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 Inotbe 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 notfine,” 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’tbelieve 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 hopedtheyhad.
“This is magical healing,” Dex said. “How? Bellanca’s always seemed different. Is she a Magoi healer? A Magoihere?”
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.
