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There was only one place that the Nymphs made a point not to visit. The pits of the dungeon. Would taking him down to someplace with so many bad memories make this worse for him?
“Can you take him down to the dungeon without being seen? I’ll go get Suzetta.”
“Everyone is out practicing and I’ll stick to the less frequented halls. No one here likes to walk by the dungeons.”
“You can’t save me, Ryker,” Daethian cooed. “You’ve already ruined me.”
A passing feeling of horror rattled my thoughts. Leaving had been the wrong answer, and I had left him alone to deal with whatever it was that was happening to him. I didn’t want to blame myself, but something about the way he said it rang true.
“Shut up.” Graceson dragged him forward. “Mind if I gag him?”
“Please do.” I nodded, pulling the door open for him as the two wrestled forward.
“Damn it. He’s strong. Tell Suzetta we may need to sedate him,” Graceson huffed as he struggled out and down the hall with Daethian pressing his feet into the ground and pushing off of him.
Fear and urgency nipped at my heels. I tried to push down the waves of dizziness that still plagued me from the sudden rush of not breathing, to breathing, to standing, to running. Nymphs watched me, confused, as I sprinted past them without a word. I caught their twisted expressions as their faces followed. Every tick of their surprised, gaping mouths or upturned eyebrows filtered through my brain. Doorways came and went, inching away at an alarmingly slow pace. Everything moved, but never as fast as I needed it to. Even the air around me felt heavy, thick with guilt and worry, and hard to navigate.
Daethian is going to be okay. He’ll be fine. It’s alright. This can be fixed. My friend can survive this. I can survive this. I did survive this. Daethian is going to be okay.
I just had to keep repeating it in my head.
The heel of my shoes slid across the floor as I slid into the infirmary. Suzetta and Shavarra were hovering over a patient, delicately wrapping the man's arm. Both looked up, wide-eyed at my sudden appearance. The air was full with the bitter scent of the products Suzetta used to keep the room as sterile as possible.
“You’re back.” Suzetta paused. “What’s the matter? What the hell happened to your neck?”
“Here, I can finish this,” Shavarra whispered and nudged Suzetta toward me with her elbow.
The healer looked down behind her at the patient even as she crossed the room. Her gentle hands reached out, brushing over my neck. “Who did this to you?”
I hadn’t had the chance to look, but I was sure his hand had left large, mean bruises that would rival those that King Ganglin had once left. It hurt to speak, and air still burned my chest as I tried.
“Don’t worry about me. Something is wrong with Daethian. Can you come with me?”
Suzetta nodded eagerly, leaving Shavarra to finish the work she had started. The healer easily kept pace next to me as I ran down the halls once more. Questions bloomed out of her like petals of a flower that faced the sun.
“What's wrong with him?” she began.
“I-I don’t know. His eyes are black, black smoke was spilling off of him, and he tried to kill me.” The words came out in a tumble. “It’s like he is possessed.”
“By a demon of Havala? Has he done anything else out of the ordinary, other than just now? It is a tad worrying. Daethian loves you.”
“Only a tad worrying? I almost died.” I laughed to keep from crying. If I thought too hard, hot, wet tears welled in my eyes. “Uh, he has been argumentative lately. He has said some really mean things, but I just assumed we were going through a phase or something. There has been this tension between us and…and I’m talking too much you don’t need to know that.”
“Either way, black eyes and oozing black smoke isn’t natural.” Suzetta stroked a beaded necklace that hung from a belt loop on her loose pants. Her thumb rubbed over a worn pendant, faded to a bronze, the olive branch symbol of Mother Nature.
“Graceson thinks you’ll need to sedate him.”
Suzetta hummed as she thought. The door that opened to the stairs that lead down to the cells was still swinging on its hinges. Muffled shouts and bitterly yelled curse words echoed up to us.
“Oh no,” I mumbled and jogged down the stairs.
Graceson leaned heavily against a cell door, his hands fumbling with the jingling keys as he tried to keep it closed and lock it. Daethian pushed on the other side. His long fingers gripped the bars with white knuckles. Curling strands of fog reached out around him like deadly arms.
“Fuck youandyour fucking smoke,” Graceson hissed, dodging a strand that reached for his cheek. The key clanked loudly, the lock clicking in place. Daethian’s fingers grazed Graceson’s shirt, trying to grab him through the bars, but Graceson was already shaking his head and walking toward us.
The metal door rattled on its hinges as Daethian’s large hands rocked the bars. An uninviting scent still filled the space. I breathed through my mouth trying to ignore the stench that reminded me of rotting flesh. Blood still splattered the floors. Visible claw marks from Nymphs who tried anything they could to withstand torture or to break free of the cell were scratched against the walls.
“No one saw you?” I asked, chewing on my nails.
