Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is a mistake.

Your last words to the town council echo in your mind as you pace in your room.

You wish you could go out into the forest to clear your mind and think, but you know that would be seen as an escape attempt. Not a need for some air. Not a need to talk to a friend. Not a need to think. But no one’s been listening to you about anything else, so why would they listen to you about that?

Pacing in your room will have to do.

It’s not that you think something shouldn’t be done given that this is the fifth year in a row with a poor harvest. And it’s not even that you think appealing to the old forest god for this area is a bad idea. It’s just that you’ve translated a lot of the old writings too and you think Councilor Wilder’s translation is shit.

Unfortunately, he’s the only council member with any facility for translation and therefore he is considered the expert. He’s been talking down to you about your own translations for years now and apparently more people believed him than you’d realized. Your family is on your side, and a few of the others, but he has the majority of the council.

It’s because he makes his translation sound so smooth, you think with a frustrated growl. No one seems to understand that trying to fit old words so neatly to our current language is why they’re wrong. He’s trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Wilder is also too literal, not taking into consideration cultural innuendo and context. And he discards any parts he can’t make sense of. 

And now…

Now no one will listen to you.

Wilder, in his infinite wisdom, had translated the traditional harvest rites as requiring a ritual sacrifice. A young, unmarried woman of high standing to be left at the god’s temple as payment. The town would usually consider something like that too dangerous—for what kind of god who asked for such a thing could also be trusted to help? Except there have been so many years of poor harvests from droughts and frosts and crop disease. The whole town is hungry and there are no more stores to draw on. 

Everyone is desperate for even one fruitful harvest and this year another cold wind is blowing, heralding another early frost.

So a lottery was created, with every viable candidate written down. A single name drawn for the hopes of everyone.

You’re pretty sure Wilder rigged it because its your name that he reads out.

Vindictive bastard.

Any chance you had of persuading the others is lost because now everyone thinks you’re just trying to get out of doing your duty. Nevermind that you’ve been arguing the whole time. Nevermind your evidence and your translations and your essays and your referenced sources.

You know your family is torn. Your siblings are already planning a way to smuggle you out of town, while your parents feel trapped between their duty to the town and their duty to you. They are all confused by your request for them to do nothing.

If you thought Wilder’s translation was correct, if you thought this ritual sacrifice was the correct course of action, and if your name had been chosen by chance—you would do your duty. One for many is not a sacrifice you are hesitant to make. People have starved, here in town or trying to leave your remote settlement. You don’t want any more babes to wither away if you can prevent it.

Except, of course, Wilder’s wrong and this won’t do a damn thing.

You know, in the end, the best chance you have is to cooperate and then, when nothing happens—to use that doubt to lend support to your own translations. 

The problem is, your translations are less coherent than his. The problem is, you haven’t managed to find a solution yourself.

The god did not need to be summoned in the old days, he was already there. So there are no writings on the subject beyond an extremely symbolic arrival myth that doesn’t help. As far as traditional harvest blessings or festivals, many were done before the crops were planted or were a celebration after a successful harvest—not right before a harvest. Additionally, there were priests or priestesses who served the harvest god, Arcertillus, and communicated with him regularly.

In fact, you’re pretty sure Wilder has confused the initiation rite for a new priestess with the sacrifice for a boar at midwinter, and then some other stipulations from what you were pretty sure were various healing rituals all into one. You’re pretty sure he’d done it by accident, but maybe he thought he could create a new ritual to save the harvest? 

You’re fairly certain it won’t work regardless because the biggest issue is contacting Arcertillus. All of the writings you’ve read never specify how to do that and you can’t tell if he was just always around, if they thought it was so obvious that it was never codified, or if he was just that powerful. Either way, you’re certain that he went into something like hibernation when the people who lived here hundreds of years ago left. What you really need is a way to wake him up.

The truth is: you’ve got nothing.

If only Wilder didn’t have so much pride, you could work together on this. He’s too stuck in his ways though. He always has been and you’d been younger when you told him as much to his face. He’s never tolerated you since, even if he’s played nice in front of others.

Your eyes dart to your window. Running, being among the trees that surrounded your town, always helped you to clear your mind and think. You’re confident if you could just get away for a few hours, you’d be able to come up with some sort of workable idea. Instead you feel trapped and stifled.

You wish you could talk to someone, but your family is too worried and you’ve never had many friends–too much of a loner for that. Yet another reason to want to go out in the forest where Tai is. A reclusive man who lived by himself deep in the woods for who knows how long, you’d come across him years ago. Curious, but quiet–talking to him always helped you sort out your own thoughts. He can’t read, so he isn’t any direct help with the translations, but he knows a lot about this area, this land, because his family had lived here for generations, although he was the only one left these days. He knows more oral stories about the older civilization than anyone else aside from that one village elder who forgot his name half the time and slept the other half.

Mostly it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t from here, didn’t grow up with these people—neighbors, colleagues, citizens—and who didn’t already have his own opinions about them. It’s selfish, but you like how he always takes your side, commiserates with you, and hears your complaints without arguing. He’s also the only person who finds you as funny as you yourself do. You can talk to him for hours about anything.

But instead of a friendly ear to listen to or a patient sounding board or a comfortable presence, you are alone. In your room. And the ritual is tomorrow.

You sigh, flopping back on your bed. Maybe all you can hope for is that, after you were left in the temple to wait out the night, you would have the opportunity to explore deeper and try to find some more helpful carvings to translate. Parts of the temple are sealed or in disrepair, but its now or never. Perhaps deep in the temple is the answer you’re looking for. 

You sit back up and drag yourself over to your desk. Regardless, you should get your writings and notes in order. That way when you’re back here after Wilder’s plan fails, you’re ready to present what you did have.

It isn’t much of a plan, but it’s all you have.

Chapter Text

You’re starting to really regret ever going along with this ridiculous idea.

You didn’t actually feel nervous about the ritual until you figured out the Councilor had the apothecary re-create the medical paint instead of the ceremonial one. Because of course he’d be just good enough at translating to manage that. 

In priest or priest initiations, from what you’ve managed to translate, a ceremonial body paint was used. Abstract swirls and deep colors were drawn all over the body of the person who was being welcomed into temple service, usually by family members or prominent members of society. You’d expected that and had agreed to your team of two of your sisters, your sister-in-law, the wife of one of the other councilors, and grudgingly, Councilor Wilder’s wife, to help you prepare and dress for the ritual.

Then the first layer of paint on your legs made them go numb. You quickly deduced that he had decided, since this was a ritual sacrifice, that the medical paint—usually applied to small areas of the body to manage pain or in preparation for surgery performed by priest or priestesses—was the most appropriate choice.

Your sisters had all backed you up when they realized what they were doing and another meeting was called since he’d never mentioned that before. He’d tried to bluster around the deception, saying it should be obvious, but it had disturbed the other councilors enough for another debate to start. Councilor Wilder insisted that if the ritual he’d ‘translated’ was not performed exactly as he said it should, it would fail. Eventually, you, your father, and two other councilors' brokered an agreement to the use of the medical paint only if he signed an oath that, if the ritual failed, he would not protest any next course of action, would never try to propose such a sacrifice again, and would not appeal any of your own translations without an expert from out of town to back him up.

You hated the idea of being partially paralyzed, but it would be worth it if he was silenced after tonight’s failure. You could easily see Wilder continuing to tweak his ritual if it didn’t succeed for days or weeks, wasting precious time when something needed to be done to save the town.

Your father trusted your conclusion that you would be safe tonight, but he’d vowed to stick with Wilder in case he sought to guarantee your sacrifice while you were incapacitated. Your siblings–sisters, brothers, and in-laws–were all helping by teaming up with other citizens to patrol around the temple to ensure no one would try to interfere with the ritual. Your mother was hosting a night long vigil at your home, trying to ensure everyone else was occupied and distracted.

You’re still where you sit propped up in the cart you’re riding in to the temple now that you’ve been ceremonially done up. As they open the doors you would shiver if you could—the fact that you’re dressed for a spring ritual instead of a late summer one is very obvious.

Your hair is done in braids, tied up to keep it high off your neck and back leaving them exposed to the mild chill in the air. Honestly, your hair might actually look nice since, regardless of Mrs. Wilder’s other flaws, she is a talented at styling hair. The bright red paint on your lips and orange paint over the rest of your face likely spoils whatever appealing affect the hair has, no matter the gold flecks that dot your face like freckles. 

A single long piece of blue fabric is wrapped around your chest, opaque, but baring your shoulders and stomach to display the yellow paint swirled over your torso, which bleeds into green at your waist. The green is broken by more blue fabric around your hips. Again, this fabric ostensibly covers your most vulnerable bits, but leaves you feeling far more exposed than you’d prefer. The only good thing about the paint is that your skin, technically, is covered.

A skirt of ribbons and a shirt of a scarf were not at all comparable to your typical outfits of a long-sleeved blouse and pants or long skirt, but they’re better than nothing. Mostly, you wish you had a jacket as they push aside the curtain and a cool breeze heralding the potential frost blows over you.

Your father gives you a smile that he clearly wants to be comforting, but is mostly a pained grimace at how ridiculous you no doubt look.

One of the Councilors, Nadine Smith, is a strong enough mage that she is able to lift you without touch and float you as if you’re standing up the stairs that lead to the entrance to the temple. You appreciate she asked for your preference on how you’d liked to be moved before the paint was done because you would not have wanted to be laying down. It would feel too vulnerable. You’re also glad most of the Council is already in the temple so you can have even a few extra moments of at least partial privacy with only your father, Councilor Smith, and Mrs. Wilder. You try to appreciate the sun setting between the mountains with minimal success.

However, in less time than you’d prefer, you’re there.

You can’t control most of your body, but once inside, you meet Councilor Wilder’s gaze with your own unflinchingly. Despite all this being his idea, he still seems surprised to see you all done up in the temple. He falters for a moment, something like doubt in his eyes, before he looks away to start snapping out orders.

Tall candles are lit around it and there’s a good sized fire in a portal brazier. The additional light to see by is a double-edged sword, but the warmth is wonderful. Councilor Smith sets you down carefully on the altar before taking a seat, worn out from carrying you. That means it’s Councilor Heath, a satyr, who gives you an apologetic look as he ties your wrists down. He’d worked with your father to talk Councilor Wilder out of this to no avail so you try to convey once more that you don’t blame him for this uncomfortable and ridiculous situation.

You still have no idea why you’d need to be tied down to the altar when you’re covered in the medical paint, but why would things start making sense now?

You try to keep your emotions shoved down inside, try to keep from picturing the people you know are around you, but who you can no longer see. You try not to think about how exposed you are. Instead, you focus on the words Councilor Wilder is saying, both in the ancient language and his ‘translations’. You criticize his pronunciation—even if you yourself aren’t sure how to speak the ancient words, he’s definitely not saying them right either—and his liberal, loose translation to keep yourself distracted.

Sure enough, he’s combined the spring ritual of blessing a harvest before it’s planted, with the initiation for a new priestess and then there are some lines from some sort of medical procedure—possibly the one for frostbite? But frostbite shouldn’t necessitate the use of medical paint. You try to puzzle out how he could have unintentionally mixed these together.

It works to pass the time and before you expect, the others all file out. One last gentle squeeze on your shoulder from your father and you’re alone. You give a half-hearted attempt at moving, but it’s no use. You hope they tied the ropes right because if they’re too tight, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

You try to focus on breathing, on keeping calm, but it’s harder than you want it to be. It’s just a waiting game, you remind yourself. But you’ve never liked being still. You like to move, you like to look around. It used to drive your mother made, the way you’d fidget and wander around as you had a conversation.

In the morning, you can get back to actually trying to figure out how to protect the harvest and your town. But there are so many hours until then, especially since you suspect you won’t be able to sleep. It’s gonna be a long night. You wistfully think about what you would do if you just stay here without the paint, without the ropes.

The light is too poor for translation work, but it would have been nice to play your fiddle or inspect the carvings on the altar more closely. Maybe you would have asked for a better lamp to at least read by.

Mostly, you just wish someone was here with you. You know why no one is, but still. It’d be nice if someone could hold your hand. If someone could talk to you. At this point, you’d even listen to your one sister’s pedantic prattling about the finer points of the tax code.

You let your mind drift.

The best would be if Tai was here. Your closest friend knows all the most compelling legends and his deep voice is made for storytelling around campfires. With his words and the flickering light from the fire still burning, you could surely pass through the night much easier. Actually, if he was here, you’d probably feel safe enough to simply sleep.

Maybe you should try to sleep as it is. It’s not as though if something was to happen, you’d be able to do anything about it. You regret thinking that and switch to imagining explaining to Wilder all the flaws in his translations, his ritual, his general attitude. You try to picture his face when they all come back in the morning and you’re still here because he’s an idiot.

You hope you’ll be able to turn your head in time to see his expression yourself. 

You have no idea how quickly or slowly time is passing, but you cycle through thoughts on the shadowy mosaic ceiling above you, your own translation for rituals, and try to pray some of the traditional prayers in your mind on the off chance being in the temple might help them reach the benevolent god’s ears.

You’re in the middle of remembering a particularly pretty poem about the wind through the fields that had certainly felt like a prayer to you even if you don’t think it was an official one when a sound catches your attention. Instantly, all your thoughts stop. If you could get any stiller than you already were you’d do so.

The sound of movement is off to your left—opposite the entrance. Maybe a bat flew in last night? The next sound though is definitely a footstep. Your shallow breathing stops in response.

You hear a deep voice gasp your name, before a shadow hurries over to the altar. You can’t see anything but the ceiling and something about the voice is familiar, but unexpected enough you can’t place the speaker yet.

A warm hand tenderly picks up your own, long fingers stroke down your palm and over your wrist in a way that would have sent a shiver down your spine if you could. Whoever this is, no doubt, notices the way your pulse is racing.

You can only make out a flicker of movement from the corner of your eye, when the figure leans over to meet your eyes with their green ones. Your mouth falls open as far as it can, less than an inch given the state you’re in, but you barely notice.

It’s Tai. You would recognize his eyes anywhere, but the rest of him…

He’s never looked like this.

His curly brown hair is loose around his face instead of tied back and it gives him a wilder look than usual. His brown skin is the same, but there are green streaks down his cheeks you’ve never seen before that mark him as not human. To be honest you’ve had your suspicions, but you thought he might be some sort of mage or dryad. The massive antlers growing out of his head though, which you’ve definitely never seen before, leave no question as to exactly who he is. You’ve seen enough reliefs around the temple to know.

Arcertillus.

He says your name again, his voice is urgent and it has a growl of anger to it that you’re only just now recognizing. It brings you back to the moment, revelations tossed aside as you really look at your friend, at the expression on his face. He’s never hidden the fact that he doesn’t understand why you or the rest of the people in town do things certain ways (or at all). He often expresses annoyance, bewilderment, and frustration when you talk about your day or your complaints. You realize now though, you’ve never seen him truly angry before.

“Who did this to you?”

Chapter Text

You try to open your mouth to answer him.

Unfortunately, your lips are still too numb to really speak and you’re too nervous to get any paint on your tongue.

His scowl deepens before you attempt anything more. “You don’t need to say it. I’m sure it was that ridiculous Council of yours.”

You try to make a soothing sound as best you can, hating how upset he is when you’d agreed to all this nonsense, albeit reluctantly. You must manage to get something of the feeling across to him because his expression softens. “Never mind that now,” he says gruffly. His eyes sweep up and down your form and you’re grateful the paint hides your blush from him. In the end, you didn’t really care how the Council or your family saw you. You’ve long given up doing anything with your physical appearance—it wasn’t worth the bother—but you can’t help wanting Tai to only see you at your best. Or at least only dressed as you chose to dress. 

He always seems to see the best in you and you’re embarrassed at the situation you’re in—especially if he thinks someone made you do this. You try to think that at him somehow, but he turns back to your bounds before you’re sure if you managed to communicate anything.

“Why did they use ropes and caine paint? Imbeciles.” He lifts up a hand and you watch him extend gray claws you’ve never noticed before. He makes quick work of the ropes tying you down, but your mind fixates back on the fact that your friend, the person you care most about besides your family, is also definitely an ancient god. The very one you and the town wanted to contact. You’re almost more upset by the idea that Wilder’s stupid ritual worked and that being why Tai is here than Tai never having told you who exactly he is. No wonder he knew so many stories about the people who used to live here. He knew them.

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by his hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes refocus on him with a start. You hate that this is the first time he’s touched your face and you can barely even feel it.

“We need to get this all off,” he says seriously, with an urgent undercurrent to his tone that makes you nervous. “I don’t trust that small-minded man to have brewed it properly. There can be long-lasting consequences if it’s left on for too long.” Your eyes widen at that. That hadn’t occurred to you. Your apothecary is a good one, surely she would have said something if it was that dangerous, right? “Do you mind if I pick you up? Blink twice for ‘yes’.” 

Immediately you do as he asked and he seems to lose some tension at your prompt response. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” It’s an odd sensation, being picked up while more than half numb. You give up trying to catalog the sensations until he shifts you into a stable position. 

You’re grateful the back of your neck is paint free because it means you retain some control over the ability to hold your head up. He curls one large, warm hand around your shoulder, his arm across your shoulder blades. This anchors your side against his chest and while a few swirls of paint cut through the sensation, ultimately it feels lovely. You’ve always admired Tai’s hands: strong, steady, lightly calloused. He’s always working on a wood carving or darning cloth or some other similar, small work with his hands when he listens to you. You like to watch him work, like how nimble his fingers are despite their size.

The other hand is on your hip, his whole arm pressing along your thigh, his elbow near your knee, and you hate that you can’t really feel that at all. The result is you in an almost sitting position, your whole right side flush with his chest. Even through his shirt, he feels wonderfully solid and warm no matter the trails of numbness that cover your body.

“Okay?” his voice rumbles beneath you and you blink twice in response, humming in your throat. You allow your head to rest against his shoulder. “Good.” You’re surprised when he starts to head deeper into the temple and make a questioning sound. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, trying to guess at your question. You blink twice and hum affirmatively. “Downstairs. In the lower levels of the temple, there are hot springs,” he says as he strides confidently towards some stairs. You blink in surprise. Some writing mentioned springs, but you have always thought they meant ones up in the nearby mountain–not in the temple itself. “Best place to get this off you.”

When you pass the last torch, you realize he doesn’t need the light to see by, but you do. You grunt and he stops instantly. “What is it?” The worry in his voice shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. You shouldn’t be happy he’s clearly so upset about how you’ve been treated, but you can’t help it. It’s vindicating and flattering and affirming to hear how much he cares about you and how upset he is on your behalf. 

You push those feelings to the side and try to jerk your head at the torch. It takes him a moment before he realizes what you want. He sounds exasperated when he replies, “I don’t exactly have a spare hand, you know.” Oh, right, you think sheepishly. Still, he walks over and examines the large torch for a few seconds before blowing it out like a mortal might have a candle flame. Holding you tight with one arm, he plucks the still smoking torch from its bracket and arranges it between your legs, which he’s still holding closed together. “We’ll relight that downstairs, yeah? Best I can manage.”

You blink twice in thanks and press a little close as he resettles his grip on you. Closing your eyes as he brings you down into the depths of the temple you realize you were right earlier—with Tai here, you finally feel safe.

Chapter Text

“We’re here.”

You didn’t fall asleep on the walk down, but you got close—it had been such a long couple of days and the slight rocking motion as you were carried made it that much easier. Still, as you come to, you notice the air is much warmer than it has been and you hear the sound of bubbling water. Without light, there isn’t much else you can observe, but you’re content to wait on Tai.

“I’m going to set you down so I can light the torch. Would you rather I put you down on the ground or directly in the water? Blink twice for ground and three times for water.” 

You blink twice—needing to see the water before you are submerged in it, no matter how much you trust Tai. The prospect of accidentally drowning in the dark while unable to move anything more than your head is rather terrifying.

“Sure,” Tai says, leaning down and propping you up against some stone you also can’t see on the slightly damp floor. Wherever you aren’t numb, you can feel a warm mist settling on your skin.

Soon enough, Tai lights the torch he’d brought down. The sconce he sets it in is surrounded by polished silver, reflecting the light and catching polished stonework on the other walls to illuminate the space far more than you had expected a single torch to do. Blue and white tile and stone cover the walls in elaborate patterns, all surrounding a pool of steaming water. From a gap in the wall to your left, water spilled down a series of rocky steps and shallow pools to fill the largest pool which was level with the floor. It can easily fit eight other people and looks so inviting you instinctively try to move towards it. The feeling of drying paint covering your body is one you’ve been trying to ignore, but the sight of so much steaming water results in a strong impulse to scrub it all off.

Tai walks back over to you and sits down next you, a move your neck gratefully appreciates. “There’s a ledge to sit on within the pool. I’m going to move you there so the water can start wearing away at the paint on your legs. The ledge is deep enough that you won’t slip off.”

You blink twice to signal your agreement and he smiles, seemingly relieved that you’re still so alert. Carefully, he picks you up again, an arm behind your upper back and the other under your knees. He submerges you gently in the water. The ledge is easily within reach, only about a foot and a half down from the floor and jutting over a foot into the pool. It feels wonderful and strange, how you can only feel the water against part of your body. The warmth is the best part. Tai arranges you so you are wedged securely against the wall,

“Good?” he asks. You obligingly blink twice and try for a smile. It still feels strange on your face, but Tai seems relieved. “Alright, just give me a moment.” You wonder what he means, but the answer is obvious enough when he drops his pack and starts pulling off his shirt. Your eyes widen as he pulls it over his head to reveal his firm, brown chest and you see the green streaks on his face form stripes of a sort down his torso. 

You want to trace them with your fingers, with your lips. You’re abruptly grateful your facial expression can’t give any of your thoughts away. This is almost as bad as that one time you’d stumbled on him swimming in the lake. Maybe worse since he’s going to be touching you while like this. Or maybe that’s what’ll make it better, you think distantly, too distracted by him taking off his trousers to think about much else.

He turns around to get something from his pack and your eyes are drawn to the intricate tattoos that cover his back. He definitely did not have those the one other time you saw his bare back—the image was burned into your memory. They match the art style of the temple. There’s elaborate calligraphy mixed in with the art and you itch to translate it. You think you could spend hours studying him.

The small splash he makes getting to the water pulls you from your thoughts. You curse yourself for getting so distracted looking at him when he’s just trying to help you, just trying to be a good friend. He moves closer to you and it’s obvious the floor must drop off after your little ledge because the water comes halfway up his chest. His eyes rake down the part of your body above water and you feel heat trail wherever his gaze goes. Your body has never been on the receiving end of such intense scrutiny.

His green eyes end up back on your own. You can see emotions warring in them until a familiar concern wins out. “Let’s start with your face,” he says, getting the cloth he must have pulled from his pack wet with hot spring water. “Need you to tell me how this happened, alright?” You blink twice in case he’s looking for an answer. 

You think he moves your legs so he can get a bit closer—it’s so hard to tell given how numb they are. His right hand cups your cheek and he begins to carefully scrub at your lips with the cloth in his left. The sensation is bizarre, but having Tai so close and gently caring for you could never be anything short of lovely.

“It’s too quiet without you talking anyways,” he murmurs, focused on his work. “You know I’m only good with the words of others, not my own.”

He pulls back from you to rinse the cloth in the water and your lips start to tingle, not unlike when you get off a limb you’d been sitting on. Cautiously, you lick your lips and are relieved that, despite the odd sensation, you taste no paint.

He reaches to angle your head once more, the cloth clean. “Close your eyes,” he asks softly. “I don’t want any runoff to go in them.” Obligingly you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the strange feeling of half-sitting, half-floating in water while numb. Of Tai’s hand cradling your head as he meticulously rubs your forehead and cheeks of paint.

“I never understood the need for all this paint,” he says, almost to himself. You can picture the look on his face, a frown he often wears when you talk about some of the things the townspeople do—the things he thinks are foolish. His disgruntled bafflement has always been so entertaining to you. It makes you smile to hear it now. “It’s garish. And the orange doesn’t compliment your eyes at all. I can’t even see any of your freckles under all this. The priestesses had a much lighter hand, but it confused me then too. So many rituals were of their creation, for their own traditions, rather having any utility.”

You file the information away, fascinated by his insight, but intimidated all over again by the reminder of who exactly he is. It’s so hard to reconcile the man carefully cleaning your face with the distant and larger-than-life deity Arcertillus. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” he reminds you. “I’m going to rinse your face.”

You hum in response since you can’t blink. When wonderfully hot water pours over your face, you hum again, this time in appreciation. The water soothes the tingling that had started as the paint was scrubbed away. Carefully, you feel him dry off your face with some other piece of cloth. The sensation doesn’t hurt, but the numbed skin waking up isn’t exactly pleasant either. 

“You can open your eyes now.”

You do so, blinking in the torchlight and in surprise at finding his face still so close to your own. His green eyes have flecks of brown in them that seem to swirl independently. Have they always been like that and you were just never close enough to notice?

He pulls back to set aside what you now realize was his shirt to dry you off and picks up the wet cloth. “Throat next,” he says. “That should help you regain your words as well.”

You try to say thank you but he’s right, between the few swirls of paint at the base of your throat and your still numb lips, nothing is intelligible. You huff in frustration and he smiles indulgently. “Soon enough.”

He begins scrubbing your neck, at the tendrils of yellow that curl along the base of your throat and along your collarbone. You push your lips together as he works, wondering if the tingling is less than it was or if that’s just wishful thinking. All the burning questions you now have for Tai build up behind your teeth. Questions about what exactly he is. Who exactly he is. Questions about this temple and the language you’ve spent so much of your life trying to understand, the people you’ve spent so much time trying to understand. How to help your town, full of superstitious folks as it is, survive.

You clear your throat as he fills his cupped hands with water to rinse it off. Licking your lips, you try to speak. “Tai?” His name is clumsy but intelligible enough.

Instantly, his head wipes up and his eyes meet yours. All of the gentleness that he’s been exhibiting while cleaning off the paint is pushed to the side at the chance to finally get answers from you. His lip curls up to reveal teeth larger than you remember. “Was this that idiot Wilder’s idea?”

“Yes,” is all you can manage. 

It’s enough. 

The air seems to get thicker, more charged as Tai’s mouth screws up in a rictus of fury. “I’m gonna kill the pompous man once and for all, come morning,” he growls, his eyes glowing a solid, bright red—no pupil or iris or whites to them.

It’s intimidating. It’s fascinating. You like the image of him standing over a prostrating Wilder, condemning him with righteous indignation more than you should. But only as an idea, not a reality. You clear your throat again and manage to say, “I…said…yes.”

Abruptly, the red vanishes and he stares at you with shocked green eyes. “You agreed to this, this absurd, stupid, fake little ritual?” He gestures as he asks, “Why, in all the world, would you do that?”

“Ge’…him,” you focus on shaping the words as precisely as you can. It’s still more difficult than you’d like. “‘o…shu’…up.”

Tai’s mouth quirks up in an amused smirk against his will. You can see the fight begin to drain out of him. “Surely there are easier ways to get that pompous stuffed shirt to close his mouth.”

You manage a shrug, entertained by his exasperated annoyance as always. “Easiest,” you insist.

He huffs incredulously. After muttering under his breath, he runs his fingers through his luscious curls and you’ve never been so envious of someone else’s hand before. It draws you attention to his ears, previously hidden amongst the curls and now revealed to be rather more pointed and furrier than they had before. They look so soft. “You’re ridiculous.”

You merely hum affirmatively, feeling your lips turn up in a smirk.

He’s still shaking his head as moves closer to you once more. He cups his hands and lets fresh, clean water pour over your neck and shoulders. Even more paint washes away and you feel a little freer as it does. 

Still, when he turns back to you with a rinsed and wrung out cloth, you know what you need to talk about. The elephants in the room must be addressed, one at a time. You flop an arm to get his attention and when he meets your eyes, you ask as clearly as you can, “Can…you…help?”

“Can I help?” he repeats and you blink twice because it’s still easier than talking. He gestures with the cloth. “I’m already helping.”

You shake your head roughly. “Town.”

His eyes narrow shrewdly. “With the harvest you mean? For those small-minded, mo—” You hum as loud as you can in protest and he cuts himself off. He’s right about Wilder and some of the others, but most of the townspeople are just normal people, albeit scared and desperate people.

Tai heaves a sigh. “Perhaps.” He moves to finish your shoulders and you know when to wait him out. There are plenty of things in life that make you feel impatient, but Tai never has. You’ve always sensed how he needs time to get his thoughts in order. You’d thought part of it was because he didn’t talk to many people, that he’d been alone for such a long time that it was hard. You’re suddenly aware that it must have been far longer than you ever suspected. Normally, you fill the silence by talking, but you’re content this time to let the bubbling of the spring, the crackle of the torch, and the soft sounds of him scrubbing the paint from you do that instead.

He’ll tell you whenever he figures out what to say. While you wait, you’re happy to have the paint as an excuse to let him touch you. The more he wipes away, the more you can feel and you can see how careful he is, walking the fine line between firm pressure and abrasion. The swirls of yellow and green on your arms are mostly on the back and so you can feel how carefully he holds your forearm, the way one of his fingers stays on your pulse, making sure you’re comfortable.

It’s nice, having someone take care of you like this. It feels like you’re in a different world down here, one where time doesn’t have any meaning, one without any weight on your shoulders, just like how you feel in the forest. How you feel whenever you’re with Tai.

He finishes with your right arm, guides you as he dunks it into the water to clean it off, and starts on your left before he begins to talk. “You must understand. ‘Deities’ as you think of them follow certain rules in what we have dominion over and what that means.”

You try to commit everything he says to memory, grateful he’s sharing so much with you.

“There are inherent aspects and honed ones,” he continues, keeping his gaze fixed on the paint, on your skin. “Limits to what we can do.”

Your face has enough feeling back in it that it must betray your confusion when his eyes flick up. He frowns, but you know it’s only because he’s thinking. Your eyes trace over his strong features, drawn to the green streaks on his cheeks you first noticed upstairs. You want to run your fingers along them, see if they feel any different than the rest of his skin. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight that’s making all your careful restraint, all your reminders about how off-limits Tai is—limits that should be reinforced by the fact that you know exactly what he is now—but instead those impulses are spilling everywhere.

Even looking at his hair makes your fingers twitch, still half numb and tingling as they are. You can’t stop your eyes from wandering to his antlers and you wonder how solid they are, if they’re as smooth as they look. As your eyes drift back down, you wonder if it’s because he’s taken his shirt off and you can see his solid, naked chest. No, you think as his hand moves up and down your arm—it’s definitely how much he’s touching you. With maybe a bit of the want related to the fact that you can’t reach out and touch him if you tried. Not well, at least.

Tai finishes cleaning your left arm, rinses it off, and then sits back to survey your torso. “I think I’ve got all of the paint from your face, shoulders and arms.” You smile, although it falters when he hesitates. “We could wait,” he offers, “for you to regain feeling in your hands and arms. You could clean the rest off yourself.”

You stare back at him, noticing the trepidation in his expression. “But?”

“I’m worried about you having the caine paint on any longer than you have to,” he says, brow furrowed, before he seems to remember himself. In a surprisingly self-conscious gesture, he rubs the back of his neck. “But I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than I already have.”

Your face softens. “Okay. Trust you.” When he still seems cautious, you think it over. Maybe he’s not giving you an out, but himself one. “Not make you though.” If this whole time he’s been uncomfortable touching you, while you’ve been secretly enjoying it, you might die of embarrassment–forget anything else.

“I don’t mind,” his voice is sure, his expression intent. “If you don’t.”

“Don’t mind. Thank you,” you say, trying to push your gratitude for everything so far into your voice. Gratitude you’re not still tied up on that altar, for his careful consideration for you, for his help, for his furor on your behalf. 

He smiles back at you before he seems to almost blush. “Of course,” he says gruffly, but sincerely. “Let’s get the rest of this off you.”

Chapter Text

Before he begins, he lifts you from the water with ease.

The water had come to the bottom of your top and so the rest of you that was painted had been submerged. He props you against the wall as comfortably as he can and sets himself up between your legs, letting your feet dangle into the water. It’s cooler not being submerged, but it also wakes you up more from the lull you’d found yourself in. It was easier to keep the questions you had at bay when you couldn’t talk and were drifting more in the warm haze of this hot spring chamber.

It’s more distracting to watch Tai begin to wipe off your stomach with both of you primarily out of the water. So much bare skin on display and so much more aware of it. Your thoughts clamor for attention and distraction.

Deciding to start easy, you say, “So, you really are Arc-er-till-us.” You try your best to speak clearly, but your lips still feel a bit tingly. You feel tingly all over really. It’s a disconcerting and uncomfortable feeling. You hope you can satiate your curiosity at least if you can get Tai talking and distract yourself at the same time.

“Ar-cer-tai-yaus,” Tai corrects gruffly. “Yes.”

You try to suppress a laugh because you really had been off with the pronunciation, but at least that means Wilder was wrong too. This is why you only do written translations in a dead language. Well, not completely dead. Still, you were better with a code than spoken languages in truth. “That does make more more sense.” 

You try to clench and unclench your fists, moving your arms and adjusting your shoulders just in case that will help the paint’s effects wear off faster. And because after being unable to move much at all for so long, you want to exercise every option you’re regaining.

“Do you come here often?” Tai never seems to notice the flirty twists your words get around him or if he does, he’s polite enough not to call you on it. You’re still unable to stop yourself from hastily clarifying, “It’s certainly a more convenient hot spring than the ones on the other side of the mountain.”

“More than I come here for anything else,” he replies easily. “Some of my larger and older possessions are kept here. There’s not much point to the rest of it without the others and the belief to fill it, but my quarters are maintained well enough in case I’d like to spend the night. The hot springs require no maintenance. You’re welcome to use them whenever you like.”

“Thanks,” you reply, pleased by his offer. “How did you know to come here tonight?” Maybe something more about what exactly he is or about his past should be the first question on your lips, but you’re too present at the moment, in this secret underground chamber of the temple with a long lost god, for the rest of the world outside of here, past or future, to feel very real. 

Tai pauses his ministrations with the cloth to give you a dry look. “How do you think?”

You scowl. It always annoys you when he answers a question with a question. You flap your hand at him in a clumsy version of a swat to his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

He smirks at the poor attempt and you’re glad he’s not as upset as he was earlier. He wrings out his cloth to rinse off your stomach. “You wanted me to come here. I heard your prayer, so to speak.”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him in surprise. “You did?”

He nods. “I could tell something was happening at the temple tonight, but I thought some children were messing around.” You smile, remembering how at a certain age, challenging each other to sneak into the old temple was the height of daring and exciting. “I’m aware of when people enter the temple and attempt to invoke one of us, like hearing words spoken from far away or in another room. Indistinct. Muffled.”

You listen with fascination as he explains. You’d never expected to be able to just talk to Arcertillus, even if you did figure out the best way to get him to help. And now was here, closer than ever, saying, “In order to be heard clearly, one must know whom they are calling and have a strong conviction.” He gently turns you to the side so he can clean off your back. “The temple helps amplify a petitioner’s voice due to the mindset it inspires, the repetition of generations doing the same thing in the same place, the fact that people believe more strongly they will be heard here.”

“I’ve not heard someone so clearly in ages,” he admits as he rubs the cloth in his hand in wide circles across the swirls. You feel goosebumbs break out across your skin at the sensation, this mix of numb and and sensitive skin sending tingles of a different kind up your spine. You try to focus on his words, reminding yourself of what an opportunity it was to have something so mysterious explained so clearly. “I believe it was because you were calling on Arcertillus and Tai. You focused on what you wanted and believed enough that you could have it, that I could make that happen, so your message went through—the perfect storm of intent. Like a loud cry directly to me.”

You sputter as he rinses off your back. “I wasn’t crying out to you. I was just, just bored.”

When he turns you back around, you can see his grin at how flustered you are. “Of course.”

You are grateful the heat coming off from the water is a plausible explanation for the blush no doubt spreading across your freshly scrubbed cheeks. You attempt to cross your arms over your chest and it only half works, your limbs still clumsy. “As long as it wasn’t because of Wilder.”

Tai snorts. “He made some noise because of his focus and belief, but none of it made any sense—that’s why I thought the original fuss was a pack of children.” The heavy contempt in his voice shouldn’t make you want to laugh but it does. “I’m not sure I was wrong in the end.”

His eyes dance at your muffled laugh, but the sound cuts off as he begins to clean off your upper thigh. You find your lips have finally decided to cooperate and launch into a recap of the events leading up to him finding you on the altar. He listens intently, seemingly focused on your words as well as your leg, which he works his way down carefully. You’ve never felt such care or so seen in all your years. It’s an exhilarating and intoxicating feeling—the way your heart thumps as his hands move surely against your skin, as he reacts to your story with little huffs and eye rolls.

You’re not sure you ever want this to end.

Telling him reminds you of your original question, the original reason you’d even agreed to this nonsense in the first place. When he sets his hand to your remaining thigh, you ask. “About the harvest. You said you might be able to help. Something to do with what you were saying earlier, something about innate and honed abilities?”

He hums in response and the time since then seems to have helped him find the words to explain. “Think of a piece of glass,” he starts with, his voice low and sure like it is when he spins legends around the fire. If you close your eyes most of the way, the flickering of the torchlight could be that of such a fire, his movements brushing wood curls from something he’s whittling, the mist of the hot spring that of an early morning fog. 

“The light passes through as it is wont to do. Depending on the clarity and the cut, light will pass through it in specific ways.” He rinses off your thigh and his hand moves lower to curl just under your knee. The water has soaked your calf the longest and the paint is already thinned. You swear you can feel the heat of him, the calluses on his fingers as he holds you so delicately. 

“When fashioned into a window, you can use it to illuminate a room with sunlight while keeping bugs out and heat in, for instance.” The paint comes off faster and he moves lower, a bit further from you to hold your foot. His words or his touch vie for your attention. “However, you can also grind and cut it to concentrate light, using that glass and the sun to generate enough heat to start a fire.”

“On my own, I have an ability and affinity for forests and the animals who dwell there. However, with the correct belief supplied by others, I can focus and expand my influence to include cultivated plants and domesticated animals in my area.” He rinses off your foot, but keeps his hold, carefully massaging the feeling back into it in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. His dark green eyes catching your own does nothing to dissipate that effect. “But I need that belief in order to step outside my natural sphere, so to speak.”

His eyes unfocus as if seeing days long gone. “I have not had dominion over the harvest since the last people lived here and granted it to me.”

Your mind works frantically to push through the sluggish heat in your veins. Your voice is soft as you ask, “Does that mean that we could grant it to you once more?”

The distant look in Tai’s eyes leaves and you can practically see him see you again. “Yes, if your people choose to believe I could protect their harvest, I likely will regain that ability. I can already feel it swelling in the air and within me. Your people are not yet sold on the belief, but enough of them have been considering it that I can feel that part of myself awakening.”

“The frost will strike any day now,” you say and struggle to sit up straighter, all your urgency about finding a solution to your people’s situation surging through you now that it seems possible. “How do we do this?”

Tai looks at you in a way you can’t define, can’t understand. He stares at you in silence before he seems to come back to himself. He lets go of your calf with what might be reluctance as he pulls himself out of his thoughts. He rises from his kneel under water and then sits down on the hidden ledge. He shrugs. “You know them far better than I. My other, siblings perhaps is the best analogy, were far more involved with the temple. I’ve always preferred the woods and the company of only a select few. Priests and Priestesses handled much of the shaping of the people’s belief and will.”

You consider that as you touch each finger to your thumb, the motions both a fidget and a test of returning dexterity. “Well there aren’t anymore priestesses or priests. Although I’m sure Wilder would love that.”

Tai makes a disgusted face and you laugh. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t still condemn him for what he did to you.”

You roll your eyes. “As much as I would love to see that, the harvest is what matters.” Then something occurs to you. “How did one become a priestess?”

Tai furrows his brow before shrugging. “There was some ceremony and the existing priestesses screened candidates who volunteered. Never really mattered much to me. A priestess is just a spokesperson for both us and the people they serve—a middleman so to speak. The key is maintaining good relationships with the community and with us, or rather me in this case. But in the end willingness to do the job is all that’s truly required.”

You nibble your bottom lip before you offer, “Then, could I be your priestess?”

Chapter Text

Tai stares at you in surprise as you wait for his response.

“I… Of course, if you want.” He continues to look at you quizzically. “You don’t have to though. I already said I would help.”

You shrug. “Right, but this will be easier, right? Not for you—” you add hastily. “For them—everyone else in town. I think they’ll listen to me more, if, if—”

“If you have a position of authority,” Tai completes for you with a nod. “Yes. They should listen to you because you know more than them, but I can see why being a priestess would be valuable.”

You can’t help but preen a little when he speaks of your knowledge—he’s always appreciated your studies. It means more now, knowing what he must know. “Is it alright with you, though?”

He gives you a very dry look. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

You shrug. Your studies hadn’t revealed too much about the relationship between the gods and the priestesses, but it seemed to be an important and intimate one—although as varied as the different gods themselves. Arcertillus was mentioned, but he tended to keep to himself a lot of the time—which of course matched what you knew of your friend. It simply meant there was less written about him, which is why you’d had such trouble with trying to figure out how best to contact him in the first place. “It doesn’t need a permanent position, if you’d rather it not be. But I think we need to pull out all the stops to help with the harvest.”

“It’s just been some time since this temple saw any purpose and most of the others left or were subsumed,” Tai says, his voice steady but you could see some loss behind his eyes. He liked to keep his own company—it was something you had in common—but there was a limit of loneliness any being could reach. You reach out to put a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze as you smile at him, reminding him you were here. He smiles back. “I’ll certainly object to nothing that will help you marshal your council into shape. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about how this night started.”

You blush, touched by his concern. “You got all the paint off. I’m fine.”

“Yes.” Tai’s eyes rack over you once again and you fight the urge to shiver from the intensity, the weight of his gaze. “How are you feeling?”

You think about his question and take stock of how yourself. Between your throat and your lips, your ability to speak seems is back to normal. The backs of your arms feel weird in spots when you press them against the stone, but the tingling in your fingers is fading to the extent that you can rearrange the various stripes of fabric that make up your skirt with slow but accurate dexterity. “Better.”

You roll your neck and wince when your updone braids pull on your scalp. It’d been hours since they were done and the weight and tightness is starting to really bother you. Deciding this will be a good test for your fingers, you carefully begin to feel across the braids and plaits and start to remove pins. 

Tai looks surprised at your groan of relief. “That was getting heavy,” you explain as you leave a pile of pins next to you on the stone floor. 

“Of course,” he says, looking chagrined he didn’t think of that. “Do you want any help with the braids?”

You shake your head as your fingers carefully begin to remove ties. “No, I think this will help wake up my fingers the rest of the way.”

“What’s worst off?”

“My legs,” you reply easily because it’s true. You’re not sure if it was the layers of paint or the wider area covered, but now that it’s off, they’re stinging something fierce while also feeling very heavy. You attempt to wiggle your toes, but nothing happens. “I don’t think I could stand up on my own right now.”

He hums in concern and studies your legs. You close your eyes against of the image of him sitting next to your bare legs and studying them, trying to force yourself to work on unraveling your many braids.

Your eyes spring open and you let out a hiss. You find that he’s brought your lower legs into his lap and is trying to massage the feeling back into them. “Too much?” he asks, freezing in place.

You shake your head wordlessly, because it hurts, but you think it will probably help. The sheer warmth of his hands feels wonderful, even if the movement is jarring. When he just stares at you, obviously unsure, you say, “If you think it will help, I’d appreciate it.”

He starts again and you have to bite your lip to keep from hissing again—it hurts, but you just want this over as soon as possible. “So do I have to do anything to officially become a priestess?”

“No,” Tai says plainly. “If we both agree you are, then you are.”

“Really?” It seems too simple, too easy. 

Tai rolls his eyes, “You mortals, always after complexity. Yes, that is all. It means what we agree it means—nothing more, nothing less.”

You nod, he’d always said the same to you before—it was why he was frustrated, confused, and amused, by your stories from your day-to-day life. It was a comforting reaction, a predictable one for him. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “You’re the expert.”

He scoffs and your smile grows. “Speaking of, don’t think you’re going to avoid helping me with my studies now.”

He looks up from his work with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

You sigh with relief as the largest braid fully unravels and run your hair through your fingers. Ignoring the strangely spellbound look on his face as you do so, you say, “Come now, you must know far more about all this—” you gesture to the temple around you “—than you let on. And I’ve been studying it my whole life—you saw it when it was in use. Did you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you more about it?”

Tai squirmed under your look, moving his gaze back to your feet. “I didn’t come here that often and I’ve told you most of the tales I know.”

“Not about the gods,” you correct before you pause. “Well, not just that. You knew the people who built the temple, who lived here.”

Tai nods, “Well, yes. I did know some of them.”

“Right,” you say slowly. Does he not understand how groundbreaking this is? Some species are long lived enough that they can help with historical records, but the people from this area had ended up cut off from the rest of the world, their dialect changing in their isolation. It left it with no living speakers that you’d ever heard of. “And I’ve been working so hard to translate rotting books and crumbling walls with approximated dialect references when you’ve met them.”

“Not most of them,” he corrects, his voice subdued. “I’m sure one of the others would have been far more useful than me. I cannot even read the writing—too caught up in the forests to sit still long enough to learn. Too stubborn to believe it worth knowing.”

“Tai…” You reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder. You know that he seems self-conscious about some of the things you considered part of everyday life that he didn’t know. He’s always acted like his inability to read the ancient writings was in that category and you’ve never understood why. Until now. After waiting for him to look up, you say, “You know I’ve never cared about that. Anything you can share would be wonderful. None of it has anything to do with us though. We were friends when all you did was sit next to me.” 

You’d stumbled upon him in a forest clearing so many years ago, wanting to get out of town to get some peace and quiet, to recenter yourself. And there he’d been, a strange but handsome man you’d never seen before. He’d fled as soon as you made eye contact, but you kept running into him. Slowly, you had progressed from sightings to enjoying each other’s silent company to you talking to him. It was nearly a year before he replied aloud, for all he’d started snorting and smiling and scowling in response to your words long before then. You’d thought at the time that he’d been alone long enough to forget speech. You wonder how far off you’d been.

His eyes bore into your own and you hope he can read your sincerity. You’ve always been able to understand each other when it came down to it. You’re relieved when he smiles. He ducks his head for a moment, almost shy, before he nods. “Right.”

You nod back and you both look away to let the moment fade. As you focus on the remaining braids, you say, “So you’ll probably need to vouch for me tomorrow—officially approve my appointment as your priestess.”

“Oh, I intend to speak with your council,” Tai seems to regain confidence as his gaze narrows. “Particularly that one thorn in your side.”

You feel your face flush at his continued desire to met out consequences to Wilder on your behalf and from the way the tingling in your legs and feet are finally dying down—leaving just the sensation of his warm, large hands pressing into you. “Talking is fine—no smiting though. He’s just a self-important idiot.”

“Did you tell him this was stupid idea?” Tai asks, holding your calf steady in his lap as he stares at you.

“Yes,” you admit easily.

“Did you explain why it was?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it was a coincidence that you were chosen as this “sacrifice”?” he practically growls that last word.

You hesitate. “No. I don’t.”

“So as far as I’m concerned, he’s vindictive and stupid and powerful enough to cause harm. Why shouldn’t I do something about him?”

You have to admit he has a point. “I don’t disagree that he needs to suffer some consequences, but no killing.” When something of the hunter glints in his eyes, you hastily add, “Or maiming.”

He pouts, but acquiesces easily enough. “Very well.”

“Really?” Now you’re suspicious of the way he seems to be letting his desire go.

“Yes,” he says as he resumes his massage and the heat suffusing your body becomes harder to ignore. “Men like that… The removal of status and making them continue on stripped of it—they despise that far more than violence.”

You can’t help but laugh because he’s right. You honestly like the idea of Wilder’s comeuppance too much. Maybe you’ll feel more generous in the morning. You certainly feel more merciful now that the numbness is more or less gone and the last braid is unraveled so your scalp can relax too. Mostly, you just feel a mix of relaxed by the warm mist of the hot springs to your right, Tai’s concentrated focus, and yet still on alert from everything else that happened in the last day. 

While you have no idea what time it is or how much time has passed, you feel it must be quite late. The day certainly felt like it started so long ago. You shake out your hair and then bite your lip at the feeling of Tai’s hands on you, no numbness or tingling remaining. You think you’ve taken advantage of his help long enough. “I want to see if I can stand up.”

Tai looks at you and smiles, pleased. “Feel up to it?”

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for your help.”

He gently lifts your legs from his lap and this time you can feel all of his fingers pressed against your skin and it takes everything you have not to shudder. You lean forward, bracing yourself on your arms as you pull your legs from his grasp. He stands before you can and is at your side in a flash. Tai reaches down and you place your left hand in his right. Pushing with up with your right hand and letting Tai help pull you, you try to get your feet under you.

It’s shakier than you thought it would be, your limbs feel slow to respond and strangely disconnected from the rest of you. Tai’s other hand wraps around your forearm. His support is welcome and steadying. After a few seconds, you let go of him to stand on your own.

Your grin when you look back over to him is mirrored on his own face. “Thank the heavens. I got a bit nervous for a moment.”

“I wouldn’t have let you fall,” Tai replies, steadfast and affectionate.

“I know.”

“You must be tired,” Tai says as he turns to pick up his bag. He wraps the soaked cloth in his shirt and returns both to his bag. You’re grateful he’s decided he didn’t need to put it back on although he does put his trousers back on. Your eyes trace his tattoos with longing. He better be willing to tell you about those at least. But maybe another night because he’s right: you are tired.

“I’ve only bothered with upkeep for certain areas, but there are certainly more comfortable places to rest for the night than here.”

You have to admit that a downside to getting the feeling back in your body had resulted in the stone floor becoming rather uncomfortable. “Sounds good to me.”

You take a step forward and stumble. Tai’s by your side in an instant, tucking your arm against his own to help support you. “Thanks.”

He leads you carefully, and at what must seem like a glacial pace to him with his far long legs, away from the hot spring chamber. He picks up the torch as you leave and tightens his grip on you when you shiver as you enter the cooler corridor.

Walking through these ancient hallways, the torchlight hits differently as it glints off inset gems, carvings, and Tai’s still unfamiliar antlers. You stay pressed against Tai’s side long after you regain confidence in your steps because you like the excuse and it’s intimidating to be down here, as if you’re trespassing, despite the fact that if anyone has the right to give you permission to be here, it’s Arcertillus himself. 

“So,” you draw out the word as you attempt to think of a question to lighten the atmosphere. “If I’m the new priestess, does that mean I can live here?” You realize it’s a good question once you ask it. Even just being able to stay here, away from your family home for a few nights would be welcome.

“There are priest and priestess quarters and you’re welcome to use them.” Tai points down a derelict hallway. “Unfortunately, they’re in a bit of disrepair, at the moment.” You nod and continue to follow him, wondering where you’re going if it’s not to those rooms. He tilts his head to the side, considering. “Although, I suppose my High Priestess didn’t sleep there anyways.”

“They didn’t? Where did they stay?” Once you ask, you almost want to take the question back. If you remember correctly, as the most prestigious leaders of the temple, they had larger, more elaborate quarters closer to where the Gods’ powers were most concentrated. 

“Why, my quarters, of course,” he jokes, giving you a smirk before he ruins the effect by rolling his eyes. 

Before he can correct himself with the real answer, you interrupt him. “Is that so?” you say with an arched eyebrow. You grin and give an exaggerated wink. “Please, lead the way,” 

“W-,” he yelps, a blush growing on his cheeks. “No, I was kidding.” He waves his free hand at you as if to say stop. “I still seem to be rather bad at it, so perhaps I shouldn’t have tried.” His smile is self-deprecating.

You shrug, unable to let this go when he’s given you such an opening. “I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t.”

Tai sputters, blush intensifying. You swear his pupils dilate though. “That is where we are going. You probably should stay there for tonight, due to the state of the other rooms, including the High Priestess chambers, but not because—I wouldn’t make—I didn’t mean—.”

“So that’s not part of the High Priestess duties?” You lips quirk up in smirk still feeling almost drunk on the excitement of the night–it makes you feel as though anything were possible. “Warming your bed, should you desire it?” You exaggeratedly flutter your eyelashes.

Tai nearly trips as he protests, “No, of course not.”

“A pity.” You hum, eyeing him sidelong under your lashes. “I was rather looking forward to that aspect.”

You expect him to brush your comment or stutter, but something in his expression intensifies instead. His nervousness bleeds away as he turns in the doorway you’ve come to a stop in front of. After placing the torch in a sconce just inside the room, he boxes you against the doorframe before you can follow him in. His hands end up on either of your head. Did you push your flirting too far?

“It’s not nice to tease,” he murmurs instead, tilting his head even closer. “Especially after I’ve spent the last hour with my hands all over you.”

You feel breathless at his words, at his lower voice, because this isn’t the response of someone uninterested. Had he really not understood where you stood all this time? You grab hold of your courage and reply, “Who says I’m teasing?”

He narrows his darkening eyes at you. “You’re always teasing.”

You jut out your chin as you correct, “I’m never teasing.” You can see his eyes widen at your admission and you can’t hold this back any longer. You lean up and press your lips to his before you lose your nerve. His lips are softer than you expect, warm and pliant under your own. You keep the kiss chaste but firm, not wanting there to be any more confusion about what you feel for him. Tai’s body against your own is exactly as wonderful as you’ve always hoped.

You pull away just long enough for a quick breath and a second of doubt when Tai’s mouth slants back over your own. One of his strong hands buries itself in your hair, keeping your lips joined as if you would ever want to be parted. You eagerly take that as permission to wrap your own arms around his neck. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his warm body. You can’t resist pushing your fingers into his glorious curls and they feel just as luxurious as you imagined. 

Better.

His tongue flicks against the seam of your lips and you part them automatically, inviting him in. His groan nearly drowns out the sound that curls up your own throat at the feeling of his tongue entwining with your own. Your grip on his hair tightens because you’ve already decided that he needs to stay right here, with you, for as long as you can convince him to.

He seems to agree as he pushes you against the wall, his hand cushioning your head. He nips your bottom lip as he pulls away for only a second to change the angle of your kiss, but you can’t help the small murmur of protest you let out at even that split second of separation. He makes an appreciative noise in response and deepens this kiss instantly.

You don’t know how long you exchange hungry kisses before you can’t ignore your lungs’ protest. You break from him reluctantly, tilting your head back to frantically draw in air. Your head spins from Tai wrapped up around you. You never want it to stop. You miss his lips already, even as you try to catch your breath. The thought that you’d rather be breathless forever with him than catch your breath alone is wiped away by the kisses he dots along your jawline.

“Does this mean you’ll stay with me tonight?” you ask, panting as he presses open-mouthed kisses and nips down your throat.

His reply is a deep rumble, “Until you ask me to leave.”

“Never.”

Chapter Text

“Never.”

Your mouth is against his nearly as soon as the fervent promise drops from your lips. You can’t bring yourself to slow down, feeling almost drunk on the taste of Tai—minty with a hint of woodsmoke. You pull yourself up with your hands in his hair and around his neck. He moves you both back from the wall, allowing his arm to wrap more securely around your waist. He lifts you with ease, obviously wanting you closer too and your feet leave the ground. 

You barely notice, too focused on this kiss and the next and the one after that. You moan when he slides his tongue along your own, flicking against the roof of your mouth. Heat floods your veins and you give a little tug to his hair. He lets out a groan as you nip at his bottom lip before slanting your mouth back over his.

Tai lets you take control of the kiss so he can better secure his grip on you and you luxuriate in how it feels to be so completely in his grasp. He takes another step back which must mean you’re walking somewhere—you can sense the movement—but you’re not sure Tai really has a destination in mind. Eventually he bumps into something and tips backwards, taking you with him. 

Your mouths disconnect as you both abruptly topple onto the bed. You find yourself in his lap, blinking in surprise as you try to regain your bearings, your hands on his shoulders for balance as you settle. The separation allows what feels like a breath of cool air to brush over your face, reality knocking back up against you.

The room around you comes into focus as you finally take the time to look at it. The sconce by the door with the torch in it is backed with a true silver-backed mirror, allowing the more light to be reflected and illuminate the room. The stone is as intricately carved with complex geometric designs as the rest of the temple and yet, there are far more organic looking swirls than you’ve seen elsewhere. Bronze accents the designs along with green and blue gems which glint in the flickering torchlight. 

Once more, you feel like a trespasser in this ancient, secret, and sacred place. When your eyes flick back to the bed, you can see the blanket is an elaborate tapestry the likes of which should be on display in a lord’s castle. It makes the large, but otherwise plain bed seem far richer than it would otherwise.

By the time you meet Tai’s gaze, you feel intimidated and, for a split second, all the parts of him that look foreign and new overwhelm you. Who is this strange deity underneath you? How did you get here? Why are you—?

You blink at the murmur of your name in his familiar voice and he’s Tai again. 

Your Tai.

His brow is furrowed in concern and he brushes some of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. He hesitates, eyes wide on your face, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening anymore than you do. It helps you find the ground under your feet. 

You cover his hand with your own, maneuvering it enough that you’re able to press a kiss to his palm.

“Is this alright?” he asks, leaning in to touch his forehead to your own. His hand leaves your waist, as if worried it might be unwelcome, and fists in the bedspread. “We don’t—”

A “no” escapes you automatically and you tighten your hand on his own. You shake your head against his own, needing him close. Now that you’re here with him, it suddenly feels fragile. Even though you’d told yourself you would never get here, the idea of losing him or even just going back to how things were seems like a terrible loss.

He tilts your head back with a gentle but impossible to refuse strength. His eyes are full of questions and you know yours probably are too, because what does this mean to him? It had seemed far simpler when you were kissing, lost in the moment. Still, too much has remained unspoken and you can only speak for yourself. “Want you,” you murmur, meeting his eyes squarely. “For so long.”

He stares at you, something like astonishment dancing across his face. “Truly?” 

The awe in his voice helps keep you hopeful. You nod, shier than you have ever felt with him. “Yeah.”

A brilliant grin breaks over his face, the likes of which you’ve never seen and he pulls you into an all encompassing embrace. You snuggle in close and melt when he says, “Me too.”

Eventually you pull back and a giggle of joy escapes you when you meet his eyes with your own. His indulgent smile is too sweet and you have to press a kiss to it now that you can. When you pull back, he follows as if drawn by a lodestone. 

You scoot closer, settling more securely as you straddle his lap. One large hand strokes down your back and you luxuriate in the feeling—uninterrupted by numbness or pins and needles stings. Just his touch against your skin. 

The sensation is wonderful and you want more. His tongue licks into your mouth as the kisses get deeper and the fingers of your right hand wrap around one of his antlers. Smooth and surprisingly warm, you use your grip to push your own advantage between gasps of air until you’ve pulled yourself fully up on your knees, trying to get enough height to take control of the kiss. You feel greedy for him, now that you’re here, now that his hands are on you with no impediments, now that you know he wants this too.

He groans as you give as good as he’s giving you. His hands seem to clutch at you, solid and strong. His fingers press into your skin in a way that makes everything feel delightfully firm and as real as you desperately need it to feel. This is no dream, you remind yourself, because you have had this dream before. Maybe not in the bowels of the temple, but in a clearing, by the lake, at his cabin, against a tree—you thought of all of that before. 

How is this still so much better?

He leans down, keeping your height difference short the opposite way. His hands on your hips press you down until you can grind against his lap. Your hips stutter and you let out a whine at the feeling of him, hard and right where you need him. You moan his name as he pulls away to trail far more purposely down your neck. When he reaches your collarbone, he scrapes his teeth over a spot before sucking a bloom onto your skin. 

You can’t help the whimper you let out at the feeling and his answering growl wipes away any self-consciousness you might have felt at the noise. He moves swiftly in response, his lips still on your skin, but in a matter of seconds you find yourself on your back on the bed. Tai reluctantly leans back, hunching over you to take in the sight of you sprawled out in his bed. 

Your heart pounds as you do the same. The way the torchlight throws everything into an enticing blend of shadows and warmth, his wild eyes, and his kiss-red lips, and his intense expression: he’s looking at you as if you are the only thing that exists in the world. It’s almost too much to bear and so your eyes linger on his disheveled hair, pride thrums through you because you know you’re the reason it looks that way. 

Your eyes drag shamelessly over the muscles of his arm, his chest, tracing the streaks of green on brown with fascination. Without making a conscious decision, you reach up to trace your fingers along the markings because you can. Fingers brushing lightly against warm, warm skin, you feel a shudder roll up his spine and when your eyes meet Tai’s this time, there’s hardly any green left. You flatten your palm against him and slide it deliberately up without breaking eye contact.

When Tai leans down over you, his chestnut curls forming a curtain that blocks out everything else, you arch up to meet him. You exchange languid kisses that send liquid heat through your veins and gasp a lament whenever you need to break apart to gulp down air. You’ve never been so addicted to something so quickly. You never want to stop.

He pairs a murmur of your name along with a tug to one of the pieces of fabric that constitute your top and you arch your back to grant him easier access. “Yes.” He tugs while you divert your own attention to tasting his skin, eyes heavy lidded as you scrape your teeth along the column of his throat only to follow with swipes of your tongue. His moan of appreciation changes to a growl when you press down harder and the sound seems to vibrate through you in a way that turns your motion into a bite without you meaning it to. Luckily, Tai seems to like that because he stops trying to untie the cloth and simply shreds it with his claws. You gasp at the feeling of fabric falling away from your chest, from the delicate way those claws drift along the newly bared skin of your back. 

He runs flat palms over the goosebumps that break out all over you while you dedicate yourself to marking him plainly as yours for anyone to see. A possessive need you’re unable to resist. He lets out a wrecked and wanton sound at your claim and you feel wetness begin to drip down your thighs in response as you clench around nothing. You vow then and there never to forget the sound of him. “Oh, Tai.”

He must want to even the score because his hand cups your breast with unexpected boldness. You mewl as his thumb flicks across your nipple. Quicker than you’re prepared for, his hot mouth closes around the other peak. He swirls his tongue around the pebbled flesh and then sucks. Your moan is entirely too loud but you don’t care, you can’t think. All you can do is hold him right where you need him as you stutter out encouragement. “Yes, oh, keep, uh, th-that feels, mmm,” your thoughts and words are scattered, but Tai doesn’t seem to need much direction from you. His fingers and mouth work in tandem to make you lose any shred of composure you had left. 

You clench your legs together and squirm. Your voice is raspy as you plead, “Need more.”

He releases your chest with a reluctant pop and you whine your displeasure until he trails light nips down your stomach. As soon as you can follow his intent, your hands join his in untying your skirt from around your hips. He strips of pieces of fabric away methodically, continuing to dot kisses above the waistband until he can pull it all off.

His large hands stroke briefly down your legs and you can feel every wonderful inch of his skin on yours. This is what you had been wanting while he took such meticulous care of you. This is what you wanted to feel and where you wanted and why you wanted him touching you. He brings his hands back up and this time takes your underwear down with him, sliding your remaining piece of clothing off with care. 

He sits back, kneeling between your legs, and surveys you. Before you can even think to feel self-conscious, he says, “Fuck. You’re magnificent.” His voice is awed and ragged. You think distantly that he has this backwards as you cheeks flush, but otherwise you unthinkingly spread your legs wider for him in response, heat pooling in your core at the fire in his eyes. His hands close around your knees and he sets his mouth to your skin, almost reverent, almost wary—as though you were the one likely to vanish from his dreams.

You’re grateful that his antlers are tipped at an angle so that there’s no danger of being unexpectedly stabbed as he grows more comfortable and confident between your legs.

“Tai,” you pant as he leaves open mouthed kisses up your thigh. He sucks a mark or two along the way and you stroke your fingers through his hair appreciatively, “Hm, yes.” He nuzzles against you, your name muffled against the skin of your thigh.

His hot breath hits right where you’re wet and wanting. You try to get him to move, with your fingers wrapped around his antlers and by trying to move your own hips closer, but he refuses to be rushed. His eyes glint with amusement when they meet your impatient ones. However, as soon as you open your mouth to encourage him to move already, he descends.

After so much teasing, your hips try to jump off the bed when he licks a broad strip down your slit. Tai seems to have anticipated that reaction though as one arm is already slung over you to keep you in place for his feast. You let out a loud keen that blends into a prolonged moan as he settles in with no hesitation. 

His tongue laps at your folds with a zeal you hadn’t expected and he groans luxuriously at your taste. The sound rolls through you and you never want him to stop. He still has his arm across your stomach to keep your hips in place, but his other hand moves to your thigh to give himself enough room to maneuver as he sets about finding out exactly how to turn your mind to mush. 

When he sucks your clit into his mouth, you know the noise that climbs out of your throat is high and overwhelmed. He makes as if to pull back, unsure of your reaction, so you hold on tight to his antlers and hair and don’t let him. “Please. Don’t stop,” you sound almost strangled at the end, but you don’t care because Tai does as you ask immediately. He does something with his tongue that must be illegal somewhere and then slides a finger inside to complement his mouth and he’s your favorite person ever.

You must babble something to the effect because you can feel the vibration of his chuckle against you and when you look down, the sight of him between your thighs, mouth on you and eyes dancing, nearly makes you come just by pure visual spectacle alone. 

Then he slides in a second finger; scissoring both before curling the digits in tandem with his tongue thrumming your clit and you’re lost, pulled under by an overpowering wave of pleasure that breaks over you. Your hands clench in his hair and it must hurt, but you’re blind to the way he stares mesmerized up at you. The gentle licks he’s still making prolong the sensations still rippling through you. Until you can’t take it anymore and you reluctantly tug his head away as you struggle to catch your breath, sinking boneless into the bed.

Tai allows you to move him, withdrawing his fingers only to work his way back up your body, lavishing kisses along your sated form as he goes.

Eventually, he reaches your head and leads you in an open mouth kiss that’s languid and indulgent. He’s thorough as he delves into your mouth, as if trying to commit how you taste after he’s overwhelmed you with bliss to memory. Your hand cups his cheek as you find the energy to match his pressure with your own, feeling lazy and warm. He shifts and you feel his cock, still hard and weeping exactly where he must want given the way he moves closer. He moans greedily into the kiss and you feel hot urgency flood your veins once more. You can’t even remember when he lost his trousers, but it doesn’t matter. You widen your legs to accommodate him and he can’t resist grinding down against you. 

Arousal fogs up your mind once more and all you can think about is how much emptier you feel without his fingers inside you. You ache for him in every way you can and moving against him is no longer enough. You open your mouth to plead, but he beats you to it.

“Please,” he says, sounding far more like the worshiper at a temple than the one being worshiped. “I need you so badly. Can I—”

“Yes,” you say before he can finish. “Yes, please. Now.”

“Yes,” he echos back as he lines himself, more than wet with you by now. Slowly, the head of his cock presses against you and your mind empties of everything else. Tai works himself inside you thrust by thrust. Each time that much deeper, each time filling you that much more and you’re grateful for the careful pace. He’s so deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on your face as he watches your reactions, taking in every gasp and mewl that leaves your lips. His thumb never leaves your clit and you’re nearly halfway to another climax by the time he’s all the way inside. 

You both pause to savor the feeling and his forehead taps against your own. The kiss you exchange is sweet and light, interrupted by both of you smiling. “Hi,” you find yourself saying.

“Hi,” he replies, his smile growing.

You open your mouth to say something silly, the light and bubbly feeling of happiness irresistible, when he pulls out halfway only to hilt back in. Your groan overlaps with his own deeper one at the sensation and you feel dropped back into your body, heavy and wanton. All the scrambling need of earlier comes rushing back and your fingers dig into his shoulders in an attempt to gain leverage since his own hands have pulled your ass off the bed so he can better angle your movements.

You clench around him and he groans. “So good,” he encourages, punctuating his thrusts with a little circular swivel that you quickly decide is genius. You try to help by moving slightly counter to his movements and you moan simultaneously. Your hands spread as best as they can across his broad chest, running over green streaks and the edges of tattoos. When you brush one of his nipples his hips jerk out of control and satisfaction burns through you.

“Close,” he grunts, his movements growing more stilted than before and you can sense he’s hanging on by a thread, waiting for you. The thought alone helps get you nearly there and you put your own hand on your breast to try and get yourself the rest of the way.

The sight seems to galvanize Tai as he sets to work with a feverish intensity. He still comes first, spilling inside you with a growl and the sensation and knowledge that you are the cause of his own unraveling is more than enough to send you over the edge after him.

If your previous climax came in waves, this is a blinding strike, jittering along your nerve endings and leaving you stunned. You collapse back on the bed after and Tai slips out of you, leaving you feeling a bit emptier than usual, but more than satisfied. The room feels like it’s spinning even though your eyes are closed. But maybe that’s just because after collapsing on top of you, Tai is moving. How he has the energy, you’ve no idea. You don’t open your eyes until you feel movement between your legs. You find Tai cleaning your both off with remnants of what you had been wearing. 

Your eyes drift shut as a wave of exhaustion sweeps over you. When you open them next, Tai is pulling the bedspread over you both. You barely remember him getting it out from under you. Your hands reach out for him, wanting him close again and he surrenders to you easily, eagerly. When he settles next to you, you’re quick to put your arms around him. You stroke a hand down his spine as you murmur your thanks. He purrs in response and pulls you closer, curling around you.

You sigh in relief as you settle against him. For a brief span of time everything feels perfectly right. You’re about to drift off to sleep, when the heaviness in your limbs suddenly sends a spike of panic through you, the sensation eerily similar to the numbness caused by the paint. A shudder travels down your spine and you deliberately shift. Twitching your legs, clenching your fingers and toes to remind yourself that you.

Tai brushes his hand down the back of your head, threading through your hair as he makes an inquiring hum.

As if that little jolt of anxiety was some sort of signal, your thoughts start returning, including ones you tried to put off back in the hot spring. Your fears manage to penetrate the blissful haze surrounding you enough that you nibble on your bottom lip. “Are you sure that the harvest…”

“Yes.” The deep rumble of his voice is filled with enough sheer confidence that you feel the remaining bit of tension that had crept back in to dissipate. “We’ll handle it,” Tai promises. “We’ll fix this and then once they throw you some sort of absurd celebration with too many people, you can come back here and not leave my bed for twice as long.”

You laugh as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. “I thought that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s whatever we make of it,” he says, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I think you made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear.”

“Shut up,” you say, swatting ineffectually at his shoulder. “Like you’re any better.”

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smiling. “Of course not. I’ve got it far worse.”

“Not possible,” you say around a yawn, sleep pulling you under with irresistible strength. Your arms tighten around him as best you can. “Want you more.”

“Want you the most,” he replies and you feel it vibrate through you.

You fall asleep curled up in his arms, warm and safe and content, before you can think of an answer.

Chapter Text

The soft light of dawn doesn’t wake you this deep under the temple, so Tai does.

His fingers slide through your hair, a gentle petting motion that doesn’t jolt you to wake, but instead slowly persuades you that perhaps there is something more pleasant than even sleep if only you move just a little closer.

Your reward for giving in is increased pressure and a gentle kiss to your forehead. The combination is enough for you to open your eyes. A large hand pushes your hair out of your eyes and you can’t help the delight that blossoms across your face at the sight of Tai’s face so close to your own. Without thinking, you angle your face for the kiss he unhesitatingly leans in to press against your lips.

In a blink, you’re in his lap, hands pressed to his wonderfully firm chest as he continues to kiss you sweetly. You snuggle closer and murmur against him, “What time is it?”

“Early enough.” His voice is rougher in the morning and you can feel its delightful vibration through his chest under your hands. “How did you sleep?”

“Soundly,” you reply, nuzzling against his shoulder, breathing in his fresh scent, absently doting kisses to his freckles because you can.

“Good.”

You slowly wake gradually, remembering more and more about the world that exists outside this sacred place, made more so by the intimate bubble that seems to surround yourself and Tai. There must be something about how time works in this place. You feel well-rested and the two of you have worked out a solid plan for how best to tackle the town without hurry and yet, when you finally reach the upper floors of the temple, the sun still hasn’t finished cresting, half hidden by the mountains.

He kisses you one last time before he heads up to the second landing. You keep to the shadows near the altar you’d been so ceremoniously arranged upon just hours ago. The ropes Tai had slit with his claws still lie where he left them, half tied still to the altar. It’s odd to see them now.

You finger the cuffs of the wide sleeves of your new priestess robes. When you’d finally gone to leave his bed and remembered the state of what you’d been wearing, you’d briefly been at a loss only for Tai to have already thought of what you would need.

You love the impressive outer robe with its rich embroidery. Complex patterns of leaves and flowers swirl across it and a simple sleeveless green top and long, wide cut brown pants that almost look like a skirt are soft and comfortable underneath. Your new priestess vestments are completed with the knotted pine staff Tai had given you.

You feel rather like a child playing dress-up, but you don’t feel like an impostor—you feel cheerful and mischievous, ready to play a delightful prank on a bully.

Speaking of, you draw closer to the shadows when you hear approaching footsteps. Tai reassured you that in the temple as a sworn priestess, if you don’t wish for outsiders to see you, they won’t, but you still feel exposed as you wait with baited breath.

Soon enough, the Council, with Wilder in the lead, arrives on the wide outer patio around this level of the temple. They seem nervous, you notice with satisfaction. With the brazier and torchlight extinguished within the temple, it must be impossible to see within to the altar.

Wilder straightens, pulling together some semblance of bravado, and walks through the entrance. He blinks in the darkness, eyes trying to adjust as quickly as they are able. You’re able to see the exact moment he sees the bare altar. His eyes go wide and frantic. It’s clear he can’t tell if this is a promising sign the ‘sacrifice’ has been accepted or the herald of something worse. There’s also a level of shock you can read—even he seems to have been skeptical this farce would cause anything to happen.

A few of the others crowd in the entranceway, murmuring with surprise and anxiety as they notice what he has. He steps closer, his eyes sharp on the cut ropes and you can see the calculation on his face as he tries to determine what exactly happened to you.

You’re relieved he truly cannot see you and you wait for the moment to come. Within a few seconds, Wilder puts his hand on the altar and instantly a loud sound splits the air. Everyone flinches, several people ducking despite nothing flying at their heads. Slightly more prepared for it, you think it sounds like the loud crack of a tree falling in the forest—on top of you. Wilder takes one step back and the rest of the counsel hastily retreats outside.

More ominous creaking sounds fill the air and the temple itself seems to shudder, dust and dirt escapes from the ancient walls and floors. Wilder takes a few more stunned steps back, his sleeve covering his mouth and his eyes wide as he stares in horror.

Perhaps it makes you a petty person, but you thoroughly enjoy his reaction and the fear that starts to fill his eyes. Relieved you feel no urge to cough at the debris in the air, you track him as a particularly loud scrape of stone on stone pulls his eyes from the empty altar to the entrance way. He hastily turns tail and runs, fleeing the temple just in time for two stone doors to slide into place, closing off the entrance in his pale and terrified face.

As you slip down a short staircase to a lower entrance, a booming voice filled with menace echoes through the air.

“INSOLENCE!” The temple seems to shake as if something—or someone—far too large has landed on it. “PRESUMPTION! BLASPHEMY!”

It’s hard to identify the voice as Tai’s but you can just barely. You emerge on the lower tier and hover just inside the temple, where you can’t be seen, to find the Council as a whole cowering at the foot of the temple—Wilder at the front by their choice rather than his own. You duck out a side window to peer up at Tai, standing on the original tier looking far more like Arcertillus than he had even last night.

He looks at least eight feet tall now, his eyes glow wholly red, as they had when he’d gotten particularly angry last night. The green streaks down his face and still bared chest are even more pronounced and jagged—textured in a way they hadn’t been even a few moments earlier. The claws you’d seen briefly when he cut the ropes that bound you only for them to be neatly tucked away for the rest of the night he spent running them carefully over your skin were back. They glinted gray and curved in the dawning light, drawing the eye to their lethality. His crown of antlers had grown as well, tangling in fantastic ways and yet he bore his head without notice of the increased weight. Finally, pronounced canine teeth were bared in a snarl as he condemned those who had thought to do you harm.

You found yourself stunned silent, no different than the others, at his majesty.

“How dare you disrespect this temple and me in such a heinous manner?” His voice drops as he practically hisses at them. When he had brushed off your concerns about how this would go, saying blithely that he understood how to treat people like the Council, you were rather skeptical. The only time you’d ever been around Tai and even one other person he’d clammed up and made his escape quickly.

Apparently, you shouldn’t have bothered. Practice must really make perfect. None of his usual discomfort with speaking or of others is evident as he addresses the gathered crowd.  No wonder Arcertillus has such a reputation. Given what you know of Tai and his own admission he’d played into being ‘untouchable’ so he would be left alone, you can see why he might have built such a persona. And why it might have worked.

It’s fascinating to watch.

“Never, in all my centuries of worship, have I been given,” he practically spits the word and multiple people flinch, “such an insult. To truss up one of your own like a pig to the slaughter. To butcher the ancient words and wisdom with such a profane offering.” Wind howls and leaves swirl in punctuation of his words as he prowls the edge of the tier he’s on.

Before he can continue, someone pushes to the front of the crowd. “Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

Your father had never understood you, not really, but he’s never pushed you to be anyone else, never treated you as any less of a daughter simply because you’d rather spend your time alone or with dusty books. His fear makes his eyes wide, leaves his skin pale, but his demand is as firm as he can make it. He’d never believed this would work, certainly not when you’d dismissed Wilder’s ‘translated ritual’ as nonsense, so he must be in shock. But when Wilder tries to push him aside or down, your father resists.

“Where was that concern yesterday?” Tai taunts and you pull yourself back through the window to make your way back to the entrance. Wilder and some of the others deserved to fear: your father who only listened to you, did not. “I am not the one who covered their child in paralytic paint and left them tied to stone all night. I set her free.”

“Where?!”

“While it would be well within her rights to get as far from such an unworthy community who treated her so despicably,” Tai practically growls around the words, before he swallows them down. You’re not actually sure how much of this is him playing into his role and how much is lingering anger what happened. However, as he’s moved back in the direction he said he would, you pause just inside the entrance for your cue. “She elected to stay, to speak for you. It is only through her grace that you have been spared from my wrath for such a disrespectful and insulting display. In gratitude, I have rewarded her.”

“I am certain you will not make the same foolish mistake twice and that you will show all due respect to my new priestess.” You step forward as he speaks, the movement drawing attention away from even such a fearsome display. Your father sags where he stands, relief plain on his face. The others merely stare in shock.

“Since you have proven incapable of sensible communication,” disdain and arrogance drip from his voice now, and with your father—and siblings you could now make out in the crowd—reassured of your safety, some of the rather petty glee returns to you. You stand confident as Tai continues to play his part, “It seemed necessary to request that someone take up such an important position once more. If you truly wish for my aid.”

“We beg your forgiveness, O Great One,” Wilder tries, raising his hands up placatingly. “We only meant—”

“SILENCE! You only meant to elevate yourself at the expense of another. In return for my gracious regard, you will be removed from your position, stripped of your rank, and never again set foot in the sacred temple. I want you gone from my sight!”

Wilder staggered at the judgment, mouth agape–too stunned to even protest. Your father and Councilor Heath are quick to grasp hold of him by the arms and drag him away. As he begins to try to spew protests, the Chairman of the Council, a good friend of Wilder, steps forward, obviously trying to appear confident. You narrow your eyes as he says, “We apologize for any and all slights against you, but I implore you that we had only poor translations to draw on. Our desperation was great and we promise to—”

“You had far more competent translations,” Tai interrupts with a hand waved at you. “Provided by my priestess.”

Chairman Wills’ eyes slide to yours, trepidation in them as he no doubt recalls how thoroughly he had dismissed you on Wilder’s assurances. You raise your chin as you meet his eyes squarely and say nothing to help him. He swallows nervously. “Councilor Wilder had years of experience on her, how could we have known—”

Tai interrupts him with another rebuke, “I care not for why you refused to listen to her and only that you did. As you refused to hear her, I refuse to hear you.” Instantly the Chairman quails, eyes darting frantically away and landing rather desperately on your own. When you simply stare back, waiting, he slinks back into the crowd. “My priestess has persuaded me to hear your petition. Know she speaks for me or leave.” He folds his arms.

Finally, you take another step forward. “Arcertillus has graciously agreed to protect our harvest. He has aided me in translating the correct prayer needed to do so.” You motion for the Council Clerk to come forward, which she does cautiously. You know she always has paper on her and so you write out the succinct prayer that Tai had tailored for the protection of a harvest.

You motion more council members over while you copy the prayer multiple times in as clear a hand as you can. You explain that the way for this ritual to work is for as many people to pray at sunset, in large groups if possible. You reassure them that it will in fact work, and with nervous glances at the silently judgmental figure of the god above them, they hastily profess their faith.

Eventually though, after some disburse to spread the word throughout town, others begin to question you more about what happened last night. Tai growls low at a particularly accusatory question, a Councilor who seemed to imply you’d planned this all along for power and to make your own move against Wilder, which is so absurd you have to hold in a laugh.

“You have lingered at this holy site long enough,” Tai says, jumping down to land midway down the stairs between this lowest tier and the mid-tier he had been on.

Most of the other townspeople blanch and bow out, but someone at the side of the crowd catches your eye while you bid the rest farewell. Your oldest sister is hovering off to the side, the baby in her arms is the obvious reason for her delay. Despite her exhaustion, she has enough energy to meet your eyes with concern. Her eyes dart to the intimidating figure behind you and then back to you, obviously worried that, despite his words and your disposition, you might still be currently under someone else’s control. You do your best to project calm confidence and when she still seems concerned, you smile as genuinely as you are able to and wink. That does the trick and she finally relaxes.

Soon enough, everyone heads back into town to spread the news and inform all the citizens. After you watch the last of them turn the corner out of sight, you turn back to the temple to see Tai is no longer there either.

You go back inside and find him easily enough, leaning against the temple wall, his eyes intent on your own. He’s shorter than he had been outside already, his more otherworldly features slowly but obviously returning to the state they had been last night. You ignore the pang of disappointment you feel—he had been quite majestic. You’ll have to convince him to show more of himself now that you know there is even more to show.

“How do you think it went?” he asks, his voice seems purposely gentle.

You frown, trying to put your finger on the way he seems off even as you walk closer. A flash of insight hits: perhaps he is worried that you too had been intimidated or that he had overdone it. “Perfectly,” you say. “Did you see Wilder’s face?”

You must have guessed right because instantly his posture loosens as the tension flees his frame. “It was rather amusing,” he admits with a smirk.

You laugh at his understatement as you come to a stop in front of him.  Idly, you think you must come up with some reasoning to convince him never to put his shirt back on again. “I’ve given them all the prayer and they will pray it tonight. Sunset should give plenty of time for word to spread and so you should be able to protect the harvest before the frost.”

He smiles down indulgently at you, obviously proud your plan is coming together and pleased that you’re pleased. Then his eyes sharpen on your face as he cups your cheek. Leaning down, he murmurs, “However will we pass the time until tonight?”

You smile cheekily in reply, “I’m sure there are some priestess duties you could go over with me.”

“Of course,” Tai replies, his voice lower and his eyes darker. After pressing a far too brief kiss to your lips, he takes your hand and starts pulling you further into the temple. He still looks very much like a wild thing, like a spirit from stories that people stumble upon in the forest and who are so enticing that the wanders never leave.

His eyes are his though, green and deep and true. His smile, too, is his own, small and secret and eager.

“Follow me.”

You do.