Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating and sorting everything to its proper place and kind, believing that she ought to neglect none of the gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf.

- "Cupid and Psyche," Lucius Apuleius (2nd century)

Tsumugi

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Slippers made poor riding shoes, especially over lava. But they were silk, gifted by the flicking wings of moths without number, and when you know not where you walk, you should always dress in silk. It's good enough for gods.

Scalding. Fierce. Cleo hooked her fingers in crimson neck feathers. She slid forward and back with the steady gait of the long-legged bird she'd mounted with a saddle; she lured it ever forward with a promise of mushrooms in her outstretched hand (taken beneath the sleepy eyes of a mossy-coated god). Stink burned her nostrils, but she had not the words to describe it beyond memories of eggs fallen beneath the henhouses where she'd once changed the straw.

One blemish marred her finger; already, she'd dropped her satchel and watched it burn. There went her offerings… and there went her payment for the trip back across the glittery golden pool. No other mortal creature (if there were any) could carry her across again, for all things died in lava except the long-legged birds sired by the god she'd come to see. They pranced like demigods in their crowns of ivory, wrapped in feathered robes.

Every tread rocked her forward, pressing her head to the back of the bird's rough neck. But halfway across the lava lake, her companion stopped walking. Her gift had reached its end; it would take her no further. It pecked for mushrooms in her hand. Cleo curled her fingers. The bird swayed beneath her, ruffling its wings. It stamped its legs. This blurred her vision, kicking butterflies across her fingertips. If it charged and took flight, would the saddle hold? Buckling a saddle on a bird hadn't been an easy task. She fed it many, many mushrooms; she owed a debt now to the god of justice and sleep.

"Shh, shh… It's all right. Look; here you go." Cleo brought the last bits of fungi to the bird's face, stroking its neck as it settled down again. How curious to be a pair of mortal things tangled in heat and stench. The bird fluttered, disloyal to its own footing, and Cleo pressed her knees against its huffing sides until her thighs ached up the seamlines. The silk slippers debated mutiny on her toes. Lava sizzled and crackled an arm's length away. Did sailors feel like this on sinking ships? Cleo pressed her lips together, swallowing clogged-up air. Then, lifting their head, they looked towards the platform they hadn't reached. Much too far to jump.

If she must be slain for intruding in this temple - for overhearing sacred words of bliss and passion not meant for mortal ears - then let it be on her feet, head tilted back while shadowed implications danced upon the wall. Let it be the night wife and husband called each other Mulberry, after the silk flowing in their veins. They cried that lonely word until they crushed it into dust beneath the weight of expectations. How many centuries did it take the spirits to memorize every thumbprint on each other's skin? Would they know the moth holes marking one another's hearts?

The god who dwelled in this magma-filled temple (made honorary god of hearts and husbandry by his wife) hummed beyond his veil. His wife answered him in whispers. She'd become his mulberry-thing (his blessed and beloved), as he'd become hers.

The beautiful birds were not embarrassed by their mother and father. And if the birds were not embarrassed, neither would she be. They nipped and tore at each other, still squawking at her chosen mount for devouring the mushrooms they'd brought without sharing with the flock. Cleo did what they had to, then, and tossed dirt into the lava before her. As though by miracle, the particles took solid form to shape a little platform. They dismounted the long-legged bird for this makeshift island of exile, and pet its beak until it ambled away. Its footsteps slurped with every stride.

The god of sea and fire had been married many years, rendered mortal and soft in every thread he played across his fingers. Cleo could not see his wife disrobed from her sacred silks and strewn across the loom, guarded as she was by gossamer veil, but their shadows and candles conspired to chase hidden things into light. It was known to Cleo then (in fragmented, unfinished way) how he wove with nimble fingers. He called her name ambrosia and pomegranate and Venus among the fishes, and all the things that get you drunk on life and love. She named him This thing and That thing which cannot be translated, and filthy things that can, which would have ruffled even the real god of hearts and husbandry if they chanced upon his ear. Cleo traced two finger pads across the stitch marks down her cheek. That…

That was mulberry silk, in a way the kind that ran inside her undead veins was not.

Upon the marital loom, the gods weaved a bird into life (which Cleo saw only in its shadow), and love was made. The bird squawked in hunger. Two scraggly wings spread in prayer or plea. The god hummed in pleasure and lifted the little thing in his hands. Its shadow burned imprints in the backs of Cleo's eyes. Newborn things were rarely a mortal's right to see.

On this spot - this tiny island made up of one dirt block - they would make their plea, for all they were worth. Cleo then bore their chin high and called with grand voice into the whispers of the night:

"I leave comment with the god of sea and fire, who bears my heart and leads my trail."

The murmurs stopped. The shadows fidgeted. The new bird croaked, seeking solace at his chest. The shadows slid apart again as the god lifted the candle in its dish.

"Oi! Oh, you're having a-" The spirit thrust the veil aside then, rubbing something akin to exhaustion from his eyes. "What are you on about? I took down my bridge for the night. Why have you set foot in my abode?"

The mortal found their eyes drawn to his left arm, which bent and became a fin. He bore no fingers upon that hand, nor wrist or palm at all. Only the fin, which hung from his stump and curved back to his body. How it shined with rainbows, and was lovely to look upon. The new bird he'd created clung to it with wobbly feet, looking to him so he might catch it if it fell.

This fin, they thought, is the work of the god of trickery and innovation. I did hear he blessed this man to swim swiftly through the sea, then stole his hand away.

"I should slay you for disturbing me on a full moon night," the man snapped, stalking forward through the flowing lava. It wreathed around him as though he were made from something far more precious than common silk, and he was. "Do you not know my wife must leave me in the morning?"

"I do," Cleo said, proud and sure of tongue. "You are the god of sea and fire, married to the goddess of stone and harvest. If you miss her when she leaves you to serve blessings to mortals, then hear my plea. My sister's lover is locked away, and he will be taken afar or killed if I sit idly by. I've run out of options."

The god became very quiet, petting his new bird upon the head. But then, the words must have touched his heart, for he bent to set the bird upon the lava as a thing that could float, then waded towards Cleo, tying back his messy hair.

"I will not stand for separated lovers, but surely you know I am the god of sea and fire. What need have you of my powers?"

"I need not your powers, spirit. I need your heart."

He scoffed. "You shall not have me; I'm a married man."

But the mortal would not be deterred. "Will you lend me the strength of your arms to break down the dungeon door?"

"I cannot," said the spirit, "for only the god of hearts and husbandry can breathe strength into man or beast."

"Spirit, you misunderstand. I come to you not for your powers, but for your sympathy. My sister's love will soon be sent abroad or killed. I know the gods are kind, and they give and give and ask for nothing in return but the fondness of the people; that they may lend their hearts and follow behind. If I asked it of you, would you in mortal body step with me to the dungeon bars, and pull against them with all the strength a spirit has? With the strength of a spirit, I am sure they would break."

"Is this the request you disturbed me for?" he asked, but his voice was tender. He leaned forward and cupped her face with the stump upon his fin-hand, which felt something like a scallop's shell as it danced upon the stitches in her cheek. "You risked my wrath, all to ask if I would help you through a door?"

"I did, spirit, but there is more to this plan. May I address your wife, even upon your own floor?"

The spirit considered this, drawing back. "I will ask her. Wait a moment." And he pulled the lava some ways apart, creating for the mortal a wider platform to set her feet upon. Much time passed as the spirit wove his wife's form together again on the sacred loom, but at last, she appeared from behind the veil, pulling it aside with one hand. Her wispy, chiffon hair flowed long down her back and had been weaved like a crown upon her brow. Her silken robes were woven of the deepest blues and brightest pinks- colors which could not be manufactured by mortal hands. She gave greeting; Cleo returned it in kind with a bow.

"Spirit, you are the goddess of stone and harvest. Is it not you who rules the moon by night, in absence of the god of war and sky?"

"This is so," said the spirit, "but I may no longer break stone placed by mortal hands, for to do so is an insult to the new-named god of trickery and innovation. If you hope I may use my powers upon the dungeon walls, I can be of no use to you."

"Is it not true that the god of war and sky throws the moon to you every evening, and that you break its pieces into cheese? Do you not feed lost mortals, tired animals, and hungry spirits who receive no offerings at their graves?"

The spirit paused. "Yes, this is true. And when all have been fed, I nurse the moon upon my breast until it's stone again. But what good does that do you?"

"If you threw your cheese upon the village, then all the monsters of the night would come and feast, and the dungeon soldiers would have no choice but to leave their posts to fight them. We will rush the castle and free my sister's lover then."

"I will try," said the spirit. "But the beasts of the ground run with the god of trickery and innovation, who snaps at their heels to drive them into hunters' paths. And too, he leads them to leap great gorges, and with him they flee through the brush. If he arrives, the beasts will follow him from my cheese and into the woods, and I will be no use to you."

"If it happens as you say," said the mortal, "then that is no fault of yours. I thank you for your presence."

"Of course," said the goddess of stone and harvest. "All the gods are good and kind, and wish nothing more than to share our gifts with mortals, asking only for your eyes and thoughts. For we are creation, crowned by moths without number. We sit in the pantheon of silk and plays, and in our pursuits, we have joy. But why did you not ask the god of hearts and husbandry? This is a matter of lovers torn apart. Are you not the maiden who was risen from the dead? Surely you must be his finest work."

The mortal paused at the door, and the spirits looked at each other in some surprise. Then, without turning back, the mortal said, "I languished for years in prayer to the god of hearts and husbandry, and he never turned his eye on me. All others who pray in his temple have been strengthened in their illness, but for reasons unknown to me, he cared not that I might die and abandoned me to myself. Do not forget I was raised again only when my sister pled with the god of trickery and innovation. He saw my body broken and took pity. He asked nothing in return but that I go my way with eyes still shut. The god of hearts and husbandry has quarrel with me. I do not quarrel with him." And she left.

"She IS the work of the god of trickery and innovation," said the wife, turning to her husband. "Now I see his handiwork in the stitches across her face. They are all sewn as though with one hand, and by a man who rebuilt himself when he was cut off and cast aside."

"Do not remind me of the hand," said the spirit, and departed too after the mortal.

Together, the gods combined their powers, with the goddess of stone and harvest throwing cheese upon the ground to lure creatures from the darkness. As the mortal had predicted, monsters of the night and other great beasts rushed from the fields and forests, seeking to lay claim upon the abandoned meal. "We must go now," said the mortal, and the gods pursued her to the dungeon, where her sister's lover lay sleeping behind bars.

"Oh," said the goddess of stone and harvest. "I see the god of trickery and innovation. He has already come to lead the beasts away. Here they go, with him nipping at their heels to chase them out."

"Then we work quickly," said the mortal, taking hold of the bars. The two spirits joined her. They pulled and pulled with great strength for many long minutes, but the door did not budge. The god of sea and fire looked upon the mortal with woe in his heart, and shook his head.

"I'm afraid I am of no use to you. Your sister's lover will be lost. There is nothing else I know."

"That's all right," said the mortal, who was sorrowed, but not yet beaten, for she had never met a challenge she could not overcome. "You answered my call, and that is enough. I will find a way."

The goddess of stone and harvest, equally moved as her husband, lay her hand upon the mortal's stitched-together cheek. "Perhaps," she said, with tenderness and lack of judgment in her voice, "you should seek the god of hearts and husbandry. He will help you. This is really his matter to involve himself in."

"I will consider," said the mortal, but when daybreak came, she stole not westwards to the spirit in question (who dwelled in the mountains), but across the fields to the god of travel and arts, who was his husband and dwelt in a temple just beside the god of wood and ore. While the latter two were not entangled lovers, they were dear friends, and perhaps would agree to lend aid together. Thus, she would not risk the conflict of multiple gods set upon each other in their jealousies.

When the mortal trekked upon them, she was taken aback to find the two spirits outdoors, fussing and digging in what appeared to be plain dirt in a half-planted field. Yet each scoop of the dirt they churned with their shovels brought flecks of gold to the surface, which were cast aside as though disgusting. Cleo studied this situation, and before she could make plea to them, one looked up and saw her. He wore robes in black and white, trimmed with red. On his back hung a pair of wings as scarlet as a cardinal against winter snow. His short hair curled against him like he'd dipped his head in ink and it now dribbled down his scalp. This was the god of travel and arts, whose hands were ever-stained the color of sunburned skin.

"Ho! What business have you here, mortal?"

"I might ask you the same, spirits," said the mortal, looking upon them. "I came to request your aid in a task no other god has been able to conquer, but I see now you are quite occupied in your own doings. I will not impose upon you."

"Perhaps you can help us," said the god of travel and arts, looking to the god of wood and ore. "One week previous, we heard the god of war and sky brag to his lover of a curse he buried in this field between our temples. It is said that when we walk here, many eyes will face our every move. He claimed that if not unburied, it will multiply many of its kind. We must be rid of it, for we have need of this land, and people may fear there are monsters nearby if they see prowling eyes watching from the dark."

The mortal looked upwards. The god of war and sky had not yet brought the sun to its noon position, but if she did not unearth this trinket, they would not help her. If she left, she might visit another temple, but what if they could not aid her plight, and she wandered awkwardly back the next day to plead her case to spirits she'd turned her back on?

She strode forward, holding out a hand to take the shovel. "I will help you, spirits, for you give so much to us and ask nothing in return but our hearts."

The god of wood and ore looked upon her with a tired smile then. A ragged beard wrapped his face. He had one eye replaced with the shiniest metals in his domain, and looking upon his chiseled face reminded Cleo of her sister's lover, who still lay trapped behind bars. He too had wings, but his were intricate in ways she could not wrap her head around, for though she could see their gears and puffing steam, she could not imagine how well they worked. "You are very generous with your time," he said. "We will not forget this."

They gave her a shovel. The mortal went to work, then, digging beside them. They plowed much of the remaining field and left even more holes than gouges. They dug a ditch that would fill with water someday, perhaps becoming a great river. And still they found no curse.

The sun set, the moon rose, and now, Cleo began to worry deeply. All day they had worked this field with the gods, and they were no closer to turning up their answer. Cleo looked about, then began to walk the fields. They passed up and down the rows that had already been planted… and then stopped. They looked back at the spirits behind them, who still dug unthinkingly in the other direction.

"I've found it!"

The spirits rushed to her side, asking questions. In response, Cleo pointed at the sprouting plants.

"The god of war and sky has played a mean trick on you indeed, for while you sought some trinket or stolen treasure, his devious plan took root. When he spoke of watchful eyes, he spoke of potato skins, which bear such markings. And as he promised, it has multiplied and spread throughout your field."

"How very clever," said the gods admiringly, and they dug together until the first potato had been lifted on their shovels. It wasn't much to look at in its small, brown form, but the spirits shook their head in wonder and gave unto Cleo their thanks. Now that they were not haunted by a mysterious curse that would scare mortals off, they could continue with their building projects some future day.

"It is very late," said the god of wood and ore, "but if there is anything we can do for you before you go about your business, you have only to ask. You have our favor now. We will help you."

"It's my sister's lover," they said, and recounted his fate of being locked inside the castle dungeons. Addressing the god of travel and arts, they asked, "Can you steal him away at great speed, spiriting him off to another land? If he were free, my sister could follow behind him."

The god of travel and arts rubbed behind his neck. "Ah… My domain is over the road, but I cannot bring someone with me if they are tethered by doubts, guilt, or walls. I'm of no use to you."

"I don't understand."

"If the path were open, then I could whisk this man away. But he must take the step to reach the road, or I can do nothing for him. I cannot remove the bars that hold him there."

Cleo turned to the second spirit. The god of wood and ore looked woefully upon them. "Ah… I'm afraid I'm of no use to you either, for recent lines were drawn across my mastery. The structures built by mortal hands are now rendered unto the god of trickery and innovation, and my powers - though many and great - can no longer lay finger upon their works."

"I do not have right to plea for that man's aid," said the mortal, touching her cheek, "for when my body weakened under the wetness of my tears, he fixed me on his loom with his own silk and gave me life again. No thanks I give will ever be enough, so I cannot ask him any grace as long as I live."

The spirits looked upon each other, then at her again. "No," said the god of travel and arts, stepping forward to clasp her hands in his. "Spirits don't lend aid to mortals to cast them in our debt. We gift our time that we may bring you joy. Go to him. Speak truthfully of your appreciation. Would it not be the greater insult to dearly love what he has done for you, but cast him aside as though he's unworthy of your heart?"

"I will organize a visit," Cleo promised, though she did not know if she would. The god of travel and arts held her hands tightly and drew her along the road. By the third step, she had returned to her bedroom in a fluttery feeling. A distant clock struck the midnight hour. She sighed, changed into her night things, and slept until dawn.

Morning light found her on the road, traversing past grazing grounds and foothills until, late in the afternoon, they came upon the furthest west temple in all the livestock kingdom, which sat upon a grassy mountain with a flattened top. Cleo pulled back their hood, blinking against the fury of the setting sun. Already, they could see the spirit they'd come to find without even calling his name. He sat upon the arch that marked the entrance to his open-air courtyard, eating a pie from its tin as he looked upon her… though, he ate with his fingertips and not with any cutlery. Much grass grew beyond him. Sheep grazed while bovine rested in the shade. Even a ravager lay beside a sleeping calf, though the sight set Cleo's threads on end.

He dressed in silks, each layer bearing its own shade of green. Upon his head and chin he bore hair that gleamed with the rosy gold of morning sun. His wings, sculpted with many long feathers, caught the light so brilliantly that their blacks, grays, and browns took after freshly hewn stone. Cleo drew in a very small and mortal breath, still gripping the edges of her hood.

"I leave comment with the god of hearts and husbandry, who bears my heart and leads my trail."

"Did you tell the god of sea and fire and the goddess of stone and harvest that I abandoned you?" he asked, licking pie crust off his thumb.

Cleo's nails, if they'd been just a sliver stronger, would have torn the cloth of her cloak and rent it in twain. "You knew how sick I was. I prayed in your temple and received no response. I don't think you were even trying, to be honest."

"You would not have died if you had waited for me to tend to you," said the god in his lofty way, twirling his hand, "but you chose to exhaust yourself with travel. It is not my fault you refused my methods when I recommended bedrest."

"'Refused your methods,'" they repeated, sharp enough to draw the gaze of someone deeper in the courtyard. "Was I meant to wait forever?"

"I genuinely don't have a clue why you set yourself against me. I had other tasks to complete and resources to gather; blaze rods are found only in the land of the dead, and travel is long when the god who's meant to grant it is busy laughing at performers on the stage." There is bitterness rolled within it, like a plague.

"That's no excuse for long delays. That god is your own husband, and could speed you anywhere you desired in an instant."

"Well, he is very busy, and our meetings are few and far between." Gesturing sideways with arm and wing, "It was the season of husbandry in this land. That's a very big deal for the livestock kingdom. I had many works to do, and that's not even mentioning budding threats of war. If you had waited longer, I would have come."

"Spirit, as I walked your temple halls that final day, the curtain shifted and I saw you make merry with that maiden whose skin is white as pearl. That is when I cried upon my bed, thus wetting the silk that fills my body, and died. I could not hold my tears, for I knew you had busied yourself in chasing skirts instead of aiding those like me. I should have expected, for it's in your name… You may be a god of medicine, but you will always be the god of husbandry before you tend the ill."

The spirit pressed his lips tight together, fanning his great wings in warning. They snapped against the air with a sound like thudding hooves. "The name given to me carries both things, which I keep in perfect balance, as I should. I was crowned by moths without number. I sit in the pantheon of silk and plays, and I welcome it with gratitude. Should you wish to remain in my favor, do not imply I falter in my duties."

As though she had held his favor any time before. "Help me, then," said the mortal. "Bend the hearts of the livestock kingdom's king and queen, that they may release my sister's lover from his cell. Then they may marry and all will be well. The other gods have lent what aid to my plight they can, but they are grounded by the dungeon, which cannot be touched since the rise of the newest god. I much regret our differences. You, with your ethereal powers, may be my only hope."

"Very well," said the spirit, scraping his fingers around his pie tin. The noise mimicked leaping fish or perhaps a lizard's tail dragging across warm rocks. "Go about your business for a time. I will do my work upon them, but my powers are slow and subtle. It may take seasons or even years to see visible effect. That does not mean I am not present there."

"A season is too late. My sister cries every night for her lover, and he could be dead within days. The king and queen intend to transfer him afar off or else rip his seams apart, and she may never see him again."

"Then my powers are of no use to you," said the spirit, whose wings flicked with dark. "Love holds grand sway over mortals, but a heart rarely changes in the blink of an eye. Are babies conceived and birthed overnight? I am the god of hearts and husbandry… Not the god of the impatient and critical."

"I did have patience," Cleo said quietly. "For many years, the cloth of my form grew rotten and I pleaded for even the slightest healing to ease the pain. You let me die beneath your care. I have only one spirit to thank for my life, and it is not the one whose name is Breath-of-Things."

A warning growl rose in his throat. His wings shifted, but Cleo neither backed away nor retracted her words. He said, "The god of trickery and innovation insulted me dearly by spinning you together again. You are not as whole and healthy as you think you are, and if you would let me touch your silk, I could mend your missing pieces."

"I don't need a man's touch to mend me."

"The silks within you are prone to snags," he pressed back, this time leaping down from the arch with his wings spread wide. "Trust my expertise on that one; to lie with a mortal would unravel that shoddy job he did at mending your inner seams. Don't you want that bit repaired? If you call on me and rest, I will be there."

"I seek only relief for my sister's lover. Leave my loom out of this situation. I desire no children anyway; they'd be born in the same inescapable situation I'm in. That is none of your concern."

"I just thought I might ask while you're here. Listen, when you're done being childish and immature-"

"'Childish and immature!?'"

"-and listening to what that guy has to say, then I'm more than happy for you to make requests of me and we can be real, properly at ease with each other. But right now, you're being really selfish."

"Look, look-"

"You let him speak in your ear," the spirit pushed, growing heated now, "and you let him tell you I was off not caring about my mastery; I was providing."

"No, no, no- You say that- I was the one who brought it up first!"

The god of hearts and husbandry said nothing for a moment, his lake-blue eyes unfocused like a ripple in a feeding trough. One hand reached towards the V where his silken robes met at his collar. He clenched them in his hand. "That just makes it worse."

"You can blame him all you like, but no… I was the one who mentioned the fact that you were gallivanting away."

The god scoffed, arching his neck. "You ever heard of putting food on the table? That's what I was doing. I was going to the most dangerous places, facing the foulest foes…" His wings beat again, kicking up a whirlwind of dust along the mountain path. "Who entwines the hearts of your livestock and endears them to others of their kind season after season? I don't have to do that, you know; it would certainly grant me more time to eat a lot of pies. The cows are better company than some of you lot anyway."

"Wow."

"I bring the skill," he said, stalking past her then. He balanced on the edge of the cliffside path with his dark wings spread like a thundercloud. "Was it not enough that if you'd waited for me, I would have taken care of everything? I asked only one little thing. Why couldn't you be content with that?"

He launched into the valley with a flap, leaving a mist of apple pie scent in his wake. A single black feather swirled behind him and landed upon the ground. Cleo picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Then she held it up so it bent and flickered in the mountain breeze.

"To sit idly and passively while the moths without number pull invisible strings is not in my nature. I am Cleo Clocker, called zombie, and I will rot a thousand times for those I love… but nothing can kill my soul like waiting without an end in sight."

They released the feather into the evening. It spun away. Perhaps some bird later wove it in their nest.

The last time she'd set foot in the livestock kingdom's northernmost temple, she'd been brought in dead and barely left alive. At least her legs worked this time. It had taken ages of physical therapy (No thanks to the god of hearts and husbandry, who could have healed her in a snap). Cleo stomped in thick boots through the spruce trees, shaking snow dust from her frizzy hair. And, well…

… There it stood, like some sort of ice castle peering through the bristled branches. Never before had they seen doors more grandiose and imposing; they had to tilt her head afar back just to see their golden handles, which had roses at their heads and tapered into stems and leaves. Even roots, which stretched all the way down the door like spiderwebbing cracks. How strange to visit this place again. It had been awfully long. But in truth, if anyone were to understand just how much they owed their sister, it would be the god who stitched her together after all her natural cloth had rotted to its threads.

Cleo wrapped their fingers around one golden root and knocked against the door. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

"Come in! I'm just in the back."

There was certainly something to be said for the ice palace aesthetic. But the inside? … The inside had been decorated with vibrant jungle colors. Vines tumbled down the walls, trees bore fruit and coconuts, and tall pots full of blue and purple flowers that resembled glassy butterflies stood in every corner. A few sculptures stood around the room or clung to little bookshelves. Were these all statues of the spirit living here? They had to be. The works were flattering, depicting him both as man and as a beast with a pointed face and fluffy tail, but many immortalized terrible deeds the spirit had inflicted upon the livestock kingdom. Upon his back, he'd brought ticks and fleas that carried illness. He'd led flocks of sheep astray and into hungry mouths. He'd spooked horses before war.

Would you call it treason when it involves a god? There sat four kingdoms in the basin land around them, each with their own temples to the pantheon of silk and plays. They often came into conflict, and the gods (she'd heard) made little distinction as to the origins of those who followed them. And to say nothing of the Great River border kingdoms beyond the mountains… They too prayed for rain-under-shelter, health-throughout-all, peace-without-war, and harvest-enough-to-share like all others in need.

To be a god must be very exhausting indeed, thought the mortal. But at least it wasn't thankless.

They glanced about as a series of clangs and bangs sounded from some room down some hall. The voice, however, carried perfectly… and was exactly the low, soft-spoken tone they remembered from years ago: "Oh, snappers."

"I leave comment with the god of trickery and innovation, who bears my heart and leads my trail."

"Cleo? Is that you?" Another clatter, this time louder than the rest. Did he drop an object? Did he stumble? "Don't wander back here yet! I'm, uh… patching a hole in the floor!"

"Take your time," Cleo replied, looking about this greenhouse for spidery plants and brilliant flowers. Some stood as tall in their pots as they did on their feet. What charming colors they bore. Their many bulbs rose and fell like waves, mimicking the sea to those who could not swim. After a moment, the spirit's voice came again from the neighboring chamber.

"Excuse my absence, but I am listening; I hear you. What is it you ask for?"

Cleo approached a few steps, emboldened then, but did not turn the corner in attempt to see the spirit's face. "I seek relief for my sister, whom you may recall brought me here when my silks were ruined two years ago."

"I do recall."

"She's in love with a man who's in love with her, but the neighbors have accused him of murder. Now he's imprisoned, sentenced to death or banishment at an unknown time. They cannot be together, and the unknown of it all tears her apart."

Silence. The spirit seemed puzzled when it spoke again: "Why do you request my hand? Should you not visit the god of justice and sleep? Will he not help you?"

"I did not say her lover didn't kill the man," replied the mortal, standing just as firm. "Justice would have him sentenced to the lava pool, never to recover form… but you are the god of trickery and innovation. With your clever ways, you might grant my sister's lover his freedom so they may flee the livestock kingdom and find peace within another land."

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. "Very well," it finally said. "I will visit your village for many nights and do all I can. In that time, you must understand one thing."

"What is that?" the mortal inquired.

"When you lay wet and damaged at my feet, I tore out segments of my golden silks, which were gifted me by the moths without number. These same silks now stitch your form. Thus, the magic of my disguise will not work on you. I will help you, but I ask you not to look upon me, for I will be naked in your eyes. Do not look out your windows after nightfall."

Cleo looked upon the wall before them. "Is that why you've hid yourself? Are mortals cursed if they look upon you? … Will you be cursed by other gods?"

The spirit paused. "No curse will come upon you or me, but I will be ashamed."

"Why must you be ashamed?" the mortal asked, turning in a circle. "There are many fine statues that depict you in the finest robes and exquisite crowns. Even as a fox, you stand like a noble on four paws. And surely as a spirit, you are beautiful to look upon." There were many, many spirits, each beautiful in their own shape and way, as mortals are.

"These things are not mine," the spirit said, this time more quietly. His breath swirled with his whisper. When Cleo stood near, they could hear the click of something hard, like horns or small pieces of metal, as he shifted to press his back to the wall. "My statues are made by mortal hands. They love me believing I am mortal, for they look upon me and see me like one, or they see my white fur when I run with beasts… but I am born of Elsewhereness, Afar, and Things Between."

"You are a spirit," said the mortal, more puzzled now than they would like to let on. "We look upon you and know you are great and peculiar, with height, strength, and wings that are like nothing any of us grounded folk will bear. We expect you to be powerful and strange. I would not fear you without disguise."

That hard clicking came again, like a coin dropped against a bucket in the wishing well. Following it, there came a swish like a cloth shaken once, or a dog's tail when you scratch behind the ear. "Perhaps I am frightening in this form… and perhaps there are some who would find me beautiful. Either way, Cleo… You are stitched with mulberry silk, given unto me by the moths without number, and will see through any disguise I wear. I will find a clever way to free your sister's lover from his cell, but I ask for my privacy. You must swear you won't look at me, even by mistake."

"All right. After twilight, I will stay in my bedroom, away from my windows. But spirit, when morning comes, I must wander my village, complete my chores, and visit with my friends. How will I know when you have gone? I will be inside."

The spirit shifted. Cleo imagined he pushed himself from the wall, taking light steps so soft against the ground, she barely heard them. "In the basket to your left are my favors, sewn green and black after my silken colors by my own hand. Take just one and hang it from your bedroom window. In the morning, if the cloth lies upon your pillow, you may watch the village as you wish. If the cloth is not there, I ask you not to look for me. If you see me in my nakedness, I will be ashamed."

Cleo's legs sagged beneath them. Now, here were the makings of an intellectual plan; they lacked details, but not faith. It would be enough. It kept their heart pumping. Mortals rendered their creations unto the god of trickery and innovation, and now they could finally impact that dungeon wall. "Will you know which home is mine?"

"As long as you don't forget to hang your cloth," the spirit replied. "Hang it every night until your sister is wed. When she is wed, my work will be done and I will visit no more."

Such instruction had purpose, and in purpose, there were solutions. Cleo bowed, even though he had not shown even his face or the tip of his toe around the corner. "Thank you, dear spirit. This is more than the god of justice and sleep would have done for me."

"I suppose it is," said the god, keeping behind the partition wall. Clicks and clacks echoed back, and curiosity swelled in Cleo's breast; nonetheless, they did not stray forward and look upon him to see what made those sounds, for they had been forbidden. "I am the god of trickery and innovation, and I am fond of mortals. Anything you ask, I will give unto you, if it is possible for me to do so without darkening the moods of other spirits in anger towards your kingdom."

Trickery. Help. They recognized it as a joke as they gathered their cloak around them again, and subtle humor twitched their lips. Perhaps in working together, they and the unseen god would produce results at last.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Taffeta

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

If the spirits knew the livestock kingdom for one thing, it was gossip. The birds and beasts saw many things and whispered secrets in the grass. Unbeknownst to civilians, the gods considered this their most valuable export.

Tonight, the god of trickery and innovation prowled this land in his thinnest and most ethereal form, though he'd be loath to show it to the god of sea and fire. With quick leaps, he zigzagged fox-like from roof to roof… and this comparison fit like a pair of warm socks, given his shape. The god of trickery and innovation had sewn himself into life from many things, some parts even molded out of clay, but the stolen fox pelt remained his proudest possession.

His pawsteps ran to his next point of rest, not behind him, for these were the steps of creativity. And with every brush of his tail, the shadows leapt to chase him, covering his path so none could pursue without his wish. Not even the finest of hunting hounds, who lost the scent only when he'd grown bored of leading them on. His heavy wings, however, the spirit kept tight against his back, for with one flap, he'd sing chaos and disorder in the world.

Fwish! Fwish! Fwish!

He landed then and melted into something that would pass as mortal in a whirl of threads. His silken robes, which were brilliant in their deep forest greens and shadow-blacks, took their place again. He moved slowly, step by step and hand over hand. He peered around stables and climbed past barrels and hay. He spoke to the beasts and the birds, calling them by name and with a chitter of his teeth and fingers. Few stirred awake to answer him. Many more claimed to know him not and turned away. When he crept closer, pressing for the reason why, their snuffing noises and turned posteriors gave him word:

"We hear you not, god of trickery and innovation, for we are loyal to the god of hearts and husbandry, and to heed your call would be to reject him when we call upon him most."

"I blame you not," said the spirit, lifting his tail away. "The god of hearts and husbandry is worthy of your praise. His blessings are long in coming, but life-wrenching and potent in their way. Lend your ear if you wish for my hand upon you, but you do yourselves great service in following he who breathed you into life."

The chickens clucked their tongues at him. The cows and horses turned away. Pigs snuggled in the dark. These domestic creatures had sworn themselves indeed to the god they spoke of, and the spirit left them with a sigh. Leaving farms and fences, he came upon a canal and hunted in the reeds. There he found frogs, minnows, and insects. These he spoke to, but they honored him not, for he offered nothing they could even fathom, let alone desire. His whispers of the unknown fell upon deaf ears.

"Your services," said the largest frog, "would perhaps be welcome among the scavengers, but we are noble hunters. We do our own lurking in the mud and have learned the ways from those who came before. We eat until we are fat and rich. What use is there in your innovation now?"

"Well, I am he who leads game to stumble, that it falls into hungry mouths."

But all the frogs turned from him, snapping out their tongues. They gulped flies and leapt away. The god of trickery and innovation sat back on his knees to contemplate. But one white mouse with twitching whiskers poked her head from her nest and scampered out to meet him. He hid his splintered claws and kept his wings tucked, for she was so small and his form so very dangerous.

"I will help you, spirit. Put me to work and I will do as you ask, for you have blessed my forages and scurries in days gone past, and I will serve you and other gods together."

"Thank you," said the spirit, cupping her to his shoulder as he stood again. "I seek information regarding one man locked away. I've not ascertained where. I've not ascertained why." Cleo hadn't shared the details.

And then… He stopped. The spirit turned his head, looking directly at a yellow butterfly perched on a twig. Black marks like tiger stripes ran down its wings. Two tails hung off its little back.

"You don't belong here," he told it softly. "You're a desert-dweller far from home. I name you god of sparks and time. Show yourself, if you are he."

The butterfly waved its head-stalks in good humor. And yet, once named, it could not deny the truth. It leapt forward then and morphed to the shape of a sturdy mortal man, just as he. With a great height, sturdy back, and beefy arms to carry great things, the man loomed above him as a nightmare thing. His silks hung like storm clouds from his shoulders. The moths without number had etched them long ago with golden lightning stripes, in perfect mirror of those wide wings now dripping from his back. This man stretched one arm high, antennae stalks as bouncy as his laugh.

"Yeah, you caught me! … Hey, that's the second time this week you've been down this way, and both on noisy nights. Are you are not deterred by the storms I call?"

"No," replied the first spirit, treading over pebbles. The mouse on its shoulder twitched her whiskers, and the distant castle nestled high in town with towers lifted towards the stars. It made for a pretty silhouette against the hills. Still, he'd grown fond of the fishing kingdom. Perhaps he held a soft spot for the sea after all, in spite of the place from whence he came. He said, "I know what you require to form lightning in the clouds. You are no threat without the god of war and sky, and I hear he's been summoned to perform for the god of travel and arts. He'll be onstage all night."

The second spirit hummed noncommittally. "You fear the man too little. With our powers linked, we could bring the kingdoms to their knees. That'll teach these children some respect."

"My friend, if you had any real power to show for yourself, you'd wreck me with your command of time alone. And you would never harm the mortals; you find them far too pleasing to the ear."

"Hear, hear," said the second in good humor, drifting after him. He did not hide his wings, nor the squish of his soft shoes across the dirt. "Why dabble you in mortal affairs? Something vexes you."

"Terribly so. I've given my favor to that mortal I saved two years back. I promised my aid tonight."

"You tell me nothing."

"I tell you enough. Go your way."

His fellow spirit looked at him in long question for a moment, but turned and leapt into the air without a word. His form dissolved. With a strong beat of wings, he slipped away as a butterfly and flittered into the night. His wings cradled the livestock kingdom's castle for just a breath. The first spirit huffed, but carried his newfound mouse companion on his shoulder and headed deeper in the kingdom. Heading south, on the butterfly's wingtips.

Dirt paths, canals, and farms gave way to cobbled roads and walls of stone. The spirit walked. If bird or beast spoke, he answered. To the rare passerby this late at night, he nodded once and held his tongue. Mouse and spirit searched high and low, around every corner. They even checked every barn. The spirit's frown grew larger and larger.

"I see no favor to welcome me," he told the mouse. "Did Cleo refuse my help after all?"

Said the mouse, "It must be some place we're yet to see. Is there any home we've overlooked?"

"I think not. Every home here in town, and in the two neighboring villages, have I searched. Where else might a person live?" But then they both stopped. Mouse and spirit exchanged looks of thought, then turned as one to the small castle sitting on its hill. Would you call it small? It must be, for no mortal would dare build themselves higher than the gods. Its sturdy towers were thick and round with flat tops like well-worn teeth. On its banners burned the cow the livestock kingdom called their own. And yes… The spirit peered into the dark. There, at the castle's highest window, hung a scrap of green and black cloth, lit by nothing more than moonlight. Not even a candle's flame.

She did not say she was a princess, thought the spirit, gawking up at it. Nor did her sister years ago. Both sought me without bragging of their origins. If they ever visit me again, I must ask them why. It swallowed, though, and tread forward with Mouse upon its shoulder. Now that they'd identified the residence, they had a very good idea where the prisoner may be kept.

Indeed. With a bit of trickery and innovation, Mouse and spirit slipped like fish inside the castle. An echo of his footsteps led him forward, and the spirit could only hope that no one passing by would notice them. He clothed himself in stripes of shadow. At times he held very still in them, holding his breath, for in this way he vanished in a ripple. Guards and servants passed him by. He moved only when he found it safe to do so, from the end of his footstep path to the next section bit by bit.

First, the god made for the mouse a space in the wall and hid it from prying eyes. Provided none stuck a toe or finger through the gap (or lost a coin), the illusion would hold. Reaching the dungeon, however, would be more difficult. He left that task for another day, instead taking time to study the faces of passing guards. Although a shapeshifter, his alt forms were few and his powers thin. If he disguised himself, it would have to be with silver tongue. But he listened to the guards. He practiced their voices. All would be well.

When dawn approached, the god of trickery and innovation drew himself upward by scaling the tower's wall. With the aid of heavy wings, he maintained a decent balance, but his wings were unpredictable and he used them sparingly. With one flap, he spread a cold. With another, the castle's bats shifted to find a cooler, darker place to hide. And who knew what such things could lead to…

Nonetheless, he reached the window before the sun could peek above the horizon's ragged edge. How pretty the land became, with pinkened skies. The forest blocked the distant west with a smudge. Grazing fields lined its edge. In that direction, you'd eventually wander across the grain kingdom. And on the castle's eastern side, some ways off, lay the far more familiar sea. The spirit rested for a moment, tasting salt upon his lips. He looked upon his mismatched hands. He had made himself from broken things; all manner of torn clothing and shattered pots and things that were lost and never found. It had left him hodgepodge and outcast, but he hadn't had much choice.

He looked again at the window. There hung his favor, pinned by a nail to the banging wooden shutter. The spirit tore it loose. It knew him and shimmered like moon-blessed silk in his hand. He glanced to his left. And there, beyond the open window, lay the mortal who had sought his aid, resting in her quilts.

"Cleo…"

She hugged her pillow in her dreams. Their bright hair fell like flame around their ears. The spirit looked at the cloth in its hand, then at her again. To place his favor upon her pillow, as he'd sworn he would, would require stepping inside her room, for she'd claimed the sleeping space nearest to him. He could not risk leaving his favor where its presence might be taken as mistake, as though it had torn and blown free. So with his powers, he transformed into his fox-like state, leaping over her, and landed in a way that sunk her mattress at his paws. Straw crunched. His whole body went stiff. But Cleo stayed quiet, as they should have done.

Still, he disappeared as quickly as he'd come. Back to his northern temple in the snow, of course, for the risk of Cleo laying eye upon him if he lingered here had grown far too wide. It yawned before him as a chasm does. He leapt it in his silence. He would return.

Night after night, the spirit did his work. He spoke with the hunting hounds and horses. He colluded with Mouse in secret, dressed in scraps of white fur and pinched whiskers. They groomed each other's ears and rested in secret from prying eyes. Out there were thundering footfalls, and crumbs of cheese guarded by a prowling cat. In their trickery and innovation, they plundered what food they needed. They walked the halls, boring holes, and listened to whatever they could.

The spirit's deduction proved itself correct. When Cleo arrived in the great hall for breakfast the next morning, she dressed in dark blue, but wore green accents the proper color for her kingdom. She walked with her head pointed straight, her shoulders back, and grasped her hands by her waist. Her tiara glittered with ripples and spikes. The spirit peered from the shadows with Mouse beside him. One glance from Cleo would ruin his disguise, for she would see him naked and crouched on the floor, and he would be ashamed. He held very still.

She went on her way.

So it was. Every night, the god of trickery and innovation went about his work. He collected information. He collected whispers and faces. He stole single threads and hairs that would only strengthen his disguise. Often, he crept to the dungeons to better study the lover of Cleo's dear sister. His tousled brown hair didn't look like much. His belly had been well-fed once upon a time. He still showed the bulk, but had clearly lost weight his body couldn't afford. How cruel of the king and queen to leave him partly unfed while they devoured pork, steak, and poultry every night. And every morning, the spirit stole upstairs to remove his favor from its hook and lay it at Cleo's pillow, signaling in silence that he had gone.

On his fourth visit to the castle, the spirit (in mousy form) found himself in the aviary when a large bird laughed at him from a sunlit corner. The laughter came out scratchy, like a crow's caw, and indeed… when the spirit spun around, there stood a scavenger among men, clutching some squirming little thing in his hand. His golden hair and brown-black vulture wings were undeniable, even with their full span tucked away. The man tilted up his chin.

"Your white fur precedes you, and I'd know that scar on your blind eye anywhere. I name you god of trickery and innovation. Show yourself, if you are he."

The first spirit gnashed his teeth. Nonetheless, he could not remain hid. He looked about, then leapt from his mouse form into one that paralelled the standing god.

"It isn't blind," he said in cold greeting, adjusting his own wings. Metal screeched across metal behind him. He smoothed a wrinkle in his green-black robes. The other too wore green, though his rippled through many tints and shades. "I simply traded my eye for a luxury you opt to live without."

"I barter with few and fewer still," replied the god of hearts and husbandry, and the first spirit saw that the thing he squeezed in one fist had once been part of some animal. He flicked his gaze away before identifying any more. The second spirit, however, moved forward undeterred. "What business have you here? I cast my favor with a mortal who invited me. And mark my words, if you're about to get in my way, then I'll give you a real show." He smacked his hand for emphasis. The god of trickery and innovation fought to hold himself steady, fists by his sides, and not react to that very goopy thing the second god held.

"I'm here for the princess."

"So am I," growled the god of hearts and husbandry, this time squaring his shoulders. Those dark wings shifted with a rustle. "And if she's asked you here, that seems a total disrespect on my name and what I do."

"I suppose that's one interpretation."

The second simmered; the first could see it in his eyes. "This place was first bequeathed to me. That makes you a trespasser; see how that works? And it wouldn't be the first time, either."

"I spared a mortal's life. Why does that not satisfy you? You are not the only one with powers to be lauded."

"Ha! You've put her back all wrong! You have no idea what you've done to her loom, do you? Or what damage can be done to unravel her again?"

The first growled, folding back his fox-like ears. His tail prickled in its turn. "And what was I to use as reference? I am not the voyeur who spies when mortals love."

That remark earned both a scoff and a laugh. "Oh, I've no choice in the matter; you know that. In fact, my consciousness is split about 70 ways right now as it is. Nice."

"I've no quarrel with you; let me go my way. You rule over husbandry and I the hunt. We are masters of wild and domestic beasts, and I former master of the fish. Let us not tear each other's throats apart."

"Cleo entrusted the duty of winning her parents' hearts to me," said the second god, flapping out his wings again. Black and brown feathers blocked out the sunlight seeping in. The god of trickery and innovation stood his ground.

"Then we have nothing further to discuss, for my task is to break her sister's lover from his cell."

The god of hearts and husbandry growled too, low in his throat. Nonetheless they parted ways, each spirit set upon his work. The god of hearts and husbandry coaxed birds to nest upon the queen's windows, wooing one another beneath her thoughtful gaze. He brought forth newborn colts and gave fortitude to the man locked away in dungeon underground. In his power, the man stayed strong and bold. The god of trickery and innovation worked alongside him, not against. Under his command, mice and ravens brought bread, cheese, and berries to the man's barred window, that he may regain his strength.

"I have a thought," he said, coming to the god of hearts and husbandry by the end of the day. He held his fox-like form then, dragging a carcass from the forest to the perch where sat the vulture god. "I will take a guard's form and free the man from the dungeon, but I require a distraction. Enchant his thoughts that he may fall for man or maiden. This will take him from the path."

"My works are for the patient," replied the vulture, preening his wings upon his branch. "To fall in love requires time and effort, and I can no more change a mortal's heart in a moment than you can sway them into trickery. We plant sentiments and reap the harvest, but we do not control the growth of seed."

"Yes, I know," said the fox god, and they ate in thoughtful silence as they took their meal. But the god of trickery and innovation would not be deterred. Again he set his sights upon the squat castle, slipping from white fur to mortal cloth. Fine, then. Without the chance at lust or love, he would find his own distractions.

He snapped a prize horse's lead, which tied it to a fence. He flipped the latch on a stable door and set loose the ravagers, that they may scuffle in the dirt and bash their horns together. He spooked the sheep, which startled shepherds into taking blind shots in the dark. He leapt like shadow and smashed fine pottery upon the ground. He woke the chickens, set them crowing, and all this chaos came together as men woke in the castle and thought they might be invaded by a pillager patrol.

It was then the god of trickery and innovation made his move. While he was no master of faces, he could mimic voices to their core. A lock of stolen hair and several shouted words fooled panicked guards into believing he was exactly who he said. With quick steps, his footprints ever leading straight ahead, he ran down the dungeon stairs and thrust a key into the lock. The man looked at him with some surprise, but they escaped together outside, on the back of the prize stallion he had freed. And thus, the imprisoned lover escaped the castle, and then the livestock kingdom as a whole.

"Clever," remarked the god of hearts and husbandry when they met up to sit on a fence in servants' garb and laugh at the chaos there before them. "Your powers are flashy and impressive. That's how you built your reputation. It gets results; I'll admit to that."

"And yours is built on lifelong loyalty," replied the first spirit. "That is not such a bad thing. And to this end, the kingdom will gnash their teeth at me and wonder if I've betrayed them. You, in all your works, will always be their favored god."

With the scorned lover free, the god of trickery and innovation retired to his temple, for he had other works to do across the basin's four kingdoms, which circled the mountain the god of hearts and husbandry dwelled upon. Under his domain, prey escaped the hunter and hunters caught prey, and he kept the balance in choosing which side of them he ran with by the day. The hunting kingdom dwelled behind his own mountain, their red banners striking in the wind. They had always called upon his service more than any other - and denounced him when their prey escaped - but such were his ways, and both he and they knew the other would come around.

Spring always was a lighter season for his work. The god of hearts and husbandry ran with beasts this time of year, but their hearts would turn to him as the seasons changed and mothers sought not to breed, but to evade a hunter's notice and protect their young.

The god of trickery and innovation languished in his temple, unwinding from his labors on cushions of fur he'd brought down himself. A familiar clomping of boots, however, startled the spirit into snapping upright. With a flick of his tail, he disappeared around the bend.

"Cleo, is that you?"

The footsteps halted. The mortal took a breath. "I've come to thank you for your service. My sister is free to wed the man she loves."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied, but remained behind the fern where he had hid, for she (who shared his silks) would see him in his naked state. He heard Cleo shift about.

"Spirit, I'm afraid I must request your help again."

"Be silent for a moment; I must ask you something. Why did you not tell me you were of royal silks?"

The mortal straightened, the heels of her boots tapping once. "I did not think it wise to speak freely to a god whose domain is trickery. Not until I had his promise he would help me."

"You are very wise," said the spirit, amusement twinkling in its words. "And yet, you seek my help again, even knowing what I am. What has brought you here today?" He would have liked to make a show of it, reclining fox-like on his cushion. But he did not dare. He only breathed.

"In spring, late frost has killed many plants, and our harvest may not be sufficient. Now the rivers run lower in their banks than ever before. The livestock kingdom relies greatly upon its animals, which we can no longer feed, and our few plants are meager now. I fear the kingdom will starve. Many will weep and die beneath their tears."

"Oh, snappers," said the spirit. "This time, I am sure you have the wrong temple. Why do you request my hand? Should you not visit the temples that honor the goddess of rain and prosperity, or the goddess of stone and harvest? Will they not help you?"

"I did visit them," said the mortal, "but the goddesses war with one another. Both told me the other had stolen their sacred goblets. I don't think that's true. I think you have stolen these things."

The god chuckled to itself. "And why would I do that?"

"I think you wished for them to war. After all, you are the god of trickery and innovation. Perhaps you can take advantage of this chaos and confusion. I intend to search your temple for these stolen items."

"I will not permit it," said the spirit, though he sounded curious even to his own ear. "You have entered my temple, and thus taken the magic of my disguise from me. You will see me in flesh without mortal silks to cover my form. You know very well that this will shame me."

"I have thought of that," said the mortal, taking something from her satchel. He glimpsed this by peeking around the fern's great leaves. "I have visited the god of justice and sleep. He gifted me this cloak of midnight, which he said would take away my sight as long as I wear it, as though darkest night fell upon me. I will not disgrace you by looking upon your form, but I intend to search your temple. If I don't, my kingdom will starve."

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. "Very well," it finally said. "You may search my temple for as long as the cloak of midnight stays clasped at your neck. You are very kind to sacrifice your own sight if it means I am comfortable in my own home. But you must remember that you stand in the realm of gods. Take no food or drink."

"Will it curse me to remain here? Perhaps in slavery?"

"It will not curse you," said the spirit, creeping slowly from behind the plants. Metal clanged as he shifted and ceramic echoed across the floor. "But I have just finished preparing my favorite and most elaborate meal to grand perfection, and I will be very cross if you consume it. Did the gods before describe their goblets? I have many goblets in my temple, and it will be difficult to find what you are looking for without your sight."

"I will know them," said the mortal, and began to cross the room with hands outstretched. Curious, the spirit followed her. His temple had several rooms and was nice to look upon, but he'd opted for dramatic height over needless length. He kept his furs and trophies in the back. He kept many gifts. He had space to rest and prepare his favored meal. But he did his works not to glut himself on gains, so he had little need to store great treasures. He kept only precious things that looked lovely on display, or which could be helpful in barter or bribery down the road.

Cleo felt the plants with ginger hands. She felt the walls. She ran her fingers along his shelves. That cloak of midnight indeed blinded her, for she walked slowly and her hands in front. It rippled blue and black, caked with white stars and golden moon. The god of trickery and innovation kept largely behind her. He had no reason to step in her way.

Long minutes passed, punctuated by their breathing and occasional muttered words. The god entertained himself by asking after her castle life. Cleo kept short with him, but loaned information without retort.

"Have you many fine gowns?" he asked them once. "You wear padded things."

"When I travel, I dress such. Finery would be an inconvenience." She moved from one room to the next, still following some hidden trail. Her hands pried back the squeaking lids of wood chests and leather trunks.

"You came here without guards, as did your sister."

"It's fewer mouths to feed. And fewer who risk offending you."

"I suppose that's wise."

Cleo searched his chests and cabinets. She left fingerprints, but these, he could wipe away. She trailed her fingers everywhere. At last, she made a triumphant grab for something floating in his fountain pool. She nearly fell in, and it would have taken no effort to unbalance her. He held back, and she lifted first one goblet from the liquid, then the other.

"But how," asked the spirit, "did you determine these ones were right?"

The mortal indicated a golden chain around her neck, whereupon hung a pendant in the shape of a bat. "I first spoke with the goddess of echo and memory. She granted me this necklace to sharpen my hearing. When I neared this pool and touched the goblets, I heard your heart beat faster than a fleeing stag."

The spirit hummed in light approval. Perhaps he'd let his feelings slip. "You are as crafty as the foxes that live in my garden. But you will get yourself in trouble someday, speaking with so many gods."

"Are there rules against it? Will I suffer a curse?"

"Maybe inadvertently," said the spirit. "I simply warn you because you are kind, clever, charming, and devoted to your kingdom - not to mention willing to climb our mountains - and gods are very jealous. You should be careful running errands and looking sharp, or a spirit may ask your hand."

"Well, I know I'm safe with you," scoffed the mortal, turning away. Did they scoff? When the puzzled god trailed after them, they answered the unspoken question thus: "You will never want my hand. I'm stitched up with mulberry silk and I would see you in bare flesh."

"That is true," said the spirit. "I would be ashamed."

The mortal balanced both goblets in their hands. She held them by the throats. "Do you ever look at mortals with desire?"

"Sometimes," he replied, for this was true. "But only the god of hearts and husbandry can lie with them, so I turn away those who beg and flirt. I am not the asylum-granter as he, whose domain includes protection from assault, but we share our nature and look out for those who have been chased. I encourage mortals to turn his way. Nonetheless, the frightened may dwell in my temple as long as they wish."

"And the scientists. I did not see them. I mean… hear."

"Yes, I've harbored students and scientists alike. Some are content with their private thoughts, so I grant them station."

Cleo considered this. The spirit wondered which direction she might go. "Do you teach?"

"Sometimes," the god replied. "I've learned many skills across my years. To those who ask I tutor them, I give them work dusting, mending, and tending to my animals and furs. It is a busy life, but in this way my chores are done and my knowledge shared throughout our labor."

"That does sound nice," the mortal said, though the spirit (by the sound) thought she might have said such just to be polite. "Had I not been born to study gods and rule this land, I would have studied other things. I may visit you again. I wish to educate myself on the reaches of my kingdom and its day-to-day life before I take the throne."

The spirit nodded, still eyeing the cups in her hand. "A life of study appeals to some. You asked if I grew fond of mortals, and I suppose a few who spend seasons with me would qualify. Still, I've watched many mortals grow bored of me… and even the ones who don't passed on long ago." He shrugged. "All things mortal will die. Only someone who drinks from my goblet is taken from the physical world and bound here to live here with me."

The mortal, who'd been walking, stopped at the door of the temple, then cried, "I have erred! Spirit, this is your goblet. That's why your heart beats fast. You fear that I will drink from it and you will be stuck with me, who can see you in the flesh!"

The spirit laughed, thoroughly amused. "You hold the correct goblets, but I admire your theory. You do well to warn yourself against my trickery. Still… I would not drink from those, even if the goddesses request it of you. If they see you are clever, they may desire you. Do not believe them. And be on guard, or they will seduce you with bare flesh."

"I cannot be seduced by naked bodies," the mortal replied. "And you told me yourself only the god of hearts and husbandry can lie with mortals, so I've nothing to fear in that respect."

"They are gods," warned the spirit, "and they will lie to you," but the mortal only shrugged.

"They may be gods, but I am me. Thank you, and now I take my leave." And she did. The god of trickery and innovation watched after her as she departed, but kept his figure out of sight.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Damask

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

There were (on occasion) moments the spirits gathered beneath the sky-wide wings of the god of sparks and time. Here in unity, they basked in a night, a day, and a night of peace and silk-mending. Such a gathering fell across only the 31st day of alternating months, set aside for gods alone.

The god of trickery and innovation brought his serving girl, Upwind: a young hound who stumbled on her first hunt, life cut short by the hoof of an elk snapping crucial threads that kept her form intact. Run on she did, but unraveled with every step until collapsing with a whimper on the ground. The man who’d trained her left her abandoned in the woods for other things to scavenge. He offered not so much as a prayer. The god of hearts and husbandry bristled at this, and would have taken her as his own, but all cast-off things are noticed by the god who runs with every hunt.

“Come along,” he told her all those many years ago, approaching that lost spirit in his fur that shone with winter white. “You have a place with me.” And now, Upwind runs ahead with the god of trickery and innovation close behind. Those who know the hunt know she, for better or worse, can shift the outcome of pursuit at a moment’s notice, if a stumble strikes her once again.

When the god of sparks and time bent a black and yellow wing, the fox-like spirit bore Upwind to the sky with teeth in her scruff. He bounded over zigzag stripes and gaping spots. He set down his loyal hound, licked the cheek of the god who had invited him, and then on Upwind’s tail passed over his back and down the opposite wing. Ever did that god’s footsteps echo out in front, for his path runs sure and steady wherever he may go.

The god of sparks and time dwelt in a grand palace of blackstone, the edges gilded and glinting like the sun. Straight on the heels of the god of trickery and innovation, he spun himself through the doorway, clothed in silks of black and gold. He paused in the doorway to speak with Zephyr and Lightning (Great creeping creatures who carried storms within their fur), and left them to stand guard. On nights like this, no mortal would find his palace door, but there are other gods from other lands who may dwell with ill intentions in their hearts. The god of trickery and innovation licked Upwind between the ears, ceasing her tremors at the sound of noisy wings, and they walked together to join their fellow spirits in the room beyond.

Before all else, a proper feast would be served to all. The goddess of stone and harvest arrived tonight with many delicious fruits and breads. The god of sea and fire presented crustaceans and fish, and the god of hearts and husbandry brought silk-flesh of animals that watered every mouth. The god of war and sky had birds aplenty to share. The goddess of echo and memory had drawn many buckets from her springs, and with these, she poured mortal thanks into every goblet. Some spirits placed more stake in such things than others; the god of trickery and innovation preferred neither measurement nor comparison. He would drink every drop served to him and would be grateful for it.

Ten chairs, crafted with care by the god of wood and ore, sat tall and proud around the great table. One by one, as spirits gathered with their conversation, the eleventh spirit hung back to watch with Upwind standing near. He settled on his side beside the firepit, which roared with warmth. Upwind, who served him always, made careful adjustments to the bangles that wrapped his feet, for even without a chair, it was expected he wear his jewels and finery tonight. The youngest of a group must work to find his place.

“You do well, Upwind,” he told her as careful teeth adjusted the band around his head. “I would hesitate to intrude in these events if I did not have your companionship to strengthen me.”

“You do not intrude, sir,” she said, correcting the shadow that dressed his mouth. “You hold equal standing with the rest of them.”

“No,” he said, and at that very moment, the eyes of the god of sea and fire turned to seek him. The spirit on the floor looked away. “Not until he allows me at the table. I don’t think he ever will.”

The god of travel and arts set about preparing music. He paused to speak to the god of war and sky, who grimaced and nodded, but then left the room for the hall beyond. The god of trickery and innovation pricked his ears. He did not leave his place, but stared curiously as that god spoke to the shadows, and a hand reached from them to touch his face. So intently did he stare that he did not hear approaching footsteps, and jumped when the god of sea and fire addressed him scathingly.

“Go. I need to tend the hearth.”

Without a word, the god of trickery and innovation slunk off so he may do so undisturbed. He whispered to Upwind to stay behind, then crept across the floor. He could not help his curiosity. In his trickery, he stood near the door with folded arms as though aloof, but twitching ears caught word of whispers just around the corner. In secret, a murmur was exchanged. A kiss pressed to rough wrinkles on a chin, and then the god of war and sky returned, brushing off his silks.

The god of trickery did not allow notice to escape between his fingers. “That’s dangerous,” he said. The other spirit stiffened, then turned his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you smuggle a mortal to the palace? I thought we were forbidden that.”

“The god of sparks and time,” scoffed the other spirit, deep annoyance stretched through every word, “has already cast my lovers across all hours of the day, that I may not linger with them while carrying the sun. This is my day of rest. I will not spend it without mortal company.”

Indeed, he wore the sunlight as a crown, a careful bob in his hair keeping it in place. This made it difficult to look him in the eye, and the god of trickery and innovation wished he would present it as a necklace charm, as he did when he disguised himself as mortal. He said softly, “Your day of rest could be my day of work.”

But the god of war and sky smirked at such accusation. “I know better than to put work upon my fellows in this time between. Not even the god of hearts and husbandry shall hear call from us tonight. My lover is a long companion, and we need not your innovation in bed. Go your way. And speak not a word to our host if you hold hope for a seat at that table someday.”

“I admire trickery,” replied the other spirit. “If you are found out, it won’t be from my mouth, but I hold you to that agreement.”

“Could be you back there with me someday,” said the god of war and sky, drawing his hand across the fox spirit’s arm. On those words, he strode across the room, holding his hand in such a way that the rainbow bird he called a companion flew towards him to perch. The god of trickery and innovation, startled, brought his hand to the place where he’d been touched. He did not know what to make of that statement. There were times, in the flight of animals from hunters’ arrows, bringing of plagues, and ransacking of towns, that he felt the least loved of all the gods.

… Perhaps he’ll revisit that offer another time.

He looked about the room and noticed then that the goddess of stone and harvest sat at the table away from her husband, brushing her coral-pink hair with a seashell comb he had gifted her long ago. In her lap sat the moon, which had shriveled to a crescent and would require sustenance soon enough. She would feed it once nourished herself. But for now, in this moment, she cared to upkeep her hair. Seeing this, the god of trickery and innovation ached within himself. A moment’s wrestle rippled through him before he made cautious approach towards her. Hearing his footsteps reach her early, she looked up, awaiting words of greeting.

“You are lovely tonight, goddess of stone and harvest,” he murmured, holding out one arm. “May I brush your hair?”

Her smile, when it struck him, brought a tremor to his lip. “Of course,” she said. “It would do me pleasure sincere. You are the hand of my husband, cut off and made beautiful through your own means. Once, it was you who guided this brush. I have not lost favor with you.” And she held to him the comb. The younger spirit hovered his fingertips above it, unsure exactly what to say. Or even do.

“My master, your husband, has lost all favor with me. And I am not beautiful.”

“He grieves your loss,” came her reply, and she adjusted how she sat to grant easy access to her hair. “You’ve gone off on your own; we do miss you.”

The spirit’s fingers trembled against the seashell brush in its hand… a hand which it had formed of strange things, and had a shape and color not found among any other spirits in this room. He shook more as he reached to part the goddess’s hair in careful sheets. It shimmered with the light of the moon. For the purpose of brushing, she had removed the marital ribbons that bound her to the god of sea and fire, who now glanced over with mistrust lurking in his eyes. Quietly, the spirit said, “He still sees me as his hand.” There was, now, a stumpy fin hanging like a rainbow from that god’s side. Some may call it lovely, but although it blessed the god to swim quickly in the water, no palm nor fingers functioned there.

The god of trickery and innovation still lurched awake from nightmares that stripped him from his robes. Naked, exposed, the moths without number unraveled him, cast him from his mountain, and the thing that tumbled over forest mulch did not exist as a separate being anymore. Such were the horrid thoughts that plagued him in his rest.

Perhaps fear crept across shaking hands. The goddess of stone and harvest took his wrist, looking deep within his eyes, and brought it to her lips. Gently, she kissed his knuckles, and the spirit felt that kiss upon his very core. “Here, you stand among friends. It gives me pleasure to see you make good on your mastery. You will be a fine god someday, when your title is full.”

“I’m a fine god now,” he protested weakly, and she smiled in a way that showed she could help him no more than voting for his chair… but that she would do so without hesitation every time.

Gingerly, the spirit brushed her hair until the god of sparks and time called them together for a short speech. All raised their goblets, with proper appreciation shown to the goddess who had filled their cups. When the evening meal began, the god of trickery and innovation (who possessed no seat at the grand table) leaned his chin on the leg of the god of sea and fire. He peered up with wobbly eyes as the other spirit ate, more than once licking his lips. If ever his old friend glanced down or fumbled with a piece of meat, the lesser god pricked its ears and patted its tail. Meat came in tiny pieces, but he accepted all he could.

Many hours were spent enjoying the finest foods this way, and goblets drained and refilled many times over. In the end, the god of wood and ore clapped their hands, and their clanking servants swept the plates away. All spirits slipped aside, and when the servants returned, they brought forth the great map that depicted the Basin Kingdoms in vibrant color and detail. This, they attached to the four corners of the table, that all could see and touch the edge. The feast was much appreciated, but now began the essential activities of their meeting. On nights like this, tucked somewhere without night and day, they all had much to do.

Upon this giant map, spirits slid their pieces and played their cards. The god of sparks and time conversed with the god of war and sky and goddess of rain and prosperity; they went back and forth a time while coordinating storms. All kingdoms begged their turn with rain. Lightning leapt unavoidably when certain conditions overlapped. The fishing kingdom required wind, but not too much wind. And the work of the goddess of rain and prosperity did not end there, for she need also convene with the goddess of stone and harvest, working the fields. For her, it was a busy time of year.

The god of trickery and innovation, whose duties were to run with herds and bring the snow, now relaxed this time of spring. All beasts called upon the god of hearts and husbandry now, that their children may be blessed with strength and health. He’d spend this season tending to his acolytes and asking after their studies. He might dig the red dust of the mines that thrummed energy in a line, though to do so would fate him to tread near the god of wood and ore. Perhaps he would visit his friend Mouse in the castle where Cleo Clocker lived.

Ah, he thought next. And doing that will place my secrets at risk, for my nakedness will be exposed if she lays eye upon me. It saddened him to think that seeing Mouse again could be so difficult, but that concern did not damper his interest. With his trickery and innovation, he would see his visit through.

Standing instead of sitting at the table, feigning interest in irrelevant conversation, the god of trickery and innovation felt his mind began to wander. How inviting was the firepit, and how comfortable Upwind looked resting beside it! And how uncomfortable to stand. So when opportunity peeked its face, even for a moment, he took it by the hand. The god of justice and sleep stood from the table, walking off to calm his mind after a heated spurt of words. A long tail of exposed wire snapped behind him. Quietly, the much younger spirit moved to follow. The footsteps that ran ahead of him went unnoticed. He may be young, but he stood taller than the spirit striding ahead. Creeping close, picking up speed, he dropped one hand to the man’s thin shoulder. It made the other jump and flap his great blue wings.

“GAH!”

“Heeeey, Bdubs,” replied the god of trickery and innovation, thoroughly delighted by his own sneaky ways. He smiled behind the shadow that hid his mouth. “Did that make you jump?”

“What do you think!? You almost stopped my pendulum!”

“Heh heh… Sorry.” It should come as no surprise to anyone that he, who was once the left hand of a god, came to befriend a spirit who once hung in these very walls, ticking through the hours in the shape of a clock. The fox spirit ducked his head, licking at the phantom god’s cheek, and received an eyeroll for this kindness… and a huff. “I must thank you, though, for suggesting that mortal wear your cloak of midnight when she came to see me. It worked for both of us.”

“I suggested nothing,” the spirit answered with a wave of his hand. “This was Cleo’s plan from the start. I tasked them to bring home my fallen stallion, slaughtered by Thunder at my own stables. It was recent. You remember.”

“I do, yes.” So Cleo did think of him and his reluctance to be viewed in nakedness, and detoured into another kingdom that she might plan ahead. How very clever she is. The god of trickery and innovation could not fight down another smile. “How did they manage that?”

“Oh, it was wonderful… I’m the one whose mastery extends over rotten things. I gave her a clock that would put her to sleep in a way like death for one week’s time. All she had to do was cross the soul caves with my horse, filled with monsters of all powers and shapes. And you know how she did it?”

“How so?”

“She climbed ten horse jumps high and rode him back on the freakin’ ROOF!” The god of justice and sleep threw back his head, cackling at the thought and lashing his long tail. “And she didn’t even ask you for help, apparently, or you would know.”

The god of trickery and innovation laughed. “I may have helped a little. She seems ashamed to visit me in person, but I hear all prayers that are rendered unto me. It was the ender pearls she-”

“Wait,” a voice interrupted, and both spirits jumped. They twisted to look. It would seem the god of hearts and husbandry listened on their teasing, for he stood there, frozen as the dead. His hand trembled around his goblet stem. A few ticks of the clock in Bdubs’ chest passed before he spoke again. “Cleo traveled to the Nether? By themself?”

“Maybe,” said the god of justice and sleep, tense and guarded now. “I didn’t send no one with her. My horse was killed in my temple stable for no good reason! Getting him back was a mission of justice.”

The god of hearts and husbandry, shifting his vulture wings, let out a nervous laugh. “Wait, so… You wouldn’t save Cleo when they died, but you save your horse? And this is just? I don’t know if you get to decide that.”

The smaller spirit growled, showing his fangs, and the god of trickery and innovation blocked him with a warning arm. Steadily, he replied, “Were it not for Bdubs opening the Nether portal, I could not have retrieved Cleo’s soul. He played just as much role in saving them as I did.”

“Must’ve cost a pretty big favor,” the vulture god shot back.

“It did.” Not elaborating. The god of justice and sleep regarded his friend uncertainly, frisking his tail, and the god of hearts and husbandry laughed like he’d been stabbed. He would laugh at such.

“You wouldn’t owe anything at all if that mortal had waited in bed for me to bring back those apples and potions, like I advised her to. Do you have any idea how long that took me? And what is my reward?” Holding up his goblet, the vulture god cried, “She hardly sends me prayers now, let alone thanks. After all I did for that family!”

Before the god of trickery and innovation could retort, their host intervened, brushing both their shoulders with a flutter of black and yellow wings. Strong hands touched their chests and forced them apart. A warning. The fox god turned with a snort, shaking out his neck, and strut off across the room. The god of justice and sleep trotted after him, so the god of trickery and innovation addressed him, saying, “Well, regardless of the steps that mortal took to win you over, I appreciate that you shared your cloak. I know it helps you sleep at night. Can I check your stitches?”

“Can I check yours?” the god of justice and sleep countered back, and the spirit smiled, for he could not refuse his friend. They settled in, resting on a thick rug in the sitting room, and examined one another’s arms and backs. Each stray thread went noticed and attended to. Little consistent gestures showed each other that they cared.

The god of trickery and innovation fell drunk. Openly, wildly drunk, which showed in the way he laughed loud and cast his body across a comfy chair. His legs lay draped in silks that spilled like water from a frozen mountain. He ruffled the fluff atop Upwind’s head (She lay across his lap) and hoisted his cup of stained glass towards the hardworking goddess of echo and memory, that she might refill it with the thanks of mortals whom he’d served. All the better that he cast his mind away. He did not care to dwell on the glare the god of sea and fire fixed him with. Easier to forget. Easier to let himself enjoy this form he’d made himself into, strange as it may be, and sink himself in gratitude.

The god of sparks and time was born a butterfly. He considered them his kin even now. The rooms of his palace swirled with them as migration led them from the west wing to east. They descended upon the arms of the fox spirit’s chair, flitting past his shoulders, breast, antlers, wings, and snout. Upwind reached for a purple butterfly with her paw, snapping with her teeth. It fled to its master straightaway, lighting on his finger to twitch its antennae in reproach.

“You’re scaring my friends,” he warned, caressing its head with the edge of a fingertip.

“I’m a scary fella!”

A clicking, chirpy sound beckoned the insect over. The god of hearts and husbandry, who shared a loveseat with the god of travel and arts, stretched out a hand. The butterfly flew to greet him, and when it landed, he brought it near his eyes with a smile. “Aww, yeah. You’re a pretty thing…”

“Do they do anything?” the god of travel and arts asked curiously, holding one of his own blue companion creatures in his lap. At this, the god of sparks and time paused.

“‘Do anything?’ Well… They sip nectar. They pollinate flowers.”

“Hm,” said the spirit, and leaned against his husband to watch him play with the butterfly in his hand.

“They are my friends,” the god of sparks and time elaborated (as if in warning). Hearing this, the god of trickery and innovation tipped his goblet a drip too far.

“Ah, a friend! I have one of those myself… Her name is Mouse, and never has anyone been so kind to a humble traveler like me.”

These words prompted a squeak of outrage from the god of justice and sleep, which one should assume to be the point. The god of sparks and time, however, batted his wings as though insulted. “What do your allays do, Mumbo?”

“Steal; mostly steal,” he replied, quick on his feet.

“And then you travel the world and sell it all back.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“I plan to take my youngest vultures out for scavenging practice soon,” the god of hearts and husbandry cut in, and wandered his eyes past the butterfly on his finger to the drunken god one chair over. “We should plan a hunt while we’re all together, actually, so your foxes may eat and I may follow, and yours won’t sneak up on mine. These are my smallest birds, after all. Their lives could end with a single cronch.”

“You worry I would trample them?” the fox god asked in mock offense, and received a thin-lipped reply.

“Well, you do make quite the consistent habit of stepping on my toes.”

The god of trickery and innovation smiled secretly into his rainbow glass. “Ah, ah! I go where I’m invited. Do not forget who bears innovation to your bedroom. Consider me your silent third. I would not be so drunk tonight if your husband did not fill my glass with endless thanks. It is your own private life that brings me delight here, and for this, I cannot thank enough.”

The god of travel and arts spluttered loudly then; the god of hearts and husbandry’s stare drew ever more intense. That drunken spirit smiled hazily back, thinking crude things, as laughter filled the air.

“If my love life were private,” the god of hearts and husbandry replied smartly back, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job.”

“Well,” replied the god of trickery and innovation, “I know I’m not the only one thankful that you share so freely.”

“Goodness me,” squeaked the god of travel and arts, fidgeting his fingers. Hearing that, the god of hearts and husbandry slapped his hands to his lap and stood.

“What are you trying to say? The god of love doesn’t deserve to schmooze his husband in the dark?” He towered above the god of trickery and innovation, who blinked balefully up at him. Then it gathered its legs and stood as well so they stared nearly eye to eye. The fox spirit drew the vulture god forward with a fist in his robes. And, because he was drunk, he teased a little onward.

“I mean no insult… It is through you I know there is more to hearts than the husbandry so quick to follow behind. I am grateful for your willing demonstrations! Watching you pleasure your own husband, I feel I’ve learned so much.”

The spirit thought, perhaps, there had never been a man as flushed as the god of hearts and husbandry in that very moment. The man shoved him back, golden curls spilling past the many black ribbons woven in his hair. “Well, I think I shall forbid you from my chambers, then! If I name you, you shall have no choice but to appear without disguise.”

“Nooo… I am found where there is innovation, even if that is in your bed. You will kill your own satisfaction to be rid of me?” It batted its lashes and swayed on shaky legs. The vulture god snarled back. By this point, the god of travel and arts had caught his hand, and the god of justice and sleep had grabbed the drunken spirit’s arm. Still, the god of hearts and husbandry bristled like a brush.

“To repeat what you’ve already brought us every night of our marriage is to burn your brilliance in our mind and carve it out as routine. Am I wrong? We will need your creativity no longer.”

The youngest spirit sipped its drink again. “I will find you,” he simply said. “You seem to think my powers are bound to the hunt and stuffy books. Let us see how long that lasts.”

“Hey, hey,” said the god of sparks and time, striding forward to interfere. As the god of travel and arts pulled him sideways, the god of hearts and husbandry threw one last comment behind him:

“If I could rob you of you power, even for one hour of my life, I’d be a happy man. I would cast love upon my husband the likes of which you could never dream about, and never learn the secrets of.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” replied that spirit of the hunt, and at this point, Upwind and the god of justice and sleep led him away. They retreated to the dining room. The god of justice and sleep first pried the fox spirit’s goblet from his hand, then settled his friend in his own chair. He smoothed his robes with a stroke of his hand.

“We need to get you water. Then sleep. Oh, yes… Sleep is a good thing, and you should want it. I have it all the time.” The phantom god motioned for a few butterflies to come and sip out the nectar that had left his friend so drunk, and the god of trickery and innovation could not be bothered to bat them away. Little tongues probed at the mismatched pieces he’d built himself from. He played with one that crawled across his hand, rotating his wrist, until the god of justice and sleep brought him clean rainwater and ordered him to drink. Draining much of it did make him feel a little better, although his head began to ache.

“Perhaps I’ll go and rest,” he mused, and his friend said, “Yes, I think you will.”

The god of justice and sleep once served the master of this palace, back before he became a broken-off god in his own right. Even now, on these secret days without sun or moon, the god of sparks and time allowed him to do what he did best. He’d prepared fine rooms for every spirit to lay their heads down, for on this night, mortal prayers would not reach them. There may be only ten chairs in the dining hall, but the god of trickery and innovation could always expect to find himself a room, for the god of justice and sleep counted him equal with the rest. Hand in hand, they turned into the hallway. Up ahead, the god of hearts and husbandry and god of travel and arts were just slipping inside their room for the night. Eyes skimmed across each other as the door softly shut. How nice that must be, to have a companion to fall in bed with… Sleepily, the god of trickery and innovation scooped Upwind in his arms. In spite of her yip and wriggles, he snuggled his cheek against her back.

“Hey, come on. Put her down. Let’s get you in there.”

“Noooo…”

“Yes, you listen to me. Or else you go night-night without my blessing, and you won’t like the hangover you wake up with then. And I’ll tell Impulse we can’t let you drink like this no more. False will cut you off; you know she will.”

Reluctantly, the spirit returned the hound to the floor. The god of justice and sleep patted his hand and granted entry to a bedroom decorated gray and white. A snowy painting hung above the headboard. A stuffed toy horse sat among the pillows. Upwind leapt upon the bed and, when the other god guided her master to sit, set about removing his bangles and jewels. Even a spirit with wings made of twisted metal would not find it comfortable to sleep wearing all of those.

“One more sip of water for me, okay? That’s it. Oh, very nice… Yes, get under the blankets. Here’s a horse for you; it always helps me. You comfy? Need more pillows? … All right. Good night, sweetheart. We’ll go do something fun in the morning.” Gently, the god of justice and sleep kissed his friend on the forehead, and the young spirit slipped at once into pleasant dreams.

That long sleep did rejuvenate him, at least. The god of trickery and innovation stirred awake to find the toy horse wrapped in his arms, his legs awkwardly curled beneath the sheets. His shriveled tail gave a twitch like a dead and chewed-up thing. Metal wings dragged against the muscles of his back. And when he thought all these things, he didn’t much want to rise and play at all. Broken talons clenched the snowflake-patterned pillow beneath his head. Something itched around his hip. Could it be fleas?

Ants were a far more likely possibility, and one he dreaded very much. The god of justice and sleep walked this world as an undead god. His mastery included rotting things. And no spirit - no mortal - could ever be as rotten as the god of trickery and innovation, who stole a body for himself by wrapping his newborn form in the skins of dead animals not that long ago. If he had chosen better, perhaps the moths without number would not have intertwined them with his flesh.

My fallout-love spoke kindly to me… but I am NOT beautiful. Could the goddess of stone and harvest be called his fallout? Was she even a love? He did not have a separate body then, but he knows the feel of her glossy hair as if it lay like a river across his entire being. Very likely, he could paint the exact curve of her cheek and jaw. He certainly had plenty of opportunity to touch her back when he existed as the left hand of the god of sea and fire. He knew her both outside and in, for he tore into fabric flesh as though biting with his teeth. His fingers wrapped her inner threads, and just the thought was enough to make him flush and drag his talons down his face. He buried himself in his pillow, beating his tail against the bed.

He wove her together again. Gathered all the loose strings that made her Lizzie and fed her to the standing loom. Back and forth, remaking her before him… She trusted him with that vulnerability.

Miss you. Groaning, he flopped over in the twisted sheets. His hand hit empty space beside him. The spirit stared towards the ceiling, blinking through squinted eyes, and tried to recall which godly feathers he’d ruffled last night. Shouldn’t have done that, he thought, and forced himself to sit up with a wince. Ugghh… He did remember the kiss the god of justice and sleep left upon him. If this pounding he felt now was a hangover with a preemptive blessing to soothe it, he shuddered to think what could have been.

How many people did he insult last night? Would they even allow him near the table today, or ever again? He could very well step outside this bedroom door and witness his entire future come crashing down. What would it matter if he dwelt in bed a few hours more? Possibly all day. Spring infallibly remained the lightest time of his working year. Discussions could continue morn until eve before someone noticed he didn’t show up. Maybe Bdubs. Maybe their host. And maybe the god of sea and fire, but only because he sought to huff and glare.

I don’t even have a seat at their table. He might just stay here and let the others come and get him when they recognize they need him.

… Of course, they could always remember they don’t need him. Ten gods dwelt in these kingdoms for many years and the eleventh ascension could be reversed at any time. It would not be difficult, he knew, for the others to unravel and expose him as a shriveled, cut-off hand. The only reason he exists at all is because that god who used to be called trickery and sky handed over his mastery, which he did not need to do. He gave it with a whisper, pressing the tip of a sword to each of the new god’s shoulders, and swore him to allegiance when he passed his blessing on.

He would never chase the tremors of intimacy that come with unraveling someone you love and piecing them up again. His body covering did not resemble soft, inviting cloth. What a wonder he could even breathe. He hugged himself a moment, then swung his legs over the bed. Upwind, who slept on the floor, raised her head. She stood, ready to replace his bangles, but the god froze her in place with a lifted hand.

“I will visit the goddess of stone and harvest the way I am. I require honest words.”

“I shall ask her to meet you-”

“I will see her now.” Drunken confusion still pressed against his mind. Upwind raised a protest, attempting to bar him from the door. The spirit would never kick his faithful hound, but he did slide her sideways with his ankle and push his way into the hall. Presenting the goddess with a heads up would allow her time to think up lies. He needed truths.

But with the door open, the spirit froze. Did he squeak? He stood on gilded blackstone as if up to his neck in water. Across the hall and to the right, the god of hearts and husbandry pinned the god of travel and arts to their bedroom door frame, their heads askew and lips pressed very tight… In passion like a taunt. Arms around each other, both wearing each other’s silken robes- to one the black and red, to the other all the greens. The colors hanging off them rippled like things wrong and stolen, as if their bodies switched.

I insulted them last night. So they timed this, surely- They desired him to see this affectionate display. The spirit knew that he deserved as much, but turned and shut himself in his borrowed bedroom anyway. He pressed his wings to the door until metal feathers dug against his flesh, then thumped his head back against it. Perhaps he did not dare anger the god of sea and fire by visiting his wife for a private conversation after all. But the god dwelt with his thoughts for a time, stroking Upwind down the back as he stood near the window, and thought up a little plan. Hm.

Of course, he did visit the dining room, mingle with his fellow spirits, and rest without worries for a time. But trickery lay within that wily spirit’s nature, and he would not let himself come undone. Before departing the palace that evening, he caught the sleeve of the god of travel and arts, pulled him sideways into shadow, and whispered in his ear. “I must voice my concerns with the god of war and sky, but I do not wish to bring them before our host or the moths without number until I’ve received advice from a spirit who knows him better than I. Would you humor me?”

Curious eyes stared back at him. Black hair glittered with the starlight, and the hand that pressed to the god of trickery and innovation’s back, drawing him close, was a hand that had crafted many marvelous works, the likes of which would inspire many far across the land. “What say you?”

“I am not certain,” murmured the first spirit, glancing about in pretended shame, “that he takes his powers seriously. Each day he carries the sun, and I do not deny that, but his loyalty is fickle, and the god of sparks and time is running out of hours to split his mortal lovers between.”

“I do not follow. Do you desire? All of us may entertain the love of mortals if we wish.”

“Even you?” asked the trickster god, and when the other spirit paused, he thought perhaps he’d found his mark.

“I do not betray my husband for mortal pleasures,” said the god of travel and arts, and stated this very firmly. “He is very clever with his mastery.” In that moment, his little blue fey companion (who sung and traded goods) flew in from the neighboring room with a crystal butterfly decoration in hand and settled in his arms. The god sighed, busying himself with prying off its stolen thing, and the god of trickery and innovation pressed gently at another corner of conversation.

“The god of war and sky once was called the god of trickery and sky, before he shed his title so I might ascend. I think his past has not abandoned him. I did hear rumor he sought to ruin your market grounds with a potato that, if not discovered immediately, should multiply and be difficult to remove. He steals eggs from chickens and scatters them in all manner of buildings across the land, that they might crow to wake the sleeping fellows or peck children with their beaks. He uses them to hatch the eggs of strange monsters in the night. Then he sneaks a mortal into our host’s own halls. He is our spirit whose temple lies within the grain kingdom, and thus borders the Great River kingdoms who so often press us towards the coast. This is the man who defends us from invasion? Does this not worry you?”

The god of travel and arts did not speak, but weighed the crystal butterfly in one hand and a cuddly fey in the other. Hesitation dragged onwards for a beat, then another, then a third. After a moment, he said, “I suppose he’s a mite troublesome at times, but he is the god of war and sky. If anyone can defend the four Basin Kingdoms from a Great River invasion, it would be him.”

“If you are willing to aid me, I’d like to test his skills, that he might be a noticer of things and assure us he is capable of solving problems under stress. I wish to play a little trick on him.” The spirit smiled, perhaps a bit too cruelly, as its breath frosted the other man’s neck. The god of travel and arts winced in reply.

“I seek no quarrel with him. Why do you ask this of me?”

“You thanked me for the innovation I brought to your bed, did you not?” When the other spirit coughed and took a moment to smooth his robes, he said, “You’ve been kind enough, but I’m interested in collaboration. I cannot manage this trick alone.”

“Just a small, harmless trick?”

“To ensure he can be serious and focused under pressure, and both coordinated and restrained in his anger. We must test him, if we trust him with our border. The gods in the Great River kingdoms are numerous and strong, and if they overrun us, it will be the end of our temples and masteries.”

“Well, I suppose one little trick is a simple enough ask… What did you have in mind?”

Spring, for the most part, passed easily across the Basin Kingdoms. The god of trickery and innovation did little hunting and spent more time aiding those who sought him and seeking quiet moments of play and enjoyment with his friends. Mouse had her litter that spring, and although a cat crept towards her nest early one morning, the visiting spirit took notice. In the form of a crow, he yanked its tail, then flew atop the barn. The cat, yowling and pitiful, ran around the corner to Cleo and jumped in their arms. The god of trickery and innovation kept on the roof, but she did not look up. When Cleo kissed the cat and let it loose again, he slunk back down to Mouse. In the form of her own kind, he helped carry her little ones safely to a better hiding hole.

“Careful, Mouse. I will not always be fast enough to notice the trickery of approach is aimed against you, and interfere.”

Mouse smiled to herself and rubbed her head on his, for she did love her protector so. “You do me well, spirit. Spend your energy on those who need you more. I can take care of myself and will keep you no longer.”

“Ah,” he said, “but what if I like spending my energy with she who is my friend?”

“Then I shall take all the protection you wish to give me, and hold you not at fault if some cat or creature does someday catch my little ones between their teeth. You are a shapeshifter and hunter. You keep the balance. I am part of that balance which need be kept.”

“You are very wise, Mouse, and it pleases me to see the god of hearts and husbandry blessed you with such lovely children. I wish I could do more.”

“The princess worries,” she said, pointing to the castle with her nose. “And I worry… for the prince. He’s never spoken to me, but I’ve seen him feed the dogs scraps beneath the table and take pride in caring for his horse himself. He has not been home in some time. I hear the humans speak concerning things. Cleo will visit you soon. She’s preparing you a gift.”

“Hm,” said the spirit. “I will ready myself to speak with her. Thank you, Mouse. Take care.” At the entrance to her hiding spot, he paused. Softly, “I hope when I see you again, it will be on evasion’s side.”

“Oh, spirit,” she said, patting her tail when she looked at him. “You worry too much over what you can’t control.”

… Cleo did come. Late, that spring, but with a certain bold quickness in her step. It did not disguise the way she bit her lip, glancing about, and the spirit who watched her from the highest trees in the form of a snowy owl kept very still, very silent, and hoped she would not look up. As she passed into the temple courtyard, he spread his wings and flew over her head, through a window, and skimmed down the stairs. By the time she knocked upon his temple door, he’d already swooped into the beams high in the ceiling space, where he gripped wood with sharp talons and could watch her from above.

“Come in, Cleo! But do not look above your head.”

Slowly, the large door creaked open. Cleo stepped one foot inside, and the spirit noticed that although he had not instructed her to do so, she had closed her eyes.

“I leave comment with the god of trickery and innovation, who bears my heart and leads my trail.”

“I hear you,” it replied. “What is it you want?”

“To bring a gift,” she said, and hesitated for a moment. “I have tied it outside. I will move it if you ask me to.”

“Oh? What have you brought me?”

Cleo gathered a breath, which seemed to steady her very well. “I noticed when I came here that you do not keep domestic animals. Your mountain peak stays snow-coated all year round. As you are a hunting god, I hope you will see this as the gift it is intended as, for I mean no insult in bringing you a creature of the farm.” She turned then, gesturing to the courtyard, and from a small window up in the rafters, the spirit saw the bull munching hay outside. “It is the healthiest ravager in my private herd. I have raised it as my own, from the calf, and I wish that it would go to you.”

“That is very kind of you,” said the spirit, who far preferred wild beasts and hens, but would accept this ravager nonetheless. “You’ve certainly brought it from a long ways off. My acolytes will enjoy the meat very much.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you not eat, spirit?”

“My name is Cast-Off Things,” he said, and thought of the god of sea and fire with woe heavy in his heart. “All things tossed away find a place with me, and I eat what is good to be consumed. I need not your ravager, but it will delight my acolytes. I thank you for bringing it. But surely, Cleo, you have more reasons than this bull to make the great journey up my snowy mountain. It would sorrow me if your journey has exhausted you without kindness shown your way. I know you are very busy in your princess duties.”

Cleo shifted the weight between their soles, which crunched snow beneath their boots. “I could use your aid… but only if you permit me to ask.”

“You may always ask,” he spake, stepping along his beam, “for gods delight in the words you leave us, and these are poured out to us at feasting time by the goddess of echo and memory. I may not be the god most suited to help you, but what is it you desire? I will guide you if I can.”

Still, Cleo showed great hesitation. “There is something I would like to ask, spirit, if I may be permitted to, but you do me no fault if you turn me back outside your doors. The blessing I’ve come to seek your favor for is far greater than rescuing my sister’s love. This ravager’s life cannot pay back the debt I owe you for saving mine.”

“It pleased me to save your life,” said the spirit from above. “To do so proved a great test of my trickery and innovation, the likes of which I had never pushed myself to reach before.” Not in that regard. Not since he was cut off from the god of sea and fire and created life all his own. And since Cleo seemed to be looking for assurance, he told her, “You are permitted to ask more of me than this. It does me no offense.”

She turned away then, and the spirit startled. Then he studied her all the closer. In the mortal’s hair, which rolled thick with ginger waves, he saw woven favor ribbons from the goddess of rain and prosperity, alongside the goddess of echo and memory. Too, one from the god of justice and sleep. She has done them well by retrieving their stolen goblets and the fallen horse. His own cloth favor, however, was not present there. The spirit gripped the rafter in his claws, huffing a single breath. That is frustrating. By custom, to see his favor there, he must offer to weave it with his own hands. Doing that, however, would require standing very, very close to her. And he did not wish to place himself in a position where she might see his hands, or his reflection, and catch him in his nakedness. Even if she had not returned the cloak of midnight to the spirit she borrowed it from, he must weigh the risks of proximity with the utmost care.

I cannot freely weave my favor into your hair, he thought, but I will be happy to recommend other gods who may take interest in you performing kind deeds. She had already done quite well for herself, building a curious reputation among those who knew her name. If he could lead the princess to complete these tasks for other gods, he might see her favors grow. That would be something like placing them upon her head himself.

“Spirit, my kingdom is at war.”

“Oh, snappers,” said the spirit, who no longer felt this guidance would be so easy. Nonetheless, he always found joy in challenging his skills. “This time, I am sure you have the wrong temple. Why do you request my hand? Should you not visit the god of war and sky? Will he not help you?”

“That’s just it,” the mortal cried. “He aids our enemy! They possess weapons glowing with magic from the Great River border kingdoms, which outstrip our plain tools in every way. Every battle ends with the deaths of my people; my own brother has been slain. This time, I come not to take your treasures, but to appeal for aid from the god of trickery and innovation. If you do not aid us, we are surely doomed.”

Oh, snappers, thought the spirit in its head, more weakly this time. I know what has prompted this intrusion into the livestock kingdom… In my trickery, I have caused the death of Cleo’s brother, the prince. Mouse proved correct in her worries that she had not seen him for a time. I have placed Cleo herself in harm’s way. He still took pride in the prank he’d pulled against that impish, childish god, but a thin, flickery ripple of something unspoken oozed beneath his silken robes. He said, “I too will fall against the god of war and sky.”

The mortal nodded, grave and thoughtful. “I did wonder… Your skill with weaponry led you through ancient battles, but modern warfare is foreign to you.” She paused. Then, quickly, “I would not call you ineffective on the field, but from the stories I hear, I wonder if your skills belong to another time.”

The spirit huffed, amused by the way she tried to explain her thoughts aloud. “It is as you say. I am ‘washed up.’”

“I didn’t say that… Still, this is why I’ve come to you and no other god. I wish to trick the armies so this war may end without further death on either side.”

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. “Very well,” it finally said. “I will provide the god of war and sky a gift. Present it at his temple and tell him I sent you there. If he accepts this peace offering, your troubles are done. If he does not, then he will know I’ve cast my favor with your kingdom, and will fear I seek the opportunity to strike. This will distract him from the armies, for he will withdraw to protect himself here. Your forces may crush the invading ones… so it will be in your hands to stay their anger and lead them to conquer their enemies in peace. I have seen how much you sacrifice for your people, Cleo. You give of your time and riches, and they respect you as much as any captain on the battlefield. I think you will succeed even if the god of war and sky rejects my gift. If he does, visit me again and I will rush to your aid. But I must warn you… When I give you this gift, wrapped in a box most beautiful, you must show no one the contents therein.”

“Will it curse me to look inside?” she asked, sounding careful and unsure in a single breath.

“No,” said the spirit. And, shifting form, he ran along the beam in the form of a rat, for he had small holes in his walls that would let him navigate his entire temple in this way. His gift lay in another room. His voice could be heard regardless, so he spoke aloud even as he went to search for it. “You will not be cursed, but inside this box is the finest sword I possess, crafted from nothing short of diamond, and all who see it will surely covet its beauty and strength. You must not fall into temptation, trading it for coin or keeping it as your own. This gift was given to me by the god of war and sky. I invite you to restore it to win his favor for your kingdom.”

The mortal fell quiet for a moment. The spirit looked through its many things. He knew all his storage, and it did not take long to locate the item he sought. He lay it plainly on the floor, that Cleo might easily walk in to claim it at his instruction. As he scampered back up the slanted beam into the higher rafters, she asked, “Are you certain the god of war and sky will not take this mighty sword and strike my people down? I fear that weapon in his hand.”

“I cannot be sure he desires peace, but this is what help I can offer. I have found the box with the sword and placed it in my storage room for you to find. It’s forward one and to your left. You may open your eyes if you wish, but do not look up.”

Cautiously, the mortal began crossing his entry room, which had many statues and fine decorations a visitor could admire. Snow fell from her boots, and she had dressed in a leather coat that looked very comfortable and warm. “Thank you,” she murmured as she went, keeping hands to herself. “I am honored to be trusted with your treasure. I will secure it with me at all times.”

“If you have any need of me,” he said, perched high above, “you have only to call. I will hear your prayers outside this temple just as easily as within… but I do appreciate the efforts you take. I will tend to this bull you’ve brought and serve my acolytes a good meal for many nights. Now, take this fine sword and go your way. I have much to think about.”

Perhaps, this time… his little trick strayed a bit too far.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Chiffon

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

Traveling to the god of war and sky’s temple in the grain kingdom required careful preparation, for the journey would be long, especially without a ravager to ride. After the long journey up a snowy mountain, Cleo desired nothing more than a hot meal and warm sheets where she may rest in bed. From above her head (where she’d been directed not to look), the spirit invited her to walk to the eastern end of his temple, where he said his acolytes researched, dined, and slept. She could even bathe and rest her feet. Tomorrow, he said, he would kill the ravager and prepare its meat accordingly. She could take some for her journey southwest.

That felt wrong, and she told him so: “It’s a gift for you and your acolytes to eat as you please. I deprive you if I take.”

“I do not mind sharing,” the spirit said. “Nonetheless, if you wish not to take, I have hunters here who would be glad to teach you the hunting kingdom’s ways. The younger hunting prince studies this week, in fact. Do you know him? Perhaps you two should meet.”

The mortal considered this for a moment. They were not especially familiar with the hunting kingdom’s prince, beyond the very basics. The Basin Kingdom’s gods took care of the land, that it was always plentiful to those who either worked to make it so or served the gods in exchange for food and shelter. In their youth, they did cross paths (and even played together), but rarely did foreign affairs require meeting face to face.

They knew him as Renward Star (cruelly called Ren Warts by those who disliked him), knew he loved his hunting hounds, and he wrapped the favors for the god of hearts and husbandry and goddess of echo and memory at the end of his plaited hair. She’d heard of his great skill with axes and bows, even on horseback on steep terrain. “When I travel from my kingdom, I can’t easily bring my livestock for food. Hunting would be far easier; I will ask him for advice. I’m more familiar with butchering tools and swords.”

“Consider a fishing rod,” he advised, sounding deeply amused. He shifted and settled overhead like a cat resting its chin on crossed forepaws; she didn’t dare look. “It takes skill, but it’s the best weapon of them all.”

Not only would hunting practice aid her in her journey, but war broiled on her kingdom’s border… It would do Cleo well to befriend Prince Ren. She bid the spirit farewell and departed, first to the storage room where he had told her to retrieve the sword. The box itself felt like simple wood and did not draw the eye. Cleo, uncertain, nearly popped its lid to check the diamond sword truly did lie within it, but she remembered the spirit’s warning and stayed her fingers on the edge.

All who see this beautiful weapon are sure to desire it, and sell it for coin. The god of trickery and innovation had assured her no curse was involved, but Cleo worried anyway. All the better that she polish her mediocre hunting skills, that temptation may not strike (even for a moment) to consider exchanging the sword for food.

I do wonder, though, she thought as she carried the box towards the temple’s eastern side, what it might cost to barter with the magicians of the Great River kingdoms. The grain kingdom’s army held enchanted armor, powerful weapons. Cleo did not intend to barter with the sword, but she did… fear it. And she feared what the god of war and sky might do with a diamond blade once she laid it in his hand.

I am princess of the livestock kingdom. My elder sister’s run away with her husband. My brother lies dead among his trampled silks. I am now the heir to the throne, and to take me captive would surely do him well. The gods could not lay hand on mortals unless given their consent. Would he dare threaten her when he sees the favors of a fellow god and two goddesses woven in her hair?

After some asking around, Cleo found Ren in a private study, watched over by his personal guard. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and stood to greet her with a smile. Words were exchanged, and he spoke to her (Holding her hand) as if genuinely shocked and concerned by the war blooming where two kingdoms brushed.

“Your kingdom’s horses have always served mine well,” he told them, and Cleo stood with poise, but wished that she could weep. “My kingdom has your back. My mother’s making arrangements for us to stand against the grain kingdom, and I’m here studying enchantments, that I might search for weakness within them. I wish we could move more quickly to your aid. It drives me mad, m’lady. Mad!”

Cleo wasn’t sure the title “lady” fit them very well, but then… they did accept the title “princess.” She held Ren’s hands firmly, nodding back. “I know my parents would be honored to have you with us. Their great weapons terrify me. I find comfort in speaking with the gods…” She eyed the green ribbon that bound his plaited hair just below his shoulder blades. “But I am not on the finest terms with the god of hearts and husbandry. If you must hang back out of loyalty to the god who grants you favor, I will understand.”

Hearing this, Ren thumped a fist against his chest, standing tall and proud. “The god I’ve won the favor of is Peace-From-Abuse, and he would not wish me to turn against you in this time of need! He stays out of all wars, for he heals all who call upon him, but I took no vow of abstinence. It would do me honor to travel beside you wherever you may go. Until they are disarmed, those foes at your border are mine as well.”

Cleo looked at the box beneath her arm. Visiting the god of war and sky would require crossing the grain kingdom, which left her uneasy. Perhaps having a companion to travel with would not be a painful thing. But if Ren looked within this box, would he desire the diamond sword for his own?

“I am learning to hunt,” she told him then. “I have not kept up with my training, and it’s been many years since I last shot a bow. Would you travel with me, and train me as we go, that I might benefit from your skills?”

“Where shall we go, my dear princess?”

“To visit the god of war and sky. I have a gift for him, which is a very beautiful thing.”

“Then we shall go,” said Ren, turning to close his books, “and I will teach you the hunting skills we know. I’m sure you have much to teach me as well. Do you have a horse?”

“I do not,” she admitted, and the prince offered his own steed for her to ride. At this, Cleo shook her head. “I can walk, and I do not need it. It’s your horse; it trusts you.”

“I would not have my horse without the livestock kingdom gifting it to me. It it one of your finest, I have heard. It was a birthday gift to me some years back. You may have raised it yourself.”

Cleo glanced at his guardsman, who stood at his side. Did this man not have a horse to surrender? But seeing her look, Ren smiled and said, “My guard is very skilled upon his horse. I will walk. What prince would I be, if I forced those who look up to me to turn over what they have?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Cleo said. “Very well… I will ride. But two can surely fit, if we ride very close.”

“Cheeky,” said the prince, grinning back at her, and Cleo pushed his shoulder and said, “Behave.”

With Ren beside her, Cleo did not feel so conflicted over taking some food, for Ren and his guard had planned to study here a few more nights, and now the meals they would have eaten could be brought on travel instead. Outside they went, grateful for the calmness in the air. It did not snow, and no wind tore their faces.

Some ways down the mountain, Cleo looked about, unsure whether or not to speak the words that lurked within their mind. But Ren turned his head, noticed their anxiety, and asked what ailed them so. They lowered their voice.

“My parents find fault with the god of trickery and innovation. Chaos struck our castle some time back, when I called upon him to free my sister’s lover from his cell. I worry I’ve caused him insult, turning them away from him. Perhaps he will trick me too. It’s in his nature, after all, and I do not wear his favor.”

“The gods are good,” said Ren. “Even him. In my kingdom, we cry against him when he leads our quarry in escape, but we know he does it for balance and in jest. He teases us at times our meat-stocks are plenty, but when we truly need him, he will always court prey with us. Your kingdom is ailing. He would not trick you at your lowest point.”

Cleo hoped this might be true. They traveled on, their pace much slower than she’d like, but the horses would not grow exhausted this way. Ren took the time to show her his bow, helping her with posture as she lined up the arrows and thunked them into tree trunks from across a glade. At first, she missed many shots, but as the days drew on, she felt much more confident that - if she must - she could bring a quarry down. Ren showed her signs of passing deer and pigs.

Likewise, he warned her when creepers or endermen waited in the dark, for such monsters would lash out if she strayed too near their homes. All seasons are dangerous to travel in, whether it be for extreme weather, lack of food, or because the monsters have children to raise. Once while she set up camp, Ren touched her shoulder and held a finger to his lips. He pointed through the trees. Cleo, turning, saw a creeper looking back at them, holding a little one in its mouth by the scruff. Its fur bristled with lightning, for it belonged to the god of sparks and time. Then it disappeared among the bushes, blending with the green. Cleo had never been so close to a creeper before. Ren, who’d moved one hand to his bow, lowered it with a sigh of relief.

“The woods are strange,” she said, unwrapping some carrots they’d brought with them. “I try to cross as quickly as I can. This pace is slow… but I don’t mind it so much, with you.”

“Nor do I,” said the prince, sitting down beside her. “I am glad that I could be your companion. I would have worried had I heard you’d entered the grain kingdom on your own.”

“You need not worry for me.”

“I would have,” he said quietly, and Cleo looked at him for a moment. Did the fire paint that rose color in his cheeks? Did it paint heat in hers? She turned her head, slipping a bite of carrot in her mouth.

She did not want to think on the implications of his concern too long.

“Why do you look away?” the prince asked, speaking gently, and Cleo could not bring herself to face him.

“It would not be wise to court me, prince. I have died once and been revived at the hand of the god of trickery and innovation. My repairs have left me incomplete. I cannot lie with men, for in doing so, I would surely die. We could not have children.”

“I see,” he said, and nothing else. Quiet filled the air between them. Cleo wished he did speak. But he did not.

I should not call myself incomplete, she thought that night, laying down her head. But when she turned to look at Ren, he faced away from her, away from the fire, as if closed into himself. And this hung heavy in her heart. In past nights, he had always looked at her.

She did feel incomplete, to be unable to lie with him even in a hypothetical future. For years now, she had known she would not bear children, but rarely did it matter in her everyday, and rarely did she speak it aloud. To see the hunting prince grow quiet struck a cord deep within her. And for this, she stared towards the sky and wept silent, angry tears.

If the god of hearts and husbandry had not abandoned her, surely he could have repaired her better than the god of trickery and innovation. Illness, bodies, and medicine fell under his domain. Surely if he wanted to, he could fix the crooked parts within her in a snap of his fingers, that she would not come undone when lying with man. Cleo did not see herself as someone who required a man, for she loved women too, but Ren’s abandonment hurt regardless.

He did not, however, abandon their mission. When morning came, Cleo went to speak with him about it, only to quiet when he held up his hand. “I do not mean to cause you inconvenience,” he said. “I fear I’ve overstepped.”

“You didn’t overstep-”

“It would not work between us, if you cannot bear children. I will not waste your time. Let us go.”

Cleo turned away instead of mounting the horse he offered. “You did not waste it, but I think you should go. I will continue on without you.”

“Princess, don’t say that-”

“Go home, Ren.” If nothing else, it would reduce her stress to know he would not peek inside the box that held the sword. That would be enough.

The hunting prince sighed. His guard offered Cleo his horse and the two men departed into the early morning light. Cleo frowned to watch them go, but when she mounted the horse that remained, she did not regret that she had shooed them off. She felt insulted, after all. And now that she need not keep to a walking man’s pace, she could run her horse faster. The mountains were behind them, and the woods nearly gone as well. Once in the grain kingdom, land would be open and flat. She would make good time. Every day she did not reach the god, her people could be attacked again.

She rode onward, and when she sped, it reminded her of her journey across the Nether roof, riding the finest steed owned by the god of justice and sleep. Even now, she could feel his favor in her hair.

The gods admire what I do without recoiling at what I cannot, she thought, and shook her head to shake the burning sting away.

Crossing the grain kingdom proved difficult in many unexpected ways. The farther Cleo went, the more barren the fields appeared. It is not the harvest season, she thought, turning her head to watch them as she sped on horseback down the road. My kingdom cannot feed them. The hunting kingdom allies with me. What does the army have to eat? Did they have fish?

Cleo rode as fast as she could, but saw things she wished she did not. Hungry families looked upon her and cried out, asking if she had any food to share. Cleo, reluctant, shared her meat and vegetables with the mothers of small children, and wished their thanks could feed her the way they feed the gods.

Little could be done to disguise her ginger hair. Her hood flew off when she rode, but as she neared the temple, Cleo slowed her horse and fixed her cloak, that it might disguise her long enough to get through the door. The temple, she knew, was neutral ground. She could not be arrested there, unless the god himself ordered her capture. She hoped he wouldn’t. He served the livestock kingdom just as much as the grain.

She left her horse with a stablehand and walked to the temple’s front. Upon stepping foot inside, however, she stepped back out again. “Is this not the temple of the god of war and sky?”

“It is,” said the stablehand.

“It’s decorated in honor of the god of travel and arts.”

The hand shrugged. “It’s how he likes it.”

“I see.”

She did not linger in the entryway. To one side, she knew from a previous visit with her mother long ago, sat a room where dancers dressed. The god did not answer just anyone, but like the birds of rainbow whose eyes he watched the world through, he could not resist music paired with dance. Her mother had taken great advantage of this when Cleo was very small. The princess knew this, and she had mentally prepared.

In the changing room, they found an outfit in their size and stripped themself bare. No rainbow birds nested in this room, for which she could at least be grateful. But she could hear them in the next room, rustling and trilling to one another. The god, she knew, watched everything his birds could see. But no music played, which suggested the room sat empty. No mortals ahead of her had come to make appeals.

The princess did not know what to think about that silence. Had the grain kingdom turned its back upon its god? That did not seem quite right. Surely in their hunger, they cried out to him?

Cleo dressed in a thick wool garment with a tight-fitting shirt and trousers that made their legs appear puffed up. She rolled each leg of the garment down to her ankle and clasped it with a gold band, then drew a golden ribbon from the basket by the mirror. They tied their hair in a great sweep of bouncy curls. In a way, their hair felt made of snakes, or like the tail of a snorting stallion. Cleo tugged the wrinkles from their shirt and smoothed their legs. In this way, she’d marked herself for the god’s pleasure; his personalized entertainment.

(She made a face to herself at that.)

She had also, in this way, rid herself of a few distracting bits of her travel clothes. Without dangling sleeves, and with her hair tied and legs more free to move, she had a better chance at succeeding with what she’s about to do. She wished she had protection for her hands, in case she should bend and twist or flip herself around. Worn fingers flexed in and out. With that, she took up the box that held the diamond sword and a glass water bottle from the shelf. She drank part, recapped it, and steadied her shoulders.

Time to put on a show.

On careful feet, she exited the room into a larger chamber. All around this room, false trees and high shelves offered nesting places for the birds of rainbow, of which the god of war and sky loved like his own children. Light shone down from a grand chandelier. Soft brown mats covered the floor, which should at least be more comfortable than the cold stone she’d half-expected to tread on in bare feet. All around her, birds squawked and shifted in their nests. And Cleo knew that although she could not see him, the god of war and sky could see her.

Cleo set the box and bottle on a small table near the door. Several times, long ago… she had knelt beside this very table to watch her mum dance with ribbons and silks, that she might summon the spirit who dwelt within these walls. Even while engaged in his duty to the sun, he found amusement in mortal entertainment. And in this way, the trap was laid, and the right steps would snap it shut.

“I leave comment with the god of war and sky, who bears my heart and leads my trail.” Without waiting for reply, Cleo set one foot in front of the other, lightly on her toes, and bowed to the birds ahead of her. “My name is Cleo Clocker, and it does me pleasure to entertain you with my dance.” If it did not, well… he need not know.

A large green bird on a lower shelf cocked its head at her. Cleo wondered if the god of war and sky swapped his gaze between the birds in his flock or if he simply processed all information they relayed. In some strange way, she wished she bowed before a throne, or saw the god luxurious upon it. Even if he sat strangely, his leg hooked on the arm and a fist bracing up his smirky cheek, at least she could look upon him and gain some sense of boredom or amusement.

I will be the most amusing thing any of his birds can find and lock all his attention on me. She could not command him to look, but she could do her very best.

Now… She had not brought her own music disc, so she would have to select from the selection shelved above the jingling box that played music, and which she knew would attract all the little fey who served the god of travel and arts, if any had stowed themselves within these walls. He certainly has many options, she thought, and scanned quickly with her eyes. Some of her studies had been spent in music. It wasn’t her favorite subject, but enjoyable enough.

That one. Without hesitation, Cleo plucked the most worn record disc cover from the shelf. She slipped the record into her hand and pushed it into the jukebox. The god’s favorite song must be tucked away on this disc. Or else, many of his visitors knew it well. Perhaps she’d recognize some part of it too.

The tune it played began with slow, drawling strums and soft presses of keys, and the mortal frowned. Not the most entertaining… It didn’t even sound deep, romantic, and alluring in the way some dancers might use to their advantage. Not even the blue fey would dance to this. She tapped her foot nonetheless, searching for a pattern. There must be something here, something she could use…

The music swirled higher, exploding into rhythm and song, and Cleo took a startled step back. A distinct beat- She’d chase that, even as more and more instruments layered atop it in a blur. I must be quick, they thought, and thought back to their mother’s methods of swirling, leaping, and landing with grace. So long as she put on a good show-

She did not have much time to think, only to work with the song as best she could. It offered no words that could be sung, but the melody rang out strong. Slow and sad, a complete flip to the opposite. Energy. Speed. With all her effort, Cleo honed into the underlying thump of the beat. She timed her spins and leaps against it, gesturing wide with her arms. At least something could be said for the grace of a princess. Either that or my balance on horseback. All skills have their value. You simply need to fit them into context.

Her foot stumbled, and not for the first time. The princess grit her teeth. He will never be impressed. Embarrassing. But if she slunk away, or practiced too long, the god may not give her another moment of his time. Cleo looked up, and all the birds in all the room bobbed their heads and shook their tails.

Surely the birds cannot separate a poor dance from an expert one. Is it music alone that entertains? If all his birds were delighted, would that not charm the god? The mortal slid their feet backwards, bucking their knees in big steps. They kept their elbows level and swept their arms back and forth. When the music leapt higher, she spun on her foot, and all the birds swung their heads and found pleasure in it all. It quickened, it dropped, and Cleo knew she did not hit every beat, for she did not know this song. But then, perhaps it did not matter. Do the gods not leave their trails available for all to find?

Cleo spun again, and in that moment, a voice sang out behind her, “Ohh-hohhhh!”

In a whirl of rainbow feathers, the mortal knew she no longer danced alone. And there, when her spin completed, she saw him. Red, she thought, for he wore bright red and upon his head were curls like bread dough, and this was all she could notice in that time. But the spirit bent his legs to join her in dance, and in his grin flashed all the wonders of flight and horrors of war. He swung his arms back and forth, clicking his fingers in pursuit of the beat.

“Whoa-oh-oh- Here I am! On my knees again!” The spirit sang these words as if he’d known them in another life, for they were not spoken by the disc itself. Yet he sang like they came as easily as spreading butter, as if he could dance a thousand years without ever growing winded. His legs twisted beneath him- practiced footsteps, delightful, as if he swam towards her like a fish. “I’d do anything, just to make it right~”

Cleo switched gestures on the turn of a coin and mirrored the way he bounced his arms and legs. Only instead of pushing towards him, she backed towards the table where she had left her things. Rainbows rippled down his spine as his wings flapped like his birds’, and in this way, the smirking god pursued across the room.

“Say you’ll understand! Oh, I know you can! Come on-”

Like a snapping cow tail, Cleo knocked the loosened lid of the wooden box aside and grabbed the diamond sword hilt. She whipped it back with blade extended. A flat line ran from her shoulder to its tip. The point swung to a stop against the spirit’s throat. It nearly nicked a golden necklace charm of the sun- and if not that, then it nearly nicked the shock straight off his face.

“-Maryanne?”

Cleo, trembling from the effort of her dance, some hair loosened from her tie and hanging her face, fought to catch her breath. On the music played. On danced the rainbow birds, for why should they understand a sword, or why it had stopped their master in his tracks? They shook their bottoms in the air, feathers on display. And still, the god stayed frozen at the point of her blade.

I have him now. And now that she no longer tracked the beat so closely, Cleo took a moment to appraise him. One of the smaller spirits, to be sure. His skin-cloth mirrored the color of sand, and in some places the texture (where it had pilled from nervous scratching… or perhaps from long kisses in the night).

His eyes looked upon her, dragging her down to nothing. There on that floor, in that room, Cleo peered into the deepest depths of the ocean where all lay black to swallow you whole. Those eyes were painted with the purest ink from the healthiest of squid. Perhaps she gazed into the most distant part of the sky where the stars could never glow.

Does he have eyes? she wondered, for they seemed unblinking, as if they were buttons sewn upon a jacket. Never had she seen eyes like that before.

He wore a woolen garment the color of strawberries, and thus was not naked, but… this didn’t seem like the mulberry silk of gods. It even smelled more like strawberries than it did godly silk. Cleo did not dare glance down to examine what he wore upon his legs, if anything at all. The music box ran its course. Its record shifted to the next song in line as if travelers on a path took turns walking a thin cliff. Without lowering the sword, Cleo kicked it to pop the disc from the top.

Silence. The birds squawked, displeased, and hopped along their branches. Cleo wished she could follow that man’s gaze. She liked to think he traced the length of the blade, considered his options few, and felt nerves within his soul. She would like that very much.

After a moment’s tense silence, the spirit lifted a finger, adjusted the tip of the sword very slightly from his throat, and spoke: “You have found favor with not one, but three of the spirits that dwell in our land. That is most impressive. I’ve not seen many mortals get that far.”

“I have, spirit.” Her voice came out low, a bit dry, and she wished for the water behind her. She didn’t dare move for it. “I’m awfully proud of my hard work. The ones I’ve pleased told me they’d always help if I call upon their aid.”

“Yes,” said the impatient spirit, “that’s what we do; we give and give, and if we’re lucky, people like and follow us. Now, how dare you threaten me with that sword? In my own temple, no less!”

… He looked more angry than frightened. He didn’t raise his hands defensively, grab for a weapon of his own, run away, or even call upon his acolytes. He looked… He looked…

No robes.

He looked mortal, standing there. Could it be? Stabbing his bare chest should be an easy thing to do without the extra layer to protect him. Gods come and go; if she slayed this man in his own temple, other gods would ascend to take up the duties he left behind. The god of justice and sleep told her (as he lay a clock in her hand and bent her fingers to grip it tight) that he used to be a clock himself. His steps to upper godhood came slow, but steady. He picked up minor duties. He helped in little ways. He worked with the god of sparks and time for some years, and others with the god of hearts and husbandry, cleaning up rotten things that could not be eaten by the vultures

Someone else would raise their hand to carry the sun if she ran this man through.

Cleo wished, then, staring in his black button eyes, for all the strength in all the worlds to stab. In the gleam of endless eyes, they swore they saw their brother reaching back, shot by an enchanted bow, thumped from his horse, and trampled in the mud. It would not have happened at all, had this man before them not incited the grain kingdom’s malicious surprised attack. Fury beaded on their lip. They clenched it in their teeth.

He isn’t frightened. Perhaps even diamond would fail against the gods. Did shredding one require netherite, which could only be crafted from ancient debris brought out of the land of the dead? Did the Great River kingdoms know enchantments that could slay immortal kings?

She must look foolish, rash, and stupid, challenging him like that. And suddenly, she felt startled, frightened even of herself, and perhaps ashamed. His acolytes would shout if they saw her now. Why hadn’t she been struck down by the god before her? Diamond truly must not be a threat.

It would be a threat against me. HER threads would not survive a single slash from a weapon like this. Maybe one, but certainly not two.

The god of trickery and innovation sent her to deliver the sword. She begged his help to end this war. He insisted she bring this god a weapon admired in all the land. A gift.

She was sent here with a gift.

The sword trembled in her hand. The god of war and sky, ever slightly, tilted his head. He did not blink. He did not huff, lash her face, or scramble back. Cleo’s gaze flickered from those empty eyes to their own hand, then back again. Heavy diamond weighed against their arm.

He could disarm me. Surely he must know how. Not only that, but he could kill her. Very easily, with that sword in his hand. The god of war and sky stared back like some polite puppet hanging by its threads. In the dark of his eyes, Cleo saw rage and anguish bouncing off his face, reflecting back what lay on hers.

… No robes. No layers. Surely, it would be easy…

A gift.

The god of trickery and innovation sent her on a diplomatic mission. A show of humility.

The god could kill her, though. It wouldn’t be hard. Why did he not strike? Surely he must want to. Cleo, still feeling flushed and woozy from the dance, swallowed hard and closed her mortal eyes.

Spirit… I trust you.

She withdrew the sword from the nape of the god’s neck. Falling to one knee, she lay it across her palms and- and offered it to him, as if she had not threatened his life at all. “I’ve been sent by the god of trickery and innovation to give you this,” she admitted, and wished she had not swung it towards him. What a horrid thing to do to a man she’d looked up to, prayed to, for so many years.

The god of war and sky studied her a moment, and she lifted the sword in presentation. “The sword,” he murmured to himself. He snatched it by the hilt, perhaps in greed, and thrust it in the air. “Yes! Yes!” His great wings flapped, shimmering with all colors of light, and the way he crowed terrified the mortal kneeling on the floor. “I gave this to him long ago, you know! He’s invoked the sword! How very good to see it again!”

Cleo did not know what he meant, actually. But if she asked, perhaps it would distract him into answering, and he would not swing that sword down upon her head. She said, “Why do you cast favor with the army marching on the livestock kingdom? We were allies just before it.”

“The grain kingdom had my favor before the war,” said the spirit, rotating the blade in his hand. He stepped away, more interested in it than in the conversation (so it seemed). He rested bare diamond on his palm. “They fight for my honor, not blood or power. But if the god of trickery and innovation stands with you, and warns me back by returning this symbol of our friendship, I will call them at once to stand down. Friends. Friends… I hope,” he added, looking up at Cleo then, “your kingdom will not stop my acolytes from reclaiming what is mine.”

“… What is yours? Do we possess your treasures? My mother stole many things from temples in her youth, and I’ve made it a habit to settle disputes among the gods. I’ve… been hoping I can someday return the things she took.” Perhaps once she’d earned enough favor, the gods would not consider acting against her in anger and revenge.

“I remember your mother,” he said in fondness, still turning the blade. “She must have taught you how to dance in ways that charm the spirits. She even trained here with me. Weren’t you with her sometimes? Oh, I’ve played myself!”

Cleo did not dare get up from kneeling on the floor. “Do you dance, spirit?”

“Only for the god of travel and arts. Not for mortal pleasure.” He paused then. Cleo watched him rotate the blade one last time. His fingers seized against it. “Not anymore.”

Cleo’s fingers itched against the floor mats. They very much wished to ask the questions they’d come here for, but while the god still held that blade, the words felt locked inside their mouth. It would not be wise, they decided then, to frustrate him any further. “I’m sorry to hear that… Do your duties keep you very busy? I imagine they must, for carrying the sun cannot be an easy task.” He looked back at her, and she paused, eyes settling again on the charm hanging on his necklace. Oh… Wait. “Is that it, right there?”

“Yes,” said the spirit. “Touch it even for a second and it will burn a mortal like you alive.”

Cleo wondered if this meant the removal of his sacred robes did not, in fact, render him a mortal thing, and began to feel glad she had not stabbed him. If his body had hit the floor, the sun still hanging from his neck, might it have fallen from the sky outside?

“Spirit, if I may express the reason for my visit…”

“Yes? What?”

“I am grateful for your offer of pulling back your army, for my kingdom suffers at their hand. Is there more that I can do, that we may resolve this war without any further injury on either side?”

The god of war and sky considered her for a moment with half-lidded eyes. Then, with raw energy (lacking precision), he grabbed his wool garment by the collar and yanked it down. Bare flesh marked his neck, and she thought again of desert sand, scorched by heavy sun. “My silks were whisked away, actually. I took them off to wash in a mountain river, hung them to dry, and fell asleep within a moment. I think I was enchanted by the grove I came to visit. By the time I awoke, my silks were stolen by the god of travel and arts, and I was left abandoned to my nakedness.” His lips twitched with something like amusement at the thought. “It was quite rude of him.”

“Stolen, spirit?”

“Yes, indeed. He loves watching me in his theater. Now he’s taken my things to lure me in, but I do not wish to flatter him with dance as reward. That is why my acolytes approach, and they’ve been taken prisoner by your forces. This border skirmish became war only because your people make it so.”

Cleo wasn’t sure of that. Perhaps even a god could not cast his attention on all things under his domain. “Does he desire your affections?” She could think of no other reason a god might rob another of his silks. To do so without permission seems… ill-advised, to say the very least. It seems like betrayal.

“His intentions matter not to me.”

The princess considered this. “I will recover your silks, spirit, for my people will not stop me from crossing our land. When I have returned them to you, I request the armies of the grain kingdom will fall back from the border.”

“It can’t be done,” said the spirit. “Mortals are too foolish and vain to respect a god’s silks. You do not have enough arms to hold them and defend yourself from the creatures of the night.”

“I will think of something,” replied the mortal. “How should I respect your silks?”

The spirit tittered, disbelieving. Nonetheless, he answered her. “A god’s silks are the embodiment of their soul. Mortals must not dress in them, for to do so is to mark yourself as though I’ve claimed you.” His eyes flash in warning. “And you are no lover of mine.”

“I understand.”

“You must never, ever dirty the silks or cut them with a blade. They should always hang; never fold them. Do not lay them on the ground or across an animal. Do not mend them with anything grown of earth or from a monster, for only the sacred glowworms of the mountains make the thread we sew with. If my robes are speckled in filth when you bring them hither, then I’m afraid I will have no choice but to bind you as an acolyte for 1,000 years. I simply must.”

The mortal looked to the ceiling in a moment’s thought. “That will be difficult,” she agreed. “It is very far to walk on mortal legs. But spirit, the god of travel and arts is rarely home. I would need a clever plan to draw him out of hiding.”

“Very well,” said the spirit. “I will send you with my birds of rainbow, which will scout for him in all directions. They have voices to speak with, and if you ask them what they see, they will tell you. In this way, you will track him down.”

He dismissed her from his temple, and the mortal went on her way. But when the birds of rainbow landed on her hand (that they may perch and travel with her), they tore her mortal cloth with the knives of their feet. They scratched her arms, leaving scars across her skin. “This will not do,” Cleo said, and thought of a way to protect her hand. First, she traveled to a woodland swamp and waited for nightfall, and when the slime-coated beasts came out, she slayed one for the goopy substance on its back. She wrapped her hand in this slime, which cooled the burn of cut skin. But the birds of rainbow slipped and fell when they tried to land, and perched in her hair. They tangled their feet, and their waste soaked down her neck. This, she knew, would quickly rot her fabric skin again.

Next, the mortal dipped her hand in honey. This shielded her skin, but it was much too sticky for the birds of rainbow. When they set themselves upon her, it clung to their feathers, which ripped when they took flight and caused them much pain.

Then, the mortal looked to the treasures of her own kingdom. “I could wrap my hand in the wool and leather of my people. With our resources, I will create a thing that protects my skin and gives the birds of rainbow a perching place.”

But at this time, she still walked the grain kingdom. Having no leather (and far to go), she sent a prayer to the god of trickery and innovation, that he might guide her to the thick-cloth of the beasts she could take for her own. The god heard her, but as he attended to other duties, he could be of no use to her. Not in causing herds to stumble across her path, at least.

Instead, he sent her comfort that she might remember her forays into the woods in years long past, and her hands may be guided by the memories of shooting arrows with Renward Star. The livestock kingdom had few forests, and thus hunted very little. But with trickery and innovation, she took the loosened feathers the birds of rainbow shook from their bodies. She crafted arrows and a bow with wood and spider string. It would do her well.

The god of trickery and innovation knew this, for all tools made with mortal hands are rendered unto him. Thus, he knew of the deer she felled, and knew too of how she gasped as she took that life and white threads spurted from its neck. And the god of hearts and husbandry took notice when she dropped beside it with a small butchering blade.

“You are a fine creature,” she said to the deer, which had already gone the way of tattered things. “Life is precious, sacred, and you and your kind do well to thrive. I thank you for the meat you give to sustain my journey, and for the leather which I take from you to use myself. I thank the god of hearts and husbandry for the meeting of your parents, and for your time of childhood and growth. I thank the god of trickery and innovation for delivering you to me.”

The birds of rainbow observed this with their necks to one side. The god of war and sky, who lay wretchedly upon his bed, watched this through their vision and smiled for the first time since he had lost his silks.

How very unnecessary that is, he thought. It is only one deer. It will feed her a bit of meat, yes, but it hardly needs elaborate prayer. It is enough for the gods to know that they are liked. And he turned his mind away to pursue the delights of soft bread, which was delivered him by his serving boy. Such a fine meal he would enjoy, even if his silks lay stolen somewhere and wrinkled by unwanted, forced-on hands.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Satin

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

Cleo did not have a wide range of tools from which to make a hand covering, so she settled for a simple leather piece draped across her arm like a blanket, and only when the birds expressed desire to settle themselves. Beyond that, she asked that they stay airborne, and assured them she would feed them soon. Some grumbled to hear this, and others scoffed. One, which sat plump among its blue and golden feathers, spoke harshly to her:

“Will not feed. You steal us from our home, where we are cared for, and instruct we stay out in bad weather. Unpleasant. Unwanted.”

“I am sorry,” she said to the bird, as if it were a mortal person. “I wish it wasn’t so. If you will find for me the needles and string I need to complete my design, we will both be better for it.”

“You do not feed,” the bird reproached. “You do not help us.”

So the journey stalled. Cleo spent until sunset searching for seeds and fruits the birds might eat, and they plucked them from her palms and bit in ways that tore her hands. This will not do, she thought again, and resolved once more to complete the design that would sleeve her hand as if in armor, even to her palm.

Cleo rode her horse across the land, but the god of war and sky and god of travel and arts lived far apart. Some whispered their temples lay connected by a secret tunnel underground, but she did not know it, nor did she have the food to journey beneath rock and dirt if she could not gather crops and meat to sustain herself. She did not think either that the birds of rainbow would enjoy separation from sun and sky. They grumped enough.

Her journey stretched long - longer even than the journey down the mountain after leaving the god of trickery and innovation - and she found herself wishing for a better weapon than the small sword at her waist. Highway robbers lurked on this path, and others who did not lurk, but which would barter so ferociously that you felt robbed even if you were not. They stalked the road less often at night, but only because the monsters of the woods would come out to hunt, and such was a position no unarmored traveler wished to find themself in.

At Cleo’s instruction, the birds of rainbow flew ahead. When they saw fellows on the road, they reported back, and thus Cleo steered away. She did not know where the god of travel of arts may be at this time. He enjoyed the outdoors and traveled very far.

But she knew one she could ask for such information, and his temple happened to be on her way. It would require an uphill climb, but with her horse carefully fed grain she had stored more of than food for herself, she trusted they could make it.

And there, upon the flat top of the central mountain of the Basin Kingdoms, stood the temple she’d come to find. The mortal looked upon it with revulsion in their heart, although they knew they should not. It was a fine building, although circled by vultures high above. And many kind and noble services were offered here; all who felt the pains of abuse were welcome to claim asylum in these halls, and could work, study, and eat in peace for as long as they desired. These were many good things, but they did not improve her feelings for the god behind them.

Perhaps his vultures had seen her coming, and had called down to him. Cleo had heard he listened very well. She had not even entered the temple courtyard when she saw him standing there to greet her. The spirit leaned one shoulder on the archway curve of the outer wall, his wings draped like robes around him. The silks upon his body were all shades and brightnesses of green, so noticing his presence was not a hard thing to do.

Cleo, ignoring him, tied her horse beside the donkeys in the stable. She fed it the hay she’d brought herself, not taking of the god’s offerings, but drew clean water from the well that it may drink and feel refreshed. She patted its back and left it to rest. Only then did she wipe her hands against her legs and go to meet the spirit. She bowed.

“I arrive and leave comment with the god of hearts and husbandry.” She did not expound her greeting any further, which he surely noticed, for he tipped his head.

“You thanked me for the deer you shot, as though you were a hunting princess. Very kindly, I might add.” The god’s eyes ran across their face in searching, and the mortal did what they could to give nothing away. He returned the sentiment, entirely blank. “I’m glad you’ve come back around to me. It’s not required, of course, but my chalices are emptier without your thanks.”

“Spirit, I know the pantheon I worship under. I give you your due. I am grateful for the deer.” She held out her arm, upon which the birds of rainbow perched. Wool and leather draped it in a cover. “With its life, I have fashioned the beginnings of a creation to protect my hands from the birds, and so I might not dirty the item which I am sent to retrieve. Beyond the deer’s life, you have brought forth strong bulls and cows in my herd, which are nourishing, and I thank you for.”

“I could not help but notice,” he dryly replied, “that your finest ravager was given to the god of trickery and innovation, and not to the god who brought its conception forth.”

“Do you want a ravager, spirit?”

“I think a wealthy princess could spare one for me. I am Breath-of-Things: the Ever-Sire and Omni-Dam. I make no habit of demanding things from mortals, but yeah, I do think you could meet me halfway.”

Cleo did not lower her stare. “I will always render reward unto the god of trickery and innovation before I render it unto you.”

His nose wrinkled in response to that. “What an unkind thing to say.”

“I will praise you when it’s due,” she told him stiffly, “but I share silk with the god who cut himself to spill life into me. You are no longer the breath of my things.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head. “My mastery is over disease. Have you no fear that if upset, I may sicken your herds?”

“No,” she said, “for if you harm me without reason, I will pray to the god of justice and sleep, whose favor I bear in my hair. He will strengthen my heart. I know not if he will punish you, but I trust he would aid me.”

“He will not strengthen your heart. That’s my job and mine alone.”

The mortal did not linger on his words, for she found life much easier if she dismissed the whines he made. “I seek the god of travel and arts. I thought I might visit you, as your temple lies somewhat on the way to his.” It required some detour, but she did not mind wandering the fringes of her kingdom. Rarely did she visit this rural corner without prior knowledge of the locals, and she preferred to learn in secret what occurred in shadow when no one knew that she observed.

The god of hearts and husbandry studied her appraisingly. “And you thought you’d find him here. Is that it? You didn’t come to see me? Well, I suppose you never visit except out of desperation. You really should.”

“The god I search for is your husband. I bear bad news. He has stolen the silks of the god of war and sky. I thought you ought to know.” Holding two birds of rainbow on her arm, she kept still and silent, and watched the god clench his fists against his knees.

“That is… upsetting to hear,” he said mildly. “I will dwell with this. Now, I know you’ve come out of your way to see me, but I will give you no special reward for bearing this alleged affair to my doorstep. Prayers from afar reach me just as well. You know this.”

You’ve yet to stop ignoring my prayers, she thought. A daring spark flashed in his eye, like a vulture who observed a dying animal in the final moments before it could pass on. In this way, he goaded the mortal’s tongue. They said, “I do not warn you of possible betrayal because I seek reward. I only thought to share what I have heard. He may have his reasons; I cannot speak for him.”

The god of hearts and husbandry gave a sigh. “I think it best if you speak with him about these stolen robes and settle what you must before I address this concern myself. If I pursue the situation and he reacts poorly, I would not wish for him to take any anger out on you. Your kingdom threatens war against another, and his temple lies within your lands. Perhaps I will wait to confront him until this war is done.”

“In that case, we are on the same side. I also seek to end this war, and I wish justice for the god of war and sky. He did not agree to the theft of his robes.”

“My husband has abandoned a relationship with the god of consent to violate another man?” He seemed quite perturbed to hear this, and grumbled when he gestured for Cleo to follow him through the arch in the wall, across the grass-filled courtyard where ravagers and cows lay in peace. “I will hasten to discuss it with him… but perhaps I will speak first with the god of war and sky, that I might hear his story too. Are you hungry? I can offer food for your travels, and seeds for the birds.”

“Seeds, seeds!” cried the joyous birds, and flapped their wings to cast rainbows upon the ground.

“Through the deer I brought down,” the mortal said (once she had regained her balance), “the god of trickery and innovation has blessed me to find food enough, and I was sent on my way with bread baked by the god of war and sky.”

“Right,” the spirit muttered. “Of course.”

“I could use your aid nonetheless. With needle and thread, I can finish the design to protect my arm.”

“Very well; I will bring you a sewing kit. Nothing but the very best for dear Princess Cleo Clocker.”

Cleo hesitated. “And if you are willing, I wish for glass bottles to drink from. The livestock kingdom is not known for its glassblowing, and you would do me great service if I may take just one from your collection on my way. It will be returned to you; I think I should have no need for it when my mission is done.” She wished she had taken one from the god of war and sky. Alas, she had not thought up her plan until she’d gone on her way.

“Anything else?” the god asked politely, balanced on his toes. Those great brown-black wings shifted behind him, and he threaded the talons of his hands together at his front. At this, Cleo paused longest of all, for she knew to ask her next question may turn his anger. Nonetheless, she had studied the ways of potions while searching for a cure to fix her rotting cloth. She knew which things she needed.

“And I would like a bit of blaze powder, if you are willing to share it, that I might brew a potion and be on my way.”

The god of hearts and husbandry looked upon her then with far greater interest. “You desire that which can only be obtained from the realm of the dead? This is very convenient for you. When you called upon me on your deathbed, I went to the Nether to retrieve the secrets of potion brewing, that you might be healed. I did not present those to you after the god of trickery and innovation bound you with his silks. I will get them now. They are yours to keep, as is the glass I send you with; I do not expect their return.” And he smiled like a cruel thing- like a dolphin chasing fish into coral, that they might be scratched and torn. “Glad to see you’re finally appreciating what I have to offer. You could have had this any time, if you’d sought me sooner.”

“Spirit, I do not consider myself an entertainer of men who speak to me in such aggression, as you do now.”

“I only speak plainly,” he retorted, unwavering as a rock, and anger swelled in the mortal’s once-dead heart.

“You think unkind things about me.”

“Forgive me; I am caught up in my husband’s affair. Come. He dines here in my temple and planned to leave soon after, but if you’re brought in by me, you will catch his time and he’ll say nothing of the interruption. I will greet him first and then let you speak alone.”

The mortal had sought advice on where to find the wandering spirit, and had not truly expected to find the god of travel and arts visiting his husband. Knowing he lay ahead, she found herself both relieved and wracked with nerves. On the one hand, she would save herself a great amount of travel; his temple sat near her castle, so to double back to the grain kingdom would be a large inconvenience (which she would have undertaken without complaint). But looking at this another way, what was she to say? She had not worked out a precise opener for this conversation. In some way, she begrudged the birds of rainbow- they’d hardly been helpful in tracking down the spirit she searched for. But she disregarded that thought straight away. They had guided her from traders and travelers who could have sold her aggressive things.

She’d rely on them too on her way home. The god of war and sky had warned her not to lay his robes across the back of beast, so she must carry them in her arms. Perhaps she could leave the hunting prince’s horse here in the temple, and the god of hearts and husbandry may return it to that man who had his favor. She would ask before she left.

The god of hearts and husbandry walked her to a grand room of mahogany walls and exquisite chairs. Flowers and candles sat upon every small table. Thick green carpet lay underfoot, its dye lovely and rare in this land. Wide windows overlooked the flower-filled gardens in the rear courtyard. Cleo stared curiously at the diners who filled this room with warm talk and laughter, for so many were dressed like mortals, not in the elaborate stitching of spirits. Did the god of travel and arts dine among them?

The god of hearts and husbandry could not touch her without consent, but gestured with a pat of his hand against his leg to pull her attention around. Cleo looked upon him - in his grace, he was a tall man - and found his expression stern. “When you have finished, call for me and I will arrive with needle and thread, and your bottle, and the blaze powder. I will hear you, regardless of where in the temple I am. You may use all facilities, but pass only through rooms with open archways. Do not open any closed doors, or you violate this protected space with your intrusion. My temple is a place of healing, rest, and sanctuary.”

Healing. A cruel joke. Regardless, Cleo bowed her head and the god returned it. He strolled across the grand dining room and many eyes turned on him in interest. Cleo heard voices whisper of her, and of the birds that struggled to perch upon the leather cover on her arm. Like the god, however, she did not deviate from her mission. She knew what she had come to do.

The mortal had visited the god of travel and arts in years gone past, and had labored with him in the field when she discovered the buried potato that had caused him and the god of wood and ore so much distress. She recognized him by the black and red of his silks. He sat alone at a table near a very fine fireplace, which offered much warmth and peace. Upon his shoulder sat a fey crafted from blue crystals, which Cleo knew would bite and steal from her if given the chance. Even seeing her, it hissed a little, which prompted the god it sat upon to look up from his warm meal of grain and white sauce. Cleo knew him for his night-black hair, which glinted with hidden stars like a map of the sky, and the hair on his lip matched every statue and painting she had ever seen of him; he took much pride in it and had upkept it for many years. Seeing his husband approach, he set aside his silverware.

“My love? You appear frustrated. What ails you?”

“We’ll speak another time,” the god of hearts and husbandry replied. “I have with me Princess Cleo Clocker of the livestock kingdom, who must speak with you. She keeps company with the birds of rainbow, so do not keep her waiting. Their master watches through their eyes.” So saying, he kissed the other spirit on the cheek and departed in a sweep of silk, thus leaving no room for argument. If the god of travel and arts considered this an annoyance, he did not let it show.

“Sit with me,” he said to Cleo, gesturing to the chair opposite his own. The crystal fey on his shoulder showed its teeth again, but the mortal did as they were asked.

“I leave comment with the god of travel and arts, who bears my heart and leads my trail.”

The man across from her clicked his tongue and brushed his hands. “So formal.” And with a smile, “What brings you here? You look weary from weeks of travel; you should have called upon me from afar.”

Perhaps she should have, but while the gods may hear far-off prayers, Cleo found them much more likely to reply if confronted face to face. She held her stare, unflinching like the dead. “The god of war and sky informed me you’d stolen his silks without his permission. He is very upset with you as of now.”

The spirit laughed, reaching out to mime a pinch at her cheek. “It’s just a one-off gag, luv. My husband and I are pacifists; I allow safe crossing even through warzones and he heals those who open their arms to him. I have always held a certain power over the god of war and sky, who admires me enough to decorate the walls of his temple with my own face. To signify my power with physical item is nothing out of pocket. He cannot touch me, yet neither can he thrive without my supply chains. Thus, we play our silly game.”

Fury sparked within the mortal, and they held their tongue as tightly as they could. They very much wished, however, to knock the lit candles from the table, that they might singe his robes. “Your gag has nearly sent the grain kingdom to war with the livestock kingdom.”

The spirit winced. “Ah, did it?”

“Communication dissolved to argument. My brother is dead, and the god of justice and sleep weighed it fair upon his scales. I have no brother anymore. The livestock kingdom has lost its crown prince.”

“… I am sorry to hear that. I did not consider the mortals may get involved. I suppose I forget sometimes they watch and defend us as closely as they do.” The spirit sighed and reached for a bag he kept at his side. He brought it to his lap, and from here, he removed the most resplendent colors of red and gold that the mortal had ever seen. These he laid upon the table, and when she looked upon the fabric, she saw intricacy in the weaving of which she could hardly comprehend. Subtle patterns of feathers and little suns showed across all the cloth. Golden thread wove it all together. How beautiful. How fascinating. For the briefest moment, Cleo loosened their grip upon their rage.

“Truly,” said the mortal when they looked upon it, “these many spirals and decorations prove the moths without number took great care when they made that man a god.” Looking upon the designs, Cleo wondered if it would be wrong to trace one with her finger. Were a god’s outer silks crafted from mulberry, or only those which made their insides flow? Do my inner silks appear as elaborate as this? She had not unraveled her body to look before, and had not had a partner to do it for her. Nor had she been woven together by the moths without number. What did she look like, repaired by the god of trickery and innovation’s hand?

“If my friend is upset,” said the spirit, “then the prank has lost all humor. You have come to reclaim his silks, sent personally to do so? Then I shall entrust them in your hands.” He looked upon the birds of rainbow as if expecting them to squawk in disagreement, but they said nothing. Only watched. Seeing his willingness to hand them over, Cleo sighed inside her head. Long had she been on the road, and long did she wish to rest.

“I will take them gladly, spirit. I thank you for your time, and for hearing me out.” The mortal thought thanking him for his ‘cooperation’ might stir up some offense, as if she spoke to a child. She could hardly trust her mind and words right now. She held back all stray thoughts she could.

Now more than ever, she surged with determination to complete the project that would protect her hand from perching, hungry birds. As had been agreed, the mortal left the dining room for a workspace and called upon the god of hearts and husbandry. He arrived after mild delay with the materials they’d asked for and set them on the crafting table. Cleo thought he might leave, but he took a chair, leaning it back on two legs as if he planned to watch them sew. They glanced aside at him with a frown.

“I would prefer to work without a man’s stare upon me.”

“Are you sure?” His tone fell somewhere between amused and pitiful. “I am god of asylum and consent. Sometimes I dwell in women’s hearts. I’m a woman right now, in certain minds. Can I not watch?”

“I’d prefer to work in privacy,” Cleo repeated, and the birds of rainbow which followed her everywhere swung their heads towards that god as if in threat. Their feathers puffed and rustled, suggesting the god who loved them would appear himself to defend her at the slightest sense of stress. With a shrug, the god of hearts and husbandry bid farewell and departed the crafting area. This was quite fine with the mortal, for they had much to do.

First, the leatherwork. With much time, effort, and patience, her creations were complete. She gloved her hands, and what had been left over from her deer (and with some material offered in the temple), she followed patterns in the crafting books to make a chestplate with sleeves and a leather cover for her hair. In this way, the birds of rainbow perched upon her as they wanted to, and enjoyed the seeds she fed them. The blue and gold one did not compliment this set-up, but he sat quietly on her shoulder, gripping with tight claws, and Cleo thought that good enough. She smiled to herself.

This was but the start of her work. The god of hearts and husbandry, as he'd promised, had also left with her a brewing stand, necessary for creating potions. He had brought it to the living world after a long journey in the realm of spirits. He claimed he'd sought it that he might heal her rot long ago, but now that the god of trickery and innovation had brought her to life again, he considered it hers to keep.

I would not have died, Cleo thought, if you had taken that long journey sooner. Glowing dust from the realm of the dead, fermented spider eyes, and solid gold were all strange things he'd once claimed he needed to heal her, despite Cleo’s many protests that to consume such things would surely weaken her strength. Why did a god of healing not already have a brewing stand in his temple, and why did he wish for her to take it when she left again? Surely there must be some other who would need it someday.

Nonetheless, Cleo had studied potions long enough for their recipes to burn against their mind. Beside the brewing stand and the powder required to make it function, he had left her with some gold. From his garden (which was open to all), she took a single carrot. With these ingredients, she brewed a potion she thought might protect her while traveling on the road. Then she placed the stand high on a shelf and left a note stating she would not take it, and that she wished it be available for all others to use, that it might provide much healing here in the temple.

And lastly, a disguise. She took blue fabric from a bin in the crafting room. With the help of the birds of rainbow, she measured herself (but of course, not in nakedness where the god of war and sky could see). Other colors - small bands of red and gold - she added to the hems. She worked as late in the evening as she could bear to, but the candles burned low, and gently, the god of hearts and husbandry asked her to leave for a sleeping room. Not wishing to deprive a private room from a nervous mortal who may arrive suddenly and desire it more, Cleo stayed with several people who were women, mostly. But one person called themself somewhere between. Cleo saw something in them that reflected their own heart.

By afternoon the following day, the sewing project was finished. Cleo held the blue robe high so the birds of rainbow may look upon it. One with red feathers nipped its edge, pulling it out, and squawked in confusion.

“This is ragged and worn! This will not protect you from the weather. This is a waste of cloth. You should not have made it.”

“Waste,” agreed another bird, but the mortal smiled and pet it on its beak.

“It’s perfect. You will see.” And far away, the god of war and sky looked up from the shiny cards in his hands that depicted foreign creatures, and frowned.

What does this mortal want with damaged cloth? he wondered to himself. I do not understand their mind.

Cleo found the god of hearts and husbandry later, when she went to see the donkeys and horses in the stables (thinking the horse she brought may need to be fed again, for it was her responsibility to care for it). But there stood the god, so Cleo dug the needle and thread from her pocket and returned them to him as if she had not planned to steal them away with her. Not once did she allow shame to radiate in her face.

Because she could not lay the god of war and sky’s robes upon the back of beast, the mortal asked the spirit’s permission to leave the hunting prince’s horse here, that he might claim it some future day. The god of hearts and husbandry stroked its nose and called it by a name - Bee - that made it twitch its ears. He knew it, for of course he sired and conceived all things, existing where love is made. “All lost creatures,” he told Cleo as he petted its neck, “have a place in my temple. I will see it returned to that prince who’s won my favor.”

“I thank you for it. I’ll be on my way, then. I much appreciate the resources you’ve provided me. I do not often travel with coin, but I’ll make a return journey very soon and donate here, that you might continue to provide.” Cleo paused then, more words balanced on their lips. And perhaps you can improve the design of these horrible red walls, she thought, but… she did not say that. It would not feel teasing in fun, but cruel, so she donned the blue cloak she’d made, wore her leather protection, and departed that place. It took time to descend the mountain to the much-traveled road below, but Cleo now knew the worst of the journey was behind them. She was glad to carry the silks of the god of war and sky, that she might soon bring them home.

“You walk slow,” said a green-feathered bird, swooping down to land upon her wrist. “Up ahead, there are traders who wear their hoods and walk with beasts that carry chests full of things to sell. They approach this way. Perhaps into the woods we go?”

“The woods, the woods,” the other birds agreed, mirroring the words, but Cleo lifted the potion she’d brewed in the temple, using powder from the Nether realm, and shook her head.

“We stay on the path, for it’s the quickest way home. I’ll walk for as long as I can, for now I fear neither the travelers nor the monsters of the night. I will drink this and be safe. Fly ahead, or you will give my trick away.”

The mortal walked a moment more, and when the clicks of distant bird beaks warned her of approaching travelers, she drank the potion. And thus, invisible through that strange magic brought from the land of the dead, she walked by those who would harass for her attention and remained unbothered. She held godly silk within her hands. None tried to steal it, for they saw nothing but the faintest ripple in the air.

When she traveled far and had no potion left to drink, the mortal carefully hid the special robes of the god by concealing them a bit with the ragged blue cloth upon their body. When other traders looked upon her then, they did not see a princess to take advantage of, but one of their own, for they wore the same blue, yellow, and red colors on their sleeves. And when these travelers saw a ragged figure approaching without a single beast of burden to carry goods, they scoffed to themselves and said, “This fellow is just beginning - or robbed - and has nothing of worth to trade.” Most turned to their campfires and meals, and few were kind enough to offer anything to eat. But when they did offer, Cleo denied it anyway, for they had far to go and did not dare linger. The godly silks they carried passed by without inspection and did not land upon the ground.

In time, the mortal crossed the border with the grain kingdom and climbed the small hill to the temple they sought. Arriving, they could not help the smile that marked their face. They strode proudly forward with red and gold silks spilling down their arm. After weeks of travel, she could return to her own kingdom once again, and lie in her own bed.

When the god of war and sky looked upon her, he cried out, “Who are you, who allows my birds of rainbow to perch without fear?” He stumbled back, clutching his chest, for never had any mortal stomached the tear of so many bird claws upon their arms and shoulders in the way she did now. His birds sat upon her as if they sat upon their master, and this left him astonished and amazed.

“I am Princess Cleo Clocker,” she replied, weighed down by many birds, “who wrapped my skin with wool and leather that the knives of their feet could not pierce. I am here to return that which the god of travel and arts wrongfully stole from you.”

The god ran forward, eager to take his robes into his hands, but… he hesitated to take, for how resplendent a sight she made, covered in the feathers of his birds. He could not find it within himself to avert his eyes and not admire her. “But how did you avoid the monsters of the night?” he questioned. “Surely it was difficult to fend them off with weapons without dirtying my silks.”

“Through the gifts of the god of hearts and husbandry, I crafted a potion that rendered me unseen to all who looked. Even the night creatures did not perceive me; I passed them by. And with this ragged clothing, I avoided the attention of traders or robbers who might desire your silks for coin.”

“How very clever you are,” said the admiring spirit. “Very well. You may take my favor and depart in peace. I will not make an acolyte of you today.”

“Nor any day,” she said. He laughed as though she’d told some great joke, then took back his robes with the most charming smile a god may have.

“I suppose not. Come, come, that I might weave my favor in your hair. I see now why you have three other gods’ marks upon you. You keep good company, Princess Livestock. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

But the next nights she spent in the livestock kingdom did not prove as restful as she had hoped. Cleo feared the god of travel and arts raged against her. Twice, she jolted from slumber to find the birds of rainbow set upon her windowsill, as if they kept watch over her to prevent retaliation. Each morning, she tended to the castle’s prize livestock, which were the finest animals in all the kingdom. In the afternoon, she brushed the horses and let them roam the pasture. Day by day, more resplendent birds lined the fences and tree branches, and she grew all the more concerned.

“Can you hear me, god of war and sky?” she asked at one point when there were six, addressing empty air. She’d just begun to change the straw in the donkey stables. This was expected of her as a princess, for if her family were to call themselves immune to chores, they would place themselves above hardworking gods. She did not mind the labor; after years of rotten flesh she could neither repair nor escape, the stink of animals did not bother at all. She only wished there were more clean water in her kingdom that they may have good drink. She feared any chance of drought. Perhaps a visit to the goddess of rain and prosperity was in order soon enough. But for now… she would rest her weary feet.

With a ripple, the god of war and sky appeared from the air, feathers peeling from the six birds as if they’d never existed at all. Those feathers wreathed him in laurels at the ears. The mortal, startled, straightened up. Why had he come to visit her humble stable? The god perched on the fence with legs dangling off the edge. He seemed young, mischievous, and smiling when he looked at her from beneath his sand-brown curls. Cleo had not forgotten the piercing look of those reflective, unblinking eyes. Why had he arrived in person? Even the two goddesses whose favors lay woven in her hair did not visit her like this.

“Just lookin’. How very curious you are! It is Cleo, is it not? … Yes, I see you.”

“I did not expect you, spirit. I hope things are well with you.”

“Very well,” he said, and in the smug way he spoke (and in the way his eyes drew across her), Cleo tightened their jaw and felt glad they had shooed his birds away each morning before they dressed. “You’re an interesting rift in my understanding of the world. I too can raise the dead. It’s a shame you didn’t die in war or you would be bound to me, not the god of trickery and innovation.” He twirled his finger then. By his power, ghostly hands brushed her shoulders and leaned their lips close to whisper in her ear. Cleo shuddered. They came from nowhere. She could feel, but could not see.

The god of war and sky pinched his fingers, his hand shaping a cup, and this stilled the restless dead again. He grinned as though he expected she would be impressed. Cleo stared back, unmoving, but this did not detract from his delight. “I visit the fallen-in-war every night. You can join me. I could make an immortal queen of you. My palace floats on mossy stones amid the clouds, and it would be my honor and privilege to call you as my wife.”

Ha. I think not. If she had any desire to be taken quickly by a husband she hardly knew, she would listen to her parents and their plans for her future more often. The mortal regained both composure and their balance. “As the stories say, spirit, you are too easily charmed by mortals. Many have died after taking your hand.” And these stories call him a disloyal god… Not entirely his fault, perhaps, depending on the way you interpret that story of his punishment from the god of sparks and time, that his lovers are cast across all hours of the day. With his wandering eye, he plunged the world in darkness so many times, another god finally lashed against him and bound him to his mastery. These days, he may visit his lovers only when approaching with the sun in hand. Even then, he may only linger briefly, for his duties call him away just as quickly as he’s come.

Cleo wondered which time of day, if she were to be claimed as wife by this man, would be set aside for her. She was not foolish enough to believe the god of sparks and time would let her escape his notice. He would ban this spirit from frittering his workday just as he had done so before.

“‘Many have died,’” the god repeated, sounding amused. “Not this time. Not with you. I will treasure you most closely, and be as delicate with my uncovered claws as though you wear these new leather creations to protect against me. You will need such gloves no longer, once you have felt my hands. You will know me and my gentle love. You just have to risk your life.” He jumped down from the fence, his wings spread above him as though cradling the sun after all. Ah, she thought, and wondered if lingering heat from his turned eye could be the reason for dried rivers and lack of rain. He smiled impishly, trotting like a stable hand to her side. “What doin’? Can I help?”

“I’m engaged with messy chores. You will dirty your feathers and sacred silks here.”

“Nah. You are humble, clever, and kind to me. I will gladly dirty myself for you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Cleo shot back, “for I worked very hard to keep those silks clean when I brought them home to you. And I fear your intentions may not align with mine.” It seemed very clear this man had not come to work the farm. He came for desire; to approach, appeal, and make a wife of her. He said this himself.

The spirit shrugged. “Well, come see me again if you ever wish to. I have kept watch over you because I feared the god of travel and arts may do you harm, in vengeance for outing his trick. I hear things are not well between him and his husband as of late.” The god stopped plodding through the muck a little too close to her. He wasn’t a tall spirit, but the gleam in his eyes added a layer to Cleo’s unease. “I think I made the right choice, coming here. Shoveling mud is more fun than listening to an argument between that man I admire and the husband I wish he did not have.”

“Give yourself some distance, or I shall call the god of hearts and husbandry and tell him I’m feeling very put-upon.”

“Mmm… Can I kiss you? We could make ‘im watch.”

“No.”

The god pouted, stretching one arm high above his head. As he did this, he flapped his rainbow wings wide to either side, that his bright feathers swept the farm to draw the eye. It became a struggle not to look upon them, for although this wasn’t his true state, those colors were marvelous to see. “I will ask differently, then. May I bring you gifts, which are yours to either accept or refuse, that I might woo you with my love?”

Cleo felt very uncertain now, for she imagined treading into dangerous waters filled with coral spikes would much resemble this. Perhaps she did understand why the gods helped mortals with no expectation of gifts in return. To be offered gifts, knowing the intention behind them was a selfish one, became a frightening thing. Cleo considered herself at least a little skilled in a fight, whether it be with her hands or sword, but she did not think she could best the god if he should move to grab their arm and steal them away. Especially not a god of war.

And I do not trust the god of hearts and husbandry would answer my call if I plea for him to prevent assault. He seemed to respond when spoken to face to face, sometimes, but he’d never apologized for abandoning her in her time of need, nor did he seem especially interested in responding when she sent prayers from a distance. And that thought left her strung like a clothesline, dangling from the highest mountain peeks. Could assault break out here, now, and would any of the gods care? Or would they side against her with their own? She certainly did not find favor with the god of hearts and husbandry.

When the god of war and sky stepped forward, Cleo held her ground, lifting the scoop and broom she held in hand. “Do not bring me large gifts. I will consider that overstepping and inappropriate.”

He stopped a mostly polite distance away. “What does woo you, then? Ask your ideal desire and I will fulfill it, for I am Stubborn-Onward, and was Cleverness-In-Schemes before the new god of trickery ever reared his head.” Curiously, he asked, “Don’t you desire both man and woman? In twilight, when I sing and dance, I think you will find something you like in my face, for the sun does not bite men and the moon desires only a woman’s touch. I am in between when I pass it to the goddess of stone and harvest every night. Some do not admire that about me, but I think you would.”

Cleo did not like the thought of lying to him. She liked the thought of being truthful even less, fearing what he might try with that information. Hmm.

Perhaps there existed a way to present the truth, but deflect his attention elsewhere. “I think that above all else, I desire someone who will uplift me without restraining me, and who leaves choices for me to take. If you attempt to woo me, I will not stop you. I will allow it if you can be respectful, but I only permit this if you do not touch me without my consent, and are not lewd in what you say. I will not respond well to a forced match.”

“We cannot touch mortals who have not allowed it,” said the god, rocking on his heels. “That is easy enough to follow. That is expected of me more than it is a pleasure for you, and seeing how I am equal, you will choose some other man.” He’d returned to pouting and kicked a bit at the ground. “How else might I make my case? I do so wish to court you. I want that you should like it.”

Was he very serious? Cleo studied the god again. She’d been warned some time ago that if she continued doing favors for the gods, some may desire her, and they would lie to her if it brought them closer to what they wished for. She who called on many spirits, managed her princess affairs, and traveled often did not think it very wise to get involved with the spirits in a way that could prompt a fallout. If she led this spirit on and chose another, it may fill him with wrath. He was the god of war and sky.

It’s because of his war that my brother is dead, she thought, but then paused. The way he had explained it, the god of war had not sent his people to attack, and that skirmish at the border had been the mortals’ choice alone. It was not the god’s fault that another with great power had crept upon him while he slept and whisked his robes away.

Knowing he may desire her did lay options on the table… Cleo had grown very, very worried now that her sister has eloped and her brother had been slain, for she alone now stood in line to rule the livestock kingdom’s throne. Her parents expected her to conform more tightly to her courtly duties now than ever before… or else the kingdom must seek a new ruling family. Perhaps a cousin. Perhaps the winner of a tournament. It would be Cleo's call to make, and the thought of placing power in the wrong hands disturbed her greatly.

It would do her no disservice to find favor with the god, especially if the god of travel and arts had grown angry against her. If he blamed her for the fallout of his marriage, he would likely not help her flee if she desired, and may send stumbles in her path (or assist those who sought to track her down). The god of war and sky, if he remained an ally, might offer his aid in a time of need. It may be wise to flatter him… for now.

… And if he acted sweet and charming, then perhaps one day, she might weigh the pros and costs of fleeing her kingdom to live with him instead. If home became constraint and he offered freedom in her life, that would be difficult to refuse.

The gods are jealous, she thought, growing nervous as she stood there with her cleaning tools. I hope they will not take action against me if I entertain him. Could gods even marry humans? She’d heard they sometimes sought lovers under quiet of night, or boisterous drunken leisure time, but she hesitated to think herself worthy of… marriage. Ever since her rotten form had been restored to life, she’d been warned by healers that it wasn’t safe for her to lie with man.

Or did that even matter? Only the god of hearts and husbandry can lie with mortals, she remembered then, for that is his mastery alone… Yet the god of war and sky is known to seek the company of many lovers. But he did not lie with them? At this thought, Cleo’s mind sharpened with interest. Perhaps it would not be so bad to marry a god, for surely the spirit before her would not expect her to lie with him - or bear children - if he did not have the parts to do the same. Perhaps a marriage to a husband who could not endanger her with his desires and sudden force between her legs would bring her peace in domesticity, which she would not despise. Long had she grown nervous, thinking of her future. It would be nice to fear it no more.

He has other lovers too, and he seems happy to visit them. I could seek them for advice. Perhaps I would not mind being left to my own thoughts and works for much of the day, and I could enjoy what moments I’m allowed. The gods seemed to keep themselves very busy.

All this time, the god of war and sky awaited answer, standing with his hands politely tucked behind his back. Cleo addressed him then. “I avoid aggression. I seek peace. I am charmed by repeated gestures of kindness towards myself and those I love, which are given without selfish intent. I am known for causing problems, and I delight in being clever, but in my home, I wish for gentle things. Kind words. Soft touching. I ache in many places, and to have my pains respected without frustration means the world to me.”

“I am god of peace as much as war,” he told her, and this was true, for she had studied the pantheon that ruled these four basin kingdoms for as long as she remembered. “I know my way around wounds from my time on the battlefield. It would not bother me if you ache when you walk and require a steady arm to support you on your way. I think I’d like to court you. If you allow it, I’ll bring you fine gifts. I hope they are well received.”

“I will evaluate all offers of marriage that are given me, spirit, but if I do not feel safe to refuse you, then I cannot accept. To accept you in fear would not be peace and love.”

The spirit considered this, tapping fingers at his legs. “I am kind, I think? The moths think I’m a good boy, but they don’t watch me all the time.”

Cleo studied him with lifted brows. “I do not know if it matters to the gods, but I cannot pleasure you as a wife is meant to pleasure her husband. My loom was partly rotted in days long past, and although the rot spreads no longer, what remains lies crooked within me.” The god of trickery and innovation did the best he could, but he did not know for certain how it was meant to work. She’d come to peace with that. To remain alive was wonderous enough.

“I am unbothered,” the spirit replied. “I enjoy cracking open the inner machinations of the mind. I do not seek to lie with you as mortals do. All I ask is a little bit of fun, in the stolen moments that I may visit.” He let slip a hum, not unlike the tweets of the birds whose company he kept. “But I do hope that if the god of sparks and time discovers us sleeping in the same bed at night, he will not take you very far. He is jealous of all my loves, so we must keep all things about this very secret. He will not harm you, though; he’s just a mean ol’ man, not as delightful to mortals as he used to be.”

Right. To be admired by the god of war and sky was to become one of many he liked to charm. She’d need to take this into account and decide, after some time to think, how it truly made her feel. “I do not think that true,” she murmured, just as teasing in her tone as the impish spirit liked to be. “The god of sparks and time charms many mortals even now: an endless stream that he can visit up and down the timeline. Lasts ages in his bed, I’ve heard.”

The spirit laughed. “Something like that! Only the god of hearts and husbandry can lie with mortals, true, yet the god of sparks and time is very clever in other charming ways. I hear mortals enjoy his visits very much. He pleases many times before asking pleasure for himself.”

“A man of many talents, to be sure. I suppose when you can stall or turn back time, you make yourself an expert of endless things.”

“Mmhm. That’s why I oughta make moves on you first, before you ask anything of him.” He stepped very, very close then, ‘til Cleo found themself gripping the fence behind and holding cool, staring back. The god smiled, and in teasing lifted a hand as though he might cup their chin. “When you see him in his beauty, his muscles large and rippling, you may want him more than me.”

Cleo held her ground. “Is that so?”

That smirk never left him, wild as he was. “Aw, but I like the thought of challenge. All the more reason I should court you with all of my intentions! I would not mind if you share your day with another god, but to lose your favor entirely would sadden my soul. I am easily made jealous, and seeing how clever you are, I know I’d be missing out. I think we could arrange something we both like…” But he stepped back then, very suddenly, and Cleo felt the wind whoosh between them. The air cooled, as if he really did withdraw the sun. “Ah, but my duties call me onward. I will leave you now and return to court you properly another time. May I?”

“Well, you’ve given me no terrible reason not to entertain your advances, at least for a time… so as long as you are honest, respectful, and kind, I will allow it. But I do not consider myself bound to you. If the god of sparks and time - or any other god - should open courtship with me, I will permit them as I’ve permitted you. I don’t play favorites in the pantheon.” Only placing all spirits above the cruel god of hearts and husbandry, who let her rot beneath his eye. Forever and ever, she’d rank him least of all.

“I think you will like my gifts,” he said in grand confidence. “You have studied our roles and history for years, and I am a god who studies such things of mortals. We’ll make something of it. May I kiss your hand?”

“I must refuse, for I do not give permission to be touched.”

The god shrugged. He climbed on the fence beside her, flapped his wings to spread them wide, and leapt into the air. With a shimmer, he melted into rainbow and vanished in the sky. A single red feather swirled through the air where he’d just sat, landing perfectly in Cleo’s outstretched palm. They turned it in their fingers, wondering what it is that made him a god… then slid it in their pocket.

There would be time to consider big decisions later. For the moment, she must return now to lengthy chores, like clearing smelly straw from the stables and placing fresh layers down. They donkeys and horses pranced in the field, but would grow hungry soon, so she must clean their troughs and pour their feed. Many, many horses lived at the castle, for the royal family kept them fed and gave them away to those in need. All lands have need of horses… and when you are a princess, there is always much work to be done.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Noil

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

The talk Cleo had with her parents on marriage and its possibilities fell as flatly as she’d feared it would. It did not matter to her mother that to lie with man would leave her unraveled and dead. Or rather, she did express concern, but stood firmly by her insistence that marriage to a man would do the kingdom well long-term. After all, she argued, by their labors, Cleo had grown favored by the gods. Perhaps the god of hearts and husbandry would adjust the crooked loom within her, that she may bear children. Far better to choose a man than a woman- She’ll be queen someday, after all.

“I will not visit that god for that reason,” Cleo replied stiffly, clenching fists at their sides. When her mother turned in shock, she said, “That cruel spirit drew my pain out for years, stringing me along with promises that he would help, and kept me in his temple as if on display. I served him with my labor, but it did not matter. He called many beautiful men and women forth to be healed - some of whom had not waited long and could wait longer without risk of rot - and left me to the side. When I went to confront him, I found him whittling away his time flirting with those who sought his protection from abuse. He does not lead my trail.”

She could see it as plainly as day, even at night, and quite often on the backs of her eyes. Even now, three years later, her fists shook and a spark tremored on her lip. There stooped the god, bending to listen as a brown-haired woman of the fishing kingdom, her cloth as white as pearl, whispered in his ear. His wing curled behind her back, guiding her close, and she lay a hand against his chest to steady herself, which brought smile to his lips. Cleo stormed back to the room he’d assigned her without speaking to him and wept cursedly, swearing, into her arms.

That’s why she died. That’s why she rotted further, alone, away from her family, for she had realized the god of healing prioritized the mortals he found beautiful or sweet and did not deem her worthy to save. Even when she labored on his behalf.

He had many demigod children, so the stories said. He slept with mortals often, for such was his folly- In the pantheon of silk and plays, he alone held ability to do so, and he enjoyed the act very much. They called his husband the only person of masculine persuasion to ever turn his eye, for those who bore a feminine appearance were so desirable to him, he displayed his want with a striped banner upon his temple wall. Do not for a moment confuse her rage with wishing that man would lie with her. The anger never came from a desire to share his silks in lust, and always came with realizing it did not matter to that ancient, immortal spirit if years of her life went to waste. He led her on with promises that he would heal their body ‘someday,’ when he got around to it, and left them abandoned in their room.

The mortal hoped that horrible god felt it when they cried to death beneath his care, in his temple rooms, and had no friend beside them when it happened. Did the god of justice and sleep come to fetch her soul, then tell him off because she had lived a year in his temple, under his care? Did he even notice when her spirit left her body? She would be very satisfied to hear he’d made grand romantic plans with that woman he flirted with and that her death ruined his entire night.

The four Basin kingdoms came together at their corners - in their center - at the place the god of hearts and husbandry sat upon his mountain throne. All the land sung his praises. They called him sweet and clever with his hands, for he could perform great healing for those who lay upon his tables. Cleo’s parents had urged her many, many times to seek him out for loom correction, but she would not. Despite the encroaching threat of rot, which spread within her and damaged her threads, that man deemed her unworthy of his time. Perhaps she wasn’t as feminine and pretty as he desired. Perhaps she spoke too boldly, and did not flirt or charm the doctor she sought. Cleo did not intend to stoop for him. Her parents would understand this if they truly cared to know her heart.

Never again could she place her faith in that man’s empty promises. To do so would be to insult the version of herself that slammed her pillow with a fist and wiped furiously at stinging tears, and remembered far too late that all things wet - even that energy of the soul which dripped from the eyes - could damage ruined, rotting cloth like hers. And once the god of trickery and innovation mended her cloth with his own silks, that god of ‘medicine’ and ‘healing’ never once took accountability for that wretched state he’d left her in for years. Do you understand that?

And when I last saw him, he told me himself he did not think it worth his time to share with me the potion items that might have saved me, so he kept them for himself after my death. To her parents, she now said, “I died aching and gasping, writhing upon my sheets. Far kinder would it have been if he’d told me from the start he wouldn’t help at all.”

“Would it not bring you comfort to know your future bedroom will be safe?” her mother protested, and Cleo felt struck- as if her mother hadn’t heard. “With marriage comes the expectation for intimate touch. You cannot deny that, and your standards are too high if you think you will find a partner who won’t desire-”

“The god of war and sky has many lovers, and does not lie with them.” Her mother should know this, for she spent years as an acolyte performing dances for his pleasure, and he taught her how to move her feet just as much as she taught him. At the sound of his name, her mother grimaced tight, but Cleo pursued that thread nonetheless. “I would rather be married to him than to a mortal who believes marriage grants him the right to touch me, or who would even consider forcing himself upon me, thus leaving me unraveled and dead upon the bed in pursuit of his own pleasure.”

“Cleo,” said her father, “we can delay a wedding so you may search a few years to find a partner from anywhere in this world who pleases you and can support this kingdom even if you live as a traveling queen, but perhaps seeking alignment for the crookedness is something you should consider for yourself. If not for children, then for pleasure of your own choosing. Think not of men; think of yourself, and any partner you desire. A woman’s touch could surely harm you too, and I should not forgive myself that.”

“The god of travel and arts lacks such parts beneath his garment,” Cleo replied, unmoving, “yet he is dearly loved by his husband, who is the god of love. If it were wrongful to marry without desire for touch between the legs, then surely our pantheon’s representative of love, lust, and marriage would not display it openly as an option.”

Her father tried again, as her mother turned away as if disgusted and about to leave the room. Reaching out, the king lay his hand on Cleo’s arm. “If you are hurt and assaulted on the road, you will die from this. I worry for you. Would you not seek the god of healing for protection from that?”

“I will not have my loom aligned so I might prepare to face assault.” And they stormed from the room, regardless of the king and queen calling after them. Despite the jewelry and lovely green dress she wore, Cleo saddled her favored horse, for she needed to lay her head somewhere that wasn’t under that roof. Perhaps she’d stroll her kingdom… but then, word may return to her parents, or local authorities could try to shepherd her back home. I think frayin’ NOT.

Of course, when you are favored by the gods, you must expect a hasty departure to cause a stir among their rumor-paths. By the time Cleo had the horse wiped down and saddled properly, leading it from the stable, the god of war and sky sat high upon her fence. “What ails you, Princess?” he inquired, which startled her. Shaking rainbows from his wings, he said, “You seem distressed.”

“My parents,” she muttered, having enough wits about her to decide to be truthful with him instead of angrily demanding he fly away. “I do not wish to see you now.” She turned to pull herself on the horse, but dropped the reins in shock, for there upon its back sat the god of justice and sleep, resting his elbow on the stallion’s neck as though he’d saddled it himself. He sat in his rot with wireframe showing beneath his cloth. Cleo felt frightened when she looked upon him, for she did not like to remember her own wires had once shown beneath her covering.

Why do you do this? she thought, and again wished to yell at him to get off. How incredibly frustrating to maintain her tongue around gods who suddenly appeared before her, even when she found herself furious and seeking privacy.

“Shouldn’t go out right now,” warned that undead god, flicking his wire tail. It twanged like the strange footsteps of something sneaking in the night. “Nearby storms have called monsters out earlier in the eve than usual. They’re lurking in the town.”

“I’ll shoot them,” Cleo said, but her heart wasn’t in it. She looked about, waiting for the goddess of echo and memory, or the goddess of rain and prosperity. She wore their favors in her hair too… but she did not see either one of them. Cleo looked at the sky, and in it, heavy clouds crawled in her direction. And if there were bats about too, then perhaps both goddesses did watch her now, even if they did not make appearance in mortal form.

The god of justice and sleep dropped off her horse from its far side, keeping one hand to its neck as he came around to see her. Cleo, not wanting him or any other god to take advantage, leapt into the saddle and glowered down from there. Both gods before her had wings, but even with them, they were short men. They stepped back. Perhaps she put out a dangerous aura, which they feared at least a little despite the great power flowing through the mulberry silk inside them.

“It would not be prudent to leave here,” said the god of war and sky, and tipped his head towards the rolling clouds. “Rain.”

And it will rot my cloth. Cleo had felt rotting once before and certainly did not wish for it again. She buried herself in the stallion’s mane, groaning loud, and did not speak to either of them.

“Hey, it’s fine,” said the god of justice and sleep, and in her grumpy haze, Cleo realized he had begun to remove the bridle as though to keep her trapped in this castle just as her parents did. “Go back inside. I’ll put the horse up. He will love me; all horses love me.”

“You two act like fathers,” Cleo snapped. They looked back, wrinkling their noses in dismay. The god of war and sky cocked his head like a bird.

“I don’t see why you think that,” he argued. “I am your suitor; I simply watch out for you. Rain falls nearby, and you were about to go out. I would never let what happened to you before ruin your life a second time.”

“You spy on me,” she accused, and he tipped his head the other way and said nothing in defense. Flopping her cheek against the horse to look upon the god of justice and sleep, she cried, “And you’re no better! I did not send a prayer, nor am I near your temple. Why do you treat me as if I’m your acolyte, or a guest who came to beg of you? I do not beg. I can care for my own livestock and my horse. I do not shirk my princess duties.”

Undead fingers, which were wire without cloth, carefully removed things from the waiting stallion. Cleo finally dismounted, knowing not to press her luck against the cloudy sky. Keeping his eyes low, the god of justice and sleep murmured, “Would it help if you traveled to distant kingdoms and met more people of the world out there? Your father said any man or woman, even those without a noble background, could be worthy to rule beside you. Travel is short through the land of death. I can steal you away from this place. We could go tonight and find a suitor, that you may be happy here.”

“I am happiest choosing for myself,” Cleo pushed back, “and according to my own time. Two years were stolen from me in sickness, and I do not consider myself ready to marry yet. I will marry no one who shames me if I choose not to lie with them, or who knows such action would unravel me, yet guilts me for this like a folly. That’s how it feels living with my parents. I’m not sure I wish to see mortal men ever again, or mortal women… And I cannot leave forever, for I have duties to my kingdom. I feel angry towards my parents, but to turn my back would mean abandoning my people. I must form a plan. I need to be alone.”

The god of war and sky, sensing opportunity - which Cleo regretted setting him in the way of - fluffed his bright wings and directed a hand against his chest. “I will never lie with you like mortals do, nor tease or guilt you in any way for your disinterest. And if you marry me, I shall whisk you to my palace above the clouds, and never shall rain disrupt your travels. You can walk the roads from above all hours of the day. The monsters of the night will never cross your path.”

“That does sound nice,” Cleo muttered, not sure whether or not she meant it. She did not want to entertain him. She did not want to entertain any thoughts of married life right now.

“I brought a flower.” The god crept forward, extending his arm to share a sunflower he had plucked from the ground. It did suit him and his domain, but as Cleo stared at it, blinking silently, she wished he had found something less common in the grain kingdom. Perhaps less common in hers. It would have been nice, actually, if he put in a bit more effort than this. Was it selfish to think such a thing? After all, arriving to see her and bringing a flower fell within the rules she had set for him; she had requested he not fawn over her with elaborate gifts.

“Thank you, spirit,” she said, and tucked it in her hair. The god of war and sky tittered and folded his arms, looking far too pleased with himself for a man who had done one little thing. Cleo somewhat expected he would spread his wings, announcing that his work here had finished and he was off to spend the evening engrossed in card games with his friends. He didn’t, but she thought he might, and sometimes, thinking such things was enough to turn a mind from affection to annoyance. Cleo did not want this spirit clinging around her for the rest of the hour. His time to move the sun could not come soon enough. A tiny part of her wished to snap the sun charm from his necklace and launch it across the farm into muck, just to break something, but she stayed her hand with a twitch. She did not think it wise, upon corrective thought, to hurl the sun into the earth.

“The rain out there’s scaring the horse,” said the other god, patting its neck. “That’s why I poofed out here. Come, Princess… Let’s get you both inside, safe and warm.”

Could it ever be wise to marry a god? As she lay upon her back in bed, her hands folded over her chest, Cleo wondered if it would be offensive to ask the god of war and sky to take her with him to meet his other lovers. He sat in her reading chair turned backwards, watching the rain through her window. With his chin resting on its soft back, his knees and hands hanging around it, he looked both like a child and a studious acolyte who’d stayed awake for hours to study and faced an exam come morning’s light.

“Why do you visit me,” she asked him then, “when weeks have come and gone, and I’ve not let you in my bed? I might never. What is it that draws you back?”

“I am with the sun,” he told her, which she thought rather honest of him. “I cannot return west until it dips into water and becomes the moon, and is thus taken by the goddess of stone and harvest. But I cannot go too far east, or I will cast the lands behind me into darkness too soon. In this hour, the sun hangs above your castle, so I am here until I have to go.” For a moment, he paused, and then said, “I suppose there are many things I could do. I could read, or walk the streets… but I like this.”

“You’re the spirit of home and domestic life,” they acknowledged then. “I suppose I understand why you like to be indoors.”

“It pleases me to stay with you.” He slipped off the chair then, moving closer, and Cleo looked at him, but did not kick in his direction or warn him back. The spirit settled on the end of their bed. He did not touch their ankle - Never had they given that permission - but he rested for a moment and studied her, like he had never seen a mortal lying down before. Cleo laughed to think of it. How strange, to have a god of the land in her bedroom. How many people would desire to be in this position she now had?

“I do appreciate the restraint you have shown,” she said, partly to the ceiling. To the wood, to the cobwebs, to the air. “You have not pressed upon me, nor begged to climb into my bed.”

“I can wait,” said the spirit. He smiled charmingly, as he always did, but Cleo fell quiet, and wondered if entertaining his interest may have been a mistake after all. Perhaps he knew this. The smirk faded from his eyes. “Do I offend you?”

No, but yes? Yes, but no? “I’m sorry,” the mortal told him, “for I’ve had a long day. It is easy to serve gods when I seek them out. All the harder to entertain when you visit me each day. But I enjoy your company, spirit, and I am grateful for your time. I just wish I knew what a mortal and god have in common, that I could think up activities for us to do.”

“You are enough,” he said. Cleo wished she could believe him. This was not the first day or even week that they passed resting in her room together, never touching as they spoke absently of her kingdom and his many travels to lands beyond. The god did not make her feel like poor company… but when he spoke, it flipped her insides out, and she unraveled on the ground.

Gods live for many years, so it stands to reason they are patient. How long before his patience ran thin, and he demanded to touch or kiss their naked body?

A terrifying thought. Cleo scrunched against the bed. She did enjoy their conversations, and she admired the god’s attempt to court her (albeit clumsily) as if he were a mortal man. She looked through her window glass and wished the goddess of rain and prosperity would come to see her. Perhaps she would not be so frightened of “the needs of man” if she lay her head on a woman’s bed?

Cleo wondered then if any of the gods were like her… Sometimes feeling like a woman, but other times disconnected from that self. She knew the god of war and sky experienced similar sensations, for he became like women each night the sun changed into the moon. If he did not change with it, it would cast him off. In truth, Cleo admired him for entrusting her with his feelings. She felt them like flower roots deep within her heart.

Some minutes later, the god of war and sky leapt at her window. As he touched the glass, he turned to rainbow droplets and swirled away, for he moved east with the sun (regardless of a rainy day). Cleo rolled over and nestled her arms around her pillow. She lay her cheek against it and gazed across a far too stuffy room.

I wish he had not said that. Imagining that he saw himself as ‘waiting for more’ was precisely what she did not want to hear right now. But he was the spirit of domesticity, which in some ways tred closer to marriage than the realm of the god of hearts and husbandry. He did want to crawl beneath the blankets, and he did want to touch and kiss her, and would enjoy it very much if she eventually allowed it. Somehow, he had kept his tongue enough not to blab much about his other lovers, but Cleo didn’t think for a moment that he kept his hands off them. Perhaps within minutes of leaving her side, that god already found himself entangled in some other mortal’s arms. Unclothed, possibly.

Cleo felt foolish for growing frustrated with the hopeful spirit when she, too, liked the thought of lying in bed beside her wife or husband someday. She did not fault him for desiring to touch her cloth. Why else would people marry, if not to touch one another in doting ways? He had called her many lovely things… He often said she looked beautiful in the sunlight, grinning while she shook her head. He seemed nice enough.

She could not put into words why it mattered what he’d said. It simply did.

When her parents presented the idea of a ball, which would invite the unmarried men and women of the livestock kingdom, and some noblemen and noblewomen from other kingdoms (even those afar) to dine and dance, Cleo cried out in disbelief. “What a foolish idea! I cannot choose a partner for myself knowing little about them. I do not desire this!”

“If you wish to be an unmarried queen,” warned her father, “then you must stop traveling so far and so often, for there are duties to attend here that you must take on. Is that your wish?”

“Cleo,” said her mother, “we do not require you to be queen, but it is on you to declare a new heir of the livestock kingdom. Do as you wish, for we know we cannot force you to take a path you don’t desire, but we worry that you don’t take this situation seriously. You are a princess. Marry, cease your travels, or abdicate: It is your choice, but you must choose one.”

Cleo did not know which to choose, and tightly told her parents she would have to think on the matter alone. If she could marry someone she loved, it would not be such a bad thing, but she had yet to find anyone she believed truly cared for her- and would love her regardless of the fact that she could not lie with them in pleasure in their married bed. While the god of war and sky did court her, to marry him would be to surrender travel anyway, for how could he rule the livestock kingdom if his duties required him to move the sun?

Could she surrender her traveling, and resign herself to paperwork and meetings? She did enjoy caring for the livestock, especially the horses, but this duty fell on her largely because she was a princess in a way it would no longer be priority if she ruled as solo queen.

Cleo missed her sister very much. Her brother too. Her brother had raised the sheep and had shown great interest in meeting travelers at the door, hearing their stories, and learning the politics of the kingdom in that way. Cleo had listened in several times and thought him very good at what he did, for his guests relaxed and felt charmed in his presence… in a way Cleo did not think they would ever feel in hers, for she struggled at times to hold her tongue. He would have made a fine king.

To abdicate the throne would require much thought. Who in the livestock kingdom had the patience and experience to raise the finest herds, that there may always be healthy animals to share if those in her kingdom lost their own? Sometimes, although she was not supposed to, Cleo had even traded animals with those in her kingdom who could not bear to kill and eat their own chickens, cows, or sheep, for how easy it became to see an animal as a friend. She would bring one of her own, exchange it for another, and thus both would eat, and neither saddened by the killing of one they had raised themselves.

Who can I choose, she wondered, who will care for my people the way that I care? To release the throne would be to release the comforts of control her power brought. What if she passed the crown, and after some time, the new heir turned out not to be so wonderful? What if war or disaster should strike, and the new heir did not know how to negotiate, for they had not been in the room with the king and queen many times to hear discussions, the way that Cleo had.

Must these be her only choices? She did not like any of them. If she left the castle, where would she live? She did not have her own herds, except for those she knew must stay here, that they feed those in need. Am I in need? Perhaps she could take a few animals and go her way. That would not be such a terrible thing.

Cleo bid her parents farewell for the night. They left her to her thoughts, and she stayed a moment longer before treading across the room the other way. Perhaps she had not found someone to love because she had not given herself enough opportunity to look for them. She did think she could love easily, if she found a clever person who showed her respect. She loved her people. She loved her herds. Surely love for another person would come quickly if she found one whose company she enjoyed. For a brief time in her travels, she had imagined herself married to Prince Ren, who was the younger brother in his ruling family and thus could have moved to the livestock kingdom to dwell with her. He seemed so smart and kind…

… but he desired a certain intimacy - and children - that she could not provide. Cleo wondered if he had married yet. She did not think he had, for she would have heard. Was there any value in bending her pride to seek the god of hearts and husbandry, asking for his healing fingers to correct what lay crooked inside her, that she might live forever after in peace with that friendly prince?

I do not know if Ren would be content to leave the woods behind. He likes hunting very much. Perhaps he could learn to love the herding dogs as much as those he ran with on the hunt.

When she swung open the door, it smacked very quick into the god of war and sky, who cried out. Cleo turned then and realized not only he, but many gods and goddesses from the pantheon of silk and plays had pressed their ears up against the door, listening to the words she and her parents spoke. So many were there outside the door, they had even climbed atop one another that they might all hear. When they looked upon her, their mouths dropped open as if they had been whispering together and had not heard her footsteps. But they did not look ashamed. Seeing them clustered there curdled her silk with rage.

“Why do you spy on me? Is there no privacy in my home?” In some way, she could hardly fault the goddess of echo and memory, for she heard all things- It was her duty. But why come here, and why now? Cleo thought she might cry, for this goddess snuck into the castle only to eavesdrop on her affairs, but not to speak with her when she had sat saddened by the rainy window?

Cleo’s eyes fell upon a man whose oak-brown skin and blue clothing reminded her of the Great River border kingdoms, and she recoiled in alarm. Had other spirits - those she had read about but not spoken with directly - also come to spy on her? Why did they do this? She did not hold this man’s favor, yet he stalked her like he desired to steal her away? A terrifying thought. Cleo knew the gods of neighboring pantheons only vaguely, and not as well as her own. She did not like the not-knowing feeling that consumed her now.

And she did not know that man who wore a knightly helmet and showed metal skin, or the one who seemed to change shape each time her eye skid across him, or the goddess with many pink flowers in her hair. Who were they? How far had they come. And why?

“You,” she said, twirling to point a finger at the god of justice and sleep, who had climbed near the top of the pile of unashamed gods. “Did you bring them here through your portals? Am I entertainment for you?”

“We wondered what might become of you,” said the spirit, scrambling down to the floor. His wire tail poked the god of travel and arts in the cheek, and Cleo felt more dismayed by that god’s presence than she would have if he had refrained out of anger for their past encounter. “The pantheon of silk and plays looks after all four kingdoms equally. We are not bound to one kingdom above the others, even if it’s where our temples lie. You are distressed; the ruling family may change. We are intrigued by your affairs.”

Cleo, in her shock, gestured her hands to those she did not recognize. “Why are these visitors here? I do not know them.”

“Ah,” said the god of travel and arts, lifting one finger for attention. “I will introduce them. This is the god of water and search, from the pantheon of wood and string. My friend, would you care to expound?”

The man with wood-dark skin cleared his throat, and Cleo stared at him in disbelief. “If your parents seek nobles for a ball, it will be my responsibility to bring them to the border, that I may pass them to the god of travel and arts. He invited me here, and I hope to discover what all the fuss is about.”

The mortal, in growing fury, set her eyes upon the god of hearts and husbandry, who sat behind his husband, embracing him in this pile on the floor. “Why are you here?”

“You wouldn’t separate a man from his husband,” he replied, rubbing the god of travel and arts on the shoulder.

All that had happened confused and enraged her, and she needed a moment to be alone. Cleo stalked away down the hall, covering her ears, and decided to visit the town library for a time. It had many wonderful books, for the livestock kingdom grew much sugarcane for paper, and made covers with their leather, and harvested squid to give the ink.

She stepped carefully past the goddess of rain and prosperity, who had power over wetness, and also the god of sea and fire, who was a destructive man, but she did this only because she feared their anger, not because she admired them. The mortal drew her eyes across their palms, most of which were not creased with the labor of the field or the heat of the sun. The gods looked at each other, silent, but did not stop her as she walked between them.

They have their own labors, but they do not work the fields. Do the gods ever understand a mortal’s experience? Were they mortals once themselves? One had been crafted as a clock long before he ascended to his current form. What minds did they have, that their curiosity drew them into these halls against normal social rules that spoke against barging in?

She went down the hall and turned a corner, but paused a moment to pull her hands down her face. And in doing so, she overheard the voices of those she’d left behind.

“She will be mine,” gloated the god of war and sky. “Then I will have the clever hands that created so many things laid upon my skin, and all the pantheon shall seethe jealously at my feet. I will sit upon my throne and she will perch upon my knee.”

Ugh. Cleo wished to slap that man. Did he boast only in teasing, or did he truly mean those words? It offended and upset her, but… she had spoken to him in teasing ways. Perhaps he teased only because he thought she wouldn’t be bothered?

“I think I will have her,” said the goddess of echo and memory, her smile warm even in her words. “She knows many things, and I admire the brains within her. I hear her singing in the night. Many times, I have perched outside her window or watched her in the fields, wishing I could have her in my court.”

“She’s very pretty,” said that visiting god of water and search. “I can see why you all like her so.”

“Oh,” said a voice she did not recognize. “Perhaps her brains and song stay with the goddess of echo and memory, and you can take her body!”

Infuriating. They speak of me like children. What a cruel thing to say! Especially of someone whose cloth once rotted and broke apart at the seams. Cleo stood a moment, listening to the voices, and realized… not all the gods and goddesses had joined in to speak of her like that. The god of sea and fire did not claim he desired her, nor the goddess of stone and harvest. Perhaps because they were married to each other? It might be that they did not seek out other partners. She could find excuse for the god of war and sky, as he was once the trickster spirit and did so like to tease. Or perhaps she wouldn’t forgive him; she had not decided yet.

I do not hear the god of trickery and innovation among them. She had not seen an undressed figure on the floor. Either he arrived and departed early, fearing she would see him in his nakedness, or he had not come at all. And in that moment, Cleo knew who she could speak with that she might hatch some clever plan. What this plan hoped to accomplish, she did not yet know. She did not love any of her options. But she would seek his temple, and perhaps feel safe with her own thoughts for a time.

Months had passed since Cleo’s last visit to the god of trickery and innovation, for summer flittered through its end and autumn showed in the creases of shadow here and there. But the god she came to see dwelt on a mountain that forever sat in snow. She dressed in warm wool and climbed the path as quickly as she could.

As she neared the peak, she slowed her pace, for she could hear acolytes speaking to one another in laughter and merriment. Cleo smelled something she thought might be a cacao drink. She paused outside the courtyard wall. Did the god of trickery and innovation celebrate with his students tonight? She did not know the godly calendar, and perhaps to intrude upon him now would be an insult.

I will get a room, she decided, and dwell in the temple for a night, that I may see him in the morning when he is less busy. She crept to the entrance and, barely peeking around the edge, called to a group nearby, and when the three turned their heads, she motioned them over.

“I would like to see the god who lives here,” she told them. “However, I do not mean to interrupt; I will speak to it another time. But is it here tonight?” She did not wish to lay eye upon the spirit accidentally, but saw no reason to share the secrets of the silks they shared.

“It is here,” said one man, pointing across the courtyard. “We celebrate the end of summer, for our exams are behind us and in two days’ time, we go to harvest the fields.”

Cleo resisted the urge to follow his gesture. “Thank you. I’ll be on my way.” Carefully, she concealed her face with her cloak and hurried across the courtyard. At least she knew which direction to avoid. It seemed the spirit stood a bit near the doors, but surely in his busy affairs, he would not mind if Cleo passed on by. She crossed the space and went to place her hand upon the large door handle, but when she did, a low, familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Cleo? Is that you?”

What do I say? Distress over her situation swirled within her heart, for she did not wish to burden the god at his time of merriment. “Forgive me,” she said, not turning towards him. “I will speak with you tomorrow.”

The god walked quickly; she heard his footsteps arrive and stop, but a few seconds passed before its physical form arrived. “May I speak to you now? After sundown, I travel to the realm of gods where mortals do not go, that we may meet for a night, a day, and a night. If I leave without speaking to you, all the longer will I wonder what ails you.”

“I did not mean to disrupt your celebration, spirit.”

“My students will enjoy themselves without me and do not require my supervision to drink. Step inside; we can speak a moment. That is, if you do not mind. But please don’t turn around.”

Cleo knew as much without his needing to ask and felt a prickle down their spine as they moved forward at his command. In some way, it did feel frightening to put her back to this god, for although she had not heard him speaking cruel things in the hallway, other spirits had. Did he too think these things about her? Did he wear a false face when they spoke, in these moments that he seemed kind?

The gods do not know us as well as we know their stories, she thought then, and tightened her fingers at her legs. To mistake them for a friend is to overstep.

She could tell this front entryway, filled with statues that depicted the spirit in many forms, had been cleaned and decorated for the event outside. Cleo wondered if his acolytes took this duty themselves or whether the spirit had done it for them. Each statue shone as though freshly washed, and colorful froglights hung on strings around this room. Many lanterns hung in the courtyard, and Cleo wondered what it might have been like to study beneath a god. Some chose to do so, and with their knowledge they sometimes traveled over river or sea to distant lands, that they might experience many new things - and pool their knowledge - with fellow minds far away. A table had been brought forth, and on it, a project displayed. A name. A student. A celebration. Did they win some competition? What a curious place to study and work.

“How are you, Princess?” asked the spirit, tugging the grand doors shut behind them. “I have not seen you for some time, which I took to mean all was well… until now.”

Cleo winced. She had grown fond of the trickster god, but she did not mean to visit him only when she had need of his aid and skill. Now, standing in his celebration, she wished she had sought his temple in pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. To seek his aid again felt insulting at the very least, and severely out of line at worst.

“Most the pantheon surprised me with a lovely visit in my home,” she said, staring forward. She heard the spirit pause. Did his heart quicken in his fingertips? Did he have anything to hide? “I did not invite them to listen on that conversation with my parents.”

The spirit stayed quiet for so long, Cleo nearly turned to prod him with a finger. And with his silence, Cleo gained suspicion and chose to ask him outright.

“Did you go, too?”

A sigh. Muffled, as though it covered its mouth with one hand. “I did. All the pantheon heard your parents’ proposal, myself included. We often attend final exam celebrations, weddings, coronations, and child presentations for the royal families, and if you may abdicate your throne to a new family, we would like to stay informed.”

“I did not see you in the hall.”

“I knew better than to stand in the two walkways you would likely travel. I hid elsewhere.”

That did sound like his way of thinking, for he was not a foolish man. Clever-Wandering could be his name. The mortal said, “None of the pantheon spoke against their fellows, telling them not to say cruel things about me.”

Another pause. Then, “What cruel thing?”

It took great effort not to scoff at him. She very nearly did. “That I am so desirable, the gods think to tease of separation between my body and mind, that they may keep me amongst themselves in many pieces.”

“That is a beautiful thing,” the spirit said, as though confused or sorrowful. “I am sorry you felt insulted by it. We meant no offense.”

Cleo sighed, loud, and again struggled not to turn and cross their arms at him. How irritating, to have this discussion with a god whose face she could not look upon. She hoped he bowed it like a scolded child. “Well, if you must be present, I at least appreciate that you were honest. Did the whole pantheon - and even our neighboring ones - really come out to eavesdrop on my private matter? Is there more I should know about, that I might protect myself from ill affairs?”

“I do know of my fellow spirits’ plans, yes, for they are plotting trickery.” He did not sound ashamed, but Cleo could not fault him that; it highlighted his mastery. She thought she heard him shift as though folding his arms, then a scrape of metal against wood as if a thousand armored spikes poked from his back. “Should you proceed with your parents’ plan to host a ball and meet many suitors, the spirits are very interested. They plot to disguise themselves in all manner of ways - some as nobles, that they might impress your parents, and some as simple farmhands, that they might impress your love for humble things - for they now seek your hand.”

The mortal, for a moment, did not know quite how to answer that. What should you say upon hearing that you are desirable to those you perform favors for, particularly if they speak unkind things when they think you can’t hear? And why do mortals not desire me? she wondered to herself. Did those of her own kingdom fear her, knowing she had died and been raised again? Technically speaking, Cleo did not know if rot still lay within her, but this god that stood before her now had assured her (when he sewed her together) that her cloth lay clean. She would very much like to believe infection no longer remained a possibility.

She would very much like not to remember the way the god of hearts and husbandry held her hand, tugging it to one side to examine her arm, and pinched his brows in concern as his teeth set in a manner that sent a shudder down her back. Nor the way he requested she remain in quarantine, in a room he chose for her, that she might not spread her disease. For a moment, Cleo pressed a thumb in her palm and turned her wrist over. Across her body, binding parts, were the golden mulberry threads the god of trickery and innovation had shared with her. What did he look like, she wondered… for perhaps he’d become a partly unraveled thing.

“Do you seek my hand?” Cleo asked him dully, and heard the spirit draw a breath. He shifted again, and metal rubbed once more in the air.

“I do not think that would be convenient for either one of us.” He did not, however, deny the accusation, and that annoyed Cleo all over again. Perhaps he sometimes chose honesty, but he remained a shifty man. And they might blame him for that after all, regardless of his role within the pantheon.

“Perhaps it’s my good fortune that you overhead,” they said in tact, “for I don’t need to re-explain. The king and queen have given me three directions for my future, and I cannot say which one appeals to me. In part, I wish to leave my kingdom and travel the world, but I hesitate to abandon my people at the hands of an unknown person. Perhaps I desire marriage. My partner could manage the flocks and herds in my absence. I fear if I choose to see this ball through, my parents may bind me to a promise of choosing a suitor. Even then, they desire me to choose a man, not woman. In your wisdom and trickery, could you advise me which way you would go? … I would very much like your help.”

“That is a big decision,” the spirit mused. He took a moment to breathe, and Cleo heard a finger tap against his leg. “And you truly care to hear my view of the matter?”

“I would, spirit,” replied the mortal, though she did fear the box he might paint her in. Another shift, like he braced himself against the door and pushed off it. Cleo wished very much they could see him, for curiosity rumbled in their veins.

“I have glimpsed you in the woods, mountains, and along the roads. You displayed such trickery and innovation when brewing your potion of invisibility and sewing your ragged cloak that I could not take myself from your presence. I went with you unseen, but I admired the confident way you strode. Even when the birds of rainbow pestered and disagreed with you, it did not dampen your spirit. To leave your kingdom is a difficult thing, but when you forge your own path in your travels, or are clever caring for your animals, I see it… and I see such joy across your face.”

The mortal went quiet, touching fingertips together. Outside, music and shouts filled the courtyard. She turned her face aside, regretting that she had drawn the spirit from his party, and heard him inhale and step sideways so she would not catch him from the corner of her eye. And finally, when she had thought, she said, “To abandon my people would be a selfish thing. I cannot bear it, and to abdicate fills my soul with terrible thoughts. I suppose I must marry.”

A silence. Then, “You do not sound pleased, Cleo.”

No. “I heard the gods and goddesses in this pantheon - and perhaps others - whisper their wishes to claim me as their own. You told me they seek trickery.” Cleo felt behind her. She hardly meant to, meaning to brace herself on the door, but a tentative hand caught hers and folded it up. Cleo paused for breath. The spirit may live upon a snowy mountain, but its hand slipped into hers like a warm drink. A bit perturbed, she finished, “Do you stand with them when they plot these things?”

“Not as myself,” whispered the god, “but as an influence, I must… or I cease to hold my mastery. Princess, if I could be myself, I would not plot against you. I do not take satisfaction in it any more than the god of travel and arts admires robbers on the highway, or the god of justice and sleep revels in infant death, or the god of hearts and husbandry enjoys bearing witness to intimate touch drawn out by force. I walk with them in power only, but not as myself. You will not find me at that ball.”

“Very well. Thank you, spirit.” Cleo squeezed its hand then, and after a heartbeat that echoed in their fingers, the spirit squeezed them back. “If… If I did abdicate, would they still hold interest in me? Or do they wish only the bragging rights that come with marriage to a princess?”

His voice shrank a little then. “I do not know. I have heard other spirits sing your praises and they marvel at your deeds. You are successful in your cleverness, and in this, you win their favor and draw your eye. I did warn you once that you might find yourself in trouble soon enough, speaking to so many gods.”

“That you did,” she murmured back. “Would it be a bother if I dwelt in a room tonight, spirit? I do not wish to see my parents for a while, nor be bothered by gods or goddesses. I have a tournament to plan.”

“I do not mind,” it said, though Cleo detected hesitation in its voice. “But tonight I celebrate with my students, and then I depart for the spirit realm. I would prefer you stay in your room a time, lest your eye cross me while I walk the halls and see through my disguise, unclothed.”

Of course. But at least it did not feel like the spirit cast her away when he requested she keep to her own chambers. It did not feel like quarantine or shame. “That is fair. I do not intend to disrupt you in your own home. I’ll busy myself in private. I have much to think on.”

With a slip of movement in the air, Cleo felt him nod. “I am glad you came, Cleo. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“You too, spirit. I wish your travels well, and good night.”

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Twill

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

“God of water and search,” spoke their host in a growl, “why do you not return to your own pantheon?”

Hearing commotion, the god of trickery and innovation put his hand around the corner of the wall and peeked out, and the god of justice and sleep squirmed beneath him and poked his head out too, and Upwind below him. “Oh,” said the smaller spirit. “He brings trouble upon him.”

“Hm,” said the trickster god, and they went quiet to watch. That wood-carved god in robes of blue, whose hands were guided by string instead of silk, put them behind his back and looked innocently into the eyes of the god of sparks and time: a man who towered over him with widespread wings. Upon his shoulders sat a hundred butterflies, and they flapped at this water spirit as if they might lick nectar from the golden eyeblossoms blooming from his bark.

“The god of travel and arts invited me to dwell with him a while, and he came here. I only follow him.”

“He does not invite you. You should return to your own place.”

“I think I will stay, for I am fascinated by the princess of your livestock kingdom. If she wishes to travel abroad that her parents do not seek her, I would like to extend the opportunity to escort her through the Great River kingdoms. I am, after all, the god of travel in my pantheon.”

Hearing this, the god of trickery and innovation felt the pulse in him quicken up a bit. Already, many spirits plotted to steal Cleo for their own, and to his mastery he was bound. Until she had a plan of her own to pit against them, he could do very little to stand with her, and felt frustration surge within him. How dare any spirit, especially a visitor from rival lands, desire her with such trickery in mind?

This man has heard grand stories of her exciting deeds, but he does not know her. His fascination is wrapped inside the tale. It displeased him very much that Cleo could not be here in the hall beside him, listening in, to scoff at the boldness of this foreign god. Surely she would have much to say.

“Ooh,” said a voice behind him, and the god of war and sky climbed upon him to peek around the corner too. “Not only is our visitor a beautiful man, but he stands against the god of sparks and time. How very interesting.”

“Don’t,” warned the god of justice and sleep, but all gathered knew the god of war and sky would pursue whomever he wished, for his heart could not be reined. The three looked on in interest (and one in dread) as the god of sparks and time stepped forward, moving a hand as if to push the Great River spirit back.

“You should not waltz outside your domain, or we will bite and force you back. The moths without number gave these lands to us. If any spirit is to have the princess for wife, it will be one of her own.”

“I think that is for the princess to decide.”

“Oh, snappers,” muttered the god of trickery and innovation, and large grew the grin of the god who wriggled below him. His wire tail flicked about, and eager claws clenched the arm of his friend.

“Should we gamble coin that they will fight for her?” he asked in whisper, but did not receive response, for the god of trickery and innovation pushed his head lower with a hand.

“Go home,” growled the god of sparks and time. Thus excited, the god of war and sky leapt from the stack of spirits and ran out to take the visitor by the hand.

“Let’s- Let’s- You can stay in my room! I think we have much to talk about. What’s it like, being a water god? In your pantheon, I imagine you flourish life by the field, for you and your mortals are people brought from trees. Here in the cloth domain, we fear water as rot and destruction.” And he grinned, wickedly. “Nearly as much as war.”

“Oh, brother,” muttered the god of justice and sleep, and the two withdrew behind the corner. The god of trickery and innovation scooped Upwind in his arms and hugged the hound to his chest a moment. He needed to think. They stayed quiet as the god of war and sky brought his new friend down the hall, leading him to his bedroom with a smirk in his black, reflective eyes. The god of sparks and time came around the corner, saw them, and sighed. Nonetheless, he did not scold them for listening in. He merely crossed his arms.

“I fear for Cleo,” the god of trickery and innovation confessed to the small spirit at his side. “She plans to abdicate her crown, but I know not where she will go after that. The gods, I’m certain, will pursue her regardless of her royal title. She has attracted many eyes, and if there is to be a suitors’ ball, she will be set upon by much power, and feel pressure, I think, to give in to one.”

“That is her own fault,” replied the god of justice and sleep, placing one hand to his chest. “I admire her, for she retrieved my favored horse from the jaws of death. And all that for my cloak of midnight, that she may not offend you with her eye! Such a fiery spirit, I have not seen in a very long time. Perhaps at the ball, I will court her myself.”

“As might I,” said the god of sparks and time. “A fascinating mortal to be sure, and one I would rather track the location of than not. If they plot, I would like to plot beside them. Far better to cast my alliance there in daylight than fall beneath a stab in the back at night.”

The god of justice and sleep stroked Upwind’s fur, his talons catching in its muddied bits. “That is true,” he said quietly, about the deed Cleo had done for him. “She did venture to that foreign spirit world, all so she might wander my temple with no risk of seeing me.” It filled him with strange emotion, which seemed like concern and protection mingled into one. “I admire her trickery and innovation. I wish she would become an acolyte of mine. She said once that she could not, for her princess duties kept her from it. I suppose if she leaves her duties in the past, I could invite her to study in my temple.” His temple balanced upon the mountains that separated the southern livestock kingdom from the hunting kingdom further north. She would not be far from home.

“It would inconvenience you,” pointed out the god of justice and sleep, and patted him on the arm. “But if I marry her and take her away to my temple, that will be no concern. She can study with me just as much as with you. I think it makes much sense, to invite a mortal who’s returned from the land of dead to be my wife.” He grinned fiercely at the god of sparks and time then. “Hey, perhaps we could share them!”

“Mm, maybe,” said the god of sparks and time with little emotion. “That is Cleo’s decision, but I may court them nonetheless. If for no other reason than to avoid making an enemy of her.”

Privately, the god of trickery and innovation thought that to marry Cleo without true affection would paint a grand target upon your back, for he could not imagine she would stand for that. He bid the two spirits with him farewell, cast Upwind upon the floor, and followed her lead elsewhere in the god of sparks and time’s grand home. He had much to think about, and all of it very confusing in his mind.

For a time, he wandered the halls of gilded blackstone and participated in food and drink. The goddess of echo and memory offered to fill his glass with the thanks of mortals many times over, but he stopped her pitcher with a lifted hand. “No more, please. Your work is delicious to the taste, but my mind must remain clear.” He sipped from the stained glass goblet in his hand, then stopped. “False, the livestock princess wears your favor in her hair. Do you desire her?”

The goddess tilted her head. “I find her clever and entertaining. She stayed a budding war between myself and the goddess of rain and prosperity. We were most upset at one another. At times, I think mortals aid us just as much as we aid them. Gem and I were both too close to the situation to see neither of us could be the thief.”

She looked pointedly at the goblet in the other spirit’s hand. With a chuckle, he bid her farewell and went his way. At times he teased his fellows, and had indeed taken the goblets of the two goddesses on a night like tonight, for they had drunk deeply on their thanks and retired to their rooms without them. In stealing them away, he taught them both a lesson, and they no longer left their things on the floor for other gods or creatures to find. Nonetheless, his place in the pantheon relied entirely on the votes of the spirits already there. He knew not to overstay his welcome. Nine votes in favor of his presence had been enough to win him an invite to this place. He could not risk that number dropping lower.

If it dropped too low… He very well may be stripped of his silks, and left to rot as a cut-off hand. And as he and Upwind went along, the spirit paused to look into the sitting room, where stood the god of sea and fire, speaking to his wife. His left arm twisted with a fin, and the god of trickery and innovation knew the man had grown adapt in using it. He ruled the seas, after all. But he knew better than to approach that man directly.

Perhaps someday, animosity would cease between them. For now, he nodded to the goddess of stone and harvest, who held the moon at her hip like a hungry child, and departed without a word.

In the library, he found the god of hearts and husbandry engaged in merriment with his husband, as they teased each other by looking up terrible words in grand books, pointing with their fingers and saying “This is your mastery,” or “This describes you above all others in the world.” The god of trickery and innovation lingered in amusement at the doorway, his shoulder braced against the arch. How sweet and funny they were towards one another, for affection ran beneath their words. But after some time, the god of travel and arts looked up and noticed him there, and signaled this with a hand pat on the table. The god of hearts and husbandry turned around and braced his arm upon his chair.

“Ho! What brings you to the library? Do not let us stand between you and peaceful reading; we will depart at your command.”

Footsteps ran ahead of him, and Upwind moved forward too. The god of trickery and innovation approached the table. “In fact, I seek your advice and help.”

“Well, far be it for me to turn your prayers away. I’ve heard the thanks of gods are delicious to the taste.”

Smiling thinly to himself, the god of trickery and innovation took a chair at the head of the table and folded two of his hands upon the edge. Talons scratched upon the scaly bits as he settled in. “Rumor circulates our dwelling here. Many in our pantheon plot to wed the livestock princess, and of course, in my power, I am involved.”

“She is a fine mortal,” said the god of hearts and husbandry, very tense, and the god of travel and arts tilted his head to one side like a puzzled hound, as if he had never heard his husband speak that highly of her. The god of trickery and innovation paused. His many eyes flickered open and shut, and in his power, he detected the stirrings of a plan within the god of hearts and husbandry’s very core.

Oh… I see. A fascinating thought, for this man stewed tonight in jealousy. Bitter feelings lurked between him and the man he loved. He felt offense and rejection, and it did not please him that his husband had seized the silks of the god of war and sky. It did not matter if he had not worn those stolen robes as a claim; it mattered only that he had taken them at all, and such had been the god of trickery and innovation’s plan- to stir anger in this god of love.

But now… A plan formed within the god of hearts and husbandry. He plotted to dote on the princess and steal their affections away. If given opportunity, he would marry Cleo in front of his husband, shower praise upon them like a queen, lay kisses against their face, and make love to them as only the god of hearts and husbandry could- and thus upset this man he claimed to love. And if the god of travel and arts cried out that it was betrayal, the god of hearts and husbandry had other arguments to fall upon. “She does not wear my silks; you and I are real, not myself and she,” or “I am the Ever-Sire and the Omni-Dam; all the mortals in this land are mine, and you did not take offense at my mastery before.” Even the god of trickery and innovation marveled at the plans he had made to evade blame and cast it back from whence it came. And how was the god of travel and arts to argue? He had, after all, robbed a spirit of his silks.

“What is it you desire?”

The trickster god blinked and remembered where he sat; whom he addressed. Both his fellow spirits stared at him, and he felt out of place for his intrusion. He looked down at his folded hands upon the table and, still feeling disconnected from the world, folded a second and third pair in his lap. “Well… I am shaken with worry over what may come. It disturbs me much to imagine this mortal marrying a spirit she does not love. I have wandered the halls and sought distraction, but I cannot push thought of her from my mind. If my stress over the potential of their marriage is a matter of the heart, surely this is under your domain. What ails me?”

“Oh,” said the god of hearts and husbandry, and the jealous plot within his mind faltered, shattered, and fell to the world as broken glass. “Do you wish to pledge your hand to this mortal’s, that you may be bound in marriage before the moths without number?”

“I do not,” replied the spirit, who could not imagine speaking such words to that mortal’s face. The very thought left him aghast. Who would he be, to ask Cleo Clocker such a thing? Certainly he had walked beside her on many trails, and had been present when she dipped her hand in trickery, but to speak to her in such a way - like a stable hand confessing long-hidden affection for a knight - would surely be crass. She and all the pantheon would laugh at him for expressing such a thought.

“But you do admire her. You wish no other would look upon her with lust in their hearts.”

The god of trickery and innovation grew flustered, but also subdued. He looked within himself for a moment, wondering of these things. Perhaps he did find discomfort with the thoughts of his fellows turning to desire when they spoke of that mortal, but this thought came from concern, not wanting of his own. He shook his head. “To hold such feelings for Cleo would not be convenient for me,” he replied, and the god of hearts and husbandry laughed aloud. He threw one arm to the side, drink sloshing from his chalice in a way that splattered it across Upwind’s head.

“It is not from ‘convenience’ that love is born! It arrives from admiration, loyalty, caretaking, compassion, protection, and all manner of things. You are caught up in all of this towards Cleo Clocker!”

Hearing this, the god of trickery and innovation laughed a bit and put his many hands upon his sallow cheeks. “I do not think that the case, but if our god of love decrees it, I suppose I cannot sway you otherwise. Perhaps I am fond of them, but it matters not. I could never court the princess, though. In doing so I would reveal my true form. She would be so frightened by my appearance, she would surely turn away.”

And when he said it, his heart quivered within him. To be thought a repulsive thing by this mortal he admired dipped him into sadness and, perhaps… shame. The spirit looked upon its hands, which were talons taken from half-eaten birds that lay upon the forest floor. It saw the parts of its body and legs, which did not match in color or even their material. Fleas stuck to matted fur and open wounds oozed eternally, for they could never be healed. And seeing them, the god wished to hide himself away, under his quilts, and stay here in the palace until the next gathering of spirits. Surely he would not be missed. The hunters and hunted creatures could go without his intervention for a season.

The goddess of stone and harvest told me I am beautiful, but I am a wretched and disgusting thing. He touched a place on his leg where ooze had crusted upon a gash. Mortal eyes did not see him in this way, but he had plucked mulberry silk from his very robes to sew them into Cleo, that she might be revived from her rotten form and given life anew. In Cleo, there existed part of a god. And because of this, no magic would let him hide himself. He would always look to Cleo the way he looked in his own eyes.

And he was a rotting, hideous thing: corpses of many things stuck together, overlapping, hanging from his body, and all manners of discarded pottery and broken tools. The god had not come into his mastery without building upon many things that had failed, for from failure, trickery and innovation was born.

He did not know if he loved Cleo, but he did know that it could never be. How could a mortal who had suffered in her own rot ever look upon him as a thing that deserved love?

I looked upon her, he thought then. I was rotten, and I looked upon that mortal who died of disease that only the realm of the dead can cure, and I wanted so, so very much to see her clean again. But in him dwelt a rot that could never be removed, for when he had presented himself before the moths without number and cried unto them to end his existence as a rotting cast-off hand, they saw that he had wrapped himself in animal skins, dying plants, twisted metal, and broken clay, and they made him a god without removing those disgusting things. Now he always looked upon his reflection and saw his lowest moments staring back at him. How he would have cleaned himself and changed for them had they only given warning of their arrival! He could have presented himself as if all was well, even if he lied, and all would have been better for him then.

The god of hearts and husbandry shook his head. “The princess was raised upon the stories of our deeds, both those that are noble and those which we look back on and recoil from. Through this, she already knows that you wrapped yourself in dead things. She knows your past already. Tell her these things that frighten you, that you prepare her for when she sees you. Love cannot stay where honesty is hid.”

“I will consider,” said the spirit, but to tell Cleo of the unpleasant parts that were in him, which could not be removed, quaked him with fear far more than the thought of professing he might love her. The mortal carried their own burdens; no kind lover could expect her to lug around his.

Spoke the god of travel and arts then, “If you love her, do not delay confession. If she does not know you hold affection, you cannot fault her for choosing another.”

“It matters not, for she does not wish to wed. I know her plan already. She will abdicate her crown and travel many lands. If she has no need to raise an heir for the throne, her parents will not require marriage. For her, marriage is dangerous, for in her lies a crooked loom.”

The god of hearts and husbandry sipped from his chalice, which had been crafted of gold and decorated in many punctured hearts (from which drink should spill out, but did not). “Life partnership does not require lying in intimate weaving. There are more who do not desire it than you might think. Do you assume no thoughts of marriage float within her mind? Or have you received confirmation that she will not marry on the road?”

The spirit tightened many claws against his legs. “Cleo is careful, strong, and independent. They will never settle down, nor marry, and never bear children. This, I am sure.”

“Then perhaps I know her better,” replied the god of hearts and husbandry, and when their eyes met, the god of trickery and innovation felt himself boil over. “Cleo does not reject marriage; they reject the force behind it. To choose for themself would bring them great delight. If they found the right person.”

Spikes like frost upon a window built between them, in those stares. “Are you the right person?” asked the god of trickery and innovation, lowering his voice that none outside the room may hear, and when the god of travel and arts looked upon his husband, suddenly frightened by the answer, the god of love brought his goblet to his lips again and drank a long moment. He did not cast his eyes away; he felt no shame. And in his heart, his trick lay broken, but not unmendable.

“Cleo cannot lie with mortals, but I am the god of hearts and husbandry, and my touch will bring pleasure without unweaving or death. Children, too, if they so desire it. I will approach them and say as much. The mortal is free to do with that information whatever they desire.”

The god of trickery and innovation sat quietly at the table for a moment, up until his footsteps ran ahead of him, drawing towards the door. He stood to follow, and Upwind with him to walk ahead. “I thank you for speaking with me, for you have answered the questions that left me rattled. If Cleo should accept you as a suitor, I hope you court her with your whole heart, for she deserves it. Under my mastery, I am certain that if you betray her, she will plot against you with all her mind… and I will revel in it.”

He thought for a moment that a flicker of fear shown in the blue eyes of the god before him, and that fingers trembled around his goblet, for this man realized of a surety that his secret plots had been made known to the trickster god. And he could out him to his husband in that moment, but to do so would rid him of a card that he might prefer casting down at a later time.

The god of trickery and innovation left them there. Perhaps he could not escape the plots so many in the pantheon held to win Cleo’s affection, but he could craft his own plot of interference.

Such began a careful plan.

When a night and a day and a night for gods had passed, the god of trickery and innovation walked his temple halls to the room Cleo had chosen to stay in, and there knocked upon her door thrice. “Princess, may I speak to you a moment?”

Cleo jumped, looking up from the book she read at her desk. She had thought to work in silence and then depart, and did not anticipate the god may seek her out. She dressed not in fine princess attire nor even traveler’s clothing, but simple warm and soft things that brought her comfort in this time of distress. She looked to the bag she had brought before she came this way. She had packed it with some clothing and food, but to change clothing now would throw off her routine, especially if the god only wished to speak for a brief moment. Candlelight burned low around her, and she quickly thought up a response for his request.

“All right,” she said, rising to her feet, “but you must not look upon me, for I am not dressed to receive a god, and I will be ashamed.”

A muffled laugh echoed from beyond the door. “I will not look, Princess, but the things I wish to say are for our ears alone. May I enter?”

The mortal had locked the door upon arrival. Hesitantly, she crossed the space and undid the latch. “Spirit, I’ve unlocked the door, and I will walk a few steps, sit on my bed, and turn my back. Does that suffice for conversation?” She was glad she’d tugged the sheets up, although one pillow still lay on the floor.

“Yes, I think that will do. I will sit beside you, and not look upon you, if that is all right.”

For a moment, Cleo did not know what to say to that. She looked at her desk chair, which was not far from the bed. Should she ask the spirit to sit there? It felt a bit close to allow him to sit so near.

The gods cannot touch mortals unless they are granted permission. If he tried of his own intent, with her unknowing or unwilling, he would burn himself upon her skin- and the god of hearts and husbandry, who is god of consent, would know at once and surely scold him. Cleo did not think the god intended to hurt himself on purpose. He also had not taken advantage and touched her when her hand brushed his at the temple door. Should she ask they speak in another room, such as the library, instead? Had she been dressed to receive him, she would not mind dining with the spirit in the room that hosted meals for students, but that would be very difficult to do if she could not look upon him.

I am set up in here with my books, my drink, my light, and my comfy clothing, she thought, and soon, I planned to leave this place and journey home. It would be nice if I could keep my things as they are. His desire to speak could last a few sentences. Should she ask after his intent?

Cleo knew she had been writing out a plan for the tournament the livestock kingdom would soon throw, for she desired to abdicate her crown. Surely the god of trickery and innovation knew this, for while she did not consider it a trick, it required careful outlining, and that fell beneath his mastery. Perhaps he wished to speak on it. “Very well,” she said with her mouth near the crack of the door, and then retreated and sat upon the bed. Turning away, she said, “You may enter, if you do not look at me, and you can sit with me a while.”

Behind her, the door opened. Footsteps walked to her bed, and the door pressed shut again. Cleo remembered this spirit’s steps always preceded him, for this was spoken of in his stories, but the thought sent prickles up her back. In some way, she knew where he would end his journey, but she knew not where he was, and the sounds split on opposite sides of the room disturbed and frightened her. Many heavy metal pieces clicked and echoed in the air. Cleo heard and felt the god sit at the foot of the bed, for it dipped beneath his weight.

“How do you like these rooms?” he asked her then. “It seems you’ve had enough candles to read by.”

“Yes, spirit; thank you. I only wish for more soap for the washing area, and perhaps more wool to dry my hair with.”

He hummed as though writing this within his mind. “And how are you, princess? It seems you’ve kept rather busy since I left.”

Cleo drew her fingers together at her thighs, clenching fabric into wrinkles, and wondered if the spirit looked at her while her back was turned. She could turn her own head and try to catch him in the act, or at least assure herself that he did not look, but her head twitched only a little towards him before she remembered that always, she had been forbidden to look upon him. She did not wish to anger the spirit, so smoothed her hands down her legs and held herself quite still. “I have been to your library, where I found a book on past rulers who have abdicated their crowns. Always there is a tournament, but some decisions for new heirs have gone better than others. I have been reading up on ways one might identify those who scheme only for themselves, and lie that they will aid the people.”

“That is wise of you to do,” agreed the spirit. “I am pleased your studies have been well. I have been away in the spirit realm for a time that mortals do not perceive, and while I walked those halls, I thought much of you and your concerns of what may be to come. Would I be out of line if I asked more about your plans?”

“Oh,” said the mortal, and looked at the pages of notes that lay upon the desk. The candlestick burned low, for she had worked long hours already, but had not put it out when the spirit asked to enter. She wished she could see his shadow upon the wall, for then to have him sitting near would not leave her so on edge.

Alas, the candle did not sit in such position. Cleo watched its flame dance as though it were the god of war and sky when his silks had been taken from him. The spirit behind her shifted his weight a bit against the bed.

“My plans,” she finally said, “frighten and excite me at the same time. Never have I imagined a future for myself where I lived outside the castle, and now all kingdoms are open to me. Once I abdicate, I should very much like to travel, but I know not where I will dwell. I think perhaps I would like to see all the kingdoms that can be reached on foot, and perhaps a few that require ferry rides. I have taken books with maps from your library and looked at the paintings of landmarks far away that lie within them. I think I would like to keep my own journal and draw such places myself, that I might write of my experiences and inspire others who come after me. It is easy to lose yourself in the affairs of one kingdom, but this world is large. There are many lands and many pantheons out there, and people crafted from all materials. I look at them in paintings and wonder of their lives, and if they live much differently than I. I know there are some people who do not fear rain, and some who do not fear fire.”

The mortal fell quiet then, and the god, who had listened curiously, wished to look upon her face. He stayed himself, but found he wished very dearly to touch her hair, shifting it aside, that he might gaze into her eyes. But this, he could never do, for this peaceful moment would be wrecked with disgust and fear.

He did not want any moments with Cleo to be ruined in that way. He gripped the quilts, and he turned his head just enough to glimpse a red-gold twist of Cleo’s hair, and the edge of a shoulder and bent leg. Then he directed his eyes away. How difficult it was not to look upon her when you have many, many eyes.

Cleo has yet to look upon me, thought the spirit, for surely I would hear her cry out. I mustn’t look at her, even if I have before. He admired her all the more for resisting temptation. At least he could call images of the princess into his mind, knowing her face when she spoke. She did not know his.

“It sounds like you have many wonderful things to look forward to,” said the spirit. “I know you are hard at work on your plans. I imagine it isn’t easy to host a tournament. Is there anything I may do to help?”

“I fear the god of travel and arts may strike me out of anger if I walk upon the roads, or the god of war and sky may blaze hot sun upon me. I must decide if I should leave these lands for a time, but they have been my home all my life. I sit at a crossroads. Spirit, I do not mean to inflate my own importance, but when you traveled to the godly realm in the night between, did others in the pantheon speak of me?”

The spirit’s heart quickened in his chest, and he wondered if the princess could hear it like a mouse. “It is true. Many spoke of interest in you, and wish to court you if they can. I cannot say much more, for I would betray their trickery.”

“Hm,” said the mortal, and the spirit knew she had already thought up the beginnings of a plan. “I have felt very put off by the things I’ve heard the gods say about me, even those whose favors I wear in my hair. I would that I had a way to disperse the attentions of the gods who seek my hand. Spirit, how might I dissuade a god? I have considered marriage, but I know not if that would keep the rest away.”

The spirit jumped, not having expected to be addressed (and a wonder it was that his antlers did not scrape the ceiling). “You’ve considered marriage?” he asked, and the words left him before he had time to plan. How disoriented he felt, and how distracted by the candlelight and whether Cleo would turn and see him. Perhaps it would be better if she did. She could depart. They need speak no more. Leveling his tone, he said, “Marriage will dissuade some gods from pursuing you, but it is no guarantee they will abandon pursuit forever. However, no god can touch you without permission. We are separated by distance; you perceive a form your eyes speak to you. To grant a god permission to touch is to allow approach across space and time, arriving to you in their true form. To touch is to dissipate all other forms that we might be with you as a whole. Only then are we present.”

“Are you elsewhere even at this moment?”

“Yes. Here, uninvited to touch, I am still in another place.” He dared to look down, and saw a hand near him on the blankets. Pale, lightly blemished in the places rot had once formed and had since been scrubbed away. He knew he should not look, but again, his many eyes struggled to keep attention on the door instead. “Far off, I sprint through the snow as a white wolf with six paws. I hunt for cubs who lost their mother. I bring fish to an old bear who has raised many young in her years. I keep balance, keeping prey from multiplying beyond the resources that support this land. Still elsewhere, I am a proud white rabbit with antlers twisting from its head, and I lure rabbits under fences and into the farm of a hungry man with a young child to raise.” He trailed off then, listening close. Did she find herself disgusted with these things he said? They allowed him one step closer to the truth.

“In your long life, you must have seen many seasons. I have heard tales of white animals in the forest, and seen them depicted in paintings. These are you?”

Eyes fluttered open and shut upon his body. I wish she would address those deformities I mentioned, he thought, but hesitated to repeat them. “Yes. I belong to the pantheon of silk and plays, and all creatures in the Basin kingdoms are under our domain. Even now, I am a white stag with a herd to lead across the mountains, and a white vulture feeding a nesting partner with an injured wing, and a white crab stalking beside the waves. But if we - both willing - touched our hands, you would not pass through me. Rather, I would cease to be in separate parts.” The same way he is whole for a night, a day, and a night when the god of sky calls him to his palace on the 31st day of certain months.

He felt more than saw Cleo’s fingers pull at the quilts, though he did not look at her again. She sat in quiet for a moment. Upon the wall, the candlelight danced. The god of trickery and innovation smoothed his hands against his legs, wishing very much he had not said that bit about his injured nestmate.

Does Cleo consider me bonded to my friend? At times, caring for injured or saddened creatures of the forest required charming them like a mate. In truth, he had experienced all manner of necks and noses rubbing against his own. At times, eager partners would not ask his consent, and thus step straight through his physical form. And, realizing he existed like mist, they would startle and back off. “Spirit, I meant no offense,” one wolf had told him long ago, and gently, he replied he would walk beside her on her long journey home, and remain as friends.

But there were times he allowed physical touch, for he had grown quite fond of it. Across the years, he had borne witness to many advances full of nipping, grooming, and feeding, and those which coaxed him to mate as though he could sire offspring. Offspring! From a god who did not rule over hearts and husbandry? Could you imagine such a thing?

While he could not lie in connection with these creatures (for only the god of hearts and husbandry could shape the parts required for weaving), he did humor courtship… As both hunter and hunted, his realm often found him among animals, and living partnered life had become a favored pastime. Many nights, especially in cold weather, he had lain in warm dens and beat his tail upon the floor in thanks when he was brought a meal to eat. All mortals - even the animals - passed down stories from the pantheon, and they knew him as White-Dash-In-Distance. When chased, he never let himself be caught, but when creatures felt alone beneath the weight of their thoughts, well… Trickery and innovation often dwelt nearby, and might visit for a time.

The spirit did care for the mortals who received him, and did not think himself dishonest. If asked, he never denied he was a spirit, but then, he did not make a habit of… elaborating on his split consciousness to all of those he courted. Mutual, consenting touch bound him in the present like a cord. Removing it scattered him back to all the places he had been before he gathered himself like one. He had spent many nights in many nests and dens across the kingdom, and not all partners he slept beside would be pleased to hear he had a foot in another’s bed. Ahhh…

The spirit drew a careful breath. In nervous tremor, he tapped his fingers across his knees and decided he would not mention Mouse to Cleo. Not yet. His visits with Mouse always ended with them nestled up, paws and tails around each other. Yes, Mouse received his full presence any night she asked for it. She was not the type to ask for things, even those as simple as cake crumbs from the kitchen, but if she did ask for anything, he would bring it without complaint. Belatedly, the spirit realized he should perhaps not mention to the princess how many evenings he had slept beneath her floor, for when he nested with Mouse, he could hear Cleo walk and breathe.

“Spirit,” the princess spoke then, and as he thought that, he remembered she would not be a princess much longer. “I think… I can craft a plan to avoid the attentions of most the spirits, if not all of them. But I could use the assistance of a spirit I can trust.”

“Oh?”

“You are the god of trickery and innovation. If illusions are within your power, then we can deceive my parents, and perhaps the spirits themselves. If you can create a false prince that will pass a test of scrutiny, I will tell my parents to host the suitors’ ball.”

The spirit’s heart beat quite loud and fast within its chest. It raced like the hooves of a deer on the run, and he thought then that he might remember the warm glow of the candle all his life.

“I plan to show pretended interest in the illusion, abdicate the throne, and depart from my parents’ eyes to live a life all my own in travel far away. In accepting a false proposal, I hope to shed the attention of the gods. I know I have asked many things of you, but would you help me with this trick?”

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity, patting its hand against one knee. It did not, in fact, have power over illusions… That is to say, it could not create things from nothing, and only a physical thing would hold up beneath idle scrutiny- to say nothing of the scrutiny the king and queen would surely have if they invited such a person to marry their daughter. But perhaps other strings could be pulled to give the impression that a good, loyal man had entered the ball and would delight the princess with a fine and peaceful life.

“Very well,” it finally said. “Make haste and host the ball at a time that is convenient; I am certain I will hear of it from the other spirits. I will visit your town for many nights and do all I can, but you must understand one thing.”

“What is that?” the mortal inquired.

“When you step into the ball to meet your suitors, you must not open your eyes. I will use clever words, paper, and rumor to bring forth the kingdom of Nearly-Was and invent a prince to rule it. I will guide him to your castle, and when mortals hear of his kingdom, they will believe it does exist.”

“That must require great influence,” Cleo said, their voice a little small. The spirit smiled.

“I do have a good friend in the pantheon who will vouch for me, and his loud voice will not go unnoticed in a crowd. But Cleo, to guide the prince, I must be present in the room. I cannot bear your eyes upon me, for with one look, you would see through my silks to naked flesh. Even if your mother asks you, and even if many voices mock, your eyes must stay closed at all times.”

“But spirit,” said the mortal, “my mother plans to bring many suitors to the ball. If I cannot look, how will I know which one you’ve made for me?”

“I will give my voice to the prince,” he replied, for he had already thought of this. “If you know me, you will know him. And when you take his hand and accept his proposal before your parents, he will take you away to Nearly-Was. I will use all my trickery to bring you there, trekking strange paths that are not easily followed, and leave you with a humble cottage. If you wish, I will provide livestock for your use, but if you desire travel, that may not be prudent. Regardless, I have a place in mind to build this cottage, and there is much wheat in the fields and plentiful fruit. The soil is rich and brings forth potatoes, carrots, and beets. You will go unnoticed there. In this hidden place, you will have no kingdom to care for, and I imagine all will be well for you.”

“Oh,” said the mortal, and the spirit tipped its head. “To journey is my desire, but I still worry my people will be left abandoned. I wish I knew if they will be cared for by the heir who wins my tournament.”

The spirit hummed, feeling glad to keep company with a mortal who thought much about the people her family were tasked to care for. “What would you have me do?”

The mortal rubbed her legs and took a moment to think on this. Then said, “Spirit, you know my parents allow me to pass my crown to another, that the flocks and herds which are great in our kingdom may be entrusted to one who will care for them and for the people. You are a god who creeps about, hearing many conversations and knowing many things. Have you ever met someone who will love the herds, love the people, and look upon those who are small and unprotected?”

Those who are small? The spirit laughed, and in that moment, he nearly turned around to look at her. “I have met many humble people who feed their families in the livestock kingdom, but none more humble, self-sacrificing, and kind than one who has become a friend. She is already knowledgeable of castle affairs, for she dwells within those walls. I will invite her to the tournament, and if she accepts, I think your kingdom will find itself in very good hands.”

The mortal sighed with relief, for this did bring them some comfort. The god of trickery and innovation may be a trickster who brought fleas from afar, spooked the herds, and committed all manner of chaotic things, but he had always been kind and thoughtful when he spoke to them. The mortal wondered which woman he spoke of, for they knew many farmhands - many of which they did consider friends - but they did not know how he had decided on one above another. “I will put her to the test, spirit,” they replied, “for she must prove herself before me just as any other does. However, I will consider the weight of your recommendation.”

“I would expect no less,” he replied. “I will tell her to prepare herself. I do not know if she will even consider my invitation, for she has always kept to herself and fed her family, but to invite her would please me, and I would be glad to see her at the ball.”

“One thing,” said the mortal. “When our trick is over, what will become of this prince you create?”

The spirit paused, and in his heart, a match quivered and struck fast to spark a light. “Well… I imagine he will leave you at your cottage, that you may be free to travel the world. It would be difficult to maintain my trick for long.”

The mortal hesitated again, for the longer she imagined herself cut off from her parents, the more she wondered if she could stand to be. “At times, I may wish to stay in that place and rest from my travels. Must I live alone? Are there people there?”

“I will bring you to a lovely spot beside the river, near a village of women, men, and children. Cats and dogs frolic, and many animals enjoy the air. The people are real and alive, and will be good companions for you.”

“All right,” said the mortal, a bit woeful now. “I shall plan a tournament, and afterwards attend the suitor ball. I will miss my old kingdom, but I cannot see myself trading away travel to dwell there forever. It would please me to know my crown may pass to one who is humble and caring, and will look after my people in my absence. I also know that I cannot marry anyone - mortal or spirit - I do not feel safe with, so I would not like choosing a ruling partner just to maintain my crown. My family has led the livestock kingdom for generations, and perhaps it does us good to present the crown to another. I would not mind resting with my own small flock of sheep instead of maintaining grand herds of cattle like I have for many years… Even if I’m uncertain of my future, I have faith in you.”

From the shift of his robes, the click of metal, and a sound that might be falling hair, she could sense the spirit dip its head. “I will always help you, if you ask it of me, for I am the god of trickery and innovation. It is my proud duty to help those determined to find a way. Prepare your tournament and I will speak with my friend, encouraging her to rise to this challenge. I will visit your village for many nights and do all I can, that you might be swept away from gods and judging eyes. But remember this: as your suitors begin arriving, you must not open your eyes. I will be among that crowd.”

“I understand,” said the mortal. “There may be no curse for looking upon a god, but you are ashamed to be naked. You trust me, and I place my trust in you. I will not break my word.”

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Jacquard

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

The spirit of trickery and innovation had much to prepare for. He trot off as soon as he could, but when he shared the princess’s plans of a tournament with Mouse, she sat statue-like and unimpressed. “Become queen? And what would I do with a kingdom to call my own?”

“Well, it is the livestock kingdom,” replied the god. “I thought you might tend the herds and give to those in need. You are the kindest and most humble of all creatures I’ve had the pleasure to befriend; you will make a fine heir and finer royal.”

“Naughty spirit,” scolded Mouse. “You volunteer me for things without asking of my will. You create fantasy within your mind and paint it in the colors of a breathing thing.”

“You are right,” said the spirit, sheepish and scolded. It drooped its head, then stretched out before Mouse until its back ached no more. “Forgive me my misdeed.”

“I forgive, spirit,” she returned, and tousled his fur between the ears. “Very well. I will consider your proposal, even where it baffles me. How am I to rule a kingdom if I am not a creature they’ll respect? I imagine you have a clever plan.”

“I am the god of trickery and innovation,” he replied. “My name is Cast-Off Things. I know the tricks involved in sewing up disguises, crafting bodies out of little. If you would allow me to pluck the stitches of your form apart, I will take the mulberry silk that made a god of me and use it to breathe your life into a different form. I have done it before, with my hound Upwind and with Princess Cleo.”

Mouse turned her head aside, peering through one eye. “You would spill your finite silks for me? I do not know if I could bear drinking from your blessings if it may cause you harm far down the road. If you share too many silks, what will become of you?”

“Then I would no longer be a god,” replied the spirit quietly, “and my disguise would unravel, taking away my life, and I would be a fallen, rotting hand of the most ferocious god. Worry not, Mouse; I am aware of my limits, and I would not offer such things if I did not care for you.”

“I do not fear death,” said the mouse, tipping up her nose. “My children are grown, but they will age and die, and my partner who was lost now rests in the land of dead ahead of me. While it is true I know not what to do with myself, for I desire no other mate, I would not wish to live forever. Answer me this, spirit… If I accept your proposal to join this tournament of heirs, may I come to you some future day and ask to be unraveled, that you may recover what mulberry silk from me you can and heal others who come after me? I am not the only mortal you have ever taken pity on. I will not be the last.”

“I do not pity you,” said the spirit, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “You are clever, humble, and kind, and these are traits I admire openly; I will not deny it. Very well… If you desire to leave this mortal realm on your own terms, in your own time, you will find me in my temple, and I will unravel my mulberry silks from you the way you ask. You will do well in this tournament, Mouse; I’m certain of it.”

“You speak kind things, although you are an eager, foolish creature.” Mouse nipped his ear, pulling him closer to her nest. The spirit, thus caught, winced and followed after her. “Now,” she said, “lie beside me here, that we may share our warmth one last time. Then I shall run across the fences and around this castle that I love, and when I am finished with these mousy feet, you can make new life of me.”

When the spirit dragged its mind home to the snowy mountain, exhausted from the loss of golden silk plucked from its back, it did not plan for conversation. Certainly the acolytes had collected prayers that required its attention, but it chose to take a moment to rest its thoughts. Alas, when it went to retire to its chambers, it stopped, staring stupidly in the doorway. There upon the pelts that made its bed, a small spirit with great blue wings lay upon his back, upside-down, looking towards the door.

“Why have you come here?” asked the tired spirit. “These are my rooms; I did not invite you.”

“I am your dearest friend,” replied the phantom god, stretching out his arms. “I’m calling in a favor.”

Trickling dread swelled inside the spirit’s thoughts. “What favor?” he asked quietly, though he already has great suspicion.

“Opening a portal to the Nether so you could hunt down the princess’s soul? Ring a bell? I had to find extra pieces for my portal corners for that.” The spirit scoffed, flopping over then, and braced his chin upon folded hands. Cloth rustled and wire twanged every time he moved. “I seem to remember you offering ‘a trick,’ to be claimed at my future convenience. Well, the convenience is now.”

“Very well,” said the tired spirit. “You may instruct me now, but before I complete your assignment, I must rest and catch up on my prayers. I will slot you in at the end of them.”

“It’s time-sensitive. I will allow you to finish your open labors, but not if they ruin my favor altogether.”

“Very well,” murmured the fox god, and tread across the room to sit beside his friend on the end of his bed. “Tell me what you desire, and in my trickery and innovation, as was promised, I will ensure it to the best of my abilities.”

“It must be nice,” said the god of justice and sleep, “to have as many secret lovers as you do. I am greeted with weeping, not affection, when I come to gather old and rotting things. I desire wife for me, and none other than the princess who must be wed or cease traveling the land. You will help me win her love. All the pantheon will envy me, and I will brag widely that I alone could capture her attentions.”

The first spirit shifted its shoulders, unsure how best to respond. He could hardly deny the accusation that he attracted lovers, for he fed those who struggled. Was it his fault if they on occasion interpreted such as a courting gesture? He groomed many creatures he befriended and helped them raise their offspring as though he were a sire who came and went, giving attention to one of his families and then the next. Wolves and bears in the forest looked up to him, as did many others… rabbits, foxes, deer, and birds. Mouse seemed quite fond of him, though she spoke warmly of the mate she had lost to death’s just hand. Did she count as a secret love if he slept beside her at night, his entire conscious mind focused on her alone? He'd passed many an evening snuggled against her back, his chin nestled on her scruffy neck.

He said, “Princess Cleo would not be pleased to know you boast of her this way.”

“Princess Cleo isn’t here.”

“You will make a fool of yourself,” cautioned the fox-like god, but this warning received a scoff.

“I am no fool, and the princess will see that when I court her in person.”

“Very well,” said the spirit, although his mind lay full of doubt. “I will advise you to follow certain tricks that may perhaps win this mortal’s love, but at the end of the day, I cannot control her mind. She will choose whomever she believes to be an appropriate suitor, and my powers will be no use to you then. To violate her choice would betray justice; I am certain you would not stand for that.”

“She will choose me,” the god of justice and sleep announced in stellar confidence. “Many special skills and gifts can I give unto her if she becomes my wife. Teach me the ways to the heart of the princess and I will handle the rest.”

Oh, snappers, thought the god of trickery and innovation, although he thought it mildly. He knew his boisterous friend very well and could not envision him charming the princess within a short span of time, especially when she had besought help from the god of trickery and innovation to shepherd her away from that place. If he knew that mortal as well as he thought, they would seek the prince he gave his voice to and no other. Stubborn-Clever would perhaps be their godly name.

Nevertheless, this was the favor he had been called to answer, and if his friend chose to spend it on advice, the god of trickery and innovation would oblige. It freed him from the shackles of anticipation, and that was not such a bad thing.

“The princess plans to move forward with the ball,” he said, although perhaps Cleo would not like him to reveal her secrets in this way. “It will begin after she selects the livestock kingdom’s new heir through a public tournament. She may be pleased to see you among the crowd, knowing you are there to support her in this time of consideration and stress, but because her mind is occupied, I would not advise taking up her personal time. If you wish, disguise yourself as a servant, that you may present her with food and drink. She is very busy at her work and may appreciate the thought. I have done what damage control I can by assuring her so many gods are curious about the livestock kingdom’s proceedings, but she was most upset by the thought that she is sought as a wife who might be displayed or locked away. If you do speak, imply only that you are there to see what becomes of the livestock kingdom and assist her if she wishes. Do not dote on her and call her pretty, or attempt to pull her to another room, or insist on her attention. Allow the mortal to make any invitation to visit with you privately.”

The god of justice and sleep considered this for a moment. “That seems foolish,” he said at last, “for the princess will not come to know me if I do not speak with her, and if I do not make advances, some other god may beat me to it. I wish to court her; I will not be pushed aside as mere ‘friend.’”

“I have offered my advice,” replied the other spirit. “Take it or don’t, but this is what I truly think may win her heart.”

“You are the god of trickery and innovation. What trick can I use to win her love, that she will desire my hand?”

“Ah,” said the fox god, leaning back on his bed. He laced long claws behind his head and let his eyes fall shut. “You chase tricks that drag a heart, not win one. I’ve heard complaint that my powers are bold and flashy, but truly, there is subtlety in everything I do. Have patience, my friend. The princess will reject you if she discovers an attempt to trick her. The only way to woo her is through seeing her for who she is and adapting yourself to fit her life and timeline; never forcing her to fit yours. Look at the god of war and sky. He visits the princess, but does not press them to accept his advances sooner than they desire him. He entertains them as a friend, shares his private thoughts, and departs without making himself a nuisance. That is why she allows him to court her. To plow forward, insisting loudly that you are better than he who has shown her kindness, would be to your detriment.”

“Very well,” said the god of justice and sleep, though his voice fell low and sad, as a stream vanishing among the pebbles on the ground. “I will temper my excitement, but I feel I must make my intentions known. Have you any advice?”

The other spirit dipped its head. “When the tournament concludes, the princess and her family will host a suitors’ ball. Now, the princess has already spoken to me of a plan in her heart, for she is hesitant to choose any man or woman, but do not confuse this with a lack of interest in marriage entirely. The princess seeks someone who will enhance her dream of traveling, not forbid it.” He considered for a moment. Certainly he held faith that Cleo would follow through on their desired plan, but if she sought opportunity elsewhere, he would not fault her that. “Travel is much quicker in the land of the dead than it is in the world above. Perhaps if you tell her that, and you have made yourself out to be supportive in her time of stress, she will be charmed by the thought.”

“You are very wise,” the god of justice and sleep remarked, and stood from the bed to go his way; the other god sat up with him. “I much appreciate this talk we’ve had; you’ve given me much to think about. I hope to see you at the tournament.”

“You will, if you look intently.”

“And the ball?”

He spoke this question in a tone that dripped both warning and curiosity, like the mew of a cat with a poisoned rat caught between its teeth. The god of trickery and innovation pulled his mouth in a grim smile. He spread his hands to either side as though encompassing the wide world in all directions. “I am not immune to the charms of the princess, for her clever ways and kind heart appeal to me in a way I can’t deny. I will plea my case to her at the ball, where she has made clear she will hear all suitors out and not rely on any tricks, for I truly believe she desires raw and honest things. All advice I have given you, I think about myself. May the princess choose whichever suitor enchants them most.”

“How cruel,” his friend said, “to pursue her when you know I want her so.”

“And yet,” said the spirit, “you desire her even when the god of war and sky courts her every day.” He smiled. “Princess Cleo will choose for herself whom she wishes to wed, which is just. How kind she is to afford us each the opportunity. I will see you there.”

His frowning friend departed, leaving the door to his chambers a bit ajar. With a sigh, the god of trickery and innovation crossed the room to shut it, then returned to drape himself upon the rustled furs that made his blankets. He dug into their thickness with the bird-like talons on many hands, frisking his tail about, and tried to still his mind so he could rest. How frightening, the speed at which it whirled! He soon he rolled over, pulling one fur after him, and wrapped himself in it as he had with a certain white pelt so many years ago. Where, you might ask, did the god of trickery and innovation end and the furs begin? He too was skin and pelts, all of this sewn around a cut-off hand.

Cleo…

Many great and frightening things lay in the path ahead. First a tournament, the design of which the spirit knew already as if written by his own hand, for as Cleo schemed, he schemed beside her in his mind. Her hand guided every stroke that penned the words. In a way, the god of trickery and innovation felt he laid in bed in the room where they had set, but she worked at the desk while he waited in anticipation for her to blow the candle out and join him in the soft intimacy of a couple in the dark. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it quite clearly. If he wanted to, he could appear there with Cleo in their chamber, for he existed in the plan she wrote.

His thumping pulse ached inside his chest. The spirit knew he lacked true heart, but he had the pulse stolen from his master’s hand. He clutched one palm against it, squeezing tight. In his mind, he saw the plot of the god of justice and sleep, for he wished to woo the princess by caring for her horses. If given his way, he would lock the barn from the inside and kiss across her face, kneading his pinching fingers in her sides. The god of trickery and innovation wished he did not know this (and in fact shook his head, eyes clenched up), but where trickery and innovation are born, there he walks. He did not like the image in his head of his friend kissing Cleo, and he certainly didn’t like the thought of Cleo kissing back with rose-red lips.

Across the land, others plotted too, and he could not avoid these thoughts any more than he could swim against a riptide. The pantheon of silk and plays would not meet again for some time, but he knew their secrets all the same. Many gods rustled about, eager to chase a partner they knew the others deemed desirable. The goddess of echo and memory brushed her golden hair like treasure. The god of war and sky preened his wings, filing his claws while witnessing a stage play beside the god of travel and arts. Even that god, though married, could not help his drifting thoughts when a pretty performer in green danced before him with a smile. That foreigner - the god of water and search - tiptoed at the border between kingdoms, thinking to himself how proud he would be to woo a princess from another land who knew not his deeds, yet thought him charming nonetheless.

It sickened him, clenching his stomach into knots, for the god of trickery and innovation knew one thing above all. If things were different, and if the ball did not have an ending planned out from the start, then he might propose to Cleo Clocker in all his honest ways… and she would look upon him, see him as the rotten thing he was, and order her guards to drag him from the castle grounds.

I admire the princess, he thought, but I will not fool myself. I am not even permitted at the table with the other gods, and we are all strange creatures beneath our masks. No mortal would choose me.

He rolled over, curling in a ball. Far off, the god of sparks and time left the temple baths and combed his hair, and butterflies swirled around him and showed him Cleo’s likeness with perfect coordination of their orange and yellow wings. The goddess of rain and prosperity leaned from her temple window, playing with dangerous ideas of nude bodies wrapped in storm clouds. The god of hearts and husbandry pet his donkey, tickling beneath its chin. He bemoaned his husband’s absence, sulked in jealousy, and wished for someone to start a spat with all at the same time.

Admittedly, that did make the god of trickery and innovation chuckle. To think: the god of love felt so abandoned, he wished to argue just to dwell in someone’s mind! Apparently, Cleo came to mind first when he imagined slinging bitter words. Then that aching god sat himself down beside the donkey and pressed his face against his hands. His thoughts slipped from frustration to sorrow, anger again, loneliness and longing, and then to dirty wishes that Cleo would likely shove him for. Or slap him, so believed that far-off god, and he seemed to relish this pretended slapping for quite some time as he sat by himself, untouched by his husband and chewed on by the donkey nipping at his hair.

The spirit lay, breathing soft. Eyelids fluttered on the backs of his wrists. Those on his shoulders tickled his sleeves. He shivered at the thought. How frightening he was to look upon, and how cruel the paintings and statues that presented him like a beautiful thing. In some ways, he felt worse looking at such art than he would if they told the truth. He appeared elegant, fierce, and capable when mortals portrayed the god they saw. They only knew him in disguise. Beauty laughed in his face long ago. Deep down, beneath the pretense, you would find a sickly, trembling hand cut off at the wrist, wearing pottery and dead animals and nothing anyone would ever wish to embrace, let alone one day kiss. Even Mouse, when he finished his work and she blinked open her eyes, flinched in surprise at the sight of him. Just like Cleo, she bore his golden silks and could see through all disguise. He greeted her, speaking to her, and that seemed to calm her fear, but that one little flinch sunk deep inside his being. He’d frightened even Mouse.

I’ll sleep alone, he thought sulkily, when I can no longer sneak myself away to Mouse. If his form distressed her so, he would not force his presence on her any longer. Besides, he had many other things to occupy his time.

Soon, Cleo would no longer be a princess. Might she visit him still? He liked to think as much, but ever since he revived her, she’d been cautious to approach. Once she no longer looked over the subjects of her kingdom, living instead on a small farm with a few animals and a home, perhaps he’d never hear her voice in these halls again.

Following the tournament, there would be a suitors’ ball. Many would propose. Cleo would accept only one engagement. The spirit bit his strange lip then, bunching his fists against the furs, for he knew what must be done. At the ball, he would approach her in disguise, asking for her hand, and she would accept it because such was the plan they’d made. He will sweep her away, depart at her request, and that may be the last time she speaks to him while standing mere steps apart.

At that very moment, he could feel every twitch in Cleo’s hand as she jotted words across a paper, hunched over her desk while a green candle burned with pine tree scent. She hadn’t yet left his temple. The spirit wondered if she might request he read through her finished plans.

I should tie my favor in her hair, he thought. That would be an appropriate parting gift and assure her she had no need to fear his anger if she ever sought him out again. The mortal presented themself as such a steady force, but to him, when asking things of herself, Cleo appeared like a wet beast that tumbled in a pond. How much nicer it would be, the spirit thought, to have friendly relations with her, greeting her with a charming voice and overseeing her studies in the temple as a student who pursued knowledge out of love.

Somewhere down the hall, Cleo spun plans to fake her engagement and disappear from beneath her parents’ eyes. The god of trickery would play his part, and furthermore, he would do it without complaint. But imagine if it wasn’t all a trick, and he really did propose to that clever woman who loved her people and the world? How very inconvenient it was to love a woman who could never look upon you, lest your hideous nature be revealed!

… She would not love the beast she saw, even if she fell for his façade. And to deceive another into loving a false-made you is among the most violating sins of man. Even if he is a god.

He lay a moment in the dark, among the furs, wrapped as tight as flattened bread around meat and cheese. The spirit looked upon his hands. He had six of them. He flexed each and every claw. If he ever touched Cleo, she would feel the wrinkles in two palms and think it only cloth… for that was the power of the spirits, that their truest forms were kept hid- even when they were named. But this mercy would last only so long as she did not cast her eyes upon him. To know the truth would be to expose it all.

Cleo would not like to know I wish to hold her against me tonight, he thought. But he did wish it. He had not touched her beyond the small offer of her hand at the door, but how very tempted he had been to turn his head and gaze upon her in the low candlelight of that room they shared. It took such little effort to imagine that the spirit envisioned she smiled to herself, holding to him without betraying his trust by sneaking secret looks.

“Close your eyes,” this vision of himself said in teasing, and when Cleo did, he leaned forward and blew the candle out. “It is dark now. You may look upon me now.” He could sink back against the bed, and Cleo might crawl up to join him on the pillow. If they skimmed a hand across his form, they would feel only cloth in the expected shape, and he would delight at their touch and wrap them in his arms. There, they could snuggle and nuzzle noses, and he would be the happiest god to ever walk this land. In this, he would finally know love.

Cleo… Just the thought of triumph glinting in her eyes left him panting like a dog. A selfish dog- or perhaps one who did not even know what selfish was, for he acted only on instinct and wanted, wanted, wanted. Had he ever seen Cleo’s eyes? Not since she lay dead in front of him, her stare hollow and fixed on a distant wall. He could not recall what color they were, and that left him sighing, curling tighter, as he wrapped his stomach tight and dug sharp claws against his head.

Perhaps the god of hearts and husbandry could see right through him after all.

Cleo and her parents made many preparations, and a few weeks after her visit to the god of trickery and innovation, Cleo unveiled the tournament to all civilians of the livestock kingdom. All who were born in this land, or who had lived in it for some time, were welcome to participate, for how could the princess claim she found the best leader for her people if she did not put forth the effort to seek them from all corners?

She spread word of written exams, which would be taken in local school buildings by people of all ages. Those who proved themselves wise in history, organization, livestock rearing, and knowledge of the spirits would pass to a second exam, this one taken under the eye of Cleo, king, or queen. Any unhappy with their results could appeal, and Cleo sent her close companions - her ladies and assistants - to evaluate the situation for any sign of fraud. Weeks flew by in this way, and Cleo found herself exhausted keeping up with demand. She ate, drank, and slept in her spare time, but set aside her favorite hobbies. She kept up appearances, but admittedly, she did not regret her decision to abdicate the throne. True, she felt proud of her efforts to foster a future for her kingdom, but she would happily resign herself to a life of travel just to grant her peace of mind. And with these weeks came creeping winter. The livestock kingdom would not be struck as hard as some lands, but she would be a fool not to perform the duties that came with preparation.

Unhelpfully, several gods and goddesses appeared eager to claim her heart. The princess saw them often in the corner of her eye. They did not take the exams (as far as she could tell), but certainly tried to look at her. The god of justice and sleep brushed the horses, which Cleo begrudgingly thanked him for, and the goddess of echo and memory spoke to her a few moments when Cleo sat alone, feeling overwhelmed. The god of war and sky, ever eager to please, entertained her with his stories, and Cleo found herself wishing for the suitors’ ball. How much more patience she would have to tolerate these flirtations if expressed in the proper environment…

Soon, she thought, I will be rid of them for good. She would stage engagement with the help of the god of trickery and innovation, then slip away to live her life, hoping the spirits she left behind would not pester her anymore. Already, she’d formed a plan in her mind’s eye to dance and speak graciously to each of them; she certainly expected all gods interested to arrive for the ball. If she gave each one due attention, convincing each that she truly considered them as an option, she hoped they would believe that the false prince brought in by the god of trickery and innovation had won her heart. While she had not been in communication with that spirit, she trusted it would not leave her staring dumbly at a puppet that failed to impress a crowd.

Not much longer now. She simply had to wait. Once, she slept at night with her window open, gazing at the moon and thinking back to the time the god of trickery and innovation had visited when she slept. He’d warned her not to open her eyes. Did that mean he had been here in physical form, untying the favor hanging on her window and casting it upon her pillow? Cleo wondered if he flew, climbed, or simply appeared near the roof in order to do so.

She wondered what he was doing now.

The season turned colder every week. Fewer and fewer people passed each exam, and Cleo began to meet with them more personally. She brought in a tame lamb from her flock, asking participants to pick it up and bring it to her, and watched the way they went about it. It would not be enough to simply know history and the tales of the gods. A leader of the livestock kingdom must raise the animals and bring them to those in need. Many picked the lamb up easily, but Cleo turned a few away for aggression and mistakes.

Next, she instructed those remaining to clean the barns and stables, of which the castle had many. A royal must not be too proud to handle their own chores. The princess noted which ones showed reluctance, or held the cleaning supplies as though they were unfamiliar. She asked those who remained to answer questions of history and politics in word, not in writing, to prove they could answer them. She asked for examples of leadership, kindness, and bravery in the face of anger. Many impressive candidates approached her, and the longer this went on, the more assured Cleo felt that her kingdom would find itself in good, wise hands.

Very soon, she would have to make her final choice. Cleo met with those who remained and asked them several questions, honing in on the near future and the power they would wield once the crown sat upon their head.

“Be thoughtful,” she warned, “for I am a royal you are striving to impress. Imagine I sit upon the throne of another kingdom. Convince me you are wise.” And she sat at a table with her tea, inviting each of the participants to sit and drink with her in turn. She would eliminate those whose answers did not truly sway her, even if they offered good suggestions or objective facts.

“You all have knowledge,” she told them, “and you would not be here if I did not think you a capable ruler. Now… What is the first improvement you would like to bring our kingdom, if I were to mark you as my heir? Under assumption, of course, that the paperwork and funds were prioritized for your most urgent need.”

One woman spoke earnestly of food, describing research she and others had conducted on varied diets and the health improvements that came with it. One man suggested gifting a foal to every family, and employing workers to build a stable for it, that all families may have a horse for their travels, and the princess - who often sought aid from the spirits and their temples - agreed that with enough horses, perhaps this could be done. Others desired trade deals for better fence material, upgrading wooden barriers to metal, or improving local craft with knowledge brought by the Great River kingdoms, that current harnesses and tools might be improved, and ravager-pulled plows could bring new life to the fields.

To each person, the princess spoke her concerns, for a lifetime of work within the castle walls had prepared her to think of them. Would there be enough foals for all families in their kingdom, which consisted of many scattered towns? How might horses be bred with care and compassion, without exploitation? Who was willing to learn the skills taught by toolsmiths and harness-crafters from other lands? The labor required delicate care, and the materials involved - if damaged in the process - were much easier to replace in their native lands than if they were assembled here. How many fields would be needed for planting crops, and what would the livestock eat if their alfalfa, hay, and clover were ripped from the ground and replaced with other things? Many knowledgeable discussions were had, with each replying to the princess in bold affirmations that they would do all they could for this kingdom they loved.

Lastly, a white-haired woman sat before the princess and took her teacup in her hand. Brief pleasantries were exchanged, as Cleo had advised them all to show, before the woman gave her answer. “I have been to the grain kingdom, and I think we can learn from the roads and carts they so enjoy. Some parts of this land are difficult to walk upon. With coin and influence, I would smooth the roads to make them easier for people and animals to pull their carts. There are some in this land, myself included, who have experienced firsthand the struggles that come when you cannot walk far before nightfall and do not have a horse to ride upon. I would like to help local families find horses, but there are days that sitting in a cart, pulled by man or beast you trust, is far safer transportation. If I thought it wise and safe for the creatures of the marshlands, I would like to build more canals throughout our kingdoms, that goods can easily be moved and people may travel while resting their feet.”

Oh, said the princess to herself. This thoughtful comment brought her a much longer moment of pause than she had shown to any other speaker here.

“You are right,” she spoke at last. “Our kingdom is not easy to traverse for those who cannot walk far or easily, and must rest their feet. I have befriended many of our elders, our sick, our mothers with full hands, and our ill. Long have I prided myself on bringing goods to their doors or arranging for another to make such delivery, that they need not leave their homes… but I have not given thought to the freedom that comes from moving about easily in a city built with the need for regular rest and easy travel in mind. You are thinking of the locals, and for this, I extend my thanks. Perhaps my kingdom will rest well in your hands. Where would you build such a canal?”

“Perhaps as far as the east coast, where the ocean lies,” replied the woman, “but I do not know for certain if leading salt water through our lands would be in our best interest. With that consideration, I might hire many people to dig a reservoir, and I will invest in the technologies required to maintain it. With fresh, unsalted water, plants are less likely to wither beneath our watch, and animals may come to drink from it. Perhaps this can aid many farmers with their herds. I might like to bring a canal through a city like this one, where the wild creatures are less likely to be disturbed and where goods can easily be unloaded from visiting boats, and loaded again before they travel off.”

“Fresh water could lure many hostile creatures,” the princess observed, “and many insects will lay their eggs with it; we may be overrun. If faced with this challenge, knowing your people may be endangered, what would you do?”

“That is difficult to answer,” said the white-haired woman, and Cleo thought she heard reluctance in her voice. “My preference is not to disturb the wild creatures if it can be avoided. I suppose… I would call for lighting sources around the edges of our cities, alongside trimming of brush that grows too close, that those who step outside their homes at night would see danger more easily and avoid creatures who have little ones, and perhaps all would be well then.”

“Perhaps,” the princess murmured, and drew this stage of the exam to a close. She stood, thanking everyone, and asked that they rest and dine one room over while she prepared her final decision. Many agreed, speaking in low voices as they left. The white-haired woman, though, waited a moment for Cleo to look at her, then curtsied in her fine dress.

“Thank you for your time, Princess. It’s been informative.”

“It has indeed,” Cleo replied, and dismissed her to follow the others. Once alone, Cleo called her mother and father in, and they reviewed their notes together. Truly, Cleo thought, only one person here had impressed her enough to become the heir. But of course, this did not come as any surprise to the god of trickery and innovation, who smiled in secret beneath the floor. On little paws, he ran to find his friend. And, knowing Cleo would be occupied for some time, he dared to leave the darkness and take a mortal form. He caught her just outside the banquet hall, where she stood admiring a portrait of a leaping horse.

“Mouse!” cried the spirit, rushing forward, and when she turned, he swept her in his arms and twirled her about. “You have done it! I am certain!”

“Well, I lived once in a library,” she replied in great amusement, “and once in a church. I know a few things of the spirits and their stories, and many things of castle life.”

“You’ll do very well,” he said, wrapping arms around her. As a trickster god, he’d walked many shameful paths across his life… but this? Helping Mouse with her writing, helping her practice what she knew? It fulfilled him. He could feel the wagging in his tail.

That evening, after sunset, Cleo walked out to her favorite barn alone. “Spirit?” she called in question, and - because the pantheon knew not which one she addressed - she added quietly, “God of trickery and innovation? Can you hear me?”

The wind shifted outside, blowing directly through the doors. Cleo faced a wall. She waited, her eyes shut, but no voice called back to her. Well, the god of trickery and innovation must be quite busy, and surely had much to do. Spirits could split their conscious minds and appear in many places at once, but Cleo could imagine how tiring that must be. She did not fault him for not appearing at this time. His temple might even be closed now to long-distance prayers.

“I thank you,” she said anyway. “I know not whether the woman I liked is the one you suggested to me, but I’ve been working many weeks, and I feel a sense of peace when I think about my future now. I hope you will be there for me at the ball, that we might continue with our plan.”

“I will be,” said a voice behind her, and Cleo jumped. She nearly spun around, but caught the wall with her hand, steadying her mind. A cheeky grin crept into the spirit’s tone, a stall door creaking, as it said, “I would hate to miss such a grand party.”

“You startled me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I wish you would announce yourself when you peep on me.”

“I’ll do better,” it told her in sincerity. “I did not mean to peep; I only arrived.”

“All right. Is all in order for our plan? I do not wish to host the ball if it does not fit your timeframe. I should very much like you to attend.”

“That is kind of you,” said the spirit, “but I have prepared all I need to do. Host it at your convenience. It is our plan, so I will know exactly where and when it starts. I will attend it. But remember: do not look about the ballroom, or you might see me without disguise.”

“I would not shame you, spirit. You do me such a kind thing.”

Cleo heard it breathing in the dark. Then- footsteps, treading towards her, followed by the sound of sandals hitting ground. His steps stopped near her, but not so near that he could touch her, and a moment later, the spirit spoke. “I have very much enjoyed our communications, Princess. Soon you will be a princess no longer. Many paths are open to you now. Will I see you again?”

“Aww,” said the mortal in great affection. “You would miss me, now? What a kind thing to say.”

“You are very clever, Cleo. It has been a great test of my skills to work beside you as you forge your way. If you ever wish to study at my temple, you are welcome to… but a prayer before you step inside the courtyard will alert me that you’re there.”

“I think I’ll be alone a while. I wish to dwell with my thoughts, thinking of myself, but if I desire further studies, your temple will be the first I visit.”

“That pleases me,” said the spirit, and Cleo strained their ears to hear it. “I did fear you might visit me no longer when you have no subjects beneath you. I hope you enjoy many years of peace, but my doors are open to you. It’s been a pleasure to be your partner in several of your schemes. Even when the odds stack high against you, you always seem to find a way, and I delight in each success as if it is my own. Call to me if ever you want me, and I will lend an ear. May I tie my favor in your hair?”

Oh. Such polite words he spoke, and so gently, too… They left Cleo a bit breathless; having no answer upon her tongue left her feeling silly as a cat shaking in tall grass. She hadn’t expected it. She thought he did not wish to grant his favor. She found her voice a second later. “I would like that very much. You may.”

“This means I must touch you. You are comfortable with that?”

“Yes, spirit. Others have tied their favors before; I do not mind.”

Footsteps crunched over wood and straw again. Cold breath brushed across her neck. Nothing. Silence.

The sound of cloth, like a piece of fabric drawn from a pocket. Soft, careful fingers worked themselves into the thick waves of flame-bright hair, and Cleo tingled at his touch. The fibers behind her neck stood on end. The god of trickery and innovation had broad hands, which made her wonder if he spread his toes wide in fox form while walking on the snow. His hands flowed like water through her hair, gathering it together, before he pulled and twisted it. He wrapped it with black-green silk. Cleo braced her palms against the wall. She could not see it yet, but she knew the color. She knew it when it lay against her pillow night after night as the spirit worked to save her sister’s lover from his dungeon cell.

“I have finished,” it said, stepping back. Cleo wondered if the echo of his footsteps ran behind him before he moved just as they ran in front of him before he could walk. Reaching back, she touched the silk he’d tied. It engulfed much of her hair like widespread wings. It would not last the night, of course, for she would remove it before she slept, but now that he had given it, she was free to wear it as often as she liked.

“I am honored, spirit. Thank you for sharing this with me. I am glad I’ve been amusing in your long-held life.”

“More than amusing,” it replied. “I find you delightfully clever, and quite easily among the kindest mortals I know.” A pause. “I may be a bit scared of you. I know you swung the diamond sword at the god of war and sky. I feared for you, but I shouldn’t have. You won over even he.”

“It was rash and foolish,” Cleo admitted with a laugh, “but I was angry for my brother, who died by the grain kingdom’s hand.”

“You were brave, though, and willing to stand against a spirit if that might keep your people safe. You were a great princess. You would have made a fine queen. I am certain wherever you travel next will be an adventure that touches many lives. It pleases me to have had the fortune to know you. I do admire your labor and your thoughts.”

“Thank you, spirit… You speak of me with such flattery.”

“It’s all true, though. I look forward to seeing you next at the suitors’ ball.”

“I will not see you,” she returned, and felt his smile warm the air.

“I would like that very much.”

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Chirimen

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

After the tournament came careful planning for the suitors’ ball, and autumn neared its end. Frost glittered in crystal curtains upon every window, but the fields had been harvested and all would be well. Even the animals lay blanketed in their barns.

At least I dance for my enjoyment this time, Cleo thought, looking at the dress and undergarments laid across their bed, and not for the eye of the god of war and sky. Though, that god seemed to enjoy a wide range of music and would likely be the finest dancer there, even if leaping and swinging his hips might be his preferred style. Cleo suspected he would bounce from foot to foot tonight or pace around the room. In that way, he’d release his pent-up energy. Blinded, she would have to listen if any suitor excused himself to the hall or gardens, more likely than not flapping out his wings.

The mortal pressed their mouth in a firm line. The god of trickery and innovation told me I would know his puppet by the voice he gave it, for it would be his own. While certain she would recognize his voice if whispered near her ear, it would not be easy to navigate the floor with eyes tightly shut. In fact, she expected to be questioned several times or even pulled away by her mother’s hand, for her slow and awkward steps would surely reveal her predicament. Cleo had spent time practicing her way around the ballroom, but she worried nonetheless. She would have to trust the voices of everyone she heard tonight. If a spirit disguised its own, she would be none the wiser.

And this did worry her. The god of sparks and time was said to mimic voices, storing them at his fingertips until the time came to call them forth. While he could not speak new words in other tongues, any stolen voice might lead her to confusion. Many dead dwelt with the god of justice and sleep, and the birds of rainbow leant their voices to the god of war and sky. The mortal hoped they would not come and lie to her, but when doubts crept against her mind, she held a steady head.

The god of trickery and innovation has prepared this trick with me. All trickery to cross the four Basin Kingdoms is rendered unto him. Even that which is tried by other gods. He will inform me if any are not who they say they are. She sent him a prayer anyway, kneeling by the sculpted icon in the library that depicted the fox-like man. In fact, she spent quite some time in prayer, thanking each spirit for its service throughout her time as princess lest she offend one. To the god of sparks and time, she praised his honesty in hopes he would not cast stolen voices in front of her.

And she did not shy away from the sculpture that depicted a man with feathered wings and vulture talons on his feet, even if looking at him did curl her lip. To the god of hearts and husbandry, Cleo praised him for all the prosperity the livestock kingdom had received by way of large and healthy herds. She may have quarrel with him personally, but his works were many and great. She did not deny.

Cleo wore an elegant dark blue dress that evening, no longer gowned in the green of the livestock kingdom. Her parents and tutors had a new heir to cherish and she would be off to live her life, much as her sister had before her. The new heir, Moss, would wear green, and near the end of the night, Cleo would lay her crown atop her hair in ceremony. Cleo had already found the woman and spoken to her of the plight that would come upon her, being falsely blind as she walked the room. She said she must, for she sought aid from a spirit who required it. Moss had not appeared put-off, but had replied she would make the crowning as easy for an unseeing person as she could. Cleo left that conversation with a smile. How accommodating her successor. She had chosen very well; the kingdom would be in good hands.

Alongside her dress, Cleo had requested a seamstress some time ago design her a veil that might screen her from prying eyes. It would allow them to see out from it if they truly did need to, but disguised their shut eyelids from all but the most determined of suitors. In this, they hoped they might feel less foolish dancing without looking upon their partners. Cleo gowned themself in the dress and delicately placed the veil over their brow. She spent a moment more adjusting her hair, though she knew other hands would fuss over it again downstairs. With her leggings and shoes firmly in place, she went to join her parents… and Moss along with them.

How exciting this is. In many ways, departing her kingdom felt bittersweet, for these stone halls were ones she’d walked since she was but a little child. Still, every step Cleo took washed over her, loosening up her shoulders. She did not think of herself as someone who had been denied opportunities, nor freedom… but how it thrilled her to think that she could leave this life behind and explore what thrived beyond these walls. Many difficult and lonely days surely lay ahead, but she would face them in confidence, thankful always for a life that allowed her to do so.

In the hall, the mortal found their father standing to one side. “Are there many people?” she asked, avoiding the ballroom at this time, and he frowned in reply.

“I expected more. Tonight you step down as princess. I wonder how many would have come had you maintained your title.” He wrapped an arm behind their neck and gave their shoulder a soft squeeze. “Ah, but those people were interested in the trappings of royalty… You do well to narrow your choices to those you know seek your hand for other reasons.”

Cleo fought down the urge to scoff or correct him. She would not marry anyone tonight, man or woman. She and the god of trickery and innovation had formed a clever plan.

An attendant soon arrived. Small fixes were made to her gown and hair, then her veil. “I am ready,” she told her father once she was. He took her arm, leading her into the ballroom, and as he did, Cleo closed her eyes.

All the voices in the hall felt wild and raucous in her skin. They mingled with the instruments and loud tapping of shoes. Her father presented her, speaking with grand words and gestures. Once he had, she proceeded into the ballroom the way that she had practiced when it was empty. In the room’s center, she found Moss. They exchanged simple bows before the soon-to-be princess took Cleo’s arm and guided her to one side. It was not the large dining table from the grand hall, but Cleo was sat in a chair and heard the sound of a plate set before her.

“I prepared a sample of crackers, cheese, and fruit,” Moss whispered as her father began to speak again. “Find your way to this side of the room if you need me for any reason. I can bring you more food or you may whisper to me if you’ve any need.”

Cleo had not thought she would have a friend here to aid her in a quick respite. To find the opportunity to whisper under pretense of pausing to nourish herself on snacks seemed to be a brilliant escape from the larger crowd. As far as Cleo could tell, the table where she had been sat was very small and would only fit two chairs: one for her and one for her new friend. She smiled. “Thank you, Moss. You are very clever.”

Many minutes were spent eating off the sample plate Moss had given her, resting for one polite moment while many different names were called. Each suitor came forward and bowed him or herself to the king, then crossed to where the princess sat at her table and bowed themselves again. Upon this, the queen would guide them to some individual standing on the other side of the room, where they would begin their dance. Many of those they would dance with were members of court or local families, all unwed. After all, it was a suitor’s ball. Many willing hands had labored tonight in the hopes that not only the former princess, but they or their children might charm a visitor from afar.

In secret, Cleo hoped whichever spirits who had snuck into the crowd would focus their attention on her, who had prepared to recognize them through disguise. They may strive for benevolence, but they were not mortal. They often came across as rude. She did not wish they wed one of her subjects in false promise, then prove themselves of ill intent.

“Moss,” she whispered as her father began to speak. “When they bow to me, tell me what colors they wear.”

“Of course, Cleo.”

So Cleo sat at her table, listening politely as different names were called. Each suitor had been presented a title upon his or her invite to the castle, that indoor and outdoor laborers - nobles and fieldworkers - might stand upon somewhat equal feet. Still, Cleo scoffed at the sound of certain emblems. Who else could the Prince of Hearts be, but the god of hearts and husbandry in disguise? An outright insult that he dared show his face at all.

Cleo listened to the colors Moss whispered in her ear, but it sounded as though several men had dressed in black and green tonight. These were the colors of the god of trickery and innovation. Very well. Cleo would have to dance with him and listen to his voice. Only then would she know his identity for certain.

Cleo and their father danced together for a song as the band played bright and happy tunes. Of course, as much as this day marked her farewell from leadership and family, it also marked her engagement. Cleo remained grateful for the veil, for every tired blink reminded them how little sleep they’d caught the night before. They’d woken early to prepare, pacing the ballroom and readying for all this to be done.

And soon, I leave. Then my time will be my own to manage.

Nonetheless, they did much enjoy dancing with their father. His hands, long worn by field labor, cradled hers like something sturdy and gentle. With her mother’s delight for dance, Cleo and her brother and sister had spent years learning steps and following a beat. When she was very small, Cleo used to go with her mother to the grain kingdom, to watch her perform for the god of war and sky. Her mum always said this incurred his favor, and truly she wore it in her flaming hair. To dance in the ballroom required composure, but equal grace and elegance to the more outlandish, acrobatic performances she’d grown up watching her mother do. Had Cleo learned to dance for the god? Or in anticipation of this engagement here today?

I dance for myself now and forever. She did not hold back her laugh and smile as her father twirled her about the room. All eyes lay upon her, more so than even much-celebrated Moss. And when her father lifted her by the waist and spun her around, Cleo felt just a bit less like a princess devoted to serve the world and people in it and more like a hedonistic god chasing dreams or shadows or leaping fish across the sea. A fitting farewell to these halls she likely wouldn’t see again.

She was, of course, expected to choose a suitor tonight. While the engagement lacked binding authority in this early stage, her parents would certainly wish to speak to that person and evaluate them. The early papers would be signed here at the castle as Cleo abdicated the throne, but any remaining were to be given her alone, to be signed when she deemed her suitor the proper match after all. From what she’d heard, many civilians and figures of high rank had arrived tonight, even from the other lands, in the hopes of charming her in the brief time they spent together. Cleo, you must recall, would be a princess no longer after sunset. It mattered little in the eyes of king and queen which individual she pursued. She would make nice for her parents, but any engagement formed tonight would be in her name, simple to break off at her will. She need not even tell the king and queen if she turned her back. As an adult no longer acting as a public figurehead, they did not need to know.

Her father turned her about, holding her hands, and spun her beneath his arm. My sister must be here, she thought, though she could not know for sure. She had not seen her sister since the day she fled on horseback with her lover, freed from the castle dungeon. Surely they must have traveled very far together. Her sister had sent no word, nor offered a greeting during the moments of pre-ball preparation, but Cleo did hope. Surely the woman who had carried her limp, rotting body across the mountains to the god of trickery and innovation would return tonight. It may be their last chance to easily meet. Cleo wished she could search the room, but with the spirit’s warning at the forefront of her mind, she did not dare.

Following the song, great cheers and clapping roared throughout the room. Public dancing then began, with suitors paired off and arranged in what amounted to a line of dancers all throughout the room. Cleo’s father first passed her to a woman with soft, gloved hands. Hearing a smile in her voice (which did not belong to the god of trickery and innovation), Cleo risked the slightest peek. She kept her gaze directly on the stranger, and realized quick that she was not a stranger at all, but a spirit in the flesh. She wore a black dress patterned in bat wings and spider webs, which would be strange on most individuals, but looked positively bold and bright on her. From her ears, spiders dangled, and Cleo startled because they twitched as if alive.

“Goddess of echo and memory,” she murmured, only for the woman to step sideways with her, one hand on her waist, and shush her with a breath.

“‘Princess of Bats’ tonight, my dear. You look quite lovely, I’d say. If you permit it, I might just call you ‘ravishing.’”

“I do permit it,” Cleo said, raising one eyebrow as the spirit twirled her around the floor. Violins hummed and she thought she heard a harp. Again, she refused to glance around. Her veil helped somewhat with that, but she kept her eyes firmly planted on the woman before her, whose lips shone the brightest red she’d ever seen. They twisted in amusement, and Cleo felt bug-like, staring back at her. “But you only have this song before I move to the next suitor who awaits me. I hope your travels were well.”

“Must you go?” teased the goddess. She slid a hand behind Cleo’s back, dipping the princess downward.

“Yes,” Cleo said when the woman pulled her up again. “Around the room. I have but a moment to dance with everyone before the banquet. We will eat, enjoy each other’s company, and I will dance again when it is done.”

“Very well,” said the spirit, so careful with her hands. “Then I shall hasten my appeal. Princess, marry me tonight and I shall whisk you away to the ravines and caves I call my home. Mines prosper all around me, filled with gemstones, and I will walk hand in hand with you through tunnels that shine with purple crystal. Wolves run wild in my land, rich with elegance and teamwork, and when they sing, their howls carry to my temple from wherever they may be. Long have I imagined lying beside you in our bed, my arm cast across your back, and smiling at the sound of them. They know me as their mistress, and when they know my wife, all pups will be yours to handle and play with. You will never be alone, for they will guard you at all times, that none may bring you harm or take you by surprise. I am Creeping-Things and Whisper-Song. I am Sound-of-Footsteps and Walks-In-Shadow. Marry me, and I will travel with you anywhere throughout the world.”

Hearing these proposals, Cleo could not help her shiver, even though she had braced herself and planned what responses she might give tonight. The goddess led her through soft steps of the song, taking lead. She held her gently, and her words were fond, but Cleo could not help the new question budding on her lips.

“I will never walk alone?”

The goddess laughed: a sound which crowed out of her like a raven’s call. “Of course not, Princess. Should you allow me, as I’m certain you would, I will step into your shadow and step out at any time, that you may have my presence, words, and body at a moment’s notice. At all times you need comfort or protection, I will be there to wipe your tears and hug your concerns away.”

What of my privacy? Cleo thought, for while she did not dislike the thought of a doting wife, in truth, it alarmed her to imagine setting down her bag after traveling alone, bending to remove her shoes, and sitting up again to find her wife suddenly upon the bed, eager to toy with her hair and talk the night away. The spirit whispered promises of companionship, but what if rest itself was needed more?

“I would very much like to travel,” she said, “and I would not mind a wife to do so with. I will consider your proposal, goddess… Perhaps by the time the night is through, you will have my favor. First, give me one kiss to represent how you would please me in our marital bed.” This had always been the secret plan. In this way, bestowing kisses, she doted on all the spirits who saw her tonight, and hoped they would leave her alone believing that they tried their best. It may not work, but it aligned with what she had read of them in the library. More likely than not, each spirit would consider a kiss a greater victory than they had hoped to achieve when arriving here. Perhaps it would satisfy their pursuits.

“Very well,” said the goddess of echo and memory. They stepped and twirled a moment more, but as the music began to die low, she slowed to a halt. The spirit brought thumbs and forefingers to Cleo’s veil, awaiting one last nod of permission, before brushing it aside like dangling vines. The princess gripped tightly to her forearm. Cold energy pulsed through the cloth of her skin… and when the goddess leaned down, taking Cleo’s chin in thumb and forefinger, her kiss scraped like stone, softened like moss, and chilled her lips like water in a cave.

Her fangs are like a bat’s, Cleo thought, and made a small noise when they nipped her. Chilly wind flicked across her as if those bat wings shook off snow. She pulled back, fearing a tatter in her mouth, but when she touched it, her cloth remained as smooth as a tortoise shell. Good. After all the rot and pains she suffered in the past, she did not think she could enjoy a marriage that brought harm to her body, even inadvertently.

“Thank you, spirit,” she said regardless. To know her lover walked beside her at all times, in every place, could indeed bring her comfort in life, and Cleo looked upon the goddess of echo and memory in a calculating way. She had not planned betrothal tonight, but… perhaps living as her wife would not be so terrible. Some other day. She would have to spend more time in the library with her books. “To never be alone is a wonderful gift indeed. I might marry you someday; I must dwell on it. I hope to dance with you again tonight.”

Would it be terrible, to marry a spirit? Cleo’s mind crept back to Ren, younger prince of the hunting kingdom, who had rejected her because she could neither bear children nor lie with him in marital relations. Remembering this, she bit her lip a moment and felt her tongue against the places the goddess’s fangs had brushed. The spirits cannot lie with mortals, so they would not expect it of me. Only one god might, but Cleo did not enjoy his company.

To leave this ball unmarried would be to leave herself open for unknowns. Would she feel peaceful, walking away from these spirits, or full of regret? As they danced, she thought, The goddess offered to me a life of peace alongside one of the most powerful women in all the world. The spirits may appeal to me with wondrous gifts, for they hold blessings no mortal can. Would I be foolish to turn away from them? When again might she find man or woman who did not require her to lie with them? A mortal could not bless her with magic and riches…

If I leave here unmarried this night, I go forth into the world alone. I will be smuggled to a place unknown to me, where I am unknown to any people there. Is that wise?

She and the god of trickery and innovation had made a plan. A plan which Cleo admired, for it offered privacy and the freedom to live for herself. She would be subject to no one. She could think entirely about herself in a way she had not since her childhood, before her chores in the barn began. He said he would give to me animals to raise. But how many? Cleo wondered then, spinning with the goddess… if perhaps, she would not mind resting from her labors and being doted on as a wife.

The very thought made her wince. How selfish it would be to have a healthy, healed body and choose not to labor with it. Would she not place herself above hardworking gods?

But then, many years had she served her people, doing all she could for them. Could she not rest a while, basking in the joy of being newlywed, then lace her boots and return to serving faithfully again?

I should stick to the plan. The god of trickery advised me on it. She could not betray him now. No sooner had she thought this than she remembered the warning he’d graced her with a few short years ago.

They are gods, he had said, and they will lie to you.

Cleo thought the goddess of echo and memory pleasant and charming in her way. But then, the books Cleo had read about her could only tell a small portion of her stories. Even the god of trickery and innovation had his secrets. He would not show himself to her. There could be any number of reasons, such as the claims he made or the frightening possibility that he had cast some spell upon her which would shatter the moment she laid eyes on him.

… What if he did not come tonight? What if she rejected all the suitors at this ball, but the spirit laughed at her, having played a trick on her, and left her to her lonely fate? What if some other suitor had sought his aid, paying him much in food and riches, and he chose their offer above her prayer? Would he still help me then?

The song drew to a close. The goddess dipped her head. She straightened the veil on Cleo’s brow, then led her to the next suitor the queen had set in line. As she turned, stepping with the spirit, Cleo nearly forgot to shut her eyes. She did so just in time, for the voice that greeted her next sent a chill across her back- far colder than the one the goddess had painted on her lips.

“Do you know me?” asked the voice, and all of Cleo’s frustrations with him swelled like the tide, then splashed against her feet.

“You are the god of war and sky,” she recited, and the spirit glimmered in smug pride. He was not nearly as tall as the goddess before him. He cupped her hands in his, pulling her close, and a voice across the ballroom announced him a second time as the Rainbow Prince. Cleo wondered how he’d dressed to be granted such a title.

“Princess, many weeks have I courted you, awaiting a day like this that I may touch you with my hands and sing my praises until my heart must burst. You know me already as the man who’s lain beside you, my arm across you above soft blankets in your bed. Swear yourself as my wife and I will sew upon you the wings of birds, so you may fly above all mortals and beasts. You are far above them in intellect and beauty. You should bask in it.”

Far above them? In intellect and beauty? Cleo knew this god for his pride and thought only a foolish man would try to flatter her the same way. The goddess of echo and memory wore gloved hands, but Cleo had felt the strength in them, as if she wielded tools to dig ravines. The god of war and sky, who carried weaponry in battle (and the sun all hours of the day) felt strangely tender, as though his hands had once been burned and never healed. “Well,” said the princess, allowing him to lead her several steps, “I would very much like to fly. Thank you; I will consider it.” That promise, of course, was one no mortal had to offer.

He yanked her hands roughly then, stopping her from turning aside. Cleo heard a flap of a cape, or perhaps even wings; still, she kept her eyes closed, for she had been warned not to peek. Already, she had pressed her luck more than she’d intended. “You need not think,” he whispered. “I am the god of war and sky. If any challenge me for your hand, my armies and I will surely win. You will never be at risk of being swept away by invading men who look upon you in lust and greed. As my wife, I shall protect you and ensure your safety even above my own.”

It was a pleasant thought, to imagine finding protection from such worries in the arms of a warrior god. The mortal lifted her chin. “Spirit, your promises are very grand. When opportunity arrives, give me one taste of flight and security, so I might know if I desire you.”

“Very well,” said the spirit, and with great haste and force, he wrapped his arms around her torso. Cleo startled back, not expecting this, yet the spirit snapped them both into the air. Did he flap his wings? Her eyes flew open, shielded only by thin veil, her hands clinging to his robes. Grand wings of rainbow, shimmery and wet, struck downwards on every flap. With but a thought, he whisked them both from the ballroom and into the sky. It seemed as though the ceiling did not exist at all. Around his neck hung the sun on a cord, and Cleo wondered if in flying her away, he had somehow stopped the flow of time. Could he do such a thing? All the air rushed and the ground drew so far away.

I think he did pause time, she remembered then. He was a trickster once, and the god of sparks and time burdened him with the sun and cast his lovers across the hours, that he may travel only one direction in a day and thus be forced to stay on the path of labor until released from duty at night. Cleo squeaked. She did not mean to, but they soared above the castle, directly in the sunlight, until they passed through clouds. She bundled her hands in the god’s robe, clutching him for safety, for a fall would surely break her neck. He chuckled in reply and held her close with strong, burned hands. His wings unfurled to either side. He swooped upwards, but did not flap again. Their ascent began to slow. They broke through whiteness, the dampness of which frightened Cleo very much. She may be favored by the spirits, but she was made from mortal cloth. She had not brought waterproof traveling clothes to the ball tonight.

“Stand on the cloud,” the spirit said gently, lowering her legs as if those clouds were solid ground. “It will hold.”

I am above the land. I am in the sky. That thought left her shaking, though she tried not to show it. Cleo stretched down one foot, then the other. The spirit held her steady by the hand as she tested the cloud’s strength. It didn’t look solid, yet it buoyed her up just as the spirit said. Oh. If this is what the god of war and sky has to offer, she thought as her stomach quailed within her, then I am in for a long day of entertaining spirits indeed. She said, “It’s very cold up here.”

“You live in chilly country. My domain is far better, for we border the Great River and its tropical leaves. Our weather is warm.” His mouth twisted in a smile, and Cleo remembered too late she was not supposed to look at him. It must be all right, though, if he had stilled the sun to pause the world and swept her away from the ball. He continued, “If that is not to your tastes, then I will pull the wind, rain, and sun to make the weather as you wish. I am at your beck and call. If you marry me, you will never again have plans ruined by foul storms. Days and nights may last as long as you wish, for I can hold the sun in place and kick the moon across the sky. No one needs it anyway; it’s too big. I don’t mind much if it falls.”

“My goodness,” said the princess. “You must get many things done.”

The spirit agreed, settling himself beside her. He sat among the cloud puffs and hung his feet over the edge, leaning back on idle hand. His fingers played across the collar of his robes, and that charming smile made him look (she thought) like a god of trickery in himself. “I provide much for those who visit me,” he bragged with tipped-up chin. “I grow the finest grain, which is ground into bread without flaw and is delicious to the taste. You can look upon my hands and see proof that I build many, many houses. No one in my kingdom sleeps upon the streets where night creatures will harm them, and they are warm and safe in their beds when I set down the moon. If any have no home, I invite them myself into my temple for the night.”

Cleo knelt and scooped cloud in her hand. As he had said, it held her weight, but it seemed so strange, cold, and damp to the touch. She dropped it straightaway, wishing she had not touched it, and brushed the wetness on her dress. “Your people must like you very much, but why are so many acolytes bound to your service?”

The spirit shrugged, rolling energy across his glittery wings. “They are foolish. They fail to pay their dues. Things of that nature.”

“I see.”

He leaned in then, raising his brows and fluttering his wings. “Princess, do not confuse war with chaos and anger. War is protection! War is home. I wield domain over sunlight, shelter, and all domestic things. I’m a working boy; I will tidy the place with wind so you always have a clean home when you wake or sleep. I will cook the most beautiful food to grace your tongue. I will bend the sunlight so you can always enjoy the arts. You will see my grand shower, and you will love how I cleanse my body with great skill and care. We will bathe in the freshest rainwater, drawn from sky by my own hand. I hum pleasant things as I go about my business. I am delightful. Marry me and I will grant you all the ideals of the perfect home, and none will cause you harm or make you afraid.”

These were good promises, and Cleo looked upon the god of war and sky. Perhaps living as his wife would not be so terrible. This man gave food and shelter to many people and did not brush chores off as women’s labor. When he courted her, he had shown her kindness and shared many secret thoughts of his heart, such as what it felt like to become a woman when he dropped the moon to the goddess of stone and harvest every night. As his wife, she would have peace at home. And with no subjects to rule over (for she would not reign as queen), would that not mean he could grant her peace in all her days, in all aspects of her life?

He spoke crudely of me when he eavesdropped in the hall. He did not apologize. Cleo tensed her lips. Should she ask him to do so? She did not wish to argue over details, and if she laid out the reasons for her disappointment, it would feel as though he did not care to notice they dwelt within her heart and saddened her mind.

One kiss. Cleo had never kissed this man, though he had courted her a season and a half now. If it delighted her, then perhaps… she could forgive, even without apology. “Spirit, your works are very great, and I like you very much. Perhaps you will have my favor. Give me one kiss to represent how you would please me in our marital bed.”

“Very well,” said the spirit, scooting in. He caught her by the shirt and dragged her close. Sun-warmed lips pressed against her face. They fell in peppered placement, one after the other, and each one burned like light itself.

The spirit kissed in the amused and almost absentminded way that squires do with maidens. He smelled of rainwater, paper, and fresh-baked bread. Cleo’s fingers brushed his wrist, and the god of war and sky braced his palm against her back. He adjusted her garment so he might lay her against the cloud. Tender fingers gripped her hand. He drew in the wind and sunlight to warm her, keeping hair from their mouths and faces as lips parted and closed again, and each time he shifted, he kissed her like he’d lusted after her for a thousand years and would die if she slipped away. When she was lain flat, he drew away his lips and rested his palm across her chest. The rainbow feathers at his ears ringed his head like a crown. He looked upon her like a child looked upon a toy, brimming with excitement, and Cleo felt a flush somewhere in her shaking nerves.

“Princess, you will be the cleverest wife any god has ever had, and you know many things of mortals that I can learn from. My acolytes will pen songs of your beauty, and all the spirits will be jealous of what we have. When the gods gather for secret meetings at times the world is paused, I shall take you along with me, that you might hear what mortal ears rarely do. During that time, I lay aside the sun. In our borrowed bedchamber in that foreign palace, I shall love you dearly without a thought for other things; yes, all my attentions will be given unto you.”

All of them? Cleo knew the gods could appear across the land at several different times, though she had always imagined it must be difficult to do. She knew that to touch a god, as she touched him now (his hand upon her breast) was to ground him to this time and place, present in this moment with her alone. She had not thought about it… but it did make sense, that to marry a god would be to capture his full attention for a night. That thought thrilled her, and she felt a splash of shame. Why would she deserve a god’s presence? How could any individual upon one’s marital bed rank higher than service to the many? Was that not unfair?

Even now, in touching him, she tore him from his duties. She would tear all the spirits from their duties tonight, for so many chose to attend the ball. It must not be my fault, Cleo reasoned in frightened self-pity, for if the land were endangered by this act, the gods would not have done it. Was this not so?

She thought again of how the god of war and sky held the sun still, preventing it from moving forward, and had paused the dance below. Surely it could not be selfish to spend a night with her husband if all the world froze… Cleo looked about, wondering how the god had attended this ball at all. Was it allowed? Did he not have other places to be?

“Does your bed float among the clouds?” she asked, patting its damp softness. It chilled and frightened her; she would wipe herself with care. “Is this where we will make love?”

“Oh, no,” said the god, amused at her ignorance. “Only the god of hearts and husbandry can entangle himself with mortals. But I will warm your bed, for I am the god of comfort and security… and I will protect you from all things, even in your dreams.”

“I see.”

He leaned forward then, his hand sliding from her breast to her hip. Mischief danced within those black, black eyes. His smile smudged his face like paint upon porcelain, yet when she lay her thumb against it, it felt entirely real. “Do you wish for children? You need only say the word and I will bring forth fallen spirits and soldiers. We will make bodies of metal and wood for them. In the case of those who are broken, we will stitch together what flesh we can find, and they will live again. You can call yourself mother to all who died in war and storm. When we lie together, we do it not for children and not for lust, but for domestic comfort, my arm around you just like this.”

“I will consider,” said the princess, but her heart tremored at the thought. Could she forgive this god the things he’d said? He laughed about me. He is proud and quick to anger. In many ways, he did show tenderness, but could she trust that it would hold? My husband will be gentle and humble. He will sit in the grass and let a cow lay her head in his lap.

And what of his journey with the sun, which drew him from his temple every day? Cleo would still like to travel, even if she were married. If her husband could only move east, carrying the sun from the edge of the Great River kingdoms out to the goddess of stone and harvest in the sea, she may catch mere moments of his eye. Would the god of sparks and time still split her into a single hour of the day? Or did marriage overrule that if woven beneath the eyes of moths?

He has other lovers. Cleo blinked. This had not bothered her when she entertained his flirty courtship without allowing him to touch. But did she mind it in marriage?

The god of war and sky held out his hand. Cleo took it. In a shimmer of rainbow light, they returned to the ball, spinning together as if they hadn’t left. Cleo gasped, stumbling on her feet. He chuckled with amusement, supporting her, but did not tease.

He promised me wings. A gift most tempting, to be sure. She could travel very far with those, enjoying a wondrous life. He offers a clean home, safety from assault, and says he will dote on me each day. He even promised to sweep her away to the godly realm mortals could not venture on her own.

… She would have to give his offer careful thought.

When the song ended, the god bowed to her, and Cleo remembered to close her eyes. She curtsied, then let him lead her to the next suitor waiting. The ball’s announcer called him a man of many wanderings, and Cleo knew at once who he was. He cleared his throat, but she was first to speak.

“You are the god of travel and arts.” His hands felt soft when he took them in hers. He held both, not her waist, and stepped with her a moment in that way before adjusting where he held. He moved with awkward slowness, as if he had not planned for this situation and had not decided in advance how best to dance. She said, “Does your husband allow you to court me tonight?”

“I should think so,” replied the traveling man, “for he intends to do so himself, and we made agreement that we would share you if you ever wished to have us both.”

Cleo frowned at the thought of it. “I do not admire the methods of that man.”

“Oh, but you might,” he said, as if stoking a tender fire. Turning her about the ballroom, he leaned so close, Cleo could feel how his whisper fluttered at his mustache hairs. “He is a clever lover and sweet in all respects.”

“I have seen him flirt with maidens,” the princess answered dryly. “In fact, he seems to enjoy the ‘husbandry’ aspect of his mastery above hearts and healing.” She wondered too if he had sent his husband ahead of him, that his beloved might sing his praises to soften his swift approach.

A frown flickered into the spirit’s voice. “Well, you need not love him if you do not wish it. I have many offerings to give of myself, unconnected to him.”

“I was beginning to doubt you did.” Cleo knew when she said it that it was cruel, sure to cause offense, but she said it anyway. Just the thought of the god of hearts and husbandry riled her mind. The god of travel and arts paused, music playing on, and when he did not speak for a long moment, Cleo’s heart began to race. Perhaps she really had overstepped. She had insulted this man’s husband and then insulted him.

“I consider myself an excellent catch,” was what he finally said. “After all, it was not through chance or accident that I wooed the most amorous of the gods. I should think I have lovely qualities of my own. Should you live with me, you will be much impressed with the beauty of those who seek to please and entertain. I will escort you to all manners of the theater: some which tell tales of fantasy, and others which are lewd and playful with intent to entertain.”

Cleo wrinkled her nose. They danced, rotating about, and she even spun beneath this man’s arm… but she did not much like the thought of her husband looking upon scantily dressed men or women on a stage, even if she sat beside him.

“It is kind of you to invest in the arts,” was her reply. “I am grateful we have a god in our pantheon who does, and I will be saddened if you ever step down.”

“All art is beautiful,” he told her, and spoke of it so warmly, Cleo found her mind playing across all the types of art she knew. When he called them by name, they rippled through her mind’s eye and sent shivers down her back. “Writings, paintings, dance, and sculpture are just a few of many lovely things that remind me I am glad to be a god. All plays performed at my temple are done so by mortals who love the art for what it is, and I am proud to fund their work. Many study for years; others are passionate beginners who give all they have. Should you marry me, I will hold your hand through every one and be glad to show you all offerings rendered unto me. Such wonders will captivate your mind. You will always remember why you care for the mortals who seek you out… and even those who don’t. In this, you will find satisfaction for all your days.”

These were good promises, and Cleo looked upon the god of hearts and husbandry. Perhaps living as his wife would not be so terrible. When he spoke in that way, Cleo could feel his love for creation in every word.

I could rest in his temple for a time and enjoy the arts shown to me, she thought, and with coin, gifts, or even my critique, I could sponsor those eager to improve their skills. The god of travel and arts had not said he would refine her eye to perfection, but Cleo thought perhaps he could. His steps were shy as they danced, but he grew bolder on each one, and she could feel the ease at which he twirled her. She did not doubt that if he desired to, he could easily swing her about or toss her in the air, catching her with all the prowess of a god educated in all artistic fields.

I might enjoy serving the people by witnessing and praising their creations. I could serve lovers of arts while also resting from hard work. He also called himself the god of travel. Cleo wondered if he might bless her to walk far, that her feet never ached again.

“I would like to travel, if I marry,” she told him as he swept her around the ballroom. “Would you join me if I did? Or do you walk alone?” She kept her eyes shut, but gripped his sleeve, fearing she might slip between his fingers and be trampled on the ground.

“Were we married,” said the spirit, twirling her beneath his hand, “I would take you around the world, and we would see all its wonders no matter how far away. We will cross mountains, valleys, plains, and even the oceans, for I am the god of travel and arts. The god of sea and fire cannot touch me when I walk upon his waves.”

Cleo paused. These promises sounded very much in line with her dreams, for she ached to visit other lands. But in her mind came a whisper that stilled her hands: This man stole the robes of the god of war and sky whilst he slept. It is because of his trick that my brother died, trampled at the border underfoot. And this man, though married to the god of consent, had violated it with stolen silks. He yanked his poor friend about as if upon a string. Had he no shame? To claim the silks of another god was to claim his heart as yours.

What he has done to the god of war and sky, he will surely do unto me. And this man had crossed a line for his own amusement, not asking permission of his friend before leaving him naked in a lonely wood.

“You are often away,” she told him as the music fluttered all around. “Sometimes many months. I would very much like my husband to dwell with me and warm my bed. Would you be content to do so? … I fear too that I would compete with the god of hearts and husbandry for what time you can spare. You have known him far longer than you’ve known me.”

“That is difficult,” the god acknowledged, and when Cleo peeked, she saw him rub behind his neck. It truly was the man she’d seen before, even down to the black hair upon his lip. “I love my husband as much as I love the open road. I think I could love you too.”

“If you are not sure,” she said, emboldened by his hesitance, “then perhaps you are not the man for me. I cannot compare to the god of love. I wish not to marry the only god who’d be partnered with us both.”

“That is wise and most fair,” said the spirit in good nature, and left her with a bow. He passed her then to another man, introduced again by her father as the fire-taming prince. At once, Cleo startled at his touch. A hand took her waist, but the other bumped her palm and felt quite strange. It lacked fingers. The shape did not feel right when Cleo fumbled over slick skin in attempt to grasp its end.

A fin.

“God of sea and fire,” she called him, and received a quick sigh in response. He stepped backwards, holding to her side, and Cleo stepped after him as best she could without opening her eyes.

“Please do not choose me to wed, princess,” he murmured low, “for although my wife departs with the waning of the moon, there exists no better woman for me. She slots perfectly within my heart, as I know she always will. Nonetheless, among my peers, I must brag to you of my wealth so when they ask me what I said, I can answer truthfully. They would know my lies and scoff that I have let you slip away.”

“My, you are honest,” said the mortal, and the god of sea and fire chuckled beneath his breath. He spun her in dance, his strange fin ever chaste and steady against her waist. He did not even kiss her hand.

“All right, then; hear me out. I rule over sand, water, and all swimming things and the treasures of the deep. When sailors call to me, I lift their ships above rocks that would dash their boats to pieces. My domain is over that which both destroys and rebuilds. I coax seeds and grasses from the earth after bushfire, and I shelter the animals who cry to me in their own way while running from the flames. I am a destructive god, yes; this is all true. But I am myself, honest in all ways, and would never deceive. Were you to marry me, I would offer you a place in my ocean palace alongside all the treasures you desire. I would protect you from rot and speed you through the deep wherever you wish to go. No burn would inflict you, and that is what I would offer you if I were not a committed man.”

Cleo smiled to hear him, and when their song slowed a moment later, she gave him a firm pat on what she presumed to be his stronger arm. “Spirit, your works are great, and you a god most terrifying and powerful. Kiss your wife well tonight. How lucky you are to have each other.”

“I shall do exactly that,” he said, and departed with a smile on his lips.

What a lovely woman, he thought as he crossed the ballroom, shouldering through the crowd. I wish she would find a charming fellow, for if not… perhaps I must steal her away after all, and she can be smuggled across the sea. He could speak to Cleo, at least, as entertainment when his wife sped away. But she would never warm his bed. Some men simply do not desire a second pursuit when they hold the one they love so dear. Now and then, you find such a person seated in a pantheon.

He left her in the arms of the goddess of stone and harvest, who complimented her blue gown, but spoke in much the same way her husband had. She too had found longstanding love and did not at this time desire a second option. Cleo’s fingers bumped across what she thought might be a wedding stone upon her finger, though when she felt it a second time, she realized the ring sat hollow. It awaited the arrival of the sun.

“You are a beautiful woman,” the goddess told Cleo as they danced, “and I wish you nothing but the best. If I did not have my husband, then perhaps we could be something together. You could feed the animals cheese alongside me.”

It sounded like a lovely time. The mortal, however, could not see herself committed to such arrangement for long. “I need not nurse the moon, I hope.”

The goddess laughed. “No; that is my duty. But, you could hold it sometimes in its less fussy moments. Even my husband cannot, for it loves only a woman’s touch.”

“I do not know if I consider myself a woman,” Cleo replied, and this brought the goddess some pause. Her pink hair curled about her cheeks and neck, giving her a look almost like a sheep yet to be shorn.

“Perhaps the moon would not always like you, then,” she said at last. “But I would. I would like you in any form. You are sweet and charming, and I watch your work at times when I go out to throw cheese for the hungry creatures of the land. The moon permits the god of war and sky to hold it in the evening light when he sheds his scarlet feathers for shining cod scales. The moon changes, as do I, albeit not in that way. I hope you find what you desire and live a life you always love.”

“Thank you.” This advice came across as honest, and Cleo did feel touched when she lay these words against her heart. “I will strive to do so.” How fortunate to be on positive terms with these two married spirits who looked upon her in affection, but not in jealousy. How wonderful to find allies she could speak to in her darker times. And with such a thought (and a nod of consent), she kissed the dear goddess on the hand.

They would not be wed, it seemed, but despite the rumors of violence and deceit which often swirled around these two, the god of sea and fire and goddess of stone and harvest had never been unkind with her. Cleo considered them amicable. Perhaps even friendly. She could do very well in life with the favor of spirits like that. If opportunity one day arose, she would not see their favor go to waste.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Velour

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

She who was goddess of stone and harvest entrusted Cleo to another that she, with shut eyes, could not identify. Cleo startled at the touch, then became at once ashamed. Not often did she brush the carved, jointed hands of those born west of the Great River, though a few individuals dwelt within the livestock kingdom. Expecting soft and familiar cloth, she had not braced herself for wood. From across the ballroom, her father the king identified this man as the wolf prince. She hoped he did not see her jump.

Wolf prince? Who could that be? She did not know the Great River pantheon especially well, for those gods held no power here. To cross the border was to surrender to those with proper charge upon this land. Cleo's elder brother had been more familiar and had told her some stories. Her soul quivered at his memory. It should have been her brother to wear the crown, for ruling was never meant to be her role.

He would like Moss, I think. Perhaps if he had lived, they would have met and even been wed. That thought cheered her somewhat, to think that he would be delighted by his successor just as much as she was.

Cleo did not know if the Great River kingdoms differentiated between dogs and wolves, but she did remember one of their gods was oft depicted with white stars shimmering in his black and curly hair, and great teeth that snapped at the heels of the sun- For before it came eastward to their skies, it passed above the western lands. If she recalled the stories properly, no god existed in the Great River kingdoms who could touch the sun, for they were wooden people- Even the god of war and sky had burned his hands upon its flames. Rather, the western lands shepherded the sun across the clouds like dogs herding sheep. Each morning, the goat-like god furthest west unleashed the sun upon the world and butt it with his head, and all the Great River gods took turns chasing it towards the border. There, the god of war and sky would scoop it in his arms like a babe.

“Princess, do you know me?” asked the man. His voice carried a certain rustle and deepness, like forest leaves in the evening dark. ‘Wolf prince,’ her father called him. Cleo traced a lone finger down a crease in this man’s palm. His wooden form felt cool to the touch and rich with life. His hands were large, his fingers long, and the notches in them proclaimed years of labor and strength.

“I do not know you with certainty, spirit,” she stated with finality. “I could perhaps hazard a guess, but you remain mere stranger to me. You were introduced as the wolf prince, and I know there is a god across the river who is beloved by every dog. If I am not presumptuous, are you the god of water and search?”

“I am,” he said, sweeping her across the floor. Satisfaction lined his voice like embroidery stitches, and Cleo pressed her lips tight in a line. She thought his eyes bore against hers even through her veil. He stood taller than she, so she did her best to keep her chin high without appearing as though she felt required to crane her neck for him. Loud clacked their dancing shoes, and voices praised the music and light and the atmosphere.

God of water and search. As I thought. She did not know this man beyond a glimpse in the hallway of her castle. His stories did not grace their pantheon’s library.

“Why do you hide your face?” asked the spirit. “If some blight has come upon you since last we met, do not be ashamed of it. I would not strike or abandon you for it; every one of us has our flaws."

"Forgive me, spirit,” she told him in a level voice. “It is simply my wish not to show my face right now.”

“I wish to look at you,” he said regardless, reaching for the veil’s whispered edge. Cleo leaned away, and when she spoke, she did so with such force that she cut him off midway through a word.

“Do not, please. I have elected to wear this veil and have not granted you permission to remove it. Should you do so, I will consider myself betrayed.”

“Princess,” he begged, flowing like a wave throughout the ballroom. He danced with grace and beauty, like that long river his tales said he drooled, but her stubborn mind could not be changed. Not even when he spun her or held her in a gentle dip towards the floor. “Have I a chance with you? I am the god of water and search, beloved by all the people of the west. With great claws, I carve riverbeds, and with my howls, I guide all who travel across the patchwork land. I am god of caravans, of life-giving water, of dogs, and the hunt. They call you the wandering princess who was rotten once before. With my power to draw water out of cloth, you shall never fear rot again. Not with me.”

“Is that so?” Cleo questioned. She dared to peek at him, for he had moved that close to her face. Surely she would not lay eye on the god of trickery and innovation with this stranger so very near.

“It is, very much.” His voice tremored with its own power, his eyes dangerous and deep like caves unexplored. “Should you marry me, I will ensure your health and safety. I will take you up and down the kingdoms of my land. Together, we may travel farther than the Southern Canyon kingdoms. Nay, farther than the Red Desert and Swooping Valley kingdoms. I will show you wonders you have never seen before.”

These were very good promises, of course, and Cleo considered the man in front of her very briefly. He did not look unkempt, and in his black beard danced the stars of the night sky, which likewise crowned his head. When he smiled, his teeth showed bright like the moon, for he cared as much for his own health as he did the health of all his people. Beyond this, he stood tall, his shoulders square. Perhaps living as his wife would not be so terrible. She closed her eyes again. “Spirit,” she said, “you visit our land and do not dwell here, and in this, you are unfamiliar to me. Trusting you requires a leap of my faith. Give to me one kiss, that you might show me how life would be if you and I were wed.”

“With great pleasure,” said the spirit. Cleo felt his hand leave her, trailing towards her face. His fingers loitered before brushing her veil to one side. His lips crushed and bit at hers with all the strength of a toothless dog, and his hands fell into place behind her back. So tightly he kissed her that the mortal he pushed against nearly fell backwards. A startled Cleo attempted to match his ferocity and found at once that they could neither escape him nor gain the upper hand. One of their fine leather boots squeaked across the floor. Cleo sought firm footing, and still he kissed with hungry lips, his tight fingers pinching skin. Did all the people in the Great River kingdoms kiss this way? Did he not recognize their distress?

He has me like a hound with a duck in its jaws, they thought, and when they went to pull back their mouth, he did not allow it. His hand caught behind their head, pinning them close as his tongue fit with theirs. Cleo moved more fiercely then. At that moment, the spirit pushed their veil higher with his hand, exposing their face to the brightness of lights. Cleo’s eyes fluttered open. To the left and right, other dancers paused to stare.

They shoved at that stranger and yanked their veil down again. The instruments which played the songs stuttered in surprise. Quicker, quicker, beat her heart. For just one moment, she had cast her eyes on the ballroom behind the god and seen many people dancing. Green robes, likely the god of hearts and husbandry. The pink hair of the goddess of stone and harvest. The short figure who was the god of justice and sleep and the tall and strong man who was god of sparks and time. None had been naked, so she thought, but if the god of trickery and innovation had happened to be dancing there, she surely would have seen him. And in this, she turned on the god of water and search in rage.

“You betray me! You had no permission to touch me like that- Why have you done this?”

“To see you,” protested the god, drawing back. Quiet went the music. In a whisper of cloth, a third figure joined them. Cleo knew at once who he was, though she did not acknowledge him, for the god of hearts and husbandry was also god of consent. In her distress, he arrived. His hands came between them, separating them in silence, and he did not speak. Cleo heard the god of water and search lift his voice as though he’d been pushed far away. “Princess, I only meant to assure you your beauty continues, regardless of any blemish that has struck you lately.”

He touched me. He exposed me. He did not have permission. "Perhaps I won’t marry any spirit,” she hotly replied, clutching the edges of her veil. “But if I do, I at least wish it to be one I’ve read about in detail or spoken to before. You are a stranger. That frightens me; your stories are unknown.”

“Then I am no different than a mortal,” he did retort. “Please, princess- Give me a chance!”

“I am no longer a princess,” they told him, and for one very small moment, they found themself grateful the god of hearts and husbandry had made his presence undeniable. “Furthermore, I could never marry a man who holds my health in his hands the way you suggest. It would feel like a rope around my neck to know your promises and powers could disappear if I ever displeased you.” She chose of herself to peek a small amount: enough to watch the foreign god tilt up his chin. Soft seemed his beard, though it looked very much like dark, overlapping leaves. She saw the god of hearts and husbandry too, for surely it was him in his green robes, his hair more ginger than blond in this particular light. He held the wooden god by the arm.

“You would not displease me,” that visitor declared.

“I cannot promise that.”

“Are you unwilling even to try?”

“I do not know your stories, god of water and search. I will choose a suitor of my own land.” And so saying, she dismissed him to dance with other men. He trekked away in dejection, and Cleo heard the god of war and sky laughing at him. Cleo held her hand instead to the god of hearts and husbandry, that she might be escorted back to the center of the room and meet another suitor. The god lingered, however, and clasped her hand in both of his.

“Do you need a moment, Lady Clocker? I can speak to your father.”

Cleo said nothing. All the music had gone silent, so all eyes must be fixed upon her now. It would not be wise to stand here, frightened by a man of the nation her people had nearly gone to war with and had lost their former prince to. I do not fear the woodfolk, she thought, and swallowed. She tipped up her chin and said to the god, “That won’t be necessary, spirit; thank you."

“As you wish,” he replied. Cleo could not tell from his voice whether he felt annoyed or amused. Regardless, he escorted her to the next suitor who had been introduced in the proper call, then departed. It was not his turn to speak with her; he only did his duty. When he bothered to recall his duties, anyway.

With her in proper position, the music began again. The musicians played more loudly and brightly than usual, Cleo thought, as if to swiftly push on from what had happened here. Then the suitor her father called the moss prince insisted greatly upon her attention. Cleo recognized him easily by his voice, for she wore his favor in her hair. This man walked in tattered cloth, showing all his twisted wire underneath. Though Cleo fought not to look at him too long, she felt the poke against her tender cloth. Unrestrained by the limits of his own body, he messily kissed her hand.

Cleo permitted this. Though wary and a bit shaken after her encounter with the god of water and search, she knew for certain that if she cried out to the god of hearts and husbandry, he would rush to her. She may not be friendly with him, but she remained his mortal charge. Within this same room, to deny a cry for aid would be his undoing.

“Marry me, sweet lady,” the moss prince beseeched her, “for although I cannot steal you from the jaws of death, it is with my power that I could draw you to my side again and again. In this, you could do anything you wished. If you were to die, you would rise again. You would live forever as my eternal wife! This is power given to me by the moths that I might invoke it when I wish. It would be very convenient for you. I saw you die once before. I went to claim your soul.”

“Forever is a long time,” Cleo warned, turning with him in their dance. She found him very skilled at dancing, for while he may be a shorter man than she, he kept to the music with all the precision of a ticking clock. When he protested her words, she allowed him to spill further promises, for besides being god of death, he swore she would sleep very well every night in his care. Always, he stated, would he sleep beside her, and would not be caught up in his duties late into the night. When he turned away from temple service, his evenings would revolve around her alone.

“What of yourself?” the mortal questioned. “I cannot have my husband swear he will focus only on me every day of my life. Surely you have hobbies my presence would interrupt.”

“Not many,” he stated with great personal pride. “I spend my days engaged with the complex topics of justice and legalities. All my working hours are spent drawing property lines, scolding thieves, settling disputes, and hearing the arguments of angry individuals. Besides that, I fetch the spirits of the dead and lead them through portals to the Nether World. This work exhausts me daily. I delight in good sleep, and I would delight in the company of a wife I love. If I think all day, I wish for nothing more than to curl up beside a woman who can do my thinking for me. This, see, is why I befriended the god of trickery and innovation so early. I saw the writing on the wall and knew his potential before all others did.”

Cleo laughed, then spake as she had spoken to the other spirits counted in the pantheon of silk and plays. “I do not know if I would like to do your thinking every day of our lives, but I will concede that a long night of good sleep is pleasure indeed. I will consider your offer, even if some of your offerings would require I bask in painful death. Spirit, if you wish to court me, give to me a kiss as though we lay upon our marital bed. In this, I will understand what affection awaits in the life you promise me.”

“Very well,” said the spirit. He reached his hands high to take her veil, and the mortal bent their head to make the kiss easy for him. Quick came his lips, gently sucking and pulling at her own. They were cold, of course, like cloth long dead, but did not feel rotten or like loose string. Wire fingers patted down the back of her neck as he held her close. Even so, Cleo did not worry he would tear her skin. His mastery may be one of death, and Nether fire may have scorched him long ago, but this had shaped him to be gentle, not cruel. It was with tender passion that he cradled her head. His soft lips wrapped around her bottom one. He kissed as though taking dewdrops from the morning grass, or planting dreams against a sleeping head. Cleo’s lashes fluttered despite her intent to keep them closed. Her legs gave a sudden wobble.

“Oh, blast,” he muttered, and kissed her on the neck instead- tight and loud. “I’m sorry; that one will put you to sleep. Here you go. I fixed it for you. Oh, yes.”

Indeed, though rattled by his proximity, Cleo felt at once awake when his lips pulled off her neck. The thought made her swallow. So close he came, so quick he moved, and how strong and immediate his powers were. “Spirit,” she said, “your service to our kingdom has been long and great. Thank you for visiting me today and for the kindness you have shown me in the past. I will not forget it. Perhaps I will marry you. Give me time to think.”

“I am at your service always, Cleo,” he replied, and passed her along with a bow.

The hands which took her after utterly engulfed her palms. When he spoke his greeting, his words came from above her, and Cleo tilted her head up notwithstanding her blind fate. She heard the smile in his voice regardless as he pulled her by the hands. “Hello, Mz. Clocker,” he said, his voice as smooth as river stones. He rolled the sharp sound of “Ms.” in a way that nearly leaned into a “Mr.,” which Cleo took note of and had no immediate response for. “You look lovely today. Of course, this surprises no one.”

“You are called the lightning prince,” she answered him. “This name is what my father called you when he saw you present yourself. I know only one man who wears lightning bolts upon his clothes, for they were sewn there by the moths without number. I name you god of sparks and time.”

“You are correct,” came his fond reply, and in this they were swept together in the dance. “Marry me, and I shall carve for us a space in time when we dwell upon my bed, that we might run our hands across each other and indulge ourselves for as long as you desire. I shall grace you with pleasure tonight that many mortals are yet to know. My knowledge is hard-won across the years of time… but that is only one of my great gifts. Dwell with me, and I can turn back the clock. You could reclaim your childhood. You could visit any segment of time for a year and a day.” A pause, just long enough for Cleo to fill a glass within her mind before lifting it to her lips… but when he spoke again, it shattered to the floor: “You could see your brother one last time.”

Cleo could not deny the temptation of his words. How much more bitter her days had become in her brother’s absence. Where once she could joke with him or seek his advice, there existed now naught but ghosts.

“He died in war,” she told the man, even as he dipped her towards the floor with hands both gentle and large. “That binds him in service to the god of war and sky. How is it your powers can interfere?”

“Because I am the god of sparks and time,” he spake in honeyed confidence. “I was the first god sent by the moths to guide this land, back when it had only just begun. Before I was cloth-made, I completed my studies of time under other gods from other lands. Mortals called for me, and so I came. All the gods of the Basin Kingdoms look to me, for although my powers are not greater than those of the moths, I am the closest to their messenger or mouthpiece. If I call forth the spirit of your brother, he cannot deny me- even if he lies in the clutches of the god of war and sky.”

In this, he frightened her. The mortal trembled and thought to disengage from his hands as he lifted his arm, twirling her beneath. But even as she thought this… she stilled her nervous threads. This man held valued information. An opportunity such as the one he presented now may not come around again.

“Lightning prince, you promise many great things. Are you open to negotiate?”

“‘Negotiate?’” He sounded quite curious. “Have you an offer?”

“You are famously known,” the mortal carefully stated, “for holding no ability to lie with womenkind, yet satisfying them beyond the abilities of mortal men. Many swear themselves to you as acolytes so you might reward their work with touch upon them.”

The god did not have the decency to feign embarrassment, but smiled in warm pride. “This is true. I know the bodies of women as well as any man. Those who take the time to ask and listen always will. Nonetheless, if you were to ask it of me as a term of our marriage, I would touch no other woman the way I would touch you. I do it for pleasure, and why should I lust for any other if your heart was mine?”

At least that was some comfort… though in truth, that depended on the way you viewed the situation. The god of sparks and time was thought the most jealous of all the silken gods. It was he who scattered the god of war and sky’s lovers across the hours of the day, simply because he found it distasteful to chase love instead of labor. If Cleo were told his jealousy even exceeded that of all who dwelt in the pantheon of wood and string, she would believe it in a moment.

Still, this did not stay her tongue. She did not intend to marry any god she met at the ball tonight… but she would be foolish not to press for information. Never had she pleaded with the god of sparks and time. She’d seen him only once, during a visit to the god of justice and sleep that she had made in trepidation. The two were friends and he so happened to be there. Despite this lack of familiarity, his powers intrigued her, so she thought to play upon her words. “It must be very difficult to please so many. I have to wonder if any mortal has unraveled the ways to satisfy a man like you. Does a god have tender spots he sometimes wants caressed?”

The god tilted his head as he spun her about the floor. Cleo held to him, his hands strong at her back. He guided her, never yanked her, as they twirled about the room. “He does indeed. Do you intend to barter service so you might visit some other point in time? I have never indulged a woman who approached me without the serving robes of an acolyte, but you carry the favors of five separate spirits. Should you elect not to marry me, I could be persuaded to make an exception for you.” His mouth twitched towards a smile. “That is not to say I am not interested in marriage. If engagement is an option, it is what I prefer. You are a curious mortal.”

“I know not where I would travel in time,” Cleo told him, which was true. “If I recall the stories, I would only witness the past, unable to reunite with the brother I so loved. Still, I will consider your offer. It tempts me very much. To offer me a chance like this, even if I did not swear to be a lifelong acolyte - to even consider me when I have made no promise of marriage - is a kindness I won’t forget.”

The god lowered his eyes then until the mortal saw only the lashes fluttering at his cheeks. “Truly,” he said next, “you tempt me all the more to lead you home, Mz. Clocker. It has not escaped my notice that when loss has come upon your life, you did not come rushing to request I turn back time. Rather, you took matters into your own hands. I am not the god of hospitality without good reason. My palace spills over with mortals eager for a taste of what I offer, yet your shoes have not walked you to the hunting kingdom wherein I dwell. Your hands are lined with years of work. You make the best of what time has put on you. I admire that.”

“In truth, spirit, I had nothing to offer you which you would desire, and still do not. I am not able to lie with man, for I would unravel to my seams. Only the god of hearts and husbandry could lie with me. When I speak of negotiation, I can offer my hands, to knead your muscle. I can offer you my time and service. I cannot offer you my body.”

He chuckled then. So Cleo asked him, “Why do you laugh at me?”

“My secrets have not reached your ears, sweet ex-princess. I do not satisfy women in the ways of uniting needles and loom, body upon body. There are tricks and experimentations that can bring you pleasure without the involvement of any sharp tool. You forget, perhaps, that I was born a butterfly. I am very clever in ways of drawing nectar from the skin.”

“Is that true?” The mortal was unsure. The god gave a single nod. But then… “If needles are not required for what is quoted as divine pleasure, why do more silkfolk women not marry women? I know only of a few.”

“Women are wonderful,” the man agreed, “and I do not have an answer for you. In truth, I think many marry young because they do not look within themselves to wonder why they’re told to want a man. But marry me and you will never be harmed nor unsatisfied upon our bed. Nonetheless, if I am not that which you desire, visit me some other time. We can discuss my terms.”

“You offer great things,” said the mortal. “Give to me a kiss like the kind you would give me upon our marital bed, that I will know what life would be like if I chose you here tonight.”

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. “I think I will not,” it then decided. “I will kiss you, but I must keep some secrets for myself. Do come and see me if you ever desire a master’s bed. No matter how high your expectations, you will not be disappointed.” And so saying, he kissed chastely at her brow, then caught her chin and kissed a second time upon her lips. It may not have been indulgent with the tongue, but Cleo did not scold him for it. In fact, she laughed a bit inside her mind.

“You are a clever god after my own heart,” she replied. “Very well. Guard your skills behind a shield. Perhaps we can explore them some other time.”

Before he could hand her off to the next in line, he paused. He said then, “The god of justice and sleep has been my friend since the days he existed as a clock upon my palace walls. If you were to take him as your husband, I do not think he would be opposed to additional arrangements. You could visit me too… on secret nights.”

“I will keep that in mind,” the mortal said, knowing she would not. His words intrigued her like cinnamon in butter, but to marry any man - even a spirit - for intimate relations alone may prove to be ill-thought. Even if they came from a famously well-performing god. She thought she felt him smile as he gently led her back to the center of the ballroom. When the string instruments began this next song, Cleo heard the slow, sawing slice of a bow and the pluck of many fingers. They were careful, well-practiced, but she had not heard such plucking yet at all today. Only in previous dances, months and years ago.

How is this suitor dressed, she wondered, that they have chosen a song so soft and slow? It sang of footprints across a snowy night. Perhaps he dressed like a shadow, all in black, that the mystery of this song would suit him well. At her parents’ anniversary ball, a song with this sort of plucking had played when her father dressed in black feathers, a mask with a beak upon his face. Cleo had dressed in peacock blue and green. A fitting song, perhaps, for masquerades and bird-like scrutiny.

A warm, ungloved hand caught her own from beneath, the fingers firm without hard squeezing. “I wish you a fine morning, Cleo,” said the voice of a man, and Cleo jumped at once. “It is good to meet you.”

The mortal gripped his hand and felt the second find her waist. A voice across the ballroom announced this man as the maple prince, from the kingdom of Never-Was, and all who heard this name fell under its spell that they questioned not if such a place could exist. At least, Cleo understood it to be so.

“Dear prince,” they replied, feeling for his shoulder. “I hope your travels were well.” For a moment, they thought the maple prince might be the spirit himself. When their hand brushed his chest, however, they felt a V at his throat that marked the neck of silken robes.

This is not the spirit, she realized then. This puppet only shares his voice. I can look upon him; it is only the spirit who is forbidden.

Perhaps the spirit, through connection to the maple prince, could sense her wavering. As another crowing instrument joined the song, his fingers tightened into hers. Cleo swallowed, but did not crack her eyes even to slits. Not even when directing them towards the floor. Did not the spirit warn her never to look up once the princes entered the room?

It would be so easy to lay eyes on him without meaning to. Perhaps he sits on this man’s shoulder in the form of a bird or bug.

… Surely the spirit could not be on the floor beside the prince’s feet. And even if that were true, would he not wear an animal’s skin, disguised as mouse or dog? A person could not be there on the ground. Not before a crowd like this. Cleo’s eyelids twitched, and she felt grateful for the veil. The prince turned with her, completing a step, and leaned to speak against her ear.

“Lady Clocker,” he whispered, “you must not open your eyes.”

The spirit would not follow our feet so closely while we dance. I can look at his feet. Cleo’s eyelids twitched again. But then, fearing her own weakness, she resolved to keep her chin high and her eyes positioned where the spirit’s face must be. If she faced him, she would not dare to peek. If her eyes stayed downcast, she might.

No song in the ballroom this day had been fast, as was customary in general celebrations, but as nerves pulled taut her fabric, Cleo thought she had never danced to one this slow. Each trace of bow upon strings dragged the ear with it, and the maple prince rotated with her in a small pattern like the petals of a flower. Does he limp? the mortal wondered. Something in his steps felt awkward, as though he felt far more comfortable on her right than her left. Perhaps this puppet figure had been imperfectly made. She would do her best not to topple him. It made a small noise then, like a swallow or growl. This visitor must be wearing armor too, for she heard metal shift and click upon its back.

“I appreciate your company,” Cleo prompted, for the god’s puppet had not continued conversation. “My mother has slain a great cow for us to feast upon tonight, but I heard rumor that wild beasts are more to your pleasure than domestic ones. I asked my cook to include a turkey, fresh from the woods.”

“That pleases me,” said the maple prince, beginning to relax. His hands adjusted against hers so that cloth rubbed cloth, and Cleo considered that a moment. She had thought perhaps the spirit created a man from nothing and sent it here, but of course, that must require a great amount of power. Might he instead have sent an acolyte of his temple, or even his high priest? Far easier would it be to send a well-instructed mortal to complete the task of dancing with a former princess. Cleo had performed favors for the gods. Perhaps some man performed today as well. The spirit had told her she would know him by the voice he gave the maple prince.

All high priests are marked by their master, and this god’s sign is a scar upon the left eye. If she peeked at him, she would gain some answer… but she bit her lip instead and held it very tight. I will not look. “Yes; the god of trickery and innovation has kept us well. Do you work with him closely?”

“Very closely,” said her suitor, spinning with her as the music swelled. His hand briefly fled her back, leaving them holding one another only by the fingertips of his left and her right, before he pulled her back again. “You appear as the night sky in that blue gown, Cleo. It suits you just as well as the green of this land. I daresay it suits you better.”

“You’re smartly dressed as well, I presume. Forgive me for not commenting on it yet, but I am blinded in your arms.”

He muffled some laugh, or the laugh perhaps was muffled by a cloth. Did he wear cloth on his face, as the god his master wore a shadow? “I thank you for it. This day, I wear the finery given me by the moths without number, which was given at my ascendance, but has gone unworn. I have never danced at a spirit ball, for I do not sit at the table with the others in our pantheon. It pleases me to find some excuse to wear it this day.”

Cleo heard these things and played with them in some confusion, even as this man twirled her beneath his arm, or dipped her towards the floor. She allowed he lead, for how her thoughts raced. The voice that spoke to her was that of the spirit, and so too were the things he said. Whose body did she touch, then? Some acolyte’s, some priest’s, or that of the spirit himself?

Here he is clothed… I can feel his sleeves. Surely then, the nakedness he’s always warned me of is metaphorical. Would he really be naked in her eyes if gowned in ceremonial silk? Whatever he wore, it differed from his standard garb. What power had been put in her that granted the ability to see through all his clothing, even that which he did not often wear?

“Hm,” said the maple prince, and Cleo in that moment nearly looked at him. He twirled her in a circle, then leaned his mouth to her ear and whispered secret words: “The god of hearts and husbandry is watching us.”

“I am not surprised,” she replied, not lowering her voice. “He is very protective of me, like a father who cinches tight the reins.”

“He wears the most resplendent green today. As a married man, I thought he might stay home.”

Cleo nearly laughed at him then. “I don’t know who you mean by describing clothing by color. I have not looked at any princes.” This was, of course, not entirely true. She thought it best to feign it was.

The prince rumbled in reply, and it took Cleo a moment more to recognize that rumble as a laugh, as though the spirit were amused by her simple words. “Well, I know the secret plans playing on his heart, as I know them in so many people here.” His fingers pressed their skin again. Cleo felt the nubs of each fabric finger and wondered once more if the maple prince had been constructed by the god of trickery and innovation, or if he somehow embodied him. He spake, “I have seen you kiss many suitors this day. I trust the plan still holds, but find me if you change your mind, or send Moss to tell me so.”

“It will not change,” she murmured back, and this time, she spoke lower than the music loud around them. “I entertain them, hoping they will leave me once I choose you. I thought it best to suggest to them they had done all they could, and that I weighed their merits rather than plotted before they arrived.”

The maple prince said nothing for a moment, but walked with great steps, supporting her back. Cleo followed this, leaning with him, as they made their way about the ballroom’s center. “I will expect you, then… but tell me why.”

“‘Why?’” What could he mean by that? The question hung so vaguely in the air. The spirit turned, leading her, and Cleo allowed her hair to swish again.

“There are many spirits who find you clever and desirable. Any would take you for a wife if you should choose them. They offer you all manner of treasures, yet you sound so confident that you’ll refuse them. You have not yet seen their every trick.”

“I do not love them,” Cleo replied. “I love the freedom to travel and the promises you have offered me, spirit. Surely nothing can persuade me. Those whose company you keep look upon me as a thing to decorate their temples with. I wish to be desired for the thoughts of my head and the actions of my heart, not the touch of my flesh. Still, I hope I’ve not caused trouble in your master’s pantheon.” He wore clothing, so he must not be the god himself… for if it were, he would be naked. He had told her such many times. She asked those words of him, awaiting recognition.

“Not you,” the maple prince stated, keeping a tender grip on her back. “But I fear if the god of hearts and husbandry approaches you after this ball has ended, when you are marked by the god of trickery and innovation, he will start a war. Gods are very jealous, Ms. Clocker.”

Even of a puppet? He had avoided her indirect question. No matter. Said the mortal, “I’m not sure I understand. Am I not also marked by four others whose favors I tie in my hair?”

“Yes, of course,” the spirit assured her through the prince’s mouth. “That is what I meant.” And it changed the subject then. “I see the god of sea and fire here too. If I am not mistaken, all these men are gods, or else acolytes who will try to lead you to their masters. You are very popular in the pantheon.”

“Yes, maple prince. That man did offer safe passage across the water. If I am somehow discovered in my new home, perhaps we could speak with him to hide me again.”

The spirit paused. “You would have a better chance of pleasantries if I do not go with you. He is obsessed with me.”

“‘Obsessed?’ In what way?” Her comment went without response, for their song soon neared its end, and the spirit appeared very focused on finishing it with flourishing steps. As they performed, Cleo clicked the thoughts together. And in teasing, she said, “Surely, maple prince, you did not abandon that man as your bedroom companion and then charm a princess at her ball. We must put on a show for him.”

She knew the spirit well enough to detect movement when he shrugged. Some smile crept into his voice when he said, “You are cheeky, Lady Clocker, but not incorrect. Indeed, I accompanied him to his bedroom every night. We were inseparable: once the same, with one body, sharing thought and pain. For tens of years, I too was the god of sea and fire. His left hand.” And on that word, he squeezed Cleo with his own, his sharp nails digging at her back.

Ah, yes. How true. “How did you separate?” she queried.

“How else?” Mischievously, he leaned to her ear and whispered, “I tricked him.” And at that moment, the song of soft strings ended. He released her hands as if stung by flame, then bowed before Cleo could offer him a kiss. She tried to speak and catch his hand, which only made him laugh. His footsteps disappeared ahead, and his parting words were, “Save me a seat at the feast tonight; we can speak more of it there.” 

I did not get to kiss him, Cleo thought, and felt something sag within her chest. A stitch or two pulled apart in there. Did he know, perhaps, what she had planned? After all, it was his role to know such unspoken thoughts. Perhaps he fled because he did not desire a kiss, even though she would have freely given it.

And yet, he spoke so easily with them - once he found his place - that as they tucked some hair behind their ear, the mortal could not help their smile. If that man were not a spirit, or if they were not a mortal thing…

… Well. If it were different, she would perhaps ask her parents if he could dwell here one week more.

The day wore on, and Cleo danced with men and women from all classes in her kingdom. Most were farmers, other merchants, and a few ran orchards or fisheries or hunted in the woods. Many wonderful promises were made to her, and Cleo found herself charmed as she remembered the kindness of her people and how hard they labored. She kissed very many of them, and although she did not intend to marry, she delighted in her fun. As the maple prince had said, she found many more gods throughout the ballroom. She knew them by their hands, so often tame- rarely creased from labor in the fields. One after the other they approached her, all with silver woven in their voices and golden stardust in their eyes. Cleo sought not to look upon them. Perhaps she stole glances; she could not be faulted that.

One shepherd woman drew them to the center of the room, turning them over to the next suitor in line. There the prince of hearts pressed close and claimed their hands, his breath like cherry blossoms and apple pie. “Cleo, why do you hide your eyes?” he demanded at once. “Look upon me. I’m the man for you. Do you know me by my voice?”

“You are the god of hearts and husbandry,” she replied dutifully, playing into his fantasy as though their paths had not crossed a few hours ago.

“Yep,” said the spirit in such a cheeky way. “I am god of love, medicine, and sheltering the abused so they may heal in peace. I study silk, wire, and all things of the body. I rule over conception, birth, strength, wisdom, and age. With me, you shall never wax old and will live forever. But you will never bore, for I will read the secret fantasies of your mind and breathe them into reality. Should you allow me, I will make love to you in ways that allow no other man to compare.”

“So you say.”

The god of hearts and husbandry laughed and clicked his tongue. “Cleo, Cleo. You must remember these courting men and women are spirits whose favor you’ve already won. You’ve charmed their silly pants off. And you remember, I’m sure, that I am the only god whose body may lie with mortals such as you.”

“I do not forget,” she told him rather coldly. And when this did not sour him immediately, she said, “I have danced with the god of sparks and time, and he tells me he can please a woman in ways that would not risk my loom. Is this true?” While she did not every day see herself a woman, she had liked the way that other god described a woman’s pleasure in his whispers like a precious and desirable thing. She would use that word here too.

“I would not lie to you,” said he, amusement in his tone. “That god speaks truth. With no tool or pin, he can delight anyone who seeks his touch, for he is very, very clever with his mouth. It does more than mimic voices. Any mortal can learn the skill, but some do not bother trying. Some do not delight in pleasuring another that way. As I recall, Renward Star withdrew his courtship when he heard you could not lie with him.”

It did not especially please her to know he’d learned that information. “Prince Ren holds your favor,” was Cleo’s cool reply. “I would have withdrawn it, if I were the god who gave him it. You are the god of love, and he rejected me over husbandry, regardless of my heart.”

The spirit shrugged. “He is allowed his preference.”

“As you say.”

The spirit spun her beneath his arm, and always brimmed with smiles and a laugh. “I would not reject you the way that fine prince did. Consider this: if you choose any other man, you will never feel the touch of sacred pleasure. I might remind you, your body was not repaired in full when touched by the god of trickery and innovation, who knew not how to mend such parts. To lie with a mortal will end your life. But if you allow me to touch, I can repair that. You’ve only to ask. And be very, very patient.”

“Well,” said the ex-princess, who had never forgotten this curse of broken loom, but often tried to ignore it, “I would very much like to feel such things. I will ask about for those who are clever with their mouths, but if I find none, I thank you for the offer. Perhaps if I am desperate, I will consider it.”

The spirit puffed his chest and flapped his vulture wings. They whisked and smacked the air. “I am god of many good and desirable wonders. I have always taught medicine to those who ask and I protect those sick and injured. Admire my works and become my wife. I will carry you to my mountain, where I shall worship your body with my kisses and lust in the way only a god of naked bodies can. I will make you feel pleasures even these other gods have not felt, for they could never understand mortal touch. With me, you may bear many children - if you wish for them - who will live in perfect health and never die.”

These were good promises, and Cleo considered the god of hearts and husbandry. Perhaps living as his wife would not be so terrible. This man spoke of intimacy without crass words. He swore to pleasure and admire her, which was more than many princes might do (among gods and mortals both). After all, Cleo suspected he told truth when he declared there were many who lacked interest in giving pleasure with their mouth. If there were, then learning it could be used that way would not have surprised her so.

“Spirit, your works are very great, and I do not doubt your many skills and hardworking nature. Perhaps you will have my favor. Give me one kiss to represent how you would please me in our marital bed.”

“Very well,” said the spirit, moving in. Cleo stepped back on instinct, but he swept her up, his hands tracing low behind her back, and pressed her with his lips. His mouth fell against her with warmth and hunger. Warm, like the apple pie she always smelled around his person. He kissed deeply, fully, and when he caught his tongue against her teeth, it struck intimate and firm. He wove it with a twist, which Cleo accepted in her silence. She felt for a moment every breathing part of hands and mouth and heat of this frightening god.

When they broke messily apart, Cleo said, “You pushed farther than I asked for. You are too forceful for me.”

“That is not true,” said the spirit, and when Cleo snuck one look at him, the eyes that sat in his face were dark and haughty. Turning his head just a bit to one side - like a vulture - he said, “You asked for one sample of how I would make you feel, as my wife. When you spoke these words, you created for yourself a fantasy of how I would do this. I delivered exactly as you desired it. I am the god of love, and this is how you desire to be loved.”

The mortal reflected on these words. Had she painted a picture in her head? Did the rush within her embody passion more than fear? Perhaps she did, but she chose not to be ashamed. Her fingers bit the wrinkles in his robes. “You truly did kiss me with the tenderness a man shows to his wife in her private bedroom, without decorum or restraint. This isn’t very proper, here before the others. What will you do if we dance in your temple ballroom and I create more temptatious fantasies? Will you make love to me there against the wall?”

“The thought will strike me,” he admitted, “but Cleo, you must recall I am patron god of the abused, including those who feel they’ve been tainted through weaving and force. I will not touch you except at your request. Some gods are demanding in their desires, but I am not. I will know when you are thinking these private things, yet I will restrain my lust until I’m asked to pleasure you. If I did not, the moths without number would strip me of my mastery, which I cannot allow. I am a very obedient god. Should you request I bark like a dog here and now, I shall obey.”

“Will you always mirror the fantasies I create?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. I am the god of hearts and husbandry. I replicate each thing after its kind, and what I’ve brought into this world, I will give unto you. This is guaranteed.”

“What if I am tired and don’t wish to create those thoughts?”

“Then I will wait for your instructions. You, my princess, will rule my heart. I am honored by your presence and will worship you in all respects.”

“You cannot innovate,” she realized then. “You have no power to explore mind or body without instruction.” Not even in intimate pleasure. Was that not the most dreary fate you ever heard?

At this, the spirit blinked coldly back. “I am not the god of trickery and innovation. Do not forget, Ms. Clocker… that mortal men cannot lie with you without causing damage to your loom. Look upon me and decide for yourself if our souls intertwine. Is it not enough that I will worship your body and take time delighting you the way you dream? You need no innovation when I can bring you past your pleasure every time. To experiment is to risk failure and disappointment. That is not the path that lies with me.”

How dare you speak of my loom? “Very well,” the mortal said nonetheless. “You speak truth. I cannot expect the god of sensual touch to kiss me chastely when I mark conflicting wishes on my heart. Perhaps I will marry you. Please grant me a moment’s peace to think.”

“As you say,” said the spirit, and led her by the elbow to the next woman waiting for her hand.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Marquisette

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

As evening approached, many guests were thanked and dismissed to sample food in the neighboring room, for few would dine with the former princess in person. The list of those who would grew shorter by the hour as Cleo pretended to scrutinize each remaining name at great length. At certain points across the day, dancing had paused a moment so she might report her thoughts to a scribe who jotted notes upon a scroll. She may have been blinded with eyes tight shut, but Moss had advised the scribe to write the colors each dancer wore. Cleo thought she remembered all the gods’ ballroom titles, but given how many there were, she found herself grateful for a list to scan. These notes did not describe a second figure tailing the maple prince around the room. Cleo wondered again if the puppet she had prepared to face truly was the spirit itself, the same way many so-called princes were tonight. What face did he hide from her, that he insisted she not cast eye upon him even when they danced?

He faced me, Cleo thought, and trusted I would not so much as crack open my eyes, for to do so would have exposed him at once. It was not a funny thing, for him to be ashamed of his nakedness, but a small smile pricked at her mouth. She pressed it in the palm of her hand. God of trickery and innovation, I wear your favor with honor and pride. She had not looked upon him on any of her visits. Not when blinded by the cloak of midnight, feeling her way around his temple rooms. That had been easy, though, because opening her eyes had not given her sight while that cloak wrapped about her neck. She had swung a diamond sword at the god of war and sky, yet fallen to her knee when she remembered how this spirit had sent her to offer it as a gift. And now, the spirit dared trust her enough to dance with her in the ballroom. If it was indeed the man himself.

Cleo ticked checkmarks beside certain names upon the scroll. In doing so, she ensured each spirit in the pantheon of silk and plays would be invited to the evening feast. This barred several visitors from across the sea, not to mention the god of water and search who had so fiercely come upon her. She did permit the god of travel and arts to stay even though she had not kissed him, if for no other reason than because she felt certain he would keep near his husband regardless. How strange it was to hear him laugh with the god of war and sky. He may have stolen that man’s sacred robes, but they remained the closest friends. Cleo tried not to resent that. Her brother had died because of that old theft. She might never forgive him that.

For politeness, she invited the god of sea and fire and goddess of stone and harvest, and indicated with a subtle mark that she would prefer they sit near her at the great dining table. While she would be at the high table with the maple prince, she desired their good natures to lighten the evening, should they allow it. After small consideration, Cleo gave another near seat to the god of war and sky. He had courted her some months, and had mostly been polite about it. She would engage him in friendly conversation, swaying him to believe there were no hard feelings and that he simply had not outmatched the spirit she’d chosen in the end.

Cleo paused her quill over the names Princess of Bats and Golden princess. These were, of course, the goddess of echo and memory and goddess of rain and prosperity. The mortal wore certain favors in her hair, having returned their stolen goblets which were hid in the god of trickery and innovation’s temple. Neither goddess, however, had sought her out for other reasons, nor offered assistance in setting up her tournament. After a moment’s thought, Cleo requested the god of justice and sleep be seated beside the god of war and sky, for when she was stressed and overwhelmed, he had briefly taken servants’ garb and run about with her. He had asked nothing in return. And… she selected the god of sparks and time a place near the high table too, as she thought him friendly. The other placements could be sorted out by someone else.

Cleo spoke lightly with Moss about this and passed over this first set of notes. While those around her drank lightly, buzzing in preparation for the coronation ceremony yet to come, Cleo continued with light paperwork. At one point, she glanced up to find Moss watching some remaining dancer beyond her shoulder.

“Whoever it is, go and say hello," Cleo told her. “My parents will hold an engagement ball like this for you if you ever ask them to, but I will not be offended if you take interest in someone at my own.”

“That is not why I stare,” Moss told her carefully. “Cleo… You are aware, aren’t you, that the spirits of this land have come to court you tonight?”

Cleo smiled a little tighter, eyes downcast at the scroll between them. “I know. And I reiterate: If you wish for their attention, go and say hello.”

“Perhaps one conversation,” Moss relented, and went off to find either mortal or spirit to commune with. That left Cleo to her work. She sat in the ballroom with her back to the main floor, scratching quill over paper. She did not hear until too late the footsteps plodding up behind her, followed by the noisy clearing of a throat. The quill slipped from her hand. And, not knowing whether the god of trickery and innovation remained present in the ballroom, she did not turn around.

“May I help you?” she asked instead.

“I think I should be asking you that,” said the god of hearts and husbandry. Fabric rustled, or perhaps those were his feathered wings. “You are deep in thoughts that may benefit from my expertise. May I be of some assistance?”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” Cleo replied, and neither looked up nor looked back at him. “I select my partner tonight based purely on what advantage they offer me. My decision is one of strategy, and that is no matter of the heart.”

The god chuckled. “It’s a matter of husbandry.”

The mortal did not so much as slow her quill, but continued her notes onto their next line. “Not when I cannot lie with man.”

“That is what I come to speak with you about,” he said. He waited a moment for her response. When he did not leave, Cleo finished a sentence and paused her quill.

“I have not forgotten your offer of repairing my loom if we engaged in marriage, spirit. I will weigh and consider it with all the rest.”

“Very well,” he said. “I wish only to inform you that if we married, I would not neglect you in favor of my husband. He mentioned you did not think yourself worthy to stand beside him as my second long-term partner. Fret not of such things, for I am entirely capable of uplifting and celebrating you both.”

“I did not call myself unworthy,” the mortal reproached him. She thought she heard the god pout then, as if pushing out his lip. He leaned a little close to her, and Cleo dared to shift her eyes sideways to see him. He had not cleaned up especially well, she thought, though she would not tell him that. He seemed to delight in his messy-on-purpose presentation. He had, at least, tied his golden hair back with a grand orange ribbon, its tall points shaped like the ears of a cat. It matched his green cape and uniform better than she would have guessed, had she imagined the color without laying eye on him. His hands found the back of their chair. They wished he would not get that close. Was their personal space not his concern, even as god of consent?

“Lady Clocker,” he said, “I made many promises of what your life could be if you were to marry me. Me, my heart; it’s on the line, and all you have to do is connect them together. I do not renounce my offer, but I’m a wise enough man to know my chances were slim when I began this venture. I’ll be honest, I’m here mostly for fun tonight and to show my husband a good time on the dance floor. Before I depart and you run off with your lucky man, know that my doors are always open to you. If you ever wish your loom repaired, you know where to find me.”

Cleo ignored the impulse to tell him he had no right to assume she had settled on a man instead of woman. Instead she said, “The correction my loom requires is sure to be an intimate procedure. Forgive me if I am not comfortable handing my body over to you. The moths know you left me to die in your care the last time around.”

“You are needlessly mean to me,” he told her in mock despair. Cleo detected a hint of fond amusement threading every word, and sighed within herself at the fact that he enjoyed their bickering. “Very well. If my services are not to your liking, I might suggest you speak to either my husband or the god of water and search. While I am the only spirit trained in silkfolk anatomy, I do not wish you to miss an opportunity for care when there are three gods of travel here who could give you some advice. You danced with the shadow prince today, didn’t you?”

She did, yes. That strange man had been so difficult to look at, Cleo found herself glad her eyes stayed shut throughout their conversation. “I know he’s of the mining kingdom far across the ocean, for he was sculpted out of metal. I know he travels through the Void. I suppose I might speak with him. I appreciate your advice.”

“My pleasure.” The god of hearts and husbandry did not leave, however, and rocked the back of her chair enough to make it squeak. At this, the mortal sighed.

“Do I need to get a flint and steel? Is this where we’re going?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he stated, not releasing her seat. “I am searching for my words.”

“Search quicker, then.”

He hummed in response, seemingly ignoring that statement. “You prayed at my statue quite a while this morn, I noticed. You sent me far more thanks than usual. You know, it’s been many years since I last met you in that place. Did you like what you saw, kneeling at my feet? I can offer more than that grody hunk of stone, and the real sight is far more tantalizing.”

Unbothered, Cleo began to write another line of notes. The words she penned were not the kindest to the god who hovered at her back, which he surely noticed. “I prayed extensively before I abdicate because I do not intend to again. You earned my prayers because they were my duty to send you as a princess. When I have no livestock, you will taste no further thanks from me.”

“Well, that’s a bit unkind, isn’t it?” His voice took on a whinge as he pressed, “Surely you’ll desire a cow or pet cat eventually; maybe an old toad… You can always swing by my temple for a visit; you don’t even have to stay.”

Cleo shook their head. “What do I bring to the table, prince of hearts? Honestly. You may be a god with great power to offer me, but I have nothing a spirit should desire. My swordsmanship lacks precision, and you have said yourself I am unnecessarily mean to you. You know I harbor bitter feelings over my death. Why, then, do you desire my hand?”

“Is it not enough that you dwelt with me two years?” he asked in softer voice. He ceased pressing on her chair, so it squeaked once more and not again. “What of the many evenings we spent laughing in my temple? We played games, swapped stories, you often helped me change bandages or perform small healing work; I thought we got along quite well.”

“Oh, yes. I need no reminder; I did not forget you took advantage of my willing labor.”

“I did not take advantage- You agreed to it!”

“I was in quarantine when my condition worsened; where else could I go?”

“Ah, how I’ve missed you. You are talking to someone who delights in your clever tongue. Write me off from marriage if you must - I will not fault you for it - but do not strike my name solely because I am a married man. We can make it work.”

“Can we? Spirit, if I wished to be one of a man’s many partners, I would accept the charming words and presents of the god of war and sky.”

“Yes!” came a voice from not far away. “I remain an option!”

“One husband is not many,” the god complained, and Cleo thought for the second time (with a shudder in their back) that he sounded very fond when he spoke with her, even when he whined. “Please visit me again… My halls are far more lonely without you there to make me laugh.”

Cleo’s mind bounced in that moment back to the last sight she remembered before weeping on her bed, thus dying from her wetted silks. This man, this god, had openly flirted with a small, thin maiden whose hair shimmered brown as cinnamon. Cleo tried to shut the image out, instead drawing in a cotton-filled breath. “Well, if you are lonely now, it is most unfortunate you allowed me to die beneath your care. You have only yourself to blame.”

“And I’ve atoned before the moths for it enough,” he stated. “You know, you did not inform me your condition had progressed that far.”

“I did,” she snapped, turning somewhat to face him, “but you never listen.”

His unbothered expression infuriated her, especially when he shrugged. He always seemed to be a jolly man, for his cheeks proved he ate well and quite probably drank more than he ate, delighting on the thanks and prayers sent his way by every other mortal in the land. Who would scorn the god of love, health, and safety? Who but Cleo, scowling at him now? “Had you called my name,” he said then, “I could have reminded you that tending to another patient did not mean I had lost my care for you.”

“Showing care for another person is not why I take issue with you,” they stated through their teeth. The god responded by batting his eyes at her.

“Cleo, I am not just a doctor by trade, but god of asylum and consent. If you ask it of me, I will correct your loom in a single night, and I would never violate your body. It stings that you do not trust me. I feel that’s what hurts the most.”

“You need not watch out for me,” the mortal replied. “I will take your advice and find myself another healer. Grant me space now. As you said, you are god of consent; I do not want you here.”

“Hmm. Then why am I not leaving?”

“Enough,” said a new voice, and here arrived his husband to thump him on the back. “Please, luv; let us taste the delicacies of foreign kingdoms. I peeked around the door and saw a fountain of chocolate, and many sweet sugar treats for us to dip in it.”

“Ooh,” said the god of hearts and husbandry, and went along with him without so much as a farewell. Cleo scoffed, but knew such abrupt departure was likely his intention. That god seemed to take great pride in forgoing proper manners and riling her up. She did not understand.

I never argue with the god of war and sky like this, she thought, until she looked at his name penned across her scroll and paused. No… That was not all true. Perhaps she and that god did not shout and squabble, but she had expressed previous frustrations with him. Even now, she thought for certain his eyes crept upon her as he waited for a moment when he could swoop to plead with her. Cleo moved her quill to make another note.

Thank the moths I have no quarrel with the god who took the trickster title from him. I could not have planned this all myself. I should pray to him one last time before I leave tonight. At his statue, perhaps, or in person to his face. She might even bring his offerings on a plate.

“Cleeeooo,” sang a new voice, and she turned to face the god of war and sky, who had decided to gamble his luck with an appeal for her attention after all.

Cleo finished with her notes and shared them with the king and queen, for if she did not justify her choices with logic and thought, they would surely wonder which creature or spirit had possessed their daughter’s mind. Her parents then gathered the listed suitors together before the seats set for them in the ballroom. Here, all had one final chance to speak, offering Cleo small gifts they had brought, for of course, the spirits were in disguise and would not reveal their true powers before the king and queen.

Cleo stood ahead of her parents with her eyes shut tight. Each spirit came forth in turn, praising the work of their own hands, but though Cleo faced them, she wore her veil and could not see what gifts they brought. Each suitor stood before her in a line. To open her eyes would be to risk exposure to the god of trickery and innovation.

She listened with her ears, sorting voices from one another. The god of travel and arts had brought supplies for wandering which were easy to carry, and the god of war and sky an item of fine clothing neither tunic nor skirt, and the god of hearts and husbandry armor enchanted in the Great River lands. That, most likely, had been the work of his husband more than him, though Cleo did not let that thought show upon her face.

Each spirit begged and pleaded that she look upon their offerings, but when Cleo asked them to describe what they had brought, some fumbled and could not explain. They had not prepared their wondrous gifts, which were flashy, to go unseen. One by one, they each skulked back to their places, fluttering around each other.

Last of all, the maple prince came forth and offered up his hand. When Cleo touched it, it was not gloved, and she memorized his touch upon her heart. His nails felt torn and broken. Creases lined his palms, but his skin had scraped off as if he had run upon it like a hunting hound. He lowered to one knee, and all the gods sucked in breath, muttering how he dirtied his silken robes.

“Cleo,” said the maple prince. “I have heard that long ago, you died and were brought to life again. I have been told that to be intimate in marriage would bring you death once more. For this, I offer my assurance that if you marry me, I will pleasure you in all other ways you desire. I ask no children of you. I ask nothing in our marital bed that you are not willing to provide. And if it be that you prefer none of my ideas of pleasure, I swear to stand beside you anyway and support your life direction just as much as I hope you support me. As tribute, I give you my labor and the thoughts of my mind. I have brought you the sap of maple trees and the sugar of the Southern Canyon kingdoms, which lay beyond the mountains. By mixing them together, I have created a flavor of the earth that has never been known before. If you will it, I wish for you to taste before all others can.”

“What is this?” the gods whispered angrily amongst themselves. “He offers his hands, his thoughts, and stolen sugar, but no pleasures of the body? Why should the princess choose innovation, which is unpredictable, over the assurances we have promised her? Who would marry a trickster god?”

But while they seemed so simple, these offers he spake were true and thoughtful, and that made them very good. Cleo stood with low-clasped hands and considered this appeal of the maple prince. Perhaps living as his wife would not be so terrible. This man spoke of intimacy without crass words. He swore to pleasure and admire her, which was more than many princes might do. He did not fight with her or transparently appeal. Even if this trick were no trick at all, Cleo could imagine dwelling beneath his roof in peace.

“Prince, your treat sounds very sweet to the taste and I enjoy your promises very much. Perhaps you will have my favor… but there is one thing I must ask of you. Something I have asked of many here tonight, but did not find time for when we danced.”

“Oh?”

The mortal did not for a moment believe the spirit who knelt before her did not know what she planned to say. But he did not flee, as he had after their dance at the ball. Cleo presented him an upturned hand. “If you are willing, give me one kiss to represent how you intend to please me in our marital bed. In this way, I will know what possibilities my future holds.”

“Very well,” said the maple prince, rising to his feet. It sounded as though he smoothed his wrinkled robes. As he drew himself right up against her, Cleo’s skin prickled as with fire. Nonetheless, she did not look upon him, for to do so was forbidden.

That strange spirit who called himself the maple prince cupped her face with rough palms, easing them downwards towards her neck. Did he dress himself in autumn leaves? In close proximity, he smelled of cooked meat and soft, damp soil. The hands that brushed her had run through woods many a time, but were gentle when he tucked her hair behind her ears. His knuckles pushed through her wild ginger curls. There, his touch lingered ever lightly. Cleo’s heart fluttered as though it wore moth wings.

The maple prince seemed to admire what he looked upon, indulging in her face for just a moment. Even if it were their trick, he did not rush the lead-up of that kiss. His warmth and patience swayed even she, who knew the lie. The prince leaned in, and in place of the cold shadow the mortal had somewhat expected, she felt rough stubble scratch her face. His lips moved to clasp with hers… steady as a jetty long beaten by the tide. Salt stuck to them as if splashed there by a raging sea. And Cleo, who intended to put on a show of pleasure before the watching gods, received it very gratefully.

I hope I have not inconvenienced the god who pulls the strings, she thought. It mustn’t be easy to make a puppet feel like man.

When the maple prince kissed her, it came in whisper. He clutched behind her neck and head, cradling her against him with a feather touch. Not for a moment did he force. His lips decorated a mouth that had never felt such prim indulgence before. Cleo’s lashes twitched. She bundled to his chest, for only there could she crush her face and hide from him. But her cheek touched silk… not bare cloth.

His warm flesh confuses me. Perhaps it isn’t a false puppet… Is this truly the god of trickery and innovation, who said I must never look at him? But he is wearing clothes! Could it be? Would he descend from his temple just to rescue her from marriage with men? Cleo wrestled with that thought, even as his hands played in the back of her curls. It must be okay to look at him. After all, we had not planned to kiss. He does not expect me to withhold. She snuck peeks at all the other gods, gambling on assumption that the spirit kept near the maple prince.

But if he WAS the maple prince…

Still he kissed with salty lips, his mouth as warm as a cooking pot, like a spirit who had once been god of sea and fire. Cleo fought her curiosity, even when it swelled within her throat. He kisses me with tender presence, like he’s returned from a hunt that drew him away for weeks.

The prince’s kisses drew from her chin, extending further down her throat, and Cleo cupped his cheek. His left hand traced her face, even as his right held her near. On the edge of her neck, his butter-soft lips lingered as though sipping nectar out of flowers. He kissed tenderly at a stitch on her bare shoulder, which had been woven with his own golden thread. Cleo swallowed then and tried not to look as though she liked it. At least… not very much. But each time his mouth closed against her, his breath tickled those stitches, and borrowed mulberry silk sang at once as if welcoming its master home.

His lips paused, hovering above skin. Then he pulled away. “Lady Clocker? Does that satisfy?”

“Thank you,” she managed. “You are very… enthused, and kind. Ah. Does your bed lie within fine castle walls? Is that where we will make love in these, ah, alternate passions you’ve said you may suggest?”

The maple prince shifted, and jealous gods murmured in the background. Cleo found his hand, even blinded. He wrapped her fingers in tender squeeze. “My bed lies with the one I marry. If they will have me, I will follow wherever they go. It does not matter how far from my old home we live. I will give everything they ask for, and pleasure their every desire, and ask only one small favor in return, which I know she is kind enough to grant me. Nothing that is possible escapes me for long. If my wife desires home, animals, travel, or children one day, then in my cleverness, I will deliver. Between the two of us, we have the minds to find a way.”

The way he wove his words, he spoke like a man who desired nothing of his wife than to shelter and provide, and do those things in the truest sense of the word. He spoke like a man who desired companionship: someone who truly wished to labor in her home and fields. The thought stung her eyes, which she could not blink. To open her eyes would be to betray him, so she trembled instead.

Those are kind promises, Cleo thought. She ached within herself like a curtain drawn from a window, which exposed light upon the hidden things. How cruel, to have sacrificed her only engagement ball for the use of their trick. If my brother had lived to rule this land while I prepared for marriage, I truly would have liked to marry a man who kissed and teased and spoke to me like this. Could there be such a man? The promises the spirit made fell like roses from his lips, for while they were lovely, they need not be true. It was all in the service of her abdication from the crown. It was all so the god of trickery and innovation might smuggle her into the night. It was, as in his name, entirely a ploy. He fooled all who stood here tonight. But even when her lashes twitched and heart beat quick, he did not fool her.

The mortal’s hand hovered against the spirit’s palm, then slid upward as he brought it to his lips. Cleo tensed then like a snake. Does he stare at me? I know he searches my face. She kept her eyes so incredibly tight behind her veil. The maple prince closed flame-warm lips around her knuckles. They drew away, but left the sting of salt.

“I am the god of trickery and innovation,” he said, very quietly. “I cannot promise immortality, beautiful wings, or the touch of mortal men. I have not traveled as far as certain spirits, nor do I arrive to you already experienced in the ways of granting pleasure with my tongue like that man who can freeze time. But I promise, I will forever serve you to the best of my ability. My domain is not much that mortals should desire, but all of what I have is yours without the need to ask. And all of what you wish for, I will seek and claim. Anything you ask shall be yours, insofar as it can be obtained by the hands of a self-made god.”

Cleo’s cheeks prickled when he spoke so tenderly. She and the spirit had colluded in their plans for this night. He only played a role. How could he speak these things as if he truly meant them? Did he not find himself embarrassed to be overheard by all his peers?

It is for our trick, she reasoned, slapping her own mind. He must sound convincing so he may spirit me away. Then he will leave me in the far-off village as he promised. I should seek him no more, lest I exhaust him and annoy. He has done so much for me. Far more than she deserved.

Cleo held her hands to this man. Taking him by his left, she brought him to his feet. “I will marry you, maple prince,” she said. “Share with me this delicious syrup. We will have a feast tonight for all these wonderful suitors who have sought my hand. All of you are honorable, having sought me even when I will no longer be a princess. I wish for all of you to taste this treat; it should not be mine alone.”

This was enough to quell some jealous stirring in their hearts. Cleo clenched the hand of her suitor, and when he took it, she walked him to her parents. She and her prince knelt before them, and when both were greeted, they rose again. As a four, they moved to another office to speak of the future. A contract would be finished. Cleo would leave tonight, taking little from the castle beside her most personal things. This was a house of public service. Her fancy dresses, which had been custom fit to her, were hers, and so were bed sheets and the products for her hair. Some possessions were hers. Many things, she left in Moss’s capable hands. She had no regrets.

Cleo remained patient while signing her engagement papers. The first part, at least, for the second would be hers to only sign later if she chose to make it final. For now, she would journey to the kingdom of Never-Was, sit with the maple prince, and mingle with his parents and people. At least, this was what her mother and father believed.

“It is just across the water from the fishing kingdom,” she told them, for she and the god had agreed upon this lie. “I will make time for my aunt and uncle on my way.”

“Bless their dear boy,” her mother murmured, signing a paper handed her by Cleo’s father. “Perhaps soon, we attend his own engagement ball. Some sense of order would bring him from his wayward path.”

Privately, Cleo did not find the youngest fishing prince wayward, though she knew why her mother did. Jimmy did not care for the trappings of royalty and had caused many a stir by sneaking out the castle windows when his masters went to fetch him for a meeting. He gutted fish far better than Cleo could and knew how to run a fishing ship, but preferred to lock his legs on land. He seemed to manage very well, for he was nearly as good at giving orders as he was at nodding and scrambling to obey them. When they came from the mouths of his elder brothers and not his parents, of course.

Said the spirit then, signing papers too, “Prince Jimmy most enjoys labor at his bakery, capitalizing off the imports of the grain kingdom. He meets the grain prince at the border in person to collect the trade and make merry at the tavern. None know the ways of gluten and yeast more intricately than the grain prince, so he gifts his friend a pumpkin loaf on every visit.”

Conversation shifted as her parents began to question that. Cleo, who had stayed one night in recent memory in the castle room across from Jimmy’s (as she always did when visiting the goddess of rain and prosperity or god of sea and fire, whose temples were near), was long familiar with her cousin’s rendezvous to see the older prince. In fact, she had once accompanied him for a border pick-up that she might inspect Prince Tango herself, and also because Jimmy had pleaded she designate herself as without ale for a night, that he might indulge in fun without the mocking of his private guard. She had agreed, but teased him in good humor when she helped him stagger to their private carriage once his levity was through. Of the three cousins she had, he was her very favorite. While her parents conversed about Jimmy with the spirit beside her, Cleo watched what name it signed with. It began with the letter E, but its spelling did not match any Basin Kingdom culture she knew. Was that name he wrote true to him, or created only for their trick?

The king and queen left her alone with the maple prince a moment later, and Cleo turned to look at him. She did not open her eyes, but upturned her head so he would know she intended to face him. “We have a long night yet ahead of us. Many of my things have already been packed for my trip and will be brought to your carriage as we speak. On your side, is all in order? I will be spirited away?”

In reply, she heard a rustle of cloth, followed by the scrape of skin on skin. The maple prince seemed to clasp his hands before his front, bowing towards her. “Yes, Cleo. Unless you have any wish to linger here, all continues as we have planned. I will, of course, assist in any final preparations you require. There is no deadline for us to leave this city. Guide me as you will; my hands are yours until we part.”

“Thank you. Let us go to dinner, then. Is it right that I hold your arm?”

“If you wish it.”

So they went together, she grasping his hand. The spirit pulled out her chair for her as a true prince would and together they sat at the head table. Many wonderful foods were served at the feast, each suitor having brought a sample of his own, that the livestock kingdom need not take excessively from its people’s stores to feed its guests. Cleo tasted this strange syrup, which was sweet and delicious just as the maple prince had said. She delighted not only in the dinner, but in dessert, and turned her head to the spirit beside her several times. She did not open her eyes, but he did not expect her to. She had only to speak a soft request for a food upon her plate and he would serve it to her, seemingly by his own hand. Such a kind thing for a busy god to do.

“My parents expect an engagement portrait,” Cleo told him some time later, after Moss had been coronated as new princess (now wearing Cleo’s ceremonial crown). Many people would stay in the castle some time longer, playing games and drinking drinks, but the couple who were celebrated still had much to do. “The second set of papers has not been formally signed, but as I do not intend to return, I wish for them to think it will be. I will imply it to them so this portrait can be done. I am sorry to take your time, but if we can pose for this, I would be very grateful.”

“I am glad to,” replied the spirit, kissing her knuckles once again. Cleo twitched, resisting the urge to peek at him. She dearly wished she could. Her mother spoke carefully of the spirit, and her father seemed a mite surprised, but not upset. Cleo wondered what man they saw beside her, and whether he looked odd to them. She saw her parents glancing at her sideways when she walked, not looking at her alleged betrothed.

They went together to the sitting room, where an odd man with eyes that did not match and hair both blond and brown had set his sketch materials, easel, and paints. Cleo and the maple prince settled on a sofa she knew to be red, though of course she did not look. The spirit put his arm behind her neck. His left hand sought her right, and he and Cleo held each other with these hands clasped before their chests. Of course, two models would arrive in later days to pose in similar clothing, for the entire painting would not be done tonight. Cleo did not mind the wait, however. With her head set forward, she found herself blinking away her tears. Her brother had been lost to the mud and her sister had run off and married a criminal, not to be seen again. Not even tonight, as far as Cleo knew. Did her parents know, as they stood to watch the master paint, that their third and final child had no intention to return?

How long will my portrait hang in these halls? she wondered next. Would Moss wish to honor past rulers she had no family connection to? When her parents died, would she throw those paintings out? Cleo did not think her new friend the unsentimental type, nor unkind. She wondered if Moss intended to have children of her own someday. Would they grow up beneath her painted eyes?

After some time, the artist presented his sketches, and a few color samples were laid in her lap for final approval. Cleo felt the edges of the paper. The spirit beside her excused himself, for he desired a moment’s relief. Cleo waited for his steps to vanish from the room, then waited longer to ensure he went with them. Only then did she peek at the sketch, and at once inhaled.

Oh…

She recognized the sharp cheeks of the god by the statues in his temple, but had only ever seen his depictions with ruffled, flopping hair and a shadow across his mouth. How very clean he looked now, though she did not know for certain if the sketch were accurate or reflected artistic liberty. His hair appeared silky soft. It fell in many waves and swirled around his ears. A small amount lay tied at the nape of his neck, much like a fox’s bushy tail. The man sat tall and proud beside her, but did not seem uncomfortable. His hand, included in this sketch, joined with hers. Instead of shadow across his face, he wore soft smile, though it showed no teeth. A scar striped his eye, which had been sketched shut, not open. Did he have an eye at all in mortal form? Perhaps not. His stories said he traded it to the god of war and sky many years ago, and received in exchange the power to freeze water into ice.

Did he remove his face covering for me, that we might continue with our trick and my family would not suspect? Perhaps he knew in advance there would be a portrait drawn for him tonight. The shadow made him recognizable. Surely it was easier to disguise himself for one night alone than it would be to fool all who laid eyes upon this painting that the man depicted was not a god.

“It is lovely,” Cleo told the artist, nearly forgetting to look at her own face. She had worn her ginger hair rather loose, her curls springy, and thought he had captured them very well. “Thank you. I cannot wait to see the finished portrait someday.” She tried to keep her voice from cracking at the reminder that she never would.

That spirit certainly was a thin man. He did not have great muscles like the god of sparks and time. His chest and waist were likewise thin, for the clothing sketched upon him hugged his form. Cleo had not felt strange before, though a sliver of doubt ran across her throat when she stared upon this artwork. He is taller when we sit, but I did not think him that much taller when we danced. Perhaps we are close in height.

It… had not bothered her until this very moment. The god of trickery and innovation, it seemed, was one of the thinner spirits. She knew his stories hailed him as a white-furred creature when he ran among the animals. Those who had seen him at his temple said he had white hair. Was he a hungry animal? Though he dressed well, he looked quite ragged and bony there beside her, especially with his absent eye.

My arms are very thick next to him. My body is large. Even my hair spills everywhere like fire. I am big and bumbling while he looks nicely put-together. He may have lost an eye, but had clearly put thought into how he dressed for the ball today, for he looked even cleaner in this sketch than in his temple sculptures. The mortal searched their own face and found a tremor shook her lip. I think of myself as pretty. Many, many people - men and women both - told me all day that I am pretty. Yet this painting portrayed her as a large woman who could very easily crush her husband to the wall. Or in their bed.

The mortal took a careful breath to remind themself how much they valued their muscle, for years of labor had built it. They put faith in their strength; that is why they felt bold enough to speak their mind even to spirits who displeased them. Cleo would not be Cleo if she were frail and small.

The god of hearts and husbandry had liked that woman with the neat brown hair, who was tidy and delicate. A far cry from the wild, flame-haired sight she made, her curls spilling down her back. Even her status as a princess had not swayed him to fetch the medicine to save her life. And he was a doctor; a god. Was he who called himself the Ever-Sire and the Omni-Dam not her master, her caretaker, too?

“Excuse me,” Cleo said, and felt her way down the hall with blinded eyes. She knew where the god of trickery and innovation had likely departed to relieve himself, or at least to feign relieving himself (if spirits did not require it). She did not go far before he found her. His hand slipped into hers. He pulled her to the hallway’s edge.

“Cleo,” he said. “Is there something you need?”

Did he know? A plot dwelt within her heart, and surely the god of trickery and innovation knew it. Cleo, though she did not look at him, found herself casting her gaze aside, for she was then ashamed. “Maple prince,” she said regardless. She did not dare speak his godly title, for if they were overheard, she did not know what would happen next. Perhaps someone would inform her parents, who might beg her not to leave with him. “A thought has come to me that I cannot shake away. Answer me honestly: Am I beautiful, dressed in this tight-pressed gown?” A gown that surely hid nothing of her muscles, stomach, and sides?

“You are beautiful in everything you wear,” said the spirit, and Cleo’s eyes welled with sticky wetness. He did not hesitate. Was it then a lie? How could he not consider her, study her, before he gave that answer? Either it was very much a lie or entirely the truth, and she did not know which one frightened her the most. If she did enjoy some physical beauty, and was as kind, charitable, and clever as she often thought herself to be, what worth did she not possess that caused the god of hearts and husbandry to cast her from his mind? What had she done to be so undeserving of his time?

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I need a moment to say farewell to my mother, father, and Moss. I thank you for your time. That was silly of me; please forget I asked that.”

“Of course, Cleo,” he said, and stayed there as she brushed past him, heading on her way. She ducked into the other sitting room long enough to grab a small glass of good drink. Men and women cheered when she entered, congratulating her on her engagement. Despite her nerves, Cleo could not help but laugh when she saw Moss struggling to stay upright, for she seemed very light in the drink she could handle. Cleo gave Moss a great hug and poked her crown in jest. It felt like having a sister once again.

“Who did you speak to at the ball?” Cleo pried, which caused Moss to push her away with shaky arms. She had no strength, so Cleo took it upon herself to loop the woman’s arm behind her neck and lead her someplace safer and more quiet where she could lie down. “Come on,” she said gently. “My old room is your room now. You will wake to the most beautiful sunrise in all the land.”

“She was an angel,” Moss murmured. “An angel with such frightening wings. I did not get her name.”

“Fret not,” Cleo told her, and put her new sister to bed with a kiss upon the head. “I will ask around for you and leave behind a note. Sleep well, luv. Tomorrow, you are crown princess. I could not be more happy or proud.”

Having set Moss in her room, there were few things Cleo had left to do. She moved with caution down the tower stairs, unwilling to lay eyes upon the forbidden god, and quickly found movement slow and difficult. She called his name softly, intending to find a servant if the spirit did not come, but it arrived a moment later on the steps. Cleo took its hand and squeezed.

“It’s easier,” they told him. “When I know where you are, I can look ahead of me. Did you see the portrait sketch?”

“I did,” the spirit answered. “No paper can capture your in-person beauty, but that master did a lovely job.”

Cleo, who had nearly forgotten their inner fears, winced at the reminder. “He is well-practiced,” they answered, brushing past it, only for the spirit to tighten his grip on their hand.

“It was good to see your eyes. I have not looked at them with you alive and awake before.”

Cleo’s palm felt very warm then. She became aware, suddenly, that the two of them were alone on the stairs, blocked off from both Moss above and the rest of the castle below by tight-shut doors. “You haven’t? But…” She supposed - for the first time - that he truly hadn’t. After all, if she could not look at him, it stood to reason he could not look at her. If her eyes were open when she died from rot, she did not recall.

The spirit, who stood two or three steps below her, moved a little closer. Cleo swallowed a thick lump within her throat. It did not impose itself in a way that violated her, but until tonight, it had never been this near her face. In its temple, when they were close, it had stood behind her so she would not see it accidentally. Did it trust her so completely, it felt she would not succumb to the temptation to open her eyes now? “Surely, spirit, you know what I look like, for the spirits can exist many places at once, and you are with me when trickery or innovation dwell within my heart. Do you not perceive me in mysterious ways?”

“It is not the same.” At that moment, the spirit seemed to recognize their close proximity, for he drew up the stairs behind her. Cleo felt his hand upon her shoulder. It did not intrude, though Cleo would not have liked the god of hearts and husbandry to touch her there. “To be present as an influence is not like looking upon you with my eyes.”

He said nothing else, so silence fell between them. Cleo wished he would speak. Her soul thumped within her, sticky and pulsing of its own will. She fretted again about the stairwell and cast her eyes on the door below. She dared to peek, knowing from his hand in hers (and the other on her shoulder) that the spirit was not in view. Were he a mortal prince, would he come upon her in this moment? Push her at the wall? Capture her lips in his?

I should not think these things. He is not like that. Many weeks had they prepared for this ball, this trick tonight, and the spirit with her had been nothing but respectful and kind. Cleo felt ooze rise in her eyes and wished she could erase her thoughts. She should not imagine the spirit kissing her that way, pushing her without warning like that. Does he know that I have thought it? Does he take offense?

After a moment in the quiet, the spirit cleared its throat. And Cleo, thus frightened it would scold her for her unkind thoughts, pulled it with her down the stairs. “My parents,” she said. Off they went to find the king and queen. Cleo embraced them both, then looked aside when they moved to embrace the spirit, who pretended it might be their son-in-law someday. Cleo sometimes called the spirit “it,” for that was how its stories often spoke of it. Did it like the title “son-in-law?” She might ask it that.

“Travel safe,” her mother said, kissing Cleo on the head. Her father ruffled her curls the way he used to when she was small. She went to the office to gather her engagement contract, which had been tucked in an envelope for her, then went to see the portrait sketch one last time. The master was not in, but Cleo found a second sketch, this one rougher, tucked at the bottom of his supplies. Though not well-defined, it still captured her curls and the general face of the one-eyed man beside her. She glanced both left and right, then slipped that parchment in her envelope. Surely she could not be faulted for it. Was it not a portrait of her?

Out Cleo walked to face the carriage that would carry her away. She clutched a shawl once woven by her mother tight around her shoulders. How chilly the air this time of season, even with snow still off a ways. When she approached the castle steps, a man cleared his voice, then came forward to guide her down them. The spirit? she wondered, and the moment she touched his hand, she knew it to be him and not some carriage footman. She knew him by the gash in his palm she’d traced before when she had envisioned him running through the woods.

She fell silent as the maple prince, with patience due a person of far greater station than an abdicating princess, guided her down each stair she blindly took. She murmured a thank you. He told her it pleased him to serve her. He asked if he could do more. Whatever should she say to him?

She did not know what, in all honesty. She told him not to trouble himself and attempted words of gratitude. Said the spirit then, “You do not trouble me, Cleo. You wear my favor. I am happy to give my aid.”

“Should I burn it?” she asked. Gods gave their favors so they might someday be burned, for to burn one was to signal the god’s immediate attention and beg their visit straightaway. They would come, for they agree to that when they give their favors out. Cleo’s cheeks smarted at the thought. “I will, if you desire it; I did not mean to imply I expect any more of you.”

“We are engaged,” he said in some surprise, and Cleo winced, for if he spoke such a thing, there must be someone near she did not see. “You should keep it. You may need me someday even more than this. When you sought me in my temple, you did not wear my favor, yet I agreed to plan this ball with you. The favor is yours, to be called in when you desire it. If I ever wish it to be burnt, I will tell you so upfront when you beseech me, not keep it secret in my heart. I am not insulted if you keep it.” He softened his voice. “It pleases me, knowing you tie it in your hair. I have enjoyed our time together. I have enjoyed learning more of who Cleo Clocker is.”

Cleo did not know what that last statement meant. It sounded too bold for her to be mistaken, but surely could not be a courtship invitation. Cleo had spoken words like that to Ren, and perhaps led on the god of war and sky. The god of trickery and innovation… could not intend them in that way. Not when she was forbidden to open her eyes at him. It could never be. Cleo shrunk within herself for daring to question his intentions, even for a moment. Surely he knew the thoughts of her heart. She prayed in silence he would let her save some face.

“You speak openly of being a spirit,” she replied in quiet words. “Does someone watch us here?”

“Only my serving girl,” he replied, and Cleo fell silent for a moment. She sought answers in her heart, and in his.

Then, “Why do you call us engaged?”

The spirit hushed itself then, like a gap in snowy wind. “I thought… you would not mind. We have agreed to say it. Have I made a mistake?”

“It isn’t necessary,” she told him, for her face warmed at the thought of a youth who might gossip with other servants at the temple where he dwelt. “Our trick is finished now.”

“All right.”

He helped her into his carriage, then joined her himself and sat on one side. His body heat would comfort her. His welcome voice would stave off loneliness. Cleo ran her fingers through her hair, tucking loose curls behind her ears. “Will you take me now to that secret village?” she questioned.

“If you would like me to,” he replied.

What reason had she to wait? Preparations and this day had exhausted her. The anticipation stung her insides, so much so that she’d likely drawn the eye of the god of sparks and time, whose domain included anxious thoughts. “Yes,” she said. “Let us go. I am ready to be alone.”

“Alone?” asked the god.

“A private village dwelling of my own, bordered by mortal companions… as you once said. Someday I will travel again, but for now, I must rest my head.”

“As you wish,” said the god, very quietly. He said as much to the driver of his horses, who must be his serving girl. The carriage creaked forward. On they rode into the night. As they rocked, Cleo felt beside her for the hand of the spirit. She drew it to her lap, winding her fingers with his… and paused.

I separate him from the world when I touch this way. He is locked here in my presence. He cannot answer other prayers.

She went to open her fingers, releasing his hand. He went to do the same, but Cleo stopped, for another thought struck her. When night fell, the temples closed their doors. The spirits rested until morning. She did not, in fact, steal him from his labors. And if she did, well… She was his labors. Long had they planned this night. It must be a great relief to both of them that it had gone off well.

Cleo leaned her head against the spirit’s shoulder, holding his hand against her lap. The carriage bumped across the stones. After a moment of this quiet peace, the spirit leaned his cheek so it rested in her curls. He reached across her, feeling for her hand, and held it near her chest the same way they had sat while posed for a portrait they would not get to see.

Of course, it could never be… but for a moment, he felt almost like a lover. And Cleo almost wished he was.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Baize

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

The carriage had not traveled far before the spirit instructed his serving girl (or whomever drove the carriage) to halt it beside a field. Cleo jolted. She hadn’t realized she’d begun to drift to sleep, and worried at once she had drooled upon the spirit’s arm, or snored in a way unbecoming of a former princess. She rubbed her eyes, but kept them shut as the spirit disembarked the carriage. Grass crunched beneath his boots. Once he made it to the fence, he searched the distance for some sign of pointed ears.

Are we safe? Cleo wondered. She didn’t voice this thought lest some creeping visitor overheard, thus learning a second person rested in the carriage, but the spirit answered as though detecting her concerns.

“The god of water and search gifted a herding dog to the god of war and sky not long ago, for in the Great River kingdoms, they say the sun is herded through the sky. That dog’s barks are the zephyr wind. It will get us to our destination that much quicker.” To his temple before midnight, he hoped, though he wasn’t sure such a thing was possible. He knew only that if he did not hasten their journey, he would be left the task of securing Cleo shelter for the night. Already, the moon hung high overhead. Truly, it had been a very long day. He lifted his voice then, calling and whistling across the field. “Hey-o! Zedaph?”

“Oh, I know Zedaph,” Cleo said, stepping outside the carriage, for the god of war and sky had shown her that scruffy dog as a puppy. She moved slowly, holding to the carriage sides, for even in the evening dark, she kept her eyes tight shut. “You will not lure him from the sheep… We must instead coax them out to us. Have you any wheat?”

“I do not,” said the spirit. Harvest season had already arrived in the fishing and hunting kingdoms for those who kept small farms, and very soon the grain and livestock kingdoms would follow behind. He did not feel right stealing from a neighboring land plot to appease his companion’s wish, though he searched the mortal’s face in curiosity.

“Well, Zedaph doesn’t know that,” she said, quite firmly. “Let us go and bother him. We will just pretend. You are the god of trickery and innovation. You’ll join me in this trick, I hope?”

Cleo thought she heard the spirit grin when it replied, “I would be delighted. Come, Upwind; we have work to do.”

A rustle near the front of the carriage told Cleo his serving girl would join them. She thought she remembered some story of the wind and how it served this god, though the details eluded her. Clearly, other winds worked alongside other spirits. The goddess of echo and memory surrounded herself with howling wolves, who carried prayers to the moths above.

The god took Cleo’s hand then, guiding her over the simple fence, and leapt it on his own. A distant dog bark rang through the air. This did not deter Cleo and the spirit from approaching, which made the dog bark a second time. A shiver of wind blew Cleo’s way, so much that it ruffled her sleeves. The spirit turned back to the road. Hmm, it thought, for if those barks blew their carriage the wrong way, they would be all the worse off.

“Are the sheep here of the gods?” Cleo asked. “We have not gone far, and surely I would know this field.” They were still within the livestock kingdom, after all. One could not mistake the smell of meandering animals, nor their noise.

“I believe the dog has decided this flock is for its master,” replied the god. “They are not his to take. The god of war and sky will come and pluck it from the field eventually, when he has finished speaking with the goddess of stone and harvest at the castle. We do no harm.”

Cleo walked ahead, for it was easier to walk with open eyes. The spirit pursued behind, though his footsteps ran ahead. The dog in question lay upon its belly, its yellow fur blowing in soft wind. It lifted its ears and wagged its tail, but the more they approached, the more tense its posture grew. Very soon, it stood and walked towards her, hackles bushed upon its back.

“Do you recognize me, Zedaph?” Cleo asked it. She had broken several biscuits in half or thirds, feeding each to the dog in reward. She hoped now he did not remember how she had made so little go so far, lest it accuse her of holding out on it. The spirit, of course, equally hoped the dog did not remember him, though for very different reasons. As a spirit of the hunt who could not be caught lest he allowed himself to be, he teased dogs like this very often. Zedaph herded sheep and flocks, and he had certainly pestered it on more than one occasion. He could not help himself. A man must be a man.

The yellow dog put its head to one side. It dashed back and forth like a crack of lightning, blocking Cleo from accessing the sheep. She moved closer, reaching to the small bag at her side as though it held a great amount of wheat. This sent the dog into a bow, then a jump. It barked. Wind gushed forth, blowing back her hair. The spirit stepped back, prepared to bolt if the carriage blew away. Cleo’s eyes flitted to the nearest sheep, which had strayed very close with two others behind it.

“That sheep is looking at me,” Cleo teased, leaning above the dog’s head. “It desires to follow me and the wheat I have far more than stay with you.”

The dog barked again, stamping its feet, and the spirit again grew worried this had not been a wise plan after all. “Don’t let yourself be embarrassed,” Cleo chided. “They were never yours to have, and they are clearly looking towards me.” She threw her hand out as though scattering seeds or grain upon the ground. The curious sheep approached, and though Zedaph turned to keep two of them back, it could not stop two others from meandering all the closer. For all its power, it was still a young and unsupervised thing.

Cleo made noises, throwing again, as did the spirit beside her. It even threw blades of grass, which drew the sheep very near. This upset the dog, which gave chase at once. Cleo and the spirit fled to the fence, laughing together, and scrambled from the field. Both leapt into the carriage. No sooner had they shut the door than the dog began barking a great deal, and a wild gust of wind blew towards them. The wheels spun as though in a storm, and on they traveled down the road. Cleo leaned from her window and waved at Zedaph, who stood with its paws upon the fence. It barked again, again, and one final time. All the sheep began to spin, and then the world. The rocks, paths, and forests blurred together. And the spirit, laughing beside them, fell against their shoulder and tucked an arm behind their neck.

“How resourceful you are, Cleo! I hope you plan to engage in much trickery in your future, for I could have a nice time with you.”

“Not only trickery,” she replied, “but innovation too. It would please me much to have your company as an influence going forward. Of course, it was you who found the dog; I did not know it was here.”

“But you who excited him so quickly,” he told her, situating his arms and legs. Cleo kept her eyes averted, though he squeezed her shoulder, which brought a smile to her face. “I had thought to disguise myself as a cat and lead him on a chase, hoping to bring him near the carriage. You were quicker than me. Thank you for leading me along; that was quite delightful.” Your company is delightful, he didn’t say. And certainly, he did not dare voice, You are delightful too.

On they traveled through the night. The carriage whipped along, seemingly headed towards the northern mountains which marked the border of the hunting kingdom, not towards the western border with the grain one. Cleo wondered if that meant the spirit intended to stop in his temple. It lay between the livestock and hunting kingdoms, and would likely be wise.

Will we arrive tonight? she wondered, gazing through the window with half-lidded eyes. She lay her head on the spirit’s breast or shoulder, playing her fingers on his hand. He was not unpleasant to lean on, though the bony frame she’d seen sketched for their portrait had made her question otherwise. He did not seem to mind when she leaned against him. For that, Cleo was grateful.

At last, the zephyr wind faded and they began to slow. In their speed, Cleo had lost track of time. It certainly smelled like the livestock kingdom, though. Less like sheep now and more like cows. She blinked awake, then leaned from the window to search the sky. The moon waned in a sliver high above. “The goddess didn’t feed it tonight,” she remarked to the god, who acknowledged this with a hum.

“Regretfully, she enjoys her husband’s company tonight. She will depart him by morning.” The spirit dwelt a moment in that thought, for it scalded all too well. How often, when he had been his master’s hand, had he craved her lingering touch? At times when he lay lonely on his bed, he still felt dear Lizzie’s caress draw across his cheek.

“That is not regretful,” Cleo said, touching his arm; the spirit turned his head to her before he could think. “There exists a certain beauty in placing duty to the world above oneself. It’s awfully romantic.”

Yes, he thought, and quickly averted his eyes. It is.

He cleared his throat. “Find an inn, Upwind. Cleo deserves a comfortable bed on her first night emancipated.”

“Of course, sir.”

The carriage rocked, making wood and metal noises. Cleo traced their thumb across the window gap and asked the god about that, for surely it had been made by mortal hands and thus rendered unto him. He affirmed it, and told a short story about the god of wood and ore, whose mastery he had partly absorbed upon his ascent. Cleo listened to clops that sounded like horse hooves, though all of a sudden, she wasn’t sure. They fell too quickly to decipher how many horses led the carriage. Surely it could not be that many at the slow pace they traveled. She wondered if perhaps it wasn’t drawn by a horse at all.

The spirit shifted beside her and spoke again. “The night grows late. There will not be another town for some time at the new pace we travel. Let us stop here.”

Stop here? Cleo turned their head towards him, then glimpsed a shape like a knee in the dark. Remembering at once they could not look upon their companion, they flung their eyes to the stars again. At least the stars could feed themselves, even when the infant moon cried to its absent caretaker. “Yes,” she said. “These traveling clothes need another adjustment, and I need to stretch my legs.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the spirit, “that we did not make it to my temple tonight. If we had, I could offer you a much finer bed than what exists in this old town.”

“I embrace it,” said the mortal. “My wish is to travel. I am not so stubborn as to pass up the opportunity to bid farewell to my people, and not too proud to walk among them one last time. I await the fishing kingdom and its peaceful village life, regardless of what bed I lay my head upon. I am ready for a very long rest.”

“You are wise and humble, Ms. Clocker,” he said. “Very well. Allow sleep to pick at the edges of your eyes. I will make arrangements on your behalf.”

They left the carriage, with the spirit offering Cleo its arm to hold. Cleo felt for it, then followed down the road. Every smell, crunch of pebbles, and creak of wooden doors painted smiles on her lips, for she had done it. Her plans had come together. Moss now wore her crown. Her parents had an heir. Princess Cleo had abdicated from the livestock throne. And now, she had nothing to worry for but the rest of her own life.

No one else. Only me.

Did that make her selfish? Perhaps, for it is always wise to mind thy neighbor and lend a helping hand. Cleo thought she might shut herself away for a short time, but return to useful labors soon enough. She would not be Cleo if she did not begin her works again.

As promised, the spirit negotiated with the innkeeper for a single room, and only for the night. He led Cleo to a soft chair by the fire, then went out to get the bag with her night clothes. Had she not been so tired from her long day of dancing and speaking, Cleo might have joined him. She enjoyed the moment for what it was. See how when she grew weary, the spirit fawned over her in ways that helped instead of hindered. She resolved to squeeze his hand on his return.

That feeling did not last for long. No sooner had the spirit departed than the innkeeper approached, her shoes clacking on hard floor. Cleo looked up at her, for she stood very near. “Are you safe?” the woman questioned. She did not wait for reply, setting both hands upon her hips. “Tell me if you are not and I will spirit you away. I can hide you in another room.”

Cleo’s heart picked up, beating fast enough to surely alarm the god who ruled over it. “I am very well,” she said. “That man is my…” She paused, about to state ‘companion,’ but word would soon spread of her tentative engagement, for she had been a princess. Perhaps news of Moss’s coronation would not drown this information out, especially as a portrait had been commissioned for she and her supposed betrothed. So Cleo said, “fiancé. We travel to his homeland, north of the fishing kingdom.” This woman might know her as the livestock princess. Perhaps she had not expected her to come this far in just one night, for she did not know the zephyr wind. Perhaps this woman thought she would marry a prince, so to see her accompanied by a man who was not one - if the maple prince disguise had been dropped - sorely confused her.

The woman moved her eyes from Cleo’s head to feet, performing calculations in her head. “Well,” she said, “I suppose that is all right. Forgive me; your lover’s appearance startled me and I thought he might do you harm. If you are put in poor position, tell me in quiet ways or shout for aid. My sons will rush and rescue you. They are strong.”

“Thank you,” Cleo replied. They sat with that thought in silence for a moment, brushing their palms across their legs. Do we look so opposite, everyone we meet will assume he has kidnapped me? That I could not have possibly chosen a man like him? The mortal found this thought alarming, which split them down the center. It frightened them to some degree… Yet at the same time, they felt deep sympathy for the spirit who had swept outside. Had he not warned her several times his own appearance shamed him? Even her parents had exchanged a glance of great surprise.

If this is what people say of him in his mortal form, Cleo thought, then how frightening is his true one, that he keeps it hid from me?

She wondered if she might cast her eyes upon him if she stole to the window and peered out. Her heart thumped several loud times within her, but she did not dare.

Before long, the god of trickery and innovation returned with the bag where she had packed her clothes. He greeted her with words so she might find his hand and slip hers within it. They went together to their room.

“Oh,” Cleo blurted out when she saw it, and became at once shrunken up. “There is but one bed here.” She had not expected to room with the spirit tonight, nor any night. Would he cast eye upon her in her nightgown? Truly, the spirit had watched her sleep in the past when he left his favor on her pillow, but she could not share a bed with someone she had not married. Not the whole night. Even lying beside the god of war and sky for a few minutes in the daytime had sent butterflies throughout her stomach.

But then… Had she not heard the god requesting her room, and had not stopped him? She cursed her foolishness in letting down her guard.

Perhaps, she thought with a twinge of nerves, the innkeeper is right. Tonight I share a room with a strange man who is not a man at all. In the dark, in privacy, he could do unspeakable things to me. He had respected her privacy in his temple. Cleo fiddled with the edge of her trousers and hoped he would repeat the same. She said, before she could think, “The bed is yours, of course, for you are in the pantheon. Offer me a pillow and blanket and I will lie happily on the floor.”

“No, Cleo. The bed is entirely yours.”

Cleo shook her head. “I am no longer a princess. To place myself above the gods would do you high insult.”

“This is different,” said the spirit, pulling his arm free from hers. Cleo had not realized how tightly she clung to it. He stroked her hair, which surprised her, but she kept her eyelids shut. “I permit it. Sleep here, for when you sleep and I am no longer needed, I can recede to my temple and rest. The hours are quiet there and the doors are closed. Linger in this town tomorrow. I will not be with you in the morning, but will arrive sometime after noon.”

“Oh,” she said. “But…” I will be left alone? She had traveled at times, enjoying it, but ached for the safety of her castle walls. At least when she had walked with the birds of rainbow, she knew that god watched over her. Would the god of travel and arts notice if someone crept into her room at night? Would the god of hearts and husbandry lash out if such person lay hand on her without remorse? It did not seem too likely.

I should not be frightened of this spirit. He cannot touch me without consent. Of course, he did have his hand upon her head… and the god of water and search had held her tight without release when they danced at the ball.

“You are worried,” the god surmised.

The mortal’s mind swirled about like mixing grains. “Yes, spirit…” And not merely for my safety this night. Cleo clutched at her neckline, where a small cord with a pendant from her sister hung at her breast. It had been shaped into a fox, gifted her after the god of trickery and innovation had cleaned her body and restored it full of life. Cleo swallowed, feeling movement past cold metal on her skin. “I do not know the way to that hidden village. A mortal can only find it if escorted by a spirit. You will return, I hope?”

The god’s clothing rustled in the dark. He wore light armor, she thought, for she heard a metal scrape. “Do not worry. I will not leave you stranded here.”

The mortal fell quiet, gripping the little fox with her whole hand.

“Cleo,” chided the spirit, taking her hand again. He rolled his thumb across her palm. “Is there trickery in your heart to sway me to dwell with you this night?”

Yes, she thought. She would sleep on the floor if it meant the spirit would stay. She would not mind it. She had slept outdoors before. It knew this, of course. No such secret could be hid from it, for where there existed trickery, there existed the god before her. She said, “The god of hearts and husbandry abandoned me in my time of need. I do not mean to imply you will do the same, but… I know he prioritized others more. When morning comes, your temple doors will open. You are expected to labor for the many. If you forget me, I will be lost. I have no food, little coin, and nowhere to go.”

The spirit squeezed her hand. It warmed her, and warmed her face. Its finger moved beneath the eyes and wiped away a gentle tear. “Ye of wavering faith,” he said. “Sweet Cleo, you are not the only one to call upon me this day. I planned ahead for our travel time and worked very hard to complete what labors I could for other people. Now the night grows late. I must return to my temple and rest, for I am weary. Come morning, I must take time to ascertain no urgent thing awaits me. I will be as quick with my labors as I can. You will be all right without me for a day. Be not afraid of the independence you sought so hard to keep.”

Her eyes, though closed, turned down in sorrow. Cleo wished in her heart that he would stay… But of course, it was a selfish thought. “All right,” she said. “Thank you, spirit, for the bed and room.”

“It is better this way,” he told her, pushing those wild curls he so admired behind her ears. “In my absence, you may look about with your eyes wide open and enjoy this time of peace and travel. It would not be good of me to require your eyes stay shut the entire length of our journey. We still have far to go.”

“This is true,” Cleo admitted. “Very well. I will prepare food tomorrow using knives and pack us a meal that will be easy to eat. Have you a preference for your offering, spirit?”

“Surprise me,” he replied. “And if you are in danger, requiring me urgently, cast the favor I once gave you into the fire. It is imbued with my essence, so I will at once appear.”

He could have disappeared at that moment, of course. Cleo required privacy to change into her night things. The gentlemanly action was to leave. Yet he traced his fingers across her hands, which they held between them in low lantern light. The spirit, not knowing when he would next have an opportunity to study his favorite mortal so closely, pondered a moment on her face. He stood a bit taller than she did, though not by much. Her eyes moved beneath her eyelids as though she read his features, even blinded by his side.

“It… pleased me, Cleo, to help you today. I delight in trickery, but to plan it with an accomplice pleased me all the more. I am glad I found opportunity to wear my nicer clothes. Thank you for visiting me. I hope I will see you in my temple again.”

“I suppose you will,” she replied, unsure whether the spirit would kiss her wrist and why he stood so close. She could smell maple leaves and sugar on his breath, and the bread and syrup he had consumed. “I imagine my travels will lead me back someday. Thank you, spirit… It is because of you that I lived again to have this ball, and am now free to travel the world as I so please. I am ever in your debt.”

“You have no debt,” he assured her, his voice dropping to a whisper. Again he squeezed her hands, willing so deeply for her to understand. “Not to me, nor any god I know. You are a mortal thing. This world was yours before it was mine. We spirits call our work ‘favors’ for a reason. When you speak of me, and thank me, and follow after me, it is enough. You owe me nothing for my time.”

The wood floor creaked beneath their shoes. Mist swirled in Cleo’s chest, fighting at the backs of their eyes. I must not peek at him, they thought, though when he stood that close and spoke in that hushed way, they grew very tempted to. What intentions did he have? His proximity left her frightened, but his words warmed skin from the inside out, as though they had sipped warm cocoa after running through thick snow on their brother’s heels.

I could peek at him in his last moment, when he takes me to the village, the mortal thought. He will have helped me then. I cannot look now, for he might leave me and not return.

In reply, the spirit squeezed their hands. Energy coursed through her arms, as if she had rolled about on the rug enough to fritz her hair. “I deceive you,” she told the god, and tried to break away. “Spirit, I am tempted to steal a look at you, but I will not. Forgive me for my evil thoughts.”

“They are not evil,” he said, though she thought he sounded a little less pleased now than he did before. “Curiosity is natural and not such a bad thing. If you wish to look at me, I will not stop you… but I will be ashamed. I would rather you did not.”

My thoughts are wicked, Cleo said within herself, and stuffed them as deep inside as they could go. Fury prickled at her eyes. How dare she, even for a moment, consider betraying this great being who had once saved her life, and had done many wondrous things for her? One could argue that to steal a peek at him was hardly betrayal, but one could also argue the same for when the god of water and search had kissed her tightly and lifted her veil, when she had forbidden him to do so. Cleo had been frightened in that moment. She did not think her eyes could strike terror in the heart of a god, but she knew she had no right to expose him, violating him, in a way akin to him casting off her clothing now where they stood. Had he not warned her that if her sight landed on him, she would find him naked, no matter what other things he wore?

I am Cleo Clocker. I stand by my word. I do not falter. I do not shame him. “God of trickery and innovation,” she said instead, swelling her voice. “You have been kind to me all my life and have given me so much. All you have asked for is one small thing. Forgive me my wandering thoughts. Your nakedness is safe with me, and shall not be unmasked.”

“It is a great ask,” the god conceded. “You have already carried it for quite some time. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed, not unappreciated. I thank you for that.”

“It pleases me.”

Once more, quiet fell upon them like a cobweb. In this silence, woven from spider silk, neither dared to move or speak. Cleo stared with shut but widened eyes, positioned on a pin. The spirit wrestled within himself, for he carried secret thoughts. A wise man would return to his temple and lay down his head. He had labors to complete when next crowned the dawn.

Perhaps, thought the spirit as he examined that mortal’s soft cheeks, I am not the wisest one within this room. He could not be blamed for that, of course. What was he deep down but another man’s hand, strung of severed, stolen puppet strings?

He wet his tongue, licking about before he spoke again. “May I confess a private thought, Lady Clocker?”

The fabric prickled behind her neck. “You need not my permission, spirit; I do enjoy your reveries. What is it?”

Every word, every shift his feet made upon the wood, became a perfect calculation. He detected every dust mote in the air, and every stray curl on Cleo’s face, and wild horses ran across his hands as the mortal threaded her fingers into his. He stated, carefully, “I know, because it was trickery, that you told the innkeeper we are engaged. Am I correct?”

Why ask her that? Such a straightforward question did not seem so private, nor worthy of awkward hesitation. “You are.”

… Many years ago, the god of trickery and innovation tossed and turned at night, fighting not to weep and wet his newly given silks. He built himself a temple on a mountain. He lined his bed with animal skins. By day, he laughed and schemed and engaged in wicked things. He teased and stole from other gods and had not learned his manners. But at night, that selfsame god lay in rejected loneliness. Unwanted. Unasked-for. Even his mastery was taken from another, for the mortals in these kingdoms did not call and bid him rise. Not in their own minds. Who has ever wished for visits from a thief?

I am more miserable in my independence than I was as a hand, he thought back then. One midnight, that far younger spirit crept to the boat docks and snuck upon a ship that the god his master captained. Naive, desperate, there went the new-made spirit after him. While his master slept in the captain’s quarters upon a bed wide enough for two, the god of trickery and innovation slipped into the sheets beside him and lay a hand upon his back.

But that was not a welcome thing to do. His startled master threw him from the bed, casting him from the room. There the spirit whipped into foxlike form and vanished in the shadows. Behind his crashing paws came shouts of betrayal; a weeping and gnashing of teeth. How frightened he was when he scampered to the god of justice and sleep with his tail between his legs!

He stole ale upon his way. He approached at eventide, coaxing that god to raise his goblet and take yet another drink. Drunken men make dangerous decisions with their power, but rarely did they believe it. The spirit wove silver with his tongue and solicited a potion of starlight that might put his master to sleep for a day. Surely then he could sew himself back in his old place, and the other man would not awake.

“Truly you are genius,” said the god of justice and sleep, and ruffled the fox god’s hair. “But once you bind yourself to him, will you not cease to be? If you wish nothing from your hands, you may as well put them to use for me. Come and cuddle; we shall enjoy ourselves more when you remain yet alive. Who needs Joel anyway?”

The god of trickery and innovation, looking down at Cleo then, took a breath to steady out his soul. A lie always plucks at strings within. Very few play instruments that require no tuning.

Why can I not voice this thought? He tried to speak, but sand ran down his throat like an hourglass. Perhaps he had more in common with the god of justice and sleep than mere glances would suggest. Within him, he felt the steady tick of time curling out.

And Cleo still watched him. Or she awaited him, with trust and patience he did not deserve. The spirit looked upon his six hands, which were gnarled into bird talons. His eyes fell over patchy fur, flaking skin, and swollen gashes. Fleas pursued him no matter how many times he shook himself, for they were his by blessing or curse.

This mortal is a studious one. How can she have read my tales, yet stand before me unafraid? He reached towards her cheek, but did not touch. She had not given that consent. Still, he looked upon her tilted face and could deny nothing. Not anything she asked of him, and not himself. Were he the mortal maple prince… perhaps they could have shared an intimate moment in the crevice of dusk and dawn.

If they renounce me, he thought, then I will seek out Bdubs, as I always do. His dear friend would not ask questions. They could toast their goblets, drink until they were delighted, and he who was justice and sleep would rid him of his hangover. The god of trickery and innovation would attempt to return it, and perhaps be slapped away for his sloppy attempt. That would not be such a bad thing. Emboldened by that thought, he summoned the courage he needed for his next few words.

“I am about to take my leave, but in doing so, I leave you lonely on the night of your engagement. And… I know, through my power, that you did not dislike the kiss we shared back at your family castle.” Those words left him with far less confidence. He began them at good volume, but lost them in the swirls of draining sand. He blinked.

Cleo did not reply to this. Not at first, at least, and the spirit wished she would release his hands. He could not withdraw to his temple so long as her mortal touch bound him to this place. Lightning licked the air between them, and still she did not release. I wish Zedaph had chased us, he thought, for he rather desired a zephyr wind to cast him far away. Perhaps that would break the spell.

A few heartbeats passed as both sought their words. Then said Cleo, as delicately as a master chef laying sauce and cheese on flattened bread, “I cannot conceal my private thoughts from you, god of trickery and innovation. The words you spake back there appealed to me. I did not dislike our kiss. It was, perhaps… desirable. To me.”

“To me as well,” he whispered. “I thought to kiss you again before I depart. Perhaps even more than once.”

The mortal’s fingers tensed between the god’s like the twitching legs of a frog. And hearing such confession on his tongue, she too wished to leap away. Who could stay rooted? She had been plucked up by a child, dropped in a box, and pinned on display. And sensing this, the spirit began to tremble.

I have gone too far.

“I enjoyed your soft kiss,” Cleo told him in a mouse’s voice. “I suppose it would be all right to kiss again tonight. But… I have little experience in the act I imagine you suggest.” ‘More than once,’ he had said, as though they were in partnership.

“So do I,” he replied, which was not untrue. He did not consider himself a virgin man, for he had been born the hand that unstitched the goddess of stone and harvest night upon night, year upon year. He knew her nakedness better than his own. At times, that intimate gesture had been reversed, for the goddess plucked thread out of him, unraveling him, and caressed his entire form with her hand. How, then, could he call himself untouched?

The god could not be certain of how and when he came to be, but he was birthed of sweet Lizzie’s cleverness and laughter, and all the deceit she engaged in while teasing other gods in the pantheon. He was birthed of wild Joel his master, who raised great buildings from sand and water, painting concrete out of powder with his brilliant innovation. Who uplifted and sheltered that woman whom he loved, and twirled and protected her in all the power of fire and crashing ocean waves. The god of trickery and innovation was birthed of the wire-thin line that spans the tide and moon.

I am the lonely stutter that claws between them when they part. I am the swell and recession of the waves. I am the shadow that exists when the moon hungers and which departs when it is full. I am the envy of the god of sea and fire’s left hand when the goddess of stone and harvest tended to his right, which was scorched by the anvil of creation time and time again. The moths ascended me, and I am permitted to court and treasure mortals just like any other god who walks these lands. His mistress and master who created him through their passion were allowed to fall in love. All they ever had to do was ask.

He watched as Cleo tucked some hair behind her ear, for it had pulled loose from the way she’d tied it back. “I am conflicted,” she replied. Hearing this, he began to sink beneath the waves, into the sand that filled his feet. “You spake such sweet and charming things to me at the ball, which were for our trick. You speak to me kind things now. What am I meant to understand from it?”

What indeed? The god cradled the air at Cleo’s cheek against his fingertips, wishing for the bravery to kiss her tender head. “Well… You should know that working beside you pleases me. Your wild mind enchants and captivates me, as a fox whose leg was snapped in a trap.”

“That does not sound very good for you, spirit.”

The god of trickery and innovation considered that wise statement with a smile. “I suppose it doesn’t. Yet I speak of inevitability, and how I am helpless to free myself from your grasp. Time and time again, you sing the song of trickery. You have sewn me in your skin.”

He did not know if those words frightened her. He could not read her expression well with her eyes still shut, even though she faced him with chin upturned. The god cast his mind about, then had another thought. He knelt to one knee, clutching Cleo’s hands in both of his. “Where there is Cleo Clocker, there is trickery and innovation. If I dare compare myself to moth in metaphor, then you are like a candle’s flame. I cannot help the desire that consumes me when I paint your face within my mind. In separation, I will still recall your voice. Those words I said may have tricked your parents and the other gods, but they are not separate from my truth.” He took a breath, for he’d begun to shake. Metal pieces rattled on his back. Did parts of him come loose? He could not bear to check. “I… meant every word I spoke to you when you chose me from that crowd, having little to bargain of my mastery but the labors of my hands and the syrup that I brought. I wish to be more than an echo of influence upon your heart. Please… Will you grant me consent, that I may court you as a spirit courts a mortal? May I visit you again, though our greatest trick is now complete?”

“Well,” Cleo said, her voice trailing into dust and fireflies.

Why does she hesitate? He watched Cleo pat her fingers against his own. When he bent his ear, her thoughts swirled in the space between them, for he could detect their hidden parts.

‘The spirit warned me,’ the mortal said to themself, ‘that gods are willing to lie to steal what they desire. Is this man genuine with me? All others in the pantheon came to court me with lust within their hearts. Now that we have left the castle and he has me to himself, he calls me smart and beautiful and claims he has desire. Perhaps this was his plan. He is no different from the rest.’

Hearing this, the spirit stilled. Little threads within him began to fray. His knees ached upon the floor. “Cleo,” he said quietly. “There is unease within your heart. I should not have asked you for a kiss. You are mine to care for; not mine to want in ways that would turn the god of hearts and husbandry’s eye. These things I’ve said… I am sorrowful for them. If you dismiss me, I will go. Forgive me, please. It was not my intent to cause you discomfort.”

“I am not offended,” Cleo said, though she would not lift her head to him. When she shifted, all the inn creaked, and the spirit felt the walls crashing on his head. “Spirit, you are not the only god to look at me and feel desire stir your heart. You have heard, I suppose, that I allowed the god of war and sky to court me for a time.”

“I have.” The man did brag of it, for he could not restrain his mouth.

Cleo disengaged their hands. She stepped back. The god was left to blink after her, the space empty in between. She said, “I know the gods are permitted to pester mortals for their hand, and have affairs and even long-lasting relationships if they choose to pursue. But spirit, you have forbidden me to look at you. What, then, would your intentions be going forward, if I granted you consent to proceed in courtship? Surely you cannot intend a marriage. How could it ever be?”

He swallowed. ‘Pester,’ she said. I am now another pest. He stalled a moment, clearing his throat in his hand. Then, “I admire the woman you are, and for this reason, I do not lie. I am the god of trickery and innovation. I take delight in both your cleverness and the scheme we designed. I serve you and all the mortals of this land whenever you call upon me, and I did not unite with you in trickery out of secret desire for your hand. Truly, Ms. Clocker, your mind intrigues me, for it is woven in brilliance- I delight in all that you think up. Your charms afflict me as though I am shot. It is… a raw feeling, to see our trick come to an end and wonder if you will visit me any longer. The thought that you may not struck sadness within me. I realized, when I thought such, that I wished to speak with you again.”

“What is your plan?” Cleo asked directly then, tilting her head at him. “Spirit, I am warmed that you call me clever and desirable, but have you not asked yourself what position your courtship would leave me in? How can I love a man I’m forbidden to see? Am I to ask the god of war and sky to send his birds of rainbow here, that they may pluck out my eyes? Or ask the god of justice and sleep to trade his cloak of midnight for a coin? Surely you do not intend to court me with such restriction of blindness on my head.”

The god grew chilled. And within his soul, frayed knots tangled into severed ribbon. “I…”

You have ruined everything, he scolded himself, and covered just a few of his many eyes with his hands. Cleo had spoken this firm way to other spirits. She had not yet turned that strict and calculating voice on him. When she visited his temple, she addressed him in high regard; she did not risk insulting him. He flinched now, for her tongue struck him like a whip of fire. She does not hold back with me. I have confessed to her, and now am lowered in her eyes.

“Forgive me,” said the god, whose many eyes burned as though they dripped with lightning storms. He wished to disappear out the door. With Upwind ahead of him, he could travel quick and fast. The cruel centuries ahead would be far easier, then.

The god did not run, however. Not this time. He stilled himself. He sank lower even than he had knelt before her at the ball. There he lay himself prostrate with arms outstretched, as he had once lain before the moths. Or as he had before Mouse, when she had nipped and scolded him for suggesting she take the role of livestock princess despite being a little creature of the field. “Cleo, I have looked upon you with desire and did not consider the position it would put you in if you accept. I wish for peace this night, I think. This day was long and I am caught up in it. I thought it would be pleasant, to kiss you, and we could both delight in it. To ask if I may court you while requiring you suffer with shut eyes because of my own nakedness was impolite and my misdeed. You are right. Dismiss me now if you wish. Tomorrow, I will return with quiet mouth and respectful hands to escort you to the hidden village precisely as we agreed. You owe me nothing for my presence. You do not even owe me the protection of softened words, for I deserve all harsh remarks. I ask only that you forgive my offense. I will not stumble into it again.”

Cleo did not speak at all. Many poems unwritten without ending swirled within her head, though the spirit could identify none of them. All her thoughts tangled in a ball. As he lay woeful on the floor, Cleo knelt down before him.

She dirties her knees. He meant to warn her, but when the mortal brought her hand to touch the back of his left, the spirit settled as smooth water. He could not speak. Not when she looked upon him like that, or faced him with shut eyes. The mortal lingered with her fingers, drawing them slowly up his arm. She traced him like a treasure unearthed from ancient cave.

At a certain point, Cleo found his cheek. The spirit shuttered all his eyes. The former princess would not hurt him, he thought. He detected no such trickery in her. Rather, he submitted in silence, permitting her touch upon his face.

The mortal’s hand trailed to his chin. It dipped through the shadow strung across his mouth. With one finger, she upturned his jaw. “God of trickery and innovation,” she said with strong voice, “you do yourself disservice on the floor. All that I am - alive and clever - traces its origin to your hands. Kneel with me. You may kiss me once before returning to your temple, or perhaps a second time. I will enjoy it… but I cannot accept true courtship. You, in your labor, have let me free myself to plan a future all my own. I am no longer Princess Cleo Clocker. For the first time, expectations do not weigh on me. I know my heart far better now than I ever have.”

“You need not explain,” he began, before she shushed him with a finger on his lips. Not once did she cease cradling his cheek. Her heartbeat echoed even in her fingertips, falling like rain upon his face.

“Spirit, you have been kind to me, and for this, I thank you. But in truth… when I dream of marriage, I desire consistent presence a god cannot provide. I cannot marry a god whom I cannot look upon. Or one who will not be present with me when I labor in the fields, or is not present to cast myself upon when I am sick, afflicted, or forlorn. When we arrive in that hidden village, I must turn my eyes to mortal companionship. It would not be proper for you to court me then. But for this moment, and this night…”

Saying this, she leaned to him, for he had begun to sit up. Her mouth found his, even blinded by consistency. Cleo burned with fire even when she wasn’t trying. Sweet floral scents still wreathed waves throughout her ringlets. Buttermilk. Rubies. All the world.

His soft lips tasted of salt and maple trees; sand and stone. She tasted glazed porcelain, downy feathers, and stone made smooth by constant water. The god did not reply with words, but with agreement. His hands gripped her arms like the talons of a hunting bird. They grew tight behind her neck and pulled her all the closer. Cleo’s fingers caught at the neck of his clothing. When they kissed his mouth, he met them in his passion. She pressed to him and he pressed back at her. When he drew a hand across her spine, Cleo felt that scar on his palm she’d noticed once before. Somewhere, muffled in the click of saliva trailing over lips, the spirit let out a whimpery, whining noise. In that moment, it did not feel like a trick at all.

How can he be here, she wondered in amusement, if this is not some trick? Surely I trick him to stay. What else could keep him entertained? And that thought delighted her, for to trick the trickster god must be an act worthy of high praise. She pulled him by his robes and caught his cheeks between her hands. He was not, she soon discovered, the only one between them capable of making squeaky little sounds.

A moment passed, warm and bundled in each other’s arms, before the god of trickery and innovation pulled his mouth away. All the air between them buzzed with frost, as though when she fell upon him with her kisses, he could not restrain his powers over ice. “Cleo,” he began, his voice low as river rocks. “You always find a way to achieve that which you set your mind to. You will find man or woman to marry someday, live happily, and after your long labors finally be at peace. I am certain of it. I am glad to have met and worked beside you for a time. You are free to wander and achieve all that you… all that…”

He fell into distraction, his words lost in mumbles, when she tugged his collar and brought his mouth to hers again. When he embraced her, Cleo thought she knew - even though she was not in love - how her sister must have felt to reunite with her lover who was freed.

I kissed many gods and mortals at my ball today, she thought, moving her mouth in time with the way the spirit did. This is no different. I did enjoy his kiss before. She still enjoyed it now. His fingers tightened behind her shoulder. Something metal shuddered more than once, again and again as he shifted before her. The spirit found her one free hand, clasping it in his. Did he peek at her, even though she dared not look at him? The mortal felt along his back, but detected nothing strange upon his skin. All his tales claimed he had made himself of broken pottery, discarded weapons, dry coral, and dead animals, but the moths had certainly covered him with a smooth cloth. Cleo abandoned her wandering pursuits, cupping her hand instead behind his neck. She restrained him. He likewise cradled her.

Cleo did not know how long they stayed there on the floor. Only that her knees grew weary from balancing upon them and surely his fine robes had gotten very dirty. She did not know precisely what moment he swept her from the floor to the bed. She recalled when he lifted her, for laughter snuck between her lips as she wrapped her legs around him. He carted her to bed like a whisk of winter wind. Cleo stirred. All of this she gave permission for with the way she played her fingers at him, pulling his clothing, but when her head dropped upon her pillow, she twitched and somewhat blinked her eyes.

No. I must not look at him.

“No,” she whispered, and the spirit stilled. Cleo shook her head, not yet looking upon him. His hands still secured her shoulders and the cup of her knees, for he had only just set her down. Not for a moment had he touched the lace upon her breast, but even so, Cleo found herself a little frightened by his strength and power. After all, she was mortal and he a wild god. “You cannot undress me. We are not wed.”

“Forgive me, Cleo,” he said, never dropping that tender voice. “I only wished to move you to a more comfortable place. Your kisses were lovely. I am content to tuck you in the blankets and depart… but if you desire my presence any longer, you need only to ask.”

Cleo’s eyelids pressed tighter, though her fingers twitched against the bed. All the confidence within her tremored like a string pulled taut. Why do I allow this? she asked herself, frightened then… and then she thought, Why do I enjoy this so? She had sometimes seen men and women in her kingdom and thought them lovely, but never had she put mouth upon their lips for as long or ferociously a time as she had with the god of trickery and innovation this night. Even the god of war and sky had not come upon her with kisses in her bed. How could she possibly last the night without casting eye upon the spirit, to say nothing of the journey they were yet to take? And how dare she put mouth upon a god?

I am not a married woman. Even if he were mortal, I could not lie with him this night. And in that thought, the gentle roses in her mind stung her with their thorns. I can lie with no mortal. Not ever. Only the god of hearts and husbandry, who can change his form, would not catch a snag within me and unravel me to nothing on the bed. Her breath caught, which the spirit seemed to notice, for it touched her lightly in concern. Cleo softened beneath its gentle hand.

We need not lie together the traditional way to call our night intimate. Surely it is good for my fiancé to lie beside me, holding me in his arms.

But then… this strange man was not her fiancé. Not under proper law, for the second half of their engagement contract had not yet been signed. Nor should it be, for if it ever was, she would bind herself to the spirit and no other man or woman. Who would marry her - if she someday sought marriage - when she had promised her privacy to a god?

Cleo stirred, wishing the god would swoop down and kiss her once again. She could not focus on her troubled thoughts when his tender lips pressed the lines of golden stitching in her neck. But if I ask that of him, I take advantage. If I think for but a moment that love between us could ever be, then I deceive the god of trickery and innovation. It can never be. I must not continue this. It is my duty to find a mortal who delights me, and whom I can freely look upon. She did not mind closing her eyes through brief visits with the spirit, but to require such a thing if they were ever married would be so cruel to her. She could not bear it.

Cleo breathed a moment in the dark. She felt for the spirit’s hand, which lay upon her. He noticed each uneven fall and swell within her chest. He touched her, quietly, and waited while she gathered her thoughts again. “Is it dark, spirit?” she questioned then. “If I opened my eyes, would I see you? Or would I open them only to the blackness of the night?”

Metal clicked. Fabric rustled, brushing across her knees. He sat beside her, but had not taken position above her like a man might before lying with his wife. “It is not dark,” said the spirit. “The moonlight seeps through the window, painting white upon your face.”

“I see. Then…”

Don’t go, Cleo thought, bunching her fingers in the blankets. Once upon a time, the god of hearts and husbandry lay me on my bed. And he lingered for a moment, requesting that I stay and rest. And he traced one knuckle upon her face, smiling down at her, and that bleary, stupid girl knew that so long as she was faithful and aided willingly his temple labors, he would come through for her. If you leave comment with the gods and like their works and follow them in all they do, will they not engage the same with you? Do they not remember who you are? Why, then, did the god of hearts and husbandry leave her words unanswered as though he knew her not?

“Cleo,” said the god of trickery and innovation. “If you desire me to stay the night, I will consider… but I must leave you in the morning for my temple labors. Other voices call to me. Your company delights me, but I cannot abandon them to dwell too long with you.”

Cleo blinked then, her eyes fluttering at the ceiling, for she had tipped her head back so she could not see the man upon her bed. The god of hearts and husbandry once stayed with me, she thought, for as much as she despised him now, she could not deny this truth. Many nights had he spent, in fact, at her side, for when he ceased answering long-distance prayers, the god turned his eyes to those who dwelt within his temple walls. Cleo did not like thinking often on it, for his hands had unraveled her several times so he might wash and tend her cloth. Only proper caretaking could erase the rot within. At least, that was what he said. Yet how often had he touched her in her most vulnerable state? Why, then, did that rot never leave her?

The god of trickery and innovation saved my soul. He entered the realm of the dead for me. He cleaned my cloth, sewing me with his own mulberry silk. And not once had he touched her in some invasive way. At least, not while she was in her conscious mind.

Cleo felt his hand. If they were married, dwelling together in privacy, perhaps then he would not leave. “We kissed again,” she whispered. “Does the god of hearts and husbandry know it? Did he see?”

Another scrape of metal over metal, and this one very loud. Cleo had not felt metal when she touched him, so she wondered what he wore. Not armor, surely? She would have known. “Yes,” said the spirit. "Where lovers kiss, or kindness abounds, or mothers nurse their newborns, there is love. We speak of trickery, which is my domain, but this trickery is a matter of the heart. He is here.”

Strangely, she found it easier to breathe when that thought came. Cleo no longer considered the god of hearts and husbandry her friend, but… if she sat with her thoughts in silence for a time, perhaps she would not be alone. Not until she fell asleep. Tonight would be different from that night he left her side, disappearing down his temple hallway to flirt with women while she lay sick and wheezing on her bed. When she had died, there had been no other spirit to watch her fade. Certainly not within his temple walls, where his influence stood strong.

God of hearts and husbandry… If you have a shred of sympathy, cross my path with that of man or woman who can delight me as this spirit does. Someone I can look upon. Surely, even in his stubborn pride, he would be willing to grant her that.

“You will seek me out again?” she asked. “We must be near your temple now. Perhaps I will start towards it tomorrow. It will be more convenient for you if we next meet upon your mountain.”

“Rest, Cleo,” he told her gently, stroking his hand upon her head. “Spend the sunlight in this town, enjoying peace and independent thought. This next night, I will find and bring you to my temple. It is not necessary you walk alone.”

Don’t leave me, she thought again, but knew it would be wrong to beg he stay. “Yes, spirit. It is better that you leave me now. My eyes are weary from the effort of not looking at you. I must be alone a while.” Alone to consider many things beyond the words which she voiced, for much confused her heart. “But spirit, if we take the long route to that hidden village, we can kiss a few nights more than if we traveled a straight line. We must visit my aunt and uncle in the fishing kingdom. I assured my parents that I would, on my way to Never-Was.”

The spirit considered this unusual request. Cleo’s heart bobbed in boiling water, splashing fire on her skin. “Very well,” it said at last, dearly amused. Leaning down, it kissed once more upon her brow. “How can I deny such request for trickery? Sweet Cleo, you have snagged me in your grasp and plucked my feathers out. Certainly we can detour to the castle and visit your family. I am in no rush. Tend to your needs come morning light. When night has fallen and my temple labors are through, I will seek you out once more.”

Their lips met again, briefly, for Cleo strained to touch him. When he pulled away, a smile wove within his voice. His footsteps drew away, towards the door. “Sleep well, Ms. Clocker… I suspect we have a long journey yet ahead.”

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Orlon

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

The god of trickery and innovation did not loiter long with Cleo, for she had expressed her wish to be left alone. She stated her eyes ached from the strain of holding them shut all the day. Beyond that, the ball and dinner had been exhausting for her… both physically and in matters of the mind. The spirit understood, and departed with haste after releasing the mortal’s hand. Untouched by other creatures, he freely withdrew himself and Upwind to his temple, and there donned his proper posture and steady gait. The temple doors may rest shut at night, but quiet upkeep remained at home. Such was the way of things.

Her scent still lingers on my clothes, he thought, pressing his collar to his nose. Cleo had touched his silk robes with her fingers… and even her scalp. Her scent wrapped him like a scarf and fastened with a button in the front. He knew Upwind’s eyes trailed across him, but he ignored her for a moment. Just the one. When he breathed in, he tasted flower petals on his tongue, like the lotion Cleo spread on her hands- or the spray she scrunched into her curls. He inhaled leather, like the cows and horses that mortal so attentively cared for. Earth, the clay strong beneath his running paws when he traversed the path from here to there. And in this, the spirit smiled sadly to himself.

“I would that she did not send me away on future nights,” he told Upwind, rubbing his palm across her head. “Cleo is wise to take precautions, respectful of my needs, and unwavering in those things she both finds convenient and pursues. Nonetheless, if I could choose which bed I dwelt in this night, it would be alongside she.” He often slept in dens, nests, and caves across the land, and once atop a library shelf curled beside a cat. He did not so easily trust himself to mortal hands. Gods could be harmed in unusual ways, or perhaps someone would seize him in the night and hold his skin, thus binding him to a single location outside his temple without his usual aids.

It is not convenient to delight in Cleo’s presence, he thought, smoothing his robes again, but I cannot deny the steps she has taken to ensure I remain comfortable in conversation. Might comfort outweigh convenience in matters of the heart? The answer to such question lay in the domain of some other spirit, so the god of trickery and innovation could merely ponder from afar. She does not take advantage of me. And did I not say that all she ever asked for, I in my cleverness would deliver? He took so much pride in the thought that the moths should perhaps have struck him to the mortal realm. Many prayers he received were mundane, repetitive, and hardly worthy of the fanfare of a god. In his experience, the work grew easier every year.

Then Cleo approached him, bearing all manner of questions and testing his skills against a prisoner’s escape… first for her sister’s lover, then for her own life. Many things are possible when a mortal begins down a certain path and a god provides but a pinch of aid. Always, Cleo put forth the work to study and plan, and rendering assistance to her delighted him. She did not expect he labor without being willing to work alongside him. She thanked him always. She made an equal force of him.

When his efforts brought light to Cleo’s face… he felt worthy of the title “Friend.”

I love this mortal. It made him smile to admit it, though he wished he could study such feelings in privacy, without the intruding eye of the god of hearts and husbandry. No mortal had ever made him feel quite like this before. The pulse within him beat at the thought of lying beside her in soft bed, speaking to her in lilting voice and trailing hand across her waist. She would be beautiful, nakedness exposed apart from a gown of tousled sheets. The spirit knew this, because Cleo’s rusty hair, tight-pressed lips, strong arms, and steady legs shone their beauty in everything she wore.

And their feet are beautiful, and they wield exquisite hands. The spirit, not long ago, had whispered between her feet when she climbed a barn roof to retrieve a toy for two children who had thrown it there. She had no ladder, but in her cleverness climbed a cart and leapt to the rooftop’s edge. Splinters cut her hands, leaving punctures in her cloth, but she did not waver. And when trickery and innovation dwelt with her then, he smiled and frisked himself about. A cheer went up among the children when their princess tossed them back their toy. And that was the role trickery and innovation were meant to play throughout this world.

Cleo admired him, and she had kissed his face with her lips many times, affection exuding from the way she clasped her fingers with his own. The spirit could not help but wag his tail for her. If she ever offered up her hand, tugging him close and inviting him to stay a night beside her… The spirit, thus entangled by her words, would surely tell her “Yes.” At least, he would desire to in his heart despite the work that awaited him at home. But it could never be, unless he either exposed his nakedness in full - every gross and rotting part of himself - or caged that mortal through restriction of keeping her eyes shut tight.

I could show myself, he thought wretchedly in his heart. I have shown myself to Mouse, and she did not reject me. Mouse had flinched, crying out, when she awakened to a creature sewn of many dead things leaning over her on his work table. She had twisted away and squeezed shut her eyes, which stung him deep within his heart. And that had been Mouse, who was his friend. Not a mortal whom he… had developed some affection for.

Discomforting.

No matter, the spirit told itself, for Upwind was staring now. Cleo has been honest with me, telling me “It is for our trick” and “I cannot marry a man I cannot look upon.” She was right to choose another mortal to wed. He had not the courage to reveal himself. And to require she shut her eyes when turning to her husband would build a cruel existence indeed. This did not yet scratch the surface of the difficulties in maintaining relationships with mortals, for while the spirit had not held such affection for one before, he had witnessed his fellows flirt about. Their hearts often led them into trouble. Mortals and spirits were not a natural pair.

Yes. It would be easier for him, and kinder on his heart, to cherish Cleo on this journey they spent together, then set her free in the village of Never-Was to love and marry whom she chose. He could find another spirit as a partner. See how the god of justice and sleep had been brought into existence as a clock, or how the god of sparks and time had been born a butterfly. Gods were made from all matter of strange things. Surely there could be one, perhaps in another pantheon, who would not mind the dead skins woven in his form.

I will take advantage, he told himself, and delighted in the thought. Not of Cleo personally, but of the time she has kindly offered me. It had been Cleo’s idea to travel by way of the longer path to Never-Was. He would drink up every moment at her side, and this thought delighted him enough to begin his labors for the next day on this very night.

The god of trickery and innovation walked swiftly through the halls, speaking to his acolytes and students when he came upon them. Upwind strode ahead in the form most comfortable to her in recent years, which granted her the hands to hold many papers. These she passed back to him as she spoke, and the spirit read many notes she had worked on while he’d attended Cleo’s ball.

Two of these require immediate attention, it thought. I will stay late this night and finish them. When hungry bellies called, it did prefer to answer straightaway.

The spirit conjured in his mind the path to a moth cocoon that existed in the hunting kingdom. Where cocoons are left hanging on a branch, there exist the moths who birthed him from their silk. Finding one, the spirit summoned himself as near to a certain place in the hunting kingdom as he could. He leapt from the cocoon in the form of a white jackalope, great antlers scooping from his head. He held the name White-Dash-In-Distance, and it did not take much wandering to find curious buck and doe rabbits in the woods. They peered from their hideaways and twitched their noses at him.

“Come and forage with me,” he sang in sweet voice, prancing about in ragged white fur made beautiful by the moon. “There is a garden just past a stone ridge where clover is plentiful and the delicious roots, tubers, and fruits of the earth are yet to be taken for harvest.”

“Is that so?” questioned one doe with downy gray fur. She stepped a light paw from beneath a sumac bush. Recently she had eaten, but her frame still clung to her, for she was not yet fat.

“I have seen it myself,” said he, “and I am he who creeps through shadow and steals food when there is excess. Let us go and eat. Are you not hungry here?”

The rabbits looked at one another, for their bellies were tight with strain as the season of snow drew near.

With some hesitation, three of the rabbits came to follow him, but as he led them towards the garden he knew, one and then the second became afraid and turned back. That small home, which was dwelt in by upright-walking people, was not theirs to pillage.

“I will be with you,” said the spirit, tossing his noble head. When he shook his fur, frost glittered in the air. “Follow me close, and I will show you a path you can take all winter long. I bring certain clever rabbits here every year. So long as you don’t take more than a few mouthfuls from the garden, the man who tills it will not catch you.”

The first and second rabbit grew skeptical of these words. They muttered amongst themselves, then would go no further. “Why have we not heard of these secret paths inside?” one of them challenged, and the other said it would be too dangerous a trek. They disappeared back the way they had come until only the spirit and the gray doe remained. He crouched beside her, pointing forward with one paw.

“There, to the left, is a gap between the leaves. Sweet berries grow just on the other side. Soon the garden caretaker will come and take them, but we can steal a few before they are gone. Follow me, and hunger will not squeeze you tight this winter.”

The doe looked upon the path he indicated, but a swell of fright bloomed within her heart. “Man lives there, spirit. Surely if I go, I will be killed.”

“Surely you will not at this time of night, and if you are quick and sly,” replied the bold jackalope. It tossed its head with so much pride, the doe found herself unable to look away. Such posture exuded elegance, speed, and utter grace. Through long years, he had cultivated the radiance of a buck who would kick against wild predators, dig fine tunnels, and become excellent sire to future kits. How was it he had no partner at his side already?

Perhaps he courts me on this adventure, thought the doe. The spirit must have watched me for a long time, if he calls me clever, quick, and sly. He tests me now to prove my worth.

The spirit pressed close its body and disappeared through the gap in the leaves it had indicated. Their sharp edges scraped his fur. The path broke open in the garden. Here the spirit leapt and twisted his legs, delighting in the open space. Seeing such bold display, the doe left the shadows and dashed after him. Many flowers and berries sprouted in the garden, and its flowers were large with welcoming petals gaping like wide mouths. She could have been swallowed in any of the lush bushes, or drowned amidst the berry juice.

She was not swallowed up in them, nor did she drown. A shot sliced through the night, and the young doe fell with an arrow sprouting from her neck. The spirit looked towards the rear of the house, where stood the weary man who labored in town not only to complete his work, but to care for his infant son whose mother had just been lost. It was his prayer it had come to answer- Not that of the doe’s at all. “Go out to your garden night upon night, even when you are tired, ready your bow, and seek an opportunity,” the god had instructed, and here the man obeyed. Long hours had passed, but his belly would be filled. And hers, as he had promised, would not hunger this winter.

So went his work, day and night. The goddess of echo and memory would someday fill his goblet with a round of mortal thanks. The gods will lie, at times, to secure their own agenda. To forgo their work would risk their mastery. And they do not so easily surrender to that fate.

He completed a second labor that night, then sorted his tasks for upcoming days. When he looked upon his list, pleasure sprouted in his heart. His most urgent works were now complete. All the others could wait a time.

Good, he thought. Now, I complete a task for me.

The moon, though hungry, watched from the sky high above. The spirit took to the wind and snuck out to find the god of justice and sleep, for he intended to traverse the hunting kingdom in the morning. His temple lay upon the way.

He found the phantom god collecting lost souls this night, as he often was. In white wolfskin, the god of trickery and innovation pressed to the other spirit’s legs, then snatched the pack he used to carry souls and leapt away. Shouts echoed after him as the god of justice and sleep gave chase. With a laugh, the fox god led him down a canyon, leaped the brook stones, and tossed the bag back while his friend wobbled on a rock. Overbalanced, the other god toppled in the water with a splash. His bag fell open. Spirits wriggled free, swirling with the stream. Sheepish and scorned, the trickster god retrieved them, and his friend only smacked him lightly on the head.

They slept that night entangled, resting from their work. The god of justice and sleep sprawled across his luxurious nest of blankets. His mouth hung open, noisy in his dreams, but the god of trickery and innovation did not mind. In fact, he cuddled all the closer, the phantom god’s hand resting in his filthy fur. Perhaps he could not sleep with Cleo… but he could tarry with his friend, and that was not such a bad thing.

Morning came too soon, as it so often did. Sunbeams reached out with clawing hands. This haze of light had, of course, planted the seeds of a trick in the spirit’s heart. Then went the god of trickery and innovation to the manor of the god of sparks and time. The creeping guardians of lightning growled at him at the door, but the spirit fed them tender wood and ocean sand, which soothed the storms churning in their stomachs. He came inquiring through the doors, meandering in curiosity and politely keeping his hands behind his back.

The spirit came upon the god in the blackened room where he nourished the storm guardians. He held one in his lap, for it was young and its little belly ached. The god of trickery and innovation looked about, then set immediately to assistance. It was not his first time turning the little creeping creatures on their backs and rubbing their stomachs until they settled down.

“What is wanted?” the god of sparks and time addressed him.

Said the god of trickery and innovation, “The sun falls blindingly upon the snow this time of year, striking the eyes, and even in places the snow has not yet reached, the dry crops burn before the harvest. Give to me an hour, that I might better serve the mortals as is my mastery. I will help them harvest and store their food.”

“I will not give you an hour,” said the elder god, “for you cannot be trusted to use it as you say. Your flattery ends here. Now, depart.”

The god of trickery and innovation pouted, but left without further argument. He cast himself into the grain kingdom, slipping from a moth cocoon still present on a scraggly tree. Finding the god of war and sky did not take long. He was out by the river, fishing today for paper scraps.

“To what do I owe the presence of one so beloved?” that god inquired, pressing a hand upon his cheek. He smiled a smirky smile oft reserved for the mortals he flirted with, though the god of trickery and innovation did not for a moment believe it was aimed at him.

“The crops dry and burn before the harvest. Delay the sun’s journey through the sky, that the mortals may labor longer in the morning before they sweat from heat. It will be to their benefit if they can longer enjoy the dark.”

“I cannot,” said the god of war and sky, “for the sun is herded to me by the god of water and search, who is caretaker of canines, travel, and clouds. Its momentum cannot be slowed once it begins. If I did not sweep the sun into the sky each morning, it would fall and scorch these lands the moths gave me to protect.” He yanked upon his fishing line, then threw the book that snagged his hook aside in disgust. “Ah, ‘Bane of Arthropods.’ Travesty undeniable.”

“Very well,” said the god of trickery and innovation, and departed again. He slipped across the Great River that separated the Basin Kingdoms from those of other lands, as he sometimes had gone in times past. After some investigation, he discovered the god of water and search perched upon a stone. He said to him, “What must I give for you to hasten your chase of the sun, that the days will be shorter this time of year?”

“There is nothing you can give,” replied the god of water and search, “for the sun is set in motion by the god of development and fire. He butts it with his head, casting it through the sky, and I have no power to change its pace. My only duty is to nip its heels, maintaining its course until it spreads its wings and flies. There, it soars across the river and becomes the charge of the god of war and sky.”

So the god of trickery and innovation crossed the lands again, moving farther west than he normally dared to tread. Outside the lands his charge, he lacked his godly powers, so he ran as quickly on his feet as he was able. Had he not completed his most urgent labors, it would be unwise to leave his temple for so long. Across the border, he could no longer exist in multiple places across the lands. Nevertheless, he sought to complete this task for his own benefit, and this thought stirred him onward.

He went to the god of development and fire, who conjured flames from ever-burning pits in the ground and cast them on his forge. The ore and riches of the earth filled his cavern: the red of lightning-dust and the blue of diamonds everywhere you set your eye. On foxy feet, the god of trickery and innovation leapt down the ledges and landed safely at the bottom of the crater. He skirted carefully around the gardens of tomatoes thick with lovely insects, and from there proceeded into the cave where the god performed his work. His great tools fell upon his anvil, and the small spirit waited to one side for the god to turn his way.

The god of development and fire carried the great curved horns of a goat upon his head, and had crafted for his body an arm of metal long ago, that the fire his charge would not burn his wooden skin. When he spoke, he did so with a rumbling voice and did not cease clanging on his anvil. He crafted many great tools for mortals and gods alike, that all might optimize their labors and thrive within the land.

“You are far past the border, god of trickery and innovation.”

“I come not to steal from you, but to give. The sun which you cast into the sky has grown dangerous for our lands, scorching dry crops this time of year. The god of sea and fire dwells with the fishing kingdom, not with the grain kingdom where crops so often burn. Let me share with you an hour of my power over ice and wind, that the sun in exchange may be delayed.”

The god of development and fire considered this unusual request. He looked upon his forge, which burned very hot, and upon his metal hand. “Very well,” he said. “Give to me an hour, and I will delay the sun this time of year. I can promise you only a season, for the summers are pledged in other agreements I have made.”

“It is done,” said the god of trickery and innovation. He pressed his palms to the cheeks of that other spirit, bestowing to him a fraction of his power, and departed the way he came. Thus the days were shortened at the end of harvest season, set to lengthen only towards summer’s sweet approach, and the spirit delighted in it when he looked upon the sky. Cleo had invited him to dwell with her each night of her journey, but of course… he was due to labor from sunrise until sunset, which often kept him occupied.

He would see his lover all the sooner now, and for a few moments longer than before.

Snow fell lightly outside the window when Cleo stirred awake that morning. That alone proved they had traveled far north. After rubbing their eyes and shaking out their hair, they approached the glass to search for nearby mountains. How far were they now from the range where both the god of hearts and husbandry and god of trickery and innovation made their homes?

Oh, thought the mortal. I can see the lake from here. They hadn’t realized a lake lay so close, but it did make sense, for the inn gave room to travelers who wished to see the sights. With this in mind, Cleo dressed and hurried outside before they had eaten. Frost glittered upon the grass. A lone squirrel dashed across the dirt and scurried up a tree.

A scarf would suit me in this weather. She had packed one, but could not be bothered to search for the spirit’s chariot. She wondered if his serving girl had stayed to watch the carriage or if she had vanished after him. Cleo shivered, but approached the lakeside nonetheless. More dirt than sand lined its edges. Many sharp rocks rolled about, but she dared venture far enough to touch the water. Shaking droplets from her hand, she straightened up and looked about. It looked to be a rather small town, but the roads bustled with people, children, and even dogs.

They left the lake to buy a bit of bread, for although some rations had been packed for her journey, they craved something soft and warm. She chose a roll with little seeds on top. When she bit the crust, it crunched in her teeth, so soft and thick upon her tongue. The mortal closed their eyes, inhaling its touch like a breath of air.

She hoped life in the hidden village would feel just like this.

How strange it was to wander the town, studying its windows with no intent to purchase things. To their surprise, Cleo found their palms itching for a horse to brush and feed, or a cow to pat between the ears. She had left her favorite mare at the castle, for she was a gentle beast and would surely be a good companion to Moss. Yet when Cleo looked upon a small stable in town where horses stood to receive new shoes, she ached within her heart. The bread in her hand felt all the crunchier, not to mention dry.

I will miss the life I had… Not because I considered myself deserving of a princess title, but because it was not such a bad life. Had my brother and sister remained, I could have lived forever there. Especially if the spirits did not come and pester her. At least the god of trickery and innovation treated her politely, and did not overstep. Cleo wondered again of his intentions, but this gave way to another thought: I want to ride.

So she did. Finishing her bread, she went and asked the shoe-fitter if there were any horses she might mount for a ride around town- “Or in some pasture; I need not wander far.” He directed her to the horse’s owner, who sat nearby with a book. A horse needs exercise, Cleo reasoned, and to her surprise, the woman smiled and permitted her. Perhaps being livestock princess had some benefits after all.

Her ride did not last terribly long. Cleo rode perhaps an hour, exploring different shops and speaking politely with the woman whose horse it was, for she had put her book away and followed, holding her stallion’s reins. When all was done, Cleo paid the promised coin, then chose for herself a fine lunch of roast duck, vegetables, and fruit. By the time the sun at last rolled to a low section of the sky, she had enjoyed the most relaxing day away from the castle. And if the rest of her life felt anything like this, she had certainly made the right choice in leaving home.

Her room at the inn had been rented for only a night. When dusk swept across the land, Cleo went with her small bag of clothes to the lake again, pondering its beauty and admiring the small creatures that went their many ways. The sun had hardly set when the god of trickery and innovation strode towards her from behind, calling out her name. She nearly turned her head, but caught herself before she could.

“To your temple, then?” she asked.

“We can reach it tonight,” he said. “Did you enjoy your time in this town? We can tarry if you like; I am in no rush.”

“It was pleasant,” Cleo agreed, and told him of the pretty lake, the food she had eaten, the things for sale she looked at, her time with the horse, and all she had done that day. The gold of trickery and innovation rumbled with a laugh, which drew her to pause.

“It pleases me that you enjoyed it here,” he told her kindly, in answer to the unvoiced question. “Forgive me… I laugh because your words delight me. I could not be happier that our trick has led to this, coaxing this joy from you and into the light. Might I kiss your cheek?”

Cleo’s heart beat a little faster, as though she were some knight seated high on horseback admiring the caring eyes of a squire who tended to her every need. That thought alone brought heat into her face. She cast her eyes away, not across the lake, but at her hands and shoes. I grew weary of the god of war and sky when he complained and wheedled for my attention, and I dismissed the god of justice and sleep for doting on me like a father. She did not care for the god of hearts and husbandry. She had not been impressed by the god of travel and arts, nor the god of water and search. Even the two goddesses had come across as blunt and needy. Why, then, did she entertain the god of trickery and innovation? Surely in encouraging his advances, she wandered deeper into trouble with the gods…

Yet her heart beat deep, as though it floated in an empty void. It beat as though it were the only thing within her chest, her wireframe abandoned. “That is fine,” she said quietly, for she thought she might delight in it. In his… kiss. Or at least his presence, even if she did not care for the kiss itself. She should not. She was but a mortal, no longer even a princess. And the man who brought his mouth against her skin was a god.

“I missed you,” he murmured, and Cleo sucked in air. She hadn’t meant to.

“You missed…?” She trailed off, for of course he could not answer. Not kissing her cheek the way he did, one hand entangled with her curls and scrunched to the back of her head. He drew it out, lingering, and it dawned on her that he enjoyed the act.

At night, when they were on the floor… she could pretend that it was in pursuit of pleasure. Her pleasure, as she indulged herself with a man she trusted not to come upon her that night, and he played up his affection in attempt to woo and please. It meant nothing then… How could it? He was… And she was…

Cleo’s breath quailed within her throat. That soft cheek kiss, his fingers in her hair, went unaccompanied by a hand trailing on her hip, or any attempt to rotate her. He did not tease those more sensitive areas- Not even her ears, which the god of war and sky had played with by blowing air at her when they snuggled in her bed. If it were all to trick her, then surely he would pursue her pleasure, swaying her to believe his skill…

But he kissed her cheek as though he liked to kiss her.

He says nice things, Cleo protested within herself, for she did not know what else to think. Last night, he came to me in flattery. He wished to win me over. We were physical with one another, teasing with our hands, but it did not mean…

The spirit paused then, his nose resting against her cheek. His fingers tightened ever slightly in her hair, pinching behind her scalp. Cleo drew in a breath. Then he pressed his lips again, lower on her jaw. The mortal, with uncertain hand, reached behind her to caress him. She could not look, but bid him close with silent press.

I do not mind him the way I minded other gods. What favoritism had she developed, that he had snuck between her ribs? Why did her hand press tighter, not pushing him away?

Ever attentive, the god drew another kiss down her neck. Prickles raced up her skin, and Cleo turned to kiss him back. The spirit froze against her like a tree, but with her eyes tight shut, she did not hesitate to find his lips.

I won’t think about it, she decided. Their lips remained against each other, moving lightly, as the god’s hand fell to catch her waist. Not in teasing, but in a steady way. He squeezed. Cleo encircled his neck with her arms. It is only for our journey, after all.

With the night still young, they traveled to a larger town Cleo had often passed through on her journeys, and from there rode the carriage up the spirit’s mountain. Cleo had only come on foot, having found it the less annoying way to go, but the god of trickery and innovation knew this land, and he knew the horses who pulled them along. They would not shy away from the crevices Cleo had been hesitant to cross. Not when their master whispered in their ears.

“You have options,” said the spirit then, and Cleo startled in the quiet. She almost looked at him. She… she may have glimpsed the shape of arm or knee, just as she had the day before, and instantly shut her eyes. Her heart hammered within her, beaten flat upon an anvil, and she steadied her palms against her lap.

“What?”

“For where you will sleep tonight.” He sounded amused, not uncertain, and moved his arm behind her shoulders as unease crept across her soul. “Guests may dwell in private rooms if they wish, or you can room with my students if you prefer the company. Or, if you wish it, you may sleep in bed with me.”

“‘With you?’” Cleo echoed. “I cannot. Surely it is blasphemy to intrude upon your bedchambers when we are not wed.”

“It makes no difference to me, whether we are wed or not,” he replied, and Cleo’s hands began to shake. “After all, I was only partly wed to the goddess of stone and harvest through extension of my master. I have cared for many creatures of the woods, even bringing them food and helping raise their cubs, and it pleased me to serve and sleep beside them. I will share my bed if you request it. Nonetheless, it is your choice. If you desire private room, I will secure it for you.”

He desires me, she thought, and felt swirls grow within her like a galaxy thick with stars. A certain paste thickened in her throat. Surely it is wrong to lie beside him. He is a stranger to me. If things were different, perhaps. If their engagement had been real. If their courtship had been longer. If she were not a mortal. If he were not a god.

“I cannot share your bed, spirit,” she said. “I must refuse. I could kiss you on the floor, or at the lake, but in a bed, especially yours, I… would not find it easy to leave.” Perhaps they would kiss even more. Perhaps they would both grow carried away. Perhaps he would undress her, which frightened her, or place hand on the spot that hid her crooked loom. Cleo bit her teeth into her lip and hoped he did not hear these treasonous thoughts. She wished not the spirit to discover she still felt frightened in his presence, but… she did not know him, even if she trusted him to travel with her. And he in his power, thin he may be, stood far stronger than she.

Cleo spoke again, more carefully this time. “I cannot kiss you if we sit upon a bed. It would be too much for me.”

“Very well,” said the spirit. He remained unbothered, his posture as loose and flowing as his words. It drove her absolutely mad. How could he say such wild things, entangling her mind, and brush them off again?

“I could kiss you in the carriage, though…” It might be exciting as they clicked and rocked their way up the frosty ridge.

“Oh,” said the spirit. “Very well. If you insist.”

They dwelt four nights in the spirit’s temple home. Cleo had not planned to stay so long, but the spirit seemed very pleased to visit her between his working hours, and he always announced his arrival so she would not turn and see him.

At times, he shared half a meal he had prepared, which was elaborate and filled with bread, meat, and cheese. He brought it to her on a plate, and from the cut mark down its side, Cleo knew he had sliced his own in half. Twice, she and he were caught by some servant or acolyte with their hands and mouths upon each other, for they stole kisses now and then. This was far easier for him than it would be to visit her if she were in another town. So you see, it was for his convenience that she dwelt so long; nothing more.

Well, perhaps that is not quite true. After all, she found it very convenient to explore the spirit’s library and speak with the students who were studying for exams this year. Many of them would go on to be teachers and inventors, for while the god who dwelt here might be called a trickster, he ruled innovation to his core. All things crafted from mortal hands were rendered unto him.

Cleo walked in the evenings through the spirit’s garden. She paused once beside his sundial and turned her head in surprise towards the sky. It was only a moment later the spirit arrived to see her, at once polite and cheeky in his way.

“What thought ensnares you?” he asked, waiting as he always did for a signal to touch her hair.

“Sunset came early,” Cleo murmured back. “Are you off work now?”

“I am.”

“What labors have you crossed off your list today?” It had become their favored game, for while he would regale her with his tales, she would wander the rooms of his temple for a quiet spot they could sneak away. She did not like to kiss within her bedroom, for the risks of ending flat upon the bed were far too great. That great window, rounded like the moon with a seat big enough for both of them, would do quite nicely. She did not intend to engage him long.

The god of trickery and innovation wove his tale, eager as he ever was to speak of his humble works. He oft engaged in little things… squabbles between two sisters, or rebukes between two brothers. The hunting season was about to reach its end. He need not run with the herds as the snow grew thick, but winter would keep him on his toes. So many creatures of the forest relied on trickery and innovation to recall where they had hidden food, or else went and stole it from another. Between soft and hidden kisses, Cleo built up a sudden thought. She turned her cheek, stopping his lips upon her neck in place of her mouth.

“Have you gone and bothered the god of sparks and time? Are you the reason the days are shorter now? It is the second time I’ve wondered.”

She could not see its eyes, but she rather thought the spirit bent its head, batting its lashes up at her. “For what purpose would I pester, Cleo? Surely the god of war and sky is the one distracted from his charge.”

“You did. I know that tone of yours. You have pulled some trick, that the sun sets sooner than it once did. That is why you come and find me quickly after.”

“You are worthy of it,” he replied, and laughed at what look came upon her face. Not a scowl, exactly, but something caught between that and surprise. “The mortal I hold affection for told me I could visit after sunset. Did you think I would not take advantage of every moment that we find?”

How warm his language… How alluring that tongue, which may not be filthy, but charmed her like a snake. Cleo breathed, but could not think of what to say. After a moment, she decided not to speak at all. She pulled the god by the front of his silk robes, fit her lips to his, and they stayed in that moon-like window until far past the time he would have closed his temple anyway.

But they could not stay forever on that mountain. After all, a secret village lay ahead. Cleo wondered if her parents had sent word of her arrival to the fishing kingdom, for she had promised she would visit her family there. If she never showed face, it might leave her parents sick. The god of trickery and innovation pouted when she told him this, until Cleo reminded him (buttoning the upper section of her blouse, which had pulled apart a moment ago when they began to kiss) that he was the last man seen traveling with her. If her parents suspected she disappeared, surely they would hunt him down.

“They would not find me. I came in disguise.”

“I won’t have them worry for me. Besides, spirit… Your hospitality is admirable, but I cannot live with closed eyes for the remainder of my life. It would not be convenient for me.”

He sighed, but rose from the soft chair where they had sat together (He upon her lap, for she was somewhat bigger and stronger in that way). “Very well, my love. I will take you to the castle, and then to Never-Was.”

Cleo’s fingers gave a twitch. “Do not call me that. This… We are traveling. Do not call me ‘love.”

“Forgive me my misdeed,” he replied, and kissed her on the neck in his favored way. With a hum in his voice, he went away to finish preparations. Did nothing dissuade that man? It burned her eyes, that way he did not wail or gnash his teeth or beg her to stay. She could be honest with him, telling him her plans… and even if they were not his preference, he did not protest. How incredibly cruel. Cleo lingered, her hand upon his kiss.

He is far too sweet with me. I am safe beneath his hands. Ah, if he were not a god…

She dared steal outside the temple walls, just far enough away that surely, the god of hearts and husbandry could hear her reluctant prayer. She had little to offer him, but tossed a small bracelet with a jewel upon the dirt. Once she cast it with her voice to the god above, it would make its way to whomever he desired it. She did not need that particular piece.

Unite me with a mortal who treats me as well as he, she begged the sky. Warmth threatened to trickle down her cheeks. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. I cannot bear to stay with him. I have pleaded, but he will not show himself to me. Am I to choose between this man who is kind to me, but who restricts my sight, and the open unknowns?

“Have you any pie?” asked a voice above her, and Cleo almost spun and hit him. She turned at once to find the god of hearts and husbandry seated on a high tree branch, peering down with smugness in his stare. Cleo, to her disgust, noticed he made no attempt to prevent her from staring up his robes. She averted her eyes.

“I do not have any pie.”

“Ah, pity. I would prefer that to a bracelet. Toss me a pie next time, would you? Just hurl it rrrright into the ground.”

“That would be a lot of wasted effort for me.”

The god of hearts and husbandry grinned. He held his feet, cross-legged on his branch. “And a good deal of fun for me.”

“Why do you reply to me directly?” Cleo asked, cocking her head at him. Given his appearance, she had clearly not been wrong that the god of trickery and innovation’s temple space ended a few paces behind her. She shifted, prepared to dart back across his sphere of influence if the god above engaged in sudden movement. “Did my request offend you that much, that you wish to shame me to my face?”

“When have I ever done that? You delight and amuse me, so why would I come to scold? I wish more mortals begged and called my name the way you do.” The god gripped the branch, then dropped himself low so he dangled by his hands. He swayed just once, then swirled his energy with the breeze and reappeared upon his feet. Perhaps he wished not to dirty his robes with dirt, but Cleo would have liked to see him fall. “Right, then. Do you seek the village of Never-Was?”

Cleo frowned. “I follow the god of trickery and innovation. He bears my heart and leads my trail.”

“I thought it wise to clarify,” said he, folding a temple roof with his fingers. “You approach me and say, ‘Send me a mortal who is exactly like that god, but is no god, that I may fall in love with him,’ but that isn’t really what I do. Only a mortal mind can guide a mortal body. I exist where love is made, but building it up, well… That task is left to you.” So saying, he tread forward, bent himself, and took their bracelet in his hand. This he held out to Cleo, who took it back in some reluctance. His smile, however, never did depart. “Keep it. I cannot accept something so neat-made for a request I can’t fulfill.”

The mortal did not reply as they slid the bracelet on their wrist again. Its metal pieces pinched, clacking together as they moved. Cleo wished the god would go, but he seemed content to take up space, as if he had nowhere else to be. Cleo supposed he didn’t, technically. He too had closed his temple doors. He could go wherever he wanted. But why must it be here?

“How did you choose your husband?” she finally decided to ask. “I have heard you widely admire womankind and he is your one exception. How did it come to be?”

“You did not read that story?”

“I did not bother, no.”

The god rolled his eyes about, dismissing this statement that she made. Cleo ascertained he did not believe her. She watched the great wings upon his back, for she found it easier to fixate on them than upon his face. “It is true: I admire feminine beauty, and that which is adjacent. My wife could tell you that.”

“You had a wife?”

“Do you read none of my stories?” he demanded, setting a hand upon his hip. Cleo shrugged her shoulders, feigning she had not. He sighed.

“There is purpose in what I say. Know this, if you hear nothing else: intimacy exists in the eye of those who chase it. Before I ascended to the form I have now, I grew in the dirt upon my mountain: a strange oak upon the ridge. Do you recall?”

“You were carried as an acorn by a squirrel.”

“You do read of me,” he accused, pointing a finger.

“When punished, as a child. Not on purpose.”

“It was quite the journey,” he said, a bit affronted now. Cleo did so delight in riling him up, though she forced her expression to remain as neutral as it could. “That squirrel dwelt with me a long time, and had her family, and her children had their families. All departed eventually, but one descendant who remained. When she passed on, she was plucked at by a vulture that had strayed from the Southern Canyon kingdoms. It was in that moment that I ascended. I dropped a branch upon its head and fell into existence. The moths without number cast eye upon my plight. They named me god of hearts and husbandry: he who spreads fair health and love. I keep her in a box beneath my bed even now, if you wondered.”

“I did not.”

The god shrugged, brown wings rustling as feathers fanned out. “I am not the only god who was born of trees and earth. My husband, the redwood, grew beside me with roots intertwined. For years we were companions and I would feel emptiness if I departed from him. But what I feel for him is not what I felt for my wife. My husband is a man whose presence I delight in, when he makes the time to dwell with me. There exists fine nuance in between. You know, I’m sure, that I cannot lie with him as mortals do. While that power is mine, it is mine alone. He does not bear it. It is precious, to me, that we spend our time together. I hold his hand because it was our natural state, but I do not desire the mind of man that way.”

“… That is sad to hear. I do look up to you, because I hold affection for womankind. I admire that bond between you and your husband. I am… surprised to learn you differ in that way.” How cruel for the god of travel and arts, to be married to a man who did not love him enough to feel desire in his heart. How could he stand it? It pierced her soul, staking her against the ground. Perhaps, she thought, that is why he stole the silks of the god of war and sky. Could it be that other man treated him better than his husband after all?

In answer, the god sighed and drew his fingers down his nose. “I love my husband in many ways. He is constance and stability. He has seen my every insecurity. Conveying the shades of our relationship is a task I do not attempt at this time. But if I could give you some advice… you can learn from me.” He gestured then towards the temple walls looming behind her. Cleo did not turn to see, having learned to be cautious in the home of her host spirit. She studied the god instead, somewhat puzzled, when he swept his hand up and down. “I would not have my husband had we not admitted our expectations and found a life that works for us. Is it yet true that you desire man or woman who will not lie with you in bed, lest you unravel in the sheets?”

How dare you ask me? Cleo thought, looking at him through one eye. Of course the god of love would know what secrets dwelt within her heart. Did he gain pleasure when she humbled herself to explain? “It is as you say.”

The spirit dipped his head, spreading his arms and wings as though in bow. “There exists other intimacy for you, Cleo. Keep your chin up. You will find it, if you ask. When you desire something so intently, speak it to the one you love. It is far easier to discuss expectations when the time arrives than to court desire from a distance.”

“Thank you very much,” she murmured, though she found his advice more than a little strange. “And… thank your husband, please, for the safe and speedy travels I have had.”

“Thank him yourself. He would enjoy that pretty bracelet, I am sure.”

“Very well,” Cleo said, and threw her jewelry to the dirt again with a sigh. She left at once. If the god of travel and arts arrived to speak with her, she knew it not. Nor did she intend to entertain.

The following days found them in the fishing kingdom. They traveled north, wandering the coast, and mingled with Cleo’s family at the castle. Cleo introduced the god of trickery and innovation as her fiancé and felt him bow his head to the king and queen. When she met with Jimmy separately, he rubbed a finger below his lip, scrutinizing the spirit up and down.

“Something is strange about you,” he remarked, “but I cannot determine what it is… Ooh, it strikes me! You are foolish enough to lock lips upon my cousin!”

Cleo swatted him upside the head. He giggled, rubbing his neck, and the god huffed through his nose in some amusement. All in all, the visit was a pleasant one. Cleo maintained politeness to her aunt and uncle, and teased Jimmy the way she used to when they were young. “And how is the grain prince?” she asked him once. They sat together on a sofa in his room, their legs kicked up in that way two cousins can. On the table before them lay a puzzle and a chess set, both of which they were picking at and neither of which they intended to complete that night.

“Who? Tango? He has innovated a strange taste; he calls it sourdough bread. Here… He sent me home with a sample; you should try a piece.”

Cleo felt herself unwinding, relaxing with Jimmy again. Visits had been more frequent in their youth, but not since she’d grown ill and died. Speaking to him of his friend the prince and playing games up in his tower bedroom swept her back to childhood games of beating each other on the head with pillows they pretended were swords. In absence of her sister, in absence of her brother, and far away from her new friend Moss… she found herself peeling layers off her skin as though scrubbing with hard soap in a very long, warm bath.

They played their games, spoke lightly of Tango, discussed her fiancé, argued over the chessboard, and at one point collapsed exhausted on the soft floor cushions that acted like backless chairs. Cleo said something about her fears of the future. Jimmy returned it. And in the end, they were both confessing fears and secrets, which turned to moaning they had no wine to drink. Jimmy waved his hand, claiming he had stashed some before his brothers had discovered it and stolen it away. “Ooh, bad boy,” Cleo remarked, and he laughed and put back his head. They were both exhausted.

She grabbed a pillow and hit him with it anyway.

“We will have separate rooms tonight,” she told the spirit later, on her way up the stairs to the second squat tower. She intended to wash her hair, and he had followed her that far because no one had told him it was not allowed. “We are expected to stay a few days. To rush out would be unbecoming.”

“I will catch up on my labors, then, so I might spend more time with you when we journey next.” He then moved a bit to kiss her lips, for she had turned her head to him with eyes closed. His touch, as always, ghosted softly on her skin. He cleared his throat as he drew away. “If any ask where I have gone, tell them I climbed out my window and went for a walk in the garden.”

“If Jimmy hears that, he will wait up late to watch. His tower faces your room.”

“Well, I suppose I could sneak through your window instead.”

“Be serious,” Cleo teased, and received both a kiss on the cheek and two hands squeezing at her shoulders. The god retreated down the stairs, and they passed the next few days in pleasant (albeit less physical) peace.

When at last they departed from the bustling castle town, Cleo placed her hand upon the spirit’s knee. The carriage bumped across the stones in the path. The horses moved quick, perhaps as eager to reach their destination as she had been a week ago. Cleo tilted back her head, breathing in the scent of fish like a second home. “Is it much farther?” she asked the spirit nestled in the seat beside her.

“Back towards the border with the hunting kingdom,” he replied. His hand trailed across her wrist. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “I have enjoyed our travels together, Cleo, for reasons beyond the affection we’ve shared. You are… ever enjoyable to talk to. Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps someday,” Cleo told him, though in their heart… they could not find an answer. His temple sat on high mountain between the livestock and hunting kingdoms. Now, in the fishing kingdom, she dwelt even further out. What did a mortal who wasn’t princess even ask him for? They reached a hand towards their ear and tangled fingers with the cloth holding back their hair. Since her false engagement, she had not worn the other spirits’ favors. She maintained only his. “I… am grateful for your time, spirit. I do not know what I did to deserve so much.”

His fingertips pressed against her shoulder. In spite of his night visits, in spite of his many kisses… he remained delicate and (perhaps) a little shy. “You indulged in cleverness, Cleo. It turned my eye.”

“If things were different,” she began, wavering on a pin.

“And alas, they are not,” he replied. “You are not wrong to desire a life where you need not close your eyes to walk about. I understand.” He pressed a kiss against her scalp, rubbing her shoulder up and down. “All of this is behind you now. Settle in the village of Never-Was. I have built you a home and picked good neighbors for you. If you lack anything, you have only to ask. All that I have can be made yours.”

“Is that true, spirit? Why would you share with me, if we are not engaged?” After all, that was the promise he had made in trickery at the ball. “You need not uphold it. Surely there are others your time is better spent with.”

The spirit softly shook his head. “I choose to share my labors with you. You underestimate yourself.”

Hmm. “That is one thing I do not do. I find my way through anything, after all.” She closed her eyes then, hands folded in her lap. On they traveled to that secret village, where she would find a home of her own… and friends, and perhaps some animals, and a brand new life. Princess Cleo Clocker was no more.

I am only Cleo now. Cleo, hand in hand with the trickster god.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Camlet

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

Many houses in the fishing kingdom stood tall, sculpted primarily of stone so they might easily weather storms and floods. The home the god of trickery and innovation had prepared for Cleo was no exception. Even the barn was stone, and while the dwelling’s rooms were not as excessive as those in the castle, they very easily kept warm. This, thought Cleo, should serve her very well, given that all firewood must be collected and prepared by her own hand, without assistance. The spirit led her into the first room by the hand, then bid her farewell. It kissed her scalp, then disappeared into the night. She heard its paws spring across the fence before sudden snow whispered it away, to dwell with her no more.

She walked the stone floors on soft feet, feeling somewhat overdressed in her royal gown. The kitchen appeared clean and well-lit via windows and well-placed lanterns. She could carve a turkey or pig upon the counter and easily drain excess inedible silk-stuff into a bin, where it could be washed and used for thread. The wire structure within each animal, she could easily set aside in a stone box outside her kitchen door, for it led directly into the yard at the side of her home. Cleo only had light knowledge of how to clean and reassemble it into something useful, though she knew many people in the livestock kingdom could. She did remember learning a bit when she was very young, but this was one of many studies she had set aside in favor of others, such as travel and studying the gods. Standing there by the door, she cast her eyes down the road and resolved to speak to her neighbors soon, learning who among them might possess such a skill. Surely one would, for many neighbors seemed to have some animals, even if they were only chickens.

If none, she thought, then surely I can take it to market. There must be someone who would want the metal. Many ships paused in the fishing kingdom’s harbor before traveling on to other lands. Those descended of Basin Kingdom ancestry had bodies made of cloth and wire, but they were not the only people to walk this world. The wooden folk in the Great River kingdoms may not have metal in their skin, but there were others across the sea who were metal entirely, for their gods had built them just as the moths without number weaved her ancestors into being. Cleo thought she remembered seeing a clockwork person once in her youth, though she could not recall with accuracy. She had danced with the god of void and drafting at her ball. Somewhere upon this world dwelt people of clay, people of leather, of paper, of leaves, stone, chalk, snow, ores, and glass. Someone would desire the wire she took from slaughtered pigs and cows. She simply had to find them.

The god of trickery and innovation had prepared for her a bed, no less wide than the one she had slept in all her life at the castle. Cleo caressed a finger down its side. The blankets were thick enough that she would not freeze in winter, even if the fire died low at night. The mattress, as near as she could tell, had been well stuffed with clean straw and wool. The mortal brought her things into that room, changed from her royal gown into bedroom clothes, and lay down her head for well-deserved rest.

When morning came, she fed her animals and befriended her neighbors. To one side, a married couple - Bee and Pearl Big - raised fish in their farm for food, and many village children loved to chase the frogs that hopped about the area. Cleo met their cat before she met the residents. She scratched its head when walking the path to town, then returned to find Pearl waiting at the fence, full of curious questions on who she was. Cleo did not mention her status as a former princess and Pearl did not seem to recognize her. Perhaps this was some magic of the god who’d sent her here. After all, he’d reassured her she could live peacefully alone.

Pearl, Cleo thought, may be one of the most lovely women she had ever met. She stood taller than her husband, but walked about with utter grace, and those dogs her companions played around her feet. She did not make a nuisance of herself in personality, though she kept her looks very well. She did not paint her face, or if she did then her work was subtle, and she always appeared relaxed when working in the orchard. In the evenings, Cleo would soon discover, Pearl would sit on a barrel with her guitar and strum chords. Her dogs would sit in a line before her, panting with their tongues. At a certain point, all would lift their voices and howl. It would be obnoxious, were they not in sync (or if they went on far longer). Rather, whenever Pearl signaled for them to shush, they did.

I know her, Cleo thought soon upon arrival, for she stiffened when she heard the howl and song. Years ago, very briefly, their paths had crossed in the temple of the god of hearts and husbandry. How many women could there be with pretty white skin, shimmering brown hair in a waterfall, who sat comfortable in loose clothing and sang with her dogs? All of these aspects overlapped, and this was enough to pierce the magic veil. Because unless they were mistaken, this… THIS, here with them now, was the woman that cruel god had cooed over in admiration, leaning his ear to her whisper, when Cleo had stepped from their room to beg his aid.

Cleo had retired to quarantine that night, cast there by the god for being sickly. She had cried and rotted her silks, all because the spirit who could heal her had decided to fritter his time in conversation with the many pretty maidens who bat their eyes at him. She did not blame Pearl, but when Cleo first watched her play her song, Pearl trailed off. She had witnessed how fiercely Cleo stared. The cat trot away. The dogs turned their heads. Pearl hugged her guitar tighter to her chest, and Cleo blinked. To be polite, she smiled back with far more warmth than she really felt.

Bee noticed, when he came to join them. He greeted his wife with a kiss to the temple and settled beside her. Pearl began to play guitar again. The dogs lifted their voices to sing. All went well in that conversation, until the man sought Cleo later that night and knocked upon her door. He brought baked goods rich with the chocolate of the Great River kingdoms - the land his wooden skin did testify he hailed from - but withheld these treats until Cleo finally looked him in the eyes.

“Did my wife offend you?” he asked first, and when Cleo denied it, he said, “Okay. It looked as though you stared. I apologize.”

“She struck me as familiar; I meant no offense. You have both been very kind.”

“‘Familiar?’” He was curious.

“Not enough to be identified,” Cleo replied.

Bee excused himself a moment later, but she felt peeping eyes upon her for weeks as she looked after her fields. How very odd her neighbors were.

Something about Bee struck her as familiar too, but she did not dare voice this thought. Some men born in the Great River kingdoms crossed the border to labor in the grain kingdom’s fields, or trade goods, or live for many years. Some helped with animals in the livestock kingdom, and some traveled north to fish or sail. Cleo had met a few throughout her years as princess, but quailed at the thought of pressing Bee where he had come from lest he take it as an insult. So she watched from afar, puzzling over whether she truly had met him before, and he watched her through the curtain across the walking path. Cleo saw him often wading in the water, or bending down to pluck up a frog. He spoke to them as though they really understood.

She never mentioned his familiar eyes or beard.

The spirit had been kind enough to bless her new home with two cows, six chickens, and four sheep, which Cleo considered more than generous. She fed them each morning and cleaned their bodies and pen. The spirit had also planted some grain, beets, and potatoes, and while these were not the rich and sprawling fields of the grain kingdom, Cleo ate what she had. She milked the cows and drank their milk, apart from that which she turned to cheese and used to flavor her potatoes. She ground the wheat into bread. With coin, she purchased fish from others in the community; all went well in this way.

Her other neighbors might be brothers, or possibly lovers. She did not know for certain, knowing only they were friendly when they patted each other on the shoulder, and by the time she thought to ask, the acquaintanceship had moved too far along that she thought they might tease. The first man, Scott, colored his hair as blue as the sea with dye crushed from flower petals. He knocked on her door the evening after she moved in (even rousing her from bed) and asked her, point-blank, “Did the god of trickery and innovation escort you here?”

“Yes,” Cleo answered with some hesitation. “Did you see him?” Her heart quickened at the thought. Never had she peeked at the god who’d shared his silks with her, and while she understood he likely wore a mortal disguise when he came here, learning something new about his face would bring a sense of peace the mystery could not.

“I may have,” grumped the blue-haired man, crossing his arms. “For some time now, I’ve watched a white fox skulk about this road. One appeared shortly after you went inside; it walked this fence and took a long look at my chickens. It even licked its muzzle before I told it off. I know it was him; he laughed and called me ‘Cheeky and astute’ before he went and hid. If he’s a lover of yours and will visit often, I would like to know. Should he kill my chickens, I may decide to shoot him.”

How wild his tongue! “No, no lover. I do not seek the intimate company of gods.”

“Why not?”

And this straight-faced comment, Cleo found exceptionally funny. “Well, it seems dangerous,” she told him.

Scott lifted a brow and replied, “I should think that makes him all the more intriguing. See, any man who commands the elements, braves the land of dead, or tears apart quarry with his teeth must absolutely thrill in bed.” And Cleo, who had never had a man speak so crassly with her during her castle days, knew they would be fast friends.

On her third day in town, she welcomed Scott to see her place, as he mentioned he’d spent days squinting through his window with a mug feeling he’d gone mad if that were a god building it across from his. Cleo offered one of the fresh-baked cookies Bee had brought earlier that same evening, which Scott accepted. He walked about a few moments, then turned to her in alarm.

“There are livestock outside. Winter comes upon us very soon. Have you any food stored?”

“I did notice the god did not stock me well,” she dryly replied. “He was generous to give me some animals, plus wheat, potatoes, and fruit ready in trees and my small field, but none has been harvested. Beyond the garden and laden trees, the cabinets will be mine to fill. He provided no oven I can use to turn flour into bread. I once crafted myself a bow and shot a deer, but I am of the livestock kingdom, not the hunting one. Do you ever sell your chickens? I’ve traveled to market as I’d rather not eat my few animals until new ones are bred. If it saves me a trip, I would be happy to purchase from you.”

“Intriguing,” Scott mused, tapping at his chin. “I imagine we can work something out. Do you have enough coin for new livestock this year?”

“Not if I must purchase all my food and salt until I can build an oven. If you could teach me to fish, I’d be very grateful and pay you for your time.”

But Scott looked thoughtful for a moment. “I have enough to get by because of my sheep. It’s been a fine year for me, and I could purchase two more cows for you. The winter of this in-between place is not too harsh, so I think you can weather it if we are clever with resources. If you come to market with me and help lead two cows back, I’ll leave them in your hands in exchange for beef when you’re able to spare it.”

A debt. Frightening, but not a terrible idea. Cleo paused. Two more cows could significantly improve her current farm set-up. She would require additional feed, but the more cows she had, the more she could breed to a bull. “I am willing, but that will be a year away at least. I accept your offer, but if you ever find the time, I would still love to learn some fishing skill. Perhaps I can teach you something I know.”

“Can you sew?”

Cleo, a bit surprised, said, “Quite well.” Many textiles were fashioned in the livestock kingdom; you did not stay there long without mastering some sewing skill. Certainly not if you were princess.

“I should like to decorate my tunics,” Scott said, looking down at his in some distaste. “There is nothing pretty in my size when I go to market, but all material is expensive; I hate ruining it with mistakes and always put the effort off. I will teach you fishing if you teach me to sew my own clothes. Pearl cannot sew either, but she is a great hunter with her dogs; surely she will trade meat for lessons when she knows you.”

“I am happy to teach. But you must brace yourself for mistakes; mastery takes practice. I will help you start. Any tunics you dislike, you can give to me. We look about the same size and I don’t mind a ragged look.”

He cast his hand upon his chest as though astounded. Nonetheless, he agreed upon these terms. Cleo thought him incredibly silly, and his dry humor matched hers right from the start. Truly, they were due to become the fastest friends.

As he’d promised, Scott escorted her to market, where he helped her purchase and bring home three cows. Three, because Cleo opted to purchase one more now that she had Scott’s promise he would help her fish. The god of trickery and innovation had not sheared the sheep he brought her and the season to do so neared its end. Cleo invited Scott to watch her work. She cleaned and prepared the wool, dyed it, and worked the yarn on a lovely standing loom the god had, in fact, provided. Though the process took some time, Scott remained invested, and when Cleo completed a jumper as blue as a cloudless sky, she offered it to him as a sign of friendship. This, Scott accepted quite greedily and clapped as though he were in the theater. His wicked smile made her laugh, for he looked like her cat back when it stalked a mouse.

“How delightful! My father was of the livestock kingdom before he came here to the fishing one. I raise the sheep, but it was my twin brother who knew to shear them, and he’s disappeared to another land. In recent years, I’ve sold the right to shear wool to many of our neighbors, as they use it to dress themselves or take it to market for coin. If I paid you, would you make me another warm shirt like this?”

“I think that could be arranged. I am also skilled with leatherwork. If you are willing to pay, give me your boots and I will mend their toes and heels.”

Scott witnessed her the process of how to bait a fishing line, where the deep spots in the river lay, and how to prepare a fine fish to eat. Cleo mused that she could have brought her loom out here, weaving while Scott fished, and they agreed to give that a try. They enjoyed one another’s company and talked for hours upon hours. Cleo could not be more glad the god of trickery and innovation had brought them both together. At times she walked the road to its end and noticed empty plots of land where one day a house might sit. The spirit had not erred, she thought, in setting her across from this sweet and pleasant man.

Cleo came to know her neighbors. She also asked about the village and found that only one woman could repair shoes, and she was getting old in years. Cleo’s heart, so struck, brought her to kneel at the woman’s feet. Her tongue did not confess herself the old princess, but came in humility. She asked for old stories of the kingdom. She asked to show her skills, that the woman might correct them, and this brought a great smile to the woman’s face. One of her grandchildren saw this and found Cleo later, outside.

“She has not smiled in a very long time. Our mother learned to fish here, breeding salmon at the river. Our father is of the hunting kingdom, and he taught us to trap beavers and otters for fur. I had no interest in leatherwork, for cows are few and expensive here. I think she is glad to pass her knowledge on.”

“I am glad to keep it,” Cleo replied. “When I have the means, I will buy leather pieces from market and practice making boots. I know most of the work and she is very knowledgeable in the way. When your grandmother has gone to rest and you or your children wish to learn her teachings, come to me. I will keep them safe for you.”

So she did her work. She kept her nearest neighbors as closest friends, but did not fail to mingle with the others. She knew their faces, stations, and skills. She knew many of their dogs by name. At times, Scott would mention a neighbor who could use a service, and she and he would take their tools and go by night to repair a cart wheel or empty a compost bin. Those little things were more easily handled when one did not have small children underfoot. And Martyn, of course, would help.

It was so that Scott lived with a blond, broad-shouldered fellow called Martyn, though in early winter, Cleo saw little of him. From what she could gather, he worked most the year in the coastal city with his father, but spent time in the quiet village to “get away from all that” and “find himself,” or something of the kind. Martyn kept his distance, but despite the snow, he sometimes leaned against the fence to catch Cleo for a chat as she passed by. Cleo formally met him a month into her stay. She paused a long while, staring at his face. He wore his golden hair in two flops, parted down the center, so it hung evenly at his ears like widespread wings. More often than not, you’d find him in dirt-smudged clothing from working the farm.

Cleo had never stayed long in the fishing kingdom at one time, but she had her share of ventures here even before she crept from the shadow of her parents to travel on her own. The prince of this land was her cousin, Jimmy: son of her mother’s younger sister, who had first met the fishing king at the engagement ball of Cleo’s father. On some visit she had taken, she must have crossed Martyn’s path before. His face looked very difficult to pin down. The first time she stared, Martyn trailed off, silent behind the fence. He gripped it with sturdy hands. Somehow, Cleo recognized those blond hairs on the backs of his wrists.

“Do I know you?” she asked. It somewhat blurted from her mouth, and she did not try to hide her shock the way she’d attempted to with Pearl.

“You might,” said the man, arching one brow, and placed a finger to his lips. “I heard the god of trickery and innovation led you to this place so you might leave your past behind. Funny thing is, you seem equally familiar to me.”

Taking the hint, Cleo dropped that subject. Whatever magic the god of trickery and innovation had put on her that made her appear as a long-time civilian, concealing her royal past from local memory, he may likewise have cast upon Martyn. She would not dig any further in that dung heap; it was not her business. Still, Cleo tilted her head. “You wear the favor of the god of travel and arts in your hair.”

Martyn smiled thinly back. “He’d be insulted if I didn’t. How does life treat you now? You have some very healthy animals; I see the god of hearts and husbandry has blessed you well.”

“Not particularly,” Cleo replied. Martyn’s smile twisted to a frown, but he leaned against the fence on folded arms as though he had nowhere else to be.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“That god and I differ in opinion; I do not enjoy speaking to him when choosing my pleasure.” She changed subjects before Martyn could press for further details, asking instead about this father Scott said he had up near the shipyard. Thankfully, Martyn let the issue slide.

He was not a nuisance, Cleo thought. Or at least not to her. She, Bee, and Scott tended to their animals in the same hour before dawn, and while this did not often bring them near one another, Martyn would take it upon himself to bring breakfast pastries around to all the village houses. He did not seem bothered to wake early even in the blistering cold. So it was Martyn that ran messages between them. He feigned he would only do it for a coin or fruit tart, but once Cleo threatened to actually pay a village girl “whom I know for certain will not twist my words,” Martyn sheepishly agreed to carry her requests free of charge.

He did get into trouble, though. At times, when Cleo sat examining the hooves of her cows, a sudden shout broke through the silence. Martyn would take off running, or tumble off a roof he’d been climbing, or apologize rapidfire to a goose honking from its nesting zone. Pitiful, batting his lashes, he appealed to either she, Pearl, or Scott for refuge. Cleo much enjoyed the way Scott would smirk at him, leaning his cheek against his hand with elbow solid on the tight-shut gate.

“Let him alone,” she tossed at him. Scott laughed and welcomed Martyn in the yard. This left an angry goat in the road, and Cleo joined Scott in shooing it back to their neighbors’ place while Martyn complained of his injured ankle. Another time, when winter had softened but spring had not arrived in full, Martyn walked across the stone wall that split Cleo’s private patch of grass from her cows, holding his arms to either side to keep his careful balance. He meandered like a bird, as balanced as he breathed.

“Do you not fear the cowpies?” Cleo asked, having gone out to hang the laundry. “You would fall very easily if I shouted at you. And believe me, you deserve a shouting now and then.”

“I fear the voice of one specific cow more than I fear the leavings of many,” Martyn replied, then dropped and ran when Cleo threw her basket falsely after him. Cleo shook her head. Witty his tongue, crass his language, but she did not deny the labors of his hands. He exercised his efforts. He made his talents more valuable than wine.

Cleo had thought Martyn a noisy man. He remained as such, but expectations adjusted as she came to better know Pearl. Through some mistake, Cleo had thought she hailed from the fishing kingdom. If she did, it was a well-kept secret, for Pearl trained her dogs for the hunt. Cleo learned well the reasons that Bee tended fruit in the orchards and vegetables of the ground. The meat Pearl carried back after every hunting trip far exceeded that which a few pigs or sheep could offer. Whenever Pearl returned to the village, it was to the great delight of all her neighbors. She always brought plenty meat for herself and her husband to eat and store and would trade whatever was left for other food, such as fruit preserves or pumpkin bread.

“She is much favored by the god of trickery and innovation,” Cleo remarked once to Scott, cleaning silk-waste and feathers off her hands with a well-worn rag. “Either that, or she could shoot even him.”

“They say her lead hound is a spirit in disguise,” Scott replied.

“Oh?”

“The god of water and search, from the pantheon of wood and string. Are you familiar with his tales?”

“Not especially, though I’ve often wished I was.” Prince Ren had spoken of him briefly, for he had taken two hunting trips to the Great River kingdoms with his uncles by the time Cleo met him on the mountain.

“Would you mind if I speak them?”

“Enlighten me; I’ve many stains to wash from my clothes.”

So Scott settled in to weave his tale. “The god of water and search is the most beloved spirit in the Great River kingdoms. All water, all travel, and all hunt is under his domain. He is not a god for whom you turn to for shelter or love, but it is by his works that the people catch fish, trade their goods, and bring their quarry down.”

“He is rich in power,” Cleo agreed. The spirits of the pantheon of silk and plays held many skills, but she thought them more equally divided. Were there any that a man of the Great River kingdoms may look upon and marvel at, to have such powers concentrated in a single spirit? To provide travel, food, and market transport was a great pool of skill indeed.

“Atop that, he is affectionate and doting, so many admire him. He is the god of canines; all those which are domestic and wild answer to him. Their noses are sharp, but his is sharper still. Their ears are great, but not as great as his. In black fur with eyes a piercing blue, some aspect of him leaps twice a year across the river that separates our land from that of his own pantheon. Only our god of trickery and innovation is great enough to challenge his skills, and they delight in endless play.”

“They do say our god is too clever and elusive to ever be caught.”

“So they do. And they say the god of water and search is a man who catches all he sets his mind to. I asked Pearl about it once. She theorized that perhaps the gods are in agreement that each, when he visits the other’s land, will not use his skills to full extent. This is the only way the hunt is fair. In some seasons, our god is said to cross the border to run with Great River animals, and in doing so shed his blanket of protection. Only then could other spirits lay jaws upon him. They are long friends. Perhaps to them, it’s courtship.”

“Perhaps,” Cleo murmured, though having met both gods herself, she held her doubt. She had not read all those tales specifically, though she thought she remembered a white fox and black dog intertwined. Scott continued, delighting in the way he held her attention.

“In the Great River kingdoms, many dogs are black: not brown or white like ours. Pearl keeps one. She says it was a gift from a woman she once loved, but could not marry. Many tongues whisper that because it has blue eyes, it may be the god himself.”

As Cleo began her embroidery on a smoothed-out tunic, she turned to watch Pearl unload from her last hunting trip. Scott brought his chair closer so he might join her. Pearl drew meat and skins from her cart, walking back and forth between it and the shed. All her dogs pranced around her, but most proud of all was her blackest one, which sat with dignified head held high. Once Pearl finished with her cart, she took it around behind the shed. Cleo watched this as she stitched a bird upon the tunic in her lap. “I must ask her to teach me,” she remarked. “Clearly, she won favor with the gods because she labors with her hands. She is often gone at length. It must be very lonely. I will offer companionship, if she is willing to teach me through my beginning struggles.”

A moment later, Pearl and her dogs returned from behind the shed… but her black hound did not walk among them. All of them wore wood-brown fur, their bellies white. Last came Bee, stretching his interlaced fingers high above his head. What? Had he hid behind the shed this morning? Why did he not help his wife unload the cart? Surely it could not have been recent or someone would have seen. Cleo looked at Scott. He looked at her. And together, with eyes stretched wide, they watched Bee follow Pearl inside their home and softly shut the door.

“You don’t think,” Cleo began.

Scott looked ill at ease, setting the tunic he worked on in his lap. “It cannot be. We would know him in other ways.”

“Did Pearl not say a goddess whose name was then struck from record once freed her from a marriage contract? If he is the god of water and search, perhaps he was called upon to carry her from a wicked situation into one of peace. Perhaps they traveled hand in hand, and that is when they fell in love.”

“It would perhaps,” Scott said in great tact, “be best if we did not ask. If we go to name him and are wrong, then we have conflated all men of the Great River kingdoms as though they are one. It would not reflect well upon us.”

No, it would not. But from that moment on, Cleo baked pastries for Bee and Pearl twice a week instead of once. It would not hurt, she thought, to put forth the effort to please.

Still… She was insatiably curious and clever. So when she found some moment to catch Pearl on her own, Cleo steered their conversation a particular way.

“It delights me to see your orchard flourishing, and that you bring home much meat. Do you and Bee plan for children someday? I imagine you could give them a wondrous life.”

“We cannot have children,” Pearl replied, sounding amused and relieved. Her tone turned instantly chiding, however, when she said, “Do not ask that of certain fellows who live in this town. You will receive bitterly cold replies.”

“My misdeed,” Cleo answered, but spilled her newfound information to Scott over cookies later that evening.

“You enjoy this puzzle,” he said, much amused as he dipped a cookie in his milk.

“I think he is a spirit! He cannot hide himself from me, however clever he is.” In fact, Cleo found it very exciting that his everyday affection appeared to lie with Pearl, not with she. If he truly was the god of water and search, then he had come upon her at the ball, attempting to charm with his words. It was he who had moved upon her forcefully. Here in the village, he did not approach. She appreciated that restraint very much. She did not feel as comfortable with his tales as she did with those of her own pantheon, nor with his actions after how he had unveiled her at the ball.

“Your gossip will lead you into the vipers’ den.”

“Well, I was always bound for that. Scott, I have decided. Tomorrow I go to town for a book about the god of water and search. Will you join me?”

“Nooo… but I will listen to the whispers of our neighbors and exchange them for what you learn. Martyn is going to town; he will take you for a ride.”

Cleo did not respond immediately. She sipped her milk, but did not bite her cookie. “May I ask,” she finally said, “what your relationship with that man is? I was never clear.”

Scott could read her as well as music notes upon a page. “If you are worried he will come on strong if you are with him in the cart, I vouch that he will not.”

“Is he your husband?” It was very late to ask this question, but since neither Scott nor Martyn wore a marital pin upon their breast, Cleo dared to voice it. Scott had never told her in clean words that he preferred a man to a woman at every rose-eyed opportunity. Cleo had learned this about him at the same time Scott had learned she often admired women’s bare feet slapping in the mud. They had gone to town together that day, spotted the same pretty person with tied-back hair as black as shadowed steel, and caught one another looking. They knew some things about each other without speaking, for that person which drew their eye did not dress in a way that indicated masculine or feminine beauty one way or another. Cleo had made deliberate effort, then, to find some woman to stare at and heard Scott laughing softly in the corner of his arm.

He laughed now, too. “Martyn is not my husband. But I nearly had relations with him once; you are not wrong.”

“‘Nearly?’” Cleo teased him, and Scott’s eyes grew distant for a moment. He nibbled on a cookie’s edge.

“Martyn and I both desire control of the night. Although I have to say, he was a good suavium when I met him at the tavern. Ten of ten marks; would not change a thing if I had the favor of the god of sparks and time.”

Cleo's brows lifted to hear him describe his companion in that way. “Goodness,” she mildly replied. Scott shrugged, dipping his cookie in milk again.

“After that festival of lechery, I invited him to bed, but when I shut the door, his passion quickly overwhelmed me. I ended it. I’ll not elaborate.”

“All this after one night of your acquaintanceship? That does not reassure me I will have a peaceful ride with him to town.”

“He will not harm you. But if you wish not to go with him, we can go to market together in a few days’ time.”

“I hear my name,” sang a voice, and Martyn arrived through the door with a sizable salmon in his arms. This would not have been so surprising had the door he arrived from been the front of their home, but it was from the back chamber, and Cleo looked at him in some confusion. Martyn, detecting such vulnerability, grinned wide and hoisted his flopping fish high. “A fish for the walk home, dear neighbor. Courtesy of he who doth provide.”

“I suppose I am desperate enough to accept this,” Cleo replied. She took a cooking pot of Scott’s to carry it (Scott let out huffy noises of disapproval, pulling fingers down his face while bemoaning the wash he would have to do). Martyn grinned, for he was cheeky and easily made proud, and lowered the thrashing fish to the pot with the reverence of a burial. The fish thwapped its tail, noisy and splishing some water. From the dampness on its scales, Cleo could only assume there existed some tank or bathing pool in the other room where Martyn had been keeping it. For what purpose, she could not discern.

“Come back over sometime,” Martyn said, patting the pot with love and care (despite the fact he sorely lacked the both). “If you wish for fish, there will always be room enough for water. I believe that’s how the saying goes.”

“It is not,” Scott said from the table.

“I am across the path,” Cleo pointed out, carrying the fish towards the door. “I will return someday.” And, because he smiled, she teased him, “Perhaps when you are in the city next.”

“Needlessly mean to me,” Martyn told Scott, shaking his head. Cleo froze, ice spiking up her arms.

“What?” Those words struck her as familiar. She could not recall from where. The mist and magic of the village, as unfortunate as it was, clouded even she. But she turned and looked at him. Martyn, entirely unbothered where he leaned against the table, only smiled more.

“Cruel mistress, my dear. That is all I said.”

Scott muttered something about a mistress that led Martyn to steal the last cookie off his plate. Cleo watched in silence as Martyn ate it quick, then licked the crumbs off his fingers. And, upon realizing both Scott and Cleo stared at him, he stopped with his tongue still upon his hand. His eyes flew very wide. With great horror, he fled outside and yelled a great amount. He had not washed his hands after holding that live fish. Stupid man. But… endearing.

His golden hair is like that of my cousin Jimmy, Cleo thought, but surely he is not of the Solidarity family. He was foolish just now, as if unused to handling raw meat. Besides that, I would remember.

Martyn acted fond with her. True, he was this way with everyone, and perhaps she overthought it. Cleo still knelt that night in prayer and, with a sigh, cast her thoughts to the god of hearts and husbandry. She prayed only one simple thing: that if she did not misread the situation, and Martyn intended to tease her, she asked the god to either lift the village veil or visit them in warning if it turned out Martyn was her family after all.

… It surprised her, a bit, that she did not want him to be. For all his silliness, Martyn oft lightened the mood of that quiet village. To not be related as some distant cousin, and to be his friend, would not be such a bad thing. It allowed the space for curious thoughts. Thoughts Cleo had not permitted herself to indulge in since her mountain journey with Prince Ren. Not even with the trickster god.

Still, the next morning when she saw Martyn wobble as he tread across the stone divider wall, she could hardly stand to look at him. He waved and smiled, somewhat gushing when he called her name. He appeared far too smug for a man who had given her a silly fish, and Cleo began to fear he had hid a second in her bed. Did he know the thoughts that had snuck into her heart?

Cleo pretended she did not watch him through the window. She saw him later out with Pearl. Or heard them, rather, for they carried picks to the little mining cave and sang themselves a nursey rhyme. Cleo followed with her eyes as she ate a breaded piece of fish.

Hmm…

In Martyn’s absence, Cleo chose to ask Bee for his advice. They found him in the reeds where he often went to stand by himself in the early morning. In the hazy dawn, insects performed their concerts and frogs enjoyed the show. Bee had a fat frog upon the palm of his hand when Cleo came upon him.

“Do you know much about this man Martyn? He watches me. I cannot decide if his look begats curiosity or ill intent.”

Bee glanced at the cottage where Scott and Martyn dwelt. For a long moment, he said nothing and only pet the frog. “I cannot speak of him the way that women would. I know it can be frightening to live in your home alone. What I can say is that in my eyes, he’s been nothing but good for this community. He helped Scott plant his fields. He helped my wife when she was ill. I have seen him take goods and animals to market and return with the expected money, which he gives to the grateful farm owners who were frightened to go themselves.”

“Frightened?” Cleo asked, and Bee looked upon her with a grim smile.

“You know this place was split from the larger world by gods themselves. Within its borders, we are unrecognizable to anyone who might seek us harm. This is not true if we stray away. Until Martyn arrived and offered to take on that particular duty, it was one I took myself. His soul is soft. You know this town hosts many women who have left behind a bitter world. He would weep if any harm came upon them, so he gives to us his time.”

“I see.” So with this testimony, Cleo decided to speak with Martyn when he returned. She met him by the gate that led to his and Scott’s home. When he approached, she presented to him a basket with a loaf of bread.

“I was uncertain of your intentions when I saw you look at me,” she told him. “But I asked others here of your character, and all I spoke to praised you highly. Thank you for the services you provide our village.”

Martyn seemed quite taken aback. He did accept the basket, but looked at her strangely for a moment, as though he thought her words could be a trick. After a moment, he asked, “Can I walk with you? You don’t have to tell me anything about your past, but I’d like to know more about the woman who’s settled across the street.”

“I’m only sometimes a woman,” Cleo corrected, and Martyn smiled.

“Are you? You would not think it, but I am the same. Much has happened in my life; many thoughts have made me think this way.”

They did take that walk along the river bank, with Martyn pointing out patches of the ground that were slippery, filled with duck nests, or attracted weasels and snakes. He did not hesitate to get dirty, nor did he fuss over her when she tore one stocking or splattered mud on her tunic hem. Cleo asked him many questions, to which he gave long responses. They walked very far, so the moon was just rising when they treaded back. Scott came out to greet them, whereupon he smacked the back of Martyn’s hand with his cleaning cloth and scolded him for not helping with dinner.

“I left you a bread loaf,” Martyn protested.

“Which Cleo labored over!”

“I will bake you each a pie,” promised the man so scorned, holding up one hand in solemn vow. So carefree his existence, as though this world did not bother him… yet he did not come across aloof, or as though he cared not for people, hygiene, or the future ahead.

Cleo liked him very quickly. She bid him fond farewell. He did bring that pie - and Scott, who insisted they all eat together - and shared many laughs as a trio on the floor. Cleo had a game of sticks and cards. Martyn protested all its rules, claiming they must be different in the livestock kingdom. A pleasant evening to be sure. Both Martyn and Scott helped her clean, which was polite. Cleo glanced at her neighbors’ home and wished she had invited Bee and Pearl to join them.

Next time.

One week after, there came a next time. Scott brought a little cake, and Bee and Pearl arrived with more of those tasty cookies and rich chocolates from the Great River kingdoms. Martyn had no dessert to offer, but brought large bags of sugar from the city. He hoisted one upon each shoulder as though they weighed nothing. Scott did not seem to admire this about him…

… but Cleo did.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Poplin

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

Cleo stole a moment to speak with Martyn alone, while their friends gathered outside to fix a crooked post in Pearl and Bee’s fence. She approached lightly, with her dignity, and leaned her elbows on the back of her sitting room chair. He stood across from her, sipping cool water she had lured him through the door to take. “I’ve heard you spend your summers at the coast,” she said. “When do you next leave?”

Martyn smiled. “Just a fortnight now. Will you miss me?”

“The way I miss a kick from a gelding to my head, yes.”

“Aw, well- You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

“I tease, Martyn. I should not like to be rid of you. Do come see me again soon.” And she handed him a pin from her hair, which displayed a blue flower at its tip. Martyn looked upon it in great surprise. It was metal, and when he took it from Cleo’s hand… their fingers nearly brushed. But he did not speak. So Cleo, in teasing, said, “Don’t tell me no one has given you a favor before. You are hardworking, kind, and a pleasure to spend time with. I surely have competition… though I did notice the only favor you display is the one belonging to the god of travel and arts.”

He lifted his eyes from the pin. Eyes which were frightened and dangerously wet. “I am very touched to receive this from you, but I cannot accept it. You do not know who I am; it would be a grave mistake.” And he held the pin back to her.

“You do not look happy to deny me,” Cleo observed, not moving to reclaim it. “I am not put off by your warning. I have already known you as a man who is hid by gods. We all are, in this village. You need not tell me what led you to this place. I know you as the man who dwells here. Consider it. I am willing to start a new chapter of my life, and I would be much pleased if you feel ready to do the same. You can give me a final answer when you return.”

Martyn looked upon the pin pressed between his fingertips. He squeezed it very tight. “You once asked if we had met before arriving in this village. I am humbled by your interest, but I approach you from a position of power. I cannot extend it over you and in good conscience look upon my eyes reflected.”

Ah. She did not think he belonged to the ruling family, though he shared Jimmy’s straw-colored hair. Was he also some cousin of the prince? If the veil that blocked her eyes really was that strong, perhaps he could have been. Cleo sketched silent math in her head and decided that if she and Martyn were both related to Jimmy, but not to each other, it would not be such an intimate or unpleasant thing. He may very well be some high-ranking person, such as a lord or close servant of a royal family. A vizier, possibly.

She said, “I can choose for myself who I spend my time with. Here.” She had enough coin to spare him a small parting gift. She poured a bit into her hand, then extended this to Martyn. “Get yourself a sword. A better one than that wobbly thing you lost in the swamp a week ago. And don’t die.”

“Hm,” said Martyn. The coins disappeared inside the pouch ever-present at his waist, which had been decorated in hearts the colors wandering merchants wore. Someone had stitched those hearts upon the leather with a master’s artistry. Martyn smiled at the flower pin and attached it to his shirt. “Is there anything I can bring you? Enchanted armor?”

“No: only an answer to my question. Choose nice things for yourself. Do yourself proud and wear them.”

“Right…” He turned to go- Presumably, to help with the fence outside. Cleo very much liked the way he’d tied back his hair, which often fell in golden waves down his neck. He paused. Fingers opened and closed against his trouser legs. “Cleo?”

“Yes?”

“I wear the favor of the god of travel and arts in my hair because he has expressed affection and intentions to me. I have gone so far as to lie beside him in my bed.”

“Oh,” she said. She found this a great surprise, but then… Martyn did seem to be a man fond of traveling the road. She spoke the words that came to her head: “Two other gods have expressed that interest to me as well. I have lain beside them separately, permitting they wrap arms around me from behind. I do not see them anymore, but you are not the only one between us who has engaged in such affection with the spirits.” She spake this, then waited for Martyn to muse over this thought. Her heart beat very quick inside her chest. Without thinking, she then said, “You must be very clever, if you’ve won the affection of that god. Your rival for his affection is the god of hearts and husbandry.”

“I am a married man,” he confessed, and Cleo looked upon him.

“I did not know that.” He wore neither courting pin nor marital one upon his breast, which were bare on either side. Cleo found this very puzzling. Did he lie to her of his marriage? Surely if he valued it, he would display it on his person.

Yet he did not seem intent to deceive her. Had he coaxed her to him that he might woo her without his spouse’s knowledge, saying pretty things and playing with her hands, Cleo would not have known he was married. Yet here, he denied her… and told her of this partner whose pin he did not wear. Did he say that only to reject her kindly? What a very confusing man.

I think he does reject me, Cleo realized, which sank her chest to her feet. To turn me down and speak of his partner, wearing no indication they even existed, suggests he does not see me in that way. She had thought they got on well together. He had smiled at her when they went to town, helping her both in and out of his cart with an upturned hand. He laughed at her jokes and mucked about all day, silly in his adventures. What fun he was. Is it because I am not a pretty woman? Would he have rejected Pearl, who was delicate and lovely and very skilled in the hunt?

Martyn smiled thinly at her, as though he read these thoughts across her face. “My husband does allow me to seek my own pleasure as we both travel wide and far. But if that would offend you, I cannot accept your favor.”

So he was partnered with another man, not a wife. From the sound of it, he was much like her: he delighted in the attention of men and women alike. Cleo wondered how affectionate this relationship with his husband and whether it had been arranged. Martyn had traveled north several times since she had come to know him, yet he spent much time here in the village, dwelling under Scott’s roof. Scott had been charmed once by this man. So much so, he’d invited him to bed, and he had once described himself to Cleo as incredibly picky with those to whom he extended such an offer. Martyn had passed Scott’s scrutiny. Always, Scott insisted he would not lay hand on Cleo if he brought her to market. He sounded so sure.

Martyn had been very willing, from the sound of it, to lie with Scott in bed after one night of knowing him, and they were not married. Not once had he approached Cleo in such affection, or even kissed her hand.

Cleo did not consider herself a foolish mortal. She had rubbed shoulders with many people, rich and poor, forward and cautious, and had read enough books to understand that some marriage contracts were not signed with love aforethought. It was not unheard of to open the door of one’s home to some third party. She searched her very soul, down to the mulberry silk that bound her cloth. How did she feel, to be a third partner between two men? She did not even know the other. She knew only Martyn, and Martyn’s judgment of those with whom he spent his time.

What Cleo finally said, at the end, was this: “There are things about me which make me undesirable to many people. I cannot bear children.” She found it easier to mention that, in case it turned him away before the rest. “If it is true that your husband permits you to seek company on your travels, I could see myself as a companion for you when you dwell on this end of the road. I have enjoyed our time together. Perhaps I will find some other man or woman I desire, who could keep me company while you are away… but I find you very sweet. I cannot stay my eyes from looking at you. I think this is something we could speak about.”

“I go soon to see my husband,” was Martyn’s reply. He kept his eyes low, but did glance up at her past his sun-gold lashes. “He is very good to me. If it would interest you… you could travel with me to the city. I will take you to the home he keeps when I’m away, and there you could join us. We could talk a few things out.”

The mortal raised their head. They had not planned for him to say that. “Martyn, I have my farm. I can be your companion, but not on the road. Not for the length of time it would take to reach the docks at the northern coast, where you’ve said you dwell.” This home and its livestock were given her by the god of trickery and innovation. To walk away would be to turn her back on his kindness. Perhaps in her absence, he would notice her farm was vacant and reclaim it for some other use. Others may need it. For this reason, she would stay and work the fields. This was the choice she had made to protect herself from other gods who sought her hand.

“I would not mind your companionship,” that pretty man spake in earnest.

Strange it may be, but hearing this, Cleo found herself overcome by a great cloak of peace. He spoke as though he admired their mind - their personhood - and did not see a woman, or a princess, or a pretty body to pleasure himself with at night. “There is something else, Martyn.” Cleo took half a step towards him. Martyn shifted away, as he often did when people were very close within his space. She kept a certain distance. “I cannot lie with man. My loom is crooked; a snag would unravel me.”

He did not hesitate. “That is no concern. Not to me.”

He has a husband, Cleo thought, looking upon him gratefully. That need for touch is satisfied elsewhere. If he chooses me, he chooses my heart and mind. She offered then, “If our nosy neighbors do not bother you, sleep your last two weeks beneath my roof. You are kind of heart. I will gladly have you in my bed.”

“Not tonight,” replied the man. “I need time to think on this. Thank you, though. I will keep your pin safe against my breast.” And off he went across the road to help their neighbors with the fence.

That very night was the thirty and first day of a certain month, set aside for gods alone. When the sun passed from the hands of god to goddess, the land of silk and plays fell into a trance.

The god of trickery and innovation held no seat at the grand table, for the god of sea and fire would still not vote him in. As was usual, he rested on his side beside the hearth. So it was to his great disbelief when the god of hearts and husbandry approached him, the god of travel and arts at his side, and they knelt together on the rug. More startling when the first god bowed himself, lying upon the floor.

“I arrive to leave comment with the god of trickery and innovation, who bears my heart and leads my trail.”

The fox spirit sat straighter, unsure of his own footing. “I did not think you would address me that way,” he said. It wasn’t quite a scolding, but curiosity.

“I think you suspected,” said the prostrate god. “After all, deceit dwells within my heart. Spirit, it was not my intention, but I have tricked a mortal to express affections towards me. I have gone down to the village of Never-Was, where I give asylum to those who’ve sought its peace and safety, which is a task well known to be my charge. Tell me what I must do when I, who was in disguise, have drawn the eye of a protected mortal who witnessed my service and thus grew fond of me.”

“Oh snappers,” said the fox god, who had not come prepared to exercise his powers or give advice.

“It is true. She has asked after my affections. I refused, as I know was right, yet she persisted. I refused again, then three times. I wish that after three, I might indulge her and reveal myself, yet I am the god of love and asylum. To take advantage would be my undoing in the eyes of the moths without number. Here is my quandary: What is ‘advantage’ has never been defined to me. The moths left the answer for me to decide; thus, I am the man whose greed will someday be his own undoing. You are the god of trickery and innovation. Surely you can find answer to that which ails my soul.”

The spirit listened to his plaintive words. It cast its mind upon the heart of this poor spirit, who spread himself on the floor beside his kneeling husband. After a moment, it swished its crooked tail and said, “Answer this: How would you reveal yourself to this mortal if she were not in the village of Never-Was? Surely this is easy; you have done it many times before.”

Indeed, the other man did not hesitate to answer. “I would tell her it is no accident I carry the favor of the god of travel and arts. I would reveal myself. I would be patient, taking my time to satisfy her every question. If she expresses interest in marital relations, then I would warn her of my powers, which would be put upon her when intertwined.”

“Has this gone well for you in the past?”

“There are some who remain interested even after my warnings of the powers I wield, which are terrible and frightening, yes. There are some who turn me away. I permit whatever happens; I do not linger if I am unwanted. This is my charge. I honor it to the end of my service as a god.”

The spirit considered this unusual opportunity. “Very well,” it said. “Send your husband in the guise of traveling trader. Offer this mortal a book, or rumor, or whatever it is that will prompt realization that the god of asylum walks in the village of those who’ve taken refuge. If she asks for you very late at night, or when she has drunk liquor, or if she is terribly poor in coin, refuse her again. If it is not late, and if she is not drunk, and if she is not desperate for your aid, and if your husband has given her a book that would remind her of the spirits, then you have done that which would be expected of any spirit in this pantheon. You may be god of asylum; the moths hold you to high standard because of it, that you may not take advantage of the afflicted. Nonetheless, you would not be wrong to lie with a mortal who desires you if you have laid hints and then revealed yourself when she did not turn you away. We are all permitted affection. You are not exempt from that, even if you hold high expectation on your shoulders.”

“There is another detail,” said the god of hearts and husbandry. Greatly reluctant was his voice, and the god of trickery and innovation looked upon him in uncertainty. The first god breathed a moment, then slowly drew his hands towards him and sat upon his knees. He did not meet the eyes of the fox god sitting by the hearth. “This is the same mortal of which you have expressed your fascination. As the god of hearts and husbandry, I know in my very being that still, you do. Your advice is appreciated; I will keep it within me for future use. But I would be ashamed if I expressed intentions towards Cleo Clocker and did not inform you first. To move upon her at your expense would be my undoing.”

Oh, thought the god of trickery and innovation, and ached within himself. He did admire Cleo Clocker. Many mortals had visited his temple, most arriving for study or to play some trick upon an unfavored person. Many sought him in chasing personal gain, and because he was charged to honor mortal prayer, he could not deny them his power. Not even when his skills were traded for in greed.

Cleo spoke straightforward things to him, but had never cast her princess title about for his attention. She worked her own fields, tended to her animals, and put as much work into the favors she did for gods as she did for those of her own gain. He had of course enjoyed their stolen kisses, but he had cherished her long before they began. It was enough, he had decided, to know she had found joy in the village of Never-Was. The engagement contract he had signed for her was not upheld by spirits, and had in fact been annulled by Cleo on their journey to the hidden village. If she desired a husband like the god of hearts and husbandry, and if she accepted him even after he revealed himself, then he would be satisfied. At all times, even when ending that brief marriage between them, Cleo had been entirely cordial. Not once had she implied it was some sort of slight against him, even knowing he was a trickster god who dipped his hands in frightening pursuits. She had made clear she desired a man she could lay her eyes upon.

“Truly,” said the spirit from its false seat of power by the hearth, “you are deserving of your mastery. You do not betray my heart in pursuit of your own pleasure; I will remember this. Nonetheless, I have not visited that mortal in the village of Never-Was. If I did so, I would be revealed before her in my nakedness, and this is a fate which I cannot bear. If you have been kind and helpful and become their friend by incident, not out of active manipulation, it is you who should seek that mortal’s hand. You have put forth labor. I have not. Thus, I give you my blessing to ask her hand. Treat them well. It would sadden me to hear you did not.”

“You reveal to me my selfish thoughts,” said the god of hearts and husbandry, still kneeling with his husband on the floor. “I do not think I could speak as you do without envy in my soul. You do well as a god in our pantheon and are very wise in the ways of thought and world. I proudly vouch for you to sit at the table. I will go and speak to the god of sea and fire. Perhaps we can seat you before too long.”

The fox god dipped his head. The god of hearts and husbandry rose, taking the god of travel and arts by the hand. They bid the god of trickery and innovation farewell, then went their way to the sitting room. Exhaling, the other spirit lay himself down again.

I could have visited Cleo, he thought, if I were not ashamed of my nakedness. He did admire her. He was not forbidden to seek the pleasures of mortal company. But he feared things deep in his silk that made him quiver, tucking the end of his scraggly tail upon his nose. Beneath the robes he wore, he was a frightening thing of six taloned hands, animals long dead, broken pottery, and knives that cut the skin. He was more even than this. Any mortal who saw him in this form would surely run away. This was why he’d won himself a mask of shadow long, long ago. It hid some parts of him in communications face to face.

I see Cleo not at all now, he thought in great despair. She has not come to visit me. Perhaps it was foolish, but he had truly hoped she would. After all, had he not aided her? Did she not have any new problems to solve? The way he lived, she never spoke to him, and surely that was just as painful as if she had cried out at his appearance and fled.

He wrestled with that thought for an hour more, turning over on his back to warm his belly by the hearth. But when the time came to eat a meal, he knew a certain thought. It was better to believe Cleo would not reject him than it was to witness her cast him aside. And for this reason, he felt relief knowing he had not snuck to see her and been caught unawares.

The god of hearts and husbandry embodied much cheer tonight. He was gratuitous and kind, and the god of trickery and innovation saw him spend much time with the god of sea and fire, who tolerated this with skepticism slowly wearing down. And this, thought the fox, was a very good thing. Perhaps this one mortal had parted ways with him, but if the future ahead promised him a seat at the table, he would chase it with parted jaws.

Martyn avoided Cleo for a day and a half. He wore his usual boots, satchel, and belt, which meant everything clanged or clacked together as he went about his morning chores. Cleo lay in their bed, partly regretting their decision to extend to him a pin at all. What a nuisance that man could be. The sun hadn’t yet come up. But when she scratched her hand softly at the empty space in bed beside her, she thought that perhaps, if he did accept her offer… she could forgive him for his noise.

Of course, sleepy eyes were no excuse not to look after her livestock. Once Martyn’s jangling purse had vanished up the road, she swung her legs from the edge of bed and slowly blinked herself awake. A soft prayer was sent to the goddess of echo and memory, thanking her for kind dreams, and to the god of justice and sleep for what manner of rest she’d scraped together. The mortal dressed and went about their work. And then, because they badly needed the distraction, they went about Scott’s chores too. Scott caught an expression of bewilderment, but sat on a barrel with apple in hand when Cleo told him to. She made something up. Said it was his birthday.

“It is not my birthday,” he claimed in protest.

“It will be one day,” Cleo replied.

Her work freed Scott’s hands to focus on embroidery. Cleo waded out into the sheep flock, checking their ears and mouths, and Scott would call if he needed advice with a certain stitch. When Cleo led his sheep down the road (with two of Pearl’s dogs helping, as usual), Scott came along beside her. It gave them long hours to talk of curious things. Cleo fought to avoid the topic of Martyn, but Scott did not, which led to confession of the pin. Cleo watched Scott’s hands pause, tightening around the tunic he worked on.

“He’s a nice man,” he delicately said.

“I hope it does not bother you,” said she, “that I offered him a pin. You told me you had ended things, but I did not ask your blessing before I pursued him. I am sorry.”

“I am not bothered.” Still, Scott weighed and measured each word before he spoke again. This was not his usual. Cleo watched him, a caterpillar beneath a bird beak. One sheep nuzzled their leg and Cleo pet its nose. When he at last took his needle up again, returning to his work, Scott hunched himself over his tunic in a way that could be good for neither the lighting nor his back. Nonetheless, he said, “Martyn snores. I hope you keep him.”

The sheep were returned to their pen that night. Cleo checked them again, calling to the ones that were her own, and led them back across the road. She fed her animals their evening meal and, having exhausted Scott’s chores, spent the evening repairing a boot by candlelight. Martyn had offered her a seat in his travels north, where he would see his husband. Cleo did not know if she would accept, but she did know her boots would not survive that journey, and so she fixed their heels.

As she put her work away for the evening, there came a knock at the door. Cleo opened it to find Martyn, but she coaxed out no information he did not volunteer. He leaned sideways, pointing with his head towards Pearl’s and Bee’s home. “A merchant has arrived with goods to trade. Thought you would want to know.”

“A merchant? How can this be, when our village is hid?” There had never been a traveling merchant in this town before.

“I think he is a friend of Bee’s or Pearl’s, brought home after a hunting trip. I’m not sure. He has leather, leads, and books. You may wish to deal with him.”

Their village did not have much of a school. Few children were born here. This place had become a refuge for those who had been hurt by the world and did not wish to be recognized, but opportunities here were scarce. When children grew, it seemed they left this place to seek fortune in a larger town. Cleo wondered if any books brought by this merchant could be good for the teacher who did educate young children. In fact, Cleo had thought she might take on a teaching role herself. She knew many things, having had the fortune of time to become educated as a princess, and her farm had not grown so large it overwhelmed her. She had thought to hire a hand to labor over her crops and animals, freeing her so she might look for schoolbooks and teach, but she always came to the same conclusion: she would earn no money from teaching and it would be great work, so in paying for help, she would lose more than she gained. She would not mind teaching, but perhaps it would be best to invest in more animals, that she could make back what she paid the hand by selling them at market. Soon, she could adjust her life, but things were uncertain for now.

Either way, Cleo thanked Martyn and went to see the merchant. This was a man with thick black hair, especially beneath his nose. He said he had come from the livestock kingdom. Cleo examined his books with care, turning them over several times. She did not intend to accuse him of poor quality, but unless the books were well-bound, she did not wish to spend on them.

“These are exceedingly well-made,” she remarked, and when she opened the pages, they had been painted all manner of fine colors. Cleo studied for a moment, then looked to the merchant again. “How did you come by such nice wares?”

“I have a very generous supplier,” he replied.

“Does he have need of dye? Our neighbor up the street will sell you some, if that is something you can profit off in future trades.”

Some surprise snuck into his eyes. “I suppose I could purchase dye,” he said, and Cleo glanced at his boots.

“If you give me the evening and trade your book, I can repair those shoes for you. They look well-worn.”

“That would be nice too,” the man agreed, so he removed his boots and Cleo took them to her home. By candlelight she repaired them, and by morning she returned and gave them to the man, that she took his book without spending coin.

This, she privately thought, had not been a good deal for the merchant. It was a very fine book, rich in painted pages and very thick. Not only that, but its cover was bound and neat, as though it were new. The stories it told were of the pantheon of silk and plays: many stories regarding each of its ten spirits, and the eleventh newly ascended (who was the god of trickery and innovation).

It is recent, then, Cleo thought, studying that final page. Most books depict only the ten gods in great volumes such as this. The stories of the god of trickery and innovation are most often found in a separate book with the goddess of rain and prosperity, for both are young in their work. Indeed, this had been an issue for all of Cleo’s life, for many books still called the god of war and sky by his first name (which was god of trickery and sky) and referred to the goddess of dance and union, who had been struck from record for betraying her mastery. A book this fine, updated for modern reading and painted with colors, must have taken enormous labor to prepare.

Cleo lingered a moment on that first page referring to the trickster god, for someone had painted a man. She knew him, for this was the man depicted in all portraits and idols that gave thanks to the eleventh spirit. He was not strong in muscle, but cunning and lean. He wore a scar across one eye, which was his left. Cleo had seen the title of a story in this book that told how he had traded that eye to the god of war and sky in exchange for the gift of ice, that he might whisk himself in snowy wind. He could even run across the water without soaking his paws, for it would turn to ice at his command. In this way, he could travel the Great River or the ocean and not be wet. All rain that fell would freeze and turn to ice as it hit him, so he would not be soaked and rot.

Cleo had seen sculpture and sketch of this man far more than any color. Because her kingdom favored textile work, nearly all dye was put to use for clothing, needlework, or tapestry. Rarely did it find its way to the pages of a book. Cleo looked upon the pages and saw this spirit with great stalks of white hair, which she had often heard of but not seen him depicted with in color. Upon his lower face, he wore a mask woven of pure shadow, which was gifted him by the goddess of echo and memory. This, stories said, was because his mouth had been made of stolen fangs and rotting cloth. He did not have a mortal’s lips, which frightened them.

That is not true, Cleo thought, for he had kissed her at the castle and on their journey here. She did stare at his picture, though, and wonder why it was that sharing his silks rendered her able to pierce the magic of disguise if his mask was given him by another goddess. Surely only sharing silks with the goddess would breach its magic? The god may be naked if she looked at him, but would still wear a shadow on his face.

Once the merchant had gone, Cleo went to Scott and showed him the heavy book. “That man did not know the quality he had. He should have asked ten times the service of me. I wonder if he stole it.”

“Why did you not make a better offer, knowing its value?” Scott returned.

“I am no longer a princess. I serve this village, not his interests as a merchant. I will put it to use. I intend to show this book to all in Never-Was who wish to study it. But first, I must find a way to preserve it, that it will not be ruined.”

Martyn, who was cutting potatoes in the kitchen, left his work and came to the table, standing behind Scott. “I have seen a fine book like this in the library of the god of hearts and husbandry,” he stated. “How fortunate you are that it has made its way to your hands.”

Cleo laughed to herself, shutting the book to take it back to her home. “If it truly was stolen and first belonged to that spirit, I revel in his misfortune. It is the most useful thing he has done for me: let his book fall across my path for a very low price.”

Martyn looked offended, though it was Scott who spoke up as she went to stand. “I do not think that is true, Cleo. Is it not the god of hearts and husbandry who is the Ever-Sire and the Omni-Dam, that the animals in this land are born domestic and strong? Or that you yourself were given life before you were rendered to the god of trickery and innovation?”

“I suppose,” Cleo remitted, “you are right. Were it not for the animals he sired and gestated, which were given to me by the god of trickery and innovation, I would have had a difficult first year in this village. I appreciate that my herds and flocks are healthy. You may be right; I have neglected to thank him as of late. I will give offering and prayer tonight.”

“You have strong feelings about this god,” Martyn observed, eating a piece of the potato which he was supposed to have put in boiling pot. “This is not the first time I have heard you speak ill of him. Why does his misfortune delight you so?”

Cleo hesitated. Scott knew things of her past, including that she was once the livestock princess. She had not shared these things with Martyn.

But then… He had told her the prior day he had a husband. Perhaps it would not hurt to share a fact or two with him. “When I was young, a certain rot began to spread from within me, not from the outside as though my cloth were wet. I served the god of hearts and husbandry for two years, doing labor for him, but restricted to my quarantine so my rot would not be spread. I asked several times what would cure me, but he told me he must travel by way of portal, opened by the god of justice and sleep, to the Nether itself so he might retrieve blaze rods and powder for my cure. Time would pass, and I asked again, but still he delayed- although gods can be in many places at once. One day when I went out to see him, I found him flirting with a maiden. I knew then he kept me for my labor and was unwilling to make that trip for me. He did not even send an assistant. Perhaps he did not find me as pretty as the women whose company he liked. He kept me cut off from the world two years, benefitting from my work, and I wept that night and wet my silks, and so died.”

Quiet fell across the room. The pot boiled on the fire, which crackled between them. Scott had only heard this story in pieces. He stood then and came to Cleo, giving her a hug. Martyn gripped the back of Scott’s chair and did not remove his gaze from his hands. “I regret that has happened,” he said, though. “That sounds frightening and unfair.”

Past Scott’s hair, Cleo said, “It would not have been so bad if I had not labored for him, or had waited less time, or if he made an effort so I might believe he cared for me. He left me to rot and suffer. I am clean now, but only because the god of trickery and innovation spilt his own silk for me.”

Martyn lifted his hand, reaching not exactly towards her, but pretended. “If I may, Cleo… Perhaps the god of hearts and husbandry did try to help you. He may have been locked in negotiation with the god of justice and sleep, who could not be swayed to open a portal easily. It may be that he had to charm and persuade, coming at night many times to that god with the finest drinks, even those which mortals have not tasted, until he changed his mind. It also may be that a spirit can only step in the Nether if he severs his connection to the outside world, which would make the most ideal time for the god the summer, when animals do not court or breed. Is it not true that in his absence, if he were in the Nether during the courting season, few would partner with their mates, and in the breeding season, births would not succeed, or many would be born sick or afflicted and shortly die? Surely this would not have been for the good of the land.”

“I do not know,” was Cleo’s dull reply, and Scott’s arms tightened in his embrace. Martyn shook his head, speaking further as he gestured his hand about.

“And it may be that spirits are not invincible, so the god had to prepare himself for the lava pools of that world, and all monsters which carry fire in their spit and jaws. Did he not require the finest armor? It is not a simple thing, for a creature of cloth and silk to descend to the fiery realm of the dead, battle those monsters called blaze and all matter of creatures which might dog his heels, and return to you again.”

“Do not make excuses for him. He could have said these things himself.”

“Come on, Cleo,” Scott said, leading her to the door. “You have milk at your house. Let us go so you can sit and rest with a drink.”

Martyn left early for his trip to the city. He neither waited for Cleo’s response on whether she would join him nor told her good-bye. She learned his absence from Scott, who was delicate with the situation, but Cleo suspected many words had been exchanged between the two men after Scott left her home that night. Scott appeared distant and subdued. They could pry no meaning out of him.

Cleo shouldered this rejection in silence, near Scott. They confessed it only to Pearl. Martyn had seemed interested in bringing her to the city, which was a far travel, and while Cleo had initially refused, they had thought he’d at least bid farewell. He would not return for months.

“He is upset, I think,” she said, “that I find fault with the god of hearts and husbandry.”

“He wears the favor of that man’s husband,” Pearl pointed out. “And surely you know Martyn was a high priest of the god you spoke about.”

Cleo blinked. “I did not know that.”

“He has the mark of the god of hearts and husbandry.” Pearl pointed beneath her right eye. “A scar. He was in service, or one can assume.”

In truth, Cleo had cared little to learn the marks of the high priest. Each spirit had their own marks, but a high priest dwelt in the city church, hosting ceremonies each year for his god or advising on gifts, offerings, and the best way to travel to a temple. Cleo had met a few on rare occasion, if she thought she would not find a spirit in its temple at the time she wished to see them, for a spirit often signaled to its high priest where it could be found if not at home. This information had use to many people, but Cleo had studied spirits directly from books and had memorized their masteries. Of course, she had many times attended ceremonies that honored the god of hearts and husbandry, yet had not paid particular attention to a mark upon one man’s face. It had never seemed especially important.

“I did not know I offended him,” Cleo said. “I might send him a letter of apology.”

“I would do that, if I had insulted the priest,” Pearl agreed. But Cleo did not go straight home. She went instead to Scott, who was out in the field with his sheep. Cleo approached him with tight-crossed arms.

“I come to gossip,” she told him dryly, and laughed in bitterness when his eyes lit up in interest. “Martyn told me he has shared bed with the god of travel and arts. Now Pearl has told me he was a high priest of the god of hearts and husbandry. Did the former spirit come upon the priest, taking him to bed, and ruin him for the god of hearts and husbandry? Was he cast out of service because some other man put himself upon him?”

Scott glanced afar, towards the wooden fence that marked the border of the village of Never-Was. “Cleo, you should not speak these things.”

“I wish to know if the god of hearts and husbandry cast aside his loyal servant. It is also my interest to know if he protects his husband from accusations of abusing mortals, which feels like a violation of his mastery. It would not be the first time I have suspected he covers his husband’s actions up before the moths without number.” After all, it was the god of travel and arts who stole the robes of the god of war and sky. Cleo could not help but notice that man was still married to the god to whom she felt only ill will.

Scott’s hands fiddled with his shepherd’s crook. “Grant Martyn his privacy. If there are accusations to be made, they should come from Martyn’s mouth, not yours. It would not be wise to accuse the god of love or his husband of such unkind things.”

Cleo steadied her anger, but did not forget her annoyance. Nonetheless, she turned her thoughts to labor. She tended to her crops and animals, then sought the people of the village in search of a hand who may look after her farm. She had decided: She would spend the rest of her life selling the products of her farm for books, ink, and paper so she might teach students in this village and in the nearest town.

“I could trade you my sheep,” she said to Scott, “and turn my attention to chickens and cows. My skill is in leather and cows can be sold at a higher price.”

He agreed. The sheep nuzzled at her hands as she gave them to Scott, perhaps saddened by separation. Cleo hugged their necks, but Scott would treat them well.

She asked Bee to accompany her to market. Although short notice, he agreed to the trip and helped her secure two more cows and eight hens. The costs were not too great. Little by little, she had built her herd and flock. Cleo spent the next weeks caring for her animals, cleaning the old sheep pen, and teaching her hired hand the best way to look after her charge. When all was in order, she journeyed to town with Pearl and indulged herself with books and paper.

Now, Cleo thought when she returned home, I can put my princess education to good use. It would be wasteful to grow old and die, having studied much, but not passed her knowledge on. She could bear no children of her own, her loom crooked inside. Cleo had not let this weigh on her in past years, for she was glad to be alive, but being self-sufficient as she was, she thought she could be a good caretaker of children and teacher too.

When she prepared lessons for the students by candlelight, peace crept upon her heart. All her life, she had served her people, yet since coming to this village, she had thought chiefly of herself. Teaching felt natural. It meant she did not have to think much of her life. And I certainly have no time to think about the way Martyn disappeared without good-bye.

“You should buy a horse someday,” Scott observed, helping her clean the side room where she planned to teach the village children. “That way, you could quickly go to town on your own and perhaps find some work.”

“A good thought,” Cleo agreed. “I will practice my lessons here in the village for a season, then apply for work in town next year or the one after. I am educated. I could do much good.”

Days of preparation passed before she opened her doors and received the local children. They often spent their days in labor for their homes, for there were fields, animals, and fishing lines to manage. Still, they came to Cleo with open minds. She taught them what she knew of color, the alphabet, the spirits, maps and roads, and all manner of things which were not easily known to a child who dwelt at home.

Her students did behave, mostly, and were eager to learn. But at times they grew restless and played amongst themselves, or were hurt in the road. Days like this, Cleo applauded herself for advance thought, for it was easy to draw them into the next room and clean the injury, then place a bandage if needed. In fact, this too was a lesson to the children. She taught them how to recognize animal tracks and scat. She taught them how to respond to snakebites, bees, ticks, and all creeping things.

“Ms. Clocker,” said one small girl, “you know so many things. I want to read all the books that you did.”

Cleo smiled, kneeling down to her. “I’ve learned much from books; it’s true. I have also learned things from my travels and when I speak to other people from many walks of life. These things come in time.”

“What is the farthest you have traveled?” asked the girl, and Cleo had to pause.

“Well, I was born in the livestock kingdom, which lies southeast of here beyond the mountains. I lived in its center. The farthest I have gone from there was the northeast corner of the fishing kingdom, where sits the temple to the god of sea and fire.”

“That is not far from here,” the girl remarked on her way out the door. She meant no offense, but Cleo knelt on the floor for some time, pondering those words with silence swollen in her throat. She wasn’t wrong. The hidden village of Never-Was sat on the fishing kingdom’s eastern border, close to the river that separated it from the hunting kingdom. It was somewhat in the south, setting it near mountains that divided the fishing lands from the grain kingdom. The journey to the temple of sea and fire was not a long one. A few days. It was the nearest temple, and nearer than the castle town ruled by the Solidaritys.

Cleo enjoyed teaching the children. In fact, if her life had gone a different path, she might have enjoyed raising children of her own. She could cook, sew, mend, and raise her animals. She had skills and products that could be traded for money. If she had a husband and a straightened loom, perhaps it would have been a pleasant life. Particularly now, so the children might pursue whatever in life they wished: unbound by castle walls.

You are silly, she told herself, getting to her feet again. You have a very pleasant life already. Are you not close friends with Scott and Pearl? Do you not have a home of your own, that you want for nothing? This is a wonderful thing!

Yet when she drew bread from the oven that night, Cleo looked upon the four loaves her recipe had prepared. She did indeed want for nothing. So much so that she had too much, and all for her own use.

You are silly, she said again, and traded one loaf to Bee and Pearl for apples and jam. One loaf went to Scott, exchanged for brisket. And still, when Cleo went home, she looked at the two loaves on her counter. She and Scott could very easily share just one. She would, of course, have to eat quickly to prevent the bread from growing hard and unpleasant to eat.

You are silly, she said one final time. What she did not eat, she could cast before the chickens and her neighbors’ pigs. Cleo took her loaf, but she did not slice with a knife as she normally would. Instead, she sat by the fire and ate it with her hands, for it was warm and soft. She had often eaten this way on her travels. When she closed her eyes, tasting bread and listening to the snapping hearth, those long nights painted across her mind again.

Cleo put away the remaining bread, wrapping it to preserve. In so doing, they cast their eyes upon the boots they had not long ago strengthened in preparation for travel to the port city with Martyn: a journey which would have taken a week. As he had departed without her, she had not used them. In fact, those boots had not been used in some time, for there were others better suited to walking in cowpies and wet grass near the river.

She stared through her window then, wondering whether it would be impolite to bother Scott at such a late hour. If she had not had her animals, surely she would have taken Martyn on his offer to travel to the city. She delighted at the thought of exploring the fishing kingdom, for her visits had only ever been in Jimmy’s company, and never for long. Martyn must know many places. He loved to chat, even with strangers. How fun it would have been, either sitting with him in a cart or riding on horseback. He had taken his horse: a black one with scarlet saddle.

And of course, off he went to see his husband, whom he had said he could introduce her to. He had spoken with conviction, as though he knew that other man would take to Cleo at once and she would find another friend. That road not taken - the journey unbegun - weighed heavy on their heart, night upon night.

Cleo hoped that in choosing books and students, she had not made some mistake.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Lisle

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

Martyn returned four months later. Quite some time had passed since Cleo last saw him, so when she heard from Bee that he’d returned, unease stirred within her gut. She had missed him, certainly, but she did not know if her old interest had remained. She cleaned her hands and went out front to see him. There was Martyn, holding something strange. Two long rods, which were gold in color and burned at one end.

“I wonder where you’ve been,” Cleo remarked, having stomached her questions long enough to greet him. “Are those not blaze rods, which are found in the land of the dead?” He bore such a pretty face, his cheeks flush with life and little pointed nose perfect between his rain-blue eyes. Cleo’s soul ached just to see him again. His strong arms had certainly not fallen any weaker.

“I’ve been nowhere special,” Martyn told her, for cheek had not left him. “May I come in?”

… She had missed his presence and good humor. Cleo opened her door, allowing Martyn to join her inside. Bee and Pearl peered back from their window, which was not unusual for them. Cleo caught Scott standing in his own open doorway, leaning his shoulder on the frame. Cleo shook her head to shoo him off.

Once Martyn settled in the sitting room, Cleo turned on him. He sat playing with the two golden rods in his hands, so she waited until he looked up. She said, “You disappeared on me.”

“I know. I have turned your words in your mind. You said the god of hearts and husbandry did not make you feel appreciated. I cannot apologize for the time you have lost, but I can hope my work will satisfy. I have gone to the god of justice and sleep and asked he open a Nether portal. In this, I have journeyed in that other land to obtain that which was always yours.”

At this, Cleo blinked. “Why have you done this?”

“You asked the god of hearts and husbandry for that which would heal. I wished to satisfy that want.” He lowered his eyes. “I will be your companion. Accept this gift, and you accept me. I will dwell in your home, not in Scott’s, for as long as you will have me. I hope I’ve proved worthy of your expectations. I have completed the task you once requested and which was not done for you. It is late, but I fulfill it.”

“Martyn…” Words failed upon her lips. Cleo searched for them while he waited, then sat across from him. He extended the blaze rods that she might take. Cleo did, but set them on the table without breaking his stare. “Did you delay in returning here because you took on this task? I did not want the treasures of the underworld. I wanted you.”

“This was important,” Martyn said.

“Was it?” His husband had not journeyed with him either. Had he gone off alone, exploring this world and one beyond, and left her wondering if he would ever return? “You were gone longer than usual for a visit to port, but sent no letter.”

“I am aware,” he said. “Was it inconvenient for you?”

“Very much.”

He smiled then and left his chair, kneeling instead upon the floor. He reached for Cleo’s hand. She did not give it, looking at him warily, so he bent his head. “It inconvenienced us both, then, but I think my point is made. It was promised you and now is fulfilled.”

“I do not need these treasures,” she said, rather confused. “My rot has left me. I need no potions now to keep it at bay. I fear your travels were a waste.”

“They were not wasteful; it was right that I do this.” He realized then that she would not offer her hand to kiss, for he rose to his feet again. “If I am unwelcome, I will depart.”

“You’re not unwelcome,” Cleo assured him, “but I don’t understand. Did you travel to the Nether, believing it was good to bring these things, but never send word to me? I thought I offended you; I thought you were angry.”

Martyn paused, lips pressing tight. There he stood, flexing fingers against his legs. He looked worn from his travels, but not overly so. His golden hair had not dimmed in color, but looked messy, even tied back by the favor of the traveling god as it was. He said, “It did insult me, what you said about the god of hearts and husbandry, but I needed to hear such things. And yes, it is true that I left without informing you first.”

“Pearl said you were once a high priest.” Cleo studied him, especially his eye. There beneath it lay a little scar, just as Pearl had said. “It makes sense that you would defend that man, but I did not know this when I said the things I did. I have my grievances with him. I am hurt you took them as insult to yourself and went off without a word.”

Martyn touched the mark beneath his eye. It was not a long scar. In fact, it was shaped oddly, as though someone had twisted the blade while drawing it downward and somehow scarred him with the flat of it, for it made a diamond shape. “I am not exactly,” he said with tact, “a high priest of that spirit.”

Cleo tilted her head a bit. Martyn stayed silent, and a coiled thing inside her heart suspected she might know the reason. “Martyn,” she said, and when he looked at her, she was careful in her words. “You need not tell me, but I have suspected something and worried for you a while. Were you tossed away by the god of hearts and husbandry because his husband set his sights on you? Did that man put himself upon you, and did the god of hearts and husbandry cover this up, that he might keep his husband’s unkindness secret?”

“No.” Martyn appeared very startled. He lifted his hands, shaking them back and forth. “That’s not it at all.”

“I know by your scar that you served once in the temple.” Cleo stepped closer, which caused Martyn to shrink back. “If you have been hurt at all, I will march to that god’s temple and shout at him. You need not face him, but if he’s done you wrong and gone unpunished, I will drag him before the moths and order they pluck out his eyes.”

“Please do not,” Martyn said weakly in reply. He laughed, nervously placing his hand against his eye. “Cleo, you are mistaken; the god of hearts and husbandry has not hurt me. Not physically, at least. Oh, I don’t know how to say this.”

Cleo recognized that she frightened him, for he retreated across the room. Thus, she subsided that which boiled within her. “My anger is not directed at you. Forgive me that.”

“I come to speak the truth,” Martyn said, looking on her once again. “Perhaps I should have done so before I left. I was afraid. Cleo, I come to you here, in this garb, as a man who has devoted years of service to this village. This place is a well-kept secret among mortals, but long known to the spirits. It was pulled apart by the god of trickery and innovation, not long after his ascension.”

“Yes…” She did not know why he mentioned this. Martyn fiddled with his hands, undoing and reclasping that green traveler’s cloak which hugged his shoulders.

“I was granted knowledge of this village,” was what he finally said. “I am bound to serve it, which I do with willing heart. This was my hesitation; my concern.” And here, he plucked from his cloak the blue flower pin which Cleo had sent him away with, which he held her direction now. “You asked me to visit you the moment I return. You offered me companionship. In my rank, I refused three times. I feared I would take advantage because you, like everyone in this village, has been hurt by the world and thus is mine to protect. To accept your offer would not be right.”

His words were strange, yet when Cleo looked upon him, they did not feel like blended lies. Was this the story behind the service which he performed? He did act on behalf of the god of hearts and husbandry? It did make sense, for that god was charged with care of the abused. The god of trickery and innovation may have hid this village from the world, but of course it would be that god of asylum who bent his ear this way.

He serves his master, who has sent him here in kindness that he might care for the abused. This is why I offended him when I said that god was unfair to me. The thought softened towards an ache. Cleo stepped forward, catching Martyn’s outstretched hand. This made him falter, painting a grimace on his face, but he held her gaze nonetheless. “I requested your affection, yes, but you would not have taken advantage if you had agreed to sit and talk with me. Even if we had proceeded beyond that, it would not be advantage.”

A thin smile tilted one corner of his mouth. He did not lower the arm which stretched the pin towards her, though his fingers hung limp in the curve of her hand. “Ask me who I am and you will change your mind.”

“I do not need to know,” Cleo said, and plucked the flower pin from his hand. She held it to him again. “All who dwell in this village have turned from the outer world, and you do not know my past in full either. I know you by your works and the labors I have seen. If you refuse me again, I will not pursue you, but if you accept, I will be your companion at this end of the road. Henceforth, you may stay with me some nights, but dwell with your husband when you visit him. I do not pine for Nether treasure. I want that man who is humble, in service, and told me he did not mind my crooked loom.”

They stood a moment, somewhat intertwined. Cleo held his arm outstretched, which was limp, and he rested it against their shoulder. Martyn’s breathing filled the quiet room, and in his searching eyes danced the flames of the hearth behind her. His stare fixed upon the flower pin she held.

“You can refuse me,” Cleo told him quietly, for it appeared he found himself torn by wolves upon a crossroads, dragged separate ways by ravager carts.

Martyn closed his eyes. “I’ve been made aware of the works of your hands, given freely so this village may prosper. I know of the woman whose stories you keep. I know every shoe you have repaired. I know the teachings you give the children and how you share your bread. I know every line of thread you’ve taught Scott to make, that he may decorate his tunics in the colors and designs that were forbidden him by the parents who shamed him in his youth. Cleo, my heart is afflicted with longing for you, for I know you as one who cares deeply for the people here. I will not apologize for my Nether trek, even though it left you without an answer, because this was the best thing for the both of us. There is another thing that I did in my absence.”

“What is that?” she whispered back, and Martyn shifted his eyes from the pin in her hand to her face again.

“I took my husband, and both of us knelt in prayer before the god of trickery and innovation. He knows the person that I am. He sees the evils of the heart. I sought him for an answer, asking in my greatest humility if I would take advantage if I were to take your hand. He listened to every word I said, for I confessed all the wrongs I feared would be upon you if I did not refuse.”

“That is very brave,” Cleo said, slowly lowering her hand. Martyn had come here to reject her. That much was clear in how he spoke. Or maybe she was wrong, for he caught her wrist even as it fell and raised it to his lips. He kissed it strongly, as though someone crushed his foot and poked him with a sword.

“Well, that man told me, ‘You do not take advantage.’ I wandered many days, for I wanted to believe him… and I return to you now, because I have realized the truth. My plight is a question only you can answer.”

“Martyn,” Cleo said, for she knew what he said. “You do not take advantage of me. Thrice I will accept you, if that is what you need to hear. One hundred times I will accept.”

A tear budded up in Martyn’s either eye, but spilled from only one. It traced past his nose. He looked at Cleo, but did not wipe the mark away. The sight of it struck a nerve in Cleo’s heart, for to cry too much would wet his silks. Cleo moved, cupping his cheek against their hand.

“Why do you despair?”

“Cleo, I have never felt the level of shame that I feel now, standing here. Scott told me it was not advantage. My husband told me the same. Still I did not believe and went to the only god who would know if trickery dwelt within my heart. He told me there was none. And yet, I know they are wrong, for they know not how I think, nor the things I have done. Here I am and betray you. You say these things because you do not know who I am.”

How very strange his words. Cleo tilted her head. When first they met, she had said he looked familiar. She could not place his face. He had replied she seemed familiar too. “I have not met a man who has harmed me in a way I cannot forgive. Your tongue need not confess, but it is welcome to share. I will tell no one what you say.”

Martyn kissed her fingers then, squeezing his eyes closed. A second tear traced down his cheek. Cleo dabbed it away with her sleeve, for she feared the rot that might come upon his cloth. He said, “I do not consider myself a man who has hurt you. Everything I have done for you, I did because I sought to help. It brings me such delight that you find favor with me. If I were a different man, I would choose you without regret… but I am not a mortal man. Can you name me?”

“‘Name you,’” Cleo repeated. She withdrew her hand, which he allowed, and stared upon him for a moment. She did not recognize his face, but this was likely the spell placed upon the village where they dwelt. She thought of Bee, then, who was suspected to be of the Great River kingdoms. Martyn could not be the same… After all, his hands were cloth. So was the cheek she’d just put her palm against.

Martyn’s lips twisted towards pained smile, though he wore it in some pride. “You know well the tales of the pantheon, so I am certain you know who it was you purchased that fine book from months ago. That was my husband, whose favor I wear always in my hair.”

“… You are the god of hearts and husbandry.” Cleo took a step back. Then a second one, staring at Martyn where he stood upon the floor. And of course, once named, he could not be hid. The air rippled as water and his disguise fell away. He kept his bright blue eyes, light and scruffy beard, and golden hair, but the veil of deceit was then removed. When she cast her gaze upon him, Cleo did not see Martyn, the helpful fieldhand any longer. No longer did he dress in traveler’s garb, but the bright and dark greens that were his famous color. Those rosy cheeks belonged to the god, as she had said. Great wings of black and brown feathers lay folded on his back, for this man was a vulture king. He bowed then in feigned modesty, little more than cheeky.

“Ayep. A grand surprise, I am sure.”

Yes. Was it ever. Heat flushed to Cleo’s cheeks at the thought that the spirit himself had heard the unkind thing she said about him in Scott’s home. In fact, there were many moments she had denounced the god in Martyn’s presence, yet he never struck her for her tongue. She turned away, lifting one hand to hide her face. “I must look very foolish. You are god of asylum, and this hidden place grants asylum to the frightened. It is sensible that some aspect of you would visit here, but I did not even question.”

“And you are angry.” This was not a question either. Cleo looked at him, but there in her home was a spirit, and he had touched her just as she had touched him. He had kissed her knuckles. This man who had once abandoned her. He came here tonight, speaking sweet words with his tongue… and he had even cried.

He… had guilt, she reasoned, for she had to cling to that thought and convince herself. Could any god feel guilt? She had not especially known them to. Certainly not when many voices gossiped of her or pursued her at the ball. Here before you is a man who did not take advantage when you welcomed him inside your home. You are the one who sought him out. He could have come upon you in pleading, or flirted with his voice and lips before wiping his disguise away. He did not do that. He revealed himself. And he did not show up with empty hands, but sought to please me with a gift. Surely… it is forgivable?

Was it? Cleo blinked at him, her eyes wet with cobweb confusion. She stared at the blaze rods limp within his hand. Why now did he find the time to seek them out, but not before? Because he thought it would grant him access to her body?

“They are gods,” the god of trickery and innovation had warned her years before, “and they will lie to you.” He said that with his caution that she would draw the eye, entangling herself in the affairs of spirits more often than those of mortalkind. Had the spirit before her lied when he said he sought the god of trickery and innovation and been cleared of deceit in his heart? Those were words he indeed would say if he desired to trick her tonight, keen to lie with her in bed.

He said it did not bother him my loom lay crooked in me. As soon as Cleo recalled those words, she grew rather hot. When he had said that thing as Martyn, she took it as sweet promise. It meant he did not mind if they could not lie together, for she held value either way. Yet when those words came from the spirit’s mouth, they soured and rotted in the air.

Of course this god did not care her loom was crooked. He had made known to her several times that he alone had the power to straighten it. And so, he came with desire in his heart after all, that he might finally win. He may have lost her at the ball, but this did not dissuade him. He would lay claim in the end to her name, her mind, and even her crooked loom.

“Get out.”

Martyn winced. “Yeah; thought you might say that. No worries. I depart.” And so saying, he kissed two fingers and cast them her way as if bestowing that kiss on her as well. “Seek me at my temple if you ever change your mind, but I cannot dwell in this village if I am unwelcome. I won’t bother you again.”

He leaves the village? Did he strip it of its blessing, then? Was it no longer asylum for the hurt? Cleo’s mind began to race. When the spirit swept out the door, she scrambled after him. “Wait,” she sputtered, but did not even know what name to call. Did she call him by his title? As Martyn? “Spirit! … Breath-of-Things!”

He did not even pause. With a great launch of his wings, Martyn cast himself into the sky. His wingspan flared very wide. He swooped into the clouds and vanished at once, as though he had never been.

He left. He… he just left. He led her to believe in his return- And when it came, he made promises-

He has gone. Cleo grasped her tunic in fists, shaking and mute. How could he be so cruel, to lead her on that way? Flirting back when she spoke to him, then leave without another word? And yet he insisted she visit him?

I liked the man I thought he was, she thought, collapsing to her knees upon the dirt. Her mind spun like dust kicked up by horse hooves. She struggled for breath, but her body shook, and Scott ran from his home to her side. Cleo twisted away from him, fighting to hide her eyes. How it burned her cheeks, knowing Scott's eyes picked apart her face. Martyn was right that he deceived me, but surely there was a better way to reveal himself. Cleo did not know whether she would have given him the chance, if he stayed. Perhaps he could have maintained disguise until she came around, no longer angry with the god? She spat in the mud, but this did not alleviate the anger boiling within.

“Did you know?” she demanded of Scott moments later, in her living room. He had never looked guilty, even when Cleo found him once with his hand inside her mixing bowl of cookie dough. His face appeared as smooth as a river pebble. Still, Cleo knew the faint curl of his fingernails as he gripped his tunic tight. Scott cast his gaze away, drowning in attempted words.

“… Yes. I told you I nearly had relations with that man. See, I met him before I even came to this hidden village. We flirted over drinks, played with one another’s clothes, and indulged ourselves with sloppy tongues. I did intend to lie with him when I invited him to the place where I dwelt, but when we were behind the shut door, he knelt to the floor and lay the terms of agreement before me. He is the Ever-Sire and the Omni-Dam, and so exists where love is made. To bind myself to him in passion would mean I am dragged with him into every place where there is love. All the matings of the people and the animals in all four Basin Kingdoms. He experiences all of them together, overlapping, but I would experience each one drawn out in its individual. If I went to bed with him, all these would be drilled against my head, and I would live out every one.”

“Dear gods.” Cleo stepped back then, for if this was true, then the god had nearly done the same to her. Had he accepted her invitations, he could have quickly gone with her to bed, and that fate of mating all people and animals, existing where love is made… That would have been cast on her.

Scott’s mouth tightened as a fishing line. “He told me this, and because he knew my heart belongs with men, he warned me of the moments of lovemaking with women I would experience if we continued that night. All of it overwhelmed me; I was made afraid. I at once withdrew permission to be touched. He did not fault me, but we have never been affectionate again, for I loved him as a man and could not love him as a god. As favor to me, he escorted me to this village, where my parents would never find me and demand I marry woman. I have kept his secret many years. He dwells beneath my roof that he might take no land for himself if it could be given to some other in need. It is because of him I have my home, not the other way around. I could not cast him out, but neither could my tongue confess to you or I would violate the privileged peace. Forgive me.”

Cleo could not stay upset with Scott. To do so would be foolish, as holding a grudge against a foal that kicked the barn wall. She held her arms to him; they embraced. “I do forgive. But I wish you would have told. Tell me of other gods who live here, if you can.”

“I know of no others, apart from noticing the god of travel and arts sometimes in town, for Martyn is his husband. The moment the god of hearts and husbandry steps upon a traveler’s road, his husband appears beside him- Perhaps not in our form, but as some creature.”

Well. Cleo turned her head away, grasping at their tunic hem. “I suppose I will not notice that for some time. The spirit told me he would withdraw from the village, unable to dwell here if I could not accept his presence. He did not say if asylum is removed. I think we are protected, but he will not visit us as Martyn any longer.”

Scott paused. Silence drew on for a moment before he said, “That is a shame. I appreciated his work, for I could always give him chores and know they would be done with the skill and care of a god.”

“Should I visit him?” Cleo wondered. “I am upset, but he is a god. To leave him believing I cast him aside may be unwise. Especially if he takes vengeance upon those in the village.”

“He will not harm us,” Scott assured them, but by this point, Cleo had already made a decision. They stalked to their home again, piecing thoughts in a line on a string. Tomorrow, she would speak to the hand who helped her fields. She would pay good coin to ensure they were maintained in her absence, for away she would go. Back to the god in his mountain temple so she might address him in a place he could not run away from. She would ask, at least, if the village was endangered. Perhaps ask him why he hid so long.

Those boots she’d repaired so many months ago would see their use after all.

Scott and Pearl engaged in squabble shortly after Martyn’s departure. They would make up eventually, for they always did, but many tense minutes passed as they fired words at one another. Pearl had asked to see him, but upon his arrival, she had expected he would take her side.

“Even if you honored Martyn’s privacy,” Pearl stated, “far better would it have been to discourage him from pursuing Cleo than to sit back and allow it. He dwells in your home. Surely he mentioned his interest to you.”

“Martyn visits your bed when your husband is away,” Scott shot back. “Why did you not mention these concerns, if they are forever on your mind? You certainly find an abundance of time to capture his attention.”

Pearl recoiled with a hand on her chest, struck by venom like a mouse before a snake. Scott tipped his chin a little higher. Despite their neighborly love for one another, fights between them were not uncommon. Pearl’s affection for Martyn, which had sparked despite his poor handling of one of her dogs he could not heal, was one of their most bitter points. Scott burned with jealous pain at all times Pearl called her second lover on her lonely nights, and not upon the mortal neighbor who delighted in her free time. Pearl, who could not lie with her own husband, enjoyed infrequent visits from a god who could. Her husband had given blessing so long as he himself was not in the home, but this permission had never stopped Scott from peering from his window with squinted eyes, hands fierce around the sill.

After a moment to gather her thoughts, she said, “Am I the keeper of that god? Is it the done thing for me to say ‘Come and lie with me, but not with that other woman?’”

“You expect similar of me,” he accused.

“You keep him more than I do. Besides, you are closer with Cleo. They deserved to know, for as you have said, they often complained to you of that god.”

“If you believe this, then why did you not speak with them? Why did you keep to yourself, quiet and away?” And, “You spoke not even to me!”

“They listen to you!” Pearl protested, casting hair behind her shoulder. “They do not like me.” In this, she sorrowed often. Pearl much enjoyed Cleo’s company, but she could not pretend to miss the stares sometimes pinned upon her. Cleo held within her a negative opinion. She coated it with sauce and frosting, but it remained a dead fish underneath.

“We are both to blame for not slipping hints to Cleo,” Scott decided, and sighed as he folded his arms. After a moment’s pause, he added, “You more so than me.”

Pearl shook her head at him. Such cheek that man possessed. “Let us be there for her now, then. We cannot reverse time, nor do I think she would accept such blessing from the god of sparks and time if it were offered her. I will go and speak to her. You said she wishes to visit the god upon his mountain?”

“Yes, she is determined to travel there. I saw her taking out her tools that she might mend her cloak.”

“Very well,” Pearl said, getting to her feet. “I will ready my horse and dogs and accompany her. I know the land here better than she, and I can do small hunting on the way.”

“She will pester you with questions,” Scott warned. “Cleo wonders many things of your life and husband. Prepare for endless chatter.”

“That is no different than if I stayed here with you, and our housemates and neighbor were all away.” Pearl set her hand upon her head in mock despair. “What other would you speak with? All are several minutes’ walk from here. If we were left alone, you would sit at my table every moment your sheep did not pull your arm.”

Scott, in spite of his ruffled feathers, could not help but smile at her exaggeration. “I do not cling eternally tight, as you describe. I am not made of moss and mold. In fact, I wish to be rid of you a week.”

“So unkind you are.” Nonetheless, Pearl went and hugged him. They did argue often, which was but one of many reasons she lived with a different man and not her otherwise kindhearted neighbor. Before departing, Pearl rubbed her hand upon his shiny blue hair, which mussed it the wrong way. He griped of this and shoved her, but this was how they showed their love.

“Send the pretty men my way,” he told her at the door. “My rooms are always open for them.”

A thin smile ghosted across Pearl’s lips. “I do know this.”

“They are very open,” he pressed again.

“We are all aware, Scott. Go and court the younger fishing prince while we are away; you always complain to me of his beauty.”

This was true, though he sniffed when she drew it to his attention. “Perhaps I will. And perhaps I will be married to that man by your return.”

“I would not forgive you for neglecting to invite me.”

“You have forgiven me for no slight you invent, and yet I live.”

The next eve, as Cleo stewed over her plan to shout at the god of hearts and husbandry, Scott took his sheets outside to be washed and hung. It did not seem likely Martyn would arrive and bemoan the beds were stripped, given that his ear would be twisted very soon. Scott bundled Cleo’s sheets up with his, imagining she would be grateful for it after her journey, and knocked as he always did on Pearl’s door, that he might provide service for she and her husband while he had soap and water prepared. Pearl presented him their blankets in gratitude. She took his tunics, intending to wash them with a different soap and brush. Such was the way they shared the labors of the home. Scott had not yet found a husband to swoon for, so he would always express gratitude when his neighbor took his labors up with hers.

So it was that Cleo and Pearl gathered their things together, that they might leave the hidden village as a pair. Pearl shared lingering embrace with her husband and kissed him good-bye. And, when Scott complained that he was ignored, Cleo clasped their hands and cooed at him, and kissed him on the cheek. This did not relieve them of his sulking, but he did help them pack their things. Pearl would bring many of her dogs on this trip, and of course the horse she used when chasing down her quarry. Her many dogs wore packs upon their backs with food and water tucked inside. Cleo would be entrusted with the second horse: a stallion with black fur as fluffy as Pearl’s cat. While Pearl pet their heads, Scott found Cleo for a more serious note of farewell.

“Do not promise that man a year and a day of your time. If he ensnares you in his web, I will miss you all the while.”

“I do not intend to barter with him,” Cleo replied, tossing a bag of clothes into Pearl’s cart. “I seek only closure. Long have I avoided his temple, and avoided meeting him halfway to discuss the tension between us. Perhaps this meeting is long in coming. You did remind me that I have much to thank him for, as I have healthy animals that keep me fed. On the fact that he has provided for me, I’m sure we can agree. I wish to question him, draw lines with him, and inform him that I will not be interested in him now, nor ever.”

Scott drew his mouth into a slashed-on line. “Tread with care, Cleo. When you knew not who he was, you did hold interest in him. He was good and right to reveal himself before relations could continue, as he did reveal himself to me. You are not the only one who was drawn in by his charms. He plays the keys and is clever with his tongue and words.”

“Not that I experienced cleverness with his tongue,” the mortal muttered, and Scott frowned at her in pity. He gave her one last hug, then stood back to wave as she and Pearl started their horses along the road. Once they departed, he went to finish washing sheets.

On the second hour of his work, as that blue-haired man scrubbed a mud stain against the rocks in his bucket, a white cat slunk out from behind his house and mewed. It had lost an ear, it seemed. One fang jutted past its twisted jaw. When Scott looked upon it and noticed one eye swollen shut, marked with a scar, he knew at once which spirit had come to see him in disguise. He had to fight down the scoff.

“Spirit, I name you god of trickery and innovation. Show yourself if you are he and tell me what service my mortal hands may lend you.”

The cat twitched its whiskers in great pride. In two strong leaps, it jumped upon a rock and then the barrel beside his working place, and there whisked its fur away. Upon the barrel sat a man as lean as creek or shadow, clad in robes of moonless nights and summer greens. White hair spilled down as though woven from a sunbeam. It kept one leg crossed over the other, and this way rested its cheek against its hand. Its mouth, do note, lay hid behind a shadow that wrapped around its face.

“I am glad I did not come to fool you,” he told Scott in high spirits. “I assessed you knew the pantheon. You caught me once before, when I prepared the home for Cleo across the way. How are they getting on?”

Scott resumed his scrubbing, choosing his words with cautious tact. “Mostly well, I think. I do what I can to make their life a pleasure. She has uplifted mine.” Indeed, he embraced life with love and peace far better now than in the days long gone. His father, who had lost one son already and had no cousins or nephews to his name, would have sent him away to wed a woman he did not - and could not - love. Scott had the god of hearts and husbandry to thank for his escape… Were it not for that spirit drawing his eye one tipsy night by the tavern fire, he would not have been free to break the curse of self-stiflement and chase his own desires. His father held old-fashioned beliefs, and would have chained him to the family clothing shop regardless of whether or not he wanted it.

The mortal continued to work the sheets, which seemed to amuse the spirit greatly. He could sense it crane its neck, perhaps wondering why he labored instead of asking favors while it appeared convenient. Scott did not consider himself a fool. He would not ask anything he was not prepared to work for, and spirits delight in sending mortals off on outrageous quests. Cleo’s stories had only secured his confirmation that long travels, rough nights of sleeping in the dirt, and wagging their tongue at proud and jealous gods was not a matter just anyone could face. He had far better things to do. Who would feed his sheep?

“I wish to ask a favor,” said the spirit. Thus startled, Scott ceased to knead his hands.

“‘A favor?’” He did not turn to look at it. Not at first, though he had the mind to wonder if that made him appear rude. He put aside the sheets and faced the god, which had not left its barrel perch. “Are you sure it is not Cleo you wish to make this offer to? She is the one known to work for spirits and she wears your favor in her hair.”

“You are the one I seek,” affirmed the fox god, placing one hand upon its chest. “I have business in this village, so I intend to scout it in my animal forms. All I desire is your word that you will not shoot any white creature you find skulking around these parts.”

“Oh? Well, I hope you do not plan to spook my livestock.”

“My intent is to gather information. Refrain from harming me, and I will visit you again to repay this small deed with some reward you desire. You will have time to think of it.”

The mortal considered this unusual request. “Very well,” he said. “I will let you go about your business, spirit. If Cleo returns before your work is done, may I speak to them about your presence and ask her advice on what I may wish to ask of you? She is more familiar with the workings of gods than I on my own.”

“You may inform her that I came here, but if you see me skulk about, I wish you will not point me out directly. I mean no harm, but she will know me and begin a conversation. I desire to avoid this.”

“Ah, that is fair. I understand that on a level as intimate as diamonds among deepslate. Do you intend to court them?”

The spirit chuckled darkly. “I do not think this year is the best time to even entertain that thought, for I have heard they are most upset with the god of hearts and husbandry. No. I wish them peace, and hope they have adjusted well to this land where I have set them. I greatly miss our conversations, but I imagine it would not please her if a second god sought her hand so soon. I study this land for my own purpose. You, your animals, your homes, and neighbors will be unharmed by my presence. Do not strike white-furred creatures; that is all I ask. To be shot would cause me incredible inconvenience.”

“I agree to your terms, spirit. I will not harm white animals, but will await you to inform me when your study is done. I will, however, be dyeing my chickens and sheep many colors the moment you leave. They are my food, and if I cannot eat them because they are white, I will be in poor position.”

“Clever man,” said the spirit fondly. So saying, he whisked himself into the form of a white fox and went bounding along the road. Scott glanced behind him just in time to watch Bee’s face disappear from the neighboring window, yanking the curtains shut after him. A moment later, a hound as black as moonless night leapt the fence and took after the departing fox. Scott heard the ragged thing shriek and kitter. Off it tore down the dusty path, the great dog snapping at its heels.

Chapter Text

The Candles We Light (and Should Regret)

Samite

🐛 🕯️ 🧵

With their horses and each other for company, Cleo and Pearl rode southward several days. Pearl insisted they detour across the east border and into the hunting kingdom, where finding food would not be so difficult. Despite the frightened feelings pulsing in her throat, Cleo agreed. She held her tongue - and her patience - as Pearl gathered her dogs and showed off some tricks of the forest. She witnessed to Cleo the process of binding sticks to make a bow. With the hounds tracking scents, they gathered meat to sustain them on their trip.

“If ever you glimpse a white beast in the woods,” Pearl said to Cleo, “that is the god of trickery and innovation, running with the herds. They escape or stumble depending on what moves he makes.”

“I will not see him,” Cleo replied. “I share silk with that god, that he can never disguise himself for me, even in animal forms. Truly, he favors you more than I.” She felt no bitterness in this, for it was fact. Clearly Pearl had reaped great success on her hunts. Cleo studied that other woman in silence as Pearl bent her head, gutting a rabbit before the fire Cleo had prepared. How tall, lean, and pretty she was… and a small lump gathered at the base of her neck. She wondered if Pearl was indeed married to the god of water and search. Did this mean the god of trickery and innovation knew her well? Did the gods converse one with another?

“You stare at me,” Pearl remarked, not lifting her head from the rabbit she skinned.

“My misdeed,” Cleo murmured in reply. Pressing on her lap, she stood and went to examine the dogs, for one had been licking at its paw a long while, and two others nipped at a younger one. Someday, Cleo might ascertain whether this Pearl was indeed the same pale-skinned woman she remembered from her temple nights long ago. What did it matter?

It matters some, she thought when biting into rabbit that night. I wonder if she was then married to the god of water and search. Do those riverside kingdoms host no healer? How is it that she came to meet and marry this man of distant lands?

“How did you meet your husband?” Cleo finally deigned to ask.

“I lived alone at the time,” Pearl said, at last looking up from the meat she ate. One dog whined and nosed at her leg. Several others wiggled and keened for scraps. “I stumbled once on a hunt and tore a long gash up my leg. I thought I wouldn’t climb or ride again. The god of hearts and husbandry blessed me with his healing, but even his finest work left me with a limp. You’ve noticed, I presume.”

“Perhaps,” Cleo said, reluctant to admit she had. For the most part, Pearl carried herself well. And Bee, of course, helped her with many chores.

“I went to the Great River kingdoms, for there dwell the twin spirits of survival and rebirth. Are you familiar with them?”

“I am not.” Those were gods of other kingdoms. There names may have been spoken in passing, but far be it for Cleo to recall every title in every land. Pearl tilted her head a bit in sympathy, and her dogs pressed forward again in hope of her meal.

“They are one spirit with a form that changes, fluid in the way they present themselves. The god of survival takes the form of an axolotl and the goddess of rebirth is a wolf as white as snow. I sought their advice on building a new plan for my life, as I had injured myself. Walking pained me. I thought I would not ride again. Through their wisdom, they showed me the way to exercise my leg, that it was made stronger.”

“Did you have family here?” Cleo asked, only for Pearl to shake her head.

“Not here. I dwelt alone in the spirit’s temple. But it was in that kingdom that I met Bee, who has been my loving companion ever since.”

Cleo chewed rabbit in silence, for she knew not what to ask next. It did not surprise her that Bee, if he truly was the god of water and search, had found Pearl at the temple of a wolf goddess. After all, was he not the canine god? Perhaps his business had drawn him there.

“Did the god of hearts and husbandry not offer this help with your leg?” she questioned next. “Why did he let you travel so far, if you were limping?”

Pearl shrugged. “He gave me the help he could. He is a god of healing. My leg had no open wound, so I went and found another god who might teach me to rebuild my strength. Remember, I did seek them for answers on my future and how I might recreate myself to face a different life. The treatment was their own idea.”

If this god were truly skilled in his craft, Cleo thought within her heart, he would not have sent that poor woman to walk such a long way. How ashamed he must be to know she crossed into another kingdom when he could not heal her. It may be that was why he had not recommended that option. From the way Pearl told it, it sounded as though she went on her own.

Then Cleo sighed within herself. She turned her head back the way they had come. Now outside the village walls, she recalled the god of hearts and husbandry by his face and clothes. She had not questioned Martyn when they went together to market, so perhaps some lingering effect of that secret village still clouded her mind then.

Nonetheless, she knew him now. He seemed awfully determined to stick like a thorn in her mind. When she and Pearl arrived that night in the next town southward, Cleo lay her head down upon a pillow and scrunched beneath the blankets. She knew that god by Martyn’s face. Joyfully he laughed and teased, for all things were a game to him. Gods could exist in many places at once, but surely it must be a struggle to focus on one’s work when another part of oneself frisks about in play.

I would not hate him, Cleo thought next, if he had revealed himself to me slowly, and been patient, and had not shocked me how he did. And then she turned herself over, listening to Pearl snore in bed beside her, and tried to fall asleep.

Cleo approached the temple to the god of hearts and husbandry seeking a spirit, but not the one who lingered in the entryway, assessing visitors who came and went. Cleo exchanged a look with Pearl, who merely shrugged. They both knew that black-haired man who dressed in scarlet red and nightly dark. Cleo greeted him by name, and followed this by wishing his journey well.

“They always are,” the spirit said in great amusement. “I would not be the god of travel and arts if I despised the open road. How about yourselves?”

“Our trip was both safe and productive,” Cleo replied, and turned to Pearl so she might volunteer gratitude her own.

“I killed many beasts and fowls for meat,” Pearl said, and bent her head to the spirit. “You and the god of trickery and innovation have been very kind to us these past few days.”

“How lucky you are,” said that man, “for had you caught me a week ago, you would have found me in unpleasantries.” And he laughed at himself as though engaged in secret joke. Cleo pressed a tight smile on her lips.

“I come to speak with your husband,” she said once mirth had left his tongue. “Where might I find him?” She did not request permission to visit unannounced, nor did she question what words those married men had exchanged about her. Surely they must have. It insulted her further to imagine the god of hearts and husbandry had kept her interest hid from his husband.

Martyn. His name was Martyn, and he had himself a husband. Why had he not told her that far earlier, before she developed such feelings for him? He tied the man’s favor in his hair, but wore no marital pin upon his breast. How confusing his lack of clarity, and how very Martyn of him.

“He labors behind the temple, with the cows,” said the god of travel and arts. “Hurry quick, for he soon shuts his doors.”

That was all the encouragement Cleo needed. Pearl shooed her on ahead, for she would stay back and tend to her dogs. Cleo wove through the temple and made it to its rear, and the sun had not yet set. She could not help but wonder if the god of war and sky cast his eye upon her and took pity, and lengthened its progress for but a moment so she might converse with that stubborn god.

Martyn stood among the cows that ate grass in the rear courtyard, for spring always flourished on his mountaintop. He wore green robes of shining silk. His gold hair sat pinned by pink and purple flowers woven in a crown upon his head. That sight stole Cleo’s breath away. He had always been the god of hearts and husbandry. They did not know it though, or had forgotten, for his face was obscured throughout their time in the village. He examined the udder of one cow, but glanced over at some noise the mortal made.

“So you came,” he said, lacking all inflection. Those words smacked hard, like water thrown across their face.

“I could not leave too many words floating between us, unspoken.” How quickly he had returned to other work, unburdened by the rejection she’d sent after him. Is it easy for him? she wondered. How injured her own feelings after learning of his treachery… Not that she intended to reveal that. Such secret, she kept close against her heart where only the god of trickery and innovation could see.

“Very well,” Martyn sighed, and gave the cow a strong pat on its leg. Only then did he turn full attention on her. Cleo fought not to feel insulted how he had lingered that extra moment with the beast, speaking while his eye skimmed upon its hide.

All the words Cleo had sought fell apart when she linked that man’s blue gaze. He may be a spirit, but in those eyes, she met with something mortal. It pierced her, slit her, and danced her into shreds. She had rehearsed words, of course. For days, she had rehearsed them. Yet the words that fell off her tongue were simply, “Spirit, you needn’t have run off like that. We could have had a conversation.”

“We’re having one now,” he replied. He did not look amused, nor did he hold his body in some cheery way, as he often had in times before. The god folded his arms, leaning against his temple wall near the place that Cleo stood. And this struck her to the core. He acted flippant with her, as though he did not care how sharply he plucked the strings of her heart. Could he even hear their song? Did he do it for a laugh? He cared not at all when yanked, dragging her across sharp stones. And this, when she had sought him all this way, several days from home.

“Look here,” she said, and cast her eyes upon her feet. “I have given much thought to the words you said. I am sorry for judging you so harshly.”

“Thank you,” said the spirit, inclining his head.

“But you left me no time at all to catch my footing or ask you any questions. It did hurt, when you ran off so quick. You implied you abandoned all the village.”

“You told me to leave,” the man protested, and Cleo saw Scott’s hair flash in those bright blue eyes. Scott’s hair, for it had been Scott who worried with her that the village no longer had this man’s protection. Of course, it was Scott who believed Cleo had ruined everything. He had the grace not to say it, but Cleo suspected he thought it deep inside.

“I disliked you as the god of hearts and husbandry,” she said, “but I liked Martyn. Truly, you were thoughtful, helpful, kind, and enjoyable to be around. For many months, I counted you as my neighbor and friend. You did not take advantage of me. Had you not run from me, but explained yourself, we could have spoken! I did not mind you had a husband. We might have conversed.”

Martyn shrugged, his silk robes weighing heavy on his shoulders. “I did deceive you. You made your decision rather clear.”

“Yeah, you did.” Cleo thought to shake him, but held her tongue. “Yet you did not deceive to cause me harm. You played the role of Martyn before I arrived. You did not seek me with great favor above the others in your care. In my new home, I felt safe among my neighbors. There, I became your friend.”

The god of hearts and husbandry did not respond, but stared at the nearest cow, his brow furrowed in a line. So Cleo drew another breath. “You decided for me that your cloaked identity would cause offense. You invented words for my mouth; you took the choice of thought from me.”

“She wants a choice,” he said to the bull in the grass.

He did not understand. Cleo moved one step closer, which turned his gaze. “It disturbs me that you fled. I waited up late with Scott that night and fretted all day after, thinking you would return, yet you kept away. I would have appreciated if you met me halfway on my journey here.”

“I am not all-knowing,” Martyn told her coldly. “My husband dabbles in matters of travel. Not me. Your words hurt me too, you may be overlooking. Did I not travel to the Nether realm, tread through the most dangerous places, facing the foulest foes? Did I not attempt to provide that which caused contention between us? Did I not humble myself on bended knee?”

Every aspect of her body thrummed within her ears. Every strand of silk; every loosened thread. “I need not the cure for my rot now, when I have since been healed. The god of trickery and innovation took me beneath his wing like a chick when I fell between your fingers, swept beneath your temple rugs. Why is it you found time now to visit the Nether realm? Only because I had offered you my bed?”

“That isn’t it at all. Cleo, I have tried…”

The mortal waited, holding in a breath. Boldly she spoke to him on his own ground. Bolder, possibly, than she deserved to. She knew her own hot spirit. She knew the bounds of her arrogance exceeded those of most. Still, she waited in silence for a moment as Martyn fidgeted his fingers. He did not speak again.

So Cleo did. “I did like you. I might not call it love, but I admired the man who served the village, helping those in need. Had you revealed yourself differently, or stayed to speak with me, we could have discussed the matter more. Did I not allow the god of war and sky to court me, even though he is a god? Even when my brother died beneath his mastery?” And, with anger swelling, “Did I not permit you to kiss me at the ball? Some spirits, I rejected. I kissed you, regardless of the many harsh feelings I held against you. You were my friend. I have not forgotten those two years we spent shoulder to shoulder, engaged in healing work. Perhaps you have.”

Martyn turned his head faintly aside once more, staring upon the sloped backs of grazing cows. “Is it only now you realize I can never please you?”

He does not try rebuilding this, Cleo thought in grand despair. Why did he make no effort to fight for her - for the pair of them - or apologize for hiding his truths? Even when she journeyed from the village to visit him on temple grounds? The sunset streaked behind him, and surely he would soon disappear inside. Perhaps he might shut her out, leaving her abandoned on the steps. “We rode together several times to market. You never touched my hand without looking to me first, indicating with your eyes you wanted to. Your absence hollows me… but let it be known that you were kind to me, and I know you would not have come upon me in force. For this, I am grateful. You are worthy of your mastery.”

“I will remember,” Martyn said, for he was Martyn even when he was a god. Cleo stared after him a long, painful second. Wind swayed the hem of her tunic. But he did not speak again. And with that realization, she turned to retreat inside the temple walls.

“You never took advantage of me. Had you done so, we would’ve had another conversation that would be far worse than this one. I do not despise you, even after I once placed my faith in you in a way that resulted in my death. You were my friend, once. I performed labor two years for you. Room exists within me for a second chance.”

“I think there isn’t,” he murmured back. “Not anymore.”

“Yes, ‘anymore.’ Did I not sit with you many an evening, or organize your papers in my quarantine? Did you not charm me without trying in that village, purely by your humor and your labors? … All it takes is an apology, Martyn.”

The god of hearts and husbandry shook his head, very slight. In his eyes roared a river, slashing its way between them just as their neighbor kingdoms were split into other lands. “No. We both know you’re not getting one.”

She looked back only once, when she had gone some ways up the hall. The god had not so much as moved from where he stood. With his shoulder on the wall, his arms folded, he stared after her with… something scrawled upon his face. Something bitter and envious, Cleo thought, like a starving coyote skulking through a village. But it swallowed him up. He averted his eyes, and they did not speak of it.

Shortly after, in the temple’s dining room, she met up with Pearl and relayed the conversation she and the spirit had had. Pearl listened to it all, then patted Cleo on the arm. “Go and rest yourself. I will speak with the god tonight, as he was kind to me when I once sought him out for healing. It is not unknown to him that I sometimes visit to ask he examine my leg again, ensuring it hasn’t worsened over years. He knows me, and in this way, I may be able to lower his walls. You can speak with him again tomorrow.”

“I do not think he intends to speak with me,” Cleo muttered, having hardly touched their food. They slumped instead against the table. “I have not only lost a man I held affection for. I have lost my friend Martyn, and that stings me all the worse. When we dwelt together in the village, I planned to remain there even in rejection. I thought we would be kind to one another. He did not seem the type to reject cruelly, nor embarrass me or tease if I confessed my feelings. Yet I have tried to meet me halfway. Now he treats me like crumpled parchment.”

“That is difficult,” Pearl agreed, and leaned in to kiss Cleo on the head. “I have obtained for us a room, which is shared with other women and is a room for those who are between womanhood and something else. Refresh yourself in the bathing pool and sleep well tonight. You will feel better in the morning.”

“You are tactful in complaining that I stink.”

Pearl smiled. “I did not say that. But yes, you do.”

Cleo did as Pearl instructed. She spoke briefly with the god of travel and arts regardless of her stink, for at least he knew the ways of the road. To speak with him in sleeping clothes would not be appropriate, and she at least had a mild talk with him. In this way, she confirmed what Martyn had told her about his husband, who was said to be welcoming of other men and women in their lives.

“That god and I came into this world as trees with roots intertwined,” said the god of travel and arts, as the god of hearts and husbandry had once told her. “We hold each other dear, but there exists room within us to engage in other love. We are lifelong companions, yet we each long for the excitement of courting someone not known to us all our lives. Had you embraced him, we could discuss what that meant between us three.”

I did embrace, Cleo sulked within themself, knowing they had not.

The god of travel and arts smiled secretly, as though he heard. With a sparkle dancing in dark eyes, he teased, “Of course, were you affectionate with that man, I would not expect the same towards me. After all, you did not kiss me at your ball.”

“Perhaps I will reconsider,” Cleo told him, lifting her chin. “Many strange and confusing things have come to light since I have left the castle. I permit discussion; I can be persuaded.”

But would she ever accept Martyn now, knowing the face that hid behind his mask? She could not ascertain that. That stubborn man would not apologize for that way he had run off, leaving her abandoned and weeping in the dirt with none but Scott to comfort her.

He had raised her hopes. He dashed them down. Not once now, but two separate times. Could she ever forgive him that? Not without apology.

Nonetheless, Cleo chose to follow Pearl’s advice, and went to bathe and dress in softer night clothes. She would feel better, probably, under morning light.

They waited late, but Pearl did not arrive for bed that evening. Cleo sat in some confusion at the study desk provided in the room, glancing several times at the door. She did engage the other guests in light talk of the land, the seasons, and political goings-on, as well as lighter commentary regarding matter of dress and how to determine the right time to adopt a pet. Yet even on Martyn’s mountain, the sunlight slipped away. Stars peeked their silver faces from the folds of night. No matter how late the darkness drew, Pearl did not show her face.

Something could have happened to her. An unlikely assumption, perhaps, but one that drew Cleo to their feet. They excused themself, took a simple robe from a hook by the door, and stepped into the grand and chilly hall. The god of hearts and husbandry cloaked himself with spring. Grass, petals, and tree branches decorated his home, alongside eternal sunflowers and murals of rain. Of anywhere in the Basin Kingdoms Pearl could have fallen to harm at a stranger’s hand, surely it would not happen in the temple erected for the god of consent.

Many halls lay empty at this time of night, for many had gone to bed. The god of hearts and husbandry kept some rooms shut away from public eye, that temporary visitors did not stumble into a place of long-term respite. On a previous venture, he had warned Cleo not to open any doors lest she breach the privacy of those inside. On stockinged feet, she padded instead over cool stone, turning corners with caution and stepping around some baby animals that had wandered into Martyn’s care. Cleo wondered what drew so many deer up his mountain. One would imagine such a busy, crowded temple would not appeal to wild beasts. Did they seek their god for healing too?

Hallway upon hallway she went, doing her utmost to not disturb. The god of hearts and husbandry had built up a lovely temple, though certain places smelled of herbs and medicine. Others carried a far more sickly stink, which Cleo knew all too well. When she passed another wanderer, she averted her eyes. It did not seem her place to learn the aspects of their flagging health which brought them here.

Voices up ahead, in one of the more social rooms, drew her deeper through the temple. Two years had she dwelt in this place, laboring beside the god of hearts and husbandry. She had performed light work, such as binding wounds, early in her time of service… until her rot progressed so far that the god restricted her to quarantine lest she infect many others in her attempt to serve. What once had been a chronic throb within her arm had spread to many places in her body. She had then retreated, resigning herself to writing names and treatment plans at the god’s request. Occasionally he visited her lonely room. He sometimes brought apples, or cooked fish, or rich potatoes and exquisite cheese, and all manner of things. Together they would converse, comparing notes, and Cleo learned much about surgery in her time with him, even if he did not entrust her to perform it. That god always said she had a natural talent for it. Cleo replied sewing was the livestock kingdom’s art.

And all this time… her oddball neighbor Martyn was that god. The mortal scarcely could believe it, and the lump in her throat formed a ring of thorns. How long had he intended to keep his secret hid? Were there other spirits dwelling there that she had not yet discovered? What thoughts had curved through his mind when he dwelt with Scott and witnessed her settle in the home across the way? If Scott had seen a white fox sneaking about, or suspected the god of trickery and innovation had built it, then surely Martyn had known it from the start.

Did the god of trickery and innovation plant me there, knowing the god of hearts and husbandry would find me? Even calling Martyn by his title left a bitter sting upon her tongue. Cleo had poured her faith out to that other spirit. Surely he knew where the god of asylum and protection dwelt. Why, then, had he left her there and departed swiftly after? Why do that after laboring so long to free her from the prying eyes of many gods?

… Because I told him to, I suppose. Cleo had not gone to visit the trickster spirit in nearly a year. As she approached the laughing voices of men and women who were surely Martyn’s acolytes, Cleo wondered yet again whether planting roots in the hidden village had ever been her best idea. Truly she had found joy in teaching the village children of the outside world. Caring for her own animals (with the occasional help of a farmhand) ensured she did not go hungry. It was not a bad life to live, and she had met many people and developed useful skills. Through Scott, she had even learned to fish.

I wonder if I should have blossomed as a student under some god. She had not disliked learning from the god of hearts and husbandry, even after he left her shut inside a room. Many gods hosted students in their temples, for there were many who wished to learn skills, travel to other kingdoms, or read and write many books for library shelves. Surely if the gods admired her at the ball, one would take her as their student? That bridge had likely burned to ash where the god of hearts and husbandry was concerned, and there would of course be difficulties if she dwelt with the god of trickery and innovation. A charming spirit, but Cleo would not render him unable to escape because she lingered in his door. No; she would not curse him to eternally stay on guard.

Yet studying with god or goddess would not be such a bad thing. Cleo wondered if perhaps the god of travel and arts might take her in as some apprentice if they asked. The god of hearts and husbandry may float like a rotting apple between them, but the spirit that walked with wandering merchants must know every footstep of every trail, and would truly educate her beyond the classroom walls. Or perhaps the goddess of echo and memory, who was caretaker to the wolves and bats and songbirds, could point to her the forest trails.

Of course, studying beneath the spirits would require exposing herself to their attention once again. Two, three, or even four gods surely knew her location. What harm existed in leaving the village walls to chase a better dream? A silkworm cannot remain cooped up forever, even inside its cocoon. It would forever remain a worm. The moths without number, by their very nature, had indicated that quite clearly.

The voices grew louder at her approach, filled with clinking drinks and what sounded to be shuffled cards or wooden pieces of a game. Pearl may have been drawn in, captivated by winnings or the love of the game. She may have drunk much, Cleo thought, and chuckled at the memory of helping lightweight Moss back into her room after a long day of many parties.

The mortal passed through the archway into the sitting room… and halted straightaway. Some noise scuttled up their throat. Thoughts left her head in fireworks. The god of hearts and husbandry sat personally there upon the couch, languishing with his golden goblet. He had somewhat loosened his emerald robes, retaining modesty whilst indulging in the fact those of younger years had all gone off to bed. Dice clattered from his hand across the table, and someone handed him a card. He laughed, raising his sacred cup for foolish toast. His eyes latched onto Cleo’s. At that very moment, all cheek left him. His noises slipped to silence.

It was not the man’s husband who perched bird-like on his knee. Cleo stood shock-still, as if the ground would give way beneath her at the slightest moment. For not only did Martyn sit on the couch with his deck of cards, engaged in silly things, but nestled in his lap, fawning upon his cheek, sat…

… Pearl.

Cleo drew backwards, scraping her stockings on cold floor. Martyn - She could not even call him by his title now - reacted at once, prying Pearl away from him (even as she kissed his jaw in oblivious confusion). He untangled her arms from around her neck. All this happened quick, even while noise, drink, and games swirled throughout the room.

There is something in his eyes, Cleo thought, and did not know what to make of that. The god - Martyn - whisked himself to the entryway, leaving Pearl behind him on the couch in her scarlet traveling cloak. Cleo had not dared linger with her eyes to determine if her friend wore anything else beneath. They stared instead at Martyn, lacking all words to even accuse him. Instead, they searched the tightness in his face. He moved fluidly as water at her arrival, like a man with something to hide. Cleo thought to scoff and roll her head, but chose to bite their lip instead. Pity the god who covered himself around mortals. Shamelessness may as well be required in the pantheon.

“Cleo,” Martyn said to her, already raising his voice. He met her across the threshold of the other room. He arrived like a thunderclap. A wave of his hand silenced all its noise. Perhaps he deflected attention away from them, encasing himself and that mortal in a bubble… but the belated appearance of Pearl, gripping the clasp of her cloak, ground Cleo’s wonder into dust. Martyn raised his hands then as though commanding music, for Cleo began to sputter at that same time. “Cleo, Cleo,” he said twice more, but if he meant to calm and reassure, his efforts spiked the opposite effect. Nether flames fanned across her face, as though her soul were beckoned there again.

“You cannot even talk to me- You hardly cast your eye on me, let alone offered to step inside for longer chat?” It squeaked out in question form accidentally. Cleo could not speak past the squeeze of her throat, which clenched as if beneath a hand. She glanced to Pearl then, who chose that moment to speak her mind.

“I do not betray my husband, if that is your concern. Bee and I have a welcome relationship; the door is kept open for each of us to come and go. He is the god of water and search. Gods are permitted by the moths to seek pleasure of mortals, and I would not take that from him with our marriage. So too, he allows me to visit other people.”

“Was this why?” Cleo demanded of Martyn without elaboration. She knew he did not need it to piece together context. None of Pearl’s excuses held value to her. It was not Pearl she found such fault with.

“What? You seem to think I’ve rejected you-”

“You rejected me when you fled, yes-”

“Oh, if you would give me a moment-”

“So your tongue has found you now?”

“Cleo,” Pearl ventured then, silencing them both. “I have known for years who Martyn is and that he is a god. He revealed this to me on our first night together. He often visits me, for my husband cannot spend every night with me.”

Martyn winced, tightening his hand against the archway’s curve. Cleo stumbled back, mind spinning like a falling star. With quick eyes, she glanced from Pearl to Martyn to Pearl again. Martyn would not look at her, though he chewed his lip as if he wished to find the words.

Pearl is a pretty woman, Cleo thought. And I am… indelicate, indecent, and boisterous. It plagued her. It consumed her, tossing her about like a ship on stormy sea, and not even the god of sea and fire would dare stretch out his hand. Did the gods prefer soft-spoken women? Was that why they heeded prayers? “So that’s it, then? All this time, you favored her? While I was your neighbor, forming interest in you?”

“Is that wrong?” Martyn countered, while Pearl clung to his arm as though confused. “I am permitted my interest! She has dwelt in that village far longer than you; she and I had spoken, and you have been so sharp with me.”

In a flash of lightning, fury welled inside her chest. Cleo, unthinking, said, “You rejected me, claiming you feared taking advantage- yet all this time, you chose to lie with Pearl, who once sought your aid just as I had? I think you rejected me for other reasons, not at all afraid!”

“Yes, I’m involved with her,” Martyn snapped, pushing Pearl away. In so doing, he strut forward to tower over Cleo, who put up her chin at him. How blurry his figure suddenly; perhaps he melted or steamed. “Prior my taking notice, Pearl entered marriage with another spirit; she built that foundation beforehand. I did not approach her; she came to me, just as you did. And when she left my temple, she did so politely, and prayed to me often, and visited me to share her thanks. None of which you did-”

“When I left your temple, I was dead!”

“I KNOW!” Martyn roared, throwing his arms to either side, and Cleo flinched away. Seeing this, he dragged his hands down his face, rolling his tongue in many noises. “Euuuulllllggghhh. Cleo, I’ve had enough. You always speak of yourself as if you are the only person in these kingdoms to ever become sick or experience pain. You think you are so special that the god of healing could not claim you, and only greater powers could. You always speak to me as though I am unaware of your health, as if I abandoned your parents who made love many years ago. Cleo Clocker, you are mine!”

His voice cracked when words flew out. It shattered like window glass placed carefully in rainbow displays. Cleo despised the tear which trickled past her nose. Martyn fell then to his knees on cold floor as though begging her to understand. As if he were a person she could ever wrap her mind around. Slamming hands upon stone, he then cried, “You’ve long made clear you have renounced me, for you consider yourself a cast-off thing now rendered to the god of trickery and innovation. But this does not take you from my power! I am the god of hearts and husbandry: the Ever-Sire and the Omni-Dam. From my wooing, you were made. In my womb, I carried you. From myself, I birthed you. From my breast, I nursed you. You are mine, as all people in this land are mine. Do you not believe that I love you? You consider yourself the sole charge I have decided to hate?”

“I knew it,” she whispered then, for her thoughts were not entangled with his pleas. In her mind, they floated in another room. Another Martyn, another Cleo, and another squiggled figure not so many years ago. “You denied it to me thrice, under oath of a god… and yet, I always knew. When I caught you then-”

Martyn shook his head in a way that snapped the black ribbons he wore about. One lashed across Pearl’s cheek. She recoiled, nursing her skin, and Martyn prattled on. He cried out, “Are you deceived to think I can heal all my charge with a snap of my fingers, that there will never be death or pain? I cannot! The moths require me to labor, for if the power of instant healing were poured across my hands, they know I am too weak-willed a man to use it sparingly. I would drain myself and come undone. For this, I am restricted, that all I can do is love my charges while they are yet alive. I do my best.”

His voice heaved, shoulders shaking, and Cleo could not bear to see his pathetic shape. She turned, brushing furiously at the wetness in her eyes. To weep too long would ruin her, the way it had once years ago. That same god. That same thin and pretty woman, her lips as luscious as a rose. “Do not speak to me,” she whispered, yet that god of consent keened, prostrate upon the floor.

“You are not… special. Born with crown upon your head you may have been, but your princess status did not render you immune to falling ill. Was it not enough that I loved and labored for you? I am not as flashy as that god which swept in to rescue you when all my healing groundwork had been laid. My works are far more subtle to the eye, but I did not abandon you in illness. Nor did I leave you comfortless when your sister’s lover was imprisoned, nor in war. Every time you have cast me some stray prayer, I have caught it with my hands and done all that is in my power to do.”

How small he appeared, even with those wide wings cast to either side of him. There on polished floor, his chin between his hands… the god wept. He wept, his tears brimming with that which rots a cloth. Pearl crouched to comfort him with ginger grace, fearing not that he might lash out or be ungrateful. How tender her fingers upon his face, she wiping tears aside with single thumb.

Cleo’s hands began to tremble. As the god of hearts and husbandry unraveled himself upon the floor, she chose to back away. Her own tears required tending. She could use a breath to breathe.

She left him there that night. She fled to her room. To her things. To her traveling clothes. And once she had dressed…

Well. At that point, she did not know entirely what to do.