Page 63 of Storm Front
He ignored Nadia, staring up at Azaiah with wild eyes. “Just let him live.”
And oh, it was tempting. Nyx here, on his knees, alive and warm and his soul burning so bright… it made what Azaiah experienced in the crypt in Katoikos feel wrong. As if his worshippers’ adoration was somehow tainted. When he realized why that was—because they loved the power he wielded, the mystery of the Lord of Storms, his godhood, rather than him, Azaiah—he knew he could not accept this offer. As much as he longed for it, longed for Nyx to depart the palace at his side and never leave him again, Nyx was not willing because of his love for Azaiah, but out of a desire—however fleeting—to control his power.
It was tempting, even still, because Azaiah wanted Nyx so desperately. He longed to walk through mountains and valleys with him, leave his followers with their misguided adoration and their thornless roses to languish in the dark where they belonged. Death should not be worshipped. What they offered wasn’t ever going to be enough.
But neither was this.
Azaiah tipped Nyx’s face up and smiled sadly at him. “You must make your bond with Azaiah, beloved. Not Death. Death knows not what it means to love, to long, to want. And it is Death you are trying to placate, here. I think you would not like that, being tied to the scythe I wear instead of the man I am.”
With that, he leaned down, pressed a kiss to Nyx’s forehead, and moved to the bed. Nadia had produced a knife, but she swung wildly as she sobbed, finally dropping it when it was clear she could not find Azaiah—or hurt him even if she did. She returned to the bed, drawing her small son to her as if she could protect him.
Nyx had risen to his feet again, and the physician had gone to get warm water and a poultice soaked in salts and mint to open the lungs, not that it would do any good. Azaiah’s attention was on the boy, who blinked at him, coughing, his eyes feverish and his little body racked with shivers. There was blood on his chin, and the light of his soul was beginning to fade.
But there, ah, Azaiah could see it. A future in which this young one’s soul would return, bright and strong, and lead soldiers from the dark. He smiled and held out a hand. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Andor. I won’t hurt you.”
“Go away, go away, go away,” Nadia whispered, rocking her son. “Andor, I love you—”
The little boy reached up and touched his mother’s face, and Azaiah took a careful step back as Nyx hurried over to sit beside them both, tears falling unchecked down his cheeks.
Andor glanced only once at Azaiah, who nodded. The boy drew in a ragged, painful breath, and said in a hoarse voice, “Mama. Dada. Take care of Kelta. I love… you.”
And then he fell back against the pillows, still, the light fading from his eyes.
Nadia began to scream, and she turned to Nyx, hitting him with her fists and weeping, cursing him, cursing Azaiah, but most of all, cursing her husband the emperor, who she said had killed her son.
“Oh,” a voice said. “That didn’t hurt at all. How funny I’ve been so afraid of you, and you’re really verykind,aren’t you?”
Azaiah looked down at the spirit of the boy at his side and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I am. But it’s all right. To fear me, what I am, is normal. I am sorry, little one, that your flame burned so briefly. You will return, and it will be for longer, I think.”
“Yes. I had a dream about it, a few nights ago. And I met War, and they said I’d have an army, but I thought I was too little for one. I won’t be little next time, though, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Azaiah said, holding out his hand. “But that journey still awaits. First, we have this one. Are you ready?”
“I think so.” Andor glanced at his weeping mother and uncle and sighed. “I wish I could tell them I’m okay. It feels so much better. I can breathe.” He turned a brilliant smile up at Azaiah. “And I apologize for Mother. She’s only worried, and she loves me.”
“Yes,” Azaiah said. “I understand. I see grief often, little prince. You were dearly loved.”
“And murdered,” Andor said. “I should be mad about it, maybe. But it’s hard. I feel sorry for him. My—the emperor. He must be scared all the time. Anyway, I’m ready. I want to see your boat. Is it a big boat?”
“It is if you would like it to be,” Azaiah said as they walked. He paused, seeing Nyx comforting Nadia, though now that he was leading a spirit, he was not sure that Nyx could see him anymore. Or would want to, given who he was taking with him.
“It’s okay, he’ll remember he loves you,” Andor said. “He’s just sad right now.”
That Andor was trying to comforthimmade Azaiah smile. “You are strong, and you fought as well as you could, given that the vessel holding your soul was not strong enough. The next one will be. Now, there is the boat. Do not fear it or the river, child. I think it will be beautiful, what waits for you on the other side.”
“Thank you,” the boy said, with one last, lingering look at the bed and his family. “I wish I could tell Kelta I’m okay. Can I do that?”
“To linger means the light of your spirit fades,” Azaiah said. He could not force the spirit to leave if it did not want to. “And the pull of my river will only grow stronger. Leave the living to comfort each other, Andor of Iperios. Something else waits for you.”
Andor nodded and squeezed his hand. “I’m ready.”
With that, Azaiah led him to the boat, which looked as it always did to him, but Andor exclaimed with delight over the tall masts that were not there, the figurehead of a warrior woman with a crown of stars. A boat from some half-imagined dream, or a storybook, or a combination of the two. But he was not afraid, and when the boat came to the place where the river met the cave, the little boy waved at Azaiah.
“Take care of Uncle Nyx,” he said. “Tell him I’ll be back soon.”
Azaiah raised one hand in farewell, and the spirit of Andor went on, to whatever awaited.
Azaiah watched until he crossed, and then he got back in the boat. He should, perhaps, not return to the palace… but he found himself there before he could stop it, the desire to see Nyx too strong. Azaiah mourned his lover’s loss in a way that he could not when he was there as Death. It was strange to feel himself split in two, as if he were not simply Azaiah-who-was-Death, and he wondered if that would be part of the bond. That he would give some of his godhood to Nyx, so he would no longer suffer worry over a mortal who could be taken from him, who had ties to the living that could tear him to pieces when those ties were inevitably severed.
