Page 77 of Patron of Mercy

“Glykera,” she said, tipping up her chin like she was daring him to challenge her. “We haven’t had anyone new come here in—in a long time.”

“Really?” Lach asked. He let go of Thanatos’s hand to crouch down in front of her. “How long?”

“Well, I had nieces and nephews. And their nieces and nephews. And almost ten generations after that. But they slow down. Less and less come. Grandpa says they always stop coming eventually.”

Lach frowned. That sounded like a flaw in the mechanism, but when he looked up at Thanatos, the god seemed unconcerned. “Families are drawn to each other,” he explained, “but as the world changes and the ties between them loosen, they disperse. End up other places.”

Sure. Lach might remember his grandfather, but his great-grandfather? He hadn’t even known him. If he wound up dead in the arms of a stranger, that’d hardly be a comfort.

“Ten generations in one place is rare,” Thanatos clarified.

Glykera nodded. “We’ve got a big family.”

“I’m looking for someone in particular. Do you know a man named Philon?”

Again, she nodded. A smile crept across her face—a tricky kind of smile that Lach liked immediately. “Come on.”

She took his hand and tugged him up the dunes. Right where it should be, his village lit the dark night.

“Glykera!” A voice boomed that made a shiver run up Lach’s back.

She let go of his hand and rushed into the arms of an enormous man with a full beard and merry eyes. He looked even more like their father than he had the last time Lach had seen him.

“My girl, what are you doing?” he asked, kissing her cheek. There were other people in the village—all cut of a merry mold. Hale and healthy. “Who’s this?”

Philon finally looked at them, and all the blood rushed out of Lach’s head. He was going to faint. This wasn’t his place. He didn’t have any right to be here.

And then Philon was on him. One broad arm wrapped around his back and jerked him in, crushing his daughter against Lach’s side until she squirmed to be let down. Only then did he pull away.

“Glaukos,” he said fondly, tears sparkling at the corners of his eyes. “I was beginning to think that you would never make it.”

“I’m not staying,” Lach said hastily. He’d always thought it best to lead with disappointment, but there wasn’t a trace of it in Philon’s smile as he held Lach’s cheeks in both hands.

“Never mind that. Tell me how you are! Who’ve you brought with you?” Philon’s gaze settled on Thanatos. His smile faded. “I’ve seen you before.”

Slowly, Thanatos inclined his head. “When you were ill and young. I came for you, and your brother begged I spare you.”

At once, Philon’s smile returned. “You saved me!”

“Well, no—” Thanatos began.

“He did,” Lach confirmed. “He called Hermes to save you.”

Philon embraced Thanatos, who looked about as uncomfortable as any god would to be treated so casually by a mortal. Or maybe it was something else. Philon had grown up on the same stories Lach had. He knew who Thanatos was. Now, in Elysium, he didn’t pause a beat to be afraid of him.

“I have a wonderful life to thank you for,” Philon said, gripping Thanatos’s shoulders as he leaned back. He looked between Lach and Thanatos. “Is that why you’ve been missing? Father never believed the gossip about Zeus and our mother—” Lach shuddered. Pretty much everyone who had Zeus for a father had been severely fucked up in a major way. He was lucky he didn’t. “Are you lovers?”

Lach wiggled his eyebrows. “Sure are. But that’s not why I’m not here. It’s a long story.”

“And I demand you tell it!” Philon’s voice was loud enough to get the attention of a dozen people, and before Lach knew what had happened, he was sitting around a fire with his family, spinning tales of immortal cows, nefarious cults, and chariots that drove themselves—that had been a big hit. No one believed him when he tried to say how much the world had changed. Lach had seen it all happen, and it still seemed impossible.

“And you can talk to anyone anywhere?” his mother asked when Lach showed her his flip phone. When she smiled, there was a calculated glint in her eye. He hadn’t gotten his shifty streak from his father.

“See?” Lach said, dangling the phone in front of Thanatos. “It’s still damn impressive.”

Lach turned back to his mother. “You can keep it,” he said, passing it to her. “I doubt it’ll work down here, but who knows?” When she hesitated, he offered, “I can always get another. They’re everywhere now.”

She touched his cheek. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a mage.”

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