As the sun began its rapid descent, and lamplights flickered to life along Imaru's multitude of sultry terraces, Urhi-Teshub arrived to escort Istara back to her apartment for the evening meal. Thoth had said nothing more of the affair between her protector and the goddess of war, neither had she asked.

In the wake of her confession, as she and Thoth had sat upon the sun-warmed terrace and spoke of his plans for the cores, and of his hopes for Teshub to find a safe place for them away from the cities and kingdoms of the Elatians, a glimmer of clarity touched her. The Creator's silence was not a punishment. It was intentional. Since they had arrived in Elati, apart from her initial request for Thoth to create a sanctuary for the gods—when, she realized in hindsight, she had been far stronger in mind and spirit—she had done little else to aid in the fight against Marduk. Instead, over the weeks, a slow encroachment of darkness had slid over her, tainting her thoughts, consuming her with an obsession to uncover her missing memories, and in drowning her in grief for her lost consort. She wondered if the taint came from her connection to Sethi, from whatever possessed and tormented him. Perhaps its shadow was able to touch her through their connection. Still, she had been weak, pitiful even, when she should have taken responsibility and fought harder than any of them.

Instead, she had spent her days languishing in her apartment, spending her time correcting Imaru's texts on healing, while the other gods crossed the heavens in search of Marduk's stronghold, or in seeking out allies and gathering information on Sethi's movements. She could have found things to do, ways to help—more than once Thoth had suggested ways she could aid him, but she had declined every time, murmuring her excuses to return to the solitude of her apartment, where she felt safe in her misery, away from the condemnation of the other gods. For the last five weeks, she had done nothing, had allowed herself the luxury of seclusion, of wandering paths long gone, counting down the hours until her heart would awaken during those brief, brutal pre-dawn connections with the one her heart ached for, longed for.

But it was enough. She had wasted far too much time wallowing in self-pity. She was the goddess of healing, and the consort of the fallen god of war. No one knew her consort better than she. In those morning connections, she could find ways to learn things from him. There was more she could do. Much more.

She bid Thoth farewell and waited in the corridor as Urhi-Teshub closed the door. Within: the low scrape of Thoth's chair as he pulled it back up to his desk; the low murmurs of his voice as he shuffled through the overflowing contents of his desk and returned to his infinite calculations.

They progressed along the covered walkway alongside a terraced camellia garden overlooking the city. As they passed one of the pillars, Istara touched the soft petals of a vine bearing a profusion of bright purple flowers, trailing her fingers along its curtain hanging from the architrave, appreciating their simple beauty. Unable to stop herself, she paused to inhale the blossoms' scent. Nothing. Strange. She tried again. There. Perhaps the fading heat of the sun lingered, touched by the dry scent of the volcanic dust along the stone flags. But of the flower itself, its song had long since been silenced.

"I wonder why the Creator did not grant this flower its perfume," she mused. "What could it ever do to offend him?"

Urhi-Teshub leaned against one of the pillars and folded his arms over his chest. He eyed her, his look enigmatic.

"It might be," he said, as she reached up to caress another cluster of flowers, "these are his favorite."

Istara paused to consider his logic. "But . . . if he loved them best, why would he take something from them?" she asked. "Why not give them even more gifts?"

"Perhaps," Urhi-Teshub answered, low, as she turned and met his eyes, "those he loves the most must work the hardest, else it would be unfair to the others."

Istara blinked, stunned by the depth of his serendipitous answer. He held her gaze. A flicker of knowing rippled through his eyes, dark green with flecks of gold. Along the cut of his jaw and against the corners of his mouth, a faint tinge of melancholy still touched him, although rather than detracting from his presence, it added depth, seasoning him. Since their return from the pyramids, he had hardened, and a quiet confidence seeped from him. Sorrow no longer shrouded him, instead he girded himself with strength, purpose, focus. There was something else, too. Peace. He had found peace. So, hers had not been the only turning point at the pyramids. She wondered—

Footsteps approached quick, light.

Urhi-Teshub pushed away from the pillar and turned; the hard edges and planes of his face softened. Istara waited. From the shadows further down the walkway, Sekhmet's slim, leather-clad figure emerged. She approached them, her dark eyes first going to Urhi-Teshub, warm with affection, then to Istara, her warmth fading. She nodded at Istara.

"Lady Istara," she said.

Istara tilted her head to her in return. "Sekhmet."

An awkward silence slid between them. Istara waited.

"Do you wish to see Thoth?" Urhi-Teshub asked at last.

"No," Sekhmet answered, eyeing Istara, her dislike tangible. "I came in search of the goddess of healing."

Saying nothing, Istara folded her hands before her. She had never liked Sekhmet, had never trusted her. The goddess of war was a law unto herself. The tension between her and the other goddess thickened.

Sekhmet jerked her head at the garden, toward a little flagstone path. "Shall we?" She didn't wait for Istara to accept. She strode away, lithe, elegant, and waited a little further in, her back to Istara, her gloved hands on her hips, oozing defiance.

Istara looked back at Urhi-Teshub, to gauge his reaction but his attention remained on Sekhmet, tense, uneasy.

Istara swept into the garden after her, her gown leaving little trails of starlight over the twilit shrubs of camellias. At the edge of the garden's terrace, a palace servant lit a row of lamps imbedded into the flagstones. They flared alight, one by one, casting flickering shadows along the path. He finished his task and departed, leaving them alone, between the lamplit camellias and a blossoming canopy of stars.

Sekhmet turned, abrupt. "I am sleeping with him," she said, her eyes hot, defiant. "I am only telling you this out of courtesy, goddess to goddess, since he is your protector."

"I note your courtesy," Istara replied, cold, "but my protector belongs to me. He is not like the others you have dallied with. I will not allow him to be your toy."

Sekhmet's eyes darkened. "It seems to me the only one who has treated him like a toy has been you."

Istara stepped closer. She would not be rebuked by one the likes of Sekhmet. "Meaning?" she asked, low.

Sekhmet scoffed. "Any fool can see he loved you once, perhaps even now he loves you still. You, a goddess and he, a mortal king? He left his empire to follow you here. That tells us all we need to know. It means you of all people are not in a position to cast judgment."

Istara bristled. "You dare speak to me thus—you, a cold-hearted whore?"

"Careful," Sekhmet said, smiling, thin. "I'm one of the few on your side. You wouldn't want me to go to the others and let them know the real reason Sethi allied himself to Marduk," she glared at Istara, hostile, meaningful. "Who is the true cause of our misery—"

Fury tore a searing path through Istara. Her palm slammed against Sekhmet's mouth, hard. Sekhmet staggered into a camellia bush, her eyes widening with surprise. Blood bloomed against her lower lip, a brilliant liquid garnet. It swelled, glinting in the light of the lamps.

"If violence is what you want, violence you shall have," Sekhmet spat, a tendril of her light rippled over her mouth, closing her split lip. Her hand came up, her leather-clad fingers curling into a small, hard fist. "I can do this all night."

Urhi-Teshub pushed his way between them and caught Sekhmet's wrist in his grip. "Enough," he said, forcing her arm back down. "Both of you." He turned to Istara. "I am going to assume at least some of this has to do with me," he muttered as Sekhmet pulled free of his hold and stood beside him, quivering with rage. "We have enough on our hands to deal with without starting to fight amongst ourselves over trivial matters—"

"Trivial?" Sekhmet erupted, incredulous. "I thought we—"

"Trivial?" Istara echoed, furious. "You don't know what she is, what she has done to—"

"I don't care what she has done," Urhi-Teshub interrupted, sharp. "I have committed enough crimes of my own to last for an eternity. Lady Istara, I have chosen to share my bed with Sekhmet, and will continue to do so with or without your permission. I should have been the one to tell you, not Sekhmet." He shot a harsh look at Sekhmet, who looked away, no longer defiant, but chastened. Istara caught her breath, incredulous—Urhi-Teshub had the power to subdue the goddess of war. "Whatever we once shared," he continued, gentling his tone as he turned back to Istara, "is over. For you, it ended years ago. But for me, it ended at the portal when I drove a dagger into your heart and killed you."

"Killed her?" Sekhmet repeated, cutting an uncertain look at Istara.

"What do you mean," Istara breathed, stunned, "killed me?"

The muscles of Urhi-Teshub's jaw clenched. A glimmer of uncertainty crossed his features, suppressed in a heartbeat. "It's ah . . . a metaphor," he muttered. "Nothing more." He gave Sekhmet another stern look laden with warning and departed for the walkway, leaving her and her counterpart alone amongst the camellias again.

Sekhmet moved closer. Istara lifted her eyes to the stars, ignoring her, willing her to go.

"It's not the same with him as the others," Sekhmet said, low. "I swear I will not hurt him."

"All you do is hurt," Istara snapped. "You are incapable of anything else."

Sekhmet flinched. She turned and gazed over the twinkling city. "Maybe this cold-hearted whore has finally found out what a broken heart feels like," she said, catching hold of Istara's eyes. A sheen of tears glinted in Sekhmet's. "Let's just say what happened at the pyramids stays in the pyramids." When Istara said no more, she turned to leave.

Istara caught Sekhmet's arm. "Wait."

Sekhmet waited, the lamplight enhancing the elegant contours of her features. There was no doubt Sekhmet was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful of all the goddesses. Istara caught Urhi-Teshub watching them, impassive, waiting, letting them work out their differences. Perhaps she had stolen him from another, but she belonged to Sethi. Urhi-Teshub had never been hers, and after all she had taken from him, he deserved to be happy. If the goddess of war was the one he wanted, it was not Istara's place to decide.

"Love him with all your heart," Istara whispered. "As I once did."

Sekhmet glanced at Urhi-Teshub. Her eyes softened. Tenderness surrounded her. "I already do." She met Istara's eyes, hers frank, sincere. "I understand why you did what you did. He is no ordinary mortal. I am honored to have been chosen by him."

Istara blinked, stunned by Sekhmet's unexpected solidarity. With a quiet smile, the goddess of war left, her leather-clad legs brushing against the camellia blossoms. A trail of white petals tumbled free and drifted to the flagstones, dusting it with scented flakes of silken snow. In the shadows of the walkway, a few quiet words, a stolen, passionate kiss, and then, with a whisper, the goddess of war departed. Quiet fell.

Urhi-Teshub came into the garden. His scent surrounded Istara, cyprinum, tones of earthy, sun-warmed grass, cinnamon, and sandalwood. The heat of him made her miss Sethi. If only he stood there instead of Urhi-Teshub—No. She would not go down this path again.

A familiar creak of leather stole across the quiet as her protector rested his hands on the handles of his weapons. Istara moved to the edge of the terrace, closed her eyes, and inhaled deep, seeking to cleanse her mind of her sordid past, and of the development between Sekhmet and Urhi-Teshub. Dense, humid evening air filled her lungs. It washed through her, carrying a hint of the rich alkaline scent of the lake. She exhaled. Better.

"I have heard there is a téy museum in the lower city," Istara said, opening her eyes to take in the view once more. The sky hung barren of its moons. Instead, the stars bore down on them, fierce, brilliant, hard, burning with vengeance. "Tomorrow morning, I would go there to see what I can learn in the art of brews. After, I will return to Thoth." She looked back at Urhi-Teshub, who eyed her, a faint hint of approval gilding his expression.

Her protector held out his arm. She took it. Together, they walked back to her apartment along the walkways and corridors of the palace, companionable, peaceful. He was right. It was over. And now, it was time to begin again. Alone.