Tarja awoke unpleasantly—to the horrid sound of wrenching screams and ear-splitting cries. She looked around, and found only the bleak burden of solitude that the dark gray walls of Place of Death offered. But that never happened, and she sat in the darkness of the prison for hours. And in the two years or so she’d been kidnapped since that night on the Caspedile road was a whole two years wasted watching Garril grow into the man he probably is now. “What would who be?” Elinan asked her, scratching at her wiry hair. “Garril?” she blurted; “as in, Prince Garril?” |}