“It’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s just fear magic.”
“Yes, that’s quite clear.”
“It didn’t bother you.” It’s an accusation.
“Didn’t it?” I gesture to my body with trembling hands. “For someone who judged me for killing so casually, you certainly didn’t hesitate. Why?”
“Because he attacked you.”
“Shouldn’t he have a trial or something?” I ask.
“Is that how you do things in the city?”
“It’s supposed to be, but—” I hesitate.
Henry arches a brow. “But?”
“But when justice is dealt out by the powerful, is it ever really justice?”
Henry whistles low. “That was honest. Shocked we’ve found something we agree on.”
My hands finally cease trembling as the magic leaves my body. “Then why slit his throat?”
Henry presses me back. The rough stone wall catches my cloak as his intense gaze meets mine.
“This is what survival looks like, Harlow. You have to be brutal and decisive. It’s ugly. It’s that scar in the wall of the fortress. It’s necessary violence of culling the weak and disloyal.”
Everything I learn about Henry contradicts what I thought I knew. I’d expected him to have a reverence toward his people, but now I’m not so sure. If it’s all about the strong surviving, is Mountain Haven any different from Lunameade?
“Shall we continue, or do you need a rest? Your wrist must be sore.”
I scowl at him, pushing him back so I can duck around him. “My wrist is fine. Continue showing off.”
I should be ruffled—or at least wary that I’m not—but I’m more confused than anything else. I loop my arm through his, and he leads me down the trail toward the armory.
“I also killed him because he saw you defend yourself. I’d rather no one know that you can defend yourself for now, or how your magic works,” Henry whispers.
“Would you have preferred I let him murder me?”
Henry scoffs. “I would have stopped him.”
I gesture to my shoulder and wrist. “Forgive me for not holding my breath for that.”
“I need you to trust me.”
I laugh. “You can’t possibly expect that. Especially now.” I glance meaningfully at Seth’s body.
His arm tenses. “That won’t happen again.”
The sound of clashing steel fills the air as we round the tall, ivy-covered garden walls and a large building comes into view.
Several fighting rings bracket the entrance of the building. Several men spar, some with swords, others with wrapped knuckles. Their fighting style isn’t showy. It’s brutal, efficient, much like the way Henry fought in the Drained Wood. Still, there’s an elegance to their violence, even if it’s not the same form taught in Lunameade.
“Don’t look so interested or they’ll read into it. You’re supposed to be a vapid city girl,” Henry whispers.
“No reason I can’t be interested in watching some handsome men spar.”
His arm flexes. Henry is an enigma. One moment, he’s taunting me. The next, he’s slitting a man’s throat for touching me. I know he doesn’t like me, but he certainly seems to think he needs me—for now at least.
