The Moon scoffed. “I did not inviteyouin yet. I didn’t think you were still running the Peace-Queen’s errands,Stoneborn.”
Taran blanked his face. “Would it matter if I were here on Genna’s behalf instead of my own? I’m equally delightful, either way.”
“I’m familiar with what you consider delightful,” Lixnea grumbled. “You strong-arm me into acceding to the Peace-Queen’s demands, then make off with my blessings, steal my treasures, and debauch my priestesses.”
Lixnea wasn’t watching Taran’s face as she delivered this judgment, but I was. A pained moment of surprise flitted across his features, quickly smoothed away.
How strange it had to be for him, to be informed of who he was. Did he really not know?
But Taran recovered and put his prettiest smile on.
“Forget Genna’s demands. What if I were just here to enjoy a lovely evening with a lovelier lady? Would you welcome me back?”
“Are you flirting with me now? I was the midwife at your birth.”
“It would be very unfair to forbid flirting with anyone older than me, as that’s everyone. But if you prefer, I could brood soulfully instead.”
I would have folded in Lixnea’s position, but she was made of stronger stuff than me.
“I meant it before, Taran ab Genna. You’ve worn out your welcome here.”
I jolted when Taran turned to put a hand on my lower back.
“I’d be on my best behavior. I have no need to debauch your priestesses, as I’ve brought my own along.”
“Yourpriestess?” Lixnea said, eyebrows climbing.
I tried to smile, but I probably made a face like I’d just bitten into an unripe persimmon. Lixnea looked me up and down, nowstudying me with a gaze that seemed to slip beneath my skin to peer at my mind and soul.
“Yours, I suppose, yes,” she said to Taran after a moment. “Very well. Come in. Don’t cause trouble, or I’ll do worse than the broom.”
There was a muffled cheer from beneath the causeway as the goddess relented and gestured for us all to follow her—the other immortals of Lixnea’s domain were either glad for the excitement of company regardless of the perils, or they hadn’t minded Taran’s debauchery on his previous visits.
“What did you do the last time you were here?” I whispered to Taran as we crossed the causeway.
He gave a small, stiff shrug. “If you find out, please let me know.” But he couldn’t have been that concerned about it, because he spread his arms and walked a few steps toward the water, and two immortals with long hair like corded glass climbed onto the shore and threw silver-blue arms around his neck with squeals of excitement.
I turned to Lixnea, because I did not want to see someone else stick her tongue into Taran’s mouth. She was staring out at the trees, eyes searching the branches until they landed on Awi, an incongruous songbird hanging back amid all the watchful owls.
“You can come in too. You’re always welcome here,” Lixnea called in a gentler voice, but Awi didn’t answer, disappearing alone into the darkening forest before everyone else was done kissing Taran hello.
When I onceimagined what awaited the fortunate priests called to cross the Gates of Dawn and serve the gods in person, this was what I’d pictured. As soon as it was fully dark, the Moon’s priests sang gentle lights into hundreds of dangling gilt lanterns thatreflected like stars in the water surrounding the palace. It came alive in the early evening with a rising murmur of voices and music from the residents of the palace and the lake below. The white stone and pale wood of the palace subtly gleamed around us, archways draped with soft gray curtains and floors warmed by tufted carpets, a dream of luxury and ease.
On most nights, Lixnea rode her silver chariot across the skies to listen to the secret wishes of dreamers and inspire them in turn, but on moonless nights, she rested with her court and rejoiced in the dark evening’s beauty.
All the immortals sat at long, low tables flanked by couches and cushions, and their priests took turns sitting among them and attending to the dinner. The Moon was the patron of the creative arts—poets, actors, musicians—so we were treated to their performances while dinner was served. The atmosphere was celebratory as everyone moved smoothly through a service they knew well but still enjoyed after decades.
This was an eternity worth living in—if I’d been a little prettier or more talented at composition, perhaps I would have been taken in by the Moon’s cult instead of the Maiden’s. I couldn’t regret giving my life to the sick or to the rebellion, but part of me did wish my future had ever looked like infinite nights of wine and poetry. I could have wanted this, I thought with a wistful throb.
I was served a large river fish steamed whole in clay and plated with tender asparagus spears and tiny peas, which was easily one of the better things I’d ever eaten. I bolted it down like I had every meal in the past few years before remembering that I’d once possessed the manners not to lick my knife clean.
“You should ask Lixnea’s priests to give you some tips,” Taran murmured into my ear. “For example, you’re supposed to be pouring my wine for me.”
He seemed to expect a smart rejoinder—I’ll ask if they can tossyou in the lake while you sleep, Taran—but I’d actually been trying to think of a way to thank him, so I just sipped my own wine and kept my eyes on the stage. Lixnea had kept the dinner conversation light, but she recognized and named each of her priests who came to the head of the table to bow and perform their most recent works in what seemed to be a deliberate example for Taran.
“Iona’s very talented on the kithara,” Taran told the Moon goddess after the next rotation. “Perhaps she’d be willing to take a turn later.”
Lixnea inclined her head, but Taran didn’t smile until I gravely nodded my agreement, and then it went straight to his eyes, making them sparkle like the lanterns that brought the stars inside. He topped off my wine, then leaned against the cushions with an arm propped behind my shoulders.
