I'm still turned when Shadow suddenly jerks to a halt.
I rock forward, almost catapulting out of the saddle. Then I see what stopped her.
The white Arabian stands just a few lengths away.
She's not alone.
A young man, dressed in dark clothing fitted to a long and lean build, stands beside the mare, holding her by the halter. His feet are planted in a stance that's slightly wide and his attention is fully on me, like he's been waiting.
Euphoria turns my heart into a rocket, shooting for the stars.
Sebastian.
His name almost leaps from my throat until I realize I have it wrong.
I wanted to see Bas. But it's not him.
It's Samrael.
Shadow begins to dance beneath me. No, Daryn. Leave now. We need to leave now.
I can't hold her still. I know she's scared for me, but I can't leave without the orb.
I'm vaguely aware of dismounting. Vaguely aware that all the moisture has left my mouth and that I've pressed my shaking hands flat against my legs.
My head feels like it's about five feet above my body. Like my consciousness is still mounted somewhere behind me, up on Shadow.
"I'm here to help," Samrael says in a resonant voice. A voice that's cool as a winter's breath.
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Quite the opposite."
I have no response to give him. If he's serious, it's a compliment I don't want from him. If it's flattery, I want it even less.
I notice that the white mare's saddle is unbuckled and almost sliding off her back, and that Samrael has tethered his own horse-a giant dapple-gray-farther back.
"Daryn … " He lets go of the mare and lifts his hands like he means no harm, but he's a demon. He is harm. "Hear me out."
It's been months since I've seen him. But unlike Gideon, Jode, and Marcus, who changed so much in that same stretch of time, Samrael hasn't changed at all.
He's still beautifully made, with wide-set green eyes and dark hair that bends like ocean waves. He has a lithe build, his athleticism like a panther's-speed and strength that are somehow evident even in his languid movements.
"You're in trouble," he continues. "I can help. I can take you to safety."
"Where's Sebastian?" My voice warbles over the words like rolling pebbles. "Do you know where he is?" That's all I want to know. That knowledge is the only thing he could ever give me that I'd want. "The Harrows said they have him."
"Harrows?" His eyes dart toward the direction of the struggle. "No, they don't. He's with me. He's safe. Sebastian is well."
"I don't believe you."
"It's the truth," Samrael repeats, his gaze steady as a frozen lake. "Bas is well."
A small gasp escapes me and my eyes blur. I think I believe him. I want so much to believe him. It's the way he said it. Bas. So familiar. Like he knows Sebastian.
"I'll take you to him," he says. "But we need to go now."
"Are you serious?" Samrael severed Gideon's hand. He had Sebastian poisoned. "You think I'll actually go with you?"
He says nothing. His eyes skim the woods again, warily. The sounds of the Harrows could be growing louder; I can't tell. "We're running out of time."
"I'm not leaving without my friends!" I snap. Then I swallow the dryness in my throat. "I'm not leaving people behind."
"I understand."
"How could you possibly?"
Again, he says nothing for a long moment. "I would bring them as well if I thought they would come, but-" He smiles, a deadly smile, and shakes his head in frustration. "Do you think Gideon will ever follow me anywhere?"
"Never." Hearing his name jars me back to my goal. I need to get to Gideon, Jode, and Marcus. Cordero and the others. "I need that horse."
"Certainly," he says. He gives the mare a gentle prod and she darts over to Shadow, seeking safety in the familiar. But the saddlebag slides off her back and drops, landing almost at Samrael's feet.
My eyes fall to it inadvertently. Samrael notices.
He bends gracefully and lifts the bag off the ground, holding it up. "I suppose you need this as well," he says, more a statement than a question. Then he opens the leather buckle and removes the orb, and a bemused expression flashes across his features. "Quite a lot of trouble this thing has caused. And it looks worse for wear."
His eyes lift to me, but I've lost the power to speak.
I need that, I want to say. But of course he knows that.
Give it to me, I want to demand. But what good would that do?
Samrael slips the orb back into the saddlebag and buckles it. I see my chances of saving everyone, and of ever getting out of here alive, vanish. He'll take it. He knows that without it none of us will go anywhere.