Chapter 91

I hadn't expected Harper to return that night. I had assumed that he would go to ground, to do what he was best at and run away, hiding out in one of his secret places, although who knew how many of them had been discovered by the Varúlfur in their hunt for the assassin who had betrayed them. Instead, he had returned shortly before sunrise, a faint blush highlighting his cheeks and a guarded look haunting his eyes. Curled up in Benjamin's armchair, having ousted and despatched Lucius to bed some time before, I sat staring morosely into the flaming hearth, mulling over Garrick's words. The ghosts whispered all around me, but I dug my fingers into the arms of the chair and grit my teeth, desperately trying to keep them at bay by concentrating on what I had learned about Harper. I could not judge him. How could I? The moral high ground beneath my feet was brittle enough as it was, one foot out of place and it was likely to shatter and send me plummeting. Harper insisted that he had loved