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“You could draw your weapon if it would make you feel better,” he suggests.

“What would make me feel better is you putting me back to normal and then releasing me.”

“I already told you I can’t do that.”

“Whatcanyou do?” I snap. Exhaustion all but pulls me toward the fluffy snow at my feet. It takes far too much energy just to put one foot in front of the other.

“A great many things,” he says conversationally, ignoring my tone. “I can cook, assuming such things haven’t changed in a thousand years. I am rather good at playing the harp. I can win most drinking games. And …” He pauses to think a moment. “I also have a knack for fishing.”

He turns to me and grins, his blue eyes more intense than ever.

And I can’t say a single thing.

Because those words are sonormal. It’s as if he thinks he can convince me he didn’t just threaten my entire crew with an army of undead. An army that appears to be strangely absent for the moment.

I stumble in my next step, and my vision goes dark for a moment.

“You’re wearied,” Threydan realizes. “Here.” He sweeps me off my feet and holds me in his arms as though I weigh nothing. As far as I can tell, he has no supernatural strength, only the ability to not die. He’s simply a rather strong man.

“Put. Me. Down.”

“If you have the strength to make me, I will heed your request.”

I try to push off his chest, but the action has hardly any force behind it. I’m simply too spent, and that terrifies me more than anything else that has happened so far. Threydan could do anything he wanted right now. Including finishing whatever horrible ritual he started.

“Just sleep, dear Sorinda. I’ve got you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“All right, then. Don’t sleep. I order you to stay alert.”

He thinks he’s being funny, but I find no humor in the situation. I try to hold myself away from the bare skin of his chest. To not notice the way it is still as stone, rather than moving with even breaths.

He is just as dead as those corpses he commanded earlier.

My eyes start to drift, but I slam them open. I think of Roslyn and how I have to be strong for her.

Darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, weirdly soothed by the repetitive movement of Threydan’s steps.

Stay awake.

Stay awake.

Stay …

A DREAMLESS SLEEP ISsomething I haven’t experienced in a long time, and when I rouse myself, I realize that I feel more rested than I have in a while.

Because you’ve never been so exhausted before.

The events of the last few days flood back to me, and my eyes fly wide.

I’m in a dark cavern of sorts, torchlight illuminating the space around me. A downy mattress supports my weight, a soft blanket wraps around my limbs—not that I need the warmth.

As I sit up, my eyes meet the bright, undead gaze of a Drifta man. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I realize he’s probably been waiting there the entire time I was sleeping. Watching. He stands stock-still until he sees me sit up. He points to a wooden chest on the stone floor before leaving. I look around to ensure no one else is present before opening it.

I’m not sure what I expected inside. A body part? Something taken from my crew to make me behave? Or something equally disturbing that my sleep-addled brain cannot conjure up?

Instead I find clothes. A few simple dresses in designs I’ve never seen before. Pants and shirts that have ties in the front. Sandals with light soles. And … are those bonnets?