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Desfan roared. He dropped to his knees and cradled Mia in his arms as he sobbed, her crimson blood covering them both.
Grayson just knelt there, burning. Unable to move. Unable to even go to Mia’s body.
Tyrell thrust a knife between his ribs. “This is what you deserve,” he hissed, hatred in every word. “You got her killed.Youkilled her.”
Grayson fell, and he didn’t care that he was dying.
Mia was gone, and nothing else mattered.
But he didn’t die.
He continued to fall, and he continued to burn.
When Grayson finally opened his eyes, he knew too much time had been lost. He’d been vaguely aware of time’s passage; he knew he had been in and out of consciousness for a long period, and that Mia was usually beside him. He’d known that, even if he couldn’t make his eyes open. He couldfeelher, even when she hadn’t been touching him.
His head ached unbearably, but he knew that his fever was gone. What he didnotknow was why a young boy with large green eyes stared down at him.
“Why does your face look like that?” the boy asked.
Grayson blinked, slowly pushing himself up.
Blankets slid down his chest to pool in his lap. He wore a loose black shirt—the only change of clothes he’d packed—and from the light that poured in from the small window on the far wall, he knew it was the middle of the day. His stomach rumbled.
The unfamiliar boy stood beside his bed, his lean face smudged with dirt. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old, and he stared at Grayson unabashedly. “Garrett says you were probably tortured by the Black Hand. Or maybe the king. Does it hurt? It looks awful.”
Grayson eyed the boy. He made no sense. Hispresencemade no sense. Grayson had no idea where he was. He was supposed to be in the forest with—
Mia.
Panic knifed him.
Mia wasn’t in the room.
Terror shot painful pinpricks throughout his body. He shoved the blankets aside, and the young boy scrambled back as Grayson lurched to his feet. He swayed and had to grab the nearest bed post to steady himself. His feet were bare against the wood floor, which was smooth and cold. The pain in his head spiked, and each pound of his heart sent a new throb of agony through his temples. Nausea swirled in his gut.
“You’re not supposed to get up,” the boy said.
He swallowed hard, fighting to keep down bile. “Where’s Mia?” he demanded.
The boy’s brow furrowed. “You mean Rena?”
Rena?Grayson frowned. RenaFletcher?That wasn’t possible—the woman wasn’t with them. He needed Mia.
He gritted his teeth. “Where’s the young woman who traveled with me?”
“That’s Rena,” the boy said, and the way he peered at him made it clear he doubted Grayson’s lucidity. “She’s gone. Timothy took her outside.”
Grayson didn’t know who Timothy was, but if he’d touched Mia, he was dead.
He gritted his teeth and moved for the door, stumbling a little over the smooth floor.
The boy easily trailed him. “Rena told me to watch you while she was gone. She said you’d probably just keep sleeping, but if youdidwake, you were supposed to stay in bed.”
Grayson ignored him. He braced a hand against the doorframe to keep from falling over. His vision swam, and the room spun.
“You don’t listen very well,” the boy said, his tone as conversational as ever.
Grayson tried to breathe without throwing up or falling over. “Who are you?”
