No, he didn’t, and that was … good, really, if Azaiah did ask him to be a companion. Azaiah wasn’t like his sister Pallas or his brother Leviathan, to hoard trinkets or have a beautifully built temple in which to reside. His companion would need to be willing to walk, sleep under the stars, travel restlessly over the countryside as Death so often did.
Azaiah focused on Nyx again, amused that he poured him wine even though Azaiah didn’t need it.
“It seems rude not to share,” Nyx said, catching Azaiah’s raised brow. “Cheers. I guess.” He held up his cup.
Azaiah had seen toasts before. He raised his own cup and touched it gently to Nyx’s. “Yes.”
A smile curved Nyx’s firm mouth. Small, and it didn’t hide or brighten up the tiredness in his eyes, but it was there all the same. “I suppose Death doesn’t go in for cheers.”
“That is not a word I have often used,” Azaiah agreed. “But it does not mean I couldn’t. I’m simply not involved in a lot of toasts.”
“Just the cause of them, yeah?” Nyx sipped his wine, and Azaiah did the same.
“I suppose so. Shall we play?” He put his cup down and drew out the black cloth bag in which the game supplies were kept. He already knew the answer, even before Nyx nodded, and went about unfolding the board and placing the marbles, then leaning back to shuffle the deck.
Nyx was staring at him, and Azaiah felt his face go hot. Nyx must have noticed, because he gave a soft laugh that stirred the embers of desire in Azaiah’s stomach. “Who knew that Death couldblush?”
In lieu of reply, Azaiah dealt the cards. Nyx played the Eight of Wands, a card that referred to making quick decisions under pressure, and Azaiah countered with the Seven of Cups.
“You’re countering my quick thinking and decisive action with daydreaming?” Nyx narrowed his eyes at Azaiah across the board, but that same smile still played about his mouth. “Care to explain that, or were you just getting rid of a card? Since I doubt that you’d intentionally let me win.”
“That is not in my nature, no,” Azaiah said. He thought about it for a moment. “One could argue that our mind may arrive at the solution to a problem when we do not act immediately.”
“One could argue that in war, that gets you an arrow in the neck. And one would win that argument, because it does.”
“At times one must make decisions that don’t involve war, Nyx.”
“I’m a soldier. War is what I do.” Nyx studied him. “What are you wearing under that cloak?”
Azaiah set his cards down. He blinked. Of all the questions he expected… “I— That is your question?”
Nyx nodded. “You blushed just now, but you don’t need to drink or eat. I imagine you don’t sleep, either.”
“I rest,” Azaiah said. “Sometimes.”
“And I figure not a lot of people get the chance to see Death uncowled and disrobed. So?”
Azaiah rose to his feet and pulled off his cloak. “It’s likely very uninspiring.” He was wearing a black tunic and simple, soft leather trousers, with the same pair of scuffed boots he always wore.
Nyx peered at him over the rim of his cup. “Were you really wearing that?”
“That’s another question, but I take your meaning. Yes. I can’t manifest clothes out of nothing. Not here, anyway.”
“Where— Right. Never mind.”
Azaiah sat back down and picked up his cards as Nyx moved his bead. “I should have kept the clothing my sister, Pallas, gave me when I visited her. She always puts me in white. With jewels, crowns, sandals with ribbons.”
Nyx set his cards down. “Next time, please show up in sandals with ribbons. Although maybe not. War camps aren’t safe to walk through without boots. Arrowheads and knives lying around.”
Azaiah smiled and played his card, the High Priestess. He won the hand over Nyx’s Two of Swords and moved his bead accordingly. “The woman in the tent, Nadia.”
Nyx went still, watchful, a new tension settling over him and pulling his shoulders back. “What about her?”
“I’m not here for her, Nyx,” Azaiah said gently. “I simply wanted to know if you love her.” It seemed as if he did, and if so, a companion bond with him wouldn’t be possible. Azaiah wouldn’t take Nyx from someone who loved him.
“I do,” Nyx said, but then added, carefully, “Not in the way you’re asking, though. I don’t… feel romantic toward her. Nor her to me. She’s a bit like a sister, a good friend.”
Azaiah was surprised at the rush of relief he felt. “Of course. All right. I was only curious.”
