11. Hector

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HECTOR

" H ector?"

I looked up, eyelids fluttering as I came back to myself. My eyes stung like I hadn't blinked, but for the life of me, I couldn't say what I'd been staring at.

Killian was frowning at me like he'd tried to get my attention for a while. "How are you feeling?"

I was sitting on a log at camp. Apparently, the sun had gone down. We'd sheltered in place while the wounded were tended to.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "It's just a scratch."

"An ill placed one." His gaze dropped to my middle and the intensity of it brought heat to my cheeks. "And a scratch can still get tainted."

I scowled down at my lap.

"Get infected?" Killian suggested.

"No, I understand. Just—" I pressed the heel of my palm against my belly. It stung—uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

After a moment, I shook my head. "It's nothing. I, ah, appreciate your concern."

That was the problem though: I didn't understand it. He must've thought me useless as a babe in a fight if he thought I couldn't endure one scrape of a blade across my skin. I didn't like it, certainly, but I wasn't going to fall apart.

"Well, keep it clean." He stood, pulling out a small bottle. "Put this on the cut twice a day and the skin should stitch back quickly."

I pulled out the cork and took a sniff. The salve had a fresh smell, almost minty.

"Thank you." I put the cork back in and tucked the bottle away. "I'll admit, we're not so careful with every wound in Urial."

"We've learned to be careful here. No sense risking a man's life when we have the means to save it. I take it your people don't fight many wars?" The wry tilt to Killian's lip struck me. I wasn't sure what to make of it—if he was simply chagrinned or if he thought I truly was useless.

"Some. It's been a while, really. Mostly, our ‘wars' amounted to infighting between royals. Small skirmishes. Nothing that's lasted more than a year or two. My grandfather fought at the king's father's side to secure his throne. It's why King Albany favored my father as he did—they grew up together. But that was the last conflict of note, squiring for their fathers on the edges of battles they were too young to understand. It's difficult to maintain a fighting spirit when the very earth freezes over for half the year. People want stability, and even Urial's sturdiest hunters don't want to bunk in a tent during a blizzard."

Just the thought seemed to make a shiver run through Killian, and I felt a swell of satisfaction to see it. Perhaps we weren't as weak as he imagined.

"I'll never understand how you all live with it. The cold." He shook his head. Was a bit of snow all that terrible?

"Well, we favor warm drinks—spiced cider and one made with melted chocolate that is quite good—and when it's still too bitter, we seek out each other. A thick blanket shared with the right person is often cozy enough to distract from the worst weather."

I held Killian's eye, and with every word I said, his gaze got more intent. For a long time, I sat there, wondering what came next. The air between us was charged, and I couldn't be the only one who felt it.

And then, he was up.

The way he'd stood was so liquid, so quick, that one moment I was trapped in his intense stare and the next, I was blinking at his hip.

"Sleep well, Hector," he said tightly. "We'll be home tomorrow."

Home... He might be, but this wasn't mine.

My first look at the wall was . . .

It took me a moment to place the feeling of horror dropping in my gut like a pile of bricks. The wall was enormous, huge, sturdy. It stretched on as far as I could see in either direction, long before we reached the city beneath it. As the sun moved across the sky, the wall cast enormous shadows out across the whole settlement.

I'd never seen such disparate architectural styles pressed against one another. Of course, any building done in Urial was a constrained endeavor, done only on the order of the king. The stone that made up the castle was the same that was used to build all the manor houses scattered across the countryside—gray and dense, taken from one of the quarries that littered our mountain range.

Father had owned one of those quarries.

I supposed that meant I had as well, though I'd not been in a position to manage it after his death. Between the poisoning, Helena's engagement to Prince Tybalt, and every other concern that'd fallen on us, I hadn't gotten my bearings as patriarch before we were fleeing the kingdom.

Briefly, I wondered if I'd have done something different from my predecessors, given the chance—something creative or innovative with all that stone.

Doubtful. Creativity for its own sake had never been my strong suit.

Clearly, the same could not be said for the Crane Clan.

Tucked in a curve of the wall was the most elaborate city I'd ever seen. There were tall buildings, towering high with roofs that curved out and upward in decorative points. Tiny streams ran between streets, stones placed meticulously among them to keep the flow of traffic steady despite the gardens on either side.

Notably, those gardens were overgrown, entirely ungroomed, but here and there, stubborn flowers of a powdery purple shade stuck out from the weeds.

We came across an arched bridge. The horses' hooves were loud against the sturdy boards beneath us.

And ahead, there was an enormous building with white walls, round windows, and intricate carvings on every corner and tucked into every recess.

"Is this the palace?" I asked Killian, who rode beside me.

He stared at his home for a second too long before answering me. "Yes."

"It's beautiful." Even wrapped in shadow as it was.

"Thank you." Killian's mouth formed a straight line as he considered me. At the end of the large bridge, there were people waiting to take our horses, unpack the wagon.

Killian dismounted smoothly and, before I'd thought to move, came to my mount's side. He held out a hand. "In the early days of the war, Southern incursions into Crane lands were common. Ten years before the wall was completed, an enormous section of the palace burnt. We did our best to rebuild, but?—"

Even as I gripped his hand for balance to dismount, he looked at the palace and sucked in his cheeks. "It was before my time, but I've often wondered if it's the same now as it was. We did our best, but—" He shrugged, his arms bunching up when he crossed them.

"It's like a scar." I withdrew my hand, flexing it at my side as a tingle swept up my arm. Yes, there was attraction there—at least for me—but he'd been clear enough that we weren't going to act on it, so I needed to restrain myself. I was there for a purpose, not to fawn over someone who didn't want me.

He arched a brow my way.

"How the skin around an old wound can turn thick and hard?" I explained. "Healed, but the mark of pain endures even when the hurt has passed."

Killian's lips pursed. He looked down, a tiny pucker on his smooth forehead as he considered it. "I suppose, yes. We should find you a room, and I would like a report on what I've missed once I've had the chance to wash the road off." This last, he said to one of the people from the palace, and they nodded swiftly and went to work.

It sounded less like an order than just pushing a cog to make it spin.

When Killian turned away, his long hair fanned out around his shoulders and he led me from this large bridge toward another delicately arched one over a beautiful frog pond toward the Crane palace. This bridge was smaller, like it was meant for private use instead of to bear the weight of every member of the Crane Clan daily. In the middle of the pond, an enormous, delicate crane, sculpted of swirling metal that looked more like water than anything solid, stood tall against the palace backdrop.

I hurried after him. "Don't I have to—the wall?"

Killian froze, and it brought me up short. Everything about him was strange. Not quite human, at least in the way that I was used to.

He was controlled and furious, beautiful and deadly, and a tingle at the back of my skull said I ought to stay alert around him, like I was in the presence of a predator instead of a man.

"No," he said. "Fresh off the road, you'd be more of a liability than a help, and you have more training to do. Tomorrow, we worry about all that. Today, we recover from our travels."

"We?" I hated the hopeful note in my voice.

Killian seemed to have noticed too. His lips twitched. "Every link in our armor must be firm. So yes, a good night's sleep in my own bed would serve me well before I ask my people to rely on my spear to protect them."

Gods, all this talk of beds and spears made it grate all the more that he refused to share either with me.