Urhi-Teshub let go of the latch and nodded to the pair of guards flanking the outside of Istara's door, his heart heavy. He wished he could tell Istara the truth, but Thoth had forbidden it, insisting they should not undo what the Creator had done. Turning toward his door a little further down, he considered whether he should find Thoth and warn him Istara's memories had begun to return. He understood well enough the story she had crafted to fit her perception of having always been a goddess: she had left Sethi to be with Urhi-Teshub, her 'affair' having driven Sethi to ally himself with Marduk. Urhi-Teshub lifted an eyebrow, amazed at how a mind, given only fragments could create such a plausible whole.

He stopped outside his door and rubbed his hand against his jaw. Perhaps he might be able to sway the once-god of wisdom's mind. He couldn't understand what harm could come from Istara finding out she was once mortal. He turned.

From the depths of the corridor Sekhmet approached, carrying a rustic-looking gourd, a rude cork jammed into its neck. She lifted the yellowish gourd as she approached. A sloshing sound came from within.

"I hoped you might be in the mood to celebrate today's success," she smiled. "It's a local spirit, a burned liquor they call 'friend for life'. Despite its off-putting description, it's quite pleasant." She held out the gourd.

Urhi-Teshub took it, thinking only to take a sip to be polite and then excuse himself to continue on to find Thoth. He sipped. He lifted his brow, and took a deeper swig. He handed the gourd back to her. "It's good," he murmured.

"Nice and clean, and just enough sweetness to take the edge off its bitterness," Sekhmet said, taking a swig herself, her movements fluid and effortless. She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth, like a man. Urhi-Teshub bit back a smile. There was something refreshing about the goddess of war, her independence appealed to him. He eyed the gourd, thinking he wouldn't mind another shot at it.

He tilted his head at the door of his apartment. "Would you like to come in?" he asked. He reasoned once the thing was empty he could still go and see Thoth. After all, Sekhmet had gone out of her way to get the drink and find him, it would be rude to send her off.

She nodded. He opened the door and let her go in first. She turned to look at him as he closed the door behind him. "You want cups for this?"

"How do the locals drink it?" he asked.

Sekhmet held up the gourd and waggled it, a faint smile on her lips.

"Let's be heathens then," Urhi-Teshub said and moved to join her. She sank onto one of the divans, and eyed the open doors to the terrace. "It's a private garden," he said, catching her wary look. "No one here but you and me."

With a nod of approval, she handed him the gourd. He settled onto the divan opposite her. The cork came out with a satisfying pop. He raised the gourd and toasted her before he drank, deep. The liquid washed down his throat, smooth, satisfying, both a little bitter and sweet.

"Easy, there," Sekhmet said, putting her slim fingers on the gourd and pushing it down, "it's stronger than you'd expect. I don't want you incapacitated before I find out all your dark secrets."

"I don't have any dark secrets," Urhi-Teshub said, handing the gourd back. She took it, and sipped, but didn't hand it back. Neither did she put the cork back, which pleased him. "It's your dark secrets I am interested in," he said, the drink starting to hit him, buoying him up, melting his troubles away—though a stern voice in his mind reminded him he still needed to speak to Thoth.

"The one who brings the drink gets their answers first," Sekhmet replied with a dry look. She eased forward in the divan, and rested her elbows on her leather-clad thighs, holding the gourd in the open space between her legs. Urhi-Teshub cut a surreptitious look at her fingers around the neck of the gourd, the sight of her sitting like that appealing, sensual. He had never seen a women clad in leggings before, nor had he seen one sit like that, oozing the easy confidence of a warrior. He looked up and caught her watching him, a sardonic look in her eye.

"When you sit like that, dressed like that, you can't expect a man not to look," he said, leaning back against the divan and spreading his arms out over the back of it. He lifted his leg and lay his ankle over the knee of his other leg, the panels of his kilt falling in the gap between.

"Hm," Sekhmet said, her gaze drifting over him as she took another slow sip of the liquor. She pushed herself up from the divan and wandered around the room, trailing her fingers over the items of virtue displayed on the tables. "Is any of this yours?"

"Not a single thing," Urhi-Teshub said, watching her, intrigued by her sudden change of mood, sensing her withdrawing from him, her earlier banter fading. "Apart from my ruined armor, I arrived in Elati carrying nothing more than the weapons I brought from Marduk's armory."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Sekhmet said, sliding a sidewise look at him. "I heard you carried the largest ones, along with Teshub."

"I did," Urhi-Teshub said. A feeling of warmth suffused him, the drink making his muscles languid. She was right to cut him off. Imaru's local drink was potent.

"And before," Sekhmet said, opening the lid of a jewel-encrusted box and peeking inside, "who were you?"

He shrugged. "A prince. A warrior. A king."

"And Istara was your queen?"

He blinked at her blunt question, asked in a soft, blameless tone. "I—" he floundered, the drink dulling his thoughts, making it hard to think straight. "She—" He stood up, and shook himself, trying to rid himself of the tranquilizing effect of the drink. "Let us talk of other things."

"No," Sekhmet said, closing the jeweled box with a snap, "not yet."

"What does it matter who was my queen?" Urhi-Teshub demanded, the drink's effect shifting in him, turning dark, hardening him.

"Because I won't be second to another, ever again," Sekhmet said, her dark eyes, flecked with gold, met his. A world of anguish bled from them. She blinked and it was gone, silenced within a heartbeat.

Urhi-Teshub let out a slow breath. "Second?" he asked, stunned by the depth of her vulnerability, glimpsed within the space of a heartbeat. "Who could make you second to anyone?"

"It seems we both have our dark secrets," she said, though a faint look of pleasure ghosted her features. She crossed the room until she stood before him, her slim, leather-encased body within arm's reach. Lifting the gourd she closed her eyes and took three long gulps. Again, the back of her hand against her lips, the gesture both sensual and innocent, maddening him. She held out the gourd. "Just a little sip," she murmured as Urhi-Teshub took it, his fingers brushing against hers, "then neither of us will have the advantage of the other."

"I will never answer your question," Urhi-Teshub said, bringing the mouth of the gourd to his lips, tasting the scent of her upon its edge. He sipped, just a little as she suggested, and handed the thing back to her.

"And I will never answer yours," she said, taking the gourd and corking it. She tossed it onto the opposite divan. It bounced twice before rolling to an uneven stop, the liquid within washing back and forth against its shell.

"Now we have that out of the way, shall we play a game?" she asked, going back to the jeweled box. She carried it back and set it on the floor between the divans. From within she retrieved a small pair of cubes with different symbols on each side. She sank onto the floor and looked up at him. "You coming?" She patted the space beside her.

He lifted a brow. "You want me to sit on the floor?"

"The game doesn't work if you don't," Sekhmet said, cradling the cubes in her upturned palm. She shook her hand, and the cubes rattled together, the sound not unpleasant. She tossed them away from her. They rolled across the floor until they hit the side of the box. She leaned forward. "A pair of stars," she smiled, triumphant. "I win, already."

Curious, Urhi-Teshub knelt beside her. He picked up the cubes and examined them. On each of their six sides, a marking. A star; a crescent moon; a flower; a goblet; a crown; a dagger. Both of the cubes had the same markings, so if thrown at the same time one could get two of the same markings at once, as Sekhmet had just done.

"They are called dice," Sekhmet said, taking them from him and shaking them again within her cupped palm, her fingers curled over her so the dice wouldn't fall out. She tossed them again, and they clattered up against the side of the box. A flower and a dagger showed their faces. Disappointment sliced over her features.

"To win we need to throw a matching pair?" Urhi-Teshub asked.

"Roll, not throw," Sekhmet corrected. "You roll the dice. And yes. Although not all pairs are equal. A pair of stars is the strongest roll, followed in descending order by crowns, moons, daggers, goblets, and finally flowers."

"Sounds easy enough," Urhi-Teshub said, rubbing his hands together. It had been a long time since he had played a game, and the simplicity of this one appealed. "I'm ready."

"I wasn't done," Sekhmet continued, cutting a wry look at him. "You also need to avoid rolling four combinations, which not only loses that toss, but also gives the winner an extra turn to win." She reached up onto the divan and tugged on the frayed remains of an old rope still clinging to the gourd's neck. The gourd wobbled its way across the divan to her. She caught it, deft, as it fell off the seat. He waited for her to uncork it. Instead she settled it beside her, resting its neck against her thigh. "The losing combinations are: moon and dagger; goblet and dagger; flower and dagger, and crown and dagger."

"Daggers—bad," Urhi-Teshub said, nodding.

"Not always," Sekhmet said, her fingers falling to brush against one of the daggers strapped in its holder to her thigh. "Sometimes they are very good." She cut a look at him, and smiled, slow. "But not tonight."

She uncorked the gourd. "One sip," she said handing it to him. He obliged and she followed suit.

"And the wager?" Urhi-Teshub asked.

"Ah," Sekhmet said, holding up the gourd, "the loser must take a sip and answer the question put to them."

Urhi-Teshub drew back. "I will not answer your question, so do not ask."

"I wasn't planning on it, since you can't ask me mine, either. We have established what is off limits. However," she bit back a secret smile, "everything else is fair game."

A tingling of anticipation spread through Urhi-Teshub. Sekhmet was unlike any other woman he had ever known, and he had known a lot of them. He found himself determined to win, to have the advantage of her, to ask her things he would never dare ask otherwise. She handed him one of the dice.

"We roll to see who goes first. Same as the order of pairs. Star is the highest roll, flower the lowest."

Urhi-Teshub tossed his die. It tumbled up against the box. A crown, only a star could beat it. He shot her a triumphant look. Her die came to a stop beside his. A star. He ignored her smirk. The night was still young. He would have the better of her yet.

The night progressed, though despite having an occasional edge over her, Sekhmet always rallied until neither of them ever had the advantage of the other. Despite his desire to ask deeper questions, his manners got the better of him, instead he asked useless things: What is your favorite food? Who is your least favorite god in the pantheon? Do you have names for your weapons? Most embarrassing memory. But as the gourd emptied, and they relaxed—the dice throwing becoming chaotic, their tosses forcing them to search, laughing and inebriated for dice lost under the divans, their words slurring—the questions deepened. She asked him what he thought of becoming immortal. Who he worshiped when he had been mortal. What was his weapon of choice. What he missed the most about the world he had left behind. He had to admit her questions were much better than his.

Urhi-Teshub handed the gourd to Sekhmet who had just rolled one of the losing pairs, something and a dagger, he couldn't remember. She sipped, languid, and sank back against the edge of the divan, pulling her legs out from under her with a sigh.

"Why don' you have a consor'?" he asked, weaving a little as he reached out to take the gourd back from her. He sipped, even though it wasn't his turn to drink. He liked the taste of it, and it made him feel good. He hadn't felt this way for as long as he could remember. Maybe forever.

She shrugged and lifted her hand to wipe away a stray drop of the clear liquor from her chest. She missed by a lot. "The Creat'r didn' give me any."

"Don' you wan' one?" Urhi-Teshub asked, falling back against the opposite divan. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out in front of him. It felt really good to do it. He wondered why he didn't sit on the floor like this more often.

She shrugged again and looked down at her lap. She sniffed. "Sometimes." She let out a deep exhalation. "Wha' can I do 'bout it? 'S not like there's any gods goin' spare." She held out her hand and waggled her fingers, uncoordinated. "More."

He eased himself away from his divan and hauled himself across the floor over to her, the open gourd in his other hand, its dregs sloshing in the bottom of it. He leaned back against the divan beside her, huffing from the effort of his crossing, his breath hot and sticky in his mouth. She took the gourd from him and drank the last of it, noisy, like a man. The gourd landed on her lap and the weight of her head hit his shoulder. He rolled his eyes to her, she sagged against him, unconscious, her legs and arms sprawled out like a doll's.

He plucked the empty gourd from her lap and shoved it aside. "E'rybuddy sh' hav'a consor'," he said, as the room began to spin. He leaned his head back against the edge of the divan and closed his eyes. "E'rybuddy."