Two soldiers passed, and I nodded at them.
I was too focused on not grimacing to realize there was one more step to this staircase than I thought. The heel of my injured leg slipped from the edge of that last step, and hit the groundwith a hard jolt. Harthon whipped a hand around my arm, steadying me. I landed on my feet and no one seemed to notice, but the moment didn’t go unpunished. A hiss escaped my lips as fire lanced through my thigh.
I kept walking, ignoring Harthon’s look. I wasn’t waiting until tomorrow to see Stefano.
Three hallways later, we were met with another staircase. This time, Harthon did stop. Did he mean to turn us back around, thinking I couldn’t handle it?
I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine when he lifted me into his chest in one smooth motion.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, roping my arms around his shoulders.
“This hallway and staircase are empty,” he said, easily carrying me as he jogged down the stairs.
They were. And while I didn’t enjoy accepting the help, I’d been seriously dreading another descent after my slip-up. Skies, how would I make it back upstairs later?
We hit the landing, and he didn’t set me back on my feet until voices drifted toward us, warning of people. Thankfully, no more stairs were required to reach the wooden door where we stopped.
The potent scent of herbs swallowed me as we entered. It was an aroma I’d grown familiar with the past few days, every time Felda or the healer slathered a thick, brown ointment over the stitches. I never wanted to smell it again.
But I quickly forgot it when I took in the scene before me. Stefano lay propped in a bed, one eye swollen and purple. But it was the sight of the looter boy sleeping on a bench beside him that struck me silly.
Stefano raised a finger to his lips, which formed a tired smile when he saw us. The sheet fell from his arm as he did so,revealing bandages running from wrist to shoulder. Hopefully, that was the worst of it. In reality, it probably wasn’t.
Forgetting my own pain, I was at his bedside in a heartbeat. I probably should have started with a hello, or maybe athank you for helping me stay alive.Instead, I whispered, “I gave you explicit instructionsnotto give your life for me. And what do you do? Face armed mercenaries head-on.”
He made a point of looking at himself. “I’m still alive,” he said slowly.
“Barely.” He was bedridden, covered in bandages and bruises.
He snorted. “Give me a little credit, will you?”
Why wasn’t he taking this seriously? He almostdiedfor me. “Your loyalty is going to get you killed.”
“Loyalty is a dumb reason to give your life.”
“Then why did you stay and fight? We should both be dead. The odds were stacked against us.”
“I didn’t want you to die.”
My brows crashed together. “Well, I didn’t want me to die either, but that’s no reason to put my life above yours.”
Blotches of red bloomed on his round cheeks, and he scratched his head. The movement caused the blankets to lower, revealing the top edge of another damn bandage. Clearing his throat, he said, “I believe you’re going to help us change this world. Your life may be the most important one here.”
His statement shouldn’t have hit me as hard as it did.
I was fully aware that I was going to bring Harthon into the Domus. Callen, Ana, and North knew it, too. But to hear someoneoutsideour small circle speak like—like I was some sort of savior…
It didn’t sit right.
I was no savior. Someone else had given me this knowledge, and now I was just doing what needed to be done, and tryingnot to die or mess up too badly in the process. And there was no guarantee we would actually succeed in entering the Domus’ walls.
“While I appreciate your faith, you should lower your expectations,” I told him.
“And you should give yourself more credit.”
Brushing his comment aside, I said, “Well, I thinkyourlife is very important, and if you ever actually die for me, I’ll kill you. Again.”
Stefano frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
