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Small f**king comfort.
At one point, Marcus had insisted that Parisa show him the voyeuristic vision, thinking perhaps his more profound connection to Havily would allow him to see her, then fold to her position. The sight of her had almost brought him to his knees. She was shackled to the wall just as Parisa had described, pale and unconscious. But as hard as he tried, as determined as he was, he found it impossible to fold to her.
So he relied on Endelle, and her haphazard hunt through the darkening. She was confident that once she found Havily by this means, she could bypass whatever shields were blocking the location and if nothing else pull Havily out of danger and into the darkening. She could keep Havily in the darkening indefinitely, but there was one problem: An individual had to exit the darkening at the point of entrance, which meant Havily would have to return to her place of incarceration before she could leave it.
The hope was that once Endelle found Havily in the darkening, she could bring Marcus in as well. In turn, Marcus could create a telepathic link with Havily and fold directly to her position in Crace’s forge. At least, that was the current plan.
Of course, if Havily hadn’t been drugged out of her mind she could have taken herself into the darkening, something Crace apparently knew, hence the drugs. Parisa had told him that more than once in the past three hours, anytime Havily appeared to be waking up, Crace would cross to her and push a button on the hospital equipment hooked up to her IV.
Too many moving pieces.
Whatever.
“Report,” he barked, pausing in his march to stare at Parisa, who remained sitting on Medichi’s lap. She was pale and obviously frightened but she kept her voyeur’s window open and for that he was grateful.
“She’s still unconscious,” Parisa said. “She’s still sitting on the low bench. She’s breathing and Crace isn’t near her.”
“Good,” he said, but, yeah, he was going out of his mind. He started pacing again. “We have to move this along. He won’t stay away from her.”
He felt helpless. He stared at Endelle and engaged the link he had with her. Anything? he sent.
Sorry, Warrior, but the darkening has limitations. If Havily could find a way to call to me, if she could do a split-self, I think I could get to her. She’s just so out of it. But we won’t stop till we bring our girl home. I promise you that.
He sighed. I know.
And that was why he loved Endelle. Why all the warriors loved her. She was a piece of work but at her core, she was all heart.
* * *
The droplet of sweat soaked into the gauze draped over Havily’s chest. She had been sweating profusely from the time she’d realized her only way out was to do a split-self and move her second self into the darkening. That had been hours ago. Creator help her!
Let go.
She was trying … so hard.
Let go.
She heard Crace moving around. He even hummed at times and occasionally laughed.
She had worked the problem of splitting-self in many different ways: relaxing her mind, trying to remember what Endelle had taught her, what it had felt like to complete the process when Marcus had held her in thrall.
She focused on that experience once more. When he’d put her there, what had been the truest part of her condition? She’d had no will, that much was true, but there was something else.
When the light came on, a single word shot through her head.
Shields.
The word hit her mind like a sudden wind shear.
She grew dizzy. She knew now exactly what needed to be done.
But a pair of heavy battle sandals appeared below her nose and a hand grabbed her hair and lifted her head up. “So you’re awake. Good. I have need of you and I’m not referring to just your blood.”
He unwrapped the waist strap that kept her tied to the wall then popped her manacles. She was so weak that she tumbled forward right off the bench. Fear rippled over her as he tore both needles from her arms. He then rolled her onto her back, her head striking the stone. She was little more than a rag doll given the drugs still in her system.
“What can I say,” he cried. “Your blood fires me.”
Havily was too weak to do more than remain inert. But she closed her eyes and as he pushed her legs apart, she dropped her mental shields 100 percent … and what do you know, she split herself and found herself lying in a similar position in the darkening. Alone. In that space, however, her mind was perfectly clear. She could feel her primary self and Crace’s muscled knees that kept shoving at her inner thighs.
Oh, God.
She screamed Endelle’s name.
Three seconds later Endelle was right there, standing in front of her, almost blinding in the golden glow of her aura.
“Marcus,” Endelle cried. She waved a hand and there he was. Alive. Marcus was alive? He was alive!
He grabbed hold of her arms.
She had to act fast. “The manacles are off but Crace has me pinned on the floor. I’m still drugged.” How easily she could move and talk in her split-self.
He drew in a ragged breath. He put his hands on her face. “Show me.” She closed her eyes and focused. She streamed the location to him, the visceral heat of the forge, the hard stone floor, the humid air.
He kissed her. “I will be with you in seconds now.” He turned to Endelle. “Send me back to the Festival grounds. From there, I can fold to her.”
Endelle nodded and he was gone.
Endelle stared at her. “Return to your primary self. Do all that you can to stay alive, to get both of you out alive when Marcus shows up. Crace is powerful. Marcus will need you, otherwise I’d bring you back into the darkening. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Havily closed her eyes and returned to her body.
She opened her eyes and Marcus stood god-like over Crace, a hand reaching down to grab the monster by his long hair and haul him to his feet.
* * *
Marcus didn’t have time to fold his sword to him. Instead he jerked the bastard away from Havily. Marcus pulled back his fist and struck him as hard as he could, one heavy right hook that connected with Crace’s jaw. Crace’s head snapped back. Though he stumbled, he caught himself and sent his own fist flying in Marcus’s direction.
Marcus shifted just enough so that the blow glanced off his shoulder, which took Crace and all his momentum forward a few more stumbling steps.
Marcus caught him by the arm and once more drew him upright. He slammed a fist into his ribs and heard a nice crack, but Crace only grunted a little. He had blood around his mouth. Marcus could guess the source, especially since Crace had a maniacal light in his eye and apparently was feeling no pain.
