He stiffened. “Harthon doesn’t put the blame on me, but I know better.”
At the mention of Harthon, a whirlwind of chaotic emotions battered my belly. “Where is he?”
“In the war tent,” he answered. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a full day, and I’m supposed to notify him when you wake. I’ll send someone over now.” He rose to his feet. A heavy sword hung at his hip, and daggers dangled from straps across his chest.
Stefano was always armed, but never so heavily.
I flung the blanket off me and scooted to the edge of the furs. “I’ll go talk to him myself.”
Like it was listening, the warm sensation in my chest flared, and I flinched—not because it was painful, but alarmingly odd.
Foreign as it was, I knew its presence was a blessing. It was there that the way into the Domus now lived—an underground path only themagvishad known of, before passing it to me as she died. The same path that would bring us through the walls that killed our land, and to the thriving city within them.
Finally, we could access the resources there, and stave off the suffering of our forsaken, withering world.
But that was difficult to appreciate as I shoved to my feet and pain radiated through every muscle, reminding me I’d just run through the woods and flung myself down a roaring river.
Crisp air brushed my exposed calves as my gaze moved around the tent, searching for the boots I’d come here with. “Where’s the war tent?”
“Etarla, you can’t.” Stefano’s words brought my search to a halt.
“What?”
He grimaced. “You can’t go talk to him. You need to stay here.”
“Are we under attack?”
He shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. “I can’t allow you to leave the tent.”
The heat within me instantly cooled.
Allow?
There was a time I had been Harthon’s prisoner, but now I stood at his side as an equal. I’d attended meetings with his cabinet. I’d helped him secure an alliance with Sixth Territory’s Princeps, Aric. I posed as the all-powerfulmagvis,for Domus’ sake—she who could manipulate the natural world. The weapon of kings past.
I wasnoprisoner.
Yet, as I stared into Stefano’s regretful eyes, I began to doubt that.
“If I tried to walk out of this tent right now, what would happen?”
“I would stop you.” By the set of his shoulders, he spoke the truth. And he was far too skilled for me to outmaneuver him.
Outrage took root, souring my empty stomach. “Under whose orders?”
It was a wasteful question. I already knew the answer. I just didn’t want to believe it.
“Harthon’s.”
The now-familiar feeling of betrayal settled on my chest, suffocatingly heavy and terribly sharp. “Why?”
He glanced at the tent’s entranceway. “Look, they’re preparing for an attack out there. Koerlyn will be charging us within the day, and—”
“Give me the real reason, Stefano.”
His chest rose on a labored inhale. He sighed it out before delivering the blow. “He doesn’t trust you not to run off to Koerlyn again.”
I recoiled like he’d slapped me.
