She must have passed out, because when she woke up, John was walking beside her. What the hell--oh, she was being moved into the other room . . . because they were bringing someone else in--someone strapped down to a gurney. A female, given the long, black braid that swung off the side.
The word pain came to mind.
"Pain is in here," Xhex murmured.
John's head whipped around. What? he mouthed.
"Whoever's there . . . is pain."
She passed out again . . . and came to feeding from John's wrist. And passed out again.
In her dreams, she saw parts of her life going all the way back to a time she didn't consciously remember. And as in- flight movies went, the drama was pretty depressing. There were too many crossroads to count where things should have been different, where fate had been more of a grind than a gift. Destiny was like the passage of time, however, immutable and unforgiving and uninterested in the personal opinion of those who breathed.
And yet . . . as her mind churned beneath the leaden weight and still surface of her unconscious body, she had the sense that everything had worked out as it was supposed to, that the path she had been set upon had taken her precisely where she was supposed to go:
Back to John.
Even though that made no sense whatsoever.
After all, she'd met him only a year or so ago. Which hardly justified the sprawl of history that seemed to unite them.
But then, maybe that did make sense. While you were unconscious on morphine and teetering on the brink of the Fade . . . things looked different. And time, like priorities, shifted.
On the other side of the door to Xhex's recovery room, Payne blinked hard and tried to ascertain where she had been moved to. There was naught to inform her, however. The chamber's walls were tiled in a pale green and gleaming fixtures and storage casings abounded. But she hadn't a clue what it all meant.
At least the transport had been slow, careful, and relatively comfortable. But then something had been put into her veins to calm her and ease her--and verily, she was grateful for whatever potion it was.
Indeed, the specter of her dead was more agitating than her discomfort or whether she had a future on this side. Had the good doctor truly spoken the name of her twin? Or had that been a figment of her scattered, muddled mind?
She knew not. But cared a great deal.
In the periphery of her vision, she saw many attending upon her arrival herein, including the doctor and the Blind King. There was also a blond female of comely visage . . . and a dark-haired warrior who people were calling by the name Tohrment.
Exhausted, Payne closed her eyes, the patter of voices carrying her off into a drifting sleep. She did not how long she was out . . . but what brought her back was the sudden awareness of a new arrival within the hushed space.
The personage was one whom she knew so very well, and the appearance was a greater source of shock than the reality that she was away from her mother.
As Payne opened her eyes, No'One approached her, her limp shifting her across the smooth flooring, the hood of her robe shielding her face from view. The Blind King loomed behind the female, arms crossed over his chest, his beautiful blond dog and his beautiful brunette queen on either side of him.
"Whatever . . . are you here?" Payne said hoarsely, aware she was making more sense on the inside of her head than her words would suggest.
The fallen Chosen seemed very nervous, although how that was exactly evident, Payne wasn't sure. It was something sensed but not seen, given that the Chosen's black robes were covering all of her.
"Taketh my hand," Payne said. "I should want to ease you."
No'One shook her head beneath her hood. "It is I who have come to ease you." As Payne frowned, the Chosen glanced back at Wrath. "The king has permitted me to tarry in his household for to serve as your maid."
Payne swallowed, but her dry mouth offered no relief to her parched throat. "No serve me. Be here . . . but serve yourself."
"Indeed . . . there is that as well." No'One's soft voice grew tight. "Verily, upon your departure from the Sanctuary, I approached the Scribe Virgin--and my request was granted. You inspired me to long o'erdue action. I have been cowardly . . . but no longer, thanks to you."
"I . . . am . . . glad . . ." Although what she could have done to justify such motivation escaped her. "And I am grateful you are here--"
With an explosive shove, the door in the far corner was thrown open, and a male dressed in black leather and smelling of sickly death burst into the room. Right on his heels was the private physician, and as he jerked to a halt, the ghostly female put her hand upon his shoulder as if to soothe him.
The male's diamond eyes locked on Payne, and though she hadn't seen him in forever, she knew who he was. Sure as if she was staring at her own reflection.