to her destination. She danced over a scattering of stones rising just barely above the surface of more water and felt tile beneath the soles of her shoes. A fountain burbled to her right.
An arm wrapped around her from behind and she whirled out of its grasp. She spun, taking the arm deftly by the wrist with one hand and twisting. She heard a grunt of pain. She was unarmed, but her skills were absolute and she did not need a blade to be an effective weapon. She could easily, with an upward thrust, break the arm that had grabbed her, but something stayed her strike.
“Skin, please,” a voice said, and a face came into view, faintly glowing in the moonlight.
Skin let the arm fall and took a step back. “Trevor?”
The man came forward, shorter than she, and embraced her. Before she knew what she was doing she was embracing him back, his lips brushing the skin between her breasts, rising as she bent, up her neck until their lips met, drawing him in, his scent musty, as if he’d been spending too much time in old and dark places, yet also clean, intoxicating. She was the first to open her lips, to take his tongue into her mouth, guiding it with her own. She clutched him fiercely, running a hand down the back of his head, his neck, feeling the muscles rippling in his back. She could feel him, hot and stiff against her thigh.
She was on her knees and then she was on her back, the warmth of his body on top of her. A bed of vines which crawled down the side of the fountain formed a soft mat beneath them. She moaned into his mouth, rational thought forgotten, giving in to her physical desires.
She was sopping wet as he slid into her.
~
“If the hallowgeons only knew,” Trevor said, lying next to her, one hand cupping her breast.
Skin smiled. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Crossbreeding is forbidden,” she said.
Trevor didn’t say anything, but she could feel him nodding next to her.
She was lying on her back, peering up through a sliver in the canopy of branches at the stars in the night sky. The air was still in the grove, cool but not uncomfortable on her bare skin. “They watch,” she said. “They see more than you know. My people…”
“Yes?”
She could feel Trevor tense, eager for this tidbit of knowledge she was about to share with him, but whatever it was, it was gone, lost to the night. “I don’t know,” she said, the thing she had remembered for a brief instance forgotten once again.
Trevor let it go and they lay silently for a few precious moments, as if they might freeze time, happy and content with nothing but each other, avoiding the ambitions and responsibilities of their lives.
After a while, Trevor said, “I have a task for you.”
Skin continued to watch the stars and waited.
“I had a visitation. The hallowgeons came to see me this evening.” He paused.
Skin didn’t move. She felt frozen, suddenly cold.
“They told me of a young boy with an unusual ability. They want this boy to replace Galen as the chantiac. I want you to go and find him and bring him to me.”
Still unmoving, she nodded.
“You will bring the boy to me so that I may see to his training personally,” Trevor said. “This child, should he truly have the ability the hallowgeons claim, is extremely important. This boy will not only help to restore faith in the Church of Awa, but may have other interesting uses as well.”
Skin brushed Trevor’s hand from her breast and crossed her arms. “What uses? What do the hallowgeons say?”
“They say he can bring the dead back to life.”
Skin scoffed.
“I know. It sounds farfetched. But if what the hallowgeons say is true…”
“The hallowgeons have been manipulating humanity for their own gains for centuries.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, then asked, “Is that true?”
Skin tried to think, to remember. “I’m not sure.”
“They claim to do things for a large universal aesthetic, but I know their visits are feared. The last time
An arm wrapped around her from behind and she whirled out of its grasp. She spun, taking the arm deftly by the wrist with one hand and twisting. She heard a grunt of pain. She was unarmed, but her skills were absolute and she did not need a blade to be an effective weapon. She could easily, with an upward thrust, break the arm that had grabbed her, but something stayed her strike.
“Skin, please,” a voice said, and a face came into view, faintly glowing in the moonlight.
Skin let the arm fall and took a step back. “Trevor?”
The man came forward, shorter than she, and embraced her. Before she knew what she was doing she was embracing him back, his lips brushing the skin between her breasts, rising as she bent, up her neck until their lips met, drawing him in, his scent musty, as if he’d been spending too much time in old and dark places, yet also clean, intoxicating. She was the first to open her lips, to take his tongue into her mouth, guiding it with her own. She clutched him fiercely, running a hand down the back of his head, his neck, feeling the muscles rippling in his back. She could feel him, hot and stiff against her thigh.
She was on her knees and then she was on her back, the warmth of his body on top of her. A bed of vines which crawled down the side of the fountain formed a soft mat beneath them. She moaned into his mouth, rational thought forgotten, giving in to her physical desires.
She was sopping wet as he slid into her.
~
“If the hallowgeons only knew,” Trevor said, lying next to her, one hand cupping her breast.
Skin smiled. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Crossbreeding is forbidden,” she said.
Trevor didn’t say anything, but she could feel him nodding next to her.
She was lying on her back, peering up through a sliver in the canopy of branches at the stars in the night sky. The air was still in the grove, cool but not uncomfortable on her bare skin. “They watch,” she said. “They see more than you know. My people…”
“Yes?”
She could feel Trevor tense, eager for this tidbit of knowledge she was about to share with him, but whatever it was, it was gone, lost to the night. “I don’t know,” she said, the thing she had remembered for a brief instance forgotten once again.
Trevor let it go and they lay silently for a few precious moments, as if they might freeze time, happy and content with nothing but each other, avoiding the ambitions and responsibilities of their lives.
After a while, Trevor said, “I have a task for you.”
Skin continued to watch the stars and waited.
“I had a visitation. The hallowgeons came to see me this evening.” He paused.
Skin didn’t move. She felt frozen, suddenly cold.
“They told me of a young boy with an unusual ability. They want this boy to replace Galen as the chantiac. I want you to go and find him and bring him to me.”
Still unmoving, she nodded.
“You will bring the boy to me so that I may see to his training personally,” Trevor said. “This child, should he truly have the ability the hallowgeons claim, is extremely important. This boy will not only help to restore faith in the Church of Awa, but may have other interesting uses as well.”
Skin brushed Trevor’s hand from her breast and crossed her arms. “What uses? What do the hallowgeons say?”
“They say he can bring the dead back to life.”
Skin scoffed.
“I know. It sounds farfetched. But if what the hallowgeons say is true…”
“The hallowgeons have been manipulating humanity for their own gains for centuries.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, then asked, “Is that true?”
Skin tried to think, to remember. “I’m not sure.”
“They claim to do things for a large universal aesthetic, but I know their visits are feared. The last time
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