She followed Megan left at the junction, along a hallway between the kitchen and one of the bedrooms in that wing, into a more open area. Thick wooden pillars supported the roof, but the sides to her left and right were open, revealing trees to her left, and a steaming pool to her right. Beyond that pool was a beautiful, secluded corner of the garden where white gravel had been raked in mesmerising swirls around rocks.
“You look like you were run over by a snowplough.” Megan stopped as she reached a broad paved area and turned back to face her. “Maybe I should get Cass. She could do a spell to heal you.”
Enyo was quick to shake her head. “No. I will heal soon enough.”
Megan looked as if she wanted to argue, and then she sighed. “Fine, but I’m taking care of those wounds.”
Panic lanced Enyo and she snatched her arm away from Megan before she could even attempt to heal her, endangering her unborn daughter. Megan’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead, confusion flickering in her dark eyes.
It quickly turned to realisation and amusement.
“I wasn’t going to heal you.” She rubbed her belly as she went to a cabinet near the stalls to Enyo’s right and returned with a box. “I was going to do things the old-fashioned way.”
Enyo felt like a fool when Megan opened the box to reveal white bandages and other mortal medicine. She tensed when Esher stormed past her, filled a large bowl at a basin near the stalls, and swept back out of the room without saying anything.
His glare spoke volumes enough.
“I think they’ll be some time cleaning him up.” Megan closed the box and took hold of Enyo’s arm again. “Come on. You’re safe with me.”
Enyo followed her, a strange feeling stirring inside her as Megan forced her to sit on a low stool between the shower stalls and the huge rectangular stone bath. It only grew as Megan went about gathering water and cloths, and began cleaning the blood from Enyo’s skin and inspecting her wounds.
She wasn’t used to this sort of companionship, wasn’t used to others showing concern about her. Normally when she returned from a battle, she took care of her own wounds and washed the grime of battle from herself. Her brother never even asked if she was all right, and none of his servants tried to aid her.
She felt a little lost as Megan fussed over her, couldn’t form responses to any of what Megan said as she prattled on about her wounds and tended to them, wrapping cream crepe bandages around her left biceps and forearm. She wasn’t sure how to react when Megan made her stand, when she noticed the blood on her side and began to unbuckle her breastplate.
She stood there, mute and unsure what she had done to deserve such kindness.
Sure she didn’t deserve it.
Megan placed a large white dressing on Enyo’s left side and carefully smoothed the edges down. “There. That should help stop the bleeding at least.”
When the Carrier stepped back to appraise her work, Enyo fidgeted with her breastplate, focusing on fastening the buckles again. She wasn’t sure what to say as she finished and glanced at the woman who stood a good four inches shorter than her.
A deep sense of gratitude, one born not only of the fact Megan had tended to her but of the fact she was being kind to her despite what she had done, pushed a thank you to the tip of her tongue.
Esher strode past the end of the corridor beyond Megan.
Glared at Enyo.
Megan scowled back at him and he turned away, and Marek appeared in view with Daimon following on his heels.
“Guess they’re done.” Megan waved her hand towards the corridor. “I’ll show you the way.”
She smiled softly, one that chased the chill from Enyo as she felt the weight of Daimon and Esher’s gazes on her.
Enyo nodded and followed the Carrier, thankful that she had intercepted her before the two gods could raise an objection to her being in their home after what she had done.
Megan led her along the covered walkway that ran parallel to the main living area and then banked right, heading along the length of that wing of the house. She stopped at the opened white wood-framed panels of the final room.
Enyo stared into it, at Keras where he lay on the bedding in the middle of the room, still out cold. He looked peaceful at least, and someone had removed his soiled clothes and washed the blood from him. A thick dark blanket covered him from the waist down, leaving his bare chest exposed.
“I’m just next door if you need anything,” Megan said, her soft voice warm.
Enyo glanced at her and nodded, waited for her to disappear into the room next door where she could see Ares sleeping, and then drew down a deep breath.
She stepped into Keras’s room, crossed the golden straw mats to him and sank to her knees beside him.
She carefully stroked her fingers over a bruise on the left side of his chest, skimmed her fingers down his arm and lingered with them on the silver band that encircled his thumb.
Sorrow swept through her, all the wasted years crowding her mind as she sat with him, as a need to speak to him filled her even though he wouldn’t hear the words she wanted to say to him.
She lifted his hand as tears burned her eyes, brought it to her lips and pressed a kiss to the ring he wore.
She had wanted to tell him that she loved him that day, had mustered her courage for hours before going to see him, only for it to falter and abandon her when she had finally been in his presence. She had cried when she had returned home, tears of anger rather than pain, had been furious with herself for lacking the strength to tell him the feelings in her heart, for giving him the ring under the pretence of it being a token of friendship.
He had a terrible way of making her weak.
Making her words fail her and fears fill her.
He was the only man in existence who could truly bring her to her knees.
Her brother tried, but no matter what he did to her, no matter how many times he trampled her feelings or shut her in his home, attempting to control her and keep her under his thumb, she never let him break her. She always held on, always found the strength to keep her chin up.
Keras could strip all her strength from her with only a look. He could break her without saying a word.
She lingered with her lips against the ring, her eyes on his face. She couldn’t believe that all this time, he had been taking the pills because he couldn’t bear the pain of being apart from her.
She was touched by that in a way, and part of her could sympathise with him.
After all, the cold abyss that filled her, the pain of their parting and the hurt of missing him was the reason she had turned to ambrosia again. She had wanted to erase the agony. Ambrosia had only dulled it.
She stroked Keras’s arm. He had found a way to conquer it, and gods, if she had been in his position, had those pills available to her, she probably would have done the same thing.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, caressing his arm, keeping her eyes locked on his face. “I should have come to see you sooner. I should have told you all those years ago that you are the only one I could ever love.”
She frowned as sweat dotted his brow, swept her fingers across it to clear it away. It was cold, his skin clammy beneath her touch. She looked around at the sparsely furnished room and spotted a bowl on the mats on the other side of him, together with a cloth. She reluctantly released his hand and went to it, wetted the cloth and wrung it out. She folded it neatly and placed it on his brow, smoothed it down and watched over him as his face crumpled, a soft groan escaping him.