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A tug in the opposite direction was the only source of discomfort, but even that was easily ignored. She curled herself away from it.Yes,the pool said.Stay. Sleep.

There was nothing she wanted more, but something strong had her. It wrenched her away.

Her head broke the surface to the return of wild laughter, the sting of the cold. She was mercilessly dragged over the lip of the pool and dropped onto the stone – its sharp edges prodding her uncomfortably. Farra tried to lift her heavy eyelids. How harsh this world was. Better to return to the pool. Perhaps she could roll herself over the edge.

“No,” a voice said. It reached her above the harsh echo of mirth and merriment. Cold fingers clasped her wrist. “Please. Stop.”

Farra blinked again and Mesrich’s face came into view, hovering close to hers. Grim concern marred his otherwise flawless features.

“Well,” Vasteel’s voice called, reverberating from the stone walls. “I’ve never seen you look so starved, Mesrich. What say you all? Should we deprive our friend his fill of flesh?”

There was a roar of dissent in reply.

“Or should we take what the Mother has offered us?”

A rumble of enthusiastic approval followed.

Mesrich did not join the chorus. His stare was saved for Farra.

“Ha! Very well. Then take what is yours, feral beasts! Let us drink!”

A resounding roar followed, but Farra barely noticed. She was being lifted from the cold floor, into even colder arms.

“Let go of me,” she mumbled weakly, her words blending into one another.

The Glacian did not reply. She watched the underside of his jaw strain, watched his eyes darken as they left the noise behind them, and before her eyes closed again, she thought she heard him whisper to her that he would keep her safe.

Once more, she slipped beneath the surface.

She awoke upon a bed, one wider than any she’d known to exist. She was warm. Soft blankets were laid carefully atop her. Her limbs felt oddly heavy, as though the muscle had dissolved and left nothing behind but useless weights that kept her anchored down. But she had to get her bearings, had to find a weapon, had to get out.

She wrenched herself upright, vision swimming.

“Easy,” a voice said, and then a hand was against her chest, urging her onto her back again.

She found the face – the very same face that had haunted her in restless sleep – and she spat into it.

He had her wrists wrapped up in a heartbeat. She had hardly raised them to rake down his face, to tear out his eyes. “LET ME GO!” she screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow.

But he only watched her with morbid finality. “I cannot.”

Whatever the pool’s magic, it had sapped her strength. Quickly, she found her efforts waning, she was sinking back to the bed, gasping for breath. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes. They coursed down the sides of her face and got lost in her hair. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her lips trembling. If he ripped the clothes from her body now and forced himself upon her, she could hardly stop him.

His eyelids drooped with something like disdain. His jaw ticked. “I want nothing from you.”

“Then let me go. Or throw me into the pool.”

“You will never see the inside of that pool again.” His voice became a growl. “You will rest here. Heal.” He motioned toward her shoulders, which Farra only now noticed were bandaged. “When you are well, I will help you find your escape.”

Her heart stuttered. She tried to find the trickery in the words, but the Glacian’s eyes did not err from hers, his lips did not falter from the way they pressed firmly together.

“Escape?”

He merely nodded. There was nothing sardonic about the way he perused her shoulders. The concern seemed somehow genuine. “I stitched the wounds again,” he said flatly. “They had opened.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

Mesrich cursed in the old language. “Of course not. But you should rest until they heal. Stay upon the bed.”