the second day aboard the little skiff, he’d developed a high fever, and his wounds were inflamed with an infection that Liel couldn’t heal. Those days were a blur for him. He remembered being frantic to keep Kitto and Liel near him, as if he would lose them forever if they were separated for even an instant. When they reached the safe haven, their host mistook Liel and Kitto as his wife and son.
Liel stared at the sky again. “What happened, Harp? You were there, and then, just like that, you weren’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were close. And then you just retreated from me.”
“We talked about it being over from the moment it started,” Harp reminded her. “I wasn’t sure how you felt.”
“You should have talked to me. You should have told me that you felt like what we were doing was wrong. But the fact that I wasn’t even worth it to you…”
Harp started to speak, but she continued.
“… It can only mean you never had any regard for me in the first place.”
“That isn’t true,” Harp protested.
“Isn’t it? It wasn’t ever about anything but your convenience. Do you know what that makes me? Your whore.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” Harp said, managing to keep his voice steady despite the shock that she remembered their relationship in such a way. “You wanted it to be uncomplicated. You knew you were going back to Cardew.”
“But it became something we didn’t intend. You should’ve made an effort, not just left me without an explanation.”
“I should have done a lot of things.”
“I hated you. No, it was something different. I regretted ever knowing you. I wished that it had never happened.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Harp assured her. “That was never my intention.”
“But you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s easy to apologize. Those are just words.”
Harp had a sense of vertigo as if he were sliding down a steep slope, and there was nothing to grab onto and stop himself. He felt exhausted and had no idea how to make things right.
“I didn’t think you loved me, Liel. You never said you did.”
“Why love someone you’re never going to be with?” Liel said bitterly.
“If it means anything, you stayed in my head in a way I never expected.”
“You were in prison. Holding onto a fantasy is expected.”
“It was more than that,” Harp said. “Even after prison. In life, I think you only get a few people who stay in your heart, whether you want them to or not.”
“And I’m one of those?”
“This many years later, I think it’s safe to say yes.”
“I don’t want to hate you anymore,” she said, after a moment of silence.
Harp felt bruised, as if he’d just been hit with something very heavy. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drink himself blind or simply go to sleep and never wake up. He’d never felt so alone, even locked in the Vankila Slab, when her absence felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal. He thought nothing could make him feel worse until she moved close against him. He put his arms around her, and even though it made no sense, the warmth of her body made him miss her in a way he hadn’t for a long time. He spent the night with her sleeping in his arms and wondered if the loneliness would ever go away.
Jenna Helland
The Fanged Crown
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) Chult
Two shadows moved quietly through the unquiet jungle. A torrent of rain had fallen as the sun was setting, and a humid fog laid heavily on the hot night air. The figures moved carefully, disappearing into a strand of brush or behind a large root whenever a branch shook above them or they heard the sounds of large feet padding across the jungle floor. When they reached the edge of a clearing, one held back while the other scuttled across the open ground, moving as silently as a spider traversing a leaf.
The moon broke through the canopy, casting silver light on the young male dwarf who had entered the clearing. The dwarf known as Zo froze, the way a deer might if caught in a place it hadn’t meant to be spotted. Zo pulled his hood over his long dark hair to obscure his face. He wore a leather breastplate under his thin black cloak, a crossbow slung across his back, and a sheath belted at his waist.
A tenday before, Zo’s chieftain father had been killed in a skirmish with the Scaly Ones, and Zo had taken the mantle of leader, even though he was too young to be married and still went by his childhood nickname. “Zo” meant “happy” in that particular dialect of the Chultan dwarvesor Dwarves of the Domain, as they called themselves.
When the moon disappeared behind a cloud, Zo made a low noise that resembled the call of a hawk. At the sound, another dwarfan older female dressed in layers of colorfully embroidered clothscurried into the clearing. The elder dwarf, called Majida by her tribe, ducked into a thicket of crimson flowers that brushed against her bare hands and feet without irritation. After checking the clearing one last time, Zo followed her into the floral-scented undergrowth. The dwarves were so used to the crimson nettles that they could easily navigate the tangled thickets while most creatures had to walk around or suffer painful rashes. The two dwarves crouched down and stared at the high mudthorn walls in the clearing in front of them.
“Did they build the walls to keep something out or something in?” Majida asked. “Stupid humans. Don’t they know about the Jumpers?”
Shorter than their northern kin, the tribe of Chultan dwarves were small enough to avoid the big predators, clever enough to avoid the traps and barbs of the jungle, and humble enough to be happy in their Domain, an extensive network of grottos and caverns. The dwarves avoided cities and other trappings of civilized life, but they were hardly feral, and would have had objections-with anyone who described them as such. The Domain dwarves had a written language and a long memory, particularly about the savagery of the Scaly Ones and their abominations that still roamed the jungle thousands of years after the sarrukh had vanished. The serpent- abominations retained all of the cruelty and none of the finesse of their makers.
“Are you sure about this?” Zo whispered.
Majida glanced at him, surprised that her chief had expressed doubt. Majida had read the signs, and they had been obviousor at least as obvious as anything in the realm of prognostication could be. She had discussed that with Zo and the tribal leadersseveral times. Zo was like an infant when it came to leadership, but Majida was in her autumn years and had been shaman since before Zo’s father was born. Her spell wouldn’t be difficult, but the rest of the plan depended on Zo and his dwindling band of warriors. If Zo couldn’t handle it, the whole plan would fall apart.
“I’m sure,” Majida assured him. “Besides, we don’t have a choice. We’ve lost three more in the past tenday.”
“We’ll fight harder.”
Majida sighed. Typical male, thinking all the answers came from how he handled his sword.
“We’ve endured many things,” she said. “But he is a particularly bad man, Zo. We have to stop him before he goes any further.”
“How do you know they are any different than the others?” Zo asked.
“I only need to be sure about one.”
Zo jutted out his chin. “I want to think about other plans.”
Zo began to speak, but Majida touched his forehead in silent warning moments before a green-scaled jaculi
