The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 8: Kings: Section III: Dashel

Dashel: The Ambassadors' Residence: Qemassen

Dashel leaned forward and skimmed a small stone across the narrow pool at the heart of the ambassadors' riad. Surrounded by the birds and the bugs and the flowering bushes, the world seemed beautiful. With Thanos sitting beside him on the stone bench, he could pretend he wasn't alone.

"Thank you for seeing me," Dashel said without looking up. He hunched, pressing his forearms into his legs. "I needed to see someone. After Mal and the princes were attacked—" He waved his hand, straightening.

Thanos was staring at him, dark circles beneath his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

This had been a mistake. Since Thanos had cut things off, Dashel had hardly thought of him. Not until Aurelius had started fucking Bree.

His fingers were jittery. They'd stop shaking if he drank the reserve of sapenta he'd stashed in his pocket.

"I shouldn't have bothered you." Dashel stood up, but Thanos grabbed his wrist.

"Don't." Thanos sounded so tired. "What did you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Dashel said. The sapenta beat a rhythm steady as a pulse inside the folds of his tunic.

Thanos laughed, a rough sound. "Everyone wants to talk with me lately—all day and night if they can. The heq-Ashqen, the former heq-Damirat, even the king, hard as it may be to imagine Eshmunen actually governing."

Dashel swallowed.

Somehow he'd forgotten that Thanos lived a life outside what the two of them had shared, that he was here for a purpose, and that his diplomatic presence was important. While he remained in Qemassen, there seemed some hope that peace might win out between Qemassen and Lorar.

Dashel took a step toward the shallow, clear pool, letting Thanos's hand drop from his sleeve. The surface of the water was covered in petals shed from the bushes: yellow and purple and blue.

The colour of bruises, like those that marred the skin of Hima's children—children he'd failed when he hadn't told anyone how Safot had been acting. Because Dashel had been a coward and hadn't wanted Hima or Aurelius to learn that he'd led Hesh's thug inside the palace walls.

Dashel walked to the very edge of the pool. He wanted to shake off his sandals and dip his feet beneath the surface. The water was so clear, it was like if he touched it, he could be clear too. "Have I ruined everything?"

Thanos scoffed. "It would be hard to ruin everything. For instance, I hear the temple of Tanata has projected a bountiful olive harvest for the autumn months, and my wasp hat is coming along very nicely."

That was right—the wasps had disappeared from the riad. They must be fully attached to the hat.

Dashel smiled and faced Thanos. "I'm sorry." He shouldn't ask—every part of his body begged him not to—but it was like the decision had already been made long ago by some fickle god. He hung his head. "Perhaps I could visit you tonight—I haven't had any sapenta in days. I haven't been with Aurelius." Well, he had, but not in bed with Aurelius. "I miss you."

"It's time this . . . thing between us ended, Dashel. We both know it―you just won't admit you want it to." Thanos looked so calm, so controlled. He was thin, not much to look at but for his bright green eyes. For the first time, Dashel thought he might miss that green.

"I don't want it to." The words slipped out, a cruel and easy lie. He wanted Thanos only as a warm body in his bed, because at least then he could pretend it wasn't empty.