"We have a problem with Rona."

My eyes flitted around the courtyard before returning to Pim. He perched on the edge of the fountain beside me, fingers drumming the stone beneath him. I leaned toward him and dropped my voice.

"Has someone seen her?"

"No, I don't think so... I have her locked in a room, and I slip away during breaks a couple times a day to feed her."

"Then what is the problem, Pim?"

He chewed on his lip. "Epsa, she wants to go outside."

"She tried to escape?"

"Worse." His fingers flattened against the stone, and his voice grew morose. "She asked nicely."

"You said no, of course?"

"I did..."

"And?"

His Adam's apple bobbed with a wet swallow. "And she started crying, Epsa. She... she didn't even want to hear a story. I didn't know what to do."

"Oh, Pim. You can't let that bother you. Do you think those Trogolese bastards would care about a crying Najilan child?"

He gave a slow shrug and twisted his lips to the side. "Maybe they would, eh? I don't know, but I'm starting to think we could be wrong about the Trogolese. Maybe Najilans only hate them because they fear them. Like spiders, you know?"

"Pim, I am not afraid of spiders or Trogolese. I hate spiders because they are disgusting, and I hate the Trogolese because they murdered my mother and left me to burn alive."

He exhaled heavily and reached over to squeeze my knee. "You are right, of course."

We fell into silence, interrupted only by a few bird trills and the never-ending splashing and bubbling of the stream behind us.

Then Pim said, "Well, the Royal Guard believes the last Trogolese warriors in the forest have been eliminated. Perhaps this is a good time to tell the King about Rona. I'm sure he would be willing to help her return to Trog. Everyone knows the King loves children."

"The King is preoccupied with the emboldening of the Resistance right now, especially after they murdered those two guards. I will meet with Izra at the Coupling again tomorrow, and I will find information to empower the guards against the Resistance. Then we can tell the King about Rona."

Pim nodded. "Alright... but what makes you so sure you'll find something?"

"I know what I need to do to gain her trust. But I need your help."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

I glanced around the courtyard once more and then spoke in a whisper. "Pim, do you still have that Lord Acrador necklace?"

* * *

On the night of my fourth Coupling, a wind storm wreaked havoc across the dry land. Deadened trees rocked, and branches creaked. Crusted grass tufts ripped free from the ground, and billows of dirt pelted my face and stung my eyes. As I rode, my tunic suctioned to my chest, and my trousers rippled around my ankles. The silver pendant hung cold and heavy between my breasts.

When I reached the open field of dirt, conversing pairs yelled to fight the howling wind, hands clutched unruly skirts and hats, and tents ruffled and flapped. The red tent was absent, but I spotted a slim figure across the field near where the tent usually stood. Her fist propped on her hip, and the wind tugged on her hair, trousers, and tunic. When her face turned toward me, I could have sworn her lips quirked. Happy... to see me?

Goddess damn it, my heart fluttered out an enthusiastic response like a schoolgirl spotting a crush.

With a pinch of my thigh, I reminded myself of my purpose. Tonight, I would serve my Kingdom. Tonight, I would not fail.

I weaved through the crowd, leaning sideways to fight the push of the wind. Ten feet from her, I noticed the sword strapped to her hip. Two wild boars. If Izra found me out, would she call me a wild boar, too? Would she drive that sword through my chest with empty black eyes?

Her gaze traveled over me, and she dipped her head in an approving nod.

"I had almost hoped comfortable clothing would make your looks less... distracting." She shrugged, and one side of her lips tugged up in a reluctant half-smile. "But no luck there."

I glanced down at the brown tunic and trousers borrowed from some unknown farmer and then raised my eyebrows at her. "Distracting? Even in a gown, no one sees me when I'm with you."

She tilted her head with a twitch of her eyebrows—amused, perhaps, but also a little sad. "It is funny how skewed your perspective is."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't." She crouched to pick up a lantern on her left. "Bring your horse and follow me."

"And... where are we going?"

"To my favorite place."

I retrieved my horse and met up with Izra in the woods just outside the Coupling. The wind stirred up flurries of dead leaves and howled through the treetops, drowning out the hubbub of voices nearby. Izra gave me one beckoning nod before steering her horse through the woods, and I lifted the reins and squeezed my heels together to follow.

After ten minutes of riding in silence, briny sea air permeated the trees, and crashing waves mingled with the roar of wind. A few minutes later, the trees dispersed, leaving rocky terrain and occasional clumps of brown grass. Without the meager protection of deadened tree limbs, the wind dried my eyes and pushed us back. My horse lowered his head into the wind and dug his hooves into the ground with each step.

Then the rocky terrain dropped away into the endless shimmering blue backdrop of the Paksha Sea.

We stopped at the edge of the bluff and tied our horses to one stubborn oak that split up through the rocks to battle the fierce wind. Izra turned toward me, and an errant strand of hair fluttered over her face, softening her visage.

"Ready to climb?"

I shot a glance at the steep drop-off and raised my eyebrows at her. "Here?"

"Yes, here." She started toward the edge of the bluff, hopped over a rock, and dipped out of sight.

"Izra?"

The wind carried her voice back to me. "Come on."

I strode to the edge and crouched, planting my hands on the rock to swing down. When my feet thumped the ground beside her, she continued, grabbing a craggy rock and slipping down between two boulders. Her movements were lithe and practiced. I clambered after her using muscle to compensate for lack of grace.

When we reached the sand at the bottom, she smiled at me and brushed her hands off on her trousers. "You did well."

I gazed out across the sea and watched the waves swell and plummet, a majestic display that paled in comparison to the excitement and sheer freedom in Izra's smile. "You sound surprised. Do most women fall on their way down?"

When a moment of silence followed, I glanced her way. Her smile remained, but smaller than before, and her eyebrows furrowed.

"You're the first person I've brought here."

I faltered under the weight of her words, a cumbersome chest I was afraid to open. Inside, I might find hidden daggers. Or worse, undeserved treasure.

I said, "Well, you are certainly popular at the Coupling."

She huffed a laugh and turned her own gaze toward the sea. "To be honest, I've never much liked the Coupling. I seek out the quick pleasure because my work can be... isolating. But I wish I could just settle down with one person and live a simple life." She sideglanced me and wrapped one hand around her other wrist, a gesture that made her appear strangely off-balanced. "Who knows... maybe I could even farm potatoes."

Against my will, my mind conjured an image of Izra wiping aside a lock of sweaty hair to smile at me from a crawling row of green sprouts.

I swallowed hard. "Izra..."

Her eyes flitted back to the sea. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply... I'm not normally like this. I don't know what's wrong with me."

A sharp pang squeezed my heart and sucked the air from my lungs—guilt mingled with a desire as sharp and strong and tragically beautiful as Izra. But while my heart and mind betrayed me, my mouth remained loyal to my cause.

"I like you, Izra, but I hardly know you."

She dipped her head. "I know. I have trouble sharing myself with others, and you deserve better. But... but you make me want to try."

Then her eyes met mine once more, lips pressed together. When she allowed her lips to part again, she whispered, "Can I trust you, Epsa?"

This was the opportunity I had been waiting for—a lobbed pass dangling in the air waiting to be snatched—but my muscles locked up in protest, and a trapped warning screamed through my chest.

Stay away from me, Izra. I am poison coated in nectar, and you are the one who deserves better.

I recognized my own thinking as ludicrous. Izra was an enemy of the Kingdom, not some innocent maiden.

I unbuttoned the top of my tunic and slipped a hand inside, drawing out the silver chain.

Her eyebrows drew close. "Lord Acrador."

I tucked my chin to examine the four-armed deity in my palm. "A gift from my mother, before she died."

A stab of guilt followed my lie. I hoped my mother would know I wished to obey my King, not disrespect our Goddess.

She gave her head a slow shake, eyes still pinned to the pendant. "Epsa, you shouldn't be wearing that. And you definitely shouldn't be showing it to someone you hardly know."

"I know... but I trust you. And I want you to trust me."

She studied the silver god a moment longer, dark eyes reflective and elusive. Then she whispered, "Did your mother die on the Day of Blessings twenty years ago?"

I blinked at her, throat tight. "What... what makes you ask that?"

"When you fell in the crowd on the Day of Blessings, I heard you speaking to your mother. Also, I have a... theory."

"A theory?"

"I hope I will trust you enough to tell you someday." Then she turned her back to me. "Come, follow me."

She cut off through the sand toward the rocky side of the bluff—and then disappeared. I jogged after her and stared at the space where she had disappeared. Lantern light winked through a crevice just wide enough for a body.

With a deep breath, I slipped through after her.

Stillness embraced me, though the wind still whistled past the crack behind me. Ahead, stalactites dripped down from the ceiling and stalagmites rose up from the floor, fantastical glowing fixtures I had seen in books. A puddle in the back corner rippled every few seconds with a musical plip. Viridescent deposits swirled in dark stone.

And in the middle of it all, Izra watched my exploration with a smile so alive. So beautiful.

"Wow," I breathed.

Her smile broadened. "And come see this."

We ducked under a sloping rock into a small cavern with a slab of flat rock across the back. Across the gray rock, vermilion and obsidian paintings glimmered in the lantern lights. A cat-like figure with two heads, a winged woman with hair trailing to her ankles, a muscled man with a V-smile and four arms...

"Lesser Gods," I said.

Izra nodded. "But Goddess Rashika is there, too."

Only then did I notice the conical helm and breasts of the one true Goddess near the center of the group. Voice carefully ambivalent, I said, "She stands among them like equals."

"A true leader does not need to stand above the crowd."

"Perhaps."

We both stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the ancient depiction. When Izra broke the silence, she spoke in a hushed, wistful tone.

"I have always thought they look like they are planning something together." The white of her eyes caught the lantern light as she sideglanced me. "Some sort of resistance, perhaps."

Anticipation prickled over me, half excitement and half dread. "Resistance of what?"

She lifted a hand and splayed her fingers on the wall beside the drawing. "I'm afraid the artist is long gone, so we can only use our imagination."

My nails bit my thigh again, pushing myself to take this opportunity. "If anyone wanted to worship the Lesser Gods together in Rakim, I wonder where they would go."

"They would have to be very serious about their faith to take such a risk." 

Her tone was almost dismissive, but I thought I heard an underlying question. I decided to take a chance.

"My mother was very serious about her faith. She... she had shrines scattered around the house, and she and I would pray to every single one of them each morning."

It was a truth—one close enough to my heart that real emotion roughened the edges of my voice and wetted the corners of my eyes. Five, six, maybe seven shrines... but all of Goddess Rashika.

"I'm sorry you lost her so young." The words floated to me, soft but animated—full of depth and promise. "Do you ever do the prayers she taught you anymore?"

In preparation for this evening, Pim had taught me a few of the Lesser Gods' prayers he remembered. I memorized the prayers sufficiently well for a convincing recital, but the words lodged in my throat, a balling wad of wrongness. Instead, I decided to tell another truth.

"When I was ten years old, I became very sick. At one point, the physician thought I would not survive the night. Somehow, I pulled myself out of bed and did the prayers my mother had taught me. When I returned to bed, my mother was there at my bedside." I imagined the fever-distorted outline of her face and her warm, slender hand clasping my small one... and how her love had brightened the room.

I kept my eyes on the painting ahead of me, but the images now blurred. "She stayed right there beside me for three whole days. Then I recovered, and she was... gone."

My last words wobbled and then broke. When I opened my mouth to speak again, my throat swallowed the words in a wet gulp. I had never told anyone this story before, and hearing the words aloud released a torrent of suppressed emotion. Not the gratitude I should have felt, but something hot and writhing.

Anger.

Because I had prayed every day and every night since then.

And my mother had never come back.

A warm hand touched my forearm, and I twisted toward Izra. Her eyes danced with warmth like stars flickering across the night sky.

"If anyone wanted to worship the Lesser Gods together in Rakim, they might find a temple built into the hillside a hundred yards inland from the old lighthouse."

My heart clenched. This was the information the Royal Guard needed—perhaps not enough to bring down the rebellion but certainly enough to cripple them. My plan had worked exactly as I had hoped.

But I hadn't planned on feeling like this.

My hand floated up to trace the curve of her soft, lush lips. Her lips parted, yielding to the gentle brush of my finger, and her dark eyes shone bright. A burst of bittersweet longing squeezed my chest, and I let my hand drop back to my side with a sharp exhale.

Her gaze fell to my own lips. When she reached toward my face, I thought she would touch my lips, but her fingers instead skimmed my cheek and then threaded into my tight curls. She moved slowly—so slowly—but with none of the jerky hesitation in my own movements. She moved with patience, as though content to revel in each small step.

As her face neared mine, I froze, heart pounding my chest in a wild stampede. Inches from me, she paused.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit nervous."

"I'm more than alright." I swallowed. "But I'm also more than a bit nervous."

Her lips stretched into a smile. "I didn't know anyone like you still existed."

"Anyone like me?"

"So sweet. So... genuine."

A lump hardened in my throat, an aching knot of words I could not say. I am not sweet or genuine. I am your undoing.

Unable to speak, I kissed her.

She tensed and released a soft gasp, but then her lips softened and readily responded. Her hand slipped down to my neck and pulled me in closer, mouth coaxing with growing urgency. Heat coiled in my stomach and smoldered across my skin.

My body began to move without my instruction. My hands found her hips and guided her toward the wall. As her back thumped the wall, my eyes flicked to hers for confirmation. Is this alright?

She wrapped both hands around the back of my head and tugged me in for another kiss.

The fragile impermanence of the moment somehow just made it all the sweeter—too sweet, perhaps, like I was remembering the kiss in wistful melancholy even as it happened. Fragile bliss bubbled in my chest, but bitter regret twisted my gut.