I wasn’t sure what else I could negotiate, what else I could say to save the men’s lives. I didn’t know this clan, their motivations, their way of life. I was floundering like a fish that’d been spat onto a riverbank.
They wanted to battle.
My attention flitted to Harthon, because he was subtly nodding, determination painted across the strong lines of his face, as if one-hundred-to-four odds were acceptable.
They weren’t.
But I knew which oddswere.
I lifted a single finger and faced the Horrad. There was no response, so I kept my finger up and pointed at them before pointing to Harthon. Then I held invisible blades in my hands and knocked them together.
One versus one.
Their best fighter versus ours.
The light breeze that’d been filtering through the woods suspended, like it, too, was holding its breath.
The fabric hood moved on a single, sure nod.
They glanced at Stefano and the other three and pivoted back to me.Choose one, the gesture said.
Ropes squeezing my insides tight, I lifted a trembling hand and pointed at Harthon.
Chapter 28
Never in my life had I encountered a man more ferocious than Harthon. He often stood among the tallest men, his frame a scarred tapestry of muscle built on death and destruction. But that wasn’t what made him so indomitable. It was the way in which he carried himself, the power and capability conveyed in every motion, the unpretentious confidence and quiet promise of victory that lived in his rugged features.
And he had the record to prove it.
But when the Horrads chose their fighter, I wondered if I was finally witnessing an equal match, because lumbering through the slowly parting crowd was a goliath. The Horrad towered a head above those he passed, his body so thick, he was as wide as two humans standing side by side. The rags were too small for him in places, creasing around bulging biceps and stretching taut over an impossibly broad chest. The flatness of that chest suggested he was a man, but for all I knew, it could have been a monster or a destructive spirit that’d sprouted a terrifying human form.
Sticks turned to dust beneath his massive, weathered boots as he stalked into the circle the Horrads had created. Stefano had been moved to the side and shoved between Aric and Joris,close to where Harthon was rising to his feet and shaking out his recently freed hands.
By some blessing, his legs appeared steady, though the dried blood packed across his temple served as a stark reminder that he’d been unconscious only minutes ago.
His dark eyes raised to mine, and I tried my hardest to convey my confidence in him. I feared none of it made it out of my head and into my face, because worry and guilt and anxiety were pulling my skin tight, choking me from the outside in.
Before I’d negotiated this, he was going to die. Now, there was a chance of survival, and of all our men, he held the greatest chance of victory. Logic told me I should consider this a fortunate turn of events. But all I could think was if Harthon died in this makeshift ring, it wouldn’t be because of the Horrads, who’d dealt out a slow, torturous death. It would be because of the decision I’d just made. Becausethiswas all I’d been able to negotiate.
It would be because of me.
And that would break me beyond repair.
Tears pressed against my throat, constricting it further. I tried not to choke on them as I read his expression. Coolheaded poise. No worry lines creasing his eyes, no anxious pull to his lips.And that’s after seeing his opponent,I reminded myself.
It was everything I expected.
But this time, for the first time, I couldn’t find comfort in his steadiness. I was about to watch him fight for his life at my own choosing.
The giant approached the Horrad leader, who extended an expectant hand. He untied a roped weapons belt from his waist and handed it over before lumbering to the center of the circle empty-handed. There, he faced Harthon.
“Weapons?” I forced my vocal chords to work and punctuated the word by slashing an invisible dagger through the air.
A single, stern shake was the reply.
Cold washed over my skin as I sat back on the stool, nervously watching Harthon. No weapons meant he’d have to get close to the behemoth to take him down.Fartoo close.
Harthon processed this news with a slight twist of his lips that hinted at annoyance, as though this were some pesky inconvenience.
