It wasn’t my bed. I wasn’t wearing my clothes. Multiple things felt wrong. Very wrong.

The most obvious: I had never felt so weak in all my life. All the strength had been drained from me. It was all I could do to push the furs off my body.

“Count?” Brother Qown had fallen asleep on a small couch near me, and he yawned as he sat up.

“What—?” I winced as I stood.

It’s hard to describe what felt different, except I’ve been preternaturally strong since childhood. After the Hellmarch, I had to learn how to safely hold everyday objects. You have no idea how easy it is to crush a cup while holding it or to rip one’s boots while trying to put them on. To find myself no stronger than any person my age and fitness felt like illness.

“How are you doing?” Brother Qown rubbed his eyes.

White fur blankets had covered us. Thick slabs of smooth, polished black stone made up the windowless walls. Several lanterns hung from hooks, and a fire burned in a hearth across the chamber. The room felt more like a tomb or mausoleum than a place for living beings to dwell. A large door pierced one wall, with two smaller doors in the adjacent one. Thick, sturdy furniture adorned with curious geometric patterns and lattices decorated the room.

Nothing about the décor felt Joratese.

I inhaled and winced. “I feel…” I rubbed my chest where I’d been stabbed. Not even a bruise remained to commemorate the event. “I don’t feel well, to be honest. Does Relos Var have us prisoner?”

Brother Qown hesitated, but then nodded.

The priest didn’t look well either. The dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept much. Plus, he had added a flinch, the sort to convince a village to take a child from their parents back in Jorat.

“Brother Qown, we’re going to get through this. Now when they come back, they’re going to try to gaesh—”

Brother Qown interrupted me. “No, they’re not.”

I hesitated. “What?”

“They already did.”

My heart nearly stopped. I stared at him and felt like an idiot. Of course they’d done it while I slept. Much easier when I couldn’t protest. Khored had said he’d protect me, but I still didn’t know how …

“I mean—they tried.” Qown seemed to choose his next words carefully. “But they failed. You can’t be gaeshed.”

I blinked. “I can’t be gaeshed? But that’s impossible. Anyone can be gaeshed. Anything with a soul can be gaeshed. Demons can be gaeshed—”

“I saw them try. I saw them try four times. Every time, it failed.”

I sat back down again. Khored had done it. Somehow, he’d done it.

“Did they capture the others?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Dorna … Sir Oreth stabbed Dorna—”