Seeker (Riders #2)(88)

Back in the bedroom, I push the heavy curtain aside, revealing a window full of night and indistinct shapes. A wall below, I think.

Nothing to see. Not that it's a great mystery.

I know what's out there.

Trees. Harrows. Hauntings.

Gideon.

The orb, stashed in a tree. Far away from here.

I hid it so I wouldn't be tempted to open the portal and run away from this-from here. I need to honor my promise to Bas. I will honor it.

And if Bas is wrong and Samrael is still evil to the bone, he won't be able to force me to open the portal. No orb, no exit. He won't leave here unless I'm positive.

The room has a chill, so I move to the fireplace and light the kindling beneath the woodpile. Invest myself in tending to the flames. Bringing them to life.

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.