THE PRISONERThe first thing I felt was the cold. It wasn't the fresh, biting cold of the mountain wind Esmeralda loved. This was a heavy, wet cold that felt like it was trying to crawl under my skin and settle in my joints.

I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they had been stitched shut with lead. My head throbbed in time with a slow, dull drumbeat behind my ears. I tried to lift my hand to touch my temple, but my arm wouldn't move. It felt like it belonged to someone else, ...