More out of shock than any real obedience, I did as he bade me.

He slid a hand under my shirt, which made me blush and splutter. “Deka, gods —”

“Be still.” His hand stopped, resting on my chest. It was not a caress, though my stupid old body decided that it was and further decided that perhaps it was not so old after all. I was grateful; at my age there were no guarantees that certain bodily processes still worked.

Deka’s expression was still, intent. I had seen the same concentration from him when he spoke magic or drew sigils. This time, however, he began to whisper, and his hand moved in time with his words. Puzzled, I listened to what he was saying, but they were not words. It was not our language, or any language. I had no idea what he was doing.

I felt it, though, when words began tickling their way along my skin. When I jumped and tried to sit up, Deka pressed me down, closing his eyes so that my twitching would not distract him. And I did twitch, because it was the most peculiar sensation. Like ants crawling over my flesh, if those ants had been flat and made of sibilanct?e. That was when I noticed the soft black glow of Deka’s marks — which were more than tattoos, I realized at last. They always had been.

But something was not right. The marks he whispered into my flesh did not linger. I felt them wend around my limbs and down my belly, but as soon as they settled into place, they began to fade. I saw Deka’s brow furrow, and after a few moments of this he stopped, his hand on my chest tightening into a fist.

“I take it that didn’t go as expected,” I said quietly.

“No.”

“What did you expect?”

He shook his head slowly. “The markings should have tapped your innate magic. You’re still a god; if you weren’t, your antithesis wouldn’t affect you. I should be able to remind your flesh that its natural state is young, malleable, embodied only by your will. …” His jaw tightened, and he looked away. “I don’t understand why it failed.”

I sighed. There had been no real hope in me, probably because he hadn’t told me what he was doing ahead of time. I was glad for that. “I thought you wanted me mortal.”

He shook his head again, his lips thinning. “Not if it means you dying, Sieh. I never wanted that.”

“Ah.” I put my hand over his fist. “Thank you for trying, then. But there’s no point, Deka, even if you could fix me. Godlings are fragile compared to the Three. When the Maelstrom breaks this universe, most likely we —”

“Shut up,” he whispered, and I did, blinking. “Just shut up, Sieh.” He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes. For the first time since his childhood, he looked lost and lonely and more than a little afraid.

I was still a god, as he had said. It was my nature to comfort lost children. So I pulled him to me, intending to hold him while he wept.

He pushed my hands aside and kissed me. Then, as though the kiss had not been sufficient reminder that he was no child, he sat up and began tugging my clothes off.

I could have laughed, or said no, or pretended disinterest. But it was the end of the world, and he was mine. I did what felt good.

We would all die in three days, but there was so much that could be done in that time. I was not a true mortal; I knew better than to take Enefa’s gift for granted. I would savor every moment of my life that remained, suck its marrow, crunch its bones. And when the end came … well, I would not be alone. That was a precious and holy thing.

In the morning, we returned to Echo. Deka went to look in on his scriveners and ask again whether they had found some miracle that could save us all. I went in search of Shahar.

I found her in the Temple, which had finally been dedicated as such. Someone had put an altar in it, right on the spot where Deka and I had first made love. I triedas not to think lewd thoughts about human sacrifice as I stopped before it, because I refused to be a dirty old man.

Shahar stood beyond the altar, beneath the colored swirl that now cast faintly blue light on us, like that of the cloudless sky outside. Her back was to me, though I was certain she’d heard me approach. I’d had to speak to four guards just to get into the room. She did not move until I spoke, however, and then she started, coming out of whatever reverie she’d lapsed into.

“Friends lie,” I said. I spoke softly, but my voice echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber. It was deeper now, with a hoarse edge that would only get worse as I grew older. “Lovers, too. But trust can be rebuilt. You are my friend, Shahar. I shouldn’t have forgotten that.” She said nothing. I sighed and shrugged. “I’m a bastard, what do you expect?”