Nergal awoke on a stone table, the rock cold and hard under his bare flesh. He jolted up, then winced when he felt a tug at his still-healing gashes. He looked down at himself. Rough cuts had faded into pink strips of skin, and minty salves were slathered atop them. A lavender-scented balm had even been applied to his older scars, those from pox or pustules or leprosy.
Though it hurt to turn his head, he took in his surroundings. It wasn’t any place he’d been before. The roof was raised to a point, and slabs of pink crystalline salt rested up against each wall. Oil lamps were the only thing that kept the room illuminated.
“Good to see you’re awake.”
Damu stepped through a door Nergal hadn’t noticed until now, but remained at the far edge of the room. He peered at Nergal through narrow e
