
That wonder swiftly turned to doubt as the leader walked toward me. When they lithely crouched, their blank canvas filling my vision, my mind emptied entirely.
This, before me, wasdeath.
A gloved hand whipped out and caught my chin. Firm pressure tilted my face up, then turned it left and right. Like the two Horrads before, this one studied my eyes. The hand on my chin traveled to my throat, tightened, and hauled me up with so much force, I had no choice but to follow. Down the line, Harthon jerked. His attempt to stand was quickly met with four weapons pointed at his head.
“I’m fine,” I wheezed.
It was strange, hearing a voice in that quiet. But just because the Horrads were silent didn’t mean we had to be, and there was little left to lose.
I thought the leader’s hand might squeeze harder in punishment, but air continued to skate down my throat. I watched the Horrad as they watched me, their head levelwith mine. With their smaller stature, they might have been a woman.
The leader nodded and the Horrads who’d followed them out of the tent stepped up, all three of them scrutinizing my irises. The hand on my throat returned to my chin, turning my face side to side again.
One of the Horrads pointed to the sky.
It was met with a sharp head shake.
The first Horrad insisted, indicating the clouds above with more emphasis.
The leader shoved their face into mine, so close that the gaping fabric nearly skimmed my nose. It reeked of foul, unbathed skin and something else—something bitter, like chamomile or wormwood.
Their breath.
They withdrew and firmly expressed their disagreement.
Again,the Horrad waved above, but this time, it was hesitant. For several breaths, the two of them stared at one another, the third looking on.
I didn’t know whose opinion—if any—was in our favor, but I silently begged for their success.
Finally, a victor was chosen. The Horrad who’d pointed to the sky dropped their hand, shoulders slumping. The leader released my head and sent a brutal kick into my knee.
I crashed into the ground, pain bursting into my calf and thigh. The strike had knocked my knee inward, testing the strength of my muscles. I only knew it wasn’t broken because I managed to withhold my cry.
It was strikingly clear, then, that the prevailing opinion wasnotin our favor. The prevailing opinion meant pain. Suffering.
Death.
In a flurry of movement, Stefano was hauled off his knees and forced before us and the horde of Horrads. A new degree offear gripped me, so raw and consuming, it stripped a piece of me away.
All pretense vanished. Stefano struggled, shoulders jerking, legs swinging until two more Horrads stepped in and wrangled them, carrying him. Some of the weapons that’d been aimed at Harthon moved to Joris, who was trying to prevent whatever was about to happen.
My vision went hazy, the throbbing in my knee disappearing as I watched, helpless, my soul beginning to shred at the inevitable.
Not Stefano. Not Stefano.
Tendons in Harthon’s cheek rippled, his head shaking in a slow, awful rhythm—the only motion that wouldn’t get him stabbed by the wooden blades jutting toward his eyes.
A heavy punch to Stefano’s gut sent him down. A hand gripped his ear. Someone raised a dagger.
