In the mirror, I saw the man behind me step closer, raising a hand. I braced myself to fight — purely on principle, since I already knew there was nothing I could do. It was clear his power superseded what little god-magic I had left, or I would have been able to break his compulsion and turn around.

But his hand touched my hair, to my utter shock. Lingered there a moment, as if memorizing the texture. Then fingers grazed the back of my neck, and I jumped. Was this some kind of threat? But he made no attempt to harm me. His finger traced the knots of spine along the back of my neck, stopping only when my clothing interfered. Then — reluctantly, I thought — his hand pulled away.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “That was something I needed to hear.”

“Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” I paused. “So are you going to kill me now?”

“Soon.”

“Ah. Good vengeance takes time?”

“Yes.” The coldness had returned to his voice, and this time I recognized it for what it was. Not anger. Resolve.

I sighed. “Sorry, too, to hear that. I think I might’ve liked you.”

“Yes. And I you.”

There was that, at least. “Well, don’t dither too long about it. I’ve only got a few decades left.”

I thought he smiled, which I counted as a victory. “I have already begun.”

“Good for you.” I hoped he didn’t think I was mocking him. It always made me feel good to see the young ones do well, even if that meant they would inevitably threaten me. That was the way of things, after all. Children had to grow up. They did not always become what others wanted. “Do me a favor, though?”

He said nothing, in keeping with his newfound resolve. That was all right. I could be his enemy, if that was what he needed from me. I just didn’t see any point in being an ass about it.

“I don’t belong here at>< to hnymore.” I gestured around us at the mirrored plain, the palaces, the sky. “Not even in this watered-down dream of reality. Wake me up, will you?”

“All right.”

And suddenly a hand ripped through me from behind. I cried out in surprise and agony, looking down to see my mortal heart clenched in a sharp-nailed hand —

I jerked awake to the sound of my own cry, echoing from the vaulted ceiling.

Glowing vaulted ceiling. It was night. Above me loomed Shahar, who had a hand on my chest and a worried look on her face. I was still sleepy, disoriented. A quick check of my chest verified that my heart was still there. Inadvertently, I looked at Shahar’s chest, thinking muzzily that my dream-enemy might have tried to harm her, too. Her dress lay in cut strips down to her waist, half undone, and she held a loose sleep shift over her breasts with her free arm, which she must have grabbed to cover herself when she’d come into my room. This did nothing to hide the other beautiful parts of her: the gentle sweep of neck into shoulder, the slight curve of her waist. Of her breasts, I could still see one rounded shadow near her elbow.

I reached up to pull her arm out of the way and stopped with my fingers two inches from her arm. It took her a moment to realize. She stared at my reaching hand uncomprehendingly; then her eyes widened and she jerked away.

I lowered my hand. “Sorry,” I muttered.

She glared at me. “You started screaming so loud I could hear you through the adjoining door. I thought something was wrong with you.”

“A dream.”

“Not a pleasant one, obviously.”

“Actually, it wasn’t so bad, ’til the end.” The fear was fading quickly. My dream-companion hadn’t been gentle about it, but he’d chosen an excellent way to send me back to the mortal realm. I felt none of the heartrending sorrow that I might have on realizing that the gods’ realm was now forbidden to me. Instead I was just annoyed. “Little mortalfucking bastard. If I ever get my magic back, I’m going to break every bone in whatever body he manifests. Let him avenge that.”

I paused then, because Shahar was looking at me oddly. “What in every god’s name are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I’m babbling.” I yawned, my jaw cracking with the effort. “Sleep makes me stupid. Never liked it.”

“Mortalfuck,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Is that —” She paused, grimacing, too refined to say the word beyond repeating my term. “Being with a mortal. Is it such an anathema among gods that you use it as a curse?”

I blushed, though it bothered me that I did. I had nothing to be ashamed of. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I said, “No, it’s not anathema at all. Far from it.”