This is all I am.
Ranger kept coming, moving closer, and Glaive aimed the crossbow at his chest—then shifted slightly, hitting his upper shoulder instead. It struck him, then, with a jolt of horror, that he couldn’t do it.
Would he even be able to kill Marius? Was this how it ended, then? Was Death coming for Glaive instead, to hold him in some quiet place until the flood swept over Iperios? Perhaps it would be better that way. Perhaps he’d just been waiting until this moment, when the fire in Glaive’s soul was finally doused.
“That’s the last one, Red.” Glaive tried to brace himself, tried to find the cold, distant place he went to when he killed, but it slipped away every time he grasped it. The crossbow wavered, and Glaive cursed as Marius, of all things, slammed into him from behind. He slapped the boy to the ground, then dragged him up again and kicked him. If he could get angry, maybe he could do it.
But he didn’t blame Marius. He didn’t blame Ranger, either, even as the man refused to retreat, refused Marius’s pleas to leave him and go safely back to his Thalassan home. And the cold, dark place kept sliding away like so much rain. Was this how it had always felt, before he’d been Glaive? Had it hurt so much, killing?
“He’s not worth dying for, kid.” Glaive was begging. He could hear it in his voice, even if the others couldn’t. And he knew, even as he spoke, that he was lying. “They never are.”
“Yes, he is,” Ranger said. He looked up at Marius. “See you on the other side.”
Glaive breathed out hard, rain rolling down his cheeks like tears. “I don’t want to do this.”
“I know.” Ranger was still looking at Marius, but his words were directed to Glaive. “Take my beads. When I’m gone, take the favors I owe and do them for me, as I would have. Swear it.”
“I swear it.” Glaive raised the crossbow, aiming it at Ranger’s heart. He set his finger on the trigger.
And waited.
He couldn’t do it. That was it, then. It ended here, in the rain, with Death approaching. Glaive removed his finger from the trigger, and rain poured heavier still over them all, a roar of sound that rang in his ears. Then the ringing grew louder, until the sound of bells sounded all about him in a chorus, discordant and yet somehow beautiful. Glaive tipped his head up to the rain, and for once, it didn’t feel oppressive. It felt cool, cleansing, like a clear spring bubbling up from a stone. The storm rang with music, and Glaive turned to see a black hare moving toward the circle of stones. The rain swept between it and Glaive like a curtain being pushed aside, and there was Death, standing with his robe and scythe. He raised his hands and lowered the cowl, and Glaive let out a broken sound.
Azaiah went to his knees in the grass, the cleansing rain falling over his silken hair. His voice was as Glaive remembered it, low and musical. Perfect. “Beloved. Let me spill your heart’s blood for you.”
“At last.” He left Marius and Ranger behind in the rain, free to live as they wished, the bow falling from his fingers. Glaive stepped forward, tipping Azaiah’s face up to his, but it was Nyx who smiled. “I’ve waited long enough.”
* * *
It continued raining as they walked to the tree.
While Azaiah did not understand much of what had happened on the altar in Kallistos, they had time to talk about it, figure it out. This rain, he knew, was both his and Death’s, not the sort that drowned the world but the sort that cleansed it.
Azaiah held Nyx’s hand, squeezing it. Both of them were silent, and that was all right. It had been so long since they’d last seen each other, since Nyx had turned from him to kneel for Ares. There were so many things he needed to say, but he could think of nary a one, content to be together for the first time in centuries.
“You didn’t give up,” Nyx said at last, as they came to the clearing where the tree stood. The rain was cool and refreshing, and Azaiah found he liked the way it felt on his skin when he turned his face up to the sky.
“No. Well. Almost.” He smiled at Nyx. “I thought I had to, to save the world.”
“I almost did, too,” Nyx said. He wasn’t smiling, and the exhaustion on his face was the sort that went down deep to the soul. But, ah, his soul—its fire was catching as if someone was carefully adding kindling, piece by piece.
“That was what I had to learn, my soldier,” Azaiah said, drawing him toward the tree. “I thought my corruption meant the rain would drown the world, so I feared it. But death is an end, nottheend. I forgot that, just as you forgot your compassion. We both found the cards to play, in our last hand.”
“Gods, I missed the weird way you talk.” Nyx tugged Azaiah’s hand, bringing him closer until they were kissing.
“I missed you, my soldier. Ah, if you only knew—” Azaiah gasped as Nyx shoved him back against the tree, mouth hot on his neck.
“I did know, fuck,” Nyx grumbled, biting at him, hands everywhere, sliding beneath the robes. “Seven hundred years, eight hundred, why was it solong?”
“Is that—really what you want to talk about,” Azaiah asked, spreading his legs as Nyx pushed his hips against him, insistent, cock hard and hands rough on the smooth skin of Azaiah’s stomach.
“No.” Nyx pulled back, eyes burning, no longer as cold as they had been. “I want to fuck you while you use my name, over and over, like it’s the only one I’ve ever had.”
Azaiah took his face in his hands. “It is,” he said softly. “It is your name. Your only name.”
Nyx stared at him, and then he started to sob. Great, gasping sobs that racked his whole body, the sort that spoke more of relief than pain. Azaiah made a soft sound and wrapped his arms around him, holding him, thrilling at the warmth he’d missed for so very long. “You were worth the years I waited, my soldier. My only fear was that I would lose you, lose myself. But we are here, now, together.”
“I still can’t— I don’t know what to say,” Nyx managed, shaking in Azaiah’s arms. “Gods, all I want to do is fuck you.”
