Page 89 of Sun Warrior

“None,” Dove heard herself say as she repressed a shudder of revulsion. “None at all.”

“You do understand, my precious one!” He bent and kissed her again, this time lingering on her lips, deepening the kiss.

Dove began to soften to him. He was still her Champion, her emancipator, her hero—the only person she had ever loved. She clung to him, silently willing Dead Eye to stay with her—to fight the possession of the God.

But as his caresses became more urgent, more filled with desire, Dove felt him change. It was a subtle shifting—much like the change that happens when one goes from being awake to falling into the world of dreams. And then Dead Eye was gone. She knew it before He spoke. She felt it in the texture of His touch and in the quality of His presence. Even His scent changed from Dead Eye’s familiar smell of earth and pine and clean, honest sweat to something darker, more pungent and base.

“Ah, little bird, you are an attractive mortal. I do appreciate Dead Eye’s choice in a mate. You will make a delectable vessel for my Goddess.” Death spoke with His lips against her ear as He penetrated her.

She said nothing. She did nothing except remain still beneath Him, allowing the God to use her.

“So soft… so young… soalive,” He murmured as He thrust roughly into her.

She said nothing, which seemed to please Him. With a roar He quickly spent Himself.

Dove was grateful that He didn’t remain with her as Dead Eye would have, cuddling her close afterward while they talked of their future. Instead, the God stood, stretching mightily before He pulled on His breeches.

“Ah, it is good to be awake! Make ready! When I return we feast on the rest of the boar meat,” Death said to her. “The Reapers and I will be ravenous.” He bent and cupped her breast, squeezing it painfully. “For more than just food, but that will come after we eat.”

Dove was careful not to cringe from Him, careful not to let any hint of disgust be heard in her voice. “My Lord, may I ask where you are going?”

“To the City in the Trees, of course.”

Dove folded her hands together so that He would not see that they trembled. “Are You conquering the city today, my Lord?”

“It is good you are so eager to become divine. That pleases me, little bird. The City in the Trees was conquered the moment I awoke, though they do not yet know it. I have some small things I must do before I take possession of their city and make it my own, but do not fret; it will be soon, very soon.”

Then, without another word to her, He left their bed. Striding through the God’s chamber, he began shouting for Dove’s Attendants to bring drink and food and to command Iron Fist to join him on the God’s balcony.

Forgotten, Dove made her way to the far corner of the chamber where the Attendants always kept troughs of freshwater for drinkingand bathing. Dove washed herself, over and over, wiping away every vestige of Death’s loathsome touch.

“Mistress, may I help you?” Lily’s voice was filled with concern and Dove could feel the God’s attention shifting in her direction. She shook her head, waving away her Attendant.

“No, I do not need your help, but your Champion does. Did I not hear him call for food and drink?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Lily said, sounding contrite.

Dove hated speaking harshly to the girl. She was young and kind and wished only to serve her, but Dove steeled herself. The time for weakness and sentiment was gone. The God of Death had banished it.

“Then do as he commands.”

“Yes, Mistress!” Lily hurried away, and as she did Dove felt the God’s attention turn from her.

Moments after His food and drink were brought to the balcony, she heard Iron Fist race into the chamber, going directly to the God’s balcony to join Death. Moving with the graceful silence that had kept her invisible to the loathsome Watchers, Dove took a basket of hemp rope that needed to be knotted into fishing nets and went to a shadowy spot near enough to the balcony that her sharp ears could hear while she remained hidden. Her hands worked as she listened with growing dread.

“Who do you see when you look at me, Iron Fist?” Death asked His Reaper.

The man did not hesitate. “My leader. My Champion. My God.”

Cloaked by shadow, Dove’s hands stilled. She had thought the Death God was still masquerading as Dead Eye, the God’s Champion. But she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. The obvious changes in His body, coupled with the arrogance of the God, should have prepared her. For once Dove was glad she had been born eyeless. Had she eyes, Dove would not have been able to keep from dissolving into tears—and those tears would definitely have been noticed by the God. Instead, she tucked her heartache deep inside her. She would bring it out later and mourn Dead Eye’s loss properly, but only after she found a way to escape the touch of Death.

“Which of the Hunters and Harvesters I have not yet changed to Reapers is the sickest?”

Death’s question to Iron Fist broke the morose spell that had settled over Dove, and she mentally shook herself, listening intently once again.

“That would be Lizard. His skin is very bad,” Iron Fist said.

“Is he strong enough to join us on a very important mission near the City in the Trees?” the God asked.