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Draven’s face softened slightly. “Who set up the camp? Who was with us? Besides you and me. Do you remember?”
He wanted me to remember. For some reason that alone was a relief. He hadn’t... Well, done something to me. Like Lyrastra had. If I couldn’t recall some things, it had nothing to do with him.
I wracked my brain. “You. Me. The horses.”
A faint look of amusement crossed his face. “Yes, there were horses. You’ll be happy to know Haya is safe and stabled. Who else? Think, Morgan.” His voice was much gentler than it had been with Lyrastra and Ulpheas.
I hesitated. “A... child?”
“Good. A girl. Yes.” He paused. “Odelna was her name.”
“Was?” I said sharply. “Is she...?”
“She’s safe,” he assured me quickly, but an odd look had come over his face.
And then with a surge, like water breaking through a dam, I remembered.
“Oh gods...” I whispered. “Lancelet. Lancelet was there.”
Draven ran a hand over his face. “Yes. She was with us, too.”
My breathing quickened. “I remember. I remember now. She was dragged away by those... by those fucking things. Those fucking monsters. Those... those children.”
Pain crossed his face. “The children. Yes.”
I flung back the blanket that covered me and forced myself to sit up. Every muscle in my body shrieked in protest. I could feel myself starting to tremble again. “We have to go back. We have to go back for her, Draven. Did you just... did you just leave her there? How could you?” Panic was rising in me.
“Morgan, lie down. You have to understand. About Lancelet...”
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head furiously. “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare. She was still alive. She might still be alive. We have to go back. We have to gonow.”
Draven lifted a hand slowly. For a moment I thought he was going to push back a lock of his raven-black hair. Instead he reached out towards me and gently pushed against the center of my chest just above my ribs.
I fell back against the bed as if struck by a strong wind.
He withdrew his hand. It had been the lightest and briefest of touches.
And yet the moment he touched me, I felt lightheaded and strange. My heart was beating too fast. My skin felt hot where he had touched it. I shook my head, trying to shake off the sensation.
For a split second, I caught a similar perplexed expression on Draven’s face. Then it smoothed into inscrutability.
“You can’t even sit up,” he observed. “But you want to stage a rescue.”
“Yes, I want to stage a fucking rescue,” I exclaimed, struggling to regain my upright position. “The real question is why don’t you?”
He held my gaze steadily. “Because I already have, Morgan.”
I was speechless for a moment. Then, “What’s that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?” I glanced at his forehead. “And while we’re at it, when are you going to tell me where the fuck I am and since when have you had horns on your head?”
My cheeks felt hot. With embarrassment or anger, I wasn’t sure. But something wasn’t right. That much was abundantly clear. Something was very, very wrong. And I needed to figure out what.
Draven clasped his hands and looked down at them. I felt a wave of sick apprehension. He didn’t want to meet my eyes. That couldn’t be good.
He sighed. “All fair questions. But Lancelet first, yes?”
“Fine,” I snapped. “Give me whatever bullshit excuse you want to make and then let's go back there and find her.”
I didn’t want to ask how far back “there” was. I was afraid I wasn’t going to like the answer very much.
