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“Why are you here, then? Why are you helping him?”
She stopped, turning to me. “I will tell you this once. Remember it. He has my son held captive. I help him to keep my son alive. Which means I will do anything he asks. Never forget that. I won’t go out of my way to help the Master, but neither will I do anything to jeopardize my child. Do you understand?”
“Yeah . . . I understand.” And I did. She was protecting her child; she would do what she had to. Hyto had a way with people, all right. He knew just what buttons to push.
“Good. Follow me and keep quiet.”
We passed through several long chambers, each as vacant as the last. Either Hyto didn’t share Smoky’s love of fine living or all of his goodies were in his private chambers. Either way, the cavern was cold and barren and rough, and right now all I longed for was my bed at home and a soft cover and my loves by my side. I missed my husbands and sisters so much that I felt nauseated. But I kept my wits about me and tried to push fear to the back. I needed to remember the layout. If I had to hide, I needed to know where I could vanish.
We entered a smaller chamber to the left. Finally, here were living quarters—at least for mortals. Several beds were scattered around the chamber—I counted twelve—and a steaming pool of water sat in the middle of the room. A natural hot spring? Not likely. More likely melted snow heated by the huge fire burning in the fire pit. The room was still cold, but without the intense chill of the outer chambers, especially when the woman drew a curtain across the entrance.
“Sit and let me clean the wound on your face.” She pushed me toward a narrow stone bench. I sat, fingering the raised gash that Hyto’s hair had inflicted on me. It felt warm, and I wondered if dragon hair could cause an infection. I sucked in a deep breath as I heard a rattling coming from the far end of the chamber.
“What’s that?” I jumped up, looking around.
“My son. Sit down.” She pushed me back down and I slowly lowered myself onto the bench again. I squinted through the dim light of the lanterns scattered around the room. As my eyes adjusted, I finally saw it: a cage fashioned of iron and leather. It was situated a good six feet off the floor—hanging by straps from the ceiling of the cave—and was about the size of a linen closet turned on end.
Inside crouched a wild-eyed young man of around fifteen. He had long golden hair but it was matted into dreads, and so dirty it looked black. Shirtless, he wore a rough pair of trousers held up by a cord tied around his waist. He looked like he was wearing a mesh top, but as I squinted further, I realized the lines I thought were mesh were actually a grid pattern of welts. He’d been beaten, in patterns, enough to leave permanent scars.
Visions of Menolly’s torture crept into my mind as I looked at the boy.
Hyto. It had to be Hyto. He would have no compunction about hurting a mortal—Northman or not. Child or not.
I looked up at the woman, who was watching me. “What’s your name? What’s his name? Did Hyto . . .”
“My name is Hanna. My son’s name is Kjell. And yes, the Master punishes my son for my mistakes.” Her lip twitched and she blinked, quickly, but I still saw her push back the tears.
“He threatened to kill the rest of your family, didn’t he?” I didn’t have to ask. I knew what kind of creature Hyto was. He would use every form of mental and physical torture in the book, and the threat of destroying family was a good way to make someone obey.
Hanna gently washed the wound on my cheek, then ran a thin line of some salve along it. “He killed my husband. I was able to smuggle my daughters away before he got hold of them. But he caught Kjell and me when we were trying to run.” Another line of salve and she stood back. “There. Now remove your clothes. Don’t even think about protesting. You must have a bath. The Master likes his . . . toys . . . to be clean.”
Toys . . . and there it was. I swallowed hard.
“What about your son? He’ll see me.”
“He’s locked in a cage. He’s . . . Seeing a naked woman is the least of his worries. Obey.”
I began to remove my skirt and the turtleneck, turning away from the cage. The strange boy rattled at the door, making guttural cries, but Hanna ignored him and I did the same. There was nothing else I could do but obey. If I struck down Hanna—and my ability to do so was a big if—I’d have no hope of escaping. I needed her. I needed to win her help, and to do that, we had to save her son, too.
As I stepped into the steaming pool, she poured a fragrant oil into the water. The scent was heavy, spice and amber and honey—much like the perfumes I used—and the warm heat of the water began to relax my muscles. I leaned back, as much as I didn’t want to enjoy the feel of the water. I was tired. So tired. And the fear and cold had wormed its way through me.
I fought with myself for a moment, then decided if I relaxed, it would give me a little rest. I breathed in the steam, welcoming the warmth into my body.
Hanna handed me a cloth and bar of handmade soap, and I began to wash myself. As I gazed into the steam, I began to slide into a mild trance. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I might be able to use the Soul Symbiont ritual to contact Smoky, Morio, and Trillian. To at least let them know I was still alive.
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, then let out my breath in a long, steady stream, lowering myself deeper into the trance.
Down, down, deep into the abyss. Let myself slide. Where am I? In a place of swirling fog and mist. In a place of eternal snow. And there, there . . . are sparkles. Tracers. Follow the magic, follow the eye catchers, go racing through the mists. A whirl of whispers, a flutter of sparks, and . . . down farther, deeper within, follow the path to the spark that makes up my inner core, that most sacred of places kept safe from everyone and everything. And there . . . a pinpoint of light, the core of the magic . . .
Another breath, another whirl in the mists . . . go into the light, follow the trail . . . follow the path . . . and then—one more step and . . .
I was standing on the astral, knee deep in mist. The very air sparkled with energy, fluttering like a thousand electrical impulses. Or, what passed for air—on the astral I really didn’t need to breathe, especially because I wasn’t there fully in body but only in spirit. Pink, green, yellow, blue . . . the fluorescence reminded me of the bay at night when the algae flowed in on the tide.
Not sure where I was, I turned, scattering a stream of the sparkles. Where were they? Where were their signatures? I searched, focusing on their faces, holding them firmly in mind, and began to send out a call as I moved forward.
I might as well explore while trying to get through to them. The mist swirled around my legs, a welcoming presence. The astral made me feel safer—at least my spirit could escape, even if my body was trapped with a crazed dragon. And that promise seemed priceless right now.
Smoky, Morio, Trillian—I’m here! Can you hear me? Can you find your way to me? Help! I’m here! I’m alive! Smoky!
