“Strength doesn’t matter if you’re dead,” I cut in, hands on my hips.
“We’re only minutes from the city. Send the healer out here. I won’t have to wait long.” He scooted himself against a tree trunk and rested his head on it.
When Harthon released a heavy sigh and stood, I wanted to smack him.
“Warriors get injured,” I reminded him. “No one will think less of us if they see him like this.”
Harthon shook his head. “Even if I agreed, Sixth Territory will be coming for us because they think we killed Aric. If we show up looking battle-weary and injured, it’ll make that story more credible.”
“But Stefano was injured inthisTerritory.”
“Saying that won’t make people believe it,” he asserted.
The whiz of flying steel ended our argument. My eyes snapped up to find the shaft of a dagger wobbling in a distant tree trunk. We traced its path to Stefano, who lowered his good arm.
“If I can hit a target like that,” he nodded to the tree, “then I can survive long enough for the healer to get here, and I can take care of any squirrels that try to eat me.”
I gritted my teeth as the three men looked at me expectantly. Domus forbid someone try to care for his health, because he wasn’t the immortal warrior they all thought themselves to be.
“You and I will be wrapped up talking to Ellan,” I tried.
“That’s why Joris is coming with us. He’ll get the healer here as quickly as possible.”
The mentioned man addressed me. “We’ll also get there quicker on our own than we would with Stefano,” Joris pointed out, clapping the shoulder of Stefano’s good arm before standing. “I agree this is the best course of action.”
Stefano delivered the killing blow when he languidly chirped, “The longer you stand here arguing, the longer it’ll take for me to get the help I need. I’d get going if I were you.”
Skies, I hated this. Pointing a finger at him, I threatened, “You’d better be fine when the healer gets here.”
“Yes, Ladymagvis,” he snarked.
His witty response did nothing to assuage my concern.
And I was not alone in worrying about him.
The moment we were on horseback, Harthon had us racing through the woods. It didn’t take long for Botton to rise ahead, greeting us with its weathered stone walls that parted only for the dirt path. Clearly expecting us, Edmund, Ellan’s second-in-command, emerged from the open gate with two soldiers behind him.
“Welcome, Princeps Harthon,” he greeted as we came close, bowing his head in respect. “I’ve been sent to escort you in.”
Harthon didn’t bother with formalities. “Our man needs a healer. Find one, and Joris here will take him.”
Edmund was quick to respond. “Of course. Let’s not waste time.” He wheeled his horse around and addressed the men with him. “Get the healer. I’ll bring them in.”
They took off in a slow trot as we followed Edmund closer to the walls.
“While he didn’t say so, I’m certain Princeps Ellan apologizes for the understated welcome. He’s been terribly preoccupied.”
Understated was one way to put it. The last time we’d entered these walls, trumpets and lines of people had greeted us. It’d been obnoxious. But from what I could see beyond the walls, all that laid ahead was an empty, dusty road.
In our worried urgency, I hadn’t noticed the relative quiet until now. With the city’s entrance still twenty paces away, the tempo of our horse’s hooves gradually slowed, an unspoken communication passing between Harthon, Joris, and me.
Because we knew this kind of quiet.
It was the kind we’d just experienced in First Territory and Centralis.
In First, that stillness had been a result of the Horrads. In Centralis, the Domus. It was the kind of quiet that was forced, produced by some outside influence. And the more it settled, the louder it became. The back of my neck pricked with the need to flee.
The warning came too late.
