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Darkness had always felt like a friend – might have been the closest thing Obi ever had to one during his first life. It draped his shoulders like a cloak, allowing him to vanish into one shadow and emerge from another, silent, and sometimes deadly. He’d suffered a solitary existence, one full of duplicity and slaughter, which led to him becoming more than familiar with slinking from job to job, doing whatever was necessary to put food in his cavernous belly; doing whatever it took to survive.
Yet everything changed when he was betrayed, cut down by a masquerading passerby he’d hoped to provide aid.
Obi had felt the life dwindling from his body, felt the surge of rage when the man sneered and ripped the written message from his weakened grip. He was so, so angry that those were his last moments – that he was dying hungry and alone, bleeding out onto the dirt.
But he now understands that he owes the despicable assassin a thank you, for without meeting those blades, Obi wouldn’t have crossed paths with his mistress.
She sits before him in all her glory, dark, billowing robes cascading down her form, gently swaying with the movement of her hands as she sorts herbs plucked from their stems at peak potency, one of her most beloved pastimes. A scarlet lock of hair dangles in front of her face, daring to hide one of her otherworldly eyes from view. The sight makes his fingers twitch. Obi’s hand longs to brush it aside, but he covers the movement by fondling the string hanging from his neck, the glowing stone a gift to guide them through the night.
Their gaze meets and a hint of a smile plays at her lips, eyelashes aflutter. In instances like this, he often wonders if she can sense his thoughts. His cheeks flush.
For a deity, Shirayuki isn’t what he expected.
Miss took him under her wing without pause, teaching him how to differentiate between remedies and poison, about the gods of her former Pantheon, and the interesting rumors surrounding the deities of this land they now traverse on foot. They’ve been traveling at a slow but steady pace, making their way through the countryside and dense forests of Clarines without fail.
For a woman of small stature, his lady has proven to be quite tough thus far, never complaining or shying away from challenging terrain. He quickly learned not to ask if Shirayuki required rest or if they should change course, as she perceived it as an insult, the very idea that he believed she couldn’t keep up making her brows furrow in distaste. However, she does allow Obi to fulfill other gentlemanly desires that suddenly come natural to him, like the compulsion to lift a low-hanging branch she passes beneath or taking her hand while they cross the river.
Each radiant smile he receives in return warms his chest, the feeling becoming almost impossible to ignore as their days together grow in number. And while Obi is still adjusting to his new position as her familiar, there is no doubt that he greatly prefers this life in comparison to his last.
At her request, he spies for her daily. Yet it is not secondary to greed or bloodthirst. The goddess’ curiosity in Clarines is pure, a simple wish to learn more about the country she’s grown fond of – a kingdom he suspects she’s taken shelter in, though why he isn’t sure. The figurative leash around his neck knows no boundaries. Miss doesn’t tell him when to come and go and never becomes angry with Obi if he’s away longer than anticipated. It’s…strange. It makes him long to be by her side even more. Absence only rears its head when he needs to survey the area for danger or peek on the occupants of Clarines to acquire information that yields a hum or grin.
He must admit that shape shifting has been interesting, the learning curve steep. Being so close to the ground that blades of grass loom as tall as a tree is odd, but there are some places only his more compact form can fit, such as the nape of his mistress’ neck, where the scent of saffron and the warmth of her skin easily makes it his favorite place to relax.
The distinct smell of skullcap carries by on a breeze though it does little to calm his nerves. A question burns on his tongue that he’s never had the courage to ask. Now, with her gaze locked on his, Obi finds that he needs to know. But…what if he doesn’t like her answer?
“What troubles you, Obi?” Shirayuki’s brows draw in, aiming all of her attention in his direction, pausing her sorting of flora.
The air of concern heats him from the inside out. It lures him into asking before he can talk himself out of it. “Why did you leave Tanbarun’s Pantheon?” She always avoids bringing it up in conversation. There has to be a reason.
Green irises flash. “Ah,” she rubs her hands together, dusting off the grit of debris, “that is of no concern.”
An arm darts out on reflex, his palm gently wrapping around her wrist when she moves to stand (no doubt an attempt to escape the topic). It leaves her visibly taken aback, jaw momentarily slack. “I beg to differ.”
Shirayuki makes no attempt to remove herself from his hold, a curious expression on her face. “For what reason?”
What reason, indeed?
Obi’s ears burn. “It seems you know everything about me. I’d like to know more about you.”
“It’s not an interesting tale, I’m afraid.”
Her smile is sad and he hates it. “Mistress, that cannot possibly be true,” he teases, a calloused thumb running along her wrist, an attempt to brighten her countenance.
Shirayuki laughs without humor, his stomach sinking. “Oh? Now I beg to differ. I doubt you wish to hear of me fleeing the Pantheon due to unwelcome advances.”
Obi’s head cocks to the side so quickly there is concern for whiplash, an eyebrow delving up to his hairline. Anger simmers beneath his skin, the flow of blood through his body increasing. “Advances?” he repeats, the term bitter on his tongue.
His goddess flicks her wrist with faux nonchalance, the tension she holds in her shoulders a tell. “It’s all rather doltish,” Shirayuki admits, joining him once again on the forest floor, nails absentmindedly digging into the earth. “He has been infatuated with me for some time and I merely grew weary of rejecting his propositions.” A huff is expelled from her lungs. “I count myself lucky that I’ve managed to dodge his arrows.”
“You were almost killed because you rejected him?” Obi rages, mouth agape, fingers itching to grip around the bastard’s throat.
“Oh, I’m sure a part of him would like to hurt me.” How he wishes there was a trace of sarcasm in her statement. “But he will not find me here. It’s one of the reasons I chose this place. He would never dare cross the border into this territory. Besides, his arrows are not to end my life but to steal my heart.”
The temperature abruptly feels twenty degrees hotter. Obi blinks stupidly, and he must be seeing things, because he could swear her cheeks tinge pink. “Who is this god?” he demands, even though he already knows, the idea making his insides squirm.
“It is of no importance,-”
“Who?” Obi interjects, standing to his feet, arms crossing his chest. What he plans to do with the information, he isn’t sure. This man is a literal deity and he’s a familiar; a weasel. Why couldn’t Shirayuki have allowed him to transfigure into something more intimidating, like a bear or a mountain lion?
“Raj.” She winces when his name rolls off her tongue.
The god of Carnal Love? Really?
A hand on his cheek keeps him afloat, Shirayuki now upright herself. “Worry naught. I can handle myself.”
How is that when she is so small and…
He isn’t ready to unpack the other reasons yet.
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There are moments when Obi could swear that time is inconsequential, that there was never a day before Shirayuki. The two have settled into a comfortable rhythm, their hours peaceful, and dare he admit, happy. That wretched god of desire hadn’t come searching for her, just as she predicted – a fact he is overwhelmingly grateful for.
Clarines has become more of a home than he’s ever had. Obi was never known to stay in the same location long, let alone with another person, but this is…different, as though this was always meant to be his fate.
His regular observations of the castlefolk have beget a certain fondness for two skilled knights and a kind, young prince, Obi having earned their trust and joined their ranks with his goddess’ blessing. And while his loyalty always lies with Shirayuki, he does enjoy the privileges the secondary position allows, particularly being privy to intel his mistress finds interesting – such as the attempt to recruit new additions to the pharmacy. A god of medicine is already daylighting there as a court pharmacist, which is more of an incentive for her to cease waiting in the wings. Obi knows that she would love working to heal the inhabitants of this kingdom and that they would more than appreciate her efforts in return.
Huddled close, he openly appraises the goddess. The light of the fire upon her face causes his thoughts to stray, and Obi leans backward to place all of his weight on his hands, worried they might move of their own accord. His desire to touch her grows stronger and stronger with each passing day.
“It’s rare that I can stoke a fire without thinking of you,” Shirayuki suddenly murmurs, catching him off guard. “The way the glow of flame falls upon your countenance…it suits you. I noticed that the night you stopped me.”
The emerald shine of her eyes is luminous, easily standing out against the dark smoke rising from the heat. Obi thinks he could drown in it. “Sometimes I wonder why you saved me.”
It’s not what he means to say. He hadn’t meant to say anything, his mouth moving of its own volition to parade his thoughts, a lack of aplomb on full display.
“Is that so?” Her tone is merely intrigued, head angled slightly in question. “You think it was not deserved?”
He knows it wasn’t, though he’s tried to earn his keep.
“You are a goddess; a deity to be worshiped. I wasn’t known to you. Why would you offer such mercy to a commoner like me – a mere wandering spirit?”
Lips purse, clearly considering his inquiry. “Can it not simply have been because that was what I desired?”
While Obi does find some mystery intriguing, there are instances when he tires of the open-endedness with which she can speak. “No.”
A dimple reveals itself. “Have you forgotten that I am connected with the Underworld? That the future is not unknown to me?”
“No.”
Shirayuki pauses, staring deeply into the smoldering ash. Obi briefly wonders if she will formulate an answer at all, and he silently curses his lack of restraint. But when she breathes, arms circling to rest around her knees, he understands she’s simply wondering where to begin.
“There are stories,” Shirayuki’s voice is soft, “of a human girl, sacrificed by her father for aid in a war.” Her focus is far away, appearing to look at both everything and nothing at the same time. “In one tale, she’s brave, facing the altar head-on. In another, she’s unsuspecting, betrayal blackening her heart once she learns of the ruse.”
It’s almost as if nature is listening intently as well, the wind silent and leaves still. He leans closer, captivated by her words and ethereal expression. This is not a tale he’s had the pleasure of hearing, though he’s been told many, both before and after his passing.
“It’s been said that Artemis snatched the girl from the claws of death, fashioning her into a goddess herself – making her as immortal as those who dwell in Olympus.”
A pregnant pause makes Obi aware of how tight his fists are clenched, of how he’s hanging on her every word.
“Little is known of what became of her...if she truly transformed into a goddess or simply died that fateful day.
Obi shifts ever closer, heat dancing across his skin, uncomfortably hot. It feels like she’s trying to tell him something indirectly. “And what is your opinion on the matter?”
Shirayuki’s smile flashes, predatory teeth on full display. “That it is true.”
She abruptly tosses a powder into the fire, the flames spiking toward the canopies above, smoke stinging his nostrils. This time, his Mistress speaks without riddles or precarious turns of phrase, rising to gather her woven basket with purpose. “I helped you because I wanted to. It’s that simple. I was in that place at that time because you and I were destined to meet, our future intertwined.”
His heart pounds in his chest, limbs frozen at her statement. Obi’s gaze shamelessly rakes from her bare feet up to her perfect cupid’s bow. “When you say intertwined…” he gulps when she glides to his side, kneeling before him, a splendid spectacle of midnight and cinnabar. A finger moves to press against his lips, silencing him, chills pleasantly running through him like lightning.
Her eyes study his face, warmth blooming where her stare travels. “I wonder.”