Seeker (Riders #2)(82)

A glint comes to his gem-hard eyes. Genuine interest. "It was in the pack?"

"Yes. Without it, neither one of us will get out of here." For a sickening moment, I wonder if Samrael wants this-exactly this. For me to be stuck here in the Rift with him forever.

"Fine. We'll go back, but not just yet," he says. "The Lost-the Harrows-prefer to sleep by day and hunt in the dark. When they're asleep, it's the sleep of the dead. If we find them at the right time, we shouldn't have any trouble taking the backpack and looking for Gideon. We can head back in a couple of hours, to be safe, and search until dusk."

He pauses for a moment, waiting, but I'm not going to thank him for doing something that's so obviously the right thing.

He returns to the mare, taking her reins. "She needs water. There's a stream a short walk from here."

I think he expects me to come with him. I don't.

I listen to the clop of the gray's hooves receding. Then silence falls around me, making my breathing seem too loud, my anxious paces even louder.

I'm missing so much.

Gideon, who's back there somewhere. On the run? In hiding?

Captured?

The orb, which has been stolen.

Marcus, Jode, Bas, and Shadow, who are no longer here.

I feel utterly alone. A prisoner of the Rift.

I spin myself into a panic, buzzing with anxiety. I'm a bell that won't stop ringing.

I can't stand it any longer. Anything is better than stewing in my own thoughts.

I run down the path Samrael took, slowing down only when I see him through the trees. 

The mare stands in the creek. Water rushes past her knees. Her long neck is lowered as she drinks. Samrael watches her from the bank.

I debate making myself known, but I don't want his company. I just don't want to be alone.

I slip behind a tree and kneel.

My mind is on Gideon. It won't go anywhere else. I wonder if he thinks I've abandoned him? No. He knows I wouldn't. Tears sting my eyes, wanting to spill as I imagine what he must be feeling, but I hold them back.

Samrael brings the mare out of the creek and tends to her affectionately, brushing her down with a swatch of burlap. He either doesn't see me, or doesn't care that I'm here. Returning to the creek, he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the bank, then crouches to splash water on his face. He runs his fingers through his black hair a few times and rinses the cuts the Harrow gave him on his forearm.

On his back, I see two ghastly scars. Twin scars, from shoulder blades to the middle of his ribs. Where wings might attach. Where they once did.

I know he was an angel once. But seeing proof-visible proof-sends a shiver down to my toes.

"I'm deeply gratified that Sebastian went home," Samrael says, surprising me. He doesn't turn to me. He speaks with his eyes downcast. Fixed on the shirt in his hands. "It's  …  strange to be here without him. But I'm very glad he went. Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you."

"Of course not."

I can't look away from the scars on his back. "Why did you give up so much? How could you fall from grace, fall so far, and become this?"

The questions come out of me before I know it.

"Become this?" He turns to me at last, his expression equal parts curiosity and challenge. "Do you mean deplorable? Repulsive? Or is it simpler? Do you mean to ask me how I chose to become evil?"

"Pick one. They all work."

"I made a mistake that took me astray for a very long time," he says, almost dismissively. "And I can see I have a ways to go before you'll see me."

"I'm looking right at you."

"You're looking at what I was."

"I don't care what you were or who you are."

"And yet you're here to judge me," he says.

"I'm here for Bas. I'm here to fulfill a promise."

"As I recall, the promise was to give me a fair chance. Is this your notion of fairness?"

My face heats with anger. But I can't disagree with him. I'm not being fair. I'm being judgmental.

How do you judge character without being judgmental?

What have I gotten myself into?

He sighs. Turns back to look at the shirt in his hands. "Daryn, I apologize. I apologize for my tone. I've caused this-all that's happened. The price is all mine to pay. Every day, I regret the wrongs I've committed. I imagine the condemnation of my soul. And yet, I hope … " He pauses, and his shoulders rise as he draws a deep breath. "I hope to one day atone for what I've done. I hope for redemption."

I have nothing to say in response. I can't tell if he's being honest, or putting on a show as he calculates how to fool me. I've burned all of the mental power I had left for the day.

Samrael rises and wades to the horse, gently leading it back to the bank. He removes a linen napkin with bread, apples, and cheese folded inside. He looks at me like he's considering offering to share.