SABINA

This much irritation and anger could not be good for her health. She made a mental note to stop by the clinic this week and make sure her blood pressure was still normal.

It sure as Underworld didn’t feel normal. Her heart didn’t return to its regular pattern until she was inside her apartment, leaning against the front door with a deep sigh.

“I don’t understand what You want,” she muttered, but again Norcia was silent. “Seriously. Over a decade of visions, dreams, and even Your voice speaking to me…now, when I really need Your guidance, You’re silent?”

Sabina waited, one beat, two, three, until finally it was clear her goddess wasn’t going to say anything. She had to figure it out on her own—now, when she was more confused than ever.

Maybe if he’d left her alone tonight, she would have worked through her irritation and decided to try again tomorrow. Had he left her alone, she might even apologize to him—she had lost her temper and was very rude to him. He was rude first, but still.

The fact remained he was still her mission. In the absence of any guidance from a certain, suddenly tight-lipped deity, Sabina had to assume her orders remained the same.

She let out a laugh, low and bitter. Over a decade of following Norcia’s instructions, so she could be here at Irkalla Station at the right time, and one meeting with him had her wanting to kill him.

And that wasn’t the mission. Nor was non-lethal violence. Norcia had been fairly clear about what Sabina was to do, in regards to Draivarya, and it had nothing to do with smacking that pretty face.

And what about the other thing you want to do to that pretty face?

Her cheeks heated at the thought. Because, yes, Draivarya—arrogant, pretentious, self-centred asshole Draivarya—was attractive. She’d always known that in an objective sense, of course, having had visions of him since she was a teenager, but she’d never felt it before.

Before today, her feelings for him had been strictly those of a priestess intent on doing her goddess’ bidding, by helping one of Her chosen. It was almost a neutrality to the person himself, with passion being reserved for the mission.

Now that she’d met him, and knew exactly what it felt like to touch his hand, or wrist…. There had been a spark when they touched. A little electric surge of something.

She’d never felt anything like it before.

And she knew what he looked like shirtless, which was entirely too good for a politician. Or when he smirked, which shouldn’t have been so Aphrodite-damned sexy, but it was. Each time he’d given her that look her heart beat between her legs and her mouth had run dry.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him, or kill him, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t supposed to do either.

Ugh. She was going around in circles, and it was far too late. She should have been in bed already. Tomorrow’s shift was early and one simply wasn’t late for a shift at the Temple.

She ruthlessly shoved all thoughts of Draivarya S’madhara from her head and forced herself to get ready for bed, even if she was still far too wound up to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow she’d try again to talk to him without yelling at him, or insulting him.

Or maybe she’d book the next flight back to Kaivis.

***

DRAIVARYA

Pratap came to join him at the bar not long after the priestess—Sabina—left.

His mentor took the seat beside him and ordered himself a beer. Draivarya continued to nurse his water, saying nothing, letting the older man speak first.

The bartender left Pratap’s drink on the counter, and then made himself extremely scarce, as if scared there’d be another verbal altercation that he could do nothing about.

Or maybe he just aimed to give the two diplomats privacy. Either way, it was appreciated.

“I thought you weren’t going to come out,” Pratap said at length.

He shrugged. “Changed my mind. Reading was giving me an even bigger headache.”

It wasn’t untrue. The reading had not been helping with his hangover. But then, coming out into the populated areas of the station hadn’t either.

“Mmm.” Pratap accepted the half-lie easily, though it was clear he saw right through it. “Who was the woman you spoke to?”

For a moment Draivarya thought about playing stupid, saying something like “You know Officer Kulamahis, she’s on our security detail,” but he knew Pratap wouldn’t appreciate it. And he didn’t like upsetting his mentor if he could help it.

So he told the truth, or as close to it as he could manage—she was a pleasure priestess sent back to his room by one of the other mantrs, and he’d told her off but ended up feeling not right about the encounter, so he’d left to find her.

“So you could apologize.” Slight question in the tone.

“No.” Draivarya shrugged. “That wasn’t my intent. I’m not sure what my intent was.”

Pratap snickered. “You’re not sure what your intent was in following a beautiful offworlder woman to a bar. I don’t think it’s hard to deduce.”

Draivarya grumbled at that. “Even if she weren’t a pleasure priestess, I’d have no interest. Too much of a temper. Terrible taste in sports teams.”

Another laugh from Pratap said he didn’t buy that for a second.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because she’s a pleasure priestess and that alone means I’ll never touch her.”

“You might consider expanding your horizons. The Aradian hetairai are quite skilled.”

“They’re liars. I can’t abide lies.”

Now Pratap turned on his stool, staring at Draivarya hard. “You’re in politics. Did you think that was an honest profession?”

Draivarya sighed and made himself look at his mentor. “That’s not the kind of lie I’m talking about.” He shook his head, frustrated with his inability to explain. “Perhaps I should have said I can’t stand false intimacy.”

“Ah.” A wealth of understanding in that one syllable. “Well, I can’t fault you for that.”

They drank in silence for a few moments, Pratap nursing his beer, Draivarya almost done his water.

“Though something occurs to me,” Pratap said suddenly. “We haven’t been to the Temple of Desire yet. The rest of the mantrs wanted to get dinner and drinks first. So none of them could have sent her to your room.”

Draivarya felt as if he’d suddenly hit a wall while running. He set his glass down and thought about that, hard, for a few seconds.

“They couldn’t have done it via communicator?” He admitted he had no idea how it worked.

“I doubt it, though I suppose it’s possible.” Pratap shrugged. “I can ask, if you like,” but Draivarya was already shaking his head no. Pratap nodded as if he expected that. “At any rate. It’s more likely she sought you out, herself. Wonder why.”

“Dwindling donations in the Temple?” Draivarya couldn’t keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice.

“Oh, no, I should think not. The Temple of Desire never wants for donations.” Pratap spun his glass in his hand pensively. “You should try to make amends with her.”

Draivarya’s head snapped up in surprise. “I should.” Lightly questioning.

Pratap nodded slowly, his lips pursed in thought. “Our world is a democracy, so we keep forgetting others do things differently. The Empire is a theocracy, Draivarya. If we want to achieve our diplomatic goals with them, we need to make nice with their priestesses especially.”

A stone settled into Draivarya’s gut at his mentor’s words. Pratap was absolutely right. He’d let himself get emotional and forget his purpose here: strengthening diplomatic ties with the neighbouring Empire that could sneeze and wipe their planet out.

Making enemies of the priestesses was not a smart move. In fact, it was downright stupid.

He groaned. Pratap let out another soft laugh, no doubt enjoying his protege’s turmoil—just a little bit.

“I need to fix this,” he muttered.

“Yes, you do. But not tonight. Seek her out tomorrow, once she’s had a chance to forget how smug and insufferable you are. If she can.”

“You’re having fun at my expense, now.”

“I believe it’s my right as your mentor.” Pratap’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his beer.

“Do I have to be friends with her? Or just make amends?” Something told him being friends with Sabina would end in disaster for him.

“I would not ask you to be friends with an Aradian, and certainly not one in a profession you find so distasteful. But you do need to make things right with her, if only so she doesn’t complain about you to her superiors and destroy your career before it begins.”

Ice settled around his shoulders. “She could do that?”

Pratap grimaced. “If a member of the Aradian priestesshood were to file a formal complaint with the Sabha-indriya about one of their mantrs, then…yes, she could. It’s probably not very likely, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen, and I’d hate to lose you after working so hard to get you elected.”

“Fuck.”

“Mm. And if you think that will help, by all means, attempt to seduce her. But I really only think you need to make amends.”

Draivarya couldn’t help the snort that escaped him at Pratap’s dry comment, but it wouldn’t happen.

“It will be a warm day in Dyausdesa before I fuck a pleasure priestess, Pratap.”

His mentor only laughed in response.

***

Draivarya stayed at the bar as late as he could. Pratap left his side after a little while, and he and the mantrs went to visit the Temple of Desire, with one more invitation cast Draivarya’s way, one more reminder that the hetairai truly are spectacular.

He’d held back his grimace and politely refused.

There was only one hetaira he was interested in now, anyway, and all that would happen with her was his apology.

Somehow. He had no idea how. It wasn’t a skill he’d ever had to employ.

Sometime around when last call would have been at a bar back home, but wasn’t here because space stations didn’t sleep, he signalled to the barkeep he was ready to settle up.

He tapped his communicator to the terminal and added a tip, then stood up to go.

“Sir, we should redo this.”

He barely held the irritation back. “Did it not go through?”

“I haven’t run it. I think you added an extra zero to the tip by mistake.”

He glanced at the screen. “No, that’s correct.”

The barkeep’s mouth dropped in shock and he stammered a protest.

“To make up for the tip you lost from the priestess, which was my fault.” Actually, he’d had no idea what a proper tip would be considered and put in what seemed like a good amount. Clearly there were several nuances of Aradian culture that he was missing.

The barkeep’s eyebrows rose, and his thanks was a bit too effusive.

“Not sure why she was so mad at you,” the man went on, oblivious to Draivarya’s desire to leave. “I’ve never seen her lose her temper like that. Was honestly afraid she’d try to hurt you.”

He stilled, turned back to the bar. “Do you know her fairly well, then?”

The man shrugged as he wiped down the counter. “Well enough, I suppose. She’s a regular here, and she performed my wedding a few months back. She’s usually even-tempered, with a ready smile—unless her team’s losing, of course.”

The man snorted at that, and Draivarya almost joined him, except his brain had tripped on something else the man had said.

“I didn’t realize hetairaiperformed weddings.”

A confused frown. “They don’t. Did you think….” The man laughed. “She’s not a hetaira. She works in the Temple of Aradia, not the Temple of Desire.”

The gravity in the station turned off for a moment. Draivarya looked at the bottles of liquid behind the bartender, confused that they weren’t floating, until he realized it wasn’t the station. It was just his stomach doing flips.

He rubbed his hand over his face. He’d really fucked up.

“She has every reason to be mad at me,” he explained. “And I need to apologize to her. Any ideas?”

The bartender shrugged. “Usually when I mess up that bad, I bring my husband a box of candied eels.”

“You bring him eels?” That was it? He’d thought apologies had more to them.

“Well,” the man’s face grew ruddy, “I’m also contrite. Tell him I’m sorry. But it’s the eels that make him smile, and once he’s smiling, I know I’m not in trouble any more. That’s the key. To get a smile.”

Draivarya absorbed that for a few moments.

“Thank you for your insight. I appreciate it.” He inclined his head in a nod. “I’m going to retire now, but perhaps I’ll see you again during my stay.”

The bartender said some niceties in response, though Draivarya wasn’t truly listening, not anymore. His head was too busy spinning around all the new information in it, and in the center of the maelstrom was one fact that threatened to upend any sense of order he might have had.

Sabina wasn’t a hetaira.