Ba’an woke up, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making…noises.

The fire had burned down to embers and the not-vuti was dark. Even so, the starlight was bright and Ba’an could see Lukios sleeping in what had been her nest of blankets. He seemed to prefer it, mostly because he could fit all of himself on the floor. The blankets were still a bit too short, though.

He was sound asleep. Thank you, ancestors.

He slept without his shirt, and he had kicked off his blankets. The spearhead had flopped over his shoulder, the leather thong just a dark line against his skin. She could see the shadows play against the shape of the lean, hard muscles of his chest and belly. The scar left by the sword wound she had sewn closed was not visible, but she could see the dark blotch that was the patch of hair that started just below his navel and trailed down until it disappeared beneath the blanket.

In her dream she had used her mouth to—

No. Stop. That is rude.

She turned her face away and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. There was a familiar, aching throb between her legs that demanded relief.

It had been five years since Thu’rin, and Ba’an had not had a man since. She had only been here, alone in her not-vuti except for trading trips to the city or jaunts across the red sands, and—

Lukios was a man. Ba’an was a woman, a woman who had not had a man for five years. It did not help that he was funny, kind, handsome, and sharper—much, much sharper—than anyone likely guessed—though he did have a foul mouth. He was young, too—perhaps just upwards of 25 or 26—and clearly strong and virile.

She was only frustrated. Only that.

Besides, he likely had women everywhere he went. It was foolishness to entertain these thoughts, and they would stay just that—thoughts, never to be spoken out loud in the light of day. Ever.

The problem would resolve itself once he was gone. But for now, she could not stay in a bed that smelled like him and expect to calm down.

Ba’an left her bed as quietly as she could. She took the stairs slowly in the dark, careful to keep her palm pressed against the wall so she would not become disoriented. It would be a very stupid thing to die falling off the stairs after everything Lukios had done to keep her alive.

She was sweating again by the time she reached the top. She couldn’t see anything on the ground from this height – everything just looked like a dark, lumpy shadow – but she thought she would have heard it if he had woken. She walked up the final set and then she was outside. The breeze was cool and held the refreshing smell of a desert at night: sand, the dry plant smell from the akaikai grove, and sweet sagi grass.

The wind was playful tonight. It caught her hair and tossed the strands around her head in little gusts. The sweat from her climb dried quickly.

Ba’an found a nice spot just past the stairs to lie down. It was not completely flat, but there was an incline that made it good for lying down and looking into the distance.

Ba’an would never tire of the sight of the night sky from here for as long as she lived. The stars glowed, millions of them, scattered across the black sky like shining jewels.

Why do you stay here, Ba’an?

But why would she leave?

She was a desert creature.

Ba’an touched Thu’rin’s necklace of teeth. He had liked to tease her by calling her his little bird, but Ul’ma had always told her that was stupid. “You are no delicate bird,” she had said, and Ba’an knew that Ul’ma had always been right about her.

A familiar presence was moving up the stairs, and Ba’an stiffened and sat up. She had woken him again. Lukios came to the top of the stairs, but then stilled, simply standing there and looking at her. She turned her head to meet his gaze.

He said, very quietly, “You really need to do something about your disappearing trick. It’s not nice.” His eyes were not crinkled at the corners, for once. He looked very serious.

She shifted so she could turn and a rock skittered away into the darkness, plunging off the side of the cliff.

He walked the rest of the way and sat down beside her. “Careful. You’ll definitely die if you fall from here.”

She ignored his worrying. “I did not mean to wake you. I am sorry for it.”

He shrugged, eyes on the sky. “Bad dreams again?”

No. “Dreams, yes.”

He looked at her again, but this time he reached out and traced the dark circle beneath her eye with a thumb. She felt his calluses drag across her skin in a way that made a shiver ghost up her spine. “You look tired these days, you know that?” He dropped his hand back down.

“Yes.” She was tired.

Ba’an touched Thu’rin’s necklace again. She didn’t always dream of Lukios. Sometimes she dreamed about Thu’rin, his dead face staring sightlessly into the sky, and once she had dreamed about her trial, kneeling in the dark as the A’tat loomed over her—but it had not been the A’tat.

It had been Ash’a and Lu’kir, Ul’ma and Thu’rin, sitting in a circle and staring at her in the dark, staring and staring with sightless eyes. Ash’a had sat crooked and bent, her spine still broken, while Lu’kir’s jaw and throat had hung in meaty strips over his chest. Ul’ma had been shrivelled, her eyes milky, and Thu’rin—

He always had his throat torn open in her dreams, eyes staring blankly.

Ba’an tangled her fingers in the cord until the tips went white and numb. The teeth clicked softly against each other even as Lukios made a little noise of alarm in the back of his throat.

He reached over and tugged her fingers free. “I could’ve sworn we came to an agreement about this,” he said, trying to sound jovial, but even his cheer faltered and died in the face of her silence.

This was true.

Ba’an released the necklace, flexing her fingers until the blood ran through them again. Lukios took her hand in his and they sat together, watching the stars. His touch warmed her fingers, just as his body warmed her side, even through their clothes. It was like sitting beside a hot rock or a cozy fire—comfortable and comforting.

As usual, Lukios broke first.

“Is it real bad? The dreams.”

“They are dreams.”

Lukios opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of what he had been planning to say. When he spoke again, he only said, “Want me to make you some tea? With the sambi-sahi. It’ll knock you right out, won’t it?”

She shook her head. That would be cheating. “It is well.”

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“I’m pretty sure it isn’t, Ba’an.”

“It is well.”

He sighed, but did not push further. Instead, he changed the subject. “You ever seen a play?”

“I do not know what that is.”

“Oh. It’s uh…I’m sure your people have something similar. It’s where people—actors—tell stories by pretending to be other people. It’s like playing pretend, but they get paid to do it.”

“Oh. Yes. Sometimes we have…’plays.’ Usually they are histories. They are paid in…honour. Not coin.”

“Ha, should’ve guessed. Well, we have a lot of funny ones. We call them ‘comedies.’ There’s this one about—haha, you’re going to think this is so stupid—but there was a big showing of a new one a year ago about the Unification War. It’s about Matron Lysistrata, who leads the women of Heliopolis in a…uh…I guess you could say rebellion against their husbands.

"Patriarch Leontes has gone to war, you see, and he’s taken all the young men with him. She just can’t get her daughters married ‘cause there are no men around to marry, and so she gets all the women together and they decide they’re going to refuse to have any sex with their men at all until they agree to peace. Want me to tell you the story?”

She blinked. It did sound very silly. Why not? It would be good to laugh.

“Very well.”

He smiled at her. “Good.” He cleared his throat, and she recognized that he was settling in to tell a good, long story. “A long, long time ago, after the Age of Magic ended, the city-states of what we now call the Empire went to war. They were being pressed, you see, by the might of the Eirian forces from the south, but the city-states were too used to attending to their own business and turned a blind eye to their neighbours falling to the sword. In Heliopolis, there was a mighty strategos named Leontes of House Helios, and he rallied the men of the city and surrounding areas into a great army…”

This was not a history that she had heard before. She had known that a mighty warrior had united the Dolkoi’ri under one banner, but she had not known his name, nor had she known the name of the enemy they had faced. She listened intently, enjoying his storytelling as always.

“’…And indeed, the messenger had arrived, and he held to him a large burden, as did all the men of the—”

“What was his burden? I do not understand.”

“Uh…well…let’s just say all the men had some pretty heavy burdens. Since their wives wouldn’t let them…you know.”

“…Oh. But Lukios, your people keep bedslaves. They cannot say no.”

Lukios covered his face with his hand. “Yeah, but Ba’an—it’s a comedy. A satire. It’s supposed to be silly and nonsensical, s—Ba’an. It’s no fun if you use common sense!”

“Oh. Yes, I see. Very well.”

His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “You sure? Want me to write the playwright once we get to Kyros? Bet you he’d write back. He’s real famous for being prickly. Hates it when the critics pan him. Bet you his letters could fetch you more than a few obols.”

“People will buy his letters?”

“Oh yeah. He’s real famous these days. A real darling of the toga-wearing agora set.”

“I do not understand. What is a toga-wearing agora set?”

“Ha! Guess I should explain it. A toga is—you ever seen any men in the square in Kyros wearing those long…I guess they look like chai’ra, but for men? They’re long, and you wrap them like—” He demonstrated with his hands, moving them in a way that showed how it was folded.

“Oh. Yes, I have seen them. They look very uncomfortable. They do not use pins.”

Lukios snickered. “Of course they don’t. It’s not like they’ll need to ever run or lift things. They’re for fancy folk. You know, people with more money than they know what to do with. Anyway, those types like to play at the agora—um, you know the market square?—all day. They don’t really work, ‘cause their slaves usually do it for them. It’s all play, but they pretend it’s all real important stuff, life or death. ‘Oh no! A critic said my poem reads like it was written by an illiterate Yartan trader! That bastard! I better seduce his wife and have her poison his wine!’ That sort of thing.”

How strange. Ba’an had thought Lukios was one of the…fancy folk…based on his things, especially his ring.

“You do not like the…fancy folk?”

“Eh. Not all of them are terrible. Just most of them. They’ve got their heads so far up their own asses that they can hardly tell what’s up or down, usually.”

“But Lukios. You…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you not…fancy? You said you own an estate. And your things look very expensive.”

He cringed away from her, his movements exaggerated. She put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

“Oh, ouch. I think that’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me the entire time here. Can’t you just call me stupid again?”

“I have never called you stupid, Lukios. I said ‘that is stupid.’ Not ‘you are stupid.’” She frowned at him. “It is different.”

He grinned. “Okay. You never called me stupid. Just everything I say is stupid.”

“Lukios.”

“Haha, aw, Ba’an, your nose is doing that wrinkly thing again.” He reached up and poked her nose, and she snuffled at him. Lukios only grinned more. Predictably insufferable, as always.

“Lukios.”

“Yeeees, Ba’an?”

“You have not answered my question.”

He only laughed. “You got me. Well, I made my money the hard way. And I’m only fancy when I have to be. How’s that?”

“But Lukios,” she said, “You told Salu’ka and Ku’rin that you are Lukios of House Helios. Is it not the same family from your story? Surely it is very fancy then?” Ba’an did not understand Dolkoi’ri politics and she did not know much of their history—only the parts where they had come clashing against the People, over and over—but it was, again, common sense. His family was famous enough that a chanter of histories—no, a chanter of…’comedies’…had written it into a ‘play’.

For a moment—and it was only for a moment, a short, short moment, like light glinting off the edge of a keen blade—Lukios’ face went cold and hard.

With hatred.

And then it was gone, wiped away by his smile as though it had never been.

Ba’an blinked. Had she imagined it? Tik-Tak Mal’uk had worn Lukios’ face, his sneer stalking her dreams even now. But Lukios—the real Lukios—had never looked at anyone like that—not even Vaa’ti.

She rubbed her eyes. Perhaps she had not been as immune to the spirit’s tricks as she had thought.

“Well, it’s true House Helios is fancy. The main house is as fancy as you get, unless you’re the emperor—but he’s a Helios too. Go figure.” Lukios shrugged, then grinned. “I promise I’m not as fancy as the emperor. But I am fancy enough to buy you as much honey as you want.” He leaned in so their noses were nearly touching. “And anything else you want, too. How’s that? Or do you really just like fancy men? No wait, should I have said I’m real fancy too?”

Ba’an felt disoriented. Lukios was related to the emperor? The emperor? But—he—he—

“…Ba’an?”

“I…am well.” How could Lukios be related to the emperor? Ba’an looked up at him, taking in his warm, reassuring presence. How could he be related to Emperor Stefanos?

Stefanos was an evil man. The things he had ordered during the Dolkoi’ri-anta were…they had been…

No K’Avaari would have ordered such things. No witch. No chief. The A’tat would have never allowed such things to be carried out in their name.

Stefanos had driven the People into a corner, and Ba’an had committed es’tat to get them out. Murdered Thu’rin. Sacrificed Ul’ma. Ash’a. Lu’kir.

Herself.

Because of Stefanos. Because of his greed.

Stefanos was evil. Evil.

And he was a Helios…as was Lukios.

“Ba’an? You don’t look so good.” He leaned forward and Ba’an leaned away, hand going to Thu’rin’s necklace and clutching it tightly. Lukios’ eyes widened and his expression fell, hurt flashing across his features. But he stopped, sitting back so she had space.

Ba’an was a witch. She no longer sat in a shi-vuti or had a name chain but—

She was still a witch. Ba’an could not stop because she did not know how. How could she be sitting here with an outlander, smiling and laughing as though she did not know what he must have done? The war had only ended five years ago. What was wrong with her?

She was panting after him like a bitch in heat, that was what was wrong with her. Ba’an was pathetic. Pathetic. Like an animal, but worse.

“…Ba’an. Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not—look, I’m not a part of the main house and I don’t—I don’t get to—”

“It is well. Thank you for telling me, Lukios.” Ba’an stood. “I am very tired. Goodnight.”

“Ba’an. Just—wait a minute, will you? I think you’ve misunderstood something. Several somethings. Can’t you just—”

Ba’an retreated quickly. “It is very late, Lukios. We must sleep.”

“Right. We do. But Ba’an, I don’t want you to get mixed up about this. I’m not from the main house. I’m—I’m not even a real—”

“It is your personal matter, Lukios. It is well.”

“Oh for fuck’s—Ba’an!” He had stood and was coming after her, sounding truly upset. She paused, heart beating rapidly in her chest. She turned to look at Lukios again, and it was as though he had suddenly become someone else. But he was still Lukios. How could he be related to a man like Stefanos?

“We will speak in the morning, Lukios. You may explain whatever you wish then. But I am…very tired. Very, very tired.” It wasn’t a lie—she was tired. Tired and frightened, frightened of whatever awful truth about himself he was going to tell her. Ba’an did not wish to know any more, because…because…

What if it was something that was es’tat?

What if it was something that obliged her to kill him?

“Ba’an. Promise me. We’ll talk in the morning.” He fixed her with a hard, flat look that dared her to refuse him. “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I mean, if you’re going to hate me, you better hate me for me. Get it?”

“I do not hate you, Lukios.” But she was afraid she would have to. “We will speak in the morning.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

They were at the bottom of the stairs now. Ba’an crossed the room and crawled into bed, back to Lukios. She could hear him settle down on the floor, her senses prickling with every sound. Eventually he was still and silent, except for his soul which was always bright and loud.

Ba’an closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when she heard Lukios say, very quietly, “Sleep well, Ba’an.”

And then he was silent again.

Ba’an slept, and did not dream.