“Brother Bartholomew, are you faithful to the Lord?”
“I am.”
Again the knife passed. This time the man sliced his palm without hesitation. She didn’t want to watch. She closed her eyes and listened to the birds while blood dripped on her flesh and the knife was passed to the men at her feet.
Her body went cold. So cold. Colors swirled and danced behind her closed eyelids, then faded to dull gray.
“Brothers. Are you faithful enough to endure?”
“We are.”
“Bare yourselves to the Lord.”
She heard the rustle of fabric from the men around her. Felt the whisper of air as each man dropped his robe. Definitely not opening her eyes now.
“Wash away the stain.”
They lifted her by her wrists and ankles, their grip on her slimy and slippery. Her broken arm popped. She heard it but didn’t feel it. Her father gasped and dropped her. The other three dragged her. Her back scraped the earth and her head bounced on the ground until her father got hold of her again. This time he lifted her at her shoulder instead of at her wrist. At this point, what did that little kindness matter?
Cold water brushed her backside. The beautiful birds still sang, and water lapped a bank she couldn’t see. The men carried her into the water. They adjusted their grip on her, each of them holding her underneath her body—shoulders and buttocks—keeping her afloat.
Her head bobbed on the surface, her ears underwater, taking away the lullaby of birdsong. She opened her eyes. Overhead, giant trees spread their branches out over them, and the sky had lightened to burnished gold.
Chosen One spoke more words, but she couldn’t understand them. Water ringed her face. Her entire head was submerged except for her mouth, nose, and eyes. Her gaze found her father’s once again. She should hate him for taking part in holding Gran and her captive. She should hate him for killing Xander and Gran. But she couldn’t hate him.
It wasn’t his fault. Not all of it. He had been brainwashed by Chosen One. And she really was the Dragon, destined to destroy everything she loved. Queen had been right about that. Isleen recognized the truth now.
Chosen One placed his palm across her forehead and pressed down. Water covered her face. She closed her eyes and waited for her body to need its next breath. Her lungs began to burn, and she began to thrash—her body fighting for a life she didn’t want.
Chapter 22
The first thing Xander noticed was the banging inside his brain. His smarts center seemed to be bashing itself against his skull with all the vigor of a death-row inmate fighting for a stay of execution. Nausea undulated in his stomach, each slow roll getting closer and closer to coming up. Until it did. He gagged, the sound erupting out of him, part violent groan, part esophagus working backward.
Somebody rolled his body onto its side. Something cool touched the side of his mouth—a puke pan. His stomach made a valiant attempt at coming up his throat. Nothing came out. Not his stomach and not even a dry hint of anything else. Finally, the spasm ended and he rolled onto his back.
His head throbbed. He reached up and felt a thick mass of gauze over his forehead.
He’s fucking waking up. Thank you, little baby Jesus. He’s waking up. Now you just keep the miracles coming here. I don’t want my boy being a stick of celery. I want him exactly the way he’s always been. You got me, God? Exactly, like he’s always been.
Hearing Row’s thoughts didn’t hurt, but then his head couldn’t hurt any worse than it already did without blowing off his shoulders. The air conditioner hummed, an elevator dinged, and someone was having a conversation about Mr. Needlemeyer needing his catheter reinserted.
A hospital. He was in the hospital. Again. Had he been struck by lightning? No, this time there was no stench of burned, rotting flesh. But exactly like last time—no Dad. Only Row was here with him.
“Row?” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It sounded like it belonged to someone weak and helpless. He cracked open an eye. Only one. Didn’t want to overload his already angry brain.
Row stood over him, her deeply lined face split wide open with one of those genuine Row smiles that transformed her into an aged beauty. “I’m here. Holy hell balls, I can’t believe you’re awake. And you know my name.”
“Why wouldn’t I know your—”
“Do you know your name? Your birthday? Your dad’s name?”
“Whoa… Slow up with the questions. My head is fucking killing me.”
“Not surprising. Your noggin took a bullet.”