Hawk put her hand in her mouth and bit down, hard. The taste of blood was almost immediate, coppery and warm. The pain, too, was intense and present. Blood dribbled out of her lips, onto the white nobility of her robes, making them little more than a pretty lie.

But it was nothing like the Archon’s face.

She’d been a beautiful woman, and the remnants of it remained. She was slender and paler than most, with thick auburn hair that she’d looped away from her face in braids. Her complexion was flawless, she had beautiful cheekbones and a strong nose. And her mouth was where her eyes should be.

The one huge staring orb between the cupid’s bow of her lips was bright blue. She moved her lips as if they were eyelids, and a tear duct sat in each corner, constantly weeping what Hawk hoped were tears. There was a mouth where each eye should be, the same perfect lips there, too, albeit unpainted. White pearlescent teeth, human and stubby, sat behind each lip, parted slightly so Hawk could see each tongue.

“Behold!” those lips said, again. “Behold the love of our God.”

I will not scream, Hawk thought, to herself. I absolutely positively will not scream.

“How great is our God,” sang the crowd. “How good is She to those who love Her.” And it even sounded true and reverent, as if they really did believe they were looking at a gift.

Mercifully, there was no terrible call for sacrifice. This horrible show continued, with Earth’s Archon standing there, maskless and horrible beneath the glaring false sun of her pavilion. And then, at some signal Hawk did not see, she relaxed and put her mask back on. “Partake of my God and Her Generosity!” pronounced the Archon, and the crowd of worshippers fell on the food as if that were somehow a good thing to wish for.

The Archon of Light said nothing, but laid a hand on hers as she sat down, her mask safely in place.

“And so I have proclaimed Her good works for yet another season,” said the Archon of Earth.

“May we all be so blessed as you,” said the Archon of Light. His tone was not mocking, but rather seemed sympathetic.

The Archon of Earth said nothing for a long time. Then her mask jerked as she looked in Hawk’s direction. “And you, girl. You tell me what you think of my God’s gifts?”

And there was the trap, yawning in front of her as if smothered by its own bulk. Her real thoughts couldn’t be stated at all—Hawk found the Archon and her God both horrible beyond words—and her first question—How? How could anything do this?--wouldn’t go over well. But her heart felt unsettled. This was a woman in pain, humiliated by her own God, and forced to worship because…well, what choice did she have? In her God’s service she was worthy and beautiful and a beacon to others. Outside of it…well, the world would consider her a freak. Maybe outside this pocket universe from hell, with real doctors and medicine and some serious therapy, this woman could manage to have a life. But she’d have to get away from her God first, and Hawk suspected even that much would be impossible.

She was also a wounded animal. A great many things, including her impulsive murderous so-called sacrifice, made sense. And Hawk was now her target. Nothing is as dangerous as something pained and trapped.

“I think…those gifts should be pondered and considered,” Hawk finally managed. “And your question ought to be answered thoughtfully.”

“Because you need to think of something kind?” The voice dripped with promised cruelty. It seemed for a moment that the altar itself had grown hotter. And now Hawk’s throat was dry. She’d tried to escape the snare, and instead found herself deeper in. Oh, god, oh god, what would Alex do?

He wouldn’t be here, right now. Not unless you were here, too. Let’s go with Hawk. What would Hawk do, if these were the last words she ever said? Because we all know they will be.

“Because you’re in pain,” Hawk said.

“Excuse me?” The Archon sat up straight in her chair. “You dare?”

“Good or bad, wanted or unwanted, your gifts pain you. You carry that pain well,” Hawk lied through her teeth, “but it seeps out. You were weeping, now, even while you celebrate. So yes. A great deal of thought should be taken. You are in pain. I have no desire to make that pain any worse.” And she lied then, too. She would very much like to make this woman’s pain worse. But that would be in response to her actions, not because of her…whatever you wanted to call it. Injury. Affliction. Curse.

The Archon of Earth sank back into her seat slowly. “You would care for my pain? More than you would care to flatter my Goddess?”

“Oh, no!” Hawk said it immediately. That snare she spotted a mile away. “But your pain is a product of your God’s efforts. Shouldn’t that be acknowledged? Maybe even celebrated, too? Not many people could carry such a gift the way you do.” By murdering the fuck out of everyone around you, Hawk definitely did not say that. In fact, she was now pretty sure she was speaking to the Archon of Earth the way she did to her own mother. April Rayne had a lot of problems, with objective perspective on her own behavior being very sorely lacking.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The Earth Archon looked at her for a long time, fingertip tapping against her green-and-gold mask. Water dripped steadily from its chin, a lachrymose fall that glimmered like starlight. “So much wisdom spoiled in youth. This is quite the woman you’ve found, my Brother.”

“Yes,” the Light Archon said, and sounded a bit nervous. “And young.”

“I have not forgotten. She’s surrendered her name to you. Not to me. I was not blessed to know of her existence, her presence…” the Archon waved a hand, sending away three pitchers of juice…or wine, more probably. And Hawk had to remind herself, again, that she was very drunk. “Can you tell me where you are from?” Earth said.

“She has surrendered her name, Sister,” Light corrected.

“What is your family? Their name? Their crest? Where do they hold?” Earth said.

“My sister, please—”

“I know. You hold her name. You hold her leash. How great and magnificent and wonderful for you, that you may continue to give the best we have to a dead god’s house. While my lady’s house suffers for want of good hands.”

There were, Hawk assessed, nearly a thousand people here, working to keep this ambulatory temple going. The musicians were amazing, the food was to die for, and the sheer amount of wealth around this woman was eye-bleeding. Even Kaiser would be given pause at this. At least the Lion of Industry had known when to be discreet with his money. All of this, the food that would be wasted, the cloth and gems that would be abandoned, was more than most people on Earth could dream of. It was all spent so she could travel in continual comfort. Light, she thought, had been working his own garden. And…

…this was another trap. One laid for her own blighted sense of self-righteousness. She caught the sliver of a bright gaze through the—oh god—mouthpiece of the mask. The eye was watching her…and maybe even smiling.

“I suppose we all must make do with what fate provides us,” Hawk murmured. It was the best she could come up with on short notice.

The Archon of Earth sat up a bit stiffer. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we should discuss how the temples of Earth and Light may…benefit each other in their own largesse.”

Oh FUCK. Hawk thought. She’d missed the track entirely. She thought the Earth Archon was setting her up as a sacrifice. Not that Earth actually wanted Hawk’s scrawny Black ass.

“I have many prizes to offer the Master of Earth,” the Light Archon said, delicately.

“And I only want one of them. One that I will replace with whatever is desired. A thousand bolts of silk-and-silver, with fifty fleet-hares and a dozen Bar-hauls to pull it all. Or bushels of food from our greenhouses. Enough fish to feed your meanest streets. A trade where you may dictate terms.”

Song ran through the silence between the Archons like silk through air. Dancers spun in ecstatic fury, each dancer replaced with a new one as the current one tired. The scent of food and incense warred with each other in a pleasant battle. And still the Light Archon did not speak.

Finally, when it was clear the Earth was done, he moved his finger and thumb across his own robes, then sighed. “A remarkable offer, but one that is, sadly, flawed. One may only replace like with like. If a thing is irreplaceable, it must be matched only by something alike in shape and value. A statue for a statue. Jewels for jewels.”

“And I ask for something of less value. One person, among many.”

“Then you should, perhaps, look to your own people to find her match.”

“There is no match. Your servant is irre…” she trailed off.

“So give to me someone who is her match. Knowledge for knowledge, act for act. Give me someone that can equal her in her entirety, and I will surrender.”

The hatred that Earth glared at Light’s Archon was almost enough to sear clouds shut across the face of the world. “She is human. No human is better than any other.”

“Then let me take you,” The archon said, very, very softly.

Hawk didn’t need to see Earth’s face to feel her fear. She practically sang with it, like a violin string, freshly plucked. Her mask twitched, first one way then the other, marking every face that heard those words. “Leave us!” she ordered. Waited half a heartbeat, then said, “You go to far,” as softly as she could.

“I have not gone far enough. I have let decades pass with you trapped in Her cage. Come out of it. Shed Her like a dry skin and plead sanctuary.”

“With who? You? Archon and speaker of a dead god?” there were almost sobs. “You cannot understand what it means to Serve a live one.”

“No. I cannot. But I can hide you. My oath upon it.” He said.

She reached out with trembling fingers, hidden by the folds of her robe and her chair. Reached out and gently, gently brushed his fingertips. And Hawk could imagine her, a bare-faced girl with green ribbons, dancing and hoping for notice. She could imagine girlish prayers in an attic bedroom, hands hiding candles from parental eyes. A bud of promise come to rot.

“You cannot hide from a God. There is no running. There is only pleasure in what we are allotted. And these pleasures are mine.” She leaned back into her throne, lounging luxuriantly. “My service is all the pleasure I need.”

And Hawk could read into that. A thousand nights on bent knees before an altar—possibly even this dreadful, blood-soaked thing sitting here—begging for help. Begging for succor. Begging for anything but what she’s been given. Some better future, any better future. Wasn’t that what all prayers came down to? A tomorrow that is not bad. Help that heals more than it harms, so that tomorrow there is less to bleed. Food for tonight, so we do not ache tomorrow. A miracle to counter inbound grief. A comforting hand when such things are not countered. All of these words fallen to unyielding soil. Maybe there was a living God, but it wasn’t listening to anything but the words She wanted to hear. Help me, Goddess. Help me, Help me. How often had the Acolyte uttered those unwanted words? How often had they advocated for the wrong person, until finally God, in the form of Naomi Studdard…

…and she had to stop there. Because there was a manifest difference between God, the concept humans fermented wars over, and Naomi fucking Studdard. A woman married to a more successful man, who watched him attempt (and, as far as Hawk was concerned, complete) suicide and, instead of ringing every alarm bell to save him, had chosen yet more violence, countless people dead, the ground desecrated beyond measure—sown with salt would be less sterile—not to save him, but to join him.

And she was probably Alex’s murderer. Let’s make sure we remember that, Hawk.