He hit something hard, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to stun. For a moment, Eight confusedly thought he'd somehow hit the ground and survived, then he realized the air rushing past hadn't abated, and the surface beneath him was warm and covered with feathers.

"Empyrea?"

"When I felt the barrier between the worlds weaken, I suspected you would need my help." She banked, and he grabbed dizzily at the feathers beneath his hands, even though he suspected he was in no danger of falling. "I am sorry to find things worse than I feared."

"Wotcher mean?" Yangus demanded. "We beat ol' Rhapthorne, didn't we?"

"You vanquished the form in which he was imprisoned," Empyrea corrected, and Eight felt a sinking feeling that had nothing to do with their flight. "I fear he still has power enough to take on his true form."

"Are you saying we went through all that for nothing?" Jessica demanded.

Eight couldn't decide if her voice was closer to fury or hysteria; either way, it wasn't good, and he worked his way carefully to where she knelt beside Angelo's body and covered her hand with his own.

"You have bought yourself time. Rhapthorne would have ultimately taken on this form without your interference. By forcing him into it prematurely, you have weakened him, and delayed his reaching full strength."

"Delayed it by how long?" Eight asked.

"A fortnight, perhaps. A few weeks, at most. Hang on."

The warning was barely in time, as she pulled up to settle on the deck of the ship and nearly unseated them. Angelo slipped from Jessica's grip, reminding Eight that Rhapthorne wasn't what they had to worry about right now, making his mind race to determine how long they'd fought Rhapthorne, how long it had taken them to get outside, how long it had taken them to land.

He didn't know, and every passing moment might be the one that would make his attempt at resurrection too late.

"Yangus, help me with Angelo," he ordered, because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't simply cast the spell, not with Angelo armed. He could wake disoriented - if he wakes, Goddess, please let him wake - or still under Rhapthorne's control, and either could be a disaster.

It was hard, though, hard to take the time to maneuver Angelo's body to Empyrea's side, hard to lower him into Yangus's waiting arms. Harder to order Yangus to restrain him before finally uttering the words that might bring Angelo back to them.

The spell settled over Angelo's body, and for a moment it seemed nothing happened. Then his wounds began to bleed, just for the few seconds it took the spell to heal them, and he drew a shuddering breath. Blue eyes blinked open, flicking around in confusion.

Eight had just enough time for a silent thanks to the Goddess before Angelo lashed out, going for Yangus's face with his right hand even as he flung himself against the bandit's grip. Yangus fell backwards with a curse; free, Angelo was on his feet and moving toward Jessica before any of them could react.

It was over before King Trode could finish demanding to know what was going on. A spell from Jessica and Angelo collapsed, asleep, practically on top of her, his grip on the Shamshir finally loosening enough for Eight to pull it away. Just touching the blackened sword made Eight's skin crawl; he wanted to toss it overboard, but refrained, knowing it was - had been - a powerful weapon, and hoping they could do something to restore it.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to hold it, and took the time to deposit it in the main cabin before taking charge of things.

"What has happened?" Empyrea demanded when he returned; she sounded as upset as he'd ever heard her.

"Yes, that's what I'd like to know," Trode said.

"Rhapthorne captured Angelo," Eight explained. "I don't know what he did, but...when we got to Rhapthorne, Angelo was defending him, and didn't seem to recognize us. I'd hoped, once we got him away from the Black Citadel..." He sighed. "But it looks like we're going to have to go after Rhapthorne with just the three of us."

"You must not." Empyrea flared her wings slightly. "To defeat Rhapthorne's true form, you must have the strength to break the barrier protecting him. I am not entirely certain the four of you will be able to do it; I know you cannot do it with only three."

Eight stared at her. Is that why we weren't a threat? Because Rhapthorne knew we'd be helpless with Angelo dead, no matter how the battle turned out?

"How do we break this barrier?" Jessica asked. In spite of everything, she was beside Angelo, much as she had been on the flight to the ship.

Empyrea spread her wings fully. "I will explain when I return. Until then, you must do everything in your power to free your friend from Rhapthorne's control. The fate of the world depends on it."

She launched herself skyward, the rush of wind from her wings effectively preventing further questions.

"Hmph. That wasn't terribly enlightening," Trode grumbled as they watched the godbird vanish into the distance.

"As if we wouldn't do whatever it takes to get Angelo back."

"It may not be easy, though, Jess." Eight stared at Angelo's motionless form. "We're going to have to restrain him, somehow, before he wakes up."

"You aren't serious!"

"He's not in his right mind, and you can't keep him asleep around the clock." Eight moved closer to her, his voice dropping. "We have to do something until we can reach him."

"The guv's right. For 'is own good, an' all." Yangus scratched his head. "Seems I recall findin' a bit of chain back when I was first explorin' about the ship. An' there's plenty of empty space t' put him."

Jessica was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides. "You're going to treat him like a prisoner?"

"He is a prisoner," Eight said. His gaze locked with hers until she looked down; her capitulation didn't make him feel any less like a traitor. "As long as he's under Rhapthorne's control, he has to be."

He woke, not in a proper cell, but a windowless room, his wrists shackled and joined - to each other, to the wall - by chains which were far too long to truly restrain him.

Humiliating, to have been captured by people who were obviously incompetent.

"Angelo."

He sat up; the woman - a mage, he remembered from his escape attempt - was watching him from the far corner of the room.

"You don't remember us at all?"

He saw no harm in the truth. "You attacked my Lord, and I obviously failed to stop you."

"Nothing from before?"

Silently, he shook his head.

Jessica sat silent for a few minutes, her gaze never leaving Angelo. He stared back, wary and perhaps just a bit angry.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't want them to chain you."

No reaction; she supposed, if she were chained up, she wouldn't be interested in chatting with her jailer, either.

"You don't belong with Rhapthorne, you know."

That got a reaction, a flash of anger and an abrupt lift of his chin - wounded pride - and he almost retorted before getting himself under control. Jessica saw her mistake at once. The fierce loyalty which had kept Angelo with them despite his complaints, which had led him to save his ingrate brother, had been given to - stolen by - Rhapthorne. She'd accomplish nothing if she set herself at odds with it.

She could only hope to sway some of that loyalty back to them, and perhaps, help him remember.

"You were our friend." A pause. "You are our friend."

They had expected recognition when he faced them in the throne room, he remembered. Perhaps they had once served Rhapthorne; if so, they were traitors, not just enemies, and he would be doubly glad to rid the world of them.

She was still speaking, trying to coax forth memories which didn't exist. He remembered nothing before Rhapthorne's mercy in healing him, nor did he wish to.

He hid his skepticism over her improbable tales, urged her to continue with interested glances, and learned more than she realized she was telling.

By the third day, Jessica realized she was wasting her time. Angelo never spoke to her, and when he showed interest in what she was saying it was distant, as if she were a minstrel spinning entertainment.

She spent that night crying in Eight's arms.

"You don't have to keep doing this, Jess," Eight said the next morning, watching her with worried eyes. "We'll think of something else. Empyrea has to come back soon; maybe she'll have some ideas."

"I'm not abandoning him again."

It was hard, though, when Angelo noted her disheveled appearance not with concern or even interest, but merely a raised brow, as if she were a curiosity put on display. More than once, she found herself falling silent before his dispassionate gaze, or fighting tears as she compared the brash, sometimes trying Templar of her memories to the detached prisoner before her.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, forcing a smile. It was much earlier than she normally left him, but she couldn't bear the silence, or the sound of her own voice, any longer. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company today. But I'll be back tomorrow, of course."

She thought he nodded, but the movement was too slight for her to be sure.

The woman came daily, bringing food and talking to him for hours, or bringing food and heated water, and giving him the privacy to wash. One day, she apologized for not being able to bring him clean clothing.

The next, all three of them came to his cell. His first thought was that they had wearied of waiting for the woman's methods to bear fruit, but the men merely stood guard while he washed and changed from his bloodied, filthy uniform into a well-worn linen shirt and trousers.

He knew their kindness was manipulation, and tried not to feel gratitude.