“You will help?”
“I will consider.”
“Don’t consider too long. Time is running out.” Heart hammering, Dmitri spun on his heel and returned to the portal. He stood on a rise, letting the pain take him as he gazed on what used to be. No matter how hard he tried, Xariel would never restore Eallarial, never restore their families.
Never bring back the daughter who’d sided against him.
Chapter Forty
Martinblinkedopenhiseyes, staring out a window at a sky like gray soup—gray soup with chunks of fat. His pleasant dream escaped like smoke through a closed fist.
Peter. He missed Peter.
Fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of roasting meat making his mouth water. He sat up from the pallet he lay upon. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”
The man who called himself Xariel shrugged off his spot against the wall. He’d dropped his glamour, appearing to be one of Dmitri’s kind. A guardian, with pale skin, eyes, and hair. “I had business to attend. I couldn’t risk you running off. You don’t know this world. It’s not… safe.”
“I didn’t know you we so concerned about me,” Martin snapped. Damnation, his head hurt. Squeezing his temples with his hands didn’t reduce the agony.
Xariel waved a hand. The headache went away.
Should Martin thank his captor? No. Instead, he perused the room, seeking weapons.
“Do not try to attack me. I’m far more powerful than you could ever know.”
Had Martin been so transparent?
“Your father was a healer, I believe, and your grandmother a nature mage.”
“Don’t talk about my family.” Apparently, Martin’s foul temper didn’t leave with the physical pain.
“What would you rather talk about?” Xariel added a hint of amusement to his tone.
The cottage prison smelled musty, unused, the bed new and clean. There were no personal effects. This was a prison cell, not a home. “How about why you brought me here, are Peter and Dmitri well? What do you plan to do with me, and when can I return?”
Xariel chuckled. “Wow, that’s quite a mouthful. All without taking a breath. You definitely inherited your mother’s talking talents.”
“Do not speak of my mother!”
The smile on Xariel’s face fell. He gave Martin his back, turning toward the fire. The room had been sweltering even without a fire.
Pale coloring, head-to-toe coverings. Maybe they weren’t all for hiding. This world’s sun didn’t seem so bright, the sky gloomy, and the air too warm for Martin’s comfort.
Just because Xariel was cold didn’t mean the same for Martin.
When his captor once more faced Martin, he offered a laden plate and fork. How Martin would love to throw the offering back, but his stomach rumbled. Making himself weak would help no one.
“Then I won’t speak of your mother. I’ll speak of a promising, headstrong, young mage who once ran along the shoreline, screaming at birds. Who regularly set her family’s house on fire until she learned to control her magic.”
Damnation. “You knew her.”
Xariel nodded. “I knew her.”
“So did Dmitri. You both knew her, and now she’s dead. Neither of you protected her.”
Xariel hung his head, long, pale locks obscuring his face. He looked so different without glamour. Pale, though not as pale as Dmitri. “No, we didn’t protect her. I was sorry to hear of her loss.”
“Why am I here?”
