“Why would you stay?”
His gaze lingers on me. “Why indeed?”
My face feels hot, my body tingling. My mouth feels dry, and I can’t think of what to say next, so I grab the tray and set it down on the bed, then move to sit beside it. There’s a delicious smorgasbord of offerings, from pulled chicken to slices of fruit, to a huge loaf of crusty bread. There’s a soup that smells amazing, and what looks like cooked carrots drizzled in honey. I fish out one of the carrots and offer it to Dingle, so someone can enjoy this feast with me, and I dig into the soup. It tastes like warm spices and lentils, and I want to eat all of it. “This place is nice,” I say, changing the subject. “I wouldn’t mind staying here a while.”
“Mm.” Kalos watches me feed another carrot to Dingle. “I will leave it up to you.”
Because he’s Apathy or because he wants to make me happy? I devour more of the soup and between bites, I ask him, “Is there any place you like? Anyplace you’d want to visit? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do what I want to do.”
“You don’t?” A hint of a smile teases at his mouth again. “You have been telling me what to do since I met you, Elsie.”
The soup is making a syrupy warmth spread through my veins. I must be more tired than I thought, because bed is looking mighty tempting. My stomach demands its due, though. I finish the soup and attack the bread, using it to mop up the last bits in the bowl. “I’m just used to taking care of people, I guess.”
“Because that is how you show your affection. You charge in and try to make things easier for those around you, but it doesn’t make it easier for you, does it?”
I yawn, contemplating the fruit. “I guess? I figure I’ll have time to relax when everyone I love is taken care of.”
“And is that what you are doing with me? Taking care of me?” Kalos’s voice grows quiet, intense. “Adding another notch to your martyr belt?”
I don’t know how to answer that. My brain is fuzzy with exhaustion.“That’s…not nice.” My tongue feels heavy. How strange. “I’m not a martyr.”
“How do you feel about me, Elsie? I am very curious. You do not seem like the type to fawn over a god simply because he has power.” He leans forward in his chair, all glittering eyes and fascination. “Tell me.”
I yawn again, contemplating my answer.
“Don’t fall asleep before you tell me,” he prompts.
I want to point out that I’ve never fallen asleep mid-conversation, unlike him, but it feels like too much effort. I manage to focus my thoughts enough to answer. “I like you, Kalos. But I’m not here to fall in love…”
As I speak, Dingle collapses at my feet.
Alarm races through me, and I jump up at the same time Kalos does. The room tilts dizzily around me as Kalos moves to the goat and gently cradles his head. How sweet, I think, even as my thoughts seem to be turning into the same warm syrup that’s flooding my veins. He really does love that goat.
He looks up at me. “There was something in the food. Elsie?—”
Was there? Huh.
The floor rushes up to meet me. I’m vaguely aware of slamming into the flooring, of gentle hands pickingme up and cradling me.
Then, blurry snatches of conversation.
…been searching for you…
…looking for silver-haired man with a woman and a goat…
Come with…your woman is of no importance to us…
Not to me, either, says Kalos.
Is it possible to have hurt feelings even if you’re drugged? I wonder that even as the blackness rushes in to sweep me under.
I wakeup in a strange place. My hip and shoulder hurt from sleeping on my side on what feels like a stone floor, and I’m freezing. It’s dark, and my stomach is sour, even as it growls. I sit up slowly, and I don’t know whether to throw up or to lie back down again. I run my hands over my bed, and it’s little more than a thin padding on cold stone. There’s a dripping sound coming from somewhere. I run my hands over my clothing and hair. They’re slightly damp and wrinkled, but they’re the same ones I was wearing before I passed out. My shoes are gone, though.
“Hello?” I call out, and my voice is a mere croak. “Kalos? Dingle?”
No reassuring patter of goat hooves on the floor. No urge to sneeze. I’m alone.
Snatches of the conversation as I was drifting off return. Someone was searching for us. They noticed Kalos, or our goat, and realized who we were. Hot fear ripples through me—if they want to get rid of Kalos, they have to kill me. I’m in some sort of jail cell, it feels like, so this can’t be a mistake. I wrap my arms around myself and stare into the darkness. Do I call out for help? Or will that let my captors know that I’m awake and the real tortures can begin?
