“The walls appeared, King Donon sealed himself inside the Domus, and First Territory’s Princeps was given free reign over his people. He was just as mad then as he is now. His people didn’t like it, and fears about the Domus spread quickly.”
Three sutures down, one to go.
“The Horrads began as small factions that broke away to live in the quiet of the wilderness, but they quickly grew. The silence and clothing supposedly developed later as their numbers increased and the land continued to die.”
It felt like no coincidence that they’d begun concealing their skin and voices as the Domus’ impact worsened. A strange theory surfaced. “Do you think they’re trying to hide from the Domus?”
“I’ve always wondered that myself. After this, I’m even more certain,” he replied. “From the way they reacted to your eyes, their beliefs do seem directly connected to those walls.”
“Maybe it isn’t belief so much as fear. Like they think the Domus will suck the life out of them, too, if they expose themselves,” I suggested as I delicately tied off the end. The stitches were a little uneven, but decent for my first time. “Whatever it is, I’m surprised they adopted such a drastic change in such a short amount of time.”
“I’m not,” Harthon said.
I set the needle down and dampened another rag. Kneeling at his back to clean the scrapes there, I asked, “Why?”
“Our beliefs are what drive us—our actions, thoughts, emotions. Once you establish a belief, all of those things follow immediately. I’ve found it doesn’t matter how extreme they might seem.”
“You’re speaking from experience?”
“When I was young, I believed I needed to make my father happy. When I grew older, I believed my sole purpose was to destroy him.” The muscles of his back expanded on an inhale. “Everything I did from then on worked toward that goal. When I broke from my father with a few men who followed me, we continued as mercenaries, killing for payment so I could amass the wealth I needed to build and arm our small force. None ofour targets were ever innocent, but we did the bidding of bad men because it was a temporary need in pursuit of the greater goal.”
Harthon didn’t speak about his past often. I knew enough about its horrors to understand why, so it felt like a precious gift any time he shared it with me. And he could take it away the moment he felt too vulnerable, like a frightened hare darting from a threat. For that reason, I made sure to keep my touch steady as he continued.
“Once I did kill my father, my belief evolved. My purpose was to destroy Princeps Tamen, the man my father had committed so many crimes for. So I did that, I took his place, and now my purpose is to repent for all the suffering we caused—to end the terror that comes at the hands of greedy men. To try to do some damned good. So I took you captive and forced you to help me, and now I’ve taken you into hostile lands any sane man would avoid.”
I stopped my ministrations. “Don’t oversimplify my involvement.”
He twisted, peering at me over his shoulder. “My point is, I have gone to many extremes for the things I believe in,” he said quietly, before facing forward again. “In that way, I understand these people, even when they intended to kill us.”
This conversation was no longer about the Horrads. It was about the troubles that haunted him, the thread of guilt that was so tightly woven into the fabric of his soul.
“Do you regret those extremes?” I asked gently.
He answered easily. “No—not those that led to my father and Tamen’s deaths.”
“And what about the others?
“I don’t regret those that brought you to me,carella.” He released a labored sigh. “But as for everything else? That depends on how successful our journey into the Domus is.”
Chapter 30
It was the middle of the night when Harthon woke me with a light nudge of my shoulder and a fleeting kiss to my forehead, yet I was more awake than I’d ever been.
An unnatural buzz surged through me, every heartbeat sending a frantic kind of energy to the ends of my limbs. If I couldn’t already guess the cause, the fever pulsating beneath my ribs was making it rather obvious. The core of knowledge was ready, eager, and annoyingly impatient.
My hands trembled as we donned our cloaks, which the Horrads had returned to us last night. When Harthon observed me with concern, I explained, “It’s antsy.”
He stuffed a bundle of flatbread into a pocket. “Good.”
Stefano, Joris, and Aric were ready and waiting outside, the wolf standing dutifully with them. The camp was quiet, but several Horrads paid us mind from a distance. The leader, identified by their long, beaded necklace, was among them.
Harthon quickly catalogued them. “We’re just going to go, and we’ll adjust our strategy if needed.” When everyone murmured their agreement, Harthon nodded to me. “Lead the way.”
Never would I have thoughtI’dever be leading two Princepes through hostile lands.
Do your thing,I encouraged the little heart of knowledge. Not that it needed a push. As if it’d grown arms, it was shoving against my chest, propelling me around our tent with the undeniable force I’d only ever felt in my dreams.
Harthon could have told me to stop, and I wouldn’t have been able to.
