“Phix has arrived from the Agora,” Charon announced. “As we knew would happen.”
Every word coming from Charon’s mouth seemed to hold even more weight today. And that name… Phix. It was heavier than all those words put together. “Who is Phix?”
I almost wanted Charon to ignore my question, but he didn’t. “The auctioneer of the bride market in Asphodelia,” the ferryman explained. “Every death-touched bride that enters our city is first and foremost her responsibility.”
A shiver rushed down my spine. In my heart, I’d known it was unusual to be kept here in Aion’s quarters. Charon had given his permission, but he was a ferryman, not an authority figure. Still, I’d hoped we’d be left alone forever. But that was never going to happen, was it?
Aion’s hand found mine again, his fingers lacing through my own in a silent, fierce promise. “Surely, we have a little more time.”
“Medea has recovered,” Charon said, shaking his head. “That means she can no longer remain in limbo within Asphodelia. The laws of the city must be observed.”
Though he was obviously unhappy, Aion could no longer find a way to argue. “We will speak with the sphinx.”
I nodded, though my throat was now tight with a new kind of terror. The miraculous peace of Aion’s touch felt suddenly precarious. As much as I wanted to cling to my illusions, I understood the truth now. My fight for freedom had only just begun.
When I’d first arrived in Asphodelia, I hadn’t known what to expect of Charon’s domain. Jason had told me bits and pieces about the ancient ferryman, but nothing that actually made him real in my mind.
What I’d found underneath the Stygian Docks was… industry. The same skill that had built Aion. Heavy Stygian iron shelves sagged under thousands of meticulously kept ledgers—centuries of careful records. In the shadowed corners, skeletal metal armatures of unfinished constructs hung from the vaulted ceiling.
In a way, I’d found the place warm. Reassuring. But the arrival of the sphinx changed that.
Phix was a magnificent, terrifying creature, looking exactly as one would expect of the auctioneer of the bride market. She had the sleek, powerful body of a golden lioness, but the regal head and torso of a woman. She kept her sharp, stony wings tucked tightly against her flanks. Faintly glowing runes crawled across her skin.
When she entered the workshop, she stopped a few paces away from me. Her dark eyes fixed on me with an ancient, predatory intelligence.
“You have been a diligent warden, Aion,” she rumbled, her golden tail twitching in a slow, hypnotic arc. “But her time hidden in your quarters has expired. An unbonded mortal cannot remain within the walls of Asphodelia. To stay, she must be woven into the city’s fabric. She must enter the Agora of Echoes.”
Aion shifted, his massive bronze frame angling slightly in front of me. “She is safe with me, Phix.”
“Her safety isn’t what is in question,” Phix countered. “This is about the law, Aion. If she remains an unclaimed mortal, she will be expelled from the city.”
“Phix… There are circumstances. She is being—”
“Chased by a necromancer,” Phix said, cutting Aion off. “Yes, we know that Jason and his Argonauts camp just outside the Blighted Lands. But it changes nothing.”
A cold, sharp panic seized my lungs. As I had expected, Jason was out there, lurking at the edge of the magical boundary. “Aion… I can’t go back. I can’t… I can’t let him have me again.”
“You won’t have to,” Aion promised. “Phix, there should be no issue at all. I will claim her.”
For all his words, there was a hesitation in his posture, something that hadn’t been there before. Did he not truly want me? No, this was something else.
“You cannot,” Charon said, leaning on his heavy pole. “You have no thread, my son. You already know what that means.”
Aion closed his eyes, hiding the blue glow of his core behind his metal skin. Yes, he had known. He understood what his father was saying. But I didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” I shook Aion’s arm, willing him to explain. “What does this mean?”
Aion didn’t answer. Charon released a deep sigh. “I forged Aion with my own two hands. Unlike almost everyone in Asphodelia, he is not one of the woven. He is absent from the Moirae’s Loom. According to our laws, he cannot go through the bride market, because he has no thread to bind.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Even here, the man I had chosen for myself wasn’t a person? To his own people? To his own father, maybe?
“That being said, Phix,” Charon continued, “this entire conversation is beside the point. Medea cannot pay the toll to enter the bride market.”
This was just getting worse and worse by the second. Every bride market needed the bride to pay a fee, but what did I have thatwould be of value to these people? “Surely there must be a way to pay,” I pleaded. “To solve this.”
“Every bride must surrender a happy memory to the lake,” Charon explained. “I am the one who extracts that memory. But I am still flesh and blood. If I attempt the ritual, my hands will rot and wither before the memory ever transfers. You are locked out of the Agora, Medea.”
“Then we will bypass the Agora entirely,” Aion said, his voice dropping to a low, desperate rumble. “We will go to the shores of the Acheron. The lake recognized the bond between Phonos and Daphne when the Loom could not. It will recognize us.”
