“You don’t know it,” Antero said, warmth risingin his thoughts as well as his gaze. “So there is no belovedwaiting for you in your palace?”
The sea under the moon’s light was actuallyquite beautiful. It didn’t compare to Antero in the moonlight, butwas far safer despite the creatures lurking beneath the waves.
“I don’t have a beloved.” Melis was thesmallest, most pathetic of gods. He might as well own to it. “Or apalace. What home is there for me among the realms of the gods,anyway? Desire is everywhere. I do visit them sometimes… mostly thepalace of The Fair-Shaped.”
“As a lover?” Fire raged through Antero, thenwas gone.
Melis should have laughed at the idea as TheFair-Shaped certainly would have. But the flames of Antero’sjealousy had left his mouth dry. His voice rasped. “More asMother.”
“Oh,” Antero said, swallowing something elseMelis couldn’t catch in time. Discomfort lurked in Antero’s mindalongside something like clean, soft wool. Fondness, it might havebeen. A new affection though Melis didn’t know what he’d said thatmight have caused it. Antero gave Melis’ approximate location astudy. “So where do you go to be at ease if you have no palace orrealm of your own? Where do you sleep, as even gods sometimesdo?”
Gods slept more for pleasure than need, butMelis supposed a humanwouldask that. They were sovulnerable while asleep that it often worried the ones caughtoutside or among strangers.
“If I sleep, I sleep wherever I am. I would makea palace if I needed one, but it would be a building occupied onlyby me and the sound of the wind.” Melis didn’t know why that wouldearn him another study and then a frown. “That bothers you?”
“Forgive me, Melis, but you seem…”
“What?” Melis demanded. “Lonely?” He steppedaway from the wall with his wings partly extended, the wind roaringthrough the window to lift and tangle the curtains around the bed.“What do you know of it? You with your family, and your home, andyour people who love you? I could answer every wish that comes tome and people would still hate me when their dream goes wrong, orfor the wishes not granted even though those wishes would have ledto suffering or pain. Longing is what makes a fulfilled desire allthe better—or worse, but they are meant to learn from that. Theyare meant to feel it all and because of that they do not like me!No one likes me, I….” Melis took a breath. Antero watched him,braced against the wind, relaxing only when the wind subsided.Melis sighed and shut his eyes. “I’m sorry. Longing can hurt. Itcan hurt even the one who is meant to rule over it.”
“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Antero whispered,closer than before.
Melis opened his eyes and had not even a momentto pull his hands down to his sides and step back before Antero wasdirectly in front of him. Antero tipped his head down, clearlytracking the sound of breathing to tell him where Melis’ face was.He inhaled through his nose and smiled crookedly when he must havefound the scent of roses.
Melis curled his fingers into his palms. Thisclose, with his wings brushing the stone wall and the window to oneside, Antero seemed the only warm thing in the world.
“I cannot touch you. I don’t want to bring youmore pain.” The warning might have been more effective if Meliscould have spoken above a whisper or kept the tremor from hisvoice.
Antero leaned ever closer, his lush mouth nearMelis’ cheek. His gaze went behind Melis, and Melis realized he waslistening to the constant shiver of his wings. “God of Desire, areyou trembling because I nearly have you in my arms?”
“Yes.” Melis chose not to lie. “But I stilldon’t understand.”
“What is it you don’t understand?” Antero’s soulwas a growing bonfire the longer Melis allowed him close. He had toknow what he’d done.
Even Indulgence might mock Melis for hisignorance, yet Melis did not believe Antero would. “I don’t knowwhat I’m doing here. Will you tell me?”
“You said you came to see me,” Antero answeredwith some pride, but then paused, his head slightly tipped to oneside as he reconsidered either the question or his response. “Doyou see everyone you decide to help?”
“Of course not.” Only after Melis had said itdid he realize Antero had guessed that before he’d asked.
But Antero was gentle in victory. “Do youneedto see those you help?”
This time, Melis held onto his answer,hesitating. “No,” he admitted softly at last, and the brave heartbefore him blazed with hope.
“Youwantedto see me.” This, Antero didnot ask.
“I’d listened to you for so long,” Melisconfessed. He’d spoken of it often to The Fair-Shaped. Too late, heunderstood why she’d looked so knowing before he’d last left her.He swallowed, then added, quieter, “I told myself I didn’t need to,but I wanted to.”
“As if I were your desire before you ever knewme?” Antero said, almost breathless, and inched closer after Melisturned toward him, startled. His lips nearly brushed Melis’ temple,the tip of his nose glanced over a rose petal. “Stung by stories ofme, though I was here alone, waiting for your touch?”
Melis clenched his hands so tightly he feltpain. “I can’t. Faithful, if I touch you, I might create desireswhere there aren’t any.”
Antero’s breath was damp and warm, but it washis lips against Melis’ ear that left Melis shuddering. “Sillyboy,” he murmured—no,purred, as if humans could do that,“do you feel a shortage of desires from me?”
Melis’ breath hitched painfully in his chest,not that pain could stop him from tilting his head to keep Antero’smouth close to his skin. “I am a god,” he reminded Anterounsteadily.
“A silly god,” Antero agreed, soft againstMelis’ jaw, “who will not touch me though he knows he could.” Melisgroaned. The brief press of Antero’s lips silenced him. “AmIpermitted to touchyou?”
“I….” Melis had never stammered like this,struggling for each word with his voice high and nervous. “No one’sever…”
