Chapter 9 Deific Deals
DEIFIC DEALS
Azrion
“You haven’t told them, though, right?” Azrion eyed the Kosteri son. Their conversation had been amiable and winding as he gave Kat enough time to mellow in the companionship of another of her kind, but inevitably their talk had turned to art.
“That they’re yours?” Kizros snorted. “No way. Then I’d have your father’s wrath to deal with, and I have enough trouble as it is.”
Kizros was a good demon—one of the best really, and Azrion knew he never had to doubt him. “Are you drowning in trouble, Kiz?” He flicked his gaze to the greenhouse door.
“Oh, no, not her. She’s delightful. And brilliant.” Kizros’s green skin darkened as he shuffled a few vials on the counter, putting them out of height order. “Who knew humans could be so good at runes?”
“Are they?” Azrion straightened, eyeing his friend for any hint of a joke.
“Well, yeah. Isn’t that why you hired one to assist you?”
“Who, Katarina? No, she’s my mate.”
Kizros squeezed the vial he was holing right out of his grip. It shot upward, and he made a valiant attempt to snatch it out of the air only to bat it farther away.
Azrion flicked a finger and magically caught the container before it crashed to the floor. He plucked it from the violet suspension spell. “Spike Sharpening Solution? Looking to get a contract with the guard?”
“Your mate?” Kizros ignored him, and his eyes did that thing that very few demon eyes could—they saw right through him.
But Azrion wouldn’t give up the truth so easily, not when he was so good at keeping it.
“Why else would she come in here on my arm?” He let the silence hang between them as he studied a little potted demondrake on the counter.
Kizros knew—gods, of course he knew. He ignored noble family gossip as much as he was able, but he saw through the games they played much better than the rest. “Katarina is just…reticent,” Azrion finally said, breaking the discomfort leveled against him.
“You have a potion around here to help a human come out of their shell?”
“Humans don’t have shells, Az.”
“Really, Kiz? You don’t say?” Azrion leaned on the counter and grinned languidly, turning up the charm.
“No, in fact they have very soft skin,” insisted Kizros. “They don’t even have scales or spikes or horns or—well, they’re a lot like us…”
“Except for all those things you mentioned.”
The green demon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your father can’t be thrilled.”
“When is he ever?” Azrion rearranged the vials on Kizros’s counter again, putting them in a neater order. “And what about yours?”
“We’re in the same boat.”
“We’re not in a boat, Kiz. We’re in an apothecary.”
“You know what I—oh, right.”
“Funny either of us would use seafaring metaphors considering Heck is landlocked.” Azrion stretched his arms overhead, happy with the way the counter looked at the very least, if not at how his friend looked at him.
“Well, I must collect my mate, but thank you for the amusing conversation, as always, and for that tip about runes. Would you say humans are magically inclined in general?”
Kizros shrugged. “Aofe’s special, that’s all I know.”
“I bet she’s very special.” Azrion left him with a wink, strolling into the greenhouse because calling for Katarina would be a bit boorish—his mate deserved a more graceful beckoning, a request for her presence rather than a demand—but he could neither beckon nor request when he finally found her.
The magical light Kizros said imitated the human’s greatest star glittered off the top of Katarina’s head.
Humans had no horns, no lively shapes to shine up and adorn with jewels, but when he saw that glow, he knew even golden ones would pale in comparison.
Azrion had never seen real sunlight, a thing he was a little jealous of, but this was the first time he’d seen its magical reproduction shining on one of the creatures it was meant to sustain, and that was more than he could ever need.
Katarina’s hand was moving nimbly over parchment, the quill she held scratching softly.
She sat across from the other human, and as she tilted her head, that sunshiney shimmer lit up a bit of her face.
Skin he had thought largely colorless warmed, the high line of her cheekbones sharpened, and the pink of her lips made a flush drive itself through his own cheeks.
She looked up then, and he could say nothing, only stare. She spoke a few friendly words to the other human before joining him, and it took all that time plus the walk to the street to compose himself.
“Was that a restorative break?” he finally asked, wetting his lips and clearing his throat.
Kat took a deep breath and nodded.
“You can tell me the truth,” he said with what he hoped was a soft ease. “Would you like to go back?”
“No, I’m as fine as I can be. It’s just that after spending some time with Aofe, I got to thinking about Brioni, and I feel a little guilty.”
Azrion hesitated at the next crossroads. Returning to the post meant going one way, but he intended to take her in the other direction. “Your talkative friend would begrudge you spending time with another human? Are humans that possessive?”
“Oh, it’s not that. I just feel bad she can’t run around and talk to people like she likes while I can, even though it’s not what I like, but that’s what happens when you’re bedridden after an attack in the Veilwood, I guess.”
“What?” Azrion rounded on her, gripping her shoulders and losing all decorum. “Your little bouncy friend is injured? Is she dying? Why didn’t you say? We need to go see her. What if it’s your only chance to say goodbye?”
Kat gave him a sideways look—truly sideways, head tilted almost to her shoulder.
“I already went to see her, and she’s not dying,” she said slowly, and it snapped into Azrion’s brain then that the implication was actually rather terrible—that Kat would forgo her friend’s bedside to play his mate.
“Plus she’s recuperating out at the beastkeeper’s barn, and you wouldn't get any of your friends’ eyes on us if we went all the way out there. ”
Ah, so she’d picked up on that too. “Surely that doesn't matter more than your red friend,” he said, and he meant it even if the words sounded flippant.
“It’s too late to go out there now anyway.” Kat glanced up at the sky, more stars dotting the black expanse as the moon sank away. “And the way Alamar talked about the two of them, I wouldn’t want to interrupt…never mind. What are we supposed to be doing?”
“We’ve got one more stop. If you’re up for it.”
Then Katarina surprised him by taking hold of his elbow unprompted. “Lead the way.”
Kat lit up almost like when she’d been under Kizros’s magical sun when they entered the mercer’s shop.
It was only a disappointment that she released Azrion’s elbow as her touch had grown more assured over the evening.
She hurried to a rack that held long swaths of fabric, running her fingers over the material and inspiring the smallest bit of jealousy.
Her mouth fell open, failing to form words as she marveled at a display housing at least a hundred spools of thread, then she moved onto a rack of lace, and he worried she might need a reminder to breathe.
She glided all over the shop, dancing around the dress forms with half-finished garments and running her hand over the massive table meant for cutting fabric—such a simple thing, a table, yet she was enamored. She even brushed her hair behind both of her round-tipped ears to get a better look.
Azrion wished he could brush back all that silky golden hair, braid it into a crown to sit atop her head, and marvel at her face in all its glory while she was so full of delight.
“Azrion Zizreni, what a lovely surprise. Only an hour late.” The curtain at the back of the shop was flung open, and there stood the mercer.
Normally Azrion would be pleased at the red demon’s dramatic appearance, but Kat clasped her hands behind her back and spun away from the paisley fabric she’d been ogling like a small child caught with their hand in the honey biscuit jar, and that spoiled all of Azrion’s voyeuristic fun.
No one was going to shout at Kat, but she cowered all the same, hair falling back into her face and shoulders hunching.
“This is Mhotran,” Azrion said, going to Kat and taking her by the waist as delicately as possible. “My favorite clothier in the city.”
“I prefer Mhot. And you have a loose thread.” She produced a minuscule pair of golden scissors from seemingly nowhere and snipped at Azrion’s coat, string and tool disappearing quicker than they’d been brandished. “Have you finally brought me the project we discussed?”
Kat’s eyes went so wide the whites overtook that brilliant blue. She probably would have glared at him if the mercer weren’t standing so close, and Azrion thanked his luckiest stars.
“I think she would prefer to be called Katarina.”
“Kat,” said Katarina.
“Or that. But yes, this is my new mate, and she is in desperate need of something designed without a tail hole or a neckline that has to accommodate horns. And I think she would look rather splendid in—”
“Shh!” Mhot held up a clawed hand inches from Azrion’s face as she stepped closer to Katarina. “I’m envisioning sapphire…and silver.”
Azrion frowned—he would have assumed gold—but he wouldn’t argue with Mhot’s professional opinion.
Mhot pushed away Azrion and encircled Katarina like a prowling beast. “This doesn’t fit you here or here, yet it’s been hemmed to the perfect length and the sleeves—what is this?”
Kat lifted her wrist. “Just some stitching.”
“Just some stitching?” Mhot said with enough mockery to poke but not to hurt. “It’s exquisite.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Shh!” Mhot flicked a single clawed finger in Azrion’s direction, eyes still trained on Kat. “You did this yourself?”
Kat’s nod was so coy it would have been easy to miss if Azrion wasn’t watching her so closely.