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him.
    “I will not.” Even as she formed the words, she was moving toward him, laying her bound hands upon his chest, calling his name.
    “My Lord Jarrett. Jarrett! Come to me now. I am here.”
    “She?”
    “I am here,” she said again, and wondered at the quiet power of those three words.
    “Hold me.”
    “I cannot.”
    He blinked up at her, not understanding until she held out her hands.
    Flooded with shame, he drew his knife and cut her free.
    When she reached for him, he shook his head. “No. I don’t deserve your help.”
    “’Tis true,” she agreed, putting her arms around him, “but thee has it just the same.”
    He let her hold him then, his body rigid with guilt for the way he’d treated her, wondering what would happen to him if she wasn’t there to wake him, to comfort him with her touch. Would he wander in his nightmare world forever, driven to madness by the vague shadows of illusion that were too strong to fight on his own?
    “Relax, my Lord,” she whispered. “No more demons will haunt thee this night.”
    “Don’t.” He drew away from her. “Don’t waste your powers on me. I don’t deserve your kindness.”
    She did not bother with a reply, merely drew him into her arms again, holding him close to her breast as her hands stroked his hair and massaged the back of his neck.
    “Forgive me,” he murmured, surrendering to the magic of her touch. “Forgive me.”
    “’Tis done,” she whispered, and felt the sigh of relief that rippled through him.
    Moments later, he was asleep.
    The tables were turned in the morning and it was Jarrett who refused to face Leyla. He had lied to her, abused her, tied her up as if she were no more than a slave, and she had repaid his treachery with kindness.
    He muttered his thanks for the food she prepared, left her to her privacy when the meal was over. Feeling like the worst kind of wretch, he sat near the edge of a small pool, staring into the glassy water, wondering how he would endure the demons of his past without her. But he had promised to take her home, to the mist-draped mountains of Majeulla, and take her home he would.
    His return to Gweneth would have to wait.

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    The following morning, after First Meal, Jarrett lifted Leyla onto the back of the horse and turned south, toward the majestic Mountains of the Blue Mist that had been home to the Maje for eons of time.
    Located in the northern part of Fenduzia, the mist-shrouded mountains were enshrined in legend and mystery. It was said that no one could ascend their heights and live save those who were born there. A fire-breathing dragon guarded the long, winding path that led to the village. Poisonous snakes and plants infested the foothills, taking their toll on unwary, and unwanted, visitors. Rivers of sparkling blue water had lured thirsty men to their deaths. Others had died more slowly, trapped in shimmering pools of quicksand. No one knew how many men had risked all in hopes of capturing a Maje and thereby being assured of their healing powers in times of need.
    “Are they true?” Jarrett asked. “All the rumors I’ve heard about the legendary home of your people?”
    “They can be.”
    “Can be?”
    “Much depends on one’s point of view.”
    “You talk in riddles. Is there a dragon? Are there rivers of death and pools filled with quicksand?”
    “Yes. But the dragon is harmless if one knows the secret of its lair. The poison in the water can be dispersed. The pools can be crossed, if one knows the way.”
    “And the snakes?”
    “The Maje are immune to their venom. Our mountains are a part of us, her earth is in our blood, her mysteries come to us with the first breath of life.”
    “Why did you leave the safety of your home? How is it that you came to be held captive by the Fen?”
    “I wanted to see another part of the world. I wanted adventure. I wanted to see the ocean.” She shrugged. “I had been warned never to go past Dragora’s cave alone,