Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Helaina’s eyes fluttered open. Her vision was hazy. She was dry and comfortable, curled underneath blankets.
She patted her body down. Her clothes had been changed again, but this two-piece outfit of thick, fur-lined attire was definitely not from her own wardrobe.
Her fingers roamed over brass clasps lining the right side of her ribs.
The ensemble was unlike anything she had ever worn yet strangely comfortable.
She sat up, swinging her legs to the edge of the bed.
The movement drove a gasp from her lips as pain shot through her.
She hissed between her teeth, standing to roll down her pants, nervous for what she might find below the warm fabric.
There was a clean bandage affixed to her upper thigh. They had dressed her wound.
She took in the shape of her body. They had done much more than that. Once she got used to the pain, she was able to fully take in the size of her thighs, the meat and muscle. How? As she shifted her weight, she found the soreness to be somewhat tolerable.
It would hurt like hell, but she could run if she needed to.
Helaina walked to the mirror hanging in that small, carved-out alcove.
She patted her face, watching her reflection copy her every move, proving it was her staring back.
The dark-purple bags were gone from under her eyes.
For the first time in months, she looked well rested.
Her cheeks no longer turned inward. She inspected her hands to find they, too, were fuller somehow.
Months of self-inflicted punishment had been miraculously wiped clean. This was her body. The way it used to be. It wasn’t as strong, she could feel that. The strength she once had would take time and effort to recoup. But her feminine curves were more prominent, her shape more physically fit.
Her body was whole again.
A pleasant aroma caught her attention, bringing her gaze to the nightstand.
She walked back toward her bed and sat, scanning a plate of food.
A melody of spices and vegetables steamed from a bowl of broth.
To the side there was roasted chicken and a hefty loaf of bread.
A cup of tea that smelled of honey and citrus sat at the corner of the tray.
Her mouth was salivating at the presentation.
Food was necessary. She couldn’t keep passing out.
She reached out her hand, then quickly withdrew it.
Could she trust the food here?
“It’s not poisoned.” A tender voice sounded from the doorway.
Her neck snapped to the side.
The golden-haired male leaned against the door arch. “It would be a waste of magic to heal you just to kill you. How senseless do you think we are?” He approached her with a long, outstretched hand. “I don’t think we were allowed proper introductions. My name is Manos Rivegard.”
She wasn’t about to allow another one of them within arm’s reach of her again. She lunged for the plate of food and smashed the porcelain teacup to the ground, sending hot liquid and pointy fragments in every direction. She snagged the largest jagged piece and pointed it straight at him.
“Get back!” The porcelain was still piping hot, but she refused to let it drop. Her arm trembled as she forced herself to keep it upright.
Manos paused, his expression turning from warm and inviting to pure surprise.
He stepped away, retracting his greeting and placing his hands up in the air as a gesture of surrender. He resumed his original position at the door.
She got to her feet and began sidestepping toward the open door. “Tell me how to get back to Keles.”
He gave her an impish grin. “You’re so quick to leave when you haven’t even seen what we can offer you. What he can offer you.”
“You have nothing I want. Now, how do I get home?” The word home made her heart plummet to her gut. Home didn’t exist for her.
She didn’t belong anywhere.
Manos nodded to the tray. “You need to eat. Lionel’s magic only goes so far. If you don’t like what’s there, I can get you something else. Perhaps another cup of tea since yours is . . . gone.”
Lionel’s magic? Whoever this Lionel was, he had the power to turn back time. The healers she had worked alongside in Oakmire could never do anything close to this. None of them possessed magic. Even Madge was limited in her own skills and knowledge.
“This kind of magic . . . isn’t supposed to exist anymore. Your healers . . . they can do this?” She gestured to her body.
“Just Lionel, he shares blood with the God of Life and Light. Now will you please eat? I don’t feel like being yelled at.”
She could barely keep the jagged makeshift weapon level. A descendant of Nedos himself had brought her from the brink of death.
“You obviously have a lot of questions. Let’s make a deal. For every bite you take, I’ll give you an answer.”
She couldn’t believe he was turning this into some kind of game.
She took a deep breath and inhaled that seductive, herby aroma again.
“Fine,” Helaina grumbled, settling on the side of the bed, holding the porcelain weapon with one hand while reaching for a spoon with the other. Only she couldn’t find one.
“There’s no silverware.” She looked at him in confusion.
He waved his fingers in the air. “We eat with our hands here.”
“It’s soup.”
His chest moved up and down in a silent chuckle. “We’ve never had a royal here. This is rather amusing.”
She rolled her eyes, dunking the bread in the broth. The action felt foreign, something her mother would have reprimanded her for as a child. She took a mouthwatering bite.
“That giant . . . thing that attacked me, the one you call captain, who is he?” she started.
He raised one brow, studying her. “‘That giant thing’?” Manos repeated. He let loose a dramatic laugh. “To be fair, he did save you . . . I think that somehow cancels out his brutish behavior.”
Was he really scolding her right now?
“His name is Theodon Wrenn. He’s the commander here, and it would be wise of you to not piss him off again. Although from my brief interactions with you, I doubt you will heed my advice.”
“Commander of . . . what did you call it, ‘Divine Allura’?” Her head was still foggy, and things were coming back to her in pieces. Her body responded with every bite she took, begging for more and more.
“Yes, our army. Theo, Callum, and I make up the Troika, a fancy way of saying we’re in charge. Thousands of us live and train here to make sure your world isn’t overrun. I think the term most mortals use for us is ‘demigods.’”
Demigods, thousands of them. An army to make sure the monsters to the east stayed in the east.
This was the last place she should be. She would regain her strength, then flee. That’s what she would do. But first, she would get as much information as she could from Manos.
“Where did you all come from? Are the others like you three?” What other powers inhabited this strange place?
“We came from all over Lynor, really. Some of us even crossed Kydon’s Sea to get here.
Theo finds us and brings us here; he makes us this way.
We were like you once, then we traded our mortal lives to serve the realm.
In exchange, our godly mothers and fathers unlocked our dormant powers .
. . the kind of magic that used to exist in the beginning gets restored.
The power is different for each of us, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.
Every Divine has their own relationship with magic.
Theo can skin change, among other things.
Callum can teleport. And I can shift mind to mind, reading your thoughts. ”
That made her straighten. Was he in her head right now? Would she even know if he was?
“You all look very . . . young,” she commented.
“Another incentive to make the trade. The gods grant us infinite years.”
“So you can’t die?”
“No, only the gods possess immortality. We simply keep our youth, staying exactly as we are at the time we are granted our full powers. Disease and old age can’t come for us, but death can still claim us in other ways.”
Helaina swallowed her last mouthful. The fullness was helping offset the unease from the information Manos was revealing.
“How does he do it? How can he make a demigod?”
“I can show you, if you like.”
Helaina tensed, clutching the makeshift weapon in her hand a bit tighter.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Really, can you put down the broken teacup? You look ridiculous.”
She sucked her cheeks in, trying to harness her annoyance. It was a pathetic choice of self-defense. “Give me one of those daggers on your belt, and I’ll follow.”
To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled the weapon from its sheath with a sigh and tossed it at her feet. “If it makes you feel better. There’s a slit woven into your leathers to carry it, the opposite leg of your injury.”
She picked it up, then tossed the porcelain piece down with the others. She found the hidden insert at her hip and smoothly slid the dagger beneath the fabric.
If he led her outside, she could get a better layout of the terrain. If she was going to attempt escape again, it had to be planned, calculated.
“Lead the way.”
He didn’t lead her outside, far from it.
Manos led her deeper into the strange caves.
She didn’t like how dim it was down here, how the shadows moved against the uneven walls.
There was moisture in the heavy air and the sound of trickling water from above.
She heard a strange clicking. She looked down, finding a thick insect with far too many legs scurrying past her.
“Gross.”
“Wait until you find one under your pillow,” Manos said.
She shuddered, hoping he was joking.
“Where are these thousands of soldiers you spoke of?” She didn’t see anyone at all as he guided her forward through the tunnels.
“Above.” That was his only answer.