The bench sitting against the unlit side of the tavern was a perfect place for Vantra to hide. It was near the festivities but not part of them. While the cacohphony still filtered through the wall, it was a general buzz below the louder, more peaceful song of night insects. And if something untoward happened, help was a phase through the wood.

The seat felt cool, a refreshing break from the stuffier interior of the tavern. She sank into the chill, wondering if someone had spelled it to combat the rainforest’s unwavering warmth, and rubbed her forehead. She rarely enjoyed the loud, and after Lokjac’s revelations, she needed a place outside the noise to think.

What would happen, if the enemy already had Laken’s other essences? What if they realized his left hand held the other half of Life’s Gift? Destroying the spear that embodied the immortality pact between Sun and Death would have terrible ramifications for syimlin, maybe even reignite the long-ago Divine Wars. So many died in support of a scant few’s divinity ambitions, a continuous cycle of pain and devastation for another’s glory.

“I needed a break from the noise, too.” She started as Kenosera sank onto the bench next to her; she had not heard him approach! He tucked his hair behind his ears and leaned over on his knees. “Even the waterdance celebrations at Black Temple never seemed so loud.”

She nodded and relaxed against the cool stucco. She wanted his company, but her thunderous inner voice reminded her how past friendships had ended, leaving her cold and wanting. It had strengthened after she realized she had made friends on this strange journey, and it battered her, pulling her back into the ugly swirl of doubt and self-loathing.

It never mattered, how many times she told her dourness that Kenosera was not a Sun priest child intent on using her as a stepping stone to greater things, it refused to go away.

“So what did Lokjac have to say? Yut-ta didn’t know.”

She yanked herself from her sour thoughts. “Nothing good. I don’t want to ruin the celebration for you.”

“If it weighs heavy, I won’t mind listening.”

She did need to talk to someone, and she trusted he would keep their discussion private. She scooted closer and leaned towards him. “The Snake mentioned it before we left the Den, and Lokjac reminded us that they lost contact with the others who guard Laken’s essences.”

His brows twitched. “So the enemy might already have them.”

She nodded and drooped.

“I don’t think they do.”

She blinked, staring at him. “Why not?”

“Because there would be no reason to hound us. Why not let us spend millennia hunting for something that is long gone? It would give them time to plot and plan without alerting us that something was wrong.”

She frowned, batting his words around. “So they may be using us to find them, then interfering in hopes they get the prize.”

Kenosera slowly nodded. “Maybe.”

“Lokjac said an evil presence left its aura all over the ruin he just moved out of. They might have tracked me there.” She wrapped her arms around herself; what if she endangered Two Rivers, or the Dark Light, just with her presence? The Knights had members who could follow the wisps of her Sun magic, after all.

The nomad slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe. Or maybe it was luck.”

Before he continued, a roar shook the wall. Vantra pulled away, and they both stared at the vibrating stucco, then at each other.

“I think I’ll stay outside until things calm down,” she said, wincing. He laughed and lounged back.

“The Light-blessed can be a bit much, can’t they? I wonder if they’re like this when Qira isn’t around.”

“It’s the Joy in Light. Light Temples can get rowdy when they celebrate. It’s traditional.”

“I always found tradition boring,” Kenosera admitted. “It laid the groundwork for all the ceremonies at Black Temple and the Snake’s Den, and everything slogged along prescribed routes. I was supposed to find meaning in the ancient, and all I found was ennui.” He shrugged. “Maybe my grandmother’s manipulations had something to do with it. She warped the intent, so it’s not surprising that the rituals under her guidance never spoke to me.”

“Katta calls to you, not Rezenarza.”

“True.” He cast her a quick grin. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I feel a kinship to Darkness, while you and Yut-ta find inspiration in Sun.”

She did not think of it that way. A Sun priestess raised her; unlike Yut-ta, who sought the touch of Sun, she had no choice but to accept. Not that she could image an existence without Sun, but she never honored him because of a deep, resonating need.

“But it’s connected, isn’t it?” He knit his fingers together just past the first knuckle. “Light and Darkness walk hand in hand through the Evenacht. I normally don’t give much thought to religious tenets, but this one speaks to me—and it’s not because I know Katta and Qira.” He wormed into a comfortable position, the wall supporting his upper back and head, and rolled his head over to look at her. “Light illuminates, Darkness softens the blow.”

“You would have made a grand sage.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Grand sages find understanding in the ambiguous. I’m more straightforward than that.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. I’m happy you’re coming with us to the Windtwists.”

His grin brightened the dark street side. “I’d be sad, if you weren’t.” His glow faded, and he stared at his thin-soled sandals. “I just wish they understood.”

“Dedari, Lesanova and Tagra?”

He sighed and rubbed at his chest. “Tagra told me he expected to be left behind, as always. We’ve been good friends since we were small children, and I never meant to leave him behind. When I moved to Merdia, I asked him to come, and he said no. That was his choice, but it’s my failure, that I made him feel unwanted. Lesanova’s upset I’m leaving, and Dedari? I never realized . . .” He trailed off. “We of the desert have lovers before we bond in a tervai ceremony and have children. It’s not that we consider lovers less, but they serve a different purpose. I think of her and Lesanova as my duyal-karista. She considers me . . . more.”

Oh. Vantra’s heart sank. “She wants to marry you?”

“Yes. I told her no. It’s not that I don’t care for her, but I don’t care for her in that way. She is my duyal-karise. Nothing more. She knew this from our first declaration. I don’t want children. I don’t want a tervai right now. But she wishes otherwise.” He tapped his forehead. “It’s why they wear the paint. The symbols represent who they are and tell others they are available for a relationship. I helped Tagra with his, but I didn’t paint myself. Dedari . . .” He blew his breath out in an exasperated hiss, then shrugged.

“So if you don’t wear the paint, that means you aren’t available?”

“It means I’m not looking.”

Oh.

He tapped her arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t look like that.”

“Look like what?”

Kenosera turned to her, propping his elbow on the back of the bench and settling his cheek in his hand. “You know why I’m not looking.”

His adamance overrode her bout with unworthiness. “It’s hard to date across a continent?”

He chuckled. “It is, but that’s not the reason.” He leaned closer. “Is it?”

“Kenosera—”

“My friends call me Sera.”

“Sera.” She had studied the books Lorgan gave her for just this occasion, but the only thing she might manage was a kiss. Her practice with Physical Touch manipulation had not reached a level she felt comfortable doing anything else.

He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing across her cheek. “Do the Keels have something like duyal-karista?”

Her nervousness spiked. “There isn’t a specific thing they’re officially called. We just say lovers. Not me, though. I’ve never . . .”

She trailed off, aghast. What a stupid thing to say!

He raised an eyebrow, and she felt heat course through her essence. “Never?”

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, surprised she did not set the bench on fire, considering how hot her embarrassment felt. He settled his hand against her neck.

“Then, if you’re willing, I’d like to be your first.”

“Really?” Her head popped up. “But I’m a ghost!” Oh no! How high did she squeak?

“Really.”

“It’s hard. I’m reading books about how to, well, you know,” and she swiped down her figure, “but . . . it’s hard.”

He grinned. “Nothing is quite like practice, is it?”

She heated, for a different reason. “I’m not going to be like a succubus, though.”

“A succubus? What’s that?”

“Oh. Um, well, they’re a ghost who, um, has a lot of living lovers. I mean, a LOT of living lovers, not like one or two. Religious people frown on it, but I don’t see why, since the Evenacht is supposed to be the land for us to do what we couldn’t in life. I mean, if that’s what you like, that’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with it—”

“You don’t have to have multiple lovers to make the most of a fun time.”

“You too.” She froze as the words escaped, flustered.

His sweet smile lit the dark place where her twisted emotions concerning her short life and all her regrets rested. He leaned forward and kissed her; soft, warm, and long enough to make her tingle. “I plan on it.”