“We’ll visit them, if you like. Arwyn and Declan tell it better than I could.” Azaiah liked Arwyn, as chaotic and self-involved as he could be. Of course, that was simply who he was. He took Nyx’s hand again, pulling him close to kiss him. It was still incredible to think this was real, that he’d left the loneliness of his solitary existence behind at last.
They didn’t need to rest, of course, but Nyx was still accustomed to the ways of mortals, so Azaiah said nothing as he stopped to set up a rudimentary camp. Nyx was surprised to find the food was mostly tasteless, though. “Is this how wine always tasted, to you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mind,” Azaiah assured him. “I was with you.”
Nyx flushed, but he looked pleased. “Who knew Death was such a romantic.” He put the wine aside and reached for Azaiah, who went to him eagerly. There, in the warm, humid night, with the distant sound of the sea replacing that of thunder, the heavy air thick with the sounds of their breathing, Nyx fucked him under the stars.
Nyx seemed sheepish as they cleaned up. “I’m used to pitching camp, but I guess we really don’t need to, do we?”
“No, but it’s fine, if you like,” Azaiah assured him. There was little he would object to doing, if Nyx wanted. “We have the time.”
“We do, yeah.” Nyx stood there, watching as dawn broke over the eastern sky. “And trust me, I don’t want to spend it sleeping. Let’s get this errand of mine over with, and we can get back to it.”
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Azaiah asked as they headed out.
After a moment, Nyx said, “To say thank you to someone important.”
Azaiah had an idea, then, where they were going. But he stayed quiet and fell into step beside Nyx, letting him lead the way.
ChapterTwenty-One
Ranger’s home wasn’t hard to find. He pretended at secrecy, like most Misthotoi, but it was a running joke among his fellows that Ranger raced home to visit his parents every time he came within spitting distance of the ocean. When Nyx and Azaiah climbed the cliffs overlooking the Thalassan shore, Nyx didn’t blame him for it.
He’d seen Thalassa before, but the longer Nyx spent at Azaiah’s side, the more vibrant the world seemed. The air felt sharper, clearer, his senses stronger than before. Even if food didn’t taste as good, it didn’t matter when just standing by the ocean made him feel like he was walking through the waves.
Tondara was a quiet fishing village, lacking the enormous resorts that wealthy Starians and Katoikos lounged in during the winter. The houses were made of packed coquina or wood, with an entire row of overwater shacks on stilts that people climbed down in the morning to untie their boats from floating piers. Boats were already on the docks with the night’s catch, and a few people were paddling around on boards near the cliffs. None of them paid Nyx or Azaiah any mind. Nyx was almost run over by a group of children racing down the beach and had to sidestep quickly.
“They can’t see me?” He twisted round to look at the children, and Azaiah took his hand again.
“Not unless they’re drawn to us or you choose to let them see you.”
“How do I let them?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about being invisible—he certainly hadn’t been when he saw Aleks and his family. Azaiah frowned, head tilted.
“I haven’t given it much thought. It comes naturally to me. Think of it like… removing a cloak. I can do it, though, if you have trouble.”
“No, I want to know how it works.” Nyx reached for his neck as though undoing an invisible clasp, and Azaiah grinned. “Hey, now. It helps if I pretend it’s there.”
“It was a metaphorical cloak, beloved.”
“I’m a soldier. I don’t do metaphors.” He dropped his hand, but he didn’t feel any different. “Did that work?”
“We can see,” Azaiah said, and Nyx led him to the docks, where a redheaded Thalassan was fixing a hole in a net. He looked up when they approached, and Nyx couldn’t help the slight swell of pride at having managed a piece of the strange magic that he was now a part of.
“Excuse me,” Nyx said in Morrey. “Do you know where Taliesin is?”
“We have about five Taliesins here,” the man said. “My uncle’s a Taliesin. Which one are you looking for? One-eyed Tal? The wild boy? Junior?”
“He’d have a man with him,” Nyx said. The man was weaving the net so fast it looked almost like a spell. “Middling height, too pale, hair looks like someone sheared it off and tried to fix it again.”
The man laughed. “Oh, that’s Scout. He’s an odd one. A book writer, they say. Yeah, he and Taliesin are at the family inn up that way.” He pointed. “What do you need them for?”
“I owe him a favor,” Nyx said, touching the beads on his wrist. The man glanced at them, raised his brows, and shrugged.
“Misthotos shit, huh? Good luck, then.”
Nyx eyed Azaiah as they turned back to the beach. “Taliesin—Ranger—was on the hill when you came to me. He might not be thrilled to see us. Well, me. Seemed like he was looking for you, in his way.”
“He called to me, once or twice.” Azaiah wound his arm in Nyx’s.
