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Prayed for himself and Alex, but most of all he prayed for their child. He couldn’t allow her die. Not now. Not when they were so close to the freedom they all hungered for so desperately. Not when Alex and their child were depending on him the way the way they were. Or how he was depending on her. Her words to him, “let me help you find your children” were already haunting him. Would he have to sacrifice one for the other?
    When the group returned with the chargers he mounted the lead stallion and took Alex from Damien’s hands, bringing her to rest in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her, took the reins, and led them to what they believed to be freedom from hell. And for any of them to survive, the Healer would have to suffer most of all.
    * * * *
    “Do you think they know we’re gone yet?” Damien asked.
    “She’d have to be an idiot not to,” Lucilla said, riding alongside both Damien and Tristan.
    “Listen to your wife and stop believing in fairy tales.”“Shuddup. Not everyone is favored by both the queen and her sister and is privy to the court’s intrigues.”
    Alex gasped for air as if being strangulated. “Stop the horses!” Her face was deathly white and ice-cold. Her eyes were vacant, and Tristan suddenly felt queasy. He shook her violently. “Alex, breathe, dammit!” Her eyes glazed over and filled with horror. A moan wrenched her whole body and she began to convulse. He looked out onto the horizon and saw nothing but wasteland. “I need shelter. I need to make her well! Is there nowhere for us to be secluded?”
    Damien urged his horse to take a few steps forward and circled back. Alex reached out and touched Tristan’s temple and flashes of his family being slaughtered seemed to fade. He understood that his pain was killing her. It was toxic to her. Hell, it was toxic to him, too, but it was literally, slowly poisoning her blood.
    Tears slid down her cheeks and another sob twisted her body violently. If he did not find a refuge within the next few moments she would die. And he needed her alive. He needed their child alive. Without them there would be no reason for him to live.
    “Follow me!” Isaiah shouted and galloped ahead.
    Alexandra placed her hand to his chest and slumped backward. “No no no, you can’t do this to me. Not now,” he begged her as he held her close and careered to catch up with the group. He had no idea where he was heading. Their lives were all in the hands of an outwardly sympathetic guard who might have been leading them straight into a trap. Pressing his cheek to her temple he crushed her body to his, and tried to evoke their moments together in the cell...of how they’d come together at the time when she needed him most. And now she was at death’s door without him being able to stop what was happening to her. It was emasculating and made him feel vulnerable all over again.
    He looked ahead. An old abandoned suburban neighborhood stretched out before them. How had Isaiah known it was there? How had he known the way to it?
    Their steeds gathered in the center of the ghost town. All the homes looked nice from the outside. Most homes did, if they were close to government strongholds, since they were usually reserved for the military when on leave. Isaiah turned his horse around and said, “You and Alexandra should have the first pick. Take whatever you need from the other homes should you need to. All of our fates are in her hands.”
    He stiffened. This last comment explained a lot. Not only was his spirit draining her, so were theirs. Forty-eight hours ago he would have called them all fools for believing in such things. Who was the fool now?
    “She’s not picky. We’ll take this one. It’s closest. Isaiah,” he said, dismounting and gently sliding Alex down into his arms, “take my horse and settle him in the garage next to the house. Feed him, water him. No matter what you see or hear do not, and I repeat, do not come inside. Are we