Chapter Twenty-Four

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A sort of numbness held Géta in thrall. Between the cold and the difficulty of traveling while tied to a saddle, he'd entered a kind of state where his thoughts didn't penetrate very deeply, certainly not enough to speak. Not that his captors wanted his words.

During his more lucid moments, he'd managed to determine there was no way he'd be given a chance to escape. They may shift his hands to the front so he could grip the saddle, but they didn't let him get away with anything. Even when he relieved himself, three of the Inskiti surrounded him, backs to him.

The woman who'd been assigned to feed him shoved the spoon into his mouth, and Géta choked a little on what he'd been just about to swallow. He longed for the numbness; it hovered just out of reach. That numbness took him away from his current situation. Géta chewed as quickly as he could, the food making him a little alert, and swallowed just before the Inskiti woman raised another spoonful of food to his lips. He hadn't bothered trying to identify what this was, though it had the scent and flavor of corn. It had been ground, and the grains slid between his teeth and cheeks, similar to grits, though this seemed less like grits and more like a meal. The soupy consistency did little to endear him to the food, especially since it hadn't been flavored with anything.

He faced the camp, so saw when Enemy Mage left the fire. Géta watched the man's approach without a hint of fear, though not because of the numbness. More a sense of fatalistic acceptance of his lot. He was in Inskiti hands. More than likely, he'd be tortured once they reached the hold. There was no way to escape.

Enemy Mage went around to his other side and the woman set the spoon in the bowl. Covering Géta's mouth with his hand, Enemy Mage held Géta's head. Géta closed his eyes, and the Mage rocked his head until he opened them again. Enemy Mage scowled.

"You are behaving." He sounded displeased. "That is good for you. As long as you keep cooperating, things will go easy for you." The Mage looked upset about that possibility. "If you stop doing what you are told, I will make sure your bones hurt when I am done with you." An idea that evidently pleased Enemy Mage a great deal, for he grinned.

Géta swallowed the food in his mouth, just staring. His mind barely comprehended what the Mage had said, but he recognized the malice in the man's expression. It simply had no ability to cause him to fear. The numbness had seeped in. Enemy Mage gazed at him for a moment, gagged him once more, then smirked before letting him go and rising. Géta bowed his head, weary and too certain of his fate now to hold it up any longer.

The Mage gave a command in Inskiti, and the woman grabbed the bowl, leaving Géta. Someone else came over when he didn't move and shoved him down with a foot. Géta flopped onto the ground, not making a sound, and curled up on his side as much as he could, trying to catch the back of his cloak with his fingers to pull closer.

If he could have whistled the Gods' Will away from himself and replaced it with a death wish, he would have.

He sat in the dining hall with Asthané, mathematics work beneath his pencil while his Mage wrote a letter to someone. The scene didn't match what he knew in his waking life at this time, and Géta struggled to get free of the dream. Better to be awake and facing reality than trapped in what he felt certain, even in his sleep, to be a dream.

But the scene didn't dissipate right away. In a way, it had a kind of prophetic quality, as if the Gods were trying to assure him he'd have this again. It lingered as he scratched numbers out on the paper, glancing at Asthané with a feeling of utter trust and confidence. Even more than the vague awareness of his waking reality, it was these emotions which lent a stark unreality to the scene. He'd never ever felt such utter trust in Asthané—as if he could be positive in his future with his Mage. It filled him to a greater degree than any other emotion he'd ever felt in relation to his Mage. Asthané was many things to Géta, but he didn't think his Mage had ever been what he felt Asthané to be in this dream.

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