“A demi-demon, and in my service. Remember the pain, my pet. Remember who restored your sight. Remember your oath.”
“I’m a man.”
“You’re mine, and will be for eternity or until I end you.” She walked to a door he hadn’t seen, opened it. “You’ll know when I have use for you.”
He tried to run to the door, stumbled and fell. Once again he tried to crawl, but there was no door, no way out, only the stone, polished like glass. Polished like mirrors that showed him his own image everywhere he looked.
Malmon crawled into a corner, hunched and hunkered there with all he’d become staring back at him.
He began to laugh and laugh, until the chamber echoed with the sound. And the sound was madness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sawyer slept deep. Dreams joined him, but quietly, soothingly. Voices—Annika’s soft singing lulled him. Sasha’s joined it on a murmur that offered peace—then Riley’s a kind of determined cheer. Bran came into the dream, and Doyle, with a briskness that added hope.
Once he saw his grandfather, sat with him by a campfire. In its flames his grandfather’s face was young, as young as his own, as they spoke of legacies and stars and gods, as the moon floated white overhead.
And he floated, as if inside a clear bubble. Gently, gently, over seas, over lands, over worlds. Over an island clear as glass with a castle on a hill, and a stone circle.
So beautiful.
Then the bubble popped, and he woke.
Annika sat beside him on the bed, holding his hand, so hers was the first face he saw.
And his first thought was, she was safe. He’d gotten her back.
“Hush, don’t try to speak yet. Bran made you sleep.” She brought his hand to her lips, pressed kisses to it, then to the wrist still raw. “For healing. They hurt you. They hurt you.”
“Annika.”
“No, you should be quiet. Bran said to get him when you woke.”
“Wait. Just wait.” He started to sit up, despite her distress, and felt it. Oh boy, he felt the remnants of the torture.
“You have pain. Bran said to have you drink this if you woke with pain.” Annika grabbed a small bottle from the nightstand. “It will help you sleep.”
“How long?” He had to clear his throat, and breathe through the aches. “How long have I been out? Asleep,” he explained.
“You brought us back it was night, and there was another night, and this is the day after. Not the morning, but after the noon. Please drink, Sawyer.”
“I’ve slept long enough.”
“I’ll get Bran.”
But he kept his grip firm on her hand. “They hurt you, too.”
“Bran and Sasha helped, and I slept, too. Not so long, but I wasn’t hurt like you. He put the knife in you. Here.” Gently, she touched his side. “It’s healing well. Bran said. And they struck you in the face, and . . .”
“Yeah.” Gingerly, he probed at his cheek, his jaw. “They broke something in there. It’s just a little sore now.”
“You came back for me.”
“Sure I did. I’d never leave you like that. I just had to— Don’t cry. Come on, don’t cry.”
“I knew you would come back for me.” The hours and hours of waiting for him to wake crashed down on her. “I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t help. They kept hurting you, and hurting you. They had something that stopped my bracelets. Bran fixed them, but I couldn’t break the glass and help you. I wanted to cause their deaths—especially the man with the knives. But I couldn’t.”
“We’re here.” He stroked her hair. “We’re safe, and we’re here. That’s what counts. The compass.”