Chapter 67

• Do you honestly believe your friends will find you, Rhea?"
• The voice was a low growl in the moonlight. Darius towered tall at the barred window of her cell, the cold light of the moon casting its beam on his giant frame. There was a scent of pine and bitter smoke about him, a scent of an unfamiliar world, a world of bandits and thieves.
• Rhea sat on a bitter cot, the silver chains a searing, nagging reminder on her wrists. The chains reminded her of capture, represented her powerlessness. She was a bird in a cage, clipped wings, stilled song.