Voices faded behind her as she followed Skyla back down the long corridor. When they reached the massive curved staircase, Skyla said, “We’re going up one level.”
Cynna took in every detail as they walked. The guards below in the foyer, the servants they passed, the posh surroundings and expensive furnishings. And every second she spent in this castle, surrounded by luxuries and more wealth than she could imagine, she remembered the small house she’d lived in with her parents before they’d died. The wood floor, the tiny bedrooms—one for them, and one for her—and the closet-size kitchen where she and her mother had prepared the meals. They hadn’t had much, but they’d been happy. Or so she’d thought. But how could anyone ever be content with that after being surrounded by all this?
“Here we are.” Skyla stopped in front of a large, arched door, turned the handle, and pushed with her hip.
Cynna followed her into the room, and once again, her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Racks and racks of clothing lined the walls. All different sizes, for all different genders and ages. Huge bins were lined up in rows in the middle, holding socks and shoes and undergarments.
Skyla moved toward a rack on the left and pawed through until she found a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved red T-shirt, then turned and handed them to Cynna. “These should fit. You’re about my size. Go ahead and grab some undergarments from the bins, and I’ll find you some boots. Don’t worry. Everything’s new.” She pointed toward a tall screen set up in front of the windows. “There’s a dressing area over there.”
Cynna grabbed what she needed from the bins and moved behind the screen. She tugged on the underwear, thankful that they fit, then reached for the jeans. “Must be nice to have a shopping mall in your own freakin’ house.”
“Yeah, it would be,” Skyla said from beyond the screen. “But these aren’t for the castle. They’re for a refugee camp outside the city.”
The queen actually cared about refugees? Cynna nearly scoffed as she buttoned the jeans and reached for the shirt.
“You know,” Skyla said, “I’ve heard of a female named Cynna who lives with Zagreus. She’s also known as the Mistress of Torture.”
Cynna’s arms froze, shirt over her head, and her pulse picked up speed. Swallowing hard, she pulled the garment on and tugged it down her hips. “What’s your point?”
“My point is simple. The others may assume you were just a prisoner, but I think we both know differently. I want to know what Zagreus’s right-hand female is doing with Nick.”
Cynna smoothed her hair back from her face, reminded herself to play it cool, and stepped out from behind the screen. “What are you, the queen’s personal spy?”
Skyla tipped her head. “Until recently, I spent a lot of time in the human realm dealing with Zagreus’s satyrs and the messes they created. The rest of the time I spent on Olympus, with Athena.”
Cynna’s gaze skipped over the blonde, and she realized what she’d missed earlier. The warrior stance, the calculating look in the female’s green eyes, and the coiled strength hidden beneath that attractive facade.
Skata. This changed things…quite a bit. While Cynna had no reservations about dueling with an Argonaut, she did not want to piss off Zeus. “You’re a Siren.”
“Was,” Skyla answered. “I recently left the order.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now answer my question. What the hell are you doing with Nick?”
She could lie, but at this point all Cynna wanted was out. And the fastest way to get out was to finish this conversation so she could split. “I helped him escape.”
“Why?”
“Because Zagreus was going to turn him over to Hades.”
“And you, what? Developed a conscience about that?”
Cynna’s temper inched up. “I didn’t want to see him in the hands of a god who could use his powers for evil against the whole world. So, yeah, I guess you could say I developed a conscience. I don’t think anyone wants that.”
“And Zagreus? He was just okay with you leaving?”
“No,” Cynna said, glancing over the racks of clothing, “I’m sure he was pretty pissed.” She looked back at the Siren. “I didn’t wait around to find out.”
Skyla studied her a long moment, and Cynna couldn’t tell if the female believed her or not, but she didn’t care anymore. For once she’d done the right thing and still she was being labeled a traitor.
“Look,” she said, working hard not to lose her cool with the Siren. “Not everything is as it seems. There are all kinds of prisons, and whether you want to believe it or not, I’m not the villain here.” Not anymore, at least.