Brother? Indeed, both males were similar in size, with the same bronzed complexion, short dark locks, and chiseled strong features. However, this man actually appeared to have manners to complement his good looks. She studied the child. His sickness was severe, and yes, it would kill him. Unless she healed him. And afterward, what? Would these males grant her freedom, or keep her on a shelf like a potion to be stored until they sought her aid again?
Her brothers had warned her to be wiser when sharing her gift. Some could accept her healing and release her. But there were others whose covetousness would never allow them to relinquish their grip. She slanted her stare toward the first male, the one who’d captured her. Which was he?
No matter the consequences, she couldn’t let the child perish. The father’s pain tugged at her heart and she inclined her head. She’d regret this, she was certain. “If I save your child, will you release me?”
“Nay.” The first male folded his arms across his expansive chest, flexing those brawny arms.
“Then why should I help you?”
“Because, lass,” his steely voiced sealed her fate, “you have no other choice.”
Theron forced his voice hard and his stare even harder. In another world, he’d release her. If he did so in this world, he’d condemn his people.
Talos’s son, Keyx, would be healed first. The lad was the only heir they had between them, for Theron had no children, and never could he imagine any. Not after what Keyx’s mother had done to Talos…
The nymph’s azure depths flashed, narrowing on him. Set into a heart-shaped face with a pixie nose and plump burgundy lips, those pools drew him into their depths. Threatened to tow him under. He shrugged off the attraction, forcing nonchalance. She was a creature of healing. He didn’t doubt she’d cure the lad.
What other choice did she have?
None. He’d made certain of it.
“Fine,” she huffed, “but you’ll have to release these manacles.”
He gave a sharp nod, knelt beside her, and undid one clasp. Her muscles tensed for an instant before deflating in resignation. Satisfied by her submission, he undid the other clasp. She rubbed her wrists before crawling toward Keyx. “What are you doing?” he frowned while she straddled the lad.
“Healing him. Now, leave me be so I can work.”
He opened his mouth, but the maiden’s body transformed into a fluid substance and splashed down atop Keyx, soaking him. Theron glanced at Talos. “What in the bloody hell?”
The water vanished…inside the lad? After a few minutes, he coughed, then spat a dark fluid onto the earth beside him.
Talos gathered his son into his arms while the substance on the ground rose, molding once again into the form of the nymph.
As soon as she had wrists, Theron slapped the manacles around them. No resistance from the lass. Instead, she heaved, spewing a murky liquid.
He squinted at the quivering female. “Are you well?”
“Ugh, what do you care?” She wiped her mouth and cast him a sour glare.
Nothing less than what he deserved. Still, he peered toward the boy and relief puffed his chest at the flush of color in Keyx’s cheeks. Even more at the joy misting in Talos’s eyes.
Aye, he’d do anything for them. Even if that made him a monster.
The nymph staggered, attempting to rise, but her legs buckled. He swept her into his arms, scooping her against his chest, and carted her toward his chamber. She didn’t last long enough to reprimand him before her eyes shuttered.
That was quite the power she possessed. He tossed his head at the simplicity of it. The pestilence corroding through his people had been cured with a splash of her waters.
Gently, he set her on his bed and tugged the furs over her. Then he paced to the opposite side of the room, leaned against the dirt wall with folded arms, and stood vigil.
This one tiny maiden was their miracle.
No way in Hades would he allow her to slip through his claws.
Chapter 2
Stretching and moaning, Cyane awoke, resting on a bed that wasn’t hers. She jolted, lurching to sit, and winced at the pounding in her temples. That foul pestilence… It coated the back of her tongue. Although she’d easily removed the illness from the child, something about it had struck her as odd. The disease was unlike anything she’d ever encountered. An endless abyss, so dark and evil. She shuddered. Poor child. Thank the gods she’d cured him. He’d thrive now.
After aiding him, she’d hoped the leader might release her.
Him. Tensing, she scanned the dim chamber, searching for those stormy depths. Theron was the name the other male had called him.
A shame he was so…hard, because the rest of him certainly was as well. Just because she’d been raised surrounded by brawny, virile males didn’t mean she wasn’t stunned by one’s good looks. After all, those other males were her brothers. Not her true brothers, but her bloodsworne brothers. Family bound by the oaths they’d pledged. A shame they weren’t with her. Surely, Demoleon or Arctus’s claws could slice through these enchanted manacles.
Musing about them reminded her of Rhoetus and their mission. Gods, she prayed he would find success.
If he failed, they would all be doomed.
Right. She curled her nails into her palms. It was time for her to go. She’d done what Theron had asked, well, demanded, and she deserved freedom. If not granted by him, perhaps by the male whose son she’d saved.
She eased from the bed, flexing her muscles to release the stiffness curing the disease had caused. Though her powers were potent, they drained her. She had to be careful when and how she employed them.
A flutter of iridescent blue silk hung from the far corner. A gown? Humph. No, thank you.
On the table, she found a platter containing various raw shellfish and sea plants. Ugh. Who were these people? Thankfully, as a spring nymph, she didn’t require frequent sustenance. Otherwise, she might starve.
After padding across the earthen floor, she treaded to the open archway leading into the corridor. A long tunnel stretched in either direction, lit by the dim glow of luminescent shells that functioned as sconces. The dirt walls appeared coarse, as though they’d been dug in a hurry. In fact, nothing about this place seemed permanent. No sturdy furniture or finery. The bed she’d slept upon could be rolled and packed away. Were these people nomadic?
Biting her bottom lip, she chose left and strode down the narrow tunnel, halting where it opened into yet more channels. Five. The ones on her left sloped downward; the ones on her right climbed upward. Which one should she choose?
“When you’re uncertain,” a voice rumbled from the corridor to her farthest right, “which direction to go, always remember down leads to the shore and up to the caves.”
A male emerged from the shadows. The father. His kind green eyes crinkled and he waved his hand toward the passageway he’d emerged from. Though they wore similar garments—leather breeches, ivory tunic, and heavy boots—he made no comment about the gown. Clever male. She liked him already. “I think you’d like to visit the caves first.”
She returned his smile. “Thank you. I would.”
He dipped his head and allowed her to pass through first. Dozens of questions danced on her tongue. She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“It’s Talos.” He flashed her a brilliant grin. “The one you saved is my son, Keyx. What is yours, nymph, and where are you from?”
“Cyane, of the Pegaeae, from the Isle of Krete.”
“Krete?” His thick brows rose. “That’s a long ways from here.”
She lowered her lashes. Indeed, her home was. Before he inquired further, she blurted, “That brute, your leader, is his name Theron?”
“Aye.” Talos chuckled. “You’re spot-on about the brute description, well, most of the time. It probably wouldn’t help if I told you why, though.”
Her curiosity sparked, but Cyane stamped it down. She didn’t care why
he held her against her will, only that he would release her.
“Come, it’s this way.” Talos veered off into a shaft she hadn’t even noticed.
She followed him, squinting at the bright light that shone from ahead.
“You should see this first.” He extended his hand across the horizon in a sweeping motion.
Propping forward, she peered in the direction he indicated. They stood in the hollow of a massive cliff hundreds of feet in the air, facing the vast turquoise ocean. Below them stretched an undulating smooth stone landscape littered with clear-watered tide pools. A smaller set of bluffs bordered the basin, boasting a scattering of luxurious waterfalls and mysterious caves.
Most fascinating, however, were the hundreds of men, women, and children basking in this enchanting hideaway.
“These are the Karkinos,” Talos intoned. “My people. We are dying,” he pegged her with a frown full of sorrow, “but you, lass, you can save us.”
“Save you?” Hadn’t she already healed the child?
“Aye.” He gave a solemn nod. “Unfortunately, Keyx wasn’t the only one afflicted. We all are. Loimos will soon claim every last one of us.”
“Loimos?”
“That foul pestilence,” he snarled. “It’s far more than a disease, Cyane. Loimos is a ravenous entity intent on annihilation.”
Theron gaped at the couple poised on the precipice. What in Hades was Talos up to? With the nymph by his side? He slapped his bowl onto the table, sloshing the broth, and shot to his feet, growling.
Mirroring him, every being in the valley gawked upward at the female. Soteira. Their savior. Rumors of her deed last night hadn’t taken long to travel through the crowds. They’d already unleashed a cascade of blasted chanting in the temple.
Hell no. What was she doing there, on display? She was a prisoner. Not a figurine. Damn Talos.
Explaining their situation wouldn’t persuade her to stay. She didn’t have any choice but to remain here. If they dared to trust her, they’d risk everyone dying.
Like him, the people rose from their seats, but unlike him, they ambled to the side and fell to their knees, bowing their heads. Thanking her.
Shock coursed through him. Every last one of his able-bodied people knelt on the ground.
Except him.
He locked gazes with Talos and folded his arms, refusing to place his faith in someone whose actions he couldn’t control. The nymph blinked at the scene, but then her stare landed on him, narrowing.
Talos clasped her hand and drew her away, shrinking into the shadows.
Around him, hushed whispers of awe arose. Exclamations of the nymph’s bountiful grace, benevolent mercy, and striking beauty…
Beauty? Aye. She was as delicate and sweet as dawn’s first tide. Which made him trust her even less, for the ocean turned at its whims, spinning a summer’s day into a horrific storm.
The nymph had saved Keyx, and Theron didn’t fault his brother for his blind faith. Talos always did trust too easily.
A trait that had proved disastrous for him, for them all.
Thankfully, the enchanted manacles would only respond to Theron’s commands. Otherwise, he didn’t doubt his brother might be persuaded to free the lass.
His meal no longer appealed to him, so Theron strode from the valley, up toward the caves. This tour was finished. The prisoner had work to do.
He climbed the carved stairs into the largest cavern and approached the pair. Talos scuttled in front of the nymph, extending placating hands. “Now, Theron—”
“Enough. She’s not a guest. You’d best remember that, brother.”
“She would be, if we treated her as one.” Talos cocked his head, then flourished his arm as he bowed. “May I present Cyane of the Pegaeae, from the Isle of Krete. Cyane, this is my elder brother, Lord Theron, and leader of the Karkinos.”
The nymph extended her hand, the manacle glinting in the torchlight, and droned, “Enchanted, I’m sure.”
He stared at her hand and crossed his arms instead.
Talos heaved a sigh. “Did you not see how our people honored her? Offer her a chance, Theron.”
“To what? To betray us? Why, because you have the best judgment of character?” He tsked. “If Hemera—”
“She’s gone,” Talos snarled. “Will you never let my failure rest?”
Theron winced as his brother stormed past him. He hadn’t meant to dig into Talos’s wounds. After the male had cooled, he’d apologize.
“Who’s Hemera?” The nymph’s lilting voice echoed. Right. She was still here.
“No one.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
The nymph tapped her foot. “Well, clearly, she is someone.”
Vexatious wench. He glowered at her tapping foot. “No one that concerns you.”
“Is she the boy’s mother? Why isn’t she here?”
“Argh, will you stop with your questions?”
“No.”
“No?” He scraped his hand across his jaw.
“I can do little else.” She held up her shackled wrists, arching one brow.
“Actually, there is much you can do. ’Twould seem, that only you can do.” He tilted his head for her to follow him. “Come. The ones who aren’t sick enough yet roam free, but the worst afflicted we quarantine in the deepest cave. Segregation seems to slow the progress of the disease.” It was too late—they’d all been exposed. They were dying. Some just slower than others.
Theron led her to a cave named for its foreboding expanse. “This is the Black Cave. Those who enter, don’t leave.”
“You mean they die.” She pursed her lips.
“Aye.” He jerked his chin toward the entrance, then crooked his fingers and her manacles released. “I can’t step inside. You’ll have to go alone.”
“How do you trust I’ll come out?” Cyane rubbed her freed wrists.
“Well,” Theron scratched his jaw, “if you wish to ever eat, or sleep, or bathe…” His stare traveled across her figure. Right. Her garments nearly matched his. “Was the gown not to your liking?”
“Indeed, it wasn’t.” Humph. She puffed, resignation deflating her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll go inside and I’ll heal them. But not because,” she stabbed a finger into his chest, “you keep me prisoner or force me to. I’ll heal them because that’s what I am. A healer. You should try trusting people. You might find it’s not as hard as you presume.”
He curled his lip, baring his teeth, and paced backward from her finger. “Only a damned fool would believe such nonsense.”
“No, Theron,” she faced the cave and marched toward it, “only a fool would fear himself.” She strutted inside, looming quiet behind her. Good. She’d silenced him, for a time. Overbearing, selfish brute. She rubbed her arms, a sudden chill pricking and raising the hairs.
Her evaluation of Theron would make sense, if not for one irksome question.
Why not save himself?
Instead of demanding she heal the worst afflicted of his people, he should have commanded her to cure him. Yet, he hadn’t. For someone who prized no one’s trust, he certainly valued his people’s lives. She tilted her head. He might view them as pawns to shuffle about. What use was a leader without underlings?
Yes, that must be it.
Frowning, because her arguments didn’t sit right within her gut, Cyane pressed forward into the dimly lit cavern. In this village of six hundred souls, these were the worst stricken. She hugged her arms tighter around her middle and passed down the long aisle, bordered on either side by makeshift beds of furs and blankets. The cavern was eerily quiet, save for the occasional moan.
She was no stranger to ailments, but an infection this widespread? Talos had claimed not one of the six hundred inhabitants hadn’t been infected. The task of healing them was daunting in its enormity. A rush of relief coursed through her at the small number of beds within this cavern. A dozen, at most. When she’d healed Keyx, the disease had resisted, and for an instant, she’d f
eared it would overpower her. She stared at her trembling hands. Success, yes, but at a cost.
Often, she would help one or two people, replenish her powers, and resume her normal activities. The expenditure yesterday, combined with being drained in King Philaeus’s prison, might simply have weakened her. With rest, she should recover.
These people were ill, and it was no fault of theirs that their leader was such a brash, hardened male.
Right. She set her chin and straightened her shoulders, padding to the first bed. A pale, thin female gazed at her with bleary, unfocused eyes.
Cyane smiled at her and clasped her frail hand. “Fear not, for I have come to heal you.” The transformation from woman to water spread through her, and she delved into the female’s essence, seeking out the terrible plague. Loimos.
Like a vaporous serpent, the pestilence awaited her, poised to strike. Cyane darted out of its path and sprang behind the coiled inky substance, crushing it in her watery embrace. She squeezed, forcing the murky entity into submission, and swallowed it, drawing the disease inside her body. Then she performed the morphos into her natural form, carrying the plague with her and spewing it forth onto the earthen floor. On her hands and knees, her stomach retched, expelling the tainted mass, which melted into a puddle and vanished unto itself.
Nymphs weren’t capable of violence against living things, but Loimos, he wasn’t alive. He was Death.
Perspiration beading her forehead and the room spinning about her, Cyane collapsed onto the floor, heaving. That was worse than the last time. It was almost as if the disease had recognized her, had awaited her.
Impossible, but, mayhap not.
A gentle hand rubbed circles across her back. “There, there. Breathe. How can I ever thank you?”
Cyane titled her face and regarded the woman she’d healed. “No need for thanks. Be well.”
Water's Mark - Cancer Page 2
