Panic took her, and for however long it lasted, she was just as lost as he was, but hers at least faded out and left her rocking under the hammer of his body, her face rubbing painfully against the tiles in a slick of blood and tears. She reached back for him, groaning, but when her fingers met his scaled hide, he erupted in such a storm of slapping, punching, snarling fury that all she could do was cover her head and wait for the sex to eclipse the battery. It did, but the fucking was more violent and he stayed bent over her, his sharp teeth snarling too damned close to her naked neck.

“Meoraq,” she moaned. “Please! This isn’t you!”

He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her into the floor, grappling himself into a new position without ever breaking rhythm.

“You’re a Sword and a true son of God!” she cried in desperation. “A Sword of Sheul is a master of his clay!”

Frustrated with the obstacle of her legs, he reared back and pinned them together on one side before plunging back in. His hand on her bad hip was a brand of pure hell; it was only a matter of time before he broke it and she knew he still wouldn’t stop.

Somewhere in the room, Zhuqa’s baby woke up and started crying.

Meoraq stiffened, his head whipping around to aim at the sound. He hissed, let go of her—

Amber lunged and grabbed him. He fought until he remembered his cock was still inside her and then resumed fucking.

But he’d heard the baby. He’d heard the baby so he could hear her.

Amber put her arms around him. He spat like a cat and tried to thrash free of her, but she held on, hiding from his blows against his chest until he lost himself in the sex again.

“You are a master of your clay,” she told him.

He hissed at her.

“You are a faithful servant of God and you keep His laws! You—” She broke off with a wail of pain as he pitched himself savagely against her hip, and for the first time, that seemed to get through.

He looked directly at her, his eyes narrowed to slits of unfocused rage.

“You wouldn’t kill me,” whispered Amber.

He roared, hot breath blasting at her face.

And out of nowhere, she suddenly found herself remembering that day he’d first caught her with Scott’s stupid little space-scout knife. He’d been ready to kill her then and he was going to kill her now. The only difference was he wasn’t sorry about it anymore and he wasn’t going to give her any last words.

Do you wish to pray? She could still hear his voice and the terrible emotion that had hoarsened it. I have no mercy to give you…I am sorry…Do you wish to pray?

“Our Father who art in heaven,” said Amber. It was the only prayer she knew.

Meoraq’s head ticced, not quite tipping to one side. He flared his mouth open, displaying his teeth in the silent gape of a crocodile, then recoiled slightly, frowning. He looked at her, looked down, flared his teeth again and threw a few rapid, rough thrusts into her before faltering. He panted, glaring without focus at the knotted place their bodies met.

“Our Father who art…who lives in heaven,” Amber said again, louder. He’d heard her and some part of what he’d heard had reached him, but its hold was weak. She couldn’t afford to confuse him now with words he didn’t know. “Hallowed…or…Holy be your name.”

He reared back and grabbed her throat, hissing, but although his grip was painful, he didn’t crush her. And he could have.

“Your kingdom has come,” wheezed Amber. “Your kingdom…is here. You…You have built Your House so that we can live in it. Let…Let Your will be done…on Gann as it is in heaven!”

His hand, an iron collar at her neck, shook. He looked away again, his throat arching so that she could see the yellow streaks across those scales flash and throb.

“You feed us,” she said. “You have set our table and filled our cup—”

Meoraq’s spines flicked hard. He looked at her.

“And You forgive us our sins—”

He saw his sword, lunged out and snatched it up to raise over her, snarling.

“—as we forgive those who sin against us!” Amber shouted. “For Yours is the only vengeance!”

Meoraq recoiled again. He reared back, pulling free of her as painfully as he’d ever stabbed himself in, and stood over her with the sword high and an awful look of confusion bleeding into his crazed eyes.

“And that is the grace and the glory of God!” cried Amber, reaching out to catch at him. “And you know it, Meoraq! You are the master of your clay and you know I am not your enemy! I’m your wife! I’m the woman you were born into this world to find, remember?” She grabbed a handful of her own hair and shook it.

He hissed, but shakily, then turned his head and looked at the braid that wrapped his bicep. He flinched, spat dazedly in the direction of the crying baby, then looked at Amber again. One hand rose, hovered in the air, and dropped again. He rubbed distractedly at his cock, not masturbating, but only an exhausted man kneading at a deep, overused ache. She reached out to tug his loin-plate loose and he watched, frowning, as he retracted.

“You are not your clay,” she told him, lifting her hand toward his face. He flinched back twice before he let her touch him. “You are Uyane Meoraq and you would never hurt me.”

He opened his mouth and hissed silently through his teeth, through her fingers.

“Take six breaths,” she said. “Count them off with me. One. For the Prophet.”

He inhaled in hitches.

“Two for his brunt. Breathe with me, Meoraq. Three for Uyane.”

He grunted.

“Four for…for…” God, he’d been counting all winter long, why didn’t she know these? “Mykrm!” she blurted, praying she was right. “Five is for Oyan—”

“Ash,” he said, in a voice like char itself. “Stained. Leaf.”

“Six is for…is for…”

“Thaliszr.”

Recognition came like dawn behind the clouds of this world: dim and colorless, but steadily growing until its light was complete. He stood up, and it was Meoraq who did it, the real Meoraq. He looked around, seeing this place, seeing her at his feet. The yellow stripes stayed high and bright on his throat, but he sheathed his sword and held out his hand.

“Please be okay now,” Amber whispered, and took it.

“I’m burning,” Meoraq said curtly, pulling her to her feet and releasing her at once. “But I see you. I think…I’m here.” He looked back at the baby again, then at Xzem, who had not moved in all this time, and finally at his other sword. It seemed to surprise him to see it lying on the floor. He had to check his belt and see that it wasn’t there before he went over to pick it up again. “Stay close behind me,” he ordered, and headed for the door.

“Wait!”

Meoraq watched her limp across the room with distracted concern, but it wasn’t until she bent down and picked up the baby that he seemed to realize what she was doing.

“No,” he said.

“I have to.” Amber hugged the baby closer and pointed at Xzem. “Tell her she can come with us!”

“I will not.” Meoraq glanced swiftly down both sides of the hall and came back in, reaching out his hand to her. “There is no time for this! The enemy is all around us! Now come!”

Amber bit back her first impulsive words on the subject of how much time he’d had on his hands when the issue at stake was sex. That wasn’t his fault and they sure didn’t have the time to fight about it. She said, “I’m not leaving without this baby.”

“I did not come here to liberate the whole of this camp!”

“Are you sure?”

His hand lowered.

“God doesn’t give you what you want,” said Amber. “You tell me that all the time. God sends you where you need to be.”

“If we try to save them all, we will surely be taken,” he said, not arguing, but only stating a fact. “We must leave them. Come. They will not harm their own.”

Amber stalked over to Xzem and put her hand on her shoulder. After a tense, shivering silence, Xzem sighed and loosened her shielding arms enough to show him Rosek.