“I don’t know. Mischa saw me leaving with her, but we’ve never met face–to–face, so she might not know who I am.”
“But you can’t take chances.”
He shook his head. “I thought I might try to get Chrysallin to the airfield and into my flit and fly her back to Leah. But the walk to the airfield is too long; she’s too weak to make it.”
“And too much under the influence of the magic, whatever it’s doing.” Leofur poured tea into cups for both of them. “Anyway, even if you somehow manage it, by the time you get there Arcannen or his men will already be watching. You know his reputation as well as I do.”
Something in the way she said it stopped him. “You don’t have anything to do with him, do you?”
She cocked her head, the vaguely amused expression returning. “No, I don’t have anything to do with him.”
“I didn’t think so.” But now he wished he hadn’t asked. “What do you think I should do?”
“You shouldn’t go back to the airfield or your house. You shouldn’t go anywhere near either one.” She thought about it a moment. “I could slip you out of the city in a wagon or cart, even though it might take a day or two to arrange things. But you might have to do it anyway, just because it would be the safest choice.”
He shook his head. “No. We’re miles from another city of any size. Or an airfield where I could find a ship. Anyway, I don’t have any money.”
She laughed. “You are sad, aren’t you? A rescuer with no means to effect a rescue.” She reached out and took his hands in hers. “I’m glad you came to me, Grehling. It’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he admitted. “It’s never been the same without you. Father remarried, and she’s nice enough, but we’re not close. I work at the airfield, but I’m pretty much on my own most of the time. I miss talking to you. Father tries, but …”
“Your father was never much of a talker,” she said. “But he was kind to me.”
She looked like she might say something more, but then she stood up abruptly and looked out the window into the darkening twilight. Nightfall was settling in, the shadows enveloping the surrounding buildings, the light gone out of the sky.
“Let’s think about this,” she said. “Why don’t we sleep on it? Night’s almost here, and you must be very tired after what you’ve been through. Your friend’s already asleep. Why don’t you join her? You can have a place beside her on the floor. I have some blankets and a sleeping pad you can use.”
Though anxious to be off, to be moving away from the danger, Grehling saw the wisdom in her advice and gave a nod. He would be able to think more clearly and act more quickly after he slept. He watched her as she walked over to a closet, brought out the promised pad and blankets, and laid them out neatly on the floor next to the couch where Chrysallin was sleeping.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” she said. She came over, took his hands once more, pulled him to his feet, and kissed him on the forehead. “There, just like when you were a little boy.”
She smiled and turned him toward the sleeping pad. “Lie down, now. Go to sleep.”
He did as he was told, slipping off his boots and shirt and crawling beneath the blanket as she extinguished the lights. He lay there in the dark, listening to her move away–down the hall and into her bedroom. He listened to her movements afterward, picturing her.
He understood in that moment why he had never really managed to forget how he felt about her.
He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep before he heard Chrysallin thrashing, but he was awake instantly as he jerked upright from beneath the blankets and hurriedly knelt beside the couch, trying to calm her.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice a rough, sleep–fogged whisper. “You’re safe! Nothing can hurt you here.”
But she was having none of it, her eyes open and staring, her limbs gesturing wildly, her words jumbled and lacking any recognizable meaning. She kept saying something about the Elven woman, about her brother, and about a black knife. She raved about her pain and suffering, begging and begging her tormentors to stop, to let her go. He held her and whispered reassurances, soothed her with hushing and with the touch of his hand as he stroked her long hair. He did everything he knew how to do to calm her, but it was only after a long time that she went still again.
When he lay her back on the couch and adjusted her blanket, it seemed as if she had gone back to sleep.
But when he lay down again himself, he heard her call softly, “Grehling?”
“I’m here.”
“I had a dream. Another dream. A nightmare. It was bad.” She paused. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
He waited, and then said, “I’m real. Your being here with me is real. Being safe is real.”
“Maybe. But everything I thought was real before wasn’t. Now I can’t be sure of anything.”
He heard her shift positions so she was lying on her side, looking down at him. “I still hurt everywhere. I can still feel the pain from what they did to me. I can still remember them doing it.” She took a long shuddering breath. “But there doesn’t seem to be any physical damage. I touch my fingers and hands and arms–which I thought were all torn apart and broken–but they’re just the same as always.”
“Everything about you is fine. You don’t have any damage anyone can see. You look just the same. When it gets light you can see for yourself. All those things you said happened to you–they didn’t. Something was done to make you believe they happened, but they didn’t.”
She was silent for a long time. “I imagined it all?”
“You were made to imagine it, I think.”
“Maybe not all of it.”
He hesitated. “No, I think maybe everything.”
“Not the Elven woman. Not her. She was real. She was there every time I opened my eyes. Mischa was real. You said so yourself. They were both real, but maybe Mischa is dead now. I saw her head on a table.”
Grehling squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them. “I don’t think she’s dead. And neither do you. Think carefully. You saw her when we escaped. I struck her with my fist. You saw that happen.”
“Did I? I’m not sure. I don’t know if I remember that. I think it was the Elven woman. She was the one you struck.”
The boy sighed and yawned, reluctant to have this discussion now. “I have to sleep. So do you. We can talk about it in the morning. But I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Promise?” she asked softly.
“Promise.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence. His breathing deepened and his eyes closed. He was almost asleep again when he heard her say, “When I see her again, I’m going to kill her.”
He didn’t have to ask who she meant.
NINETEEN
WHEN MISCHA SHAMBLED INTO HIS OFFICE AT DARK HOUSE late that evening, a huge bruise on her forehead and both eyes blackened, Arcannen knew at once what had happened.
“The girl got away,” the witch spat, confirming it.
It was with some effort that he managed to keep his composure. “How did she manage that?” he asked.
She slumped into a chair, her head in her hands. “She had help. A boy. I don’t know where he came from, but he must have broken into the building, found her, and taken her out.”
“He was able to free her from the magic?”
“Apparently. It wasn’t that hard. If you were determined enough, you could walk into the room, break the web apart, and free her.” She looked up, her face twisted in pain. “You will remember I told you to be careful not to go into the room when we looked in on her. That was the reason. The strands have a powerful effect on the intended subject, but are otherwise weak.”