Page 29 of Court of Treachery

Relief warmed her. He wasn’t going to be an ass about this—a gentleman instead, in fact. “I didn’t mean to mislead you—but the waterfall made me realise I didn’t want this. It’s for the best we remain friends, and nothing more. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.”

Aedon smiled ruefully, and rubbed the back of his neck with a palm. His eyes slipped shut—before he opened one a crack and shot her a sidelong glance. “Well. I can’t say this is a comfortable experience.” He let out a small chuckle. “But I appreciate the honesty. You’re probably right—look at what’s going on. I think I wanted a distraction,” he admitted, giving her a sheepish grin. “That was disrespectful of me. I’m?—”

“If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to punch you, Aedon.”

He laughed again—this time, spontaneous and genuine—and she warmed, smiling too with relief that this would not make things awkward between them.

“Why are you going to punch him?” Brand said, the scuff of his boot announcing his entrance a moment too late.

Aedon turned to Brand, with no hint of the animosity between them that had plagued them where Harper was concerned. “I have made a monumental ass of myself, and she is claiming rightful recompense.”

Brand smirked. “In that case, allow me to deliver your justice, Harper?”

Harper snorted. The giant Aerian would knock the elf flat. “We do still need him—I think.”

“Ouch,” exclaimed Aedon, glaring at her with mock offence. “You wound me!”

“I think that’s the point,” Brand said drily, glancing between them. “Is everything alright here?” His gaze settled on Harper, his expression impassive.

She caught the implied undertone, and stood, smoothing down her shirt. “We’re good. Thanks. Right?” She looked down at Aedon, still that small coil of anxiety worried that either way, the tentative friendship that bloomed between her and the others would somehow be tarnished or worse, ruined.

But the smile he gave her was genuine, if a little withdrawn. “Aye. We’re good.”

“Good,” said Brand with a sharp nod. “Glad to hear it.”

Harper wondered if he had understood what had passed between them—or how much he had seen. But she had nothing to cringe about, she realised. She had not allowed him to take advantage of her—or allowed herself to compromise in the face of what would have been an easier indulgence, if a hollow one. She had drawn her boundary—and then she had defended it. There was no shame in that, she realised.

Harper straightened, the steel in her bolstered momentarily in the face of so much uncertainty and change. That was what she needed, she realised. The faith in herself to keep the candle of hope burning despite the storm that raged outside her. That self-assurance would help her face whatever tomorrow brought. Ragnar depended upon it.

25

HARPER

Brand retreated back down the hall and into his room, his wings scraping on the doorframe with assshhh. His door closed with a snap.

“Right. I’m going to gather the shreds of my dignity in private. Sleep well,” Aedon said as he stood, cracking a small grin her way. He disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door without another word.

Harper glanced between Brand’s closed door and Aedon’s. She swallowed. The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin, and it made her shudder with the wrongness of how it felt to stretch that budding friendship into something so romantically intimate. She could still taste his lips upon hers. In the silence of her solitude, she was even more deeply glad she had stopped the kiss—and averted what would have been a terrible mistake.

Harper crossed to her room and closed the door, grateful for privacy. Her pack rested beside the bed. A wave of exhaustion, kept at bay by what had just happened, engulfed her. The room moved as she swayed. She had no energy to take note of her surroundings. She slid off her boots and tumbled onto the bed fully clothed.

That night, nightmares haunted Harper. Spectres of Ragnar and the goblins, twisting and mutating into each other in the darkness. Then it shifted and the spymaster was before her—and it was him she kissed, not Aedon—for she could not escape herself in her dreams, nor find it in herself to feel shame at her desires. However, his face blurred between the two of them, Aedon and Dimitri, Dimitri and Aedon, and she fought revulsion and attraction as the conflicting feelings rolled over each other, as turbulent as rushing water.

Her rest was fitful, and in the morning, she woke bleary-eyed and with a throbbing head to the sound of running water. The faelight in the alcove above her head glowed brighter, as if daytime. Harper sat up with a groan, both at her tiredness and her aching body. She stumbled to the other room in her suite to find a bathing room similar to the one she had used in Dimitrius’s quarters at Tournai—and through her dizzy exhaustion, that left her with a pang of something else she did not want to name. Here, a small trough had continuously running water flowing from one side to the other, then out through a pipe. She washed her hands and face gratefully. The cold water was a sharp relief that banished some of the haziness.

It was silent outside her room, and she surmised the others had not yet roused, so she stripped off her clothes, peeling away the last layer that stuck to her skin with sweat and grime, and dumped them unceremoniously onto the floor. Harper wrinkled her nose at the thought of having to put them back on, but there was no other option.

She ran the taps until the bathing hollow filled with hot, steaming water, and eased herself in with a grateful moan. The heat stripped away the worst of her aches. Grabbing her shirt from the floor, she dunked it into the water, scrubbing it with the soap and wringing it out. She held it up. It looked slightly cleaner, which was better than nothing. The water turned fromclear to murky as she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. After she was done, she sat for a few minutes with her knees drawn up to her chest, deep in thought as the previous night washed over her. Aedon’s actions played over in her mind. His unexpected advance, her rebuttal, and the aftermath. And more than that, what it meant for her—that she wanted the spymaster.

Dimitrius.

She shuddered as she thought his name, torn by revulsion and longing that distance from him only intensified. Why was she so fixated by him? What did this desire that threatened to become an obsession make her? A fool? Or worse? Harper did not know. Perhaps mercifully, no answers returned. Her thoughts returned to Ragnar and her resolve steeled as she pushed aside her selfish concerns with a tinge of guilt. Ragnar needed them.

No one remarked upon what had transpired the previous night. Judging by Erika’s silence and her curious glances between Harper and Aedon, Brand had already told her. Jarl Halvar’s knock upon the door was a welcome relief from the air of anxiety that curdled any conversation between them. Harper could barely eat as it was—she felt far too nauseated at what they were to face that day.

“König Korrin will see you now,” the Jarl said. It was not a request.

They made ready and followed him into the city. They passed through long, soaring hallways, vast caverns filled with buildings carved into the rocks, and grand courtyards with skies and trees of stone. Bright faelight illuminated all, and Harper gaped at thedetails she had missed in the gloom of the previous night. Now, Keldheim bustled, dwarves rushing to and fro with purpose.

---