“I came out here to be alone,” the man says.

“That makes sense.” Charon nods along.

“And I can’t do that if there are other people around.”

“Hardly.”

“I’m glad you understand.” The middle-aged man turns away, exposing the scar running down his jawline and past his collar as he does. One moment passes, and then another, and the man’s expression grows severe. He rounds on Charon.

“Aren’t you going to leave?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“You said you understood.”

“Wait, am I ‘other people’?”

“I’d hardly call you an extension of myself.”

“That’s cruel, Phlegyas. You’d think a familiar face would be a relief at a gathering this large.”

“There are too many ‘familiar faces’ here as it is. I was looking for peace.”

“Then we want the same thing.”

Phlegyas fixes Charon with a stony look until the Ferryman relents.

“I’m avoiding Ëstis. If I go back in now, she’d likely summon the other Elders and corner me. I’d rather not deal with them right now.”

“If you responded to their summons even half the time, they wouldn’t resort to those tactics.” Phlegyas presses clockwise circles into his head with his thumbs against his temples and his index fingers on the bridge of his nose.

“That kind of response isn’t helpful.”

“And that kind of response is the reason you’re hiding out here.”

“Incidentally, Ëstis mentioned your name. Maybe she was looking for you but found me instead? You could take your own advice and head back inside.”

“I would rather jump.” Phlegyas leans against the banister and lets his head hang as he stares down at the sprawling land. Charon comes to join him, standing by the banister with his arms crossed.

“We’re not high enough for that to make a difference.” He responds with a smirk when Phlegyas glares at him.

“What did she say?” Phlegyas asks with a sigh.

“She wanted a report on the ferriers and their progress.”

“That’s it?” A sly grin starts creeping across Phlegyas’ face. “That was enough to send you running? You’re always singing their praises. I’m surprised you’re not still in there bragging about them.”

“Yeah, well, she also—”

Several things happen in quick succession. The balcony doors burst open, unleashing a golden-haired man and drowning Charon out with a new wave of chaos from the banquet hall. Hermes halts his momentum against the retaining columns and gasps for air. The cluster of clashing perfumes clinging to his skin forces Phlegyas and Charon to take a step back. Phlegyas, who was closer to the perfume cloud, blinks back tears.

Given the glistening sheen of sweat, their intruder must have been running for some time before making it to the balcony. And from what? The answer to that question makes herself known before any of the men can recover. Despite glistening herself, the woman hardly seems out of breath when she grabs the golden-haired man by the elbow.

“I’ve caught you now,” the woman says.

Hermes spins around, loosing his arm in the process. The frenzied expression on his face disappears, replaced with faint surprise as he takes in her lithe figure. Her flowing black hair envelopes her like a shroud, obscuring many of her features even after she comes to a halt. But the unearthly glow in her eyes pierces her target, pinning him more securely than her grip ever could. Feeling himself being drawn in, Charon turns his attention to Hermes instead.

“You absolutely have,” he says.

Hermes looks into the banquet hall through the still-open doors and sighs in relief when he realizes no one’s attention is on him. “I swore I was being chased by half the people inside. If I knew it was only you, I would have stopped instead of forcing you to keep up with me. But why have you followed me?”

Leaning in, Hermes whispers, “Were you hoping a moment of privacy?”

“Even if I was, this is hardly a private place,” comes her reply. She holds herself rigidly, arms crossed over her torso.

“What, those two? Pretend they aren’t here.” Hermes waves the men away. Charon clears his throat with disapproval but dutifully turns away.

“One thing always leads to another,” Phlegyas grumbles. But he also turns away from the pair.

“There, perfectly private,” Hermes says, triumphantly.

The woman stares back at him with a blank expression and the hint of a furrow between her brows.

“Leaving that aside,” she starts. “My bracelet found its way into your pockets. I’ll leave the ‘how’ of that to your imagination to avoid embarrassing us both—well, embarrassing myself. You clearly don’t care about your reputation. It’s either that or you actually enjoy all the rumors and gossip.”

“Not all of the stories are believable or true, but that doesn’t make them any less amusing.” Hermes chuckles, no doubt remembering some of the more ridiculous tales. “But if you’ve heard them, that means you already know about me. But I can’t say I know a single thing about you. Will you tell me your name?”

“Is my name the price for my bracelet?” she asks.

“You could think of it as trade, if you like. A treasure for a treasure.”

As she considers his words, the woman rakes a hand through her hair, clearly showing a portion of her face for the first time since she stepped onto the balcony. Phlegyas hisses as if stung and grips the corner of the marble slap atop the buttress. Glancing over his shoulder, Charon tries to see what caused the sound and notices the woman also watching Phlegyas warily. Hermes, though, has his eyes trained only on her, staring at her as if trying to memorize the half of her face that he can see.

“You can call me Lydia,” she eventually says.

“Lydia,” Hermes repeats her name, savoring it. “It’s truly a pleasure.”

“You can keep that pleasure to yourself.” Lydia holds out her hand. “I completed my end of our trade; return my bracelet.”

Hermes quickly produces the trinket from his pouch and hands it over. Once in place, the trinket snakes from her wrist to halfway up her forearm. The silver band contrasts starkly with her skin, drawing the eye to the blood-red gems embedded at either end.

Hermes sighs proudly. “I could hardly take my eyes off it before, and now…”

“Your eyes weren’t the problem; it’s meant to be looked at,” Lydia grumbles to herself as she strokes the band protectively.

“Message received. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“See that you do.” She makes direct eye contact with Hermes and an audible shiver goes through him, sounding like a stifled laugh to anyone who heard it. Before he can say anything in response, or prolong the conversation any further, Lydia spins around. She reenters the banquet hall, swinging the doors closed behind her to discourage Hermes from following.

Silence falls over the men on the balcony again. Phlegyas is the first to speak.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“At least I’m consistent,” Hermes responds, without missing a beat.

“Your consistency is a crime. You’re lucky most people here are too drunk by now to notice you pilfering their jewels.”

“Pilfering, really?  Phlegyas, that kind of dirty language is beneath you.”

Phlegyas closes his eyes, but a small vein pops up between his brows. He rubs at the spot with his knuckle and tries to breathe deeply.

“My apologies, distinguished sir. How would you describe your actions?”

“Sarcasm aside, much better.” Hermes strokes his chin thoughtfully, “I’m creating and preserving memories. You heard Lydia earlier—there are all kinds of stories about me.”

Phlegyas groans, clearly at the end of his tether. “Charon, aren’t you going to say anything? He’s your friend.”