Quickening her step, she grabbed his hand, forcing him to keep up as she weaved around people on the street. The long walk was going to kill her. She just wanted to get there and get on with it already. The streetlamps flickered, casting a familiar glow. Hand in hand with the god of the dead, she drank in the warm orange-tinted light and how the soot looked so natural here rather than a curse of decay like it did in Kava.
A sudden knowing hit her like a brick. “Did your realm always look like this? The streetlamps? The cobbled streets? Your home?”
Half-turned toward her, Aidan looked uncharacteristically sheepish as if he’d been caught. A wisp of hair blew into his eyes, but for once he left it there. Setting his anger aside, he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re giving up so much. It was the least I could do to make it feel more like home here.”
Her jaw almost hit the ground.
“I couldn’t do anything about the soot, as you call it, because it's natural here, which I’m sure you hate, but adding some lamps, a little iron, and cobblestone streets? That I could do.”
Shocked, she gripped the nearest black lamppost. “Your realm is barely stable, and you used your power to make it feel more like home to me?”
He took a step closer, facing her completely. “You forget I was mortal, and I too once woke up here and hated everything I saw. I didn’t want that for you. I wanted your experience to be different, better than mine.”
“But your house—it was already like this when I visited you for the deal.”
His face was wry. “I’m the plotting kind of stalker—I saw how you loved the dark beauty of Relaclave, and I refused to give up hope that you would make it here somehow.”
Reflexively, her hand gripped his tighter, her heart mimicking the motion as his fingers responded in kind. Dazed, she allowed him to guide them all the way to the bar. The estate with its mix of oil lamps, electricity, and lush rugs and rich paintings. The dark red-brown brick buildings with black accents and iron touches. There were even a few curving cream buildings like the ones in old Relaclave in his village. He’d recognized the heart of what she loved in her city and brought it to life here as much as he could.
The lounge was quiet when they entered with only a few people seated at the bar and at the small round dark wooden tables. Settling in at a table away from the others, Elysia perused the drink menu.
“Which one were you thinking?”
She looked up to find Aidan already sliding onto his stool with two flutes in hand. The liquid glimmered a rosy gold, and juicy red seeds floated down to rest on the bottom. “It’s called the Ultimatum.”
She raised a brow, pulling hers in closer and giving it a sniff. It smelled like pomegranate and citrus. “Quite the name.”
The flame of the candle on the table highlighted the hollows of his face as he gave a mirthless smile. “Couples like to use it when they think the other has been lying or cheating.”
Elysia sat up straighter. “Because it…?”
“Forces you to tell the truth.”
Her gaze moved from the effervescent drinks to the god suggesting they use drugs to fix their relationship. Inevitably, her mind slipped back to her earlier thoughts. Hand in hand, it was terribly easy to forget who he was and what he had done when he was revealing he’d altered his entire realm to put her at ease.
She studied him openly. Rough, but purposeful, she wouldn’t call him impulsive. And yet, that was the story he wanted her tobelieve. That as a young god, he’d impulsively made a deal with a grief-stricken king.
She downed her drink in one go, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles hit. Serious as the grave, Aidan followed suit, setting his delicate flute down and folding his hands.
“First question goes to you.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Why didn’t you tell me about the fates’ involvement with the deal between you and Garrison?”
His mouth pressed tight as he huffed a silent laugh. “You had to start with that.” Fingers tapping on the table, he considered his answer. “Because regardless, I am at fault.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when he gasped, doubling over and clutching at his stomach.
Oh. “Liar, liar,” she sang sweetly under her breath, watching him with a dark expression.
Tugging on the lapels of his suit, Aidan straightened, looking slightly sweaty and green. His words were half-growl now. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hear the full story and take pity. I meant what I said, I was young and angry. The fates were right to punish me for what I did. I only wish it hadn’t been through you.”
“Explain.” She was doing her best to keep her magic leashed, but even without it, Aidan’s anxiety was palpable. Fingers drumming, his chest barely moved, but still he nodded, his spine going straighter and chin lifting. She couldn’t help but recognize the posture. This was a god who thought he was about to take a hit and was bracing for impact.
“The fates chose me to replace the last god of the dead because he’d grown dissatisfied with his lot. He wanted to be able to leave the Deathlands freely, he grew envious of the other gods and their lighter, easier lives. He stopped tending to the new arrivals, stopped managing the prison. The realm was in shambles, so he was removed.”
A chill ran over her skin. “Removed?”
“Yes. The fates expect a certain amount of difficultiesfrom the gods, but there are lines they expect not to be crossed. As you know, they eliminate the gods who don’t meet their requirements. My selection for this role meant cutting my mortal life short, which I did not take kindly to.” Bitterness sank into his words.
