Page 29 of Patron of Mercy

When he stood, Thanatos did as well. He might as well earn his keep. It didn’t seem like oatmeal would be that hard to make.

Lach froze. “Where are you going?”

“With you?”

Again, Lach looked conflicted. “I love that idea. Really, I do. But you’ve seen the mess.”

Thanatos hadn’t thought it particularly messy, and he was living in it regardless, so he hardly thought that relevant. “It isn’t that bad. And what does it have to do with me helping you?”

A tiny line formed between Lach’s brows, eyes confused, and he cocked his head. Then his eyes widened in understanding. “The kitchen. It’s, ah, it’s called the mess. And it’s really small. Barely enough room for one person to cook, let alone two.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “But you could sit on the bench down there and keep me company if you want.”

So Thanatos did that. Mostly, he watched Lach mix and stir and mutter to himself, but occasionally Lach remembered he was there and spoke to him. It was mostly questions about Thanatos’s food preferences, a nice neutral subject. Truth told, other than the odd meal with his brother, Thanatos didn’t eat much.

That, Lach thought, was a travesty.

“But food has come so far in the modern era,” he protested. “Not just different things from everywhere, but fusions of everything smashed together. The best of everything. You should be out there trying all of it!”

It was Lach in a nutshell. Out there, trying everything, confused about why Thanatos was stuck in the mud.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Thanatos should be out there trying everything.

He felt useless half the time, and that wasn’t only self-doubt talking. Lots of people still died every day, but his own job didn’t seem to be growing. He didn’t know if fewer people were dying peacefully or if they had a better understanding of where to go when they did, but the mere fact that he’d spent more than a day on a boat without feeling as though he absolutely had to see to a soul spoke volumes about how useful he was in the modern world.

Lach was looking at him, and he realized he’d probably been asked a question. He hoped it was still about trying new food and took a guess. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Lach positively lit up. “Ibiza.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Ibiza. We’ll be passing right by there. We can stop off, see the sights, eat some food—”

Thanatos raised an eyebrow at him. “Starving people?”

Lach frowned for a second, but then his face cleared. “Sure, but it’s still spring. We have time. And once we have the scythe, we can fix it right away. Maybe even retroactively, but messing with time might not be a great idea, even if it can do that.”

It probably could fix the harvest retroactively, but Lach was right—it was a terrible idea. No one should alter the flow of time. To call such an endeavor dangerous was to call Aphrodite passingly attractive. It was an understatement of laughable magnitude.

“No altering time,” he announced. “But you’re probably right that one day won’t make a difference.”

Lach looked overjoyed, like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin as he sauntered over and set a bowl of oatmeal with honey and fruit in front of Thanatos.

“One day. We’ll need to reprovision anyway, won’t we?”

Silly grin still pasted across his face, Lach nodded. “Yep. We’ll need to stop for food. No harm spending a few hours doing other things too.”

Thanatos felt like he’d fallen into a trap, but he still couldn’t see the net he’d caught himself in. He sighed and dug into his oatmeal. It was good. Of course it was. Everything was good.

Once again, they spent the afternoon on deck. Thanatos didn’t know anything about sailing, but apparently it involved an occasionally shirtless Lach climbing over every inch of the ship like an industrious ant. How he didn’t lose his balance, Thanatos didn’t know.

When the sun was high above, Lach looked over at him, grin on his face, and asked, “Want to learn how to fish?”

Thanatos wasn’t sure he did. He’d brought death to many creatures in his life, but he’d never actively caused it. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach for it. Still, that hopeful look on Lach’s face had always been his downfall. He sighed and stood to join him.

Lach hopped up and started going through some small storage bins on the side of the deck, then frowning. “I’m sure I had extra gear somewhere.” He stopped, sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Mis, sweetheart, can I please have the extra fishing gear?”

He pulled open the same container he’d just closed. It was twice as big as before and filled with fishing paraphernalia. For a moment, Thanatos stood there staring.

Then an all too familiar anger washed over him.

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