“What?” she asked innocently. “Your eyes may not be brown any longer, but you can certainly see. And the sight is superb.”
“We can talk about the Princeps in private,” I tried.
But she was on a roll. “I’ve been so worried about how you were faring, but clearly, it couldn’t have been so bad with this as your view.”
“For Domus’ sake,Merelda.”
She patted my arm. “Just an observation. Nothing to get worked up over.”
I should’ve turned around to tell Harthon that, yes, we would go to my room. But now I was too embarrassed to face him.
Fortunately, Harthon cleared his throat and said, “Follow me.”
As I helped Merelda up from the chair, she whispered, “The fact that you’re all flustered tells me all I need to know.”
“You could’ve justaskedme what you wanted to know.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” She leaned heavily on my arm when she rose to her feet. “All I need is your arm, dear.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just my age,” she answered soothingly.
She’d never been one to limp around. She slept long nights, but she never rested during the day, constantly doing laundry or cleaning despite me telling her to rest.
Something had happened. But I let it slide, because I was just so relieved she was here. Reality could crash down on us later.
When we reached the first set of stairs, Harthon circled back to us. “Allow me.” He gestured at where she held my arm.
I swear Merelda’s eyes sparkled. “Why, yes.”
With delicate movements, he lifted her in his arms like she was a piece of fine porcelain and carried her up the stairs. My heart jumped as I followed in their wake. He didn’t set her down, even when we reached the top and continued on.
“Making me look bad,” Marsik complained beside me.
“Don’t take it personally. He does that to everyone,” I told him.
“What, carry them? Or make them look bad?”
Well, he sure liked to carry me around when he felt I needed it, but I’d meant, “The second one.”
“I’ll have you know that back in the day, I was a strapping young man, too. And I was a force on the battlefield.”
Marsik drank a lot, but when he was sober, he was still mighty capable. “I imagine that’s how you survived the past few weeks.”
“All I know is I need a fucking drink,” he muttered.
Of course he did. For once, I didn’t think I could be mad at him for it.
Once we reached my room, Harthon carefully deposited Merelda in a seat. “Food and water will be here soon, and your guest rooms are being prepared. Do you need a healer?”
Merelda patted his shoulder. “You are a gracious host. But no, there’s nothing that won’t heal with a bit of rest.”
Eying her leg, I said, “You need to see a healer.”
“Still as bossy as ever, I see,” she chided.
“I’m not bossy. I’m concerned.”
