“Brother? What do you say?”
Marsik chose her side, the traitor. “Bossy. Per usual.”
I gave him a pointed look, one he received from me often. “You only say that because I keep telling you not to drink.”
He nodded emphatically. “Exactly—bossy. I’m a grown man who can do whatever he wants.”
“I’mconcerned. There’s a difference!”
Logs rustled in the fireplace, where Harthon was stoking the low flame. The bouncing light revealed what looked suspiciously like humor on his face. It vanished when he stood and came over to us. “I’ll send the healer to your rooms, and you can make the decision to either turn him away or let him help.”
“An excellent compromise,” Merelda applauded with far more enthusiasm than necessary. Skies,she was smitten with the man.
Harthon gave her a nod, then extended his hand toward Marsik.
Marsik eyed the appendage like it was an insect. With a scoff, he crossed his arms. “We didn’t make it this far, son, for me to hand you the only thing that has kept us alive.”
My lips parted as realization dawned.
Harthon wanted his weapons.
He didn’t trust them—the people who’draisedme.
Spearing Harthon with a glare, I pointedly said, “You don’t have to hand anything over, Marsik.”
Harthon didn’t even regard me. “Etarla might know you, but I don’t. And I’m not taking any risks where she’s concerned.”
Marsik, who stood half a head shorter than him, puffed out his chest.
I rolled my eyes. “They are the furthest thing from a risk to me.”
“If there is a weapon here, you’re in danger. I’m not allowing you to get hurt again,” he stated implacably.
Pushing down my temper, I rose and approached their stand-off. Marsik’s lip was curled beneath his mustache—a tell-tale sign that he was eager to escalate the situation.
“Harthon,” I prodded.
He ignored me, his hand still extended.
Screw it.
I physically inserted myself between the two men, Harthon at my front so he couldn’t ignore me. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I tried again. “Harthon, I need you to trust me. Let them keep their weapons.”
Trust.
After everything, that was a heavy word. A telling word, too, because I realized in that moment how much Iwantedhim to trust me. How much I needed him to forgive me, toknowme.
As he stood there, unmoving, I readied myself for the burn of disappointment.
With painstaking slowness, he lifted a brow. “You’re right.” My head tilted in confusion, because it didn’t seem like he was talking to me. “Sheisbossy.”
The heavy tension in the room broke. Merelda chuckled while I stood there wide-eyed, too surprised to argue back.
Harthon lowered his hand. “I will be right outside this door,” he informed us. “If I hear anything out of place, I’m coming in, and I won’t be knocking.”
When he didn’t move away, I realized I still clung to his shoulders.
I quickly dropped my hands. “What about the celebration?” From the noise that shook the walls, it wasn’t even close to ending.
