The inn was easy to spot. It was the biggest building in the village, set a few yards from the beach. Bottles filled with bits of sea glass hung from the edge of the roof, and the door was propped open, with an enormous tabby cat sleeping on the mat. The cat rolled to its side, stretched, and maneuvered itself to take up the entire doorway as Nyx approached. If it minded being around Azaiah, as some animals seemed to, it didn’t show it.
Nyx tried to move it gently with his foot, and the cat oozed around him like a puddle of fur.
“Aw, just lift him,” a voice called from inside. “Fiddle’s a big baby. He’ll fall asleep wherever you put him.”
Nyx picked up the cat, which appeared to keep sleeping through the whole process, and set him down in a patch of sun. Then, once Nyx and Azaiah stepped through the door, Fiddle promptly stretched his way back into the doorway.
It made sense that Ranger—Taliesin—would live in a place like this. Everyone seemed to move at a different pace in this village, content as cats in the sun. Even the woman at the bar, who was probably supposed to be working, was sitting on a stool with a book, her feet propped up on a cushion.
“Sit anywhere,” she called, not even looking at them. “If you want food, it’s crab cakes or stuffed peppers.”
Nyx could see some of Taliesin in the woman’s face—he’d inherited her love of reading, at least. “Actually, I’m looking for your son.”
“I ain’t got a son,” she said, and Nyx tensed. Had he succumbed to his wounds? But Azaiah would have told him, surely. The woman raised her voice. “Not until he fixes the window he broke!”
“I’m fixing it now, Ma, let me live!” someone shouted from upstairs, and she gestured to the ceiling with a thumb.
“There he is.”
Nyx took a breath to steady himself and drew Azaiah toward the stairs. The woman and Taliesin continued shouting good-naturedly at each other, and footsteps thumped above them. “Azaiah. How long has it been since we left the hill?”
“Time moves differently on the river,” Azaiah said, laying a hand on his back. A picture in the stairwell rattled as the footsteps drew closer. “A few months, at least. Perhaps half a year.”
Nyx almost turned back. It wouldn’t do any harm to leave this last thread of his life loose. Taliesin had earned his peace, there on the hill, and he didn’t need gods and their companions to disrupt it. But Taliesin decided for him, in the end, racing down the stairs with Marius Chastain at his back. He skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps, bracing himself against the wall, and Marius slammed into him from behind.
They looked… better. Marius’s hair had grown in a little, and Taliesin’s Misthotoi beads were almost gone, just a few rattling around a loose string. He must have been working fast to give out favors in exchange for the beads, which meant he was looking to retire, giving up the mantle of a mercenary for good. Nyx felt a rush of relief at that. Taliesin was never truly meant to be a Misthotos.
“Scout, get back.” Taliesin fumbled at his belt and pulled out a spade with what looked like a bit of mortar sticking to it. He turned to Nyx, holding the spade out. “We made it to the water, Glaive. I don’t know what happened back there, but we made it and— Ma! Put the frying pan down.”
Nyx glanced over, amused to find Taliesin’s mother had grabbed a pan from who knew where and was advancing on him from behind. She paused, but she didn’t lower her makeshift weapon.
“You came here to menace my boy?”
“No, ma’am.” Nyx held up his hands. “I’m here to talk.” She looked skeptical, but she stepped back, and Taliesin slowly lowered the spade. “The danger’s gone, Red. Taliesin. I’m not here to hurt you or your man. Scout, is it?”
“I don’t see a weapon,” Scout whispered. Nyx looked at Azaiah, who was watching him carefully, and he realized he was smiling. He’d always had a weapon to hand, even as a boy. He’d considered his sword to be a part of him, an extension of his arm, yet another sign that he was just a tool for War, for Death. The thought that he didn’t need it anymore was almost overwhelming.
“All right,” Taliesin said. “Maybe we should all… sit down.”
“And I’ll get them crab cakes,” Taliesin’s mother said.
Taliesin shot her a warning look. “No poisoning people, Ma.” She grumbled a little, and Taliesin moved carefully forward, keeping himself between Nyx and his lover. “Fine, Glaive. We can have it out, then.”
“It isn’t Glaive,” Nyx said. “It’s Nyx. This is Azaiah, my—”
“Companion,” Azaiah said smoothly. Taliesin shivered, and it was Scout who sat down first, pulling up one of the benches near the window. Taliesin rushed to sit next to him, still protective, and Nyx took the bench opposite. Azaiah sat with him, seeming to admire the glass bottles hanging overhead.
“So you shot me full of holes and disappeared,” Taliesin said. “Is this about that?”
Nyx laughed, and both Taliesin and Scout stared at him in shock. “Yes. No. It’s about that. I wanted to thank you.”
“For… for nearly dying?” Taliesin sputtered, and Nyx only just stopped himself from laughing again. “I’m lost.”
Nyx leaned forward, and Taliesin and Scout instinctively inched back. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For hunting you. You say you’re lost, but I’d been lost for, oh… nearly eight hundred years. You know my companion, don’t you? Both of you?”
Azaiah, who was touching the bottles to make light move over the table, smiled at Scout, who smiled nervously back.
“You aren’t… here for either of us, are you?” he asked.
