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After hundreds of years, the gladiator stadium was once more filled with bodies.

Once, in a time that many gods could still remember, this building had been the pride of its district. The arena had been stained with the blood of warriors, the stands had been filled with gleeful faces, and the stables below had shaken with the roar of modified beasts. Now, the arena was covered in a writhing carpet of refugees, the stands were overflowing with hammocks and cookfires, and the stables only carried the moans of the sick and wounded. Instead of roars and triumph, there came only the sounds of men who had been left to die because there was not enough medicine to treat them.

The noise was overwhelming. As Sadik walked through the stadium entrance, carefully picking his way across men and children attempting to sleep on bare stone, he felt the weight of a thousand different voices washing over his body. It was impossible to separate conversation from the moans of the sick and hungry, impossible to locate a single voice in the sea of faces. Everything disappeared beneath the flood.

His sandals crunched through sand as he entered the arena. He marched between rows of cots where people of all species and anatomy were attempting to rest. He passed by wounded soldiers and starving farmers, shamans who had been robbed of their possessions, children begging for charity, doctors performing their trade with little more than salted wounds and fervent prayer. Many recognized his face. Some reached out for aid. He ignored them all.

A small crowd had gathered toward the center of the open field, forcing Sadik to push his way through the tightening throng of bodies. Most of the men who stood in his path were clutching injuries of some kind—amputated limbs, festering gashes, the melted flesh of a Glimmer mod that had not received a maintenance dose. When Sadik emerged from the front of the mob, he found a line of Sons holding their sunspears out in a defensive phalanx. They nodded to him as he passed between their ranks.

In a cleared circle of sand, Kavaia had fallen to her knees. Her dark myrtle scales were covered in half-healed wounds and fresh streams of blood, as if she had been used as a practice dummy. Her eyes were dull, her long snout was panting, and the smell of superhealed flesh wafted through the air.

“Goddess!” someone shouted.

“My flesh burns!”

“My son! Bring my son to life!”

Kavaia raised her head, managed to focus her gaze, and motioned for the Sons to let the next man through.

A young girl came before her. She was a wolf, her eyes glowing with a modified luminescence that allowed all miners to see in the dark, and her limping gait suggested that she had already known hard labor.

“She’s sick!” her father shouted, standing at the edge of a spear. “Rot lung!”

The girl choked down a cough. She watched the giant crocodile as if she might get eaten at any moment. When Kavaia reached a hand toward her, she whimpered and shied away.

“Have faith,” Kavaia said, her deep voice straining at the edges. “Please.”

A corpse was thrown over the heads of the Sons. When it landed upon the sand, Sadik saw a human boy that had obviously perished from starvation. His open eyes were gaunt, his cheeks stretched and hollow. He had clearly been dead for quite some time, long before the curse of immortality.

“Save his soul, goddess!” a man shouted from somewhere in the crowd. “I beg you!”

“My wounds fester!”

“Bring your corpses! Bring your corpses!”

Kavaia tried to speak again, but her voice was lost beneath the tumult. The young wolf began to cry.

Between the gaps of the mob, Sadik could see a procession of families carrying bodies upon their arms and backs. Some might’ve been told to do so by Kavaia herself, all so that she could harvest the Glimmer inside their flesh. The others had falsely assumed that she could bring the dead back to life. Many in the crowd began to pass the dead further up the line, their lips whispering prayers.

Kavaia reached her hand toward the child. The wolf flinched, but did not run. When the crocodile touched her, a jolting sensation passed between them. Both of their bodies began to sag. Kavaia tried not to retch as her lungs filled with pus.

“Demon! Plague-bearer!”

There was a flash. A man screaming in pain. One of the Sons stepped forward and shoved several people back with the haft of his spear.

“You brought this upon us! You brought the plague!”

“Goddess! My son! Please!”

Kavaia released her grip on the wolf. The little girl took several breaths, her glowing eyes widening in surprise. Even the stunting of her limbs had seemed to melt away.

“Take my blessing,” Kavaia said, her bones knitting themselves below the skin. She tried to smile. “You carry the light of the stars. You—”

A bottle shattered on the sand. The air boiled with voices. The little girl cried in fear, ran through the Sons phalanx, and leaped into the arms of her father. In seconds, she had vanished into the crowd.

Kavaia’s smile fell from her face. After a moment, her reptilian features twisted in pain. While blood steamed from her wounds, she reached for the body of the human boy, coughing up a stream of pus and phlegm. Specks of light began to glow across the corpse’s flesh as the Glimmer was harvested.

Sadik saw his chance to intervene. He held up a hand to the hyena attempting to present herself next and stood before the goddess of death.

It took her a moment to register his presence. When she raised her head, her eyes seemed almost drunk. “Oh. My servant. Are you well?”

Sadik examined her. She was wearing a makeshift dress that had obviously been patched together from several other articles of clothing. It was matted to her scales with blood.

“You must stop killing yourself, Sadik. It’s quite lost its charm.”

“Goddess,” Sadik said. “You have to stop.”

“Back!” one of the Sons yelled. “Get back!”

Something was thrown. A sunspear stabbed into a falcon, setting several feathers alight. Both the crowd and the phalanx of Sons were growing restless. Sadik was well aware that his men were outnumbered.

“No,” Kavaia said, focusing her attention on the human boy. She could feel the emotions of those she harvested, and her eyes were glazing over as she took more Glimmer from his body. “These people need me. It’s . . . it’s a pittance. Nothing I haven’t . . . thousands of times before.” She flinched from the boy, as if she’d seen a particularly painful memory. “They have nothing else. They’ve lost the gods. They’ve lost the only—”

Sadik hugged her. Because she was kneeling, and large enough that she still remained at head height with him, he chose to wrap his arms around her neck. Her scales were slimy, cold and wet.

“Please stop,” he said.

Her body flinched around him, unsure of what to do.

“You cannot save everyone. You will only start a riot.”

“They need me.”

“They need more than you can give.”

She tried to pull away. He hugged her tighter against his body.

“Please stop,” he said.

“I have to try.” Her snout shifted along his shoulder. “I deserve this.”

He rubbed his hands along the vast expanse of her back.

“I have ended millions of lives,” Kavaia said. “I broke generations for the greater good, ignored endless pleas for mercy, endured anguish and hatred—”

He continued to rub. She shivered at the touch.

“I’m free. I can aid those I wish. For the first time, I can—after centuries of wishing that I could finally—”

“It’s alright,” Sadik said. “I know.”

“Do you know? Do you know how it feels to take this suffering upon yourself?”

He did not reply.

“I see it all,” Kavaia said. “The fear. The pain. All these people, I feel their thoughts soaking my bones. Carving my flesh. Their suffering—”

“I know,” Sadik said.

“The suffering. Endless suffering.” Her throat bulged as she stifled a cry. “It’s so vast.”

“I know.”

“Each mind is a world. Thousands of worlds. As real as you and I.”

“I know.”

“I . . . I. . . .”

He tightened his hug. Her long snout pressed against his back, and her arms began to wrap around him in kind, pulling him flush against her chest. Her body was cold and trembling.

The voices yelled. The people gathered. The air was a storm of motion.

“You need to rest,” Sadik said. “I will take you to a bed.”

“A few more. I can withstand a few more souls.”

“Goddess.”

“I deserve this. I have failed. I must pay the cost—”

“Kavaia.” He breathed against her. “Please.”

She whimpered. He rested his cheek against the hard ridges of her scales, his eyes staring through the crowd. At the edge of a phalanx, hundreds of people screamed and begged.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He stepped back. She rose unsteadily to her feet, still covered in a dozen wounds. When he was sure she could walk, he wrapped his hand around her own and gave a gentle squeeze. She closed her eyes in shame.

They left the stadium while under guard by a ring of spearmen, ignoring the shouts and cries.

---

The brothel had seen better days.

In the intervening centuries, an ancient, rusted cistern had collapsed from the sewers above, smashing half the building into a pile of rubble. Looters had stripped the wardrobes and storage chests. All the erotic paintings had been reduced to rotten scraps, and the only perfume that still roamed its halls was the ever-present tinge of sewage.

Still, the brothel had reopened for business. Ladies and men beckoned from torchlit windows. Graffiti on the walls promised exotic pleasures in any shape the heart desired. It was not uncommon for prostitutes to regularly modify themselves with Glimmer whenever a client presented particular tastes—gaining muscle, gaining fat, growing appendages, changing the size of their bodies, changing their species, gender, skeletal anatomy, the capacity of several orifices, creating new orifices where none existed before, and so on. If a client wanted it, most brothels scrambled to provide.

Sadik had taken Kavaia here for several reasons. First, the den of iniquity was one of the few buildings in the underground ruins that contained fresh and comfortable beds. Second, he required a great deal of discretion. Now that word had spread of the goddess’ arrival, people would come searching, and many of them would be far more inclined to vengeance than prayer. He could not even trust many of his men with the task. It was not a perfect choice, but it was the best one he had.

If Kavaia had any reservations about her new quarters, she did not make them known. The only sign of discomfort was some awkward maneuvering beneath the ceiling.

Sadik helped her inside the room. It was the size of a dungeon cell, with a stone bed in the corner and cracked frescoes on the walls. The only source of light was a small, grated window. When Kavaia attempted to lie on the bed, her body engulfed the feathered mattress, and her legs came so far off the frame that they nearly reached the opposite wall.

“Is this . . . sufficient?” Sadik asked, suddenly unsure of his choice.

She sighed.

Sadik left her alone to negotiate a deal with the matron of the brothel. Some concessions were made for extra guards and fungus rations. When he returned, the crocodile had shifted onto her side, facing the stone wall. Her tail slithered around the room.

Sadik closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to keep a modicum of distance. For several moments, the two of them sat in silence. Conversations and laughter drifted in from the surrounding rooms.

“Are you hungry?” Sadik asked. “I can have food brought for you.”

She shook her head.

“Gods of your stature have prodigious appetites. I’ve seen the feasts.”

She did not answer.

Several moments passed in silence. Sadik idly adjusted the padding below his armor. “You’ll be safe here. None of the worshippers will bother you.”

She began to lift her head from the mattress, as if preparing to speak. Nothing came. She faced the wall once more.

Through the small window, he heard the sound of shattering glass. Several footsteps passed by their door. Sadik filled the silence by counting the chines and ridges on her tail.

“Would you. . . .” He cleared his throat. “Would you like a massage?”

After a moment, she twisted her head to glance at him. “Come again?”

“A massage.” He gestured at the frescoes on the wall, all of which depicted various acts of carnality.

“I’m familiar,” Kavaia replied, deadpan. “Why are you offering?”

Sadik looked into a shadowy corner. Embarrassment burned across his face.

“I often gave massages to the Vizier. After a long day in court, she would return to her chambers still troubled by her decisions, thinking of consequence and strategy until the worry stretched across her face. Nothing I ever said could ease her mind. So, I. . . .” He rubbed his palms together, forcing himself to speak. “I would give her a massage. I would tell her to relax as best she could, and then I would knead my hands across her body, focusing on the spots where I knew she ached the most.” He gestured to his face. “The crook of her jaw below the stone mask was always stiff. You could bounce a pebble off the nape of her neck. There was a certain dimple on her hip that always. . . .”

He glanced at Kavaia. She watched him with widening eyes. Every instinct told him to remain silent, lest he be punished for the admission. At the same time, something compelled him to speak.

“Well,” Sadik said. “She would tell me that not even the gods had known such joys. She loved every one of my massages, and I would love giving them to her. I was happy to serve. Happy to make a difference.”

“You were quite skilled,” Kavaia said. “In my chambers. Your fingers. . . .”

“Goddess, if I may be so bold.” He leaned toward her. “I know how to please a woman.”

Her throat bulged. There was apprehension in her eyes.

“So,” Sadik said, “would you like a massage?”

She opened her maw. After a moment, she fell onto the bed with a sigh. It sounded more like acceptance than permission.

“On your front, please.”

She rolled onto her stomach. Sadik cracked his knuckles in preparation, rubbing his palms together until they were near hot with friction. When he placed his hands on her calves, a shiver passed up the length of her body. He began to rub her legs with long, gentle strokes, slowly rising from her calves to her thighs, making sure that every muscle had been prepared for the deeper techniques. By the time he reached her buttocks, he could feel a subtle rumbling through the floor.

He journeyed across her flesh. The supple skin of her buttocks spilled between his fingers, and hard cords of tension met his palms once he began to dig into her back. She was both soft and hard, flexible and strong, the interplay of steely muscle and doughy fat tempting him to seek out every inch of her body. It took him much longer than necessary to reach her shoulder blades. He lingered and lavished. She began to shift restlessly beneath his grip.

“Goddess,” he said. “When was the last time someone did this for you?”

Her saffron eyes opened, attempting to refocus.

“Can you remember?”

“. . . no. I cannot.” Her tail began to flex. “Not since I was mortal. Centuries, at least.”

“I can tell. You are starved for touch.”

He shifted from long, gentle strokes to the guided pressure of thumb and finger, seeking out any knots of muscle through the large myrtle canvas of her body. He found many that needed attention. The pads of his thumbs dug into the nape of her neck, working in tight circular motions, feeling years of stress and tension wither beneath his touch. She groaned with the effort, her tail nearly swatting him like a falling tree. He found more clusters of muscle, the same locations that Hisana had always directed him towards, and he attacked with them a gentle ruthlessness, not stopping his ministrations until he had worked the muscle into submission.

“Lower,” Kavaia said, her voice breathless.

“Hm?”

“My spine. The—the base of my tail.”

“Oh,” Sadik said, feigning surprise. “Were you enjoying this?”

She began to growl.

He roamed down her body. The hard ridges on her spine offered little opportunity for massage, but he began to burrow his fingers into the gaps between her scales, seeking out the soft flesh beneath. Her back arched beneath his grip, like she was only now discovering this part of her body. While the fingers of one hand continued the assault, he brought his other back up to the expanse of her shoulder blades, massaging the thinner scales in the direction of her heart, making sure that the pleasure would flow through the blood and out into the limbs. Her rumbling shook the room. With practiced skill, he began to play the goddess of death like a musical instrument.

“Warm,” she said, as if it was all she could manage. “Stars, you’re warm.”

Despite the growing ache in his fingers, the time had come for a climax. Sadik hovered above her tail, allowing her a very brief moment to rest, and then he dug his fingers into the point where the appendage met her spine. Kavaia tensed immediately. She bucked her hips like a destrier, nearly knocking him back with the force of the thrust. He weathered the blow, bringing both hands to task, spreading his fingers and sharpening the pressure. She made a sound that was not out of place for a brothel.

They moved in tandem. Sadik pressed his full weight into his fingers. Kavaia outright cracked the stone wall with a careless sweep of her tail, constantly shifting her hips in time with his strokes. For a long, blissful time, the world beyond their room seemed very far away. There was only touch, motion, and desire.

Minutes passed. Sadik would be hard-pressed to say how many. When he finally stopped his efforts, both of them were left breathing heavily. Freshly broken stone fell from the wall. A dozen erotic frescoes seemed to watch with approval.

Sadik rose back to his feet, trying to flex the aches from his fingers. “Was that good enough for a god?”

“You. . . .” She released a shuddering sigh. “There should be temples in your honor.”

“Oh, you flatter me, goddess.”

“Cults of worship. Prayers untold. All the wealth of empires.”

“What would be my title? God of the fingers?”

“God of pleasure! Long may he reign! May all the world hold envy in their hearts!”

Sadik made a noise in his throat, looking away. “Unfortunately, I’m quite satisfied with a job well performed. Apotheosis can wait.”

He heard movement on the bed. Kavaia had shifted onto her back, watching him with an expression that was equal parts timid and hungry.

“Come here,” she said.

“Would you like your front, now?”

“No. Your hands. They’re—they’re—” She gestured helplessly. “They’re warm.”

“They have other qualities, I’m sure.”

“Come here,” she repeated, opening her arms. “I need your warmth.”

“Was that an order, goddess?”

Her only response was to clumsily tear off the fabric of her dress. Her breasts spilled free, each one larger than his head, the black areolae nearly glistening in the dim light. The slits of her eyes narrowed upon him.

“Could you repeat yourself?” Sadik asked. “I am your servant, after all. I need clear instructions.”

Her rumble shook the stone. “I have spent centuries longing for this. So help the leaves and stars, you will not leave me wanting.”

He leaned forward. “How may I serve?”

“Share your heat, mortal.”

“Gladly.”

Sadik began to strip off his armor. Kavaia watched him like a coiled snake. When he removed the last of his padding, she gripped his arm and pulled him on top of herself. He landed in the pillowy valley of her breasts, their bare chests meeting together, her body so encompassing that the bottom of his feet barely reached her thigh. Without the fabric of her dress, he could feel the chilled touch of her scales, the soft give of her belly, the strong rise of her breath.

Kavaia groaned toward the ceiling. Her hands fell against his back, pressing him deeper into her body. “Oh, this is a miracle! A gift from Aldunya!”

“I made this myself, actually.”

“It’s divine! Do you mean to tell me that mammals are always this warm? All the time? For no reason?”

“I suppose we are.”

“Oh, it’s wasteful! Pure decadence! How could you go around refusing to share your body?”

“It should be a crime,” Sadik said, resting his cheek on her chest.

“Yes! All heat must be shared, by threat of death! No longer shall the cold go unswaddled. Ours will be an enlightened age.”

Sadik dipped his arms low, burying them beneath the generous heave of her breasts. She loosed a satisfied rumble.

They laid together in silence. Hushed conversations drifted in from the other rooms, tinged with giggles and laughter. Through the window, heavy boots scraped against loose gravel as a guard patrolled the street. The smell of leaking sewage hung on every breath.

Sadik focused on the beating of her heart. It pounded in his ear, easily eclipsing the strength of his own. As their breathing fell in sync, and his heat suffused through her body, their hearts gradually aligned in rhythm, like twin drums pounding into the air. One soul in two bodies, as Hisana would say. If he closed his eyes, pressed his cheek deeper into her chest, he could almost imagine. . . .

“Sadik.”

He opened his eyes. The room was small and dark.

“Why are you doing this?” Kavaia asked.

He adjusted his position atop her, feeling the weight of her breasts slide along his shoulders. “Is it not pleasing you?”

“Quite the opposite. It’s. . . .” A long breath flew above his head. “I cannot express how much I’ve wanted this. Something as simple as a touch. An ear to listen. I cherish it like the desert cherishes water.” One of her fingers traced a lazy pattern along his tattoos, roaming from shoulder to hip. “That’s my concern.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve been selfish,” Kavaia said. “I risked your life for my own ends. I . . . lost control, in my chambers. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and danger, and, yet, inexplicably, you insist on showing me kindness. I should’ve been left for dead.”

“I’ll admit that some of it was duty, but—”

“Is that it, then?” Her heart began to thunder in her chest. “Is the rest mere charity? Are you doing this with the same pity that one would have when feeding a stray dog?” Her touch lightened on his back, as if she was preparing to pull away, but could not quite bring herself to do so. “I don’t deserve this. You should save your effort for better tasks. Nema knows there’s enough suffering already.”

“Goddess,” Sadik said. “With all due respect, faith is a choice. True worship cannot be demanded—only given. You should know this better than I.”

A low keening vibrated through her body. “Why? What could you possibly see in me?”

“I’ve told you before. You saved my family’s life. I would’ve died as a boy if not for your aid.”

“I don’t have the slightest memory of this.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. The savior may not recall the saved, but the saved will always recall their savior.”

The keening continued. His head rose and fell with the heave of her chest.

“Do you mind if I tell you the story?” he asked.

Her head fell back against the bed. Once again, her sigh sounded more like acceptance than permission.

“I was born in a small hamlet close to the dunes,” Sadik said. “The only thing more common than marauders was sickness. The living was hard, the water was scarce, but my family made do with what they possessed, as everyone must. Sometimes, we were happy.”

With his arms nestled beneath her breasts, he began to trace the curve of her muscles below the armpit. She shivered at the touch.

“Our fortune ran dry. Blight spread through the farms. My mother came down with fever, and nothing we could do would break the spell. My brother volunteered to sell himself for food. I hunted the hills day and night for medicinal herbs. It was never enough. Eventually, all the other families began to abandon their homes. They formed a caravan toward Acheron, hoping beyond hope that they would be the few who were chosen to enter. Most of my family joined. My sister took her chances in the dunes, hoping to reach the land of the wizards. I doubt I’ll ever know if she succeeded.”

He blinked through the gloom, pulling back into memory.

“Less than half survived the journey. There was little water, endless cliffs to ascend. Many were so weak from starvation that they would simply collapse into the dirt, and few possessed the strength to save them. I had to carry my mother upon my back when I could barely walk myself. She was lost in fever. Delirious. I could do nothing but watch her fade.

“Seeing the Neheamatt’s canopy felt like salvation. But, days later, when we arrived at the cerulean walls, there was already a crowd forming by the gates. Hundreds upon hundreds of souls, each with a similar story. My youngest brother died of thirst mere cubits from the walls. I remember the guards watching from the ramparts, looking down at his corpse with disgust. I remember praying up towards the leaves and bark for the smallest drop of water. Nothing came. In the end, I just . . . laid down in the dirt. Waited for something to come. Anything at all.”

He tilted his chin upward.

“I felt a shadow. When I opened my eyes, you were kneeling above my mother, drinking the sickness from her body with a touch of your hand. You were. . . .” He breathed out. “Goddess, I was raised in a hut of dirt and straw. I expected to live all my days beneath its roof. When I saw a god walk before me—colossal in size, adorned with silver and gems—I was dazzled. Awestruck. When you turned your attention to me, ridding my body of thirst with a single touch, I was so overwhelmed that I began to weep.”

Neither of them spoke. On the wall, carnal frescoes leered through the dark.

“You didn’t say a word,” Sadik said. “Not to me, or my family. But I remember—for a moment, you gazed at the other refugees gathered below the walls, all while the ailments roiled your flesh. I saw pain in your face. Not just the pain you had taken from me, but all the pain you had not taken from the others. I thought you would’ve taken mountains upon your back to ease their suffering.”

Kavaia did not reply. She watched the low ceiling as if the stone might peel away.

“You were breaking your providence to heal us. I did not know it, then, but I know it now.”

“Yes,” Kavaia replied. “Aldunya’s gifts are only for the chosen few. Lanir made that quite clear when I was given punitive measures. The rest of the pantheon spat on me for not focusing on the needs of Acheron, but there was. . . .” She made a disgusted rumble. “There were no politics outside the walls. I did not need to worry about neutrality, the balance of Glimmer, marring the schemes of a god. It was simple. I needed simple. So did the people.”

“My family needed you,” Sadik said. “And you were there. That made all the difference.”

Her heartbeat had become slightly faster than his. It felt as if his heart was a ripple in her wake.

“You looked down at me, this withered child covered in dirt and tears, and you sent a little pulse of relief coursing through my body, as if reassuring me that everything would be fine, and then you were on your way, heading for the next life to save. That was all I ever saw of you, until we met again. It was all I ever needed. I’ve lived my entire life in the hope that, one day, I may follow your example. Your face has never left my mind.”

She took a few moments to respond. “Is that enough? Do a few lives make me worthy of redemption?”

“Saving one person will not change the world,” Sadik said. “But, for that one person, the world will change forever.”

Her breath turned ragged. Her fingers curled along his back.

“I do not call you ‘goddess’ out of jest or contempt. It is a title of respect, one that is only given to few, and one that even fewer deserve. I understand that you may not wish to hear it any longer, that, after all you’ve suffered, it may feel like I am twisting a knife in your belly, but. . . .” He rested his cheek against her chest, feeling the same relief he had felt as a boy. “Because of that day, you will always be a goddess.”

She began to cry. He stroked her as best he could. They laid together in a small, dark room, feeling their touch, hearing their breath, responding to their needs, going blind to a world that had demanded only sacrifice for their entire lives. For a brief moment, it was enough. It was all they had ever needed.

But it did not last forever. Sadik felt the call of duty gnawing at his mind. There were decisions to be made, orders to be given, hundreds of endlessly festering tasks that always preceded a military operation. If the Vizier was to be overthrown, if order was to be restored to the city, he would have to be strong.

“I have to go,” Sadik said.

Kavaia didn’t answer. Her hands remained on his back, pressing his chest into her own.

“Goddess.”

“A little longer.”

He tried to push himself up. Her grip remained strong.

“Please,” she said.

“I have to go. My men need a leader.”

“. . . I need you.”

He managed to crane his neck. She had titled her long snout to the side, watching him with a single eye.

“Please.” Her low voice began to crack. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“. . . a little longer.”

He relaxed once more. Her grip on his back turned soft, idly stroking the scars and muscle. As the minutes disappeared, and Sadik rested his cheek against her chest, he found himself drifting into a rest more pleasant than sleep. There was gentle touch. Long, steady breaths. A beating heart beneath his own. He had missed the feeling more than he ever imagined.

Eventually, Kavaia gave a quiet sigh, loosing her grip upon him. He climbed off her body and began the arduous task of putting on his armor. She watched his every move, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

“You will be safe here,” he said. “I’ve worked out an arrangement with the matron. She’ll provide food, discretion, entertainment.”

“Entertainment? In a brothel?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard the whores are quite adept at cards.”

It took her a moment, but, despite herself, Kavaia managed to snort. “What other accommodations may I enjoy?”

“Hot baths, venereal disease. Everything the heart desires.”

She almost smiled.

Sadik adjusted a few of the bronze scales on his kepresh. “If you do have need of me, feel free to ask one of my men. They’ll direct you to my abode.” He gazed towards the door. “For anything. Even just to talk.”

She continued to watch him, her saffron eyes bright in the gloom.

“Well,” he said, beginning to leave, “have a good night, goddess.”

“Sadik.”

She grabbed his arm. He blinked. For a moment, Kavaia hesitated, letting worry spread across her face. Then, she leaned forward and bashed her snout into his lips.

It was not a very pleasant experience. Her teeth scraped everything they touched, and her attempts to correct position only bumped her snout against his chin. His bones began to ache.

“What are you—”

“Wait, wait—”

She opened her maw, attempting to meet his lips again, but she opened too wide, and Sadik received a painful bump on the nose.

“Goddess,” he said, leaning backward, “are you trying to kiss me?”

She tightened her grip on his arm. For a moment, she pulled away, determining the angles. With a bit more care, she twisted her head to the side, opened her maw wide, and engulfed Sadik’s cheeks between her jaws. A slimy tongue battered his face. His entire world became teeth, breath, and saliva.

“Kavaia—”

She released his head from her jaws. “Let me nibble your face.”

“Can I appreciate the thought?”

“No,” Kavaia said. “You will accept my tonguing.”

“. . . as you wish.”

The crocodile opened her maw. He did not resist. She gently clasped his cheeks between her jaws, giving him soft, tender nibbles. He tried to return the kiss, but her tongue was easily as wide as his neck, and all his efforts were smothered in a series of heavy licks. For the most part, Sadik let her do with his face as she pleased, trying not to imagine how easily she could crush his skull.

Eventually, after a dozen breaths, she released him from her jaws. Saliva dripped down his chin. Every inch of his face tingled with the memory of her teeth.

A silence dragged between them.

“Well,” Kavaia said, “that worked . . . rather well.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Did you not?”

“Being eaten alive is an interesting experience, to be sure.”

If the goddess of death could blush, she would be cherry red. “I am centuries out of practice. Forgive my . . . eagerness.”

He wiped a handful of slabber off his face. “I suppose it could be charming. Like the affections of a pet.”

“Sadik,” she said. “Let me be clear. If you give me another massage, I will do far more than lick.”

Now it was his turn to blush.

She released his arm. But, instead of lying back against the bed, she remained close to his face, searching through his eyes.

“Thank you,” Kavaia said. “Words will not properly express my gratitude, but . . . thank you. Saving your life was my finest mistake.”

Sadik felt the corners of his mouth begin to pull. It did not became a smile, but it wanted to.

“That . . . sounded kinder in my mind.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Yes. Well. Good.”

“Hmmm.”

He opened the door. Torchlight blossomed across the room. For a moment, he remained in the doorway, letting the eye contact linger.

“Good night, Kavaia.”

“Good night, Sadik.”

He closed the door. He left the brothel. And, hours later, he was still thinking of her.