Page 66 of Tears of Gold

Erritt

Vanrey insists on walking with me to the other boys’ dormitory, forcing me to ignore his stiff, silent protests the entire way. It’s only fitting I go to Harper after all the royal shit I’ve pulled on him.

When we arrive, it takes a stern order to send my aide away to wait on the stairs, and there’s a calculating look in his green eyes that makes me wonder if he’ll defy me.

“I’ll be fine, Vanrey,” I promise.

“Call me immediately if anything happens,” he warns. “The rogue is unpredictable.”

I nod and wait for him to disappear from view before facing the rogue’s door once more, forcing the nerves twisting in my belly to behave. I’ve done far more formidable things than having it out with one student—although never while so physically weak.

My knuckles rapping on the door echo in the still corridor. Most students will be at dinner, but I know he’s inside. The silence stretches, and I cock my head, studying the plain wooden door. I contemplate knocking a second time when Harper calls out.

“Who is it?”

“Erritt.”

A moment later, the door cracks open. Harper’s shirtless, revealing a bandage over his left shoulder, as well as the one on his right from a beam falling on him in the capital. He looks up and down the corridor behind me.

“What, no entourage?”

I give him my most level stare. It’s so characteristic of him to leave me standing here.

He frowns. “What do you want?”

“I want to . . . come in. May I?"

He opens up and bows. I ignore the mockery since he has every right to be pissed. I just hope we're in a different place when I leave. Entering, I find myself in a single dorm room with one bed and a desk. Harper's bag of tricks hangs over the door of the small wardrobe. The room is almost bare except for a handful of dried cattails dangling from a nail in the wall, reminding me of the day we all went out for a picnic on the plain. The stark surroundings mirror Ava's room for the first couple of weeks she was here, and I sigh inwardly.

“How long . . . have you been here?” I ask.

Harper pulls out the desk chair for me before sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Nearly three months, give or take.”

Qi Lords, I’m an ass. I got mad at Harper for wanting to leave us, his friends, when I didn't treat him like a friend in the first place. I run my hand through my hair. I've insulted him at every stage, threatened him, warned him off Ava, and given him nothing and no reason to be comfortable. The bed doesn’t even have enough blankets for the cool weather we just got through. Ava likes to mound them up, which is pretty understandable for humans, being so frail. Harper might be the same. Just because I don’t get cold, doesn’t mean others don’t.

“You just going to stand there?” he mutters darkly. “I've got things to do.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I wasn't . . . raised to give heed to the . . . feelings of others,” I fade off, realizing I’ve rarely had to say these words.

His brows jump. “Is this you apologizing?”

I glare at him for interrupting. “Yes. If you’ll be . . . patient with my half dead t-tongue.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, and he raises his hands in an infuriating invitation.

“I c-can understand why you wanted . . . to leave. We’ve given you no reason to stay. You are correct that you’ve been poorly . . . rewarded for saving my life. I have not been . . . honorable in this matter.”

Harper rubs his head and leans back against the wall. “Do you have a simpler way of saying all this?”

Taking a deep breath, I try again. “I’m sorry. I have not treated . . . you well. Truthfully, I was mad because I c-consider you my friend, and it . . . hurt that you wanted to leave. I did not have the words to s-say so the day we . . . argued.”

His eyes narrow. “Friends, huh?”

I can practically hear his thoughts, asking if this is how friends treat each other. I ease slowly into the desk chair, feeling heavier than my body weighs. “You deserve your f-freedom and earned the right to leave. But if I may ask—” Seeing his jaw tense, I backtrack. “No, if I may beg s-something, don’t go right . . . away, and don’t leave under a dark cloud. Especially with . . . Ava.”

He sighs and looks out the window. His knees come up, and he rests his arm over them. I notice the definition in his exposed calves and the loose dangle of his big hands. He’s more muscular than both Skye and I, though he’s not taller than me. Despite being a half blood, he’s protected Ava well—perhaps better than I have.

He grunts softly. “I was pretty mad, and I wanted to have it out with you about this, but I didn’t know you’d been qi lashed. Sorry to hear about that. How are you feeling now?”