Page 12 of Marked By the minotaur

“Water,” the witch said, pushing herself up against the pillows. “That’s all I need, just water.”

Liora found a glass on the side table and filled it from the pitcher. She took it with both hands and drank half of it in one go. Some color crept back into her cheeks.

“What happened out there?” Liora asked.

“The treatment took more out of me than I expected.” The witch set the glass down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Whatever those hunters left in Korinnae, it was designed for someone like her. It’s resisting the treatment in a way that yours never did. Monthly sessions aren’t going to cut it.”

Liora’s frown deepened. “So what do we do?”

“I stay. I stay with her and administer it as often as she needs. Every few days, maybe every day. I won’t know until I can monitor her for a while.”

“For how long?”

“However long it takes.”

Liora frowned. “What about your training with Hecate?”

“I’m past the phase where I need her hovering over me.” Ria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I see her once a month now, and I do most of my work from home back in the Upperworld. I’m sure Hecate could view this as some kind of practical training exercise, and she could come here to check on the progress. If anything, I’d save on the commute.”

Exercise. Commute. Asterion’s jaw tightened. The witch talked about his niece’s life as if it was a line item on a schedule. He wanted to put a stop to it, tell her that Korinnae wasn’t some training assignment for her goddess to grade.

But then again, she’d saved Korinnae and kept her alive. More than that, his niece was laughing once more, learning dances and acting like a normal calf. Korinnae needed her. Every few days. Possibly daily. The woman whose presence made his skin itch and whose warm skin he could apparently still feel against his palm if he was stupid enough to think about it.

He leaned against the wall by the window and stared at the tree line outside. Korinnae needed the treatments. The treatments required the witch. Therefore, the witch stayed. It wasn’t complicated. It was just inconvenient.

“We should head back to Alindale soon,” Maldenis said. “Brontaios has been generous, but we’ve overstayed. And Korinnae needs to get settled somewhere permanent.”

They left Brontaios’s mansion three days later. As the minotaur saw them off, neither he nor Asterion said anything or acknowledged the events of the last two weeks. Among minotaurs, that kind of debt didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Instead, they looked at each other, holding the stare until Brontaios decided it was enough and released the gaze.

Maldenis drove them back in the strange vehicle they had apparently used to drive to the Ridge of Nine Horns. He explained it was a “sand-cruiser” and had been modified to drive on any terrain and built to accommodate his large tail. Asterion was glad for the vehicle’s size, because it could also fit all of them, with himself and the witch in the first row of pilot seats and Korinnae in the back with what little belongings Brontaios’s staff had found left back in their home. Asterion didn’t ask what state their home was in and the other bull didn’t offer to tell him.

The trip from the Ridge to Alindale took most of the day, and by late afternoon the highlands had flattened out and the capital’s skyline came into view. Asterion watched through the window as the sand-cruiser merged onto a wider road. The buildings grew taller and closer together the farther in they drove. Paved streets branched off in every direction, lined with shopfronts and awnings. A subway entrance sat on one corner, a stream of commuters filing in and out. They passed a row of cafés with tables out on the sidewalks. A lamia held the door open for a satyr pushing a stroller while two cyclopes argued over a parking spot. Monsters of every kind walked around in broad daylight, unbothered by each other.

“Zara says to go straight to the house. She’s sending you the location,” Liora said to Maldenis, who tapped on the dashboard screen. Then she swung her head toward the passengers. “It’s not far from headquarters.”

They were met at a modest two-story house on a residential street. Asterion immediately spotted the Drakkon, Hektor, leaned against the porch railing with his arms crossed while Zara stood at the front door with a set of keys.

“Welcome home,” Zara said, tossing the keys to Asterion, who caught them. “This place had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a study. There’s a room that faces the garden which I though Korinnae would love.”