“Arms out and up.” He nodded at the space between them. “Elbows on the table.”
Bellanca narrowed her eyes. Ordering her around was new, too. And had better not last.
Nevertheless, she put her elbows on the table, leaving her damaged wrists hovering in the air between them. The burns seemed to mock her. What had the Firebringer done so far other than pretend to be someone she wasn’t and nearly get tossed out a window? A Titan-sizednothing. She scowled.
Carver inspected her wrists, his expression darkening. “I’m going to kill whoever sent those things here,” he muttered.
His fury heated her belly. “You were…”Strong. Fast. Smart. Just what I needed.She cleared her throat. “In any case, they’re done for.”
“I’m just glad pulling their heads off worked.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips as he turned to the pantry cupboards. “I’m usually at a loss when the pointy end of a sword doesn’t do what it should.”
“I’ve seen you fight with more than just a sword.” Between her fire and his everything else, they’d never lost a battle—tonight included. “You’re just like the rest of your family. Sheer determination trumps everything else—even automatons.”
Carver shrugged, turning away from her. He never took praise well, even indirectly, always perpetually sure he didn’t deserve it. That was Konstantina’s legacy. She’d given Carver the lovely gift of doubting his own worth. If the woman were still alive, Bellanca would love to punch her in the teeth with a flaming fist.
His back to her, Carver rummaged in their well-stocked pantry and pulled out an unopened pot of honey and severalclean cloths. He set them on the table, and Bellanca pointedly ignored the way his sun-bronzed skin glowed in the lamplight and how each muscle rippled as he moved. His back was a bit raw, two clear floor burns scraping down his shoulder blades. His hands seemed fine now, or at least not dripping blood. He probably hardly felt the injuries. He’d been through worse.
“Now’s when we could really use a Magoi healer,” he said with a wry look across the table at her. “Lucky for you”—he peeled the oiled cloth off the honey and set it aside—“I’ve picked up a few things over the years. Impossible not to, with a mother and a sister who are both Hoi Polloi healers.”
She suddenly wished she’d listened better during all that dinner and after-dinner family time she’d been subjected to in Castle Thalyria. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Funny how she could miss something she didn’t even think she’d liked.
Her burns throbbed a little harder again.
Carver reached for the water they boiled and set aside for drinking. It stayed cold under the stone counter. He pulled out a pitcher of it and set it on the table along with a deep basin.
“At least we know one thing now. Or, I think we do,” he said as he sat in the chair across from hers. “It’s not real harpies kidnapping Atlantian kids. It’s automatons.”
“I think you’re right.” Bellanca blamed not having made that connection yet herself on trying to mentally beat back the pain in her wrists and ignore the fact that Carver was only half dressed—again. “And there are probably more of them.”
“Maybe. But at least these two won’t be gathering up an army of potential Magoi children anymore.”
Her gaze followed his toward the open door to her dark bedroom. She’d told Carver she suspected children on the cusp of adolescence were being abducted in order to teach themmagic when it returned to Atlantis. She understood thewhy—indoctrination, loyalty, honing humans into weapons of war. It was thewhothey still didn’t know about. She’d never fought a nameless, faceless enemy before. And this one happened to be a god powerful enough to set their sights on the high throne of Mount Olympus, which was even worse.
Carver poured some of the cold water into the basin and dipped two clean cloths in it. Once they were soaked, he took them out and carefully wrapped them around her wrists.
Bellanca sighed as the cool seeped in. “Maybe I should’ve spent more time in the healing room with Jocasta and picked up a few tricks.”
“You two would’ve killed each other.”
She huffed in protest. “Your sister and I got along fine on the road.”
“On the road, yes. Because you had me to torture.” She huffed louder, and he added, “AndPrometheusandFlynn.”
“Are you saying I need…buffers?” Irritated as she was, true anger refused to rise to the surface. Shedidneed buffers. One on one, Carver was the only person who’d never fled her truthfulness. Some might call it abrasiveness. Well, most would.
“You said it. Not me.” He glanced up from her wrists, grinning.
Her heart thumped absurdly hard. She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t need buffers here. I get along just fine with everybody.”
“That’s because you’re hiding behind an act.”
“So when the true me…” She paused, searching for something that didn’t make her sound terrible.
“Blazes forth?” Carver supplied archly, his brows creeping up his forehead.
She shot him a dirty look. “Isn’t under wraps, I’ll need buffers again?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
