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.