Chapter 19
Heavy pounding on the door dragged Carver from a deep sleep even though it wasn’t even dark outside. Groggy, he scrubbed a hand down his face and tried to clear his thoughts. Whipping. Kissing. Persephone. Soulmates.
He came fully awake with a jolt.
The knocking intensified, and a rusty curse scraped in his throat. Dex and Silas had promised to come back after their guard shift. It had to be them.
Still lying there, he tested his range of movement. He ached all over, but the real pain, the fiery throbbing in his back and even the tender bruising around his ribs, was gone.
His stomach growled. Hunger was another by-product of magical healing. Tired, then famished. The pounding grew so loud he knew Dione would feel the need to wander up the stairs to investigate soon.
“Godsdamnit.” Sitting up, he swung his feet to the floor. “Coming!”
“Don’t get up!” He heard the door open, and Dex say from inside, “Now that we know you’re awake, we’ll come to you.” Moments later, the two men entered his room.
“How could I not be awake after all that hammering on the door?” Carver grumbled.
Ignoring his sour look and tone, Silas studied him from top to bottom with real concern. “How are you feeling?”
Like he was about to have to lie through his teeth—which a good part of him didn’t want to do anymore. “You know…” He shrugged, his wince not entirely pretend. He might not have wounds anymore, and wouldn’t have any new scars, but his whole body creaked like it needed oiling.
“Bellanca’s not here?” Frowning, Dex turned and looked back out into the main part of the lodgings. “I thought she’d be taking care of you.”
Carver bristled. “She is. She’ll be back soon.” She was using the time he rested and recovered after Persephone’s brutally efficient healing to gather supplies and arrange for someone to replace her at Spiro’s. She didn’t want to leave her friends in the lurch, and Dione’s eldest daughter, Aikaterini, was looking for work and hopefully capable of holding her own with the customers—especially after the lesson in ear pulling and soup dumping Bel was sure to give.
Dex hmphed, stepping closer. “Well, let’s have a look at your back.”
Carver gripped the edge of his mattress, his weakened muscles tensing for a fight. “Not necessary.”
Both men’s brows flew up. “Not necessary?” Dex echoed in disbelief.
“You heard me. There’s no need. It’s fine,” Carver said.
“It’s not fine ,” Silas blustered. “You must be delirious if you think it’s fine.” He turned to Dex, his heavy brows snapping together. “Maybe it’s infected. Do you see signs of a fever?”
“It’s not infected, and I don’t have a fever.” Carver straightened under his tunic, fearing the material would offer little protection if these two decided to look by force. “It feels a lot better. I just want to rest. Thanks for stopping by.”
They stared at him, confused scowls on their faces. “I don’t believe it. That was twenty lashes.” Dex reached the bedside with one long step. “Something’s not right.”
Carver stood and held out his hands. He swayed a little. “I’m a quick healer. And Bel’s good with wounds. Just leave me a few days to rest and we’ll talk later.”
“I’ll grab his arms,” Silas said ominously, his narrowed gaze already pinning Carver down.
“I’ll lift the tunic,” Dex answered with a nod.
“How about listening to me?” Carver darted a look toward the door. He had nowhere to go. The space was small, the bed blocked him from behind, and they blocked him in front. Silas’s burly brown arms alone took up half the room. “I mean it. Really!”
They lunged. Carver gave up the pretense of pain and fought back, but he was no match for the two of them. Without a good meal and a full night’s sleep, there was no way he was evading anyone, let alone two of the kingdom’s best soldiers. Silas spun him around, tipped him down onto the bed, and immobilized him. Dex wiggled up his tunic.
“What in the name of all the gods?” Dex breathed out. “There’s nothing there.”
“I told you I was a quick healer,” Carver muttered, his face squashed into his mattress.
“No one heals this fast.” Silas let go of his arms and backed off, a hundred wary questions burning in his eyes. “This is about you not being who we think you are, isn’t it? You said there was a reason you did what you did for Cleito. That gods were involved.”
Carver groaned, laboriously sitting up again. He hadn’t forgotten he’d let slip some truths about why he and Bel were in Atlantis. He’d just hoped they had.
“This is magical healing,” Dex said. “How? Bellanca’s always seemed different. Is she a Magoi healer? A Magoi here ?”
Carver considered hiding the truth as much as possible, but why? These men weren’t stupid, and a lot of strange evidence was glaring them in the faces right now. Besides, he and Bel were on the cusp of true change, of finally battling for the kingdom, and Carver wanted to build trust in people, build a team. He missed that camaraderie, that sense of unbreakable family, blood relation or not. Bel wanted to push everyone away and do everything herself. He’d never thought that way. He’d been part of a group working toward a larger goal for as long as he could remember. Coming to Atlantis, they’d been whittled down to a team of two, but wasn’t a team of four better?
He didn’t blindly trust, but he wanted to take a leap of faith on these men who’d stood by him—in the best way they could, at least. “We’re not from here,” he said gruffly, bracing for his friends’ reaction to that impossible news.
Friends. He grimaced. The word didn’t fit quite right after what happened in the throne room with Cleito and Eryx, but he hoped it would again.
“We know that. You’re from the farmlands to the southwest,” Silas said.
Carver shook his head. “No, we’re not from Atlantis at all. We’re from Thalyria. We were sent here on a mission from the gods.”
Their eyes flared in surprise and alarm. Carver’s heart pounded. Silence could be so loud sometimes. Their shocked expressions didn’t fade, but somehow he could tell they believed him. The truth bled across their faces and brought their color back little by little as it sank in.
“Are you Magoi?” Dex eventually asked somewhat stiffly.
“I’m not. Bel is.”
“A healer?”
Carver shook his head again, worried that Dex fixated too much on a gift he wished he had. Maybe he would soon if all went well. “Fire magic,” he answered.
Grunting, Silas muttered, “Why am I not surprised?”
“Then how did your back heal?” Dex’s hand twitched, half rising to try to lift Carver’s tunic again. He stopped himself, his tight and probing gaze meeting Carver’s.
“We have to do something outside of Atlantapol.” Carver hesitated. This was information they didn’t need—or not yet. “Something quickly. Persephone came and healed my back so that we can leave.”
Silas’s jaw dropped, his face paling again. “Persephone? You know her?”
Carver shrugged. “Somewhat. Not well.”
Dex exhaled a quick, sharp breath. Carver couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face. Jealousy? Amazement? The other man quickly set aside whatever it was and just looked worried again, worried and curious. “Are you going to tell us what this is really about? Why you’re here? Maybe we can help.”
“I’m debating…” Carver said slowly. Truthfully. The offer was genuine—he could feel it, and not just because he didn’t want to doubt—but the truth also put Dex and Silas in danger and forced them into an unexpected choice. “I want to trust you, but right now, you’re both Eryx’s soldiers. The two aren’t compatible.”
“You were Eryx’s soldier until a day ago,” Silas pointed out.
“I was pretending to be Eryx’s soldier.” Carver’s smile tasted bitter on his lips. “So I could get close to Cleito. That’s it.”
“Good gods.” Silas took a sliding step back and looked warily around, as if expecting a monster to pop out of the woodwork. “That was her, wasn’t it? Bellanca took Cleito last night, killed those guards, and whipped Eryx with fire. Whipped him for you ? She did that?”
There was no denying it. Both men already knew the truth, whether Carver admitted to it or not. He stood, this time hiding the wince triggered by healing fatigue and aching muscles. “If the fire magic fits…”
“She’s fearless,” Dex murmured in slightly panicked awe. “Incredibly powerful. She killed people. Killed them just like that. Like she’d done it before.”
Carver nodded, wondering when the last time was that he’d been so shocked by the realities of battle. He’d been a child. “She’s a Magoi princess from Thalyria on a mission from Zeus himself. She’s a warrior. It’s best not to get in her way.”
“Princess?” Dex stared at him. He swallowed. “Are you a prince?”
“Of course he’s a prince.” Silas scoffed, clearly handling Carver’s revelations better than Dex was. “They’re married.”
Carver simply nodded. “A Hoi Polloi prince.”
“They allow that in Thalyria?” Silas asked.
Carver’s wry huff was the most genuine thing to cross his lips since waking up. “They do if you win a war against the Magoi rulers.”
Silas’s tawny eyes widened with respect. Then his expression veered toward guarded. “Rightful rulers?”
“Terrible, unjust, murderous rulers that needed ousting.” Carver hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to wrest Silas’s loyalty from Eryx—another terrible, unjust, murderous ruler that needed ousting.
“So you’re a conqueror?” Dex gripped the back of his neck, abruptly pacing in the small space. He seemed to be trying to reconcile the Carver he knew with the Carver he was learning about.
“Part of a conquering family, anyway.” And he’d do it again in Atlantis, with Bel by his side.
“We still don’t know why you’re here,” Silas said. “I’m glad you’re better, and I want to trust in the gods, but…I don’t know what to think. People are dead. People I knew.”
“I understand.” Carver looked intently at the older man. “I’m sorry.”
“They say she only killed the ones who attacked her close up,” Dex said. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”
Carver was glad that news was spreading. It would help them in the end. “Eryx forced his guards after her, and she had to defend herself. She only wanted Cleito. That’s why she went.”
“And Eryx,” Silas murmured. “Or at least the skin off his back.” He still looked torn. He’d been a loyal soldier to the king of Atlantis all his life, despite not actually liking Eryx, his father before him, or either of their actions. Sometimes, a dedication like that was hard to let go of, no matter the circumstances.
“So where’s Cleito?” Dex strode from the room and started searching their lodgings. His footsteps grew louder and quicker the longer he looked.
“Don’t bother,” Carver called hoarsely. “She’s not here.”
“Then where is she?” His hands on his hips, Dex stomped back into the room, scowling. “Where did you put her?”
“Nowhere.” Carver frowned at Dex’s strong reaction. “Bel had barely gotten Cleito away from that sociopath of a king when Hera popped out of the sky and took her.”
Silas gaped at him. “Hera?”
Dex’s eyes shot wide, the definite hints of ancestral Magoi green more obvious than ever as his face paled in shock. “This just gets better and better.” He speared a hand through his dark hair, roughly shoving it back. “But Hera will protect her, right? Mission from the gods and all that?”
Sighing heavily, Carver shook his head. “In this case, no—unfortunately. Hera’s up to no good.”
“Would you like to be a little more cryptic?” Dex snapped.
“I don’t want to be cryptic at all,” Carver snapped back. “But I don’t know if I can trust you. These secrets are big . And they’re not all mine to share.”
“You can trust us.” Silas crossed his big arms, his gaze resolute, his jaw firm. “We’re your friends.”
“That’s right.” Dex mirrored the action, nodding once.
Carver carefully considered the two men. He believed they meant what they said, but only time would tell if new loyalties could truly dethrone the old. He’d rather give them time to think about and absorb what they’d already learned.
“That means a lot to me, and I hope it’s true.” He reached out, gripping Dex’s shoulder with one hand and Silas’s with the other and binding them in a circle of three. He’d had two brothers once. Maybe he could again. Emotion rising in his chest, he squeezed. “Everything will be much clearer soon. And when the time comes to pick a side, I hope you’ll choose mine.”