“Fill the buckets and head right back. Got it?”
“Yes.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something more. Birds chirped high in the canopy of trees, and the small river, roughly six feet across, gurgled and swirled over rocks and downed tree limbs. It was darker in here, but the trees were spaced far enough apart so plenty of sunlight filtered through the canopy. There was no hint of danger, no sound out of the ordinary. Scowling, he pulled a small dagger from his waistband and handed it to her. Their fingers grazed and heat trickled over her skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even look at her. “Just in case. Go straight back, do you understand?”
“Yes, I’ve got it. I’m not an invalid, Demetrius.”
He harrumphed as if he didn’t agree. Then he flicked her an irritated look before heading off through the trees.
She was never going to understand him. Wasn’t sure she even wanted to. And yet these hot, wicked fantasies kept running through her head, all centered on him. Isadora watched until he disappeared. Feeling a strange sense of loss at his departure, she sighed, then turned to glance around the streambed.
Across the brook, grass and plants edged the river and turned to trees, which thickened until she could see nothing beyond. Reminding herself not to dawdle, she eased down, set the dagger on the moss beside her, and filled the first bucket.
The water was cold and fresh. She ran her hand over the smooth surface, lifted the bucket, and took a deep drink. Droplets slid down her chin to land on her chest, cooling her overheated skin. After filling the remaining buckets, she set them to the side and eased her feet into the creek.
Heaven. Her eyes slid closed. She took deep breaths as every muscle in her body relaxed. She’d told Demetrius she wouldn’t linger, but the water felt too good on her feet to ignore. Two minutes. That’s all she’d take.
She waded out into the middle of the stream, then held her breath and dropped down to dunk her whole body. She came up gasping, the shock invigorating. Brushing the water out of her eyes, she stood up, feeling a thousand times better than she had minutes before. She was just about to turn and head back to gather her things when she spotted movement to her right, toward the dark trees.
Slowly, she shifted in that direction. And came face to face with a shadowy wraith with red eyes, massive claws, and razor-sharp teeth.
“Oh, skata.”
Too late she realized the birds had gone silent. Even the wind seemed to have died down as if it too were afraid to move. Isadora’s pulse shot into the stratosphere as she glanced to where the dagger Demetrius had given her—just in case—lay on the moss, feet away.
The creature opened its fanged mouth and screamed. She had an instant to make a decision.
She sprinted for the dagger. Water splashed up around her. Something sharp stabbed the back of her neck. Her hand flew to the spot as she cried out in pain. But before she even reached the far side of the mossy shore, her vision blurred and her legs buckled beneath her.
And then she was falling backward. Going down. This time with no one to save her.
Chapter 11
Casey bit her lip as she waited outside her father’s suite. She’d promised Theron she would try to take a nap before dinner, but seriously, that was just an asinine request. Who could sleep at a time like this?
The door to the king’s rooms opened and her half sister stepped out. Callia closed the door quietly at her back, drew a deep breath, and rubbed her forehead.
“I know that feeling,” Casey said.
Callia’s head came up. “How long have you been out here? You should have come in. He—”
“He’s not the one I’ve been waiting to see.”
“Probably best. I had to give him a sedative. He’s not handling the news about Isadora well.” Callia glanced back toward the door. “This is pushing him closer to the end.”
A space in Casey’s chest pinched at the thought of her long-lost father, the king, dying so soon after she’d found him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. But it was life. And if there was one lesson she’d learned over the years, it was that you made the best of what was thrown your way. Even when you didn’t like the pitch.
The door opened and Callia stepped back as Althea, the king’s personal attendant, moved out with a scowl on her face. “I can hear you both plain as day. Shoo. He needs his rest. Take your naysayer attitudes somewhere else.”
Casey, familiar with Althea’s bossiness, rolled her eyes. The frown on Callia’s lips shifted to a smirk.
“I’m thirsty,” Callia said to her sister. “Grab a drink with me? You look like you need one more than I do.”
“I’m fine,” Casey said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’m a healer. It’s my job to worry.”
“Actually,” Casey said hesitantly, drawing Callia up short, “Theron asked for you.”
“Is there any—”
“No. No news. This is more about Demetrius.” At Callia’s perplexed expression, Casey motioned toward the hall. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”
The two fell into step down the massive corridor. The king was rooted in tradition and it showed in every inch of the castle. Massive Grecian columns lined the hallway, rising at least thirty feet to the soaring ceiling. Candles in sconces lit the way. Rich-colored throw rugs and plush furnishings lined the rooms they passed. Casey explained what little update she knew as they moved, but as they reached the end of the corridor and headed down the grand stairs to the king’s study several floors below, she noticed the tightness in Callia’s shoulders.
She stopped her sister with a hand on her arm before they reached the bottom step. “No one blames you about Gryphon. You know that, right? You did everything you could.”
Callia turned to look at Casey. They were roughly the same height and weight, with the same violet eyes and some of the same mannerisms. Though they didn’t share the same mother, the similarities between them were obvious now. “Did I?”
“Yes, you did,” Casey said with conviction. “I was there. I saw him. No one blames you. Not Theron, not the other Argonauts. No one.”
“Orpheus blames me.”
Casey frowned. “Orpheus is—”
“Orpheus is right.” Callia held up her hand, studied it as she turned it in the low light. “I can’t help thinking if he’d had another healer…” Her gaze shifted from her hand to Casey. “It’s fading. I can feel it. Something’s wrong with me. When I was treating Gryphon, I needed Max to use his powers of transference for things I should be able to do myself. Every day that passes…I feel like I’m losing a part of myself.”
“How?”
Callia huffed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. Except that I feel a change. Zander feels it too, only he won’t talk about it. I can tell by the way he looks at me though. And I’m tired, Casey. All the time. More every day. Just like I know you are.”
Casey’s chest pinched at Callia’s words. Yes, she was more tired today than she’d been yesterday, but she was trying not to read too much into that. But this…this news that Callia felt it too…She hadn’t considered the ramifications of Isadora’s absence. As the Chosen, she and Isadora were linked together. Hades had warned them not to separate too far or too long. But Callia…she wasn’t technically part of the Chosen prophecy.
She was, however, one of the king’s three daughters, and as they’d all recently learned, she was connected to both Casey and Isadora through the Horae, the ancient Greek goddesses of balance, and a paternal link all the way back to Themis, the Titan who’d spawned the Horae. If Casey was feeling the ill effects of Isadora’s separation, it made sense now that Callia, as the balance to the Chosen, would feel it too.