No one had come to rescue her. She’d been forgotten by the world in this dark, evil place, just as she had forgotten them. All that existed now was Drakar and her hatred of him.
“Kill me, Drakar. I will watch from heaven as King Caleb kills you.”
An hour later, Seth burst through the doors of the church like a plague falling upon everyone there.
“You!” Galin stood up, stunned when he saw him.
“Where is she?” Seth stormed down the halls, kicking open doors and searching quickly inside each room. When he didn’t find her on the first landing, he marched back to Galin, his eyes smoldering. “I found the king.”
“And?” Galin wiped his sweaty hands on his breeches.
Towering over the short, pudgy man, Seth bent close to his face. “And Princess Willomenia better be alive and well, Galin.” He turned to the entrance of the church. “Your Majesty?”
King Baltrasard appeared like a great black raven against the glare of light behind him as he entered the old church. When he saw him, Galin fell to his knees, trembling. Baltrasard took a step forward and the doors swung closed, darkening the halls like a promise of death. His back was arrow straight, giving the illusion that he was even taller than his six foot, two inches. His shoulders were broad and high, and from them hung a black cloak that fell in satiny folds to the dusty floor. He was a handsome man, with dark chestnut hair and eyes to match. His nose was prominent and sharp, and his lips, like his daughter’s, were full and pink.
“Where’s my daughter?” He spoke quietly, but his voice was deep and carried like weights, threatening to crush Galin. The leader of the Catchers closed his eyes and sighed pitifully.
Seth’s face seemed to collapse as Galin’s terror became apparent. “Galin,” he whispered slowly. “You didn’t keep her with Drakar all this time, did you?” And when the groveling man did not answer, Seth’s eyes opened wide with horror.
Baltrasard regarded the plump man with icy contempt. “If she’s hurt, you will die a most miserable death.”
“But Your Majesty,” Galin whimpered without looking up, “how was I to know?”
“I’ll find her!” Seth shouted as he ran past them, then pointed to Galin. “He’ll try to escape.”
A slight old man, who couldn’t be sold because he was daft, was sweeping the floors at the top of the stairs. When Seth reached him, the two sets of eyes met.
“Martin!” Seth grabbed the old man’s frail shoulders. “You’re still here.” It wasn’t a question, and the young Catcher smiled, happy to see that Martin was still alive and well. He prayed the same held true for Willow.
Martin shrugged. “No one wanted me.” He glanced down the stairs where he could just make out the sound of Baltrasard’s voice. “I knew she was telling the truth.”
“Yes, she was. Where is she, Martin?” Seth asked anxiously.
“Don’t know…haven’t seen her for a looooong time.” Martin shook his head slowly and his cloudy blue eyes grew large and sad. “Drakar musta killed poor Willow.”
Seth’s tanned skin paled and he cursed an oath before he let Martin’s shoulders go. He searched every room, but Willow was in none of them. He remembered the crypts below the church—Drakar’s favorite place to beat the slaves. He flew back down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Baltrasard and Galin were gone, but Seth didn’t notice as his boots clapped hard against the wooden floors. He raced down more stairs, through a set of rotted doors, then down a long dark hall. He called her name, but no one answered. He saw a dim ray of golden light peeking from under a door at the end of the hall and ran toward it, calling her again. When he reached the door, he kicked it open, shattering the lock to splinters.
What he saw when he entered the room made him fall to his knees. “Willow?” he whispered, choking back a sob.
Her body was covered with dried blood and large purple bruises. Everywhere he looked on her skin, paled to an almost iridescent white, he saw bruises, swollen angry welts that begged for mercy. She lie unconscious or dead; he didn’t know which, her face, a mask of bulging shades of blues and deep yellows. Shadows hinted of caverns under her eyes and cheekbones, where flesh, deprived of nourishment, met bone. Her hair, once silky, was matted with knots and clotted, dried blood.