FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

A breeze sliced through the chambers.

Curtains billowed through archways. Fires blazed inside the braziers. Hundreds of leaf blades shuddered along the walls, swishing beneath the sharp howl of wind. The four poster bed, adorned with a canopy of linen and furs, shook on its frames. Sadik spared a glance at the regal bed, knowing it would provide a level of comfort he had seldom experienced before, and looked away.

Instead, he took in the breadth of the goddess's abode, now that the braziers provided enough light to see it by. It was as large as a courtyard. The braided carpet was made of dyed yarn, stretching a dozen cubits or more. Vines covered much of the marble walls. At times, there were shelves inlaid through the stone, carrying small statues and urns of exotic oils. Another breeze came in through the terrace, gentler than the first, and it carried the smell of divinity clear across the chamber—sandalwood, myrrh, rose petal. Cinnamon.

Hisana had always loved the taste of cinnamon. Few drinks had ever graced her hands without a servant holding a grinder. Before the revolution, every peasant was able to purchase the sticks for a price lower than bread. It was something of a joke among the members of the Path—if you ever lost sight of the Vizier, you would only need to follow the scent.

Once, before they had broken their vows, he had asked her why she was so fond of the spice. She had regarded him for a moment, her eyes cool behind the red granite mask. Sadik had begun to apologize, terrified that he had overstepped, but she had waved her scepter in response. She told him that, long ago, she had been a starving girl from outside the walls, begging for food. One day, a traveling merchant. . . .

“Sadik."

Kavaia was standing next to a brazier, warming herself upon the flames. Firelight danced across her scales. “Come. They will soon be watching."

He tried to taste the air again. The scent was gone.

“We must wash," the goddess said, beckoning him forward.

She strode through the chamber, making for a small corridor beyond the lounge. As she walked, she undid the clasps of her jewelry. The silver bracelets, the amber and turquoise collar, even the nemes atop her head—they were all dropped upon the floor. By the time she had entered the corridor, her hands were working the back of her kalasiris dress, fighting to separate the bloody fabric from her skin. She disappeared before Sadik could see her success.

He glanced at the four-postered bed again. The sheets were linen, the pillows stuffed with feathers. The frame was made of wood. A rare commodity. Fitting only for a god.

Hisana's bed had been a similar size. He had always felt lost among the blankets. In the mornings, before he had to leave, she would always—

Dusksong blazed in his hand. His knuckles were bone white upon the haft.

Sadik loosed a ragged breath. Quickly, he paced over to the bed, leaned his sword against the footboard, and began to strip off his armor. The webbing underneath his kepresh was filthy. Sweat, river silt, and endless amounts of blood had stained his underclothes. His skin was the same color as canyon clay.

He remembered scaling the red rock canyons with his family. For days, they had braved the wastes with little to sustain them, struggling under the merciless sun. When they had finally seen the cerulean barriers of Acheron, the red dust was the only color remaining on his mother's face. They had been forced to carry her for days. She had grown so pale. . . .

Kavaia had saved them. A green myth appearing from the haze of the day, gone as quickly as she arrived. She had forgotten the event, clearly, but Sadik would never forget it as long as he lived. It was not often that the Jade Demon bestowed a blessing. The boy had gazed upon the face of the Neheamatt, tracking her branches into the sky, and taken it as a higher calling.

And now, once more, she had saved his life. Pulled him from the Syran river. Without her, he would've drowned. Succumbed to his injuries.

For that reason, he would mate with her. It was only fair, in a way. A debt repaid.

No.

Ilios.

The sun had been murdered. His killer was still roaming the halls. If mating with her was the only—

“Mortal!"

A hissing filled the air. Her bathing chamber was shrouded in steam.

Sadik removed the last of his clothes, focusing on the cold marble beneath his feet. He had never felt more exposed. At any moment, the god of war might smash his way into the chamber. Even if he did not, the goddess of death, the Exalted, and the great Neheamatt itself would all see him naked. His heart was pounding.

Half a day ago, he had been sheltered in a sewer, planning a mission to infiltrate Kohav Yaran. Now, he was preparing to mate with a god. He dreaded to know where he would be by dusk.

It was still spinning in his mind. The murder of Ilios. Rushan's play for power. Even the Neheamatt, source of life itself, remaining silent for weeks, allowing chaos to spread through her domain.

How could the gods be rendered so impotent?

“Gamó," Sadik whispered.

As he walked towards the bathing chamber, the sound of hissing grew louder. Streams of water splashed upon stone. Above, a matted tangle of capillaries crawled across the ceiling. He could see the turgor beneath the wood. Water held at high pressure.

He entered the room through a cloud of steam.

It was covered in leaves. Aside from the floor, every cubit of white marble had been swallowed by green. They had grown into long, flat blades, angling their waxy faces upon a central point in the room. Steam erupted from the stomata like smoke from a fire. Above it all, a stream of water gurgled from the mouth of a tiny xylem.

Kavaia had her back to him, standing directly beneath the shower. Without clothes, her body was an unblemished myrtle, the darker shade of green standing in contrast to the leaves around it. He followed the color from the crown of chines atop her head all the way to the soft scales of her feet. It was quite a journey to take.

“Grab the sandalwood," she said, not turning to face him.

There were glass bottles on a recessed shelf. Sadik found the correct label, popped the cork with some difficulty, and approached her. In the confined room, her thick, muscular tail barely allowed him to pass. His head did not rise above her elbow.

“If you whisper," she said, “we may speak freely."

Jets of steam continued to hiss from the leaves. Water crashed upon marble. The noise was fairly loud.

“Have the Exalted already arrived?" Sadik asked.

“We must assume so."

He resisted the urge to look behind him. It would be pointless—once diffuse, the Exalted were nearly impossible to spot with the naked eye. They might've already joined them in the shower.

“They are watching," Kavaia said. “Anoint me."

She stepped back from the xylem. Water beaded on her scales, running in rivulets down the generous curve of her thighs. More than a meter above, a single eye watched him with impatience.

Sadik pooled a small glob of sandalwood in his palm, his nostrils already burning from the strength of the scent. He rubbed the oil together until it coated his hands. Slowly, he reached for the small of her back.

Her flesh melted beneath his fingers. Sadik was shocked—he had expected her scales to be rigid and unyielding. Instead, the lamina along her spine were as smooth as river stones, and the rest of her lower back only formed a subtle casing of armor, immediately giving way to a delicate fat that seemed to swallow his fingers. Almost on reflex, he kneaded his hands deeper, finding a deep core of muscle beneath the feminine curves.

Her rumble vibrated through his hands. “Sadik?"

“Yes, goddess?"

“Remember my words."

His hands began to roam over her body. She was too tall for him to reach above her breasts, so he began to descend lower, his open palms gliding across the curve of her posterior. It was considerably sized—if he had grabbed one cheek with both hands, his fingers would not have met.

“I promised," Kavaia whispered, “that no harm would come to you."

Her thighs came next. Because she was standing, the muscles were taut, providing a strong bed for the fat above. The oil left her scales shining in the light, as smooth and polished as steel.

“I was not speaking idly."

He was attentive to every corner. The back of her knees, the curve of her calves, even the ankles of her plantigrade feet.

“I will protect you. You will survive this day."

Sadik rose once more. He took great pains not to glance beneath her tail. Instead, he applied more oil to his hand and began to knead at the base, digging his knuckles between the hard muscle and the thicker scales of her spine.

“I—" Her tail stiffened, rustling through the leaves. “That is—"

He applied more pressure, spreading out his fingers to sharpen the point of contact. Her rumbling almost rivaled the steam. She shifted her hips, trying to press him deeper.

“Impressive," Kavaia said, as if it had taken her a moment.

“Goddess," Sadik replied. “I allow myself pride in few areas. This is one of them."

“It is not misplaced."

Hisana had always enjoyed his skillful fingers. The gods could not hold a candle, she would say, as he dug into her—

Suddenly, Kavaia turned to face him, dragging the length of her tail across the marble. Sadik made eye contact with her belly. It was smooth, a pale shade of green somewhere close to lime. Any fruit would not deserve the comparison.

“My front. Use the frankincense."

He returned to the shelf and grabbed the appropriate bottle. The force of the steam jets removed the previous oil from his palms. When he returned to the goddess, she was kneeling upon the marble, bringing the rest of her body within easy reach.

Despite the attempt to seem relaxed, her eyes watched him carefully. “Your hands are experienced."

He did not answer. Instead, he began to rub the frankincense across her broad shoulders, gently massaging the muscles of her neck. They were very stiff.

“Sadik."

Her saffron eyes were close. The slit pupils had begun to widen.

“You must have faith."

He squatted down, trailing his hands along the pale green expanse of her chest. Even without the oil, there was not a single trace of coarseness to be found. Her flesh was soft, giving beneath his fingers, inviting him to explore deeper.

“Goddess. I don't. . . ." He pursed his lips, choosing his words. “I do not doubt your intentions. Only your wisdom."

“Was that your attempt at diplomacy? Calling me a fool?"

His hands parted to either side of her breasts, working through the doughy fat beneath. Each one was larger than his head. They danced with his massage.

“Allow me to join the fighting," Sadik said. “You have admitted that bringing me here was a mistake. Correct it now." The frankincense burned his nostrils. Her breasts glistened and heaved. “The battlefield is my calling. My duty. Xaeyr and the others—"

“They are capable fighters. And your life must not be risked. Your subordinates are counting on your return, are they not?"

His fingers journeyed beneath her globes. They spilled across his hands, warm and slick from the steam.

“I know Rushan," Kavaia said, her eyes following his every move. “He will be furious to know that I lie with another, especially a mortal. I am certain he is watching now, through the eyes of the Exalted."

Finally, unable to avoid it any longer, Sadik began to knead at her breasts. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, using the contractions of his palm to massage the flesh beneath. Kavaia's teeth began to emerge from her snout.

“He will be as blinded as a bull. Angered beyond reason. He will not allow this to occur, at any cost. He has not allowed me any peace since we have parted." She closed her eyes, subtly pushing her chest into his hands. “In matters of war, he is invincible. Swift and deadly. In matters of the heart, he is a petulant, angry child."

“Goddess," Sadik said, up to his elbow in her breasts. “Forgive me if that does not reassure."

“It is too late for another option."

He decided to be bold. “Are you speaking with pragmatism . . . or vengeance?"

She turned her long, ridged face towards him. Hissing steam filled the air.

“Goddess," Sadik said. “If I may."

“You already have, it seems."

“I am beginning to think you are more motivated by spite than reason."

Her throat bulged with a rumble. “Do you know what it's like to be hunted by someone you had placed your dearest trust? Do you know how it feels when they spit your weaknesses against you? When they twist your words, stalk your shadow, never allow you a moment's rest?"

Sadik remembered Faustine lying against the mast of a sunken ship. Waiting for the blow.

“Yes, goddess, I do."

“I thought you might." A slow breath escaped her nostrils. “The glimpse of your soul told me much."

“What did you ever see in him?"

Kavaia tilted her head. Sadik became aware that she could crush his skull with a single bite.

“Rushan," he said. “It did not seem like your stars were ever aligned."

Her gaze became lost in the steam. “He listened. At least, he pretended to."

Sadik had spent many days in the gardens, trying to convince the caracal to maintain the Path. There had been vicious arguments. Raised voices. Little progress.

He reapplied the frankincense to his palms. “We see others the way we wish they were, not the way they are."

One of her eyes fell upon him. “Some may yet surprise us."

He rubbed the oil over the smooth curve of her abdomen. The smell of frankincense and sandalwood mixed with the leaves around them, creating a sharp, woody aroma. Hints of citrus floated through the steam.

Suddenly, she rose from her knees. Sadik found himself making eye contact with her navel again. His eyes followed the subtle V of her abdominal muscles, lowering between—

“Which perfume do you prefer?"

She was already rubbing a paste of soap between her palms, the soda ash and animal fat crumbling into clods.

“Your preference is mine, goddess."

“And if you were being honest?"

Sadik cleared his throat. “Orchid leaf and honey. If you have them."

Her rumble was amused. “Prefer sweetness, do you?"

“I am not ashamed."

She began to wash him. Blood swirled across the marble. The soap was nearly scentless, the clods of fat melting upon contact. As she glazed his skin with the essence of orchid, her fingers subtly traced the vines of his tattoos, from the crown of thorns around his neck to the cascading lines around his hips. She was not timid about inspecting his musculature.

Her hands went lower. Sadik gazed over the chines on her head, focusing intently on the steam-belching leaves. Without any ceremony, she slathered his cock in honey and flower. Her hands were so large, the fingers so dexterous and long, that Sadik began to worry he was not well-equipped for the task ahead.

But they felt like Hisana's hands. She had been just as large—if she placed both her palms beneath his arms, her fingers could meet at his spine. She had always been able to lift him with ease. And even though her skin was as thick as leather, she had always possessed a gentle touch, as if she was defying her size. Kavaia's hands had a similar grace. He could remember—

“Ah," Kavaia said, glancing between his legs. “The soldier stands at attention."

Sadik stared into the steam. His face was burning hot.

Hisana's head rolling across the floor. Blood and laughter.

The goddess washed her hands in the xylem shower. “I admit, it has been centuries since I've coiled with a human. Not since my apotheosis. The Jade Demon does not often—"

“Goddess," Sadik said. “I do not want to do this."

She peered down at him, her scales glistening with oil.

“I will do anything else. I will fight. I will die. But I do not. . . ."

“Why?" Kavaia asked, her contralto voice bordering on irritation.

When Hisana finally removed her mask, tears had streaked her eyes. Her smile had been quiet and afraid, the whiskers on her snout quivering in the firelight. Sadik had kissed her with wild abandon, hungry for her taste, planting his lips upon every inch of her face. She had cried at the touch. She had begged him never to leave.

He blinked. The memory was gone. Only the goddess of death remained.

“Please," he said.

She blinked. Her eyes ran through him. Tail coiled and flexed.

“I . . . the palace. . . ."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. The skin was smooth, the weight reassuring.

“Tell me," she said, leaning in close.

Intestines. A curved blade dripping with blood.

The light had gone out of his life.

“Sadik." A gentle squeeze. “Tell me. You . . . do not need to suffer alone."

The hissing steam. The leaves, the heat. He couldn't breathe. He needed air.

“Please. I can help."

He looked at her, could not find the strength to speak, and turned away, rushing for the exit.

Her hand held him in place. Very subtly, she flicked her head towards the bedchamber. In the smoke and firelight, dust moved through the air. It had not been there before. It seemed to push against the breeze, bright and glinting.

The Exalted were here.

Without any countermeasures, there was no hope of defeating them. They would flow through every sword, dance through every arrow. Even a sunspear could do little but singe a few flakes. If he tried to fight, they would eat him alive. Melt his flesh into puddles and ash.

Even the gods feared the Exalted. They were invincible. The last resort of Acheron.

Kavaia wrapped her arms around him. As she began to lift, the hard ridges of her snout brushed against his ear. Her whisper was almost lost beneath the steam.

“Forgive me."

She held him in a bridal carry, her woody scent mixing with flowers. As she left the bathing chamber, the hissing began to quiet. Water drained through the floor. The chance to speak freely was lost.

Her bedroom was unchanged. Seemingly empty. Curtains fluttered, fires blazed. Leaves swallowed the walls, crawling across the statues of gods who had been dead for centuries. Kavaia's every footstep seemed to boom through the silence. It echoed the pounding of Sadik's heart.

Her bed drew closer. Firelight crawled across linen and furs. He took a deep breath, only drawing the scent of her scales deeper into his mind. The way she carried him, the strength of her arms, the breasts bouncing at his back.

Do not think of her.

Do not think of her.

Do not—

The Neheamatt. She had protected him from the plague. She had wrapped him in vines, commanding the gods to defend his life at all cost. There could not have been a more divine blessing. The tree was the source of Acheron's might. It gave Glimmer to the mortals, it gave power to the gods, and it had clearly given him a sacred task. Sadik began to wonder if his rescue at Kavaia's hands had truly been coincidence.

It was impossible to discern the motives of such a colossal creature. For weeks, Acheron had soaked in blood. The gods had bickered and fought. Ilios had rotted above the archways. Through it all, the Neheamatt had grown mysteriously silent. No one could be sure if it was indifferent to the chaos . . . or supportive of it.

Some believed that the tree could see the future, as if the boundless quantities of earth and water beneath its roots had given it dominion over the cycles of life. If it would choose to speak now, after weeks of silence and death, it must've been for a reason. Aldunya—the great life-giving tree itself—she wanted Sadik to mate with the goddess. He could not refuse such a command. If the wisdom of the tree—

Sadik was placed upon the bed.

The linen sheets were soft. Warm to the touch. His elbows sank into a mattress of wool and feathers. It was more comfort than he had felt in weeks.

Kavaia crawled above him, like a cloud drifting across the sky. With the grace of a panther, she made her way to the upper reaches of the bed, reclined against a mound of feather pillows, and turned her naked body towards him.

“Mortal."

The warmth in her voice was gone.

She parted her legs. Sadik wasn't sure where to focus—the dawning pink of her loins, the green cliffs of her thighs, or the slit eyes watching him from afar.

“Come."

For the sake of Acheron.

He crawled to her, hands and knees sinking into the mattress. Knowing they were not alone, Sadik tried to appear sensuous as he slinked across the furs. But her tail was as thick as a river on the sheets, quickly outgrowing his torso in both width and length. As he drew closer, he brushed its soft underbelly with the head of his cock. She twitched at the contact, scraping the insides of his thighs. Both of them were quickly reduced to awkward grunts and shuffling.

Her gaze darted around the room. The reflection in her eyes spoke only of firelight and shadow. Still, Sadik's skin began to crawl, the same way it always did when he knew he was being observed.

She was doing this for Rushan. Sadik was only performing his duty.

Nothing more.

He entered the canyon of her thighs. Her sex was a pale shade of pink, easily as long as his face, each of the folds as delicately layered as a rosebud. He breathed against her loins, watching the moisture play across oiled flesh and glistening scales. The sensation sent a shudder through her legs, a subtle arch in her back. Her rumble shook the bedframe.

“Show your devotion," Kavaia said.

Sadik brought his lips to her inner thighs. He alternated between playful bites and quick sucking kisses, deliberately avoiding contact with her loins. The lack of arousal was obvious—her lips were not swollen, the folds not glistening with moisture. He made himself work diligently, dancing between either side of her sex, always edging close but never gracing it with his touch. With careful precision, he tongued a mosaic around her lower reaches, polishing every scale until it shone. The same technique had always driven Hisana mad.

A hand crashed into his head, the fingers almost encompassing his skull. He felt as if she could crush him like an egg.

“Do not tease."

Her legs spread wider. A mixture of saliva, scented oil, and excitement coated her flesh. There was no heat coming from her loins, but, right then, Sadik could finally smell her musk through the scented oils, drifting up as strongly as the smell of earth after a long needed rain.

It was intoxicating. Urging him on.

“Worship."

In one smooth motion, Sadik dragged his tongue across her lips, parting every fold of skin in his path. Her taste was complex—tangy, sour, a subtle hint of sweetness. He thought of citrus and tree sap, remembering the amber liquid he had fed her when they arrived. All the gods subsisted on the bounty of Aldunya. Apparently, it altered their taste.

Somewhere above, her breath began to hitch. Dull claws raked through his hair.

Sadik pushed his tongue deeper. Her inner folds lacked the raw heat of a mammal, but they were just as soft and delicate, the smooth velvety texture begging for exploration. Something took over him. He lapped at her lips, mouthed at her hood, ran his tongue along the creases of her thighs. Every stroke of his tongue seemed to engorge her flesh, drawing out more of her flavor. Slowly, the goddess of death blossomed like a flower.

After a minute, he drew back for air. His skin was drenched in her taste, the honey-like strands of her excitement still connecting his lips to hers. To the side, one of her hands was roaming through the sheets, blindly grabbing at anything it could find, and the sight only encouraged him to resume the attack.

“Your tongue is divine," Kavaia said, her voice tinged with a rumble.

He roamed to the top of her sex. Her sensitive nub was larger than his thumbnail. Like before, he deliberately avoided the main target—instead, he assailed the hood surrounding it, applying suction and pressure that toyed on the edge of pleasure. His teasing was well-practiced. In all his time serving the Vizier, he had learned that worship was best performed at a slow and doting pace.

He had missed this. The experience. More than words could convey.

“Do not stop. Stars above, you will live between my thighs, should I command it."

Her inflection was false. The words were loud, the breaths exaggerated. She was performing for the Exalted. With his face buried in Kavaia's loins, Sadik imagined the god of war smashing his way into her bedchamber, golden skin alive with fury. He wished he'd placed his sword closer at hand.

He wished Hisana—

“Oh, the lips," Kavaia said, fingers kneading through his hair. “The flat face. They were made for worship." Her breaths were ragged and long. “Nothing compares."

There had been enough teasing. He couldn't avoid it any longer.

Sadik leaned his weight onto an elbow, allowing his chest to sink deeper into the springy muscle of her tail. With his free hand, he spread the folds guarding her entrance, watching the slick opening twitch with the beating of her heart. He plunged a single finger inside. She clamped down on him immediately, gripping his digits like a blacksmith's tongs, the undulating contractions of her walls seeking to drag him deeper inside. With a burst of dexterity, he worked a second finger into her tunnel, every inch of progress earning a flex of her thighs and a scratch in his scalp. She sucked him in like a drooling mouth.

Sadik began to suspect that not all of her pleasure was fake.

At the same time, he sealed his lips around her fleshy nub, mercilessly alternating between sucking and licks. Her rumbling shuddered through his bones. She bucked her hips against his face, her muscular tail wiggling so fiercely beneath him that Sadik was forced to clench his thighs around it, as if he was straddling a spooked horse. Dauntless, he continued his two-pronged assault—stroking her from within, fighting against her inner muscles, and, at the same time, lavishing her with his tongue, working her nub with just the right amount of glances and care that she was soon drenching his chest in excitement. More than once, her tail lifted him clear off the bed.

“Serve me, mortal! I will keep you to the end of your days! You shall never thirst again! I will . . . we. . . ."

Her movements faltered. He continued to lick.

“You. . . ."

She stopped. Her tail went limp, her hand loosening on his skull. If Sadik had not still felt her heartbeat on his tongue, he might've assumed she had perished.

He looked up. Across the glimmering expanse of her underbelly, Kavaia's head was bowed. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing with an unnatural cadence, as if forcing herself to do so. A weary pain was written across her scales and chines.

He stopped his ministrations. She didn't seem to notice. For a moment, only the crackling of fire could be heard.

“Goddess?" Sadik asked, strands of fluid dribbling off his chin.

She opened her eyes, focusing her predator slits upon him. Teeth flared along her snout.

All at once, she launched him with her tail. The action was two-fold—one thrust at the base to send him careening away from her loins, and another, stronger thrust that sent him tumbling through the air, his upturned feet scraping against the curtains high up on the posters.

Sadik landed flat on his back, sinking deep into the wool and feather mattress. He scarcely had a second to breathe before Kavaia was straddling him. He found himself cocooned between the tight green canyon of her thighs, each one larger than his torso, completely blocking the view of her chambers. Beneath the hanging curtains, she loomed like a mountain, saffron eyes blazing in the firelight.

“I require more."

She took his cock in hand, stroking the foreskin with the pad of a thumb. At the same time, her thighs crawled forward on either side of his chest, burying his body in smooth scales and supple fat. He was completely trapped beneath her.

His cock was angled upward. Warm globs of fluid fell from her hips. She shifted her flank, spread open the folds of her sex, working feverishly to achieve the desired angle.

She was easily more than three times his weight. She would fall like an anvil. More than once, Hisana had injured him in a moment of passion. The bones of the pelvis were not quick to heal.

“Goddess," he said, grabbing handfuls of her thighs. “Perhaps we should switch—"

“Silence."

The head of his cock slithered through her folds. He felt the edge of her opening. Like his fingers, she seemed eager to suck him inside.

For a moment, her expression seemed to change. Her teeth receded, her pupils widened. The fear must've been plain on his face.

She hesitated.

Suddenly, a mote of dust drifted between them. It glinted in the light, swirling unnaturally fast.

One of the Exalted.

Her expression hardened.

She dropped down, her immense weight driving his cock to the hilt in a single crash. The entire bedframe shook with the impact. Sadik felt the air leave his lungs, both from the shock of the blow and the ecstasy of sensation. She was as tight as a fist. Softer than velvet. She was so drenched in excitement that he had glided inside of her with impossible ease. As she savored the feeling, wriggling her sopping lips across his waist, he felt every contraction and tremor like the coming of a revelation.

“So warm," Kavaia whispered.

She rose again, leaving only the head of his cock buried inside, and slammed back down. Sadik tightened his grip on her thighs, bracing himself with as much doughy flesh as he could grab. A slow, heavy pace developed, one that seemed to crush him deeper into the mattress with every titanic fall. His only relief was found at the bottom of her swings—she would pause to thrust herself across his groin, rubbing her sex against his skin, rumbling at the sensation of warmth and mixing fluids. Every contraction of her walls seemed to milk a part of his soul.

“Oh, I missed this!"

She began to thrust faster. Dull pain mixed with pleasure. Every crash of flesh was luridly wet, echoing louder than the fires surrounding them. There was nothing for Sadik to brace against.

Hisana would've been gentle.

Kavaia arched her back at the bottom of a heavy crash, her open mouth bared to the ceiling. Scented oils glimmered across her scales. Abdominal muscles flexed. There were heaving breasts, kneading fingers.

“Stars above, for centuries, I—"

He gripped her thighs. They were achingly similar to Hisana's. The spilling flesh, the subtly thick hide, the smooth inner skin. He could lose himself inside of them.

Remember her face.

Remember—

“Goddess!"

He was bruising. Skin inflamed, burning red. Pelvis cracking like glass.

Kavaia flinched. Came back to herself. She planted her hands on his chest, crossing her thumbs above his heart. Pinned on all sides.

A feeling of relief blossomed through his core, just as it had in the xylem. Aches and pains began to wither from his flesh. The flood of respite swam through his pelvis, mending the bones, healing the bruises. At the top of her thrust, he watched the bruising wash from his skin, disappearing as easily as dirt.

Her pace increased. She shortened the rise, put more weight into the plunge. With her size, it was not a far distance to travel. She bounced and grinded and rumbled.

The red mask of the Vizier.

The pain had not stopped. It was boiling beneath her healing powers, the hairline fractures merely breaking again the second they were mended. Every injury burned as it was knit. Every bruise was pounded back into his flesh, over and over again. Sadik grit his teeth, arched his back, braced through a pain that was steadily growing sharp.

The wet smacks of flesh.

Blood splattering across marble.

Panting breaths, words pounded into silence.

Faustine's roaring laughter.

Decapitation.

Her head. Her head.

Kavaia flinched. Pressed her hands to her waist. Felt every break and pain she had inflicted.

She looked down at him with worry.

Her hands tightened on his chest. One of them roamed to his waist, gripping his hip like a destrier's saddle, and the other enveloped his shoulder. In one motion, she rose onto her knees while lifting him from the bed. His cock never left her cunt. With her hands holding up his midsection, Sadik felt his head and feet sink back down to the mattress, his entire body beginning to bend like an upside-down U.

Slowly, she adjusted her grip—palms on his hips, thumbs on his abdomen, fingers lacing his back. His pelvis was healed. She absorbed the injury, healing herself with a snarl. To the side, fire cracked like a bone.

She lifted him by his waist, thrusting his cock deep inside her. There was a shudder, a warbling tremor spreading through their flesh. Sadik was grinded back and forth against her loins as if he was no more than a towel. Fluid smeared. Heat spread. Fingers tightened.

She began to fuck herself with his body. Pulling him up by his waist, impaling herself upon him, up and down, back and forth, as if there was an itch deep inside her that she could not quite scratch. A new rhythm was found. She quickened the pace, learning to properly wield his body, driving him deeper and deeper with every heave of her arms. Even though Sadik's pelvis had been spared, there was no illusion of lovemaking anymore. The goddess had reduced him to a tool of masturbation.

Her walls were slippery, tight, merciless. Pleasure scoured through his bones, burned through his thoughts. He could do nothing to brace against it. Only—

The first time he had broken his vows, he had been walking with the Vizier through the gardens of Kohav Yaran, showing her the flowers coming into bloom. He had lectured. She had feigned interest. The day had been hot, the trials and judgements as long as ever. In the dying light, there had been something in her tone. A wanting, a desire for reprieve. All at once, Sadik realized she had separated him from the other guards. Behind the mask—

Kavaia arched her back at the top of a thrust, her long snout splayed and panting. Her fingers squeezing his waist, her grip on him shifting with every stroke, trying to find—

Hisana had gripped him around the waist. Afterward, she would claim it had been innocuous. Trying to squeeze through the sages. No matter the intent, her hand had stayed on his body. The contact had lingered. Something had changed. An impulse, a weakness, a final crack in their armor. Her grip had tightened, surprising him with its strength. She had leaned him backward, draping him across the flowers, searching deeply—

“Mortal?"

They hadn't kissed. The mask of the Faceless was made of stone, and removing it carried the penalty of death. Instead, she had pressed the granite to his head, hoping to feel something through the layers. Sadik's eyes had searched the garden, terrified they would be seen. In a whisper, she had begged him not to flee. She had told him that, right then, she wanted something for herself, she was tired of the mask, tired of the pressure, tired of the sacrifice, tired—

“Sadik?"

She had told him her name. Hisana Raamat. She had been a daughter of the plains, born far outside the walls. Underneath the mask, beneath the scepters and jewels and ceremony, she was still a person, still a creature of wants and faults, and, right then, she wished for nothing more than to feel the warmth of another.

And, now, she was gone.

“Sadik!"

Kavaia was staring down at him, still holding his body between her thighs. Her voice had risen enough to echo through the chamber.

Sadik blinked. His vision blurred. He realized he was crying.

God and man stared at one another. The air was motionless. It felt as if the sun had been halted in the sky.

Slowly, her entire body began to sag. Shoulders slumping, posture folding. She glanced around the room, finding nothing but shadows and dusty air. Only the flames broke the silence.

“G-goddess." Sadik attempted to wipe his face. “Do not concern yourself. . . ."

She let out a sigh, as dry and weak as the opening of an old tomb, and gently lowered his body to the mattress. The memory of her flesh danced across his skin. She fell back onto her posterior, hugging her legs against her chest. Her eyes had never left his face.

“I am hurting you," she said, her voice small and quiet.

Sadik attempted to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

“Do not lie to me. No more equivocations." She rested her long snout on her knees. He could feel the centuries in her eyes. “I want honesty."

“I have . . . suffered worse injuries. Goddess."

“It is not the flesh that suffers. There is great pain in your eyes."

Sadik glanced around the chamber. Dust whirled through the light. It was rushing, colliding upon itself, growing into thicker shapes. The Exalted were beginning to solidify. “Goddess, perhaps you should—"

“Oh, Nema take the Exalted! May the stars burn this entire tree to ash!"

She looked away, running her hands across the thin scales of her calves. Sadik had never seen a god curled upon herself. Despite her size, despite the fact that she could lift him like a toy, she seemed very small.

“You are suffering," she said. “I know the expression better than my own face. It is all I ever see. All that I am condemned to feel. I bring nothing but woe to mortalkind."

She nestled a hard-scaled cheek onto her knee, closing her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Sadik. I lost myself."

He almost mentioned the Neheamatt. Aldunya had wrapped him in her vines, clearly giving him her blessing. It was the clearest sign of divine will there could possibly be. Surely, it had not been a mistake.

But they were not alone in the chamber. In the corners, through firelight and shadow, the forms of men began to etch themselves into the air. There were several Exalted. A full squad. With all the fighting around the pantheon, there must've been good reason to send so many.

Rushan was watching.

“Will you say something?" Kavaia asked, looking at him again. “Must everything I hear from you be formality or deflection?"

Sadik sat up on an elbow, blinking slowly.

“You may speak freely. It no longer matters." She gestured at the thickening shadows. “We have already lost."

The Exalted would only condense themselves if they were planning on intervention. At the same time, death could've come without a single warning. Millions of shards piercing the skin. Melting the flesh into slag.

They were about to be arrested.

Xaeyr. The other gods. Not a single sound had reached Kavaia's chambers. Had there even been a fight at all?

“There is no point in lying any longer. Speak."

“Forgive me, goddess, but you have privileges that I do not."

She drew a deep breath from the air, as if it might return her strength. With a great heave, she collapsed onto the mattress. Her stature was impressive enough that her head was already lying next to him.

“I saw a glimmer of your soul," Kavaia said. “In the river." Her snout rubbed listlessly against the sheets. She still smelled of sandalwood. “Nothing precise. Only . . . sorrow. Longing. Shame."

Sadik looked away. The fluids on his waist were growing cold.

“I have been alone for centuries. I could not honestly tell you the number. The time bleeds. Thousands die, quick as the wind. Everything drifts. I perform my duties, feeling a specter above the world. Watching it bloom and die. I know that, once, I was mortal, and I had traveled across many lands, and there were many faces that I had loved, but . . . the knowledge has lost its succor. It is a fact. Nothing more. Something I know, not something I feel."

She flipped onto her back, watching smoke drift through the posters. Leaves swaying in the breeze.

“The gods think of me as some . . . lurking deviant, working to spoil their gifts and bounties. The mortals call me the Jade Demon. They fling my name like a curse, as if I am something to be inflicted upon others. I am called arrogant and cowardly for refusing to play politics, mortal or god. I am treated as an eater of souls because I must harvest Glimmer. I must bear the pain of a city upon my shoulders, and I will always be condemned for it."

Beneath the fires, a faint rustling could be heard, like the slow shift of sand.

“I have tried to end my solitude. I walked the streets of Acheron, healing those I should've let die, hoping the glimpses of their soul would inspire connection. I was too forceful. They were afraid. I sought the companionship of my fellow gods, despite the neutrality I must uphold. They would ask for favors. Tell me that I would ruin the faith of their followers, should we be seen together. Think of the temples that might be desecrated."

She gave a single laugh. It held no humor.

“I went to Rushan. It was foolish. I knew his reputation. I could see the arrogance in his eyes. There was cruelty. Brittle vanity. But he listened when I spoke, and he brought me gifts, nursed my wounds, ignored the whispers and gossip. He made me laugh. He held me as I cried. It had been so long since I'd felt the touch of another. When he invited me to his bedchambers, I. . . ."

No words came. She rested her cheek against the mattress, settling her gaze upon him.

“Sadik. I thought you would understand. In you, I saw feelings of . . . persecution. Injustice." For a moment, her fingers seemed to curl, as if they wanted to reach. “I did not know who you were. I had only seen a glimpse of your life. But I could see you were a soldier, and you had given everything for your beliefs, no matter the cost to yourself, and I thought. . . ."

A breath escaped her nostrils.

“I don't know if I thought of anything. I wanted. I wanted to see some kinship there. Rushan had made me desperate."

She craned her head against the mattress, exposing her throat for all. Sadik thought of a wounded infantryman crawling along the ground. Preparing for death.

“I'm sorry. I've lost myself."

A breeze sliced through the chamber. Curtains billowed. Fires roared.

In the middle of the chamber, three Exalted stood upon the carpet. Their forms were thin and shimmering, mimicking the shape of men. There were no faces upon their skulls. All the same, they continued to watch.

“Her name was Hisana," Sadik said.

Kavaia tilted her head towards him.

“I broke my vows for her. All those who follow the path of brightness must sacrifice themselves. We must be an example. A shining beacon. Visible to all who may look. That is the way of things. But she was. . . ."

The knot in his throat grew sharp. Knowing the name of the Faceless was cause for torture. Public execution. He had never spoken the name in anything higher than a whisper.

“She was kind. She would learn the names of everyone who attended on her. She would never grow impatient in matters of court. She would insist on frequent excursions outside the palace, spreading gifts of food and Glimmer wherever she went. She would never allow herself to think that enough had been done." He blinked through the tears. “I live only to carry her example."

A question was written across Kavaia's face. He waited for it, like the guilty had waited for his executions.

“The Vizier?"

He nodded, barely able to speak. “Her name was Hisana. And I failed her."

Something began to crack inside of him.

She reached for his hand. The fingers were large, barely able to settle themselves upon his palm. There was no healing power. There was no trace of the tight grip she had shown earlier. There was only a gentle touch. One hand to another.

“Sacrifice leaves one wanting, doesn't it?"

“Yes. It does."

The Exalted had drifted closer. They ringed the bed, standing as tall as shadows. Their bodies rippled and hissed. Specks of light shined through the gaps.

They were about to strike.

Slowly, making sure not to cause any harm, she squeezed his hand. He gazed at her from across the sheets. The distance did not seem quite so far.

“Were you hoping to die in the river?" she asked.

“Yes. I could have run. I chose not to."

She nodded, eyes searching his face. “I'm sorry for bringing you here, Sadik."

“It's alright, Kavaia." He returned the squeeze. “I understand."

For a brief moment, she smiled.

Her chamber doors exploded open. Marble cracked. Fires shuddered in the braziers. There was a wrenching split of metal, and the doors collapsed to the floor, the bronze hieroglyphics dented into useless carvings.

Rushan strode inside. His slices of gold reflected the firelight, the circle of bare, furless skin across his chest still covered in angry burns. When he saw the two of them lying upon the bed, utterly naked and holding hands, his ears flattened to his skull.

“Seize them," he said.

The Exalted shattered like shells of sand. In an instant, they had become clouds of dust, blizzards of insects. Kavaia attempted to shield him with her body, but she was subsumed in an instant, her green skin swallowed by grey, burrowing into her mouth and skin with such rapid speed that she did not have the chance to cry in pain.

Sadik felt the Exalted pass through his skin. A gasp for air only allowed them to enter his throat. They were in his lungs, swimming through his chest, turning his muscles as hard as stone. He lost the ability to move. In a blink, they had flooded through his skull.

The last thing he felt was Kavaia's hand being ripped from his own.