“There.” Something tightened around Talisa’s arm. “That should fix that one. I need you to stand so I can see where else you were injured.”
She pulled Talisa to her feet, helped her turn, and made quick work of the zipper at her spine. As the ruined gown fell to her feet, Talisa realized she was in some kind of giant bathroom.
Everything was marble. A massive sunken tub took up the center space. She spotted a large, walk-in shower with no door, a long vanity and tall mirror, a chandelier sparkling light over everything, but that was as much as she could take in.
She turned when Nysa tugged gently on her arm, then clutched the towel Nysa handed her to her chest. “I need you to stop what you’re doing and talk to me.”
Nysa lifted her gaze from checking Talisa’s body for more wounds. But one look at the nymph’s somber eyes was all Talisa needed to know it was bad.
“His wounds aren’t healing,” Nysa said softly. “They should be mostly closed by now, but they’re not.”
Talisa’s conversation with Rhen near the waterfall rushed through her mind. Slowly, she sank to the padded bench, still clutching the towel against her chest.
“He’s stable,” Nysa went on. “For now. The lavender isn’t helping to heal much, but it has a soothing property that should ease some of his pain, though at this point I don’t think he’s feeling much. The best we can do is make him comfortable.”
Oh gods…
“Wh-what about magick? The nymphs who helped me with the border could—”
“Magick isn’t going to help him.” When Talisa looked up, Nysa sighed. “He’s a god. If he wanted to heal himself, he could.”
Oh… gods… He really was dying.
“I-I don’t understand.” Talisa looked back down at the floor. It was some kind of swirled marble but the tiles all blurred in front of her. “Why now? If I’m”—she swallowed hard, still unable to say the words—“who he thinks I am, and he’s been looking for me as long as Rhen said, then why is he giving up now?”
“I don’t know.” Nysa crouched in front of her and laid a gentle hand on Talisa’s knee. One that was solid and warm. The only warmth Talisa could feel at the moment. “Maybe it was too long. Five hundred years is the longest you’ve ever been apart. Maybe the darkness is too strong in him now. Maybe he sensed you were too different. Or maybe, when you ran, he realized that this was his chance to break the cycle. To let you finally live and for him to be the one to die.”
Finally live…
She didn’t want him dying for her. She didn’t want anyone dying for her. She was a warrior, not a hapless victim. And they’d won that fight. They’d beaten those satyrs… together. There was no reason for him to give up and die now.
Her thoughts spun all over again—with things Nysa had told her, with things Rhen had mentioned. And mixed with all of it was Ana’s voice, announcing that Talisa had returned from the dead.
She looked through the open door toward the bed, where she could just see Zagreus lying still against the mattress.
Reincarnation was possible. Orpheus, one of the Argonauts, had been reincarnated. The Fates had given him a second chance at life because Zeus’s Sirens had interfered with his destiny. Talisa had always felt older than her age. Her parents and aunts and uncles had always teased her about being an “old soul.” She knew it was possible her soul had lived in the past. But… with Zagreus? That was the part she couldn’t comprehend.
He was the Prince of Darkness. Hades’s son. A monster in every sense of the word, one who enjoyed torture and pain as much as his father. Why would the Fates ever pair her with him? And why in the name of all the gods would they ever send her back to him?
But even as the thoughts rushed through her mind, she remembered he was also the god who’d freed Cynna so she could be with Nick, even knowing it would infuriate his father. He’d been imprisoned by Hades, probably tortured in ways she didn’t want to imagine, then released. And instead of hunting down those who’d wronged him, he’d come here. To Ehrendia. He’d rebuilt this kingdom. Protected these nymphs. Taught the silens to defend themselves. And when she’d found him in that club, when her intrusion into his life had caused him all kinds of chaos, he hadn’t retaliated against her. He hadn’t once hurt her. He’d rescued her. From satyrs and daemons and Pandora and… even herself.
Someone stepped into Talisa’s line of sight, blocking her view of the bedchamber.
Nysa pushed to her feet and turned, quietly speaking with whoever had interrupted them.
Footsteps sounded then faded. Sighing, Nysa turned back to Talisa. “I have to go check on another patient. Rhen needs to get back to the Prince’s Guard, but he can stay if you need to go—”
“No, I-I’ll stay with Zagreus.” The words were out of Talisa’s mouth before she realized what she’d said. She looked up at Nysa’s surprised face, even more surprised herself. But she didn’t want to take it back.
“Very well. You’ll need to clean up first. The last thing we need is to introduce some kind of infection to the prince’s wounds. Satyrs are known to carry all kinds of diseases. The bandage I put on your arm is waterproof. Helia brought you some clothes over there with the extra towels.” She eyed Talisa as if she wanted to say more, then finally turned for the door. “I’ll be back later to check on him.”
As she pulled the bathroom door closed quietly behind her, Talisa continued to hold the towel to her chest, listening to Nysa’s and Rhen’s muffled voices from the other room. She couldn’t make out their words, but she knew they were talking about her. About what had happened, why she was here, and what she was going to do.
She didn’t have a clue.
The only thing that seemed even remotely true was that there had to be a reason. A reason she and Zagreus had crossed paths. A reason he’d brought her to Ehrendia. A reason she hadn’t been able to leave.
Something more than just chance that explained why she, the daughter of a hero, and he, the son of the devil, were linked.
Max blinked in the darkness, confused why he’d awoken. No sound met his ears. Nothing but his own pulse echoing in his head.
Slowly, he became aware of the dirt floor. The chill in the air. The scents of earth and mildew. And he remembered.
The satyrs’ dungeon. If this place could even be called a dungeon. He’d only gotten one look before the lights had gone out, but his impression was that of a big empty pit.
He pushed up on one arm, cringing at the pain echoing through every muscle as he scooted back to lean against the cold stone wall. He was weak. Weaker than he should be. Whatever energy Zagreus had hit him with hadn’t worn off yet.
That thought left him more confused than before. He had no idea how long he’d been out or how long he’d been down here. But judging from his grumbling stomach and light head, it had to have been awhile.
He looked to his right, where the stairs had been. Knew instinctively they were still gone. Then glanced up toward the door that was somewhere above. His only hope was to find a way to get up to that door.
He placed a hand on the wall at his side. The rocks were stacked. Filled with some kind of mud or cement. If he had a pickaxe or a spike or even some kind of knife, he could use it as a brace to scale the wall. Of course, he needed energy for that. Which meant food. And it didn’t seem like his captors were all that interested in feeding their prisoners.