Page 66 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

“He’s the god of art. Surely he can figure something out. If not, I’ll take an interpretive dance. In fact, I think that’d be better.” Nyx swung a leg over the side of the hammock when they were both settled side by side, and gave a little push to make the hammock start rocking gently.

“My brother hates these,” Azaiah said, though he found the sensation was actually quite pleasant.

“Arwyn? You’d think a former pirate would appreciate a well-made hammock.”

“Oh, Arwyn probably wouldn’t like them, but that’s because he prefers comfort—silk sheets, down pillows, that sort of thing.” Azaiah settled so his head was on Nyx’s shoulder, as Nyx continued to rock them with his foot. “Leviathan, that’s who I meant. He says it’s too much like a fish caught in a net.”

“The Tempest caught in a hammock,” Nyx said, smiling over at Azaiah. “Now there’s a painting I’d like to see. It’d have to be a bigger hammock, if he were a dragon, and maybe a few more trees, too.”

Azaiah gave a soft laugh and turned his head, and Nyx kissed him there as they relaxed under a sky of distant stars, though neither of them were ever sure if they were stars, or souls, or something else entirely. Azaiah thought perhaps they were stars that had burned out in the heavens, souls of a different kind showing up here, where all things ended and began again.

It was lovely, really, that there were still mysteries left to ponder, even for the god of death and his companion.

The hammock wasn’t the only thing the house had produced, it seemed. The bed was the same—Nyx was fond of it, and he was the only one of them who liked to sleep—but there were other small changes. Some potted plants had appeared on the windowsill and a terra cotta pot with a cactus, reminiscent of the ones they’d seen just recently in Arktos. There wasn’t a kitchen, but a small alcove with a simple wooden table on which they played Winter, a tea set for when the mood struck, and a hearth where a fire burned perpetually bright and at just the right temperature.

Beyond the alcove, where there used to be a wall, two steps led down to a brand new area, a room with an entire wall of windows that looked out onto the river, with a large tree inked in stark black on a white wall on the opposite side. It was the tree from d’Hiver under which they’d made their companion’s vow, which now flowered in the spring, just like the others in the grove. This illustration, however, was the tree as it had appeared when they’d made their vow, barren branches with only a single red bloom atop the highest, trembling and so very close to falling.

Beneath the mural was a piece of furniture somewhere between a fainting couch and a proper bed, with a small table next to it, on which were several knives and soft cuffs to be used on the restraints cleverly hidden in the design of the couch.

Nyx picked up one of the knives, a thin, silver blade, and arched his eyebrows. “Is this a gift from Arwyn?”

Azaiah shook his head. “No. My brother has never been here. No one has but you and Aleks.”

Nyx played with the blade, light glinting off its surface. He frowned. “I don’t like to think about how lonely you were, before me.”

Touched, Azaiah lay a careful hand on Nyx’s shoulder. “Lonely, but not always unhappy, not here, anyway. Even in the long years of our separation, this place has always been a solace, even if only for my own grief.”

“Now it’s going to be a solace where you’re happy, and not alone. Never again. Your grief is here, but that’s me.” Nyx’s voice rang with dominance, and Azaiah gave a little shiver. Nyx’s dominance was always present, even here, but he rarely bothered using it. Azaiah never minded it, in fact he quite liked it when Nyx used it, though he understood why Nyx was often hesitant to do so, when he’d spent too long using it for violence.

Nyx put the knife down and picked up another, studying it. There was a brief flash of revulsion on his features that he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide. “I don’t know why the house thinks we want a hammock and a torture chamber.”

“I do like the mural,” Azaiah said, a bit hesitantly, because nothing about the soft cushions on the couch resembled a torture chamber. “And, ah, the placement of that bed by the tree reminds me of the altar where I was sacrificed.”

Nyx didn’t bother to hide his flinch this time. “You say that so calmly.”

“It was over a millennia ago, Nyx,” Azaiah pointed out, smiling. “And it was never an unpleasant memory. I have told you that I bared my throat willingly, and I meant it.”

“Sure. Doesn’t mean you want to play with knives just because you–” He stopped. “Azaiah.”

“Yes?” Azaiah did love when Nyx said his name, firm and with a touch of dominance. It made Azaiah want to kneel for him, and he savored the desire to sink to his knees.

“Do you want to play with knives?” Nyx studied him, gaze sharp, focused—still a general, if he needed to be.

He didn’t need to, and Azaiah would never ask that of him—even if he liked to think about it sometimes, Nyx running a knife over his body, so careful and precise. It wouldn’t bring Azaiah any physical pain, but the idea that it would cause Nyx any mental anguish in relating it to his past meant that Azaiah would never ask for it.

Apparently, the house had decided to ask for him.

“Azaiah,” Nyx said, his voice firm. “Do you?”

Azaiah couldn’t lie to Nyx, regardless if he were using his dominance or not. “I, ah. Perhaps have thought of it a time or two. You’re very skilled with them.”

Nyx was staring at him. “I was good at torturing people with them, Azaiah. It wasn’t a quick draw of a blade across the throat. I took them apart.”

The guilt and shame in his voice made Azaiah ache. He went forward and took Nyx in his arms, kissing him. “I know you did, my beloved. I know why.”

“How could you even want that?” Nyx asked, drawing away, looking at him with a searching expression. “There’s a difference between your kindness and compassion to the worst murderers and thieves, and wanting the man you love to hurt you like he used to hurt so many others.”

“Nyx,” Azaiah said quietly, taking Nyx’s hand in his and bringing it up to his mouth, kissing his scarred knuckles gently. “You can’t hurt me, especially here. Remember how it felt when we came here after making our bond, and I took you with the lightning from my storm?”

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