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It bothers me, but they seem determined to avoid each other whenever possible. Unless someone is having sex with me, and then I will get a watcher who will eventually join in. But all three together in a room? Having a conversation? Spending time with each other?
Or all three of us in bed together? It never happens.
I tell myself that things are fine as they are, but it hangs over my head, a little cloud of doom reminding me that all is not perfect. That I am not serving all three of them, but each one individually.
It’s not the same. It’s either Neska and Zaroun together with me, or Zaroun and Ossev, or Neska and Ossev, but never all three. My bed is big enough for all of us, and I would love to share myself with all three of them at once, but it never seems to happen. At first I worried they were deliberately avoiding each other, but as I take two of them into my bed at once, I realize that’s not the case.
Faith, the anchor to the Butcher God, is a very forthright woman. Perhaps she will have ideas for how I can approach this. I tap on my mirror, thinking of Faith, and wait to see if it will show me her face. Then, I sit down with my sewing to wait, pulling out the stitches on a complicated sleeve that ended up too tight.
“It’s early,” Faith declares with a yawn, appearing in the mirror. Her bright blonde hair is tousled and she rubs her eyes. “What’s up?”
I glance out my window, eyeing the late afternoon sunlight. Time is fluid, I am reminded. Perhaps it is passing slower here. “I need advice. Are you too busy?”
“You need advice? From me?”
“Advice from one anchor to another,” I agree, putting my sewing down for a moment.
“From…me?” She looks behind her as if checking to see if anyone else is in the room. “You do realize I’m with Aron, right? If anyone’s doing it wrong, it’s the two of us.”
“But you are both happy,” I point out. “Deliriously happy. He went to the Underworld to retrieve you from Rhagos’s clutches.”
“That was pretty baller,” she agrees, a dreamy look on her face. “I’m going to have to remind myself of that the next time I want to choke him for being stubborn.”
I twist my fingers in the soft fabric of the half-sewn sleeve. “I want to tell my lords Spidae that I wish for them to have dinner with me.”
“Okay…?”
“All three of them. And then I should like for us to retire to bed together. All three of them.”
Faith’s brows go up. “O-kaaay. I’m not sure why you need advice from me on that sort of thing? Most guys are probably down with bookending. Or triple-ending. Or whatever. Stuffing holes, though I just cringed a little inside when I said that. You know what I mean. Why are you coming tomefor this advice?”
I chew on my lip, worried. “I just…they are never together with me. It is never more than two of them in the room with me at the same time. I worry something is wrong. I worry they think I am too fragile to serve all of their needs at once. And I know I should be content that things have smoothed out, but I think I needthis.”
“Not something you hear every day,” Faith says, tapping her finger on her cheek. “You really feel like you won’t be complete unless you get all holes filled? I ask that as a friend.”
I just give her a pleading look. “If you served two masters at once, wouldn’t you want to serve both of them at once? At the same time? Sharing you in all ways?”
“Two Arons would probably destroy me, but I guess I can see it?” She spreads her hands. “If that’s what you need to feel like you’re doing your job for them properly, it’s what you need. Here’s a wild idea. Maybe try asking them instead of me?”
I hesitate, imagining this. Zaroun is half-lost in thought at all times. Neska is frequently jealous and overbearing. Ossev would be easy to ask, but he is only one side of our complicated triangle. “I don’t know if it’s as simple as that, my friend.”
“You really think they could refuse you anything? Not to be crude, but have you tried asking on your knees?” She arches an eyebrow at me.
I laugh, because she has an excellent point.
Perhaps all I need to do is ask at the right time after all.
Fifteen
And so I ask.
Not on my knees. Discreetly, of course, so they don’t feel something is upsetting me. When I get upset, all of them pace and get fussy.
I decide Ossev is the best one to approach, and so I wait until I’m in the garden one morning, pulling up a few weeds. Apple is at my side, pouncing on one of the rocks and then racing away again, and Ossev gazes at me as I kneel on a cushion, my hands in the dirt.
“Are you certain you enjoy this?” he asks, leaning over to watch me work. “I have watched humans tend to plants many times in the threads, but I do not yet grasp why shoving one’s hands into the dirt brings feelings of pleasure.”
“It’s the satisfaction of a task completed,” I tell him, tossing aside a long, slender weed. “Of taking something that’s out of control back in hand once more. I like tending to my plants and knowing that they’re taken care of. A bit like how the three of you like tending to me.” Reaching down, I stroke one of the tiny leaves that have been slowly but steadily unfurling. “Speaking of the three of you, may I ask something?”
