He didn’t question it. “How specific can you get with the location?”
“Right now, I only know it’s in the Territory, but with a little more time, I should have more detail.” I worried my lip. “Stefano and the looter boy were telling me about First and the people there. This isn’t going to be fun, is it?”
His mouth lifted into a wry smile. “I’d keep your expectations low.”
Chapter 8
“You get yourself back in bed, or I’ll drag you there myself.” Felda’s biting threat brought me up short, halfway off the bed.
Myownbed.
Not because Harthon had kicked me out of his, but because when I eventually came to my senses and realized I probably shouldn’t have kissed him, I felt it was the smart choice to make. He’d been the one to carry me here, refusing to let me walk, even though my room was right next door.
“Did you hear me? Your body was damaged, not your ears.”
I rolled my eyes, grateful my back was to the old woman. “The healer said I can move now.”
“You already have.Fourtimes, mind you,” she scolded.
Yesterday—day two of healing—had been the first time I’d ever talked back to her. Pain, tiredness, and frustration had dulled my fear of her bad temperament. Now, it seemed I couldn’t stop.
“He didn’t give me a limit.”
Dishes clattered. I turned to see her behind me, hands on her wide hips, a scowl wrinkling her chin. A tray of food sat on the bedside table. “He didn’t give you a limit because he thought you had more sense than a toddler. Clearly, he was wrong.”
Across the room, Frannie changed the water in my washing bowl. I didn’t know how she dealt with Felda day in and day out. It was a true talent.
“I’m—”
“Bed. Now.” She pointed at the ruffled spot where I’d laid for almost two days straight.
Heaving a sigh, I scooted backward, knowing I’d lose this battle. The door to my room swung open, and I caught a glimpse of North’s bald head in the hallway before Harthon crossed the threshold.
Harthon hadn’t exaggerated about guarding me. Either North or Callen had been outside my room at all hours. North probably wanted to kill me with his own hands at this point. Domus knew I was pulling him away from other, more desirable tasks, like ripping heads off of dolls.
Felda whirled around to face Harthon. “Good. Maybeyoucan make her stay in one place.”
She really just said that to her Princeps. And not just any Princeps, but one with a ruthless reputation and the ability to snap a neck within a second.
Harthon merely frowned. “The healer said she can move. I don’t see the problem.”
Felda looked from him, to me, then back to him. She threw her hands in the air. “You’re all the same. Reckless fighter types, too stubborn for your own good. It’s no wonder you’ve ripped so many of your own stitches.”
“She isn’t going into battle. Just walking.” He looked at me. “Right?
I rolled my eyes again. “I’ve only moved four times today. And that was all within this room. Ten steps at most.” I’d use Frannie as a witness if needed. Though by the way she silently kept her head down by the washing station, she didnotwant to get involved in this conversation.
“Have any of her wounds reopened?” Harthon asked.
Felda glared—glared—at him. “No, but they will if she does too much, and whose fault will that be? Hmm?”
Harthon seemed more entertained than offended, one side of his mouth hitching up as he said, “It won’t be your fault. I absolve you of all blame if Etarla opens her wounds.”
Felda grumbled beneath her breath, shaking her head. “She needs to heal.”
“She will. I’ll take care of her for the next few hours, and I take full responsibility for whatever state you find her in afterward.”
The old woman wasn’t the least bit mollified by that, harrumphing as she waved to Frannie and they bustled out the door.
