“Here we are,” Asterius says when we reach a lower landing after descending for several minutes. The stairs continue down from here, widening as they plunge into darkness somewhere below the tower.
“I thought you said your quarters were the lowest level?” I ask, peering farther into the depths.
“The lowest above-ground. The caverns below are where the baths are. We’ll head down there when you’re ready.”
He gestures to an open archway similar to the one that led into Vesh’s quarters high above. There is no door here, either, just a wall that curves inward, forming a corridor that extends several yards before opening into another. This one is straight, dividing the lowest level into two halves. On one side is the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen, bustling with activity… except there’s no one here. Yet every surface is occupied with chopping knives, bowls with spoons steadily mixing, and several fires burning in huge fireplaces with enormous steaming cauldrons hanging above, slowly being stirred by paddles moved by no one.
I gawk at it for a moment before realizing that Asterius has moved ahead and stopped farther down in front of another open archway, watching me patiently.
“How does that work?”
“Autonomic function of the prison’s needs,” he says. When I only stare, he raises his eyebrows. “It means…”
“I know what it means. I guess I’m just surprised you’d use such a technical term for what looks like magic to me.”
“Clarke’s Third Law might apply, though it technically is magic, not technology.” He smiles at me, revealing a row of sharp teeth reminding me of one of the myths Rachel read to me the night we did our deep-dive. The legend featured a minotaur who supposedly ate human flesh. But despite the teeth and the sheer size of him, he’s less frightening to me than Erebus should be.
“How does that one go? Something about how any sufficiently advanced technology is…”
“Indistinguishable from magic,” he finishes with a smile and a nod. I walk toward him, marveling. “But it is more accurately simple physiology, just of a magical being.”
“And that being is Tartarus—Vesh?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t what I expected,” I say. “None of you are, but you’re especially surprising.”
He gives a tiny shrug that on his frame resembles an enormous boulder shifting enough to cause an avalanche. “When you have an eternity, you must fill it somehow. I fill it with books.”
He turns and steps through the big doorway, and my stomach does a little somersault. I suppose it hadn’t registered until now because I’m not properly dressed, but Asterius is wearing even less than I am. The simplest swath of a loincloth bands his hips, fabric draping down between his thighs in front and in back, and that’s pretty much it. His massive, muscular wall of a back flexes as he walks, causing his myriad scars to catch the light. His dark skin might have made it easy to overlook his relative nakedness, but I see it all now, and it’s affecting me.
I swallow and shake off the overwhelming urge to eat him and not whatever he has stashed in that basket. Scampering to catch up, I stop short right inside the doorway.
“Whoa, you were being literal about the books, weren’t you?”
The room I just stepped into is a vast library with shelves lining every wall and free-standing in rows upon rows from floor to ceiling. Books and scrolls and stone tablets from every era are stacked in corners and leaning against the lower shelves.
Asterius leads me farther in where he turns down an aisle that runs perpendicular to the entry, cutting down the middle of the shelves. At the end is a large window, its panes divided by a grid of black void glass, overlooking the prison. A pair of French doors set in the center offers easy access to a wide balcony just beyond.
This end of the room is free of shelves, with ornate rugs covering the floor, a huge bed against the wall on one side, and another arched doorway in the wall opposite, with a large book-strewn table in between in front of the windows.
Asterius points at the doorway. “The lavatory is in there. I will set the table for you to eat.”
He sets the basket down, and I head to his lavatory while he gets to work relocating all the books. There isn’t much here besides a counter too high for me to reach and wide basin of a sink, which appears to have a proper faucet with knobs and a spout and all—made of void glass, of course. There’s also a shelf of toiletries that serves as a partition to a smaller chamber beyond, which holds a very large toilet. It’s carved from the same black, glassy stone the tower is crafted from, and is designed for a larger creature than me.
I try to hike up the sheet while pondering how to climb onto the thing. Like the other room, this one has stacks of books scattered along the walls, some on actual shelves, but many just piled on the floor. I grab a couple piles and scoot them to the toilet, peeking at the titles.
What does a minotaur read while he’s on the can?
Most of it looks like boring military strategy stuff. There’s a book on ancient weaponry. A book of Homeric verses. And one heavily dog-eared book about a morning glory farm, which seems an odd thing to be thrown into the mix.
I don’t have the patience to look closer, so I hop up onto the books and peer past the rim. Surprisingly the basin is pristine and filled halfway with water, so I relieve myself with a sigh.
I’m craning my head around to look for toilet paper when warm water jets against my ass from the rear of the toilet, making me yelp in surprise.
“Oh my god, you have a bidet?”
A deep chuckle reaches me from beyond the chamber. “Just wait,” Asterius says.
A second after the warm water stream stops dousing my nethers, heated air takes its place, drying me off. I groan in satisfaction. It’s not arousing, per se; it just feels really good to be clean and dry down there.
When I return to the room, he’s cleared off the table, draped a cloth over it, and laid the food out for me. Then he actually bows and pulls out a chair for me to sit.
The sheet trails behind me along the floor like the train of a fancy gown as I walk to the table, and I tip my head in amusement when I sit. “I might get spoiled with all this pampering.””
“It’s not the most comfortable place to live, but we’ve had centuries to improve the place with enough small pleasures that we have few complaints.” He lays a napkin across my lap and scoots my chair close to the table, then pulls another chair close and sits. His chair is larger, and that’s when I realize the table has shrunk since I entered, and the chair I’m sitting in as well.
“I know you didn’t build a whole new set of furniture just for me in the past five minutes. So… what flavor of magic do you have?”
My own mention of flavors makes my mouth water, and I grab the fork and dig into the sumptuous breakfast on the plate in front of me while I wait for him to answer. I start with a big bite of buttered toast before focusing on the eggs, bacon, and sausage. A bowl of oatmeal sits to one side, and a bowl of fresh berries to the other. Another platter rests in the center of the table, laden with fresh pastries. Everything is warm and aromatic, and my belly is so fucking happy once I get food into it. My tastebuds are practically orgasming from the first bite of crispy toast and rich, creamy butter. I let out a moan that halts Asterius from saying whatever he was about to say.
He lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head, his mouth curving into a pleased smile with just a hint of more salacious interest.
“I’m sorry, this is just so fucking delicious. And to think it’s prison food. Do you always eat like this here?”
“The guards eat whatever they like. The kitchen delivers to their rooms. Your presence was a special occasion, so I thought you would like a more personal introduction. In the future, you just need to express the desire and it will be fulfilled—within reason.”
“The inmates aren’t so lucky, I assume?”
“They get nourishment dispensed via tubes into each of the cells. We aren’t running a hotel. The comforts of Tartarus’ heart do not extend to the prison beyond.”
“Fair enough. So tell me, is it your magic that does all this?” I gesture at the table and chair, and then the prison beyond the windows.
He shakes his head. “This is Tartarus. Chaos magic can do anything the wielder wishes.”
I reach for the tall glass of orange juice and take a long swallow, moaning again when the sweetness of fresh, ripe citrus hits my tongue. He watches in amusement while I catch my breath for my next question.
“Do you have chaos magic? Or is it elemental like that of the higher races?”
“My magic functions similarly to the ursa’s, but more limited. I can manipulate weapons—metal, stone, wood, and bone. Explosives too. While I am in Tartarus, I can also draw on the power of the prison. While it listens to all the guards and obeys our needs, I have a connection the others lack which allows me to be tuned into the inner workings and maintain them. A little extra oversight.”
“So you’re the custodian. And the librarian?” I gaze at the row upon row of shelves filled with books.
“I take pride in my position here,” he says with a wary frown.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest you’re only some lowly janitor or something. I don’t exactly have anything to be proud of, so I can’t talk anyway.”
His frown deepens and he sits up straighter, wariness replaced by concern. “You are here, Nemea,” he says in a deep voice that tickles my eardrums. “That makes you immeasurably rare.”
I wince and shake my head. “But I’m not. I’m a nobody. I still feel like I lucked into winding up on that island, at that school, because my life up until that point was utter shit. And I’m not even a good person, which might make up for it. I didn’t even try to stay in my community and help fend off the corporate shills who wanted to come indenture everyone into working for them in their stupid distribution center. I could’ve at least tried…”
I trail off when the despair weighs me down enough that it becomes too much of an effort to speak. I just stare off through the windows, abstractly aware of the fact that I’m in an actual prison which feels more like home than the home I escaped from, and I’ve barely even been here for a day.
“It wasn’t luck, Nemea. It was…” He pauses to look over his shoulder as if someone might overhear, then leans closer, which makes me lean closer over my empty plate. “It was Fate.”
I’m tempted to laugh at how absurd his manner is right now, except I’ve heard enough about Fate over the past few weeks at St. George that I should probably take him seriously.
I lean closer and whisper back, “So fucking what?”
Asterius blinks and sits back, staring at me in shock for a moment before a chuckle escapes, gradually transforming into an all-out belly roll of a laugh. I stare, open-mouthed and awed by his … everything. He’s huge, intimidating, and so loud the windows vibrate. But I feel the laugh down to my bones. Deeper.
In the midst of it, I realize I’m wet again because of this big lug’s laugh. There’s no logic to it. I mean, he is objectively a total snack—or more like a whole five-course meal, if I’m being honest. Even the monstrous angularity of his face is beautiful the more I look at it. His features are super expressive, the designs on his forehead enhancing every expression, and his amusement contagious. His abs tense with each guffaw, and I just sit with my chin propped on my hand and take him in.
Finally he heaves a breath and wipes his eyes, then looks at me, still smiling. I smile back.
“Why did you whisper?” I ask.
He rests a hand on the tabletop, tapping his fingers in a light rhythm. “Because Tartarus is Chaos’ creation, and Fate and Chaos are not friends. So to suggest that Fate had a hand in bringing you here would not go over well.” He lifts his gaze to the ceiling, pressing his lips in a tight line before dropping his gaze back to mine. “But the signs are hard to ignore. You called to Pan and Vesh. Typhon too. You’ve already bedded four of the guards without hesitation. Most of the others responded to you last night when you asked for us. We would have all had our turns, if you’d invited us to.”
Fuck, now he’s talking about last night, a topic I sort of hoped we could avoid if only because thinking about what he said to me makes me want it to happen. I bite my lip, then decide I don’t want the rest of my breakfast to go to waste and pull the bowl of berries close as a distraction. I pick up a fat, ripe blueberry and pop it into my mouth, savoring the tart sweetness that explodes on my tongue when I bite down.
After chewing a moment, I find the courage to voice my concerns. “I wanted it all, in the moment. But don’t want to become some depraved creature that only wants to be fucked, even if that’s all I can think about right now. That isn’t an invitation, by the way.” I shake my head, then frown. “Wait, you say I bedded four of you? There were only three by my count—Vesh, Pan, and Erebus. And I didn’t even fuck Erebus.”
Asterius lifts an eyebrow. “He fucked you. The rest of us were privy to pieces of it, when Vesh allowed us to peek. But his eyes weren’t open the entire time.”
My cheeks warm. “He did fuck my mouth, I guess.” I recall the other things he did with parts of himself that couldn’t quite be considered fingers, and my core clenches involuntarily. “But who was the fourth?”
“Typhon was there the first time,” he says. “I grant you that you probably weren’t aware of his presence, since he was only riding along in Vesh’s mind, but I guarantee you he remembers. The Brothers Bane are close. Their fraternal bond allows a truer experience when they’re merged, so he would have experienced everything his brother felt as if feeling it himself.”
“I don’t know what that means. Who are the Brothers Bane?”
“The three Scions of Chaos: Tartarus, Erebus, and Typhon.”
“Why haven’t I met Typhon yet? He didn’t introduce himself last night. And someone else was missing too.” I kick myself for leaving my satchel and sketchbook behind, but I know there were nine figures I sketched, and so far I’ve only met four in person, and three more through Vesh. There are two who I haven’t met yet.
Asterius nods. “That would have been Alcides. He’s… solitary. You’ll meet him soon enough. The other of course is Typhon. Are you finished with your breakfast? Because I can take you to meet Typhon now. His quarters happen to adjoin the baths, so we are headed there next anyway. But I warn you, he is the only one of us who is not capable of a humanoid shape. He is quite terrifying the first time you lay eyes on him.”
My heart pounds as I recall the fearsome image I sketched of a draconic beast with a hundred heads. But I only had an image in my head with no scale of reference. And evidently this creature already has carnal knowledge of me, yet I never even realized he was there.
I give a hesitant nod and Asterius frowns. “You really don’t need to fear him, Nemea.”
“It isn’t that,” I begin, glancing down at my empty plate. “I’m just trying to reconcile the things you said to me last night with how you are now.” I wave a hand in his general direction.
His wide nostrils flare, steam coating the thick gold of his septum ring for a moment before fading. His look is inscrutable as he takes me in, but it makes my skin prickle with awareness all the same.
“Last night you asked a question, which we each answered honestly. We will never lie to you.”
“So you would really do all those things you said.”
He cocks his head, his eyes narrowing. “When you are truly ready, yes.”
I’m not sure if the slight ease of tension is relief or disappointment, but I move on. “Even the last part? You said…”
He grins wickedly. “I said I’d make Cerberus lick my cum off your tits, and then fuck him. Yes I meant that, but he’d probably put up a fight.” When my eyes widen in alarm, he shakes his head. “He’d beg me for it soon enough. Trust me, it’s a game we used to play.”
“So you basically all fuck each other here. I guess you need an outlet if you’re stuck here for eternity.”
With a deep chuckle, he sits back in his chair, making it creak. “We’ve lived together here for centuries, so we’re a bit of an incestuous little family, but no, we don’t actually have wild orgies among ourselves, if that’s what you’re imagining. Familiarity breeds boredom, and it’s usually just Cerberus, Pan, Chrysaor, and myself who play from time to time. The others have little interest. Your presence is likely to shift the balance a bit, but we’ll adapt.”
“Shift it how, exactly?” I try to ignore the voice in my head that keeps asking why I’m so special. I’m suddenly painfully aware of how focused they’ve all been on me since I arrived, aside from the fact that most of them are absent. But I’m a little grateful for that, since it means I can get to know Asterius one on one today. And maybe Typhon and Erebus, if there’s time.
His expression grows serious and his lips twist to the side as if he’s trying to decide how much to divulge. Eventually he sighs and shakes his head. “We used to work well together, but for the past three years, things have been… strained. Tensions are high, and after this breach, a lot of blame has been passed around. We’re professionals, so we try not to let it affect our work, but we’re not at our best. You’re a sorely needed distraction, and the first time we’ve all agreed on something in a while. I’m not the only one who believes Fate sent you to us.”
“So my being here is going to interfere with your fun time with the others?”
“We haven’t played in some time, actually. But Vesh allows us liberty to visit the Pandemonium when Pan is up for it, so we didn’t only fuck each other. The faun’s powers are the only way we get an opportunity to leave Tartarus. The others are outside now—not for fun, but for work. Someone must remain behind to manage the prison so that usually falls to Erebus, Typhon, and myself. But now that you’re here, I have a feeling we’ll all crave outings far less often.”
“I’m not staying,” I blurt. “I mean, Vesh promised he’d teach me to use my powers, but there’s no way I can stay here permanently. I don’t belong here.”