Page 12 of Bought By the Manticore

Aion took a careful step forward. His massive hand fidgeted with the edge of his satchel, as if he was nervous. “Since you collapsed in the Agora, my mate, Medea, has been very worried about you. She wanted to come to see you personally, but she feared her powers would harm you. So I came in her place.”

His mate. Oh. So this was Medea’s mysterious other half, the man who had accepted a woman who could wither everything with a touch.

I felt a little warmed by her concern. We were, in every way, strangers, but she’d shown me more kindness than I could have ever expected.

“Thank you, Aion. My condition… It’s an old disease. In the Korinos Wilds, we call it the Thorn-Sickness. Iaso says she might be able to help me.”

Aion’s brow furrowed, mimicking what would be a frown on a living face. “But you’re skeptical.”

I shrugged. “How can I not be? Even here, the disease follows me. It’s in my blood, in my veins. I won’t ever escape it, not until the day I die.”

For the longest time, Aion was quiet. He was so still he might as well have turned into a statue. It didn’t help that he clearly had no need to breathe. A small part of me was jealous. Some days, breathing hurt. His anatomy would have been a blessing.

Finally, Aion approached the bed, his footsteps steady and certain. “Here in Asphodelia, death is something to treasure. It is a gift from Thanatos, one we all honor. But Medea and I both know you can’t understand that, not yet. And no one really expects you to.”

He reached for his satchel and opened it. From inside, he produced an aged, intricately bound scroll. “I wasn’t always a person,” he explained. “I was crafted by my father, Charon. When I first awakened, he wrote these scrolls for me. To help me understand what a person truly was.”

My breath caught as I took in the value of his gift. Scrolls were rare in my village, but Fera had found a way to teach me to read anyway. Never had I been more grateful for her stubbornness.

With a shaking hand, I took the scroll from Aion. “Thank you. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Consider this… our welcome to Asphodelia.”

A welcome. After the way my bride market had gone, this certainly seemed like an improvement. And I hadn’t truly felt welcomed anywhere in so long. Was this scroll a good sign, or was it something else?

I scanned Aion’s face, looking for any sign of deception. His father had taken my memory of Fera. I knew I shouldn’t blame Charon for it. He’d warned me of the price I’d have to pay. And yet… Had it really been worth it?

“Does this welcome come at a price, Aion, son of Charon?” I asked quietly.

To his credit, he didn’t appear offended. Then again, his metallic features were impossible to read. “My father would have you believe that everything is only ever a trade,” he offered. “But he’s also the one who taught me life doesn’t work like that. This scroll is only a gift, nothing more.”

A gift. Like the Thorn-Sickness was supposed to be, according to the people in my village? Or was this scroll really something harmless?

“Do I really belong here, Aion? Medea said I do, but I’m still stuck. Just like I was before.”

“I think, in your heart, you already know the answer to that question.”

It wasn’t much of a reply, but it was perhaps the only one Aion had to give me. After all, some choices I had to make for myself. The tragic reality was that most days, it didn’t feel like I had much choice at all. The Thorn-Sickness had ripped that out of me, too.

“Rest well, Ianthe,” Aion told me. “When you are better, we will speak to Iaso. Perhaps, with your permission, Medea can visit.”

“I’d like that,” I replied. I would appreciate a friendly face, even if Medea couldn’t quite understand my predicament.

Aion bowed one more time and left the infirmary. I clutched the priceless scroll in my hand and watched him go.

I didn’t know what made me look, what kept me from turning to the scroll immediately. But as my gaze lingered, a small shape slipped from his silver hair and fluttered to the ground.

Frowning, I threw off the sheets and climbed out of bed. It took me longer than I’d have liked, but I made my way to the other side of the room.

There, on the floor, lay the object that had fallen from Aion: an asphodel petal. No doubt, it had survived the pruning Aion and his friend had been doing earlier. The sight of it stirred a strange, quiet ache within me.

The edges of the petal still held a bright sheen. “Were you the one to guide me here?” I asked the light.

No reply came. I didn’t expect one, but I took the petal with me anyway. When I crawled back into bed, I placed it next to me on my pillow.

Aion, the colossus, had brought me a priceless gift: his father’s scroll. But he’d given me more than that. I didn’t know why, but I was certain this asphodel petal meant something.

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