Chapter 3 The Sphinx’s Command
The Sphinx’s Command
Medea
A few days later
The robes I was wearing were unlike anything I’d seen in my life. I stood in the center of my guest quarters, staring down at my own arms, waiting for the familiar acceleration of decay. It didn’t come.
“You are a guest here, Medea,” Charon had told me when he’d left me. “We’ll provide for you.”
I hadn’t believed him, not really. On the Argo, Jason had draped me in heavy, restrictive leathers and lead-lined silks.
My clothing was designed to be a cage, a suffocating reminder that my flesh was a hazard to be managed.
Often, it was only Jason’s magic and tricks that kept me from destroying my own clothing.
But Charon had been telling the truth. This fabric slid over my skin like cool water. I ran my fingertips along the pale grey seams. My hands were free. Jason wasn’t here. But the robes remained pristine.
It felt almost too good to be true. I hardly dared to believe it could be my new reality. And yet, it was.
Aion. He’d been the one to make this possible. The bronze colossus had welcomed me into his home, had cared for me. Every time I looked at him, I felt more alive. And every second he wasn’t with me, I missed him.
The heavy door slid open, and as if responding to my thoughts, my colossus stepped into the room.
The silver-blue light of the death crystals seemed to bend around his massive frame.
He was eight feet of living bronze, his broad chest and powerful arms etched with pulsing, intricate patterns.
He filled the space entirely, but I felt no urge to shrink away.
“You should still be resting,” he told me. “Don’t strain yourself.”
He always worried about me, even though Asphodelia’s power had already healed me. My heart hurt with affection. “I’ve rested plenty. Besides… I wanted to check.”
Aion didn’t ask what I’d been searching for, what had driven me from my bed in his absence. Perhaps he already understood, as he so often did.
Instead, he crossed the room, his heavy steps deliberate and slow. When he extended his hand, it felt like more than an invitation. It was the acceptance I’d never expected to find, not until now. “Walk with me?” he asked.
A phantom memory of Jason’s voice whispered in my ear. Weapon, blight, plague. My breath hitched. I stared at the lethal expanse of my own pale skin, then at the steady light rushing through Aion’s veins.
I can’t hurt him. This is where I’m meant to be.
I placed my hand in his. “Yes. Of course.”
The contact sent a shockwave of dizzying relief through my chest. It was always like this between us, no matter how many times we touched. I couldn’t get enough of feeling him, of the surreal texture of his skin. Smooth and humming, human, but not.
He kept my hand enveloped in his as he led me out of his quarters. Being in the city of the dead was still a little daunting, but with Aion by my side, I wasn’t truly afraid. Not of Asphodelia, at least.
We walked outside, straight onto the Stygian Docks. The air changed instantly, growing thick with the ancient scent of deep water. Lake Acheron stretched out before us like a sheet of black glass, absorbing the twilight rather than reflecting it.
When I’d jumped in on the other side of the lake, I’d thought the water would kill me. Instead, it had brought me to Aion. I desperately wanted it to be enough. But how could I be sure?
“Here in Asphodelia, there will always be an answer if you’re looking for one,” Aion said. “Most often, I seek mine in the lake. And whenever I am afraid, it’s the water that gives me reassurance.”
I wouldn’t have thought anyone like Aion would feel afraid, but then again, why wouldn’t he? His skin might be metal, but he was obviously just as human as I was. More so, perhaps.
It was that simple humanity that gave me the courage to speak the words caught in my throat. “His name is Jason. The man chasing me.”
Aion turned his head. The glowing blue light of his eyes fixed on me, patient and absolute. He did not push. He simply provided the silence.
I hadn’t spoken of Jason since I’d woken up in Asphodelia. I hadn’t dared to give the nightmare shape. But as I stood here, gripping a hand I couldn’t destroy, the secrets felt like poison I desperately needed to expel.
“He is my creator,” I confessed, the words tasting like bile on my tongue. “He told me my mother died while I was still inside her. He used his necromancy to rip me out of her womb, to weave this… this rot into my very first breath.”
I looked down at the still water of the Acheron, watching the mist curl around our feet.
“I was his weapon. His key. Whenever there was a door that wouldn’t open, a guardian that wouldn’t submit, or a rival that needed to disappear without a trace…
he would send me.” I squeezed Aion’s hand, my fingernails scraping harmlessly against his skin.
“He would strip off my gloves. He’d make me touch those people, Aion.
He’d watch them die, and he’d smile like he’d just performed a miracle. ”
Aion shifted, turning his massive body to block the cold wind sweeping off the lake. He was sheltering me entirely in his shadow, but not from the Acheron. From Jason.
“He’s obsessed with power,” I managed to finish.
“He’s looking for something called the Golden Fleece.
He thinks the world is his to conquer. I spent my whole life believing I was a plague that the earth itself wanted to reject.
I jumped into this lake because I wanted the rot to end. I wanted to be unmade.”
Aion released my hand, only to bring both of his massive palms up to cup my face. “Look at me, Medea.”
I forced my eyes up to his.
“He gave you a purpose that was not yours,” Aion said, the deep vibration of his chest carrying the absolute, crushing weight of truth. “But he could not change your nature. In this city, your touch is not a crime.”
He brushed his heavy bronze thumbs across my cheekbones, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
“Jason cannot reach you here,” Aion continued. “The Acheron is a sentient boundary. It does not permit anyone to cross without its leave. Without my father’s barge. Jason cannot touch you.”
I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his chest. The metal was cool on the surface, but the pulsing core beneath it was a roaring furnace of protection. Aion’s heavy arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his embrace.
We stood at the edge of the pier, the silence broken only by the heavy, rhythmic lapping of the lake against the stone. The terror that had chased me across the Blighted Lands began to recede, replaced by a fragile sense of belonging.
I pulled back just enough to look up at him. His face was inches from mine. The blue light of his eyes illuminated the space between us. I didn’t see a monster of metal. I saw a gentle, quiet soul that was reaching for me.
My gaze dropped to his lips. A sharp spark of pure, starved want ignited in my chest. All my life, I’d wanted to know what it felt like to touch without destroying. I’d needed to know what it felt like to be held without fear. Because of him, those wishes had been fulfilled. But I needed more.
Aion tilted his head down, his movements agonizingly slow, deliberate. He felt it too, this want, but he was giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I didn’t. I rose on my toes and pressed my lips to his.
The contact felt magical. His mouth was firm, the metal smooth and unyielding. But the energy humming just beneath the surface surged against my mouth like a living breath. I kissed him harder, my hands tangling in his flowing silver hair, pulling him down to me.
It wasn’t even just about the fact that I was touching someone. It was about touching him. About Aion.
He was holding me tighter, his large hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. Everything inside me screamed to fall into him, into the rightness of our kiss.
“Aion. I see you are still keeping our guest company.”
The dry, rasping interruption cut through the moment like a blade. I jumped back, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. Aion straightened and turned toward the source of the voice. “Father. I trust everything is well with the lake?”
Charon stood a few yards away, down the pier. The ferryman was a towering figure draped in heavy charcoal robes, leaning casually on his pole. Ancient coins orbited his form in a slow, silent dance.
He had been more than welcoming to me. But now, he eyed me with something akin to strain. “The lake is never unwell,” he said. “But it is not the lake you answer to. At least, not today.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, and neither did Aion. I shouldn’t have sensed his bronze going rigid, but impossibly, I did.
“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.”