“Meoraq—”

He put his hand over her mouth, his eyes sternly narrowed. “And you will drink it all, woman. Give me your obedience.”

She rolled her eyes and raised her fist.

He tipped his head and gave her a warning hiss, then removed his hand.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll drink it all.” She sighed and lay back in the cupboard, rubbing at her side.

He glanced at her hand, then stepped away. He didn’t tell her not to remove her bandages. He didn’t have to. The maggots itched and ate at her every bit as much as they had before, but she guessed she could handle it. She hated it…but she could handle it.

He dressed, muttering to himself as he strapped on weapons and buckled things. The words she caught were enough to tell her it was one of his many prayers, this one on her behalf. When he was done, he came back to tap her shoulder briefly in a parting salute, and then he left. Her man, off about his manly business.

Amber pulled her blanket up with a sigh and tried to get comfortable. Her side itched. Her stomach still hurt from all the emotional craziness. She had a huge pot of bitter tea to look forward to and plenty of cupboard ceiling to stare at until then. It was going to be a long day.

‘Yeah, but the day will end,’ she thought, and smiled.

“I thought he was hurting you.”

Oh yeah. Nicci was still here. Amber felt herself blush a little, but only a little. Mostly, she just felt sexy and quiet and tired and good.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I flipped out completely.” Yeah. Flipped out. Right before she made out. Could you still call it making out when someone rubbed you into cumming from your toenails? Probably not. Sheesh, what a sleazeball she’d turned into.

“He’s different with you,” Nicci said.

“Is he?” She really didn’t think so, but upon reflection, she decided it might seem that way. He was himself with her. He was different with the others.

“You’re different with him.”

“Am I?” That was less surprising. She’d been different since she first set foot on this planet. Nicci just wasn’t used to the whiny, weepy, hysterical Amber yet.

Nicci got up and came over to the cupboard, looking down at her with an expression that was disturbingly lifeless. “I want to go home.”

Amber stared up at her, more than a little thrown by this statement. What did she honestly expect her to do about it?

“Do you?” Nicci asked.

She still had no answer.

“If we get to this temple and there’s a ship there and someone can fly it and we can go back to Earth, are you coming with me?”

Amber’s mouth moved. No sound came out.

“If there isn’t a ship,” said Nicci, “are you going to take care of me?”

“Nicci—”

“Or do you think you’ve done enough? After you brought me here, after you made me come with you, are you just going to wash your hands and say you’ve done enough? You got your man who loves you and will take care of you and save you forever, so maybe you don’t care anymore, but I’m still here, Amber. I still need you.”

“I’m here,” said Amber, reaching out to touch her arm. There was no answering touch, not even a glance in that direction. It was like touching a corpse. “And I’ll always be here for you, Nicci. We’re sisters. Nothing’s going to change that. Look, I know it’s hard, but you can do it. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to sit around. I can teach you how to make hides and clothes and stuff.”

“You said you’d always take care of me.”

“I am.”

“Not like you used to.”

Amber nodded, accepting this, then shook her head, and then just sat there and stared at the cupboard ceiling. “I don’t think I did either of us any favors hovering over you like that back home,” she said at last. “Mama wasn’t much of a mother…and neither was I. I love you, Nicci, I do…” She sighed and rubbed her eyes, then made herself turn around and face her expressionless sister without flinching. “…but I’m not going to carry you for the rest of your life. The ship crashed and I’m sorry…but it’s time to move on.”

Nicci said nothing, did nothing, just let the minutes tick out. At last, she reached out and gently closed the cupboard door, leaving Amber in the dark to listen as her baby sister walked away.

* * *

The remainder of the day passed in relative peace, although given the chaos surrounding his awakening, anything short of a direct attack could be considered relative peace. The humans kept their distance, wisely. Meoraq’s headache had lost its sharp edges over the course of the day, but it still sat heavy behind his eyes. He had drunk four pots of tea and his throat still felt scratchy and tasted like a long lick up Gann’s slit. He was aware that all these things made a light penance for the sin of chewing phesok, but it still made for a deeply unpleasant day.

He meditated as much of it away as possible, rousing only to attend his or his woman’s most basic bodily needs. When he wasn’t meditating, he sat at the table and stared at his humans, making a game of herding them from one wall to the other by his looks alone. He made no patrols, no hunts. When he decided he was hungry enough, he ate half of the previous day’s stew, cold. If Amber had asked, he would have stirred himself to heat the rest for her, but she claimed a weak belly and took nothing but tea all day. As for the other humans, they could eat cold stew or starve for all that Meoraq cared.

All days end, as he had reminded his wife that morning. In the last quiet hour before dark, his day’s idleness bit back at him in an entirely foreseeable manner: He was not in the least tired.

His humans were already settling in for the night, sharing out the remains of the stew and throwing sullen glances at him. That cheered him somewhat, but it really was a poor show of his true character and he’d ought to pray about it. In the meantime, however, there was Amber.

Although she had been dozing most of the day, she did not share his restlessness now. She was sleeping soundly when he woke her to tend her wound. The maggots had done their work well; the flesh looked pink and had a strong knit going where the beetle heads had been placed. He washed the wound twice with tea and licked it thoroughly, ignoring Amber’s informative mutterings as to how ‘gross’ he was.

But with this done and the wound wrapped again, he had nothing else to do. If he were in the city, Meoraq could simply light a lamp and read the Word or take the rooftop or find some other way to entertain himself, but he was loathe to waste what little lamp oil he’d brought with him out of Chalh. In their winter’s camp, when he had spent days on end confined to a cave, he’d always had the option of rigorous sex to exhaust himself before bed. He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself tonight.

“Are you tired?” he asked, without much hope.

“Yeah. Why? What’s up?” She visibly rallied herself to appear alert. A good woman was always thinking of how to lessen her man’s burdens and see to his needs. Meoraq’s selfish heart burned a little, but not enough to keep him from undressing and crawling into the cupboard with her.

“We going to fool around?” she whispered when the door was shut. Her hands were brazen on his back. Her little teeth nipped at his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “That would be unforgiveable.”

“Oh.” She drew away and nestled herself into the bedding. “Good. Because in all honesty, I had maggots in me all day and I’m feeling about the most unsexy I’ve ever felt in my life. Want to talk?”

He did, but she was so obviously weary and he didn’t have anything to say anyway. “Just sleep.”

She did—the only command he’d ever given that she’d followed without question—and he lay with her in the cupboard for a time, resting in the hopes that he might sleep as well, but it was not to be. He could hear the humans bedding down, their low chat giving way to grunts and shuffling, and then to the growling breaths of heavy sleep. Meoraq tried to meditate, but his mind was as restless as his clay and in the end, he rose and pulled his breeches on, then climbed to the surface where he couldn’t disturb anyone.