That son-of-a-bitch fucking Zagreus. Infection had already set in. Nick might have superhuman genes that could repair any wound, but that salve had trapped bacteria inside before his body had a chance to heal itself. And now it was festering.
She looked down at Rhene. “Bring me a bed. I want a fresh mattress, not a dirty one, blankets, and clean towels.”
Rhene’s eyes grew wide. “But Zagreus—”
“Zagreus is not here. This prisoner is going to die unless we help him. You were in charge of his care while I was away. Do you want his death on your head?”
Fear flashed in Rhene’s eyes, and she quickly shook her head.
“Then take care of it,” Cynna snapped. “Bring everything I’ve asked for. Along with medicinal herbs and the healer’s kit. And do it quickly.”
Rhene turned and sighed as she headed back for the entrance of the prison.
Alone, Cynna chewed on the inside of her lip as she looked into the cell. She couldn’t just go in. Even sick and feverish, Nick was strong. And she wasn’t stupid enough to put herself in any kind of situation where he could retaliate against her—because he had every reason to want to do so.
Steeling her nerves, she marched up to the guard’s station. The keeper of the prison—Lykos—eyed her with heat and lust as she approached, just as he always did. “Mistress. To what do we owe this unexpected…pleasure?”
Just the way he said “pleasure” sent a shudder down her spine. Lykos had a wicked streak in him. One Zagreus approved of and often let loose. She’d seen what the satyr had done to a couple of nymphs with his hands and a cane, and she didn’t want the bastard anywhere near her. She also didn’t want him to know she didn’t want him near her.
“The prisoner in fourteen is ill. I have to treat him, but he needs to be shackled first.”
Lykos’s gaze skipped past her down the dark corridor, then back again. “I’ve had no instruction from the prince.”
“Nor will you. I just left his bed.” She tipped her head. “But I could wake him for you if you’d like, and he could tell you himself.”
Wariness crept into Lykos’s eyes. Waking Zagreus was never a good thing, and even he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the Prince of Darkness’s wrath. Without a word, he grabbed shackles from a shelf behind him, then brushed past Cynna and headed down the hall.
She waited while the grind of metal sounded, and he unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Nick didn’t move, just opened his eyes and squinted at the light spilling into the room.
“Hands,” Lykos barked.
Nick’s face was pale and slicked with sweat. His chest rose and fell with quick, uneven jerks. He still didn’t move his body away from the rocks or lift his head, but he did manage to slide his chained arms in front of him, enough so Lykos could remove the restraints that kept him attached to the wall and close the shackles around his wrists.
Some kind of commotion sounded from the hallway. Cynna turned just as Rhene and two more satyrs appeared, dragging a metal bedframe and a bare mattress with them.
Cynna pointed to the far wall. “There.”
The first satyr set down the frame; the other dropped the mattress on top. Rhene lit the torch on the far wall, then set a leather satchel to the left of the door.
When the satyrs straightened, Cynna nodded toward Nick. “Move him to the bed.”
The guards wrapped their hands around his arms and hauled him to his feet. He grimaced but didn’t make a sound. The same towel Nick had worn earlier was wrapped around his hips again, but Cynna’s attention focused on the wound on his leg. Or what was left of it. No longer open and oozing as it had been earlier today, but healed over, swollen, and red.
The last thing she needed was for him to get blood poisoning and die. If that happened, her death was imminent. And as much as she hated the fact her fate was now tied to his, she also didn’t want him to die, because she was afraid if he did, that darkness threatening her soul really would win. Suddenly, he was all that stood between her and an eternity of misery every part of her knew she deserved.
She thought about telling them to be gentle but held her tongue. They laid him on the bed, and he groaned. Lykos ran a chain to his cuffs and locked it to a ring along the top of the bedframe. The ring could slide the width of the bed, but it still forced his arms over his head. He rolled to his side so his bent arms were in front of him, exhaled a long breath, and shivered.
She’d done terrible things while she’d been here. Horrendous, awful things she never should have participated in. A niggling voice in the back of her head whispered this was her penance.
“Leave us,” Cynna said.
When Lykos shot her a glare, she pinned him with a hard look. “Do you want to be the one to stay and oversee this?”
A no way in hell look flashed in his eyes, and he crossed to the door. Cynna held out her hand as he drew near. “The key.”
“Mistress, that is unwise. If the prince discovers—”
“The key,” she said louder.