Chapter Twenty-One
A knock on his door in the late afternoon made him sigh. “Leave it by the door, I already told you,” he called.
“It’s Pyrma, Your Divinity. You must wash and prepare to see the gods.”
Right—that was today. His world was shattering around him but he had to pull himself together and be a smiling doll for the gods. The thought alone was exhausting.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “I’ll wash and dress myself this time.”
“But…”
“But nothing. Leave me be.”
By the silence, he assumed she had left.
Usually Gionan was the one who fetched him; it was rather a relief it wasn’t this time or he would have never gotten rid of him so easily.
He crept to the wash room with the mad hope of not running into anyone, but of course at least three servants passed by him on the way there.
He stared forward and pretended not to notice or care about their glances.
He cleaned himself with a thoroughness Gionan would approve of, and picked through his clothes for something the gods would approve of.
They seemed to love garments with revealing slits; what he had first mistaken as a leftover style from Verusias he had learned was simply an understood preference for the audience it was made for.
So he put together the gold pants that opened on the sides and the purple tunic that was also slit up the sides and laced together with ribbon.
He finished the self-made look with gold bangles around his wrists and his favorite earrings.
He was fully expecting Gionan to burst in at any time with complete disregard to his orders of being left alone, but it never happened. Poyut fetched him from his room and walked with him through the palace, her resolute presence a great comfort to have beside him.
At the temple entrance, he paused and turned to her. “Why don’t you go back to the palace and come get me in the morning?”
She blinked at him and opened her mouth to argue.
“My body isn’t in the room to protect anyway,” he pointed out. “And when’s the last time you had a good night of sleep? You look exhausted.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she told him firmly.
“But I do… I am.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want me to make it an order? I’m with the gods all night, I’ll be fine.”
She sighed, glancing around as though she could find a reasonable argument in the air.
“Poyut—”
“Alright, alright,” she conceded. “But I’m going to tell Klara and have her keep an eye out. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise. I assume you’ll approve of that, Your Divinity?” She smiled at him.
He narrowed his eyes and puckered his lips, but couldn’t stop a smile breaking the false irritation. “Very well. If it’ll help you get restful sleep.”
“It will.”
He nodded and they split down different paths in the temple as he went to the offering room and Poyut followed the corridor to Klara’s room.
The priest Klara had chosen to fill her place was a waify woman named Lanaya, who passed Ethyr the flower petals with no fanfare and watched him eat them before taking the bowl back and walking out.
He sat on the bench and waited resignedly for the exhaustion to overtake him.
The delicate music convinced him for a long minute that he was still in a dream. Then he opened his eyes to the sight of Langath sitting cross-legged on a seat across the room, eyes closed as she played a light, languid melody on a lyre.
The other gods all sat leaning on the table watching her, as mesmerized as Ethyr. The music was beautiful, and pining, and Ethyr’s heart wanted to split open. He fought the feeling, and the tears, reminding himself of where he was.
A sense pulled his gaze to the side. Kiaro leaned against the wall, one foot lifted to rest against it, arms crossed and eyes fixated on Ethyr.
He met Kiaro’s stare boldly, straightening his back, daring the god to break eye contact first. He didn’t. And Ethyr realized Kiaro did not watch him with the casual intensity of the other gods. In his eyes was a tender sorrow that begged for solace.
The music stopped. Ethyr’s eyes tore from Kiaro on reflex alone, returning to Langath. She smiled across the room at him and the rest of the gods turned their heads to see.
“Ethyr!” Gallus chirped, bouncing over to him and taking his hands to pull him up. “I missed you.”
“Bring him here,” Gnaeus beckoned, and Gallus obediently tugged Ethyr over and sat him beside her, wiggling himself between Ithna and Ethyr to remain at his side and drape himself over his shoulders.
Gnaeus pulled him into an embrace as well, stroking his hair. “Have you been faring okay, little mouse? Yorith’s death surely hit you harder than most.”
“Oh.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it.
He was wondering what the sudden sympathy was for.
Yorith’s death already seemed so far in the past, and drowned out by so many other things, he’d almost forgotten it was something he’d been upset about.
Was this some kind of funeral service for the priest?
They all seemed to be anticipating an answer.
“I’m okay,” he said hesitantly, head crushed to Gnaeus’s bosom and other side weighed down by Gallus.
“Should Langath play another song for you?” Gallus asked.
“Don’t volunteer me,” Langath said, irritated.
“Something happier, perhaps?” Varuut suggested. Langath narrowed her eyes. “Lang, get the lute.”
Langath glared for another long second. Then she stood with a mutter and wandered out of the room.
“I-I don’t…” Ethyr shifted. Gnaeus took the hint and let go of him, letting him sit up, but Gallus still hung off him. “I thought I was supposed to entertain you,” he mumbled.
“Oh, don’t worry about Langath.” Gallus picked up a piece of candied fruit and fed it to Ethyr. “She pretends she’s reluctant but she loves showing off.”
“I think she likes giving beauty to others,” Varuut countered.
Ainder scoffed from where he was lounging on the floor propped up on his elbow. “How optimistic of you.” Varuut wrinkled her nose at him.
“It’s likely both,” Ithna said placidly, braiding her long hair over her shoulder.
Langath returned with a lute and plopped down onto the seat again.
The tune she began plucking was much faster and happier than the beautifully mournful notes of the other.
Gallus hopped up, dragging Ethyr with him into a dizzying, spinning dance.
Laughter bubbled out of Ethyr without thought, perhaps because Gallus was laughing too, and together they wove a heedless dance as some of the others clapped in time.
For a moment, Ethyr was back in his village, twirling around the midsummer bonfire to flute song and drumbeats.
No embarrassment, no shame, careless of anything beyond the grip the music had on his body.
Then the spinning caught up to him and he stumbled, laughing, into Gallus’s arms. The god kissed his lips and as smooth as though it were part of the dance, deposited him onto a seat cushion and pulled Ithna up in his place.
Ethyr caught his breath and his balance, downing a goblet of wine.
When he was fortified, he cast a glance around the room.
Most of the gods were still enraptured by Gallus and Ithna’s performance.
Save two. From the distant wall Kiaro watched Ethyr, and Ethyr looked away from that burning gaze to Ainder beside him.
He was laying on the floor, arms behind his head and eyes closed.
“I thought you didn’t need to sleep.”
Ainder peeked open one eye. “We don’t. But I prefer not watching tragedies like Ithna dancing.”
Ethyr couldn’t help his laugh, though he at least managed to muffle it. He thought Ithna danced well, especially with Gallus, their movements swaying and twisting in time with each other.
He stared down at his empty goblet, rubbing his thumb over the lip. For once, the gods weren’t enraptured by him, focused instead on the entertainment Gallus was providing.
Ethyr gently set the cup onto the table and crawled into Ainder’s lap.
The god opened his eyes and smiled up at him. “Careful,” he warned. “You might excite me.”
“Good,” Ethyr said resolutely. He wasn’t going to leave his intentions up to interpretation. Ainder’s smile widened and he sat up, brushing a thumb over Ethyr’s cheek.
“Well,” he said sultrily. “Who’s tender now?
” His hand wrapped around the back of his head and Ethyr gladly let it bring him forward.
Ainder kissed with immediate ferocity, like he was trying to taste the back of Ethyr’s throat.
He choked and pulled away, but Ainder’s grip on his head didn’t let him retreat far, keeping their lips so close he could feel Ainder’s breath when he spoke.
“Oh please,” he whispered. “My cock is much bigger than my tongue and you took that just fine.” He crushed their mouths back together.
Ethyr was ready this time, meeting Ainder’s tongue with his own and wrapping his arms around his shoulders to squeeze their bodies together.
Ainder hummed approvingly. His hands fell from Ethyr’s head to his ass, pulling it flush to his hips and grinding him against the hard bulge waiting there.
His little noise of surprise separated them again and Ainder chuckled, his dark eyes meeting Ethyr’s so close he could see the streaks in them. “You thought it’d take longer? Who do you think I am?” He planted a hard kiss on his lips. “Keep up, kid.”
“I will,” Ethyr whispered, pulling Ainder’s hand up and wrapping his mouth around two fingers, slicking them thoroughly with saliva. The god’s smile kept getting bigger and bigger.
“Finally a worthwhile evening,” he murmured, taking his hand back and replacing it with his tongue.
The wet fingers found their way into the gap of Ethyr’s pants.
He lifted off Ainder’s lap in anticipation, but it still startled him enough to break the kiss and clutch Ainder’s shoulders with a pitched cry as he plunged both fingers in.