The Deep End of the Sea by Heather Lyons Page B

joke. I’m to get you walking like you’ve been doing it instead of slithering this whole time. Tell me, are snakes slimy? I bet you didn’t need lubricants, if you know what I mean.” He winks over and over at me, like his eye got stuck on repeat.
    No, really. Is this guy for real?
    His special brand of honking-braying proceeds, “Too soon?”
    Kore jerks him away. “I am telling you, Tele, if word gets out you are disrespecting the lady, it will not be good for you, excellent physical therapist or not.”
    “You gonna tell, pretty girl?” he asks me, grinning maniacally.
    Revulsion slams into me. I hiss, “Don’t you dare call me that.”
    That wipes the idiotic grin off his face. Part of me wants to punch him, feel fist against bones and not care if any of them break or bleed. Fight back this time. Not lie down quietly, not be the victim. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? How dare he call me that.
    “You mean pret—” this man says to me, but I jerk myself out of the chair, not caring that my knees are trembling just as surely as my curled fists.
    I shove a finger into his chest, and he stumbles back in surprise. “Don’t you say it again.”
    “My lady?” Kore asks quietly. She grabs my arm, but I shake her off. “Perhaps we should go back to your suite?”
    But the small man in front of me—an asshole of a healer, not the Lord of the Seas—grows a smug smile. “You’re angry. This is good.”
    “Lady Medusa,” Kore tries again, “you are tired. Let us retire to your rooms; we can come back again tomorrow.”
    “No, no—this is good.” Now his nods are on repeat. “Anger is good. I can work with anger. She doesn’t need your coddling, Nymph-girl. She needs somebody to help her kick some ass.” His lips curl so high that I swear, the corner of one side of his mouth closes in on an ear. “And I can do that.”
    “Prove it,” I say.
    So he does.
     

     
    Years of dragging heavy statues around an island were child’s play compared to the hell Telesphoros put me through today. I ache in places I didn’t even know I could. Wobbly even before the deranged PT got ahold of me, my legs couldn’t support me standing up right now if I wanted them to.
    I am liquid held together by skin.
    “Your presence has been requested for dinner tonight.” Kore bends my knee and kneads my calf. A rather embarrassing moan of relief escapes me. I’m laying face down on some kind of special table Telesphoros sent up to my room. Apparently, Kore is a skilled masseuse; well, at least in my mind she is, but as this is my first massage ever, I’ll admit to not having much to compare it to. Considering this feels heavenly in contrast to the torment Tele put me through, I’m going to have to stand by this assessment of her.
    “However,” she continues, nimble fingers digging into my muscles, “I can send down word down that you are too tired from today’s session.”
    I lift an arm and give her a thumb’s up. There is no way I’m in the mood to go and be social right now. Not when being social is almost as tiring as exercising new legs.
    I can only pray this will not cause offense.
    She works in silence for a long time, working both legs and then my back. I swear, her fingers have magic in them. Finally, she says, “About earlier today, my lady ...”
    “Eurgh?” is my answer, because even talking right now is exhausting.
    “The conversation we had with Lord Hermes in the hallway. I wanted ...” Only her words pause momentarily, thankfully, as her fingers continue to kneed my shoulders. “Please let me reassure you that I would never betray your confidence.”
    Well, there goes our golden silence.
    She sounds so sad and tremulous, so ... I don’t know. Maybe hopeful and yet scared all at the same time? But the thing is, I haven’t ever had a girlfriend before. My only friends for the last two thousand years have been men—one of them old, the other a deity, so I’m pretty positive I