I might as well have dared him to challenge me. A terribly foolish move, given who he was. The man had defeated a Princeps’ army and usurped a throne with nothing but his mercenaries. He thrived on challenges.
He smiled, baring his teeth in a way that rocked me with unease. “Walk with me.”
Reminding myself that I wasn’t threatened, I followed him over to the ship’s railing to see the seas were still calm. He bent down and snatched a stray scrap of wood, turning it in his hand.
Resting his arms on the railing, he asked, “How familiar are you with sea life?”
“Merelda taught me the basics. Shells, fish, predators—though many of them are probably dead by now. Apparently the seas died with the Domus, just like the land.”
He dipped his chin. “This is true. But there are always survivors.” Again, he turned that wood in his hands. “They survive because they’re scrappy, and because they know where their greatest chance at a meal lies. Right now, where do you think that is?”
I searched the sea around us, finding nothing but white foam and smooth water. Still, I didn’t like where this conversation was going. “This ship has an awful lot of meals.”
“It does.” He tossed the scrap wood into the ocean. It hit with a splash, then floated at the surface. It sat there, calmly bobbing as we sailed away from it.
“You’re trying to make some kind of point, but I’m having trouble—”
A shape erupted from the water, just behind the driftwood. Smooth gray skin and a jagged fin arced through the air before crashing back into the sea, which rippled in the aftermath. It was but a moment of violence.
The scrap of wood was gone.
Shark, I think the term was. Apex predators, rows of razor sharp teeth, indiscriminate in their prey—Merelda’s lesson easily came back to me.
Eying Harthon warily, I said, “Those things would eat me.”
“They would,” he agreed, far too casually.
I took a small step away, because I knew exactly where his mind was. “One, you need me to lead us into the Domus. You can’t risk me. And two, it would be incredibly un-magvis-like to have you chase me around this deck.”
“I already told you about sailors and their tall tales. I’m not concerned. And as for your first excuse, I’m fully confident you’ll call on this thing inside you so that you don’t end up in the ocean as a meal.”
I stared at him, wondering how serious he was. There wasn’t even the smallest hint of humor on his chiseled features. Nothing that told me this was just a hypothetical.
“You realize this is completely unhinged,” I warned. “You can’t throw me to the sharks. And despite all your talk, I don’t believe you will.”
Was it wise to lay down yet another challenge? No. But Harthon would never actually risk me.
His easy shrug had me questioning that. “You’re right that I wouldn’t harm you. But I believe so strongly in your ability to do this that I’m not concerned.”
If Harthon believed—reallybelieved—I could do this, then maybe he really was serious. Because to him, this wouldn’t count as putting me in danger.
It would be an extreme measure. But Harthon was uncompromising as a warrior, used to gritty fights and forcing his way to victory. This wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
I took another step away from him. “We’re not doing this.”
“Who’s training who?” He shifted to face me, still leaning on that railing.
“Training’s over,” I decided.
“You’re being a coward.”
“No, I’m just embracing my survival instincts.”
“And I’m helping you build them.” He took a single step forward.
That was all it took.
Like a frightened rabbit, I dashed away from him, back to the center of the ship where we’d started. He’d left a spare sword and two daggers on the deck. I grabbed the largest of the blades and spun to see him stalking toward me.
