“He’s fanning out.”
“At least the north side is still clear. We could make it to this cave in only hours if we went that way.”
The voices were loud in my ears as they pulled me out of the deep sleep I had been in seconds before. Anxiety tensed my shoulders together as I listened to the voices that were so close, alerting me to the danger I was in. My mind begged me to run from them, sure I was back in Cail’s tortured nightmares. But I lay still, trying to make sense of the voices enough to understand why they were here.
My hands wound around the soft warmth of the blankets that lay against my skin, the fabric pulling my mind away from the horrors. I had never had blankets in the T?uha that Cail had trapped me in. If only for that reason, I knew I was safe inside my own reality. I begged myself to believe it. Even with that knowledge, however, I couldn’t stop the panic from continuing to seep through me, rocking through my muscles until I shook.
I hated the way the terrors ran through me, the way they controlled me, became bigger than me. They hadn’t been this big last night when Ilyan had kissed me. They hadn’t ruled over me then. When I had kissed him.
I worked to regulate my breathing and brought the vivid memories of last night to mind, letting them swirl and flow through me as I fought against the agitation in order to become bigger than the fear Cail had instilled in me. I focused on the memories of Ilyan’s hands against my arms, the heat of his breath against my skin. The residual fears rippled through my muscles as the pleasant imagery chased them away, the sensation comfortable in my heavy, over-tired body.
I couldn’t have been asleep that long. My mind was still fuzzy; my lips still tinged with the sweet taste of Ilyan’s kiss. I could still feel the warmth of the bed where Ilyan had lain behind me, the heat fading from the fabric of the sheets as it evaporated into the cool, fall air.
“Yes, but if we have missed this one, then how many others are out there?” The rough edges of a vaguely familiar voice snapped me out of my revelry, threatening to pull my fears back into my already shredded nerve endings.
“Did you see any more? Were there any sights of what is to come?” Ilyan asked, his voice a powerful force as he commanded over the others in the room.
My body calmed at the sound of his voice. I wanted so much to open my eyes and see him standing just across from me—to let his presence take away the last of my agitation—but I was afraid. Afraid of who else was there; of seeing blood-soaked walls instead of smooth stone ones. So I kept my eyes closed, focusing on the pressure of the blanket as I tried to understand what was going on.
“No, My Lord.” Another voice, this one different from the first, cut through the night. My mind tried to place it while fighting the fear its unfamiliarity caused me.
“We have to be missing something!” Ilyan’s voice was hard, as a loud bang echoed in my ears, triggering a million memories of clanging pipes and haunting footsteps.
The nightmare jumped through my nerves and my body crinkled together like balled paper. My hands moved to claw into my shoulders as my knees came into my chest. I fought the panic, pushing away the gasps that tried to snake from my lips as I forced away the anxiety.
I tried to keep my breathing level as I kept the fears at bay, pleading with myself that I could open my eyes, that I was brave enough to face my fears. I exhaled a stuttered breath and opened my eyes, waiting to see the blood-stained walls, only to be met by darkness.
My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the heavy darkness of night seeping through the open windows and covering the room in shadows that my mind distorted all on its own. The only light came from a small lantern and several small, colorful orbs that had nestled into the ceiling. The colorful rays cut through the long, dark shadows of night. Everything was as it had been for the last few days—the wall of open archways that led to the balcony, the large ornate furnishings. It was just our room, no nightmares.
Ilyan stood in the dome of dim light, his hands stretched over a table that had been pushed against the wall. He looked intently on the wooden top below him with his hands balled into fists against the wood, making it clear where the loud sound had come from.
The two other men stood across from him; one with long, dirty blond dreads that hung over a leather jacket in stripes of monochrome. Their backs were to me as they, too, hovered over the large table. The other man hunched next to the first, as if he were about to fall asleep. Everything about this man, from his clothes to his posture, was worn and disheveled, as if he had just been caught shoplifting. Hair the color of pitch tangled around his ears and stuck to the back of his neck, making it look like he hadn’t combed it recently, if ever.
Thom and Sain.