Page 46 of Scion of Chaos

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 offlavorsmakes 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’reonlysome 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 eventryto 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…”

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