Page 69 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

His eyes flickered to the scar, but he moved the knife down again, alternating lighter touches with deeper cuts. No memories of screams assailed him, no remembered scent of blood, and the only begging happening was Azaiah asking for harder, deeper, please, Nyx, please let me feel it.

My lord of storms, Nyx thought, as he drew the blade hard down Azaiah’s inner thigh again so that spots of blood appeared in the wake of the knife before fading completely, chasing away my own dark skies. He felt a rush of sudden emotion, tears pricking the back of his eyes as Azaiah writhed beneath him, lost to pleasure and sensation, the air thick with petrichor and desire.

“Thank you,” Nyx said, though it didn’t seem like nearly enough. He wasn’t a poet, and he didn’t think he’d ever find the right words. Instead, he moved to place the tip of the knife under Azaiah’s chin, tilting it up as much as he could. “You were right. I needed this. I think we both did.”

Azaiah’s only answer was a soft moan. Nyx took a long, deep breath, and then placed the tip of the blade on the far edge of the scar on Azaiah’s neck. “I see why Death wanted you, if this is how you looked on the altar.”

Azaiah’s eyes were closed, but white, bright light seeped from beneath his closed lids, spilling like starlight down his pale cheeks. He smiled.

“I love you.” Nyx drew the tip of the knife across his throat, hard enough that it would have killed him, were Azaiah mortal, the same way he’d killed people before as Glaive. It was a claiming, this killing blow that wasn’t. A promise.

It made Azaiah come.

He cried out, thunder rattling the small house and lightning following after the blade, licking over Azaiah’s broken skin as Nyx took his time tracing the scar that had brought Azaiah his scythe and his boat, his little house on the shore of the river of time. It had brought him to Nyx, who might finally believe in the deepest, darkest part of himself that he deserved what he had, who he had.

When Nyx finally drew the knife away, the skin had healed, though Azaiah’s scar remained. Azaiah himself was panting, boneless, his stomach sticky as his cock went soft, body twitching while the thunder slowly faded away, taking the scent of the storm with it.

“I feel a bit like a god right now, myself,” Nyx said, and put the knife aside. “But you could be in trouble, coming without permission.” Though he’d known that would happen, hadn’t he? Azaiah liked Nyx to kiss him there, on his throat, through the silk ribbon he wore as a collar. Azaiah had known all along he would like it. He’d just been waiting for Nyx to figure it out.

Death really was patient.

Azaiah opened his eyes, and the bright white had mostly faded, though Nyx could see flickers of light like lightning in his spring-green eyes. He stretched like a contented cat. “That was wonderful. Would you like me to do it to you? You have so many scars, my soldier. I would like to make you feel pleasure for each one of them.”

“You’ve already done that. And yes, you can, but not now.” Nyx kissed him, long and sweet. “Now, I want to fuck you, and this time, you’ll ask before I let you come.”

“As you wish,” Azaiah murmured, reaching a hand up to trace the mark on Nyx’s chest, and Nyx noticed with pride that Azaiah’s fingers were shaking slightly. Who else in the whole of the world could say they’d made the Lord of Storms tremble?

Azaiah reclined again, legs spread wantonly, already growing hard, and Nyx turned to put the knife on the table, at long last served its purpose. He fucked Azaiah there on the chaise, Azaiah’s legs tight around his waist and his nails in Nyx’s shoulders, reveling in the sensation of being deep inside Azaiah, of having him spread out beneath him, of Azaiah’s deep, smooth voice begging please let me come on your cock, my love, Nyx, please, please.

He drew it out as long as he could, enjoying Azaiah’s increasingly desperate pleas and maybe in this, he could be a sadist. He gave his permission right when he too was on the edge, and it was Azaiah going tight around his cock that pushed Nyx over it with him.

When the wave had passed, Nyx kissed Azaiah and moved off him, rolling on his back on a chaise that was now somehow, big enough for them both to lie side by side. He caught his breath, one of Azaiah’s hands in his, and thought about how different his next dream of a knife would be.

They lay together there in their little house on the river, content and happy, and it would be some time before either of them noticed the mural on the wall—the barren tree now full of leaves and flowers, vibrant and green, alive.

CHAPTER 13

Lost and Found

The museum was near the edge of Hekate’s Eye, a stone building with steps up to a rock with the inscription All is not lost, it is merely waiting to be found. That was funny, because there were certainly things that were lost that wouldn’t be found, but humans were vain and optimistic creatures who didn’t like to admit things might be gone forever instead of temporarily misplaced.

Arwyn paid the two copper admittance fee for both him and Dex, and smiled blandly at the bored teenager who waved them into the exhibit. It was cool inside, a relief from the summer tropical heatwave, but the museum was mostly empty given that it was nearly closing time when they decided to visit.

It was a typical sort of museum, put together by the treasure hunter who’d found the ship and a scholar from Gerakia, as museums were all the rage recently and every town in Iperios had at least two or three, if not more. There were the staid, boring ones devoted to history in every capital in Iperios, with some having more a specific bent—the royal treasury in Duciel, musical instruments in Kallistos, even a museum for demons in Mislia.

Diabolos, being an island full of former and current pirates, had quite a few devoted to ships and, more specifically, shipwrecks. This museum was for the wreckage of the Maelstrom, discovered by the enterprising young treasure hunter in the waters off the southern coast of Staria a few years earlier.

This wasn’t a surprise to Arwyn, who’d known where it was all along. Iola had sailed her until she’d retired, and without anyone worthy enough to command her, Leviathan had obligingly ripped a hole in the hull with his claws so that it would sink. He’d done it partly for Arwyn and partly because it made a good home for fish, which he liked more than most people. That had to explain Levi’s choice of companion, who was about as dull as a lecture on the importance of providing a shelter from marine predators and the benefits of diversifying plant and organic matter for sea life to feed on.

The ship had sunk in the quiet waters of a tranquil sea under a moonless sky, and Arwyn and Iola had stood in quiet contemplation in a dingy as they’d watched her go under.

Arwyn hadn’t been upset—if he or Iola couldn’t have the Maelstrom, no one should, but he had always loved the old flag he’d sailed under, the skull with the rictus grin and paste-ruby eyes, with its crown of rust. His true face, lovingly rendered in silk and thread, really should have had a place in his hoard. Iola had sailed under it, and there’d been something poetic about seeing it go down with the ship.

He’d been reminded again after hearing a delightful tale about a ghost ship that flew a flag with a skull and was manned by a crew of specters who’d made a deal with the God of Death but failed to be specific enough about the conditions. It was all a lie, but the next morning, he’d sent an anonymous tip to a treasure hunter about the location of the Maelstrom.

Really, Azaiah was too boring to go about making deals with the living and tricking them into eternal, ghostly servitude on a spectral ship. That was something Arwyn would have done, but since he couldn’t, he decided to put the rumors to rest so that people didn’t think his baby brother was more interesting than he was. Levi thought he was ridiculous when Arwyn asked, but he’d gone and found the wreckage on an afternoon swim and reported back, and Arwyn had Dex send a mysteriously-worded letter with a series of clues to Gerakia.

No point in making it too easy.

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