"Why didn't you kill them?" If S̆ams̆ādur hadn't heard variations of this question repeating in the scout's head for the last thirty minutes, it might have taken him by surprise. Instead, the only thing that surprised him was that the man had finally worked up the courage to ask it.

"Look who's suddenly bloodthirsty," he chuckled. "I didn't realize you had it in you."

"I don't!" Erin protested. "I don't want to kill anyone, damn it, but wasn't that the whole plan? Weren't you going to kill them to cause a diplomatic incident so they wouldn't ally with your father?"

"Plans change. After I got the chance to rifle through their minds, I don't think they're likely to agree to his offer. They already thought that the durgū are like the Fey, full of bluff and bluster, but unwilling to act, and I was happy to encourage that prejudice."

"They're wrong, of course," S̆ams̆ādur smirked. "The only way my father won't attack is if the war ended today. I'm pretty sure even he wouldn't be foolhardy enough to strike once the Empire no longer had any other enemies to worry about, but as that won't be happening…" he shrugged.

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't kill them," the scout persisted stubbornly. "Even I can admit that killing them would have driven a wedge between the stoneflesh and the durgū."

"Do you gamble?"

"Huh?" The scout's brow crinkled at his apparent non-sequitur.

"Because diplomacy is a lot like gambling," S̆ams̆ādur continued. "You need to know how to bluff, how to plant doubt in your opponent's mind. You have to be able to read their tells and manipulate their movements. And most importantly of all, you have to have the boldness to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. You have to bet to win."

"This isn't a game of poker," Erin grumbled.

"No, it's not," S̆ams̆ādur agreed, not bothering to question what 'poker' was, "the stakes are higher here, but that just means you have to bet harder." He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the farmhouse had faded from view, and spurred his horse. "Come on, we need to get to Ardûl as soon as possible."

There were certain perks of being a prince, one of which was to bulldoze over annoying guards without fearing repercussions.

"You can't come in here. Commander Ardûl is in a meeting-" The young Djinn's bright red skin and tall spiraled horns told S̆ams̆ādur he was a rare talent, but he crumpled nonetheless beneath the prince's mind-spike. "Urggh." The Djinn slid down the wall, drooling as he hit the floor.

"Holy crap, did you just kill him?" Erin stared at him aghast.

"Eh, he'll be fine. Just needs to sleep it off." S̆ams̆ādur stepped over the unconscious guard and patted down his pockets until he found the keyring. The echo of footsteps down the hall warned him someone was approaching and he jogged over to the door. In a rare coincidence, the third key proved the charm, and a roomful of men started as the door squealed open.

"I told you I was not to be disturbed-" The general's irritable rant paused as S̆ams̆ādur entered the room. "Ah, Prince S̆ams̆ādur, you've returned. My afternoon's booked, but if you care to join me for supper, we can discuss your meeting with the stoneflesh then."

"I'm afraid my information's more pressing than that, Lord Ardûl." Without waiting to be invited, the prince pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "The stoneflesh's plans for Dur-Suqerbettu are worse than we feared."

The Djinn's eyes tightened with irritation, but after searching Samsadur's face for a moment, the man reached a conclusion. "Alright, everyone out - we'll pick this up tomorrow."

The grumbles of the officers in the room turned into protests as they discovered the unconscious body of the guard outside, but the general shooed them away. "This better be important," he said, as he returned to his seat.

"The emissaries were just a distraction."

The general's eyebrows lifted. "For what?"

"Their actual plans for the fort. Tell me, how much do you know about rituals?"

Nissilât frowned as the mournful song of violins filled the air. She recognized the song they were playing quite well, a tragic epic of lost love and cursed fates, but it hardly seemed appropriate for her uncle's ball.

Yet the dancers whirling around didn't seem to notice the incongruous music as their flared skirts filled the hall.

"Sila?" Butterflies swarmed her stomach as Markînu's warm, familiar voice called out to her. It was silly, really; no matter how happy he made her, Nissilât knew that they could never be together. His family wasn't strong enough to resist the punishment her uncle would rain down on them if he tried to marry her and, for her part, she knew her father would never agree. He might have peacefully surrendered his throne, but he would never consider Markînu's family good enough for his little princess.

But though she knew their relationship was as doomed as the lovers' in the violins' song, tonight, she didn't care. Tonight, she wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Markînu, you came!" She spun around to meet her lover with a warm hug, but the man, ever more aware of courtly sensibilities than she, evaded her arms.

"Sila, people are looking," he whispered, though he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Why should they care how I greet an old family friend?"

"Is that what I am to you?" he replied teasingly.

"Well, I wouldn't say you're old, and we definitely do things family shouldn't, but you are a friend," she smirked.

"Have you lost your mind?" Markînu glanced around furtively and lowered his voice. "Do you know what your uncle would do if he found out about us?"

"Obviously he knows - do you think he's blind?" As her lover's face paled, Nissilât rushed to reassure him. "Don't worry about it. If anything, he's probably happy about it. His greatest fear is that I'll marry someone who will press my father's claim. He won't have to worry about that with you."

"Doesn't mean we have to flaunt it," he hissed.

"Who's flaunting it?" She extended her hand to him. "Now, are you going to ask me to dance or not?"

She blinked and found herself on the dance floor, spinning round and round as Markînu held her hand. The violins had finally ditched their dirge, and the dancers swayed to the fast beats of a merry ballad. He dipped her low as the song hit a crescendo, and his lips brushed against her ear. "You know, I was hoping to do more than dance tonight," he whispered.

The two stole away, through the darkened halls of the palace and toward the gardens. It was a beautiful night and Selene reigned in the heavens, surrounded by her whole court. It didn't take them long to find a bench, and soon its cold stone was kissing her back. "You know, I didn't think you'd come," she murmured between kisses.

"Oh?" There was something odd about Markînu's voice at that moment, and she broke away, confused. A chill ran down her spine as she saw the moon above had turned red and a crazed look stole into her lover's eye.

"Markînu," she tried to separate herself from him, but his hands pinned her down. "What's wrong? What are you doing?"

"What's wrong?" She tried to scream, but the words would not leave her lips as his face melted off, replaced by worms and maggots. "You killed me," the abomination spoke, "but that's okay, I'll just have to kill you too."

His hands closed around her throat as he leaned in for a kiss, but before he could reach her, something struck from the bushes.

Blessed gulps of air filled her lungs as Markînu was torn off of her, and Nissilât rolled off the bench, dropping to her knees with a pained grunt. She ripped the dagger hidden beneath her skirts free, but she could only watch in confusion as her lover struggled with an inexplicable opponent.

A massive serpent, larger than anything she'd ever seen, was coiled around him. Its scales glinted ominously in the moon's red light as it bit down on his head, exploding it in a mess of blood and maggots, and terror took hold of her. The dagger clattered to the ground as she turned to flee, but before she could run, the serpent's eyes latched onto her. She was frozen in place as she stared into the black, endless voids, and a voice whispered in her head. "Do not be afraid, child."

She couldn't move as the snake devoured Markînu's body, couldn't budge as it slithered toward her, but as she feared her end was nigh, its body began to ripple. Its head split, shedding its skin down the middle, and from beneath its skin the body of a woman emerged, though the human portion ended at the torso.

"My goddess." Nissilât dropped to her knees as Belet-Imtu approached her. "You saved me."

"Only for a time, child. My power here is limited."

"What do you mean?" She asked as the goddess lifted her to her feet. "I watched you eat…him." Even now, it still hurt to speak his name.

"I can't banish him for you."

Nissilât grasped her meaning immediately. "I have to do it myself, don't I?" The goddess nodded silently. "Is he…is that really Markînu," she choked out his name. "I don't want to be responsible for his death again."

"You were never responsible for his death," Bēlet-Imtu replied harshly. "He betrayed, did he not?"

"He did what he had to-"

"No, he did what was easy. And from what I've seen of your memories tonight, it was not the first time." The goddess leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Even in this memory, was he not afraid to be seen with you?"

When she refused to answer, the goddess continued. "However, if it will ease your heart, then, no, the spirit haunting your dreams is not your lover's."

"Then what?" Nissilât hugged her arms to her chest, unable to calm the shaking that wracked her frame as her shock began to fade and her nerves took over. "This isn't just a dream. I woke up with real marks last time. So what is it?"

"Tis an eṭemmu of the void, a foul creature that feeds on misery." The goddess leaned forward. "It has made you its prey, so if you wish to be free, you must either slay it or deprive it of its food source."

"Its food source," she echoed bitterly. "You mean me?"

"I was referring to your guilt. You may have hidden your state from your friends, but you cannot hide from a god. You wish to die," Belet-Imtu said bluntly.

"No, of course not," Nissilât immediately protested, but the words rang false to even herself. Do I?

It wasn't just Markînu she'd lost. Her army had been slaughtered because she'd failed to stop her uncle's machinations, and she'd been forced to flee lest she be tossed in prison. Gods only knew if her uncle had managed to use her loss against her father. She hadn't just lost Markînu; she'd lost everything, and all her hopes were now pinned on the unlikely chance that the Emperor would do something to help her.

She already knew he wouldn't.

"I-" Her face crumpled as her tears began to water the garden. "I can't do this. I don't want to do this."

"You're wrong." The goddess's tail snaked out of the bushes, wrapped around the dagger Nissilat had dropped, and offered it to her. "You tried to fight him," she said simply.

"So?" She was still crying as she accepted the dagger. "I failed."

"But you haven't given up. You can beat the eṭemmu, child."

She wiped away the tears, sniffing as her nose threatened to run, and tried to compose herself, though it was a losing effort. "How?"

"The spirit feeds on misery. Let him go, and it shall starve. Nurture that hope, find a new purpose, stop dwelling on the past."

"And I can't do that?" Nissilât asked. "You mentioned another way, something about slaying it?"

"Well," B̄elet-Imtu smiled slyly. "For that, you'd need a favor."

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