When it’s crackling, I sit on the bed. I remove my jacket and drape it over the chair by the desk. I pull my boots off.
I think I’ve done all I can—at least for now. For today. For this moment. I slide under the heavy covers and cry as silently as I can.
CHAPTER 34
GIDEON
I’ve been thrown into a dungeon.
It’s almost funny.
Actually, no. It’s not.
A few hours ago, the Harrows pulled Riot out of the pond. They hoisted me onto another horse, tying me to the saddle. Then they led us both through the woods to a cave that turned into underground tunnels—stone-paved, stone-walled. Tunnels that wove and turned and brought me to this place—an alcove with only one open side, sealed off by corroded iron bars.
I have a mattress made of straw wrapped with worn linen. A bucket for water. Another to function as my bathroom. My hands are manacled in front of me. Even my useless prosthetic, which is kind of hilarious.
Actually, no. Not hilarious.
The only source of light is an oil lamp hanging beside a stone staircase that turns up into the darkness.
I’ve got a feeling I know who’s up there.
My eyes move to the cell across from mine. The Harrows brought Riot here with me. He could barely fit through the corridors. Weak as he was, he kept roaring and trying to smash Harrows against the walls.
“Horse scared,” Cotton had said. “Gideon scared.”
“No. Horse not scared. Gideon not scared, either,” I told him. “Horse and Gideon planning violent actions.”
He’d smiled with his razor-sharp teeth. “Cotton like.”
“Cotton like Gideon or violent actions?”
“Yes,” he’d said. “Cotton like.”
Now, my horse is lying on his side, breathing in short huffing breaths. He’s in bad shape, but better than he was in the pond.
We’ll heal—both of us. My throat’s coming back to normal. I can swallow now without much pain even though my voice is still hoarse. And my leg already feels more bearable. We just need a few days. Four or five and I should be healthy again, if I’m not killed before then.
I shut my eyes and listen to Riot’s breathing. Willing strength back into him. Feeling him doing the same for me.
I wonder about Daryn.
What she’s doing. If she’s okay. Whether she’s thinking about me.
Whether she’ll fall for Samrael’s lies.
CHAPTER 35
DARYN
Today, I’m taking charge.
I’m going to deal with Samrael fairly. If it’s right for him to leave, I’ll let him out. But he’s not getting out until I find Gideon.
He knows these woods. He can help me scour every inch of them. If he’s truly found any form of compassion, goodness, or altruism, he’ll step up.
With a plan in mind, I pull on my boots and jacket, and leave in search of him.
I find him in the kitchen with two people.
People, not Harrows. Not vacuous impostors from hauntings. A man and a woman, both about fifty years old, with friendly faces that settle on me in warm curiosity.
“Thought you might sleep all day,” says the woman. “I’m Rayna, and this is Torin. We do most of the cooking round here. If there’s anything you like to eat or don’t like, let us know and we’ll take care of it for you.”
“Don’t make grand promises you can’t keep, Rayna,” says Torin.
“Course not,” she says, sending him a little annoyed glance. “We’ll aim to satisfy you, within our limitations. Doubt we’ll prepare food like you’ll be used to, where you’ve come from. We’re simpler, I’m guessing. But we’ll do our best.”
She continues, informing me of other people around the house who handle washing and cleaning, everyone playing a role in keeping the compound running, with Torin interjecting often to correct or elaborate.
As they give me the lay of the land, two gangly young men pass the kitchen carrying bundles of firewood. They’re introduced. I say hello and speak when I’m spoken to, and try to listen when I should, but this situation is so unreal.
How did these people get in here? Like Bas, did they get sucked into the Rift?
And why do they seem so … content with being here?
Samrael is smiling at me. He’s obviously entertained by my apparent confusion—and that only distracts me more.
“I think that’s enough for now, Rayna. Torin. Thank you,” he says.
They excuse themselves, and suddenly I’m alone with Samrael. Silence settles thickly over us. He drums slender fingers on the wooden table.
“Do you have any particular way you’d like to do this?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”
He lifts his shoulders. “I thought perhaps I’d show you around, then we can eat outside. We can talk along the way about how we’ll search for Gideon and … any other items we might want to cover. How does that sound?”
Even though he helped me yesterday, my initial reaction is distrust. Borderline revulsion.
You already made the decision, Daryn. Give him a chance. I need to find Gideon. And … I need food. My empty stomach is begging to be filled. Food needs to happen. “That sounds fine.”
Samrael smiles. “Great.” He lifts a linen bag off the table and slings it over his shoulder.
We leave the kitchen, exiting through a side door that passes through a neatly kept garden outside, with rows of planters overflowing with vegetables, lettuce, and herbs. I’m modestly cheered by it; it’s a much brighter place than the inside of the house.
As we follow the path, I gain enough distance to get my first look at the structure where I slept the night. It’s a gray stone mass, solid and squat, with deeply recessed beveled windows with diamond panes. Gray Fort is well named, more a fort than a home. The roofline is crenellated and I half expect archers to peer over.
Archery reminds me of Jode, which reminds me of Marcus, Bas, Gideon—and I realize I’m grimacing when Samrael smiles, looking from me to the house.
“Not much to look at, is it? It was the height of fashion once.” He squints at the dark clouds. “We may get rained on. Do you want to stay here? We could try again later.”
“No.” Being stuck in a storm sounds more appealing than being stuck in that somber house. “I don’t mind rain. Let’s go.”
Samrael leads the way, taking a trail that circles the crown of the hill where Gray Fort and its small keep perch. We pass stables. Animal pens. Gardens. Cottages and orchards.
The feeling of the place is quaint, pastoral, but also slightly sad.
It could be that my mood or the weather is affecting my perception. But I don’t think it is.