“What’s going on?” He heard her kick off her sandals—they always slammed against the wall by the door and left marks there—and stomp barefoot toward his bedroom. “What happened?”
“Don’t come in here!” Yelling brought on a shocking amount of pain, and he exhaled harshly.
Bel didn’t listen. Speeding up, she burst into the bedroom, and her gasp might’ve been the most horrible sound he’d heard in a decade.
“Oh my gods.” The look on her face was even more terrible. “Carver?”
Their eyes locked. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, but in the end, all he could feel was a rush of relief that they were finally together again. No day of his life had ever seemed longer than this one.
“It’s not pretty,” Dex said. “Twenty lashes.”
“Who did this?” Bel’s gaze swept over his back—or what was left of it. She moved closer, her expression stone cold and murderous. “Why?”
Dex and Silas made room for her at his bedside. Carver suddenly wanted them gone even more than he had before. He had so much to say, and he couldn’t say any of it in front of them.
“Eryx.” He breathed shallowly, trying not to move any more than necessary. “He was going to whip Cleito. I got in the way.”
Bel’s mouth pinched, her nostrils flaring. Flames curled through the whites of her eyes and fire started to burn little marks straight through the shawl she’d used to cover her hair at work the second before she whirled and flew from the room with a snarl.
Carver saw Silas’s concerned frown in his peripheral vision.“She might not have the stomach for this.” The older man lit a lamp, the shadows growing longer even with the shutters wide open to let in the sea air and the last of the day’s sunshine. “The gods know most women don’t.”
Carver had a thousand replies to that but no will to shove any of them up his throat. He heard Bel’s water running and knew she was dousing the fire she’d almost let out. She came back quickly, her hair uncovered and loose now but slicked back and soaking wet. Water dripped onto her dress, streaking it a darker blue around her shoulders and down her arms and chest. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and then threw it at Silas as if she’d heard his comment and was letting him know what she thought.
“Dex. Silas.” Curtly, she nodded to them both. “Thank you for your help.” Her words were neutral, even polite, but that was a royal dismissal if he’d ever heard one. Dex and Silas must’ve thought so, too, because they gathered their things and left the bedroom. Bel followed them out.
Carver sighed, closing his eyes. It was all a little hazy in his mind right now, but Dex and Silas had asked him about his older scars and the new scrapes on his shoulders, and they’d obviously honed in on the now bluish-yellow satyr-induced bruises on his torso. Carver told some half-truths, which got him nowhere, and eventually ended up giving away things he shouldn’t have. His weakened state and the pain must’ve lowered his defenses, becausemission from the godshad somehow left his mouth. He just hoped they didn’t question Bel about it.
And he couldn’t help wondering what Eryx was thinking now that the king wasn’t so focused on inflicting damage. Eryx might chalk up the newer bruises to training mishaps—something Carver couldn’t convince Silas and Dex of sincetheywere his training partners—but old battle scars told stories, even to men who’d never gone to war.
Carver heard the creaky door hinges again and could easily picture Bel’s imperious, you’re-free-to-leave-now look. The gods knew she’d leveled it on him often enough.
“We’ll check on him tomorrow evening after our shift,” he heard Silas say from the living room.
Dex added something he couldn’t quite hear. As far as he could tell, Bel didn’t even answer. The door squeaked again, shut, and the lock slammed down hard. Carver took a long, deep breath even though it stretched the skin on his back. He let it out slowly, deciding to try to master the pain by mentally squashing it. “Mind over matter,” he murmured as Bel returned to his room.
“Why did you say that?” She stopped by his bedside, holding a big jug of wine. Carver eyed it, his mouth suddenly wet and his tastebuds craving the sharp-edged acidity flowing over his tongue. He swallowed the excess saliva as she set the container on the bedside table and leaned over him, inspecting his back.
Voice hoarse, he rasped, “You always say it. And even when you don’t, I canhearyou thinking it.”
“I must have very loud thoughts.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered.
She frowned. “Then what am I thinking right now?”
“You’re thanking your lucky fates that Dex is better than you with a needle and that Silas is big enough to hold me down.”
She snorted. “Wrong.”
“Fine, then whatareyou thinking?”
“I’m thinking about all the ways I can make Eryx’s death even more horrific than I’d already planned.”
His chest pulled in hard, squeezing his heart. “How horrific?”
“Epicallyhorrific.” Fire licked through her eyes again, the unchecked magic turning the blue-green into a glowing turquoise that illuminated half her face in the dimming light. “I can’t wait.”
Carver’s lips twitched. Even that seemed to hurt, but it was worth it. There was something healing in the way a face could move. “It was me or Cleito. I couldn’t let it be her.”
