Kaveh woke with a sniffle, and knew it was nearly time.
Over the course of the night, Yin had migrated to the middle of the bed and wrapped around him like a snake, as usual. With practiced ease, Kaveh coaxed his pillow into his place in her arms, and slipped out into the quiet beyond their bed.
Cassius’s shoes and walking-stick were gone. There was no surprise there—Cassius grew restless and irritable the longer he stayed indoors. He’d insisted on sleeping under the stars at first, until a spider had crawled into his bedroll in the night and reminded him that being inside had its advantages.
In the kitchen, a pot of black tea steamed gently beside two plates of bread, honey, and boiled eggs. He devoured the bread and honey first, savoring the precious sweetness, then shelled an egg and bit into it. It was still warm from the pot, the yolk as soft as thick jam.
Without warning, his stomach turned. A wave of powerful shame turned his mouthful sour, and he had to put the rest down with shaking hands. He sat still and breathed, hiding in plain sight from nothing at all. It was only with difficulty that he forced himself to swallow. His throat seized halfway through the motion, threatening to send it right back.
Kaveh shoved himself away from the table. His nails dug into the wood, and he wrenched his head to the side and forced himself to look.
In the front room, by the window that overlooked the garden, was an eclectic little collection. A rock that Yin had fished out of the river, with the imprint of an ancient shell. Various feathers of mountain birds. Cassius’s nearly-finished knitting project. A length of black hair, shot through with silvery-white, woven into an elaborate priestess braid.
Kaveh crossed the room with stiff, halting steps, and reached out to touch the hair. It was singed around the edges, dry and brittle after years of separation from its owner’s head.
His stomach settled. Kaveh finished the rest of his breakfast without difficulty.
Outside, the garden was in the throes of an early bloom. The air was cool and fragrant, and he sniffed it appreciatively until he sneezed and sniffled again. If all went well, he could enjoy next spring without all this itching and leaking.
He made his way around the flowerbeds and vegetable patches to his herb garden. With delicate care he took generous cuttings of lavender, chamomile, lemon balm, and saffron crocus, all the best-smelling herbs he could fill a basket with. One basket might not be enough, but he could always come back for more.
Then, turning onto the mountain path, he began to walk.
The mountain had its share of greenery, but further up it gave way to bare rock outcroppings. One particular cliff overlooked the prettiest side of the mountain, the house, the river that wound around the base, and the range beyond. The rock was bare, flat, and covered with boulders small enough to shift and carry.
It was perfect.
Halfway there, a splash of color caught his eye. A patch of wildflowers grew with feral abandon by the path, dotting the mountainside with a bright, cheery yellow.
Common weeds. The words came to him unbidden, sharp with disdain. Such things are beneath you.
He spent a few minutes picking them with angry relish.
Once Kaveh reached the cliff, he set down his basket and took a moment to enjoy the view. It was too late in the morning for a proper sunrise, but the clouds still bore lingering pinks and oranges around their edges. Tomorrow morning could be lovely, too—maybe, if the timing lined up, he could add a few colors of his own.
He found a number of rocks light enough to pick up and carry, and was arranging them into a circle on the flattest part of the outcropping, when the clack of a walking stick reached his ears. Kaveh looked up to find Cassius on the path, swallowed up in the windswept folds of his cloak.
He’d seen Cassius out on his morning walk at least a hundred times, and still his breath caught.
His first sight of the Oracle was the top of a head full of fluffy curls. Its owner knelt before the altar, one of a thousand supplicants the Temple Eternal saw in a week. Moments later, a face rose into view: round and healthy, with a skin tone that warred between a natural olive shade and the washed-out paleness that came with too little sun. Either a young man or an old boy; human faces could surprise you like that.
And speaking of surprises—
“What’s his name?” the young supplicant asked boldly.
He raised his head to stare. Beside him, Agape’s hand came down on his back, fingertips digging in—both steadying and warning. He lowered his head again, and kept one careful eye on them both.
“A name is a base, human thing.” Agape’s face was coolly blank. Perhaps the impudent question had shocked the scorn out of her. “The Lord of the Cleansing Flame has no need of one.”
The youthful human’s eyes flickered between them, before he bowed his head and let his curls tumble over his face. “Forgive my impertinence, High Priestess. I have come to ask for sanctuary. I was a—a prisoner, even though I committed no crime. I was told I’d be safe here.”
Mollified, Agape’s face softened to an almost-smile. “Our Temple Eternal gives sanctuary to all. You may fear no danger here.”
The young man continued to kneel in silent prayer before the altar until Agape was called away to other tasks. When the other priestesses were out of earshot, he raised his head just slightly, hiding his curious eyes behind his hair.
“Maybe she doesn’t have a name for you.” The words barely reached the Lord’s ears. “But I wonder if you have one for yourself?”
He was careful not to respond, keeping his head tucked beneath his wing. Moving too much jarred the aches in his body. The altar beneath him was solid stone with gilded engravings, too beautiful and intricate to be covered with cloth. A single embroidered cushion was his sole island of softness.
“I’m sorry,” the young man whispered. “I’m asking you for something that you can’t have.”
He wondered what the man meant by that, until hours later when an excited uproar rang out beyond the temple doors, and Agape strode in with a man at her side, tall and broad beneath a shining breastplate and fine linen cloak.
The young man was on his feet, fists clenched at their approach. “You said you gave sanctuary to all,” he gritted out.
Agape bowed. “And so I have sheltered you, until your revered family could bring you home. It is an honor to serve, Oracle.” To the armored man she offered a shallow nod. “I pray you remember our aid, my lord, should we ever call for yours.”
The lord’s hand was already on the young man’s shoulders, fingertips digging in. “The honor is ours, High Priestess.”
The Lord lifted his head again, hackles bristling, before Agape, without looking away from the oracle and the lord, touched the silver chain woven into her braid. He felt the touch like a knife to his throat, and shrank down in submission again as the Oracle was led away.
For Cassius, a walk from the river to the clifftops had once been nearly impossible. His muscles had been soft and loose, his lungs had fluttered and ached after two minutes of walking uphill, and his feet blistered easily. But he’d taken the pain as a challenge back then, and now the burn of the climb was a pleasant one, made even pleasanter by the sight that greeted him at the top.
His first thought was that Kaveh must have been feeling better, if he was up this early. His second thought stuttered to silence as he took in the grayish tinge that lingered in Kaveh’s formerly warm brown face, and the half-circle of stones at his feet.
“Oh.” Cassius’s heart sank, then flapped back up on determined wings. “Oh. Now?”
“Soon,” Kaveh replied, smiling at the confusion on his face. “Tomorrow, maybe.” He began to lift another stone, but wobbled dangerously under its weight and was forced to put it down again.
“Here, let me—” Cassius dropped his stick and came to help, and the two of them carried the stone to its place. He tried to keep his face smooth and neutral, but hiding his heart from Kaveh was a foolish endeavor.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Kaveh asked kindly. “This is a good thing.”
“It’s nothing,” Cassius replied, but a single look from Kaveh broke him. “Just a silly question.”
“I love your questions.”
Cassius brushed the grit from his hand before bringing it up to Kaveh’s face, thumb caressing his cheek. Kaveh leaned into it gratefully. His skin was warm—hot even, just barely within the range of comfort. If Kaveh had been anyone else, Cassius would have thought him feverish.
“Does it hurt?” Cassius asked. “It’s only been a year, but you’ve been so sure this was coming.” He hesitated. “It’s so soon. This whole time—”
“I wasn’t in pain,” Kaveh interrupted, turning to brush his lips against Cassius’s palm. “Just… tired. Frail. The allergies gave it away—I don’t get sick unless it’s nearly time.”
Cassius swallowed hard. “I just—if I didn’t notice, it’s not because I didn’t care—”
“There was nothing to notice, and even then, what would you have done?” Cassius’s face fell, and Kaveh shook his head. “You’ve done so much. I’ve been tired, frail, sniffly, and happier than I’ve been in centuries.” He took Cassius’s hands in his and squeezed. “Last year was… not the best of circumstances.” Cassius wheezed out a bitter laugh. “But there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here, with you and Yin. Alright?”
Cassius nodded absently, lacing their fingers together. “You’re burning up.”
“I am. I will. And then all will be well.”
Cassius nodded, released Kaveh’s hands, and turned to the circle of boulders and the basket of herbs and flowers. “Now. Do you mind if I help? I already have some thoughts about how to make it more comfortable.”
“It doesn’t have to be comfortable,” Kaveh pointed out. “All I’m going to do is burn on it.”
“And be reborn,” Cassius reminded him. “Agape always had you sitting on those ridiculous cushions—she never put any on your pyres?”
“No,” Kaveh said dully. “Just sacred spices, gems, precious metals, and the occasional weeping sacrifice anointed with holy oil. The Lord of the Cleansing Flame was above the need for comfort.”
“Well the Oracle of Imperium foresees the need for pillows and blankets,” Cassius said primly. “Wait here, I can—”
“There you both are!”
Cassius leapt almost a foot in the air. “How do you do that?” he demanded, turning to the figure standing on the path. “You’re on bare rock in shoes made of wood. For the sake of my nerves, would you please make more noise?”
Kaveh had the nerve to laugh at him, but Yin marched up to them both, her unscarred cheek red from either the sun and wind or a high temper.
“Didn’t either of you ever learn to leave a note?” she demanded. “You could’ve woken me up!”
“You looked so peaceful,” Kaveh sang out soothingly.
“You’re a nightmare in the morning,” said Cassius, at the same time.
Yin looked like she was about to shout at him, before her eye fell upon the pyre’s humble beginnings, and she went still and silent.
After a moment of no one speaking, Kaveh sighed. “You’d think I was actually dying. I mean, really, you two. This is a happy thing.”
“You’re right of course,” Cassius agreed, chagrined. “Would you like to help, Yin?”
Yin tripped over her own feet in her rush to join them, annoyance forgotten.
His first sight of the Rain Princess was lightning given human form.
In defiance of the laws in the House of the Oracle, she came armed; in one hand she easily lifted a massive curved blade mounted upon a polished wooden pole. The blade alone dwarfed all the swords his uncle’s men carried.
Stories had poured from her homeland thick and fast for years. The blood of countless demons had dried upon that blade, without leaving so much as a scar behind. The princess’s face was beautiful enough, light brown and spotless-smooth like unpainted pottery, but her eyes gave away her divinity. No full-blooded human had eyes of molten gold.
The Oracle was transfixed. His uncle, Lord Lucanus, looked at the princess the way a wolf sizes up a stag: with healthy respect, but no less hungry for it.
“You bless us with your presence, your highness,” Lord Lucanus said smoothly. “To what do we owe this unexpected honor?”
Those burning eyes never left the Oracle’s face. “I am here for an audience with the Oracle.”
“How may I serve?” he asked, before Lucanus could embarrass him by opening his mouth again.
The reply was instant. “You’re going to help me free my mother.”
The Oracle blinked, at a momentary loss for words, which unfortunately gave his uncle room to wag his foolish tongue. “You ask a heavy favor. What price will you pay?”
“Can you or can’t you?” she asked.
“That depends on—” the Oracle began. His uncle’s crushing grip on his shoulder silenced him.
“What price will you pay?” Lord Lucanus asked, and the Rain Princess’s eyes blazed with fury.
