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The mansion groaned with age.

Despite her relinquishment of godhood, Kavaia did not much care for living in squalor. She was already ill-suited to living in a house designed for mortals, and the fact that this one had laid in a sunless ruin for centuries only worsened her discomfort. Entire rooms had collapsed. Fluids dripped through the ceiling. There was mold in the crevices, rat droppings on the floor. Whenever she spent the night, she had to be careful not to move too quickly, or spread herself too much, lest she stir up a choking storm of dust.

Now, coming back, it didn’t help that she was carrying extra weight.

She squeezed through the front door. In a hunched walk, she managed to pass from the foyer into the soft candlelight of the living room, where her and Sadik had spread a number of blankets and furs for bedding. A few insects scattered at her approach.

Eventually, she flopped on the pile of furs, beginning to undo the harness.

The straps were untied, and the leather was shed, and a spider web of ropes started to unravel around her, letting Sadik rise further and further from her torso. By the time his arms were freed, he was able to untie himself. He unbound his legs, stretched his limbs, straddled Kavaia’s belly, and stood with a sigh.

She couldn’t deny a feeling of loss, when they separated. It was like leaving a warm bed.

But she remained on the pile of furs and blankets, her armor peeled like a crab, and Sadik began to pace across the length of the living room, still completely naked, his long black hair falling loose on his face.

He continued to pace. A minute passed. The chill of the sewers began to lick at her warmth. Outside, there was a sound of refugees, moving through the street.

“I’m starting to think,” Sadik said, “that we shouldn’t leave.”

Kavaia rose to an elbow, watching him.

He stopped at a corner of the room, staring into a tangle of dusty webs. Another silence stretched through the air. To break the quiet, Kavaia reached over, found his discarded clothes, and tossed them at his feet.

“Thank you, goddess.”

He began to dress himself, though he only donned his skirt, and left the shell of his bronze armor on the floor. He paced again, naked to the chest. Shadows played on his muscles.

“You know what it will cost,” Kavaia said, “if we stay.”

He turned to her. “I know what it will cost if we leave.”

“There’s always a cost.”

“Yes. It’s a question of worth, and value.”

He paced again. His bare feet made small slaps on the stone. She saw the furrow of his brow, and the slight quirk of his lips, and the precision in each of his movements, from the measure of his steps to the sharp turn of his pacing.

“I keep thinking,” Sadik said, “back to before. When I wanted to die.”

Kavaia rose to sitting.

“Death is an escape,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “To some.”

“It was an escape to me.” He waved a hand, still pacing. “I wanted to leave. I wanted to . . . relinquish all my cares. I didn’t want to be burdened by Acheron anymore.” He stopped, watched the steady drip of a fluid, and turned to face Kavaia. “This feels the same. By fleeing Acheron, am I not running from my challenges, instead of facing them?”

“It’s completely different,” Kavaia said.

The pacing continued. “How so?”

“You were seeking an escape for your own sake, in spite of others. Now, you’re seeking an escape because of the others around you. The motivations are entirely opposite.”

He considered this. The pacing slowed. “I suppose, goddess.”

Kavaia knew Sadik often had to be pulled out of his brooding. Seeing a pause in his thoughts, she decided to venture a smile. “You must stop calling me that.”

“I’m entirely unable to stop.”

“Do you do it for my sake?”

“No. It makes me horny.”

She gave a deepthroated laugh. He offered a rare smile. Seeing a wider opening, Kavaia reclined against the pile of furs, slowly curling a finger. Her breastplate was peeled open, and her chest was still slick with heat and sweat.

“Come,” she said.

Sadik pretended to consider. Kavaia lifted the heavy muscle of her tail, slamming it into the floor.

“Oh, very well.”

Instead of a slow walk, he took a running start, and threw his entire body on top of her. She gasped, laughing, fumbling his weight. There was a confusion of breaths and limbs. Eventually, he settled with his back to her chest, staring up at the broken slabs of the ceiling. Kavaia relaxed her head against the bedding and idly played with his hair.

The conversation slowed, for a time.

As she waited, Kavaia decided that she enjoyed holding him against her for more than just the warmth—it felt like snuggling with a cat. She had liked to own cats, a long time ago. She had often fed them in the streets, when she was a god. Now, she had found a different mammal, and she had discovered him to be warm, soft, hairy, stubbornly minded, and so small compared to her that she could pick him up, and stroke his body, and whisper sweet praise, and he would be completely unable to resist.

None of this changed the respect she had for him. In serious matters, she would always follow his command. But, in private moments, she would also find him unbearably precious.

Her little man.

“Yasmin wasn’t wrong,” Sadik said.

Kavaia tilted her head, still stroking his hair.

“We could resist the Diet. We have the Kesunae, and their stores of food. We have the victims of the plague. If we’re desperate, we could fill the ranks with clones.” He watched a curtain of dust leak from a broken slab. “With Diana’s help, we could stand a chance to fix the wall, and resurrect the Mezlat. Maybe, in a limited capacity, we could manufacture Glimmer, to augment the soldiers.”

She hummed in thought.

“If Isaac was correct,” Sadik continued, “then the Diet is rife with internal division. They will fight each other, if given the chance. With Isaac’s help, we could sow chaos through their ranks. Cripple them from within.”

She lifted a lock of his hair, letting it trail through her fingers.

“There is a chance,” he said. “No outcome is ever certain.”

“That cuts both ways,” Kavaia replied.

“Well, of course.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate an opponent, especially a young empire with much to prove. The Diet of Nine will be the greatest challenge this city has ever faced.”

“I know that, goddess.”

She kept stroking his hair, occasionally dipping her fingers to scratch at his scalp. After a few moments, he tilted his head to glance at her.

“What is your opinion?” he asked.

She hummed again. “I worry of falling into the same trappings as before. This talk of rebuilding our weapons, and fortifying our walls, feels rather . . . regressive.”

“Technology is only a tool,” he replied. “If we have learned from our mistakes, why not use the tools we have?”

“A blade, by itself, will instigate a mind toward violence. To use this technology is to be influenced by its power. Acheron did not fall in a day. It decayed, and crumbled.”

“. . . I suppose.”

Kavaia took her free hand and placed it on his stomach, where it overlapped with her own. “My opinion is simple.” She lowered her snout against his cheek. “I want what’s best for our child.”

He rubbed her hand, falling into thought.

“I don’t want,” she said, “our child to be born into famine, and danger, and strife.”

He sighed.

“I’ve spent so long around death,” she said. “And now I want to create life. I want to give this child all the love and care that I have. And if this love would cost the dream of Acheron, I would gladly pay the price.”

Sadik was silent. His hand stroked her knuckle. His cheek was warm against her snout. In the distance, many crowds moved through the dark and dusty streets.

“I suppose,” he said, “it would all depend on a single question. If we have made peace with ourselves, shouldn’t we embrace who we are?”

“Is this still who we are?”

He did not answer.

There was a knock at the door.

Sadik sat up immediately, staring toward the entrance. Kavaia could tell he was not expecting visitors. With an irritated grunt, he stood from their embrace and hurried over to his armor, donning the cloth padding and tying the straps. His hair was still loose as he left the room.

Kavaia waited. There was a creak of an opening door. She did not try to eavesdrop, but, after some time, the conversation grew loud. Words echoed through the stone mansion, their meaning lost beneath the drip of fluid and the scuttle of distant vermin. Just from the tone, she knew it was not a pleasant talk.

Eventually, it stopped.

“Goddess,” Sadik called. “Could you come to the foyer, please?”

She sat up, clasped the breastplate into place, tied every strap she could, and began to duck her way through the low-ceiling halls, trying to present a dignified appearance.

When she reached the foyer, she saw Faustine standing next to Sadik.

The caracal was still wearing the ceremonial armor that she had worn while serving Rushan. There were pieces of bronze armor, luscious sashes of red, a khopesh sheathed at her hip. She met Kavaia’s gaze before timidly looking away.

A tension lingered in the gloomy air.

“Yes?” Kavaia asked.

Sadik looked at Faustine.

“I thought,” Faustine said, “you should be here. For this.”

Kavaia glanced between the two mortals. Slowly, her gaze dropped to the sword at Faustine’s side. A paw lingered at the haft.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sadik said.

She didn’t answer.

“I promise you.” He touched her elbow, soft and reassuring. “It’s fine. There’s no need. Rushan has already—”

“That was him. I want it to be you.”

“Faust, please.”

She looked at her feet. “Are you going to listen to me?”

Sadik paused. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and it was clear he was drawing from an inner well of strength. “Of course.”

“Let me do this.”

He swallowed, clenching a fist.

Kavaia had a sense for what was soon to happen, and she made her way close to Sadik, adopting an awkward kneel behind him. It was not her place to interfere, but she would be close, if needed.

With an audible slice, Faustine drew the khopesh from its scabbard, handing the blade to Sadik. She kneeled in front of him. She lowered her head. Her neck was bared.

He stood above her, sword in hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He took a deep breath.

“There’s not a moment,” Faustine said, “where I don’t wish to take back the things I’ve done. But I can’t. And so I have to atone.”

He looked down at her, silent.

“I want you to judge me, like Rushan. I put my life in your hands. Everything I am, and every future I deserve. Whatever you choose, I won’t resist.”

He shook his head.

“I know you’ll make it clean,” Faustine said.

Sadik stood completely still. His face was covered in shadow, lit only by the torches moving through the street outside, and the soft candlelight of the bedroom beyond. Above his head, the mansion groaned and trembled, slowly breaking into dust.

His hand clenched the sword.

Kavaia had not pried too deeply into the night of the revolution, when Hisana was murdered in front of him. She hadn’t wanted to intrude on the memory of a previous lover. But, right now, she was watching Sadik’s reaction, and she could tell, from the tension in his shoulders to the quiet fluttering of his breath, that he was reliving the night in detail.

She could imagine.

A happy night, like any other. Signs of trouble. Doors breaking from hinges. An unwelcome entrance. Tears, rage, shouting. The slice of a sword, the wet splatter of intestines. Unable to reason. Unwilling to kill. Fleeing into the dark.

He was confronting it now. He had no choice but to dig, and remember, and bleed.

His knuckles turned white on the sword.

When Aleph had returned the victims of the plague, Hisana had not been among them. Sadik had tried to search for her. When her presence was not found, he had never mentioned the hippo again. And though Kavaia had long stopped feeling inadequate in comparison to the former Vizier, she couldn’t deny that his search had put her ill at ease. She remembered the rejection she had suffered for centuries. She feared it was happening again.

Was he disappointed? Did he still miss her, in his deepest thoughts? Would he look up at the stars, where Aleph had gone to seek his destiny, and wonder what had become of his love?

Did he want to go back to her?

The feeling was irrational. She knew it was irrational. Even still, it was there.

Now, watching Sadik from behind, seeing plainly that he was struggling not to cry, Kavaia felt a resolve to cast her worries aside, because her own anxieties suddenly seemed so foolish.

Just as she came to this decision, Sadik threw the khopesh down to the floor. It clattered and spun. The sound was very loud.

Faustine glanced at the blade. Slowly, still kneeling on the stone, she looked up at his face. He looked down at her. His hand slowly unclenched. Her ears twitched. With a quiet breath, she rose from the floor.

They watched each other.

Sadik stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

He cried into her chest. She rested her chin on his head, eyes clenched shut. There was a fumbling of limbs, and a confusion of whispers, as if both of them suddenly wanted to do so much, and say many things, but neither could find the right way to do so, if there ever would be a right way again. There was awkwardness, hesitation.

After a time, Sadik pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. Faustine looked down at him, couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, stifled a sob, and tore from his embrace, bending down to grab her sword and race for the door. Just when she was about to leave, she turned back, glancing over to Kavaia.

Her expression was pleading.

Make him happy, it seemed to say.

Kavaia nodded.

Faustine ran out into the ruins, joining the throng of refugees moving through the dark. In moments, she was gone.

Sadik stood alone in the foyer, trying to wipe his face. Dust settled around him. When Kavaia crouched at his side, he leaned against her hip, and she rubbed the scales of his armor, both of them staring into distant corners. The foyer was old, and dim, and slowly cracking apart.

They were silent, for a time.

“I want to take a journey,” Sadik said.

Kavaia tilted her head.

“An excursion. I’ve been thinking about it ever since returning from the stars.” For the first time, he looked at her, his eyes red and glistening. “I want to return to my village. I want to see how it’s fared, since I’ve been gone.” He looked away. “I don’t expect to see my family. I’m ninety six. They’re certainly dead. I just . . . want to see it again.”

She considered this. “You want to close the memory?”

“I suppose.”

She considered it more. “It would . . . serve as a symbol, for leaving one’s home. It might offer you guidance from deep in the heart.”

“You’ve read my mind, goddess.”

“I am wise, on occasion.”

Sadik gave her a glance, sniffling.

“Well,” Kavaia said. “Certainly. If that’s your wish. In fact, I think it’s quite appropriate.” A thought occurred to her. “Though, as I recall, it was quite a distance away.”

“We shouldn’t be gone more than a day,” Sadik said. “I know someone who can help.”

---

Lanir crested through the sky.

She had flown from Acheron in the early morning hours, when the day was at its coldest, with a plan to return to the city no later than mid-afternoon. As they gained altitude, the cerulean walls slowly disappeared below the horizon. Cliffs knuckled the earth. A warm air rose from the flat, sunbaked soils. All the clouds were high above the world.

It was a good day to travel, for the most part.

Of course, after two hours of riding through the air, Kavaia had slowly grown bored. She had often stared at the world from her bedroom in the pantheon, so seeing it from the sky was not wholly novel. The land itself was often featureless and plain, with nothing to see but red cliffs, fields of stony soil, and a few speckles of hardy plants. With Lanir shifting and straining beneath her, Kavaia was reminded of long days spent in the saddle.

In truth, she had forgotten how numbing travel could be. She felt cold in the wind, despite the furs and pelts of her Kesunae armor. Nausea clawed at her belly.

Acheron had truly made her soft.

Ahead of her, Sadik was perched on Lanir’s shoulder, looking down at the land with a keen eye. The dragon glanced through the valleys and winding grottos.

“Am I to believe,” Lanir said, “that you managed to walk these lands, with little sustenance? In the scorching heat of day?”

“You are,” Sadik replied.

“For a natural human, it is quite an impressive feat.”

“Flying would have been nice, to be sure.”

Lanir craned her head, spreading her wings through a thermal. “If you ever desire to fly, I could wear your form beneath a harness, and spread our bodies together, far above the fields of meagre souls.”

Sadik cocked his head.

“Does Kavaia monopolize such a privilege?” the dragon asked.

“Lanir.”

“Surely, I am the superior hitching post.”

“Lanir!”

The dragon chuffed, her scaly maw opening in a grin. It was the first time Kavaia had ever seen it happen.

“Was that a joke?” Sadik asked.

“I am practicing,” Lanir said.

“I suggest you practice more.”

“Apologies.”

They continued to fly. Lanir followed the jets of warm air rising from the land, and Sadik did his best to navigate across the maze of canyons, though it became obvious he did not remember the path as well as he thought. They mostly followed the cardinal directions.

Kavaia glanced behind them. Far in the distance, the Neheamatt rose imperiously into the sky, the pillar of its trunk so incredibly large that it seemed to split the horizon. It was not in good health. The canopy of leaves was beginning to brown, many boughs laid broken into splinters, and the bark itself no longer glowed with a holy, swirling light.

If nothing changed, the tree would slowly die.

Kavaia found that she didn’t quite care. Her most pressing concern was the fact that the Neheamatt was still visible from hundreds of miles away. The Diet of Nine could surely see their prize.

She turned her gaze away from the city, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Much further away, in the same direction where Amira had reported the approach of scouting parties, there seemed to be thin columns of smoke, the tiny shimmers of cavalry and scouts. Currently, it was so far in the distance that Kavaia had to strain her eyes to see it at all. The cliffs shielded the army itself. It was impossible to see more.

She lowered her hand, feeling uneasy.

Her stomach seemed to kick.

“There,” Sadik said, pointing.

A small distance ahead, nested beneath the craggy walls of a cliff, there was a general suggestion of a village, half-hidden in the long shadows of the morning sun. It was built on the leeward side of the rocky edifice, to shelter from the desert wind. The houses were made of mud-brick and thatches of papyrus. Dusty farms littered the slopes, each of them corrugated with lines of tilling and irrigation. A dry river snaked against the hill.

Even from a distance, Kavaia could tell that the village was empty.

No one had lived there for quite some time.

Lanir descended toward the outskirts of the village, away from the cliff’s edge, where floods in the distant past had carved the land into low hills and winding arroyos. The flap of her wings spread a curtain of dust. As soon as she landed, Sadik leaped from her shoulder, the sunbaked clay cracking beneath his sandals.

For a moment, he stood in the morning sun, watching the village from afar.

“I will be respectful,” Lanir said, folding her wings, “and keep a fair distance. It seems . . . a quiet place.”

Sadik nodded. Kavaia climbed down from Lanir’s back, followed a path across the worn clay, and stood at his side. After the constant stimulation of flight, they both took a moment to breathe.

Eventually, they entered the village.

The air was calm. Their feet made gentle crunches on the soil. Walls of brick straddled the main road, low and crumbling, with dry bushes and gnarled shrubs growing through the cracks. On either side, the village homes were bathed in shadow, with some having long fallen into rubble, and others almost shriveling from the long years beneath a desert sun.

It was quiet here. Kavaia could feel the lack of people with every crunch of her boots, and every gust of wind rustling through the shrubs. Whenever she stepped through a shadow, the cold struck her deeply, and she hastened back into the sun.

She did not stray from Sadik’s side.

For his part, Sadik said little. He kept a slow pace, gazing over the fallow farms. From the road, he looked through craggy windows, gazed into shadowy doors. He craned his head to watch the birds twittering through the weathered cliff above. From the expression on his face, and the way his gaze settled on certain places, it seemed that he was finding old memories in unexpected places, moments from his childhood that had meant little to him before, but now carried a different meaning, seeing them as he was. There were places he had not held in his thoughts until he saw them again.

“If I had to guess,” he said, “the village was abandoned decades ago. Thirty years, at least.”

Kavaia stepped over the remains of an old winnowing scoop.

“Living here was always tenuous,” Sadik continued. “The river was our only water. The soil was stony. All our harvests were meagre, in the good years. I remember. . . .” He pointed ahead, where the cliff continued into a series of gulches and mesas. “My father and I would hunt for lizards, steal eggs from the sparrow nests. He tried to make it a game.” Sadik frowned. “I was always hungry.”

“I’ve seen many villages,” Kavaia said. “The living is often the same. Life revolves around labor, and seasons, and the threat of bandits.”

“You were the bandit, goddess.”

“I was celebrated. Many were grateful for our protection. Few would ever fight, when they had so little to defend.”

Sadik swept his gaze over a series of empty fields, each of them littered with the handles of mattocks and the old wheel of a barrow. “It’s a hard living. If we were to establish our own city. . . .”

He stopped, staring to the side. Kavaia followed his gaze to a small hovel nestled against the canyon wall, one that she could not have picked out from the others. It was haggard, faintly white, sunken into the earth.

“Is that. . . ?”

“Yes.”

He stepped over the low-brick wall and padded across the dry, furrowed field. When he arrived at the door, he paused, ran his hand over the brick lintel, wiped the dust from his finger, and slowly stepped inside.

Kavaia waited outside, taking a seat on the edge of a wall. She didn’t want to leave the sun, and she didn’t want to disturb any of his thoughts. Instead, she watched him through the open doorway, and the shadow of a single craggy window, tracking his progress through the few rooms of his old home.

The wind blew against her pelt. Far above, a hawk circled the air.

She took in the rest of the village.

In her time as a conqueror, Kavaia had seen many settlements, from the hamlets that hugged a fisherman’s cove to the small towns that straddled the roads of a greater empire. She had not often been impressed by the rustic life of a farmer, or the humbleness of an artisan’s labor. Of course, in those days, she had been a violent and prideful woman. Little had ever impressed Zolzaya, except for the hordes beneath her command, and the gold within her treasury. The arrogance of youth. . . .

Now, she wasn’t sure what to think.

If they left Acheron, the city they founded would be much like this village. They would need to construct basic shelters. They would have to till the land, and rush to sow before the seasons changed. They would be vulnerable to raids. They would almost certainly be dependent on trade. All together, they would be a small community trying to establish themselves in a hostile world, like the seed of a tree germinating within the desert soil.

The living would be hard. It would be many years before prosperity came, if it would ever come at all. Kavaia might not live to see it happen.

Her children. . . .

Her belly kicked again. The nausea had been clinging to her for hours, and she leaned onto her knees, folding in, trying to endure through the feeling. Nothing seemed to help.

It wasn’t just morning sickness. There was a deeper feeling, something sharp and gnawing.

She was worried.

Ever since falling from godhood, she had been mortal once again. Just like Sadik, her body would slowly weaken. Her mind would dull at the edges. And though she could likely resist the decay for many years, death would claim her, eventually, as she herself had claimed millions before. It was only a matter of time.

And her children would be without a mother.

Kavaia struggled not to vomit.

In the middle of an abandoned village, where many had been born, lived, and died, it suddenly struck her how fragile she was. And in that moment of weakness, she thought of Glimmer, and the life tanks, and the process which had turned Diana from flesh and blood into steel. And, for a time, she was seduced by the dream of Acheron.

Were they really going to leave it behind?

For this?

What future could they possibly—

“Kavaia?”

She pushed on her knees, struggling to lift her head. Sadik emerged from the shadowy door of his childhood home, his swarthy skin glowing in the light.

“Oh,” Kavaia said, swallowing an excess of saliva. “I. . . .”

He came to her. Because she was sitting on a wall, he stepped between the valley of her thighs, and reached up to her face, taking her snout into hand and stroking across its length. His touch was soft and gentle. Kavaia closed her eyes, leaning in.

“I’m only sick,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “It’ll pass.”

“. . . how are you?”

He didn’t answer. After a few moments, Kavaia opened her eyes, and she saw Sadik staring through the gap between their arms, across the low brick walls and well-trodden paths.

“I think,” he said, “we should leave.”

“Here?”

“Acheron.”

“. . . hm.”

“I think,” Sadik said, “it would be best to leave. But not without a fight.”

She swallowed again. “How do you mean?”

“I was sitting in there,” he gestured his head toward his home, “close to the fire pit, where I used to sit as a boy. We could keep the fire stoked for winter. It barely kept out the cold. There was always smoke, and soot, and ash. I smelled it as soon I entered.”

He glanced at the house again, absently stroking her snout.

“And I remember,” Sadik said, “how much I hated it. How it stung my eyes, how hard it was to breathe. I felt as if I could never wash the smell from my skin. It was always a reminder of how little we had, and what we must do to survive.”

Above their heads, a hawk cried into the sky.

“But I also remember how my parents used to sit around the fire, and play games, and tell stories. When the night was dark and cold, we would sit there, together, and talk, and laugh.” He looked up at Kavaia. “And when I walked into that room, just now, I smelled the same smoke, and it made think of them. That was my first impression, upon returning home. Their faces. That was what stuck with me.”

His stroking resumed. His eyes drifted to her snout, admiring the ridges and teeth.

“And I thought,” Sadik said, “that it was still a blessing I had left. Because, if I had stayed, I would have labored in these fields for all my days, and I would have died exactly where I was born. And I would never have gone to Acheron, to see the beauty this world still contained.” He kissed the tip of her snout. “And I would have never met you.”

She reached forward, cupping his hand.

“And so I think we should leave,” he said. “But we can keep the dream of Acheron alive, deep in our hearts. We can protect the city even as we leave it behind. We can make sure the Diet does not disturb its sanctity. Because it wouldn’t be hard to leave if we didn’t still care.”

“And we wouldn’t want to leave,” she said, “if there wasn’t something better ahead.”

He smiled.

“Wise words, mortal,” Kavaia said, returning a nipping kiss.

“I do my best, goddess.”

They kissed again. They breathed, and felt, and joined. Around them, there was the sound of a whispering wind, and the rustle of shrubs, and the constant titter of passing birds. And Kavaia could imagine that, away from the village, there were mice digging holes, and lizards bathing on the rocks, and pumas napping in their caves, and the steady marching hooves of antelope all crossing a small, trickling stream.

There was still life here, in these desolate rocks.

When they separated, Kavaia noticed that she was feeling much better. The sickness of the morning was starting to fade.

“Let’s go,” Sadik said. “Before we return, I have one more stop to make.”

---

Isaac held up the necromancer’s glove, admiring the construction.

It was deceptively heavy, as he had quickly discovered, and made of a strange, dark material that was slightly glossy, which seemed to grow stronger the more it was flexed. When he put the glove onto his hand, the spindly layer of steel began to squirm and constrict. It caused a tingling in his fingers. In an odd way, it felt as if the glove was studying him just as much he was studying it.

Fascinating.

The things he could do with this.

“Squire,” Zaria said.

“Not now.”

The glove wrapped around his hand, sealing at the wrist.

It did not escape Isaac’s mind that, like his father, he had been given the power of necromancy, without the decades of training sufficient to wield the art. Like his father before him, the first attempts at manipulating bone and sinew were likely to be sloppy.

But his arm was broken. He couldn’t perform any of the elemental mnemonics. If he was ever separated from Zaria, he would be defenseless. His enemies inside the Diet would surely take advantage.

He would soon need to use this glove. He was quite sure of that. Like his father, he would need to be very careful—

“Squire!”

Isaac was startled out of his thoughts. “What?”

Some twenty feet away, Zaria stood at the edge of a steep cliff, the gauntlets of her lamellar armor peeled away to reveal a bursting of tawny fur. The scar on her eye seemed very white in the morning sun.

“Come over here,” she said.

“What is it?” Isaac asked.

“Just c’mere.”

He looked around the edge of their campsite, which sat on a small mesa amongst a rising of foothills and rocky abutments. The desert spread for many miles. Above, the sky was clear and blue.

“Is the Diet coming?” Isaac asked. “They should be three days away, by march.”

“Get off your butt, love.”

“I can’t imagine that bandits would possibly follow—”

“Isaac, get your twiggly arse off the ground. Come on.”

“What is the problem, Z?”

She frowned. “The problem is you’re not fuckin’ over here.”

He opened his hands, confused.

“Isaac!” Zaria barked. “I’m gonna skin your keester!”

“What? What’s the problem? Why are you so upset?”

“Get over here!”

“Why?”

“Squire!”

“Fine!” Isaac yelled, throwing off the glove. He stood up, adjusted his armor, marched across the barren rock, glaring at Zaria. “What in the name of Ivtarr’s grace could possibly warrant such a stupid—”

Zaria placed her paw on his shoulder, stopping him. Gently, she turned him around. With his back to her chest, and his gaze facing the vista of the desert, she wrapped her arms around his chest, and laid her snout on his head, and pulled him into a soft, furry hug.

They stood together for a moment, feeling a warm breeze on the air.

“Oh,” Isaac said, blushing. “You just wanted to cuddle.”

Zaria gave a contented hum.

“Well, you could have just said so.”

“Ain’t as fun, that way.”

“You’re an awful thieving rogue, and I hate you.”

She nuzzled into his hair.

Isaac began to relent, and they stayed together for a few minutes, admiring the landscape. The day was bright and warm. It was nice to be travelling again. Truth be told, Isaac had spent so long inside Acheron, either scurrying through the dark confines of their sewers, or sludging through an endless rain of blood, that he had almost forgotten the simple pleasure of sunlight on his skin.

“Sorry,” Zaria said. “Just feel like I can breathe, now.” She took a long, slow lick of his hair. “Good to be free of that place.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Isaac said.

“Oh, the city of death and murder weren’t so bad, was it? What’s next? The hill of rape and torture?”

“You’re just being distrustful.”

“And you were beggin’ to lick their magic dust off a doorknob, when people were meltin’ into slush. I half expect you to grow a second cock.”

“Is that how twins are born?”

“Look, one of us had to keep our wits about us. That’s how it is. You scriven your little books. I keep you alive. If that means bein’ surly at times, so be it.” She tightened the hug. “No one touches you. Not while I’m growlin’.”

“Love you, Z,” Isaac said.

“Shut up, squire.”

He scratched the fur on her neck, just the way she liked it. Of course, he did understand why Zaria had been so defensive, during their stay inside the city. Acheron was a land of curses and ancient evil. As much he valued what he had come to learn, it was just as nice to turn his back on the city, and return to a normal world. There was a comfort there.

Not that he would know that comfort, for much longer.

It was time to return home.

Isaac tried to search for signs of the Diet’s armies. From where they stood, there was nothing to see. The desert was wide and empty. Even still, he knew it would not stay this way much longer.

Soon enough. . . .

Zaria tensed against him, looking up. “Xotra’s cunt.”

“What is it?” Isaac asked.

She pointed toward the sky. He searched, straining his eye. The glare of the sun was almost blinding.

A moment later, he saw it.

Something large and blue, cresting through the air. It was coming right in their direction. Just as Isaac was beginning to recognize the shape, the approaching creature spread its wings, and began to dive.

“I told ya so!” Zaria shouted, running for her axe.

Isaac sprinted for his glove.

They gathered their weapons, bracing behind an outcropping of rock. Just as they reached cover, the creature wafted her wings, slowing her descent. Gusts of wind slammed into their camp. The fire sputtered its logs, the pages of Isaac’s journal flapping against the binds. When the dragon landed on the edge of the cliff, Isaac felt the vibrations through the rock and stone, as if an entire meteor had fallen at their side.

After fully settling to the ground, the dragon sat on her haunches, standing more than thrice the height of a man. Her scales were a bright blue, her eyes a pupilless red.

“Emerge, if you please,” Lanir said. “We mean no harm.”

Isaac released a breath, fixed his hair, and emerged from cover. Zaria followed behind, muttering unkind words.

Kavaia jumped from Lanir’s back, landing on the hard rock below. She was a tall and towering figure, clad in Kesunae armor, wielding a warhammer that glowed with a mystic light. A moment later, a human leaped in front of her, barely reaching the height of her hip. He was dressed in a sleeveless plate of bronze scales, with little other clothing than a skirt and sandals.

Sadik strolled through their campsite, his posture collected and tall.

“Can we help you?” Isaac asked.

He stopped in front of them. He looked at Isaac, then at Zaria. His hair fluttered in the breeze. When he finally spoke, his voice was very serious.

“How would you two like to be double agents?”