My veil is yanked and pulled. I bite my tongue when a particular hard tug makes my eyes water in pain. I wriggle and wiggle and squirm, but can't get free, no matter how I try. With a huff, I lie down under the hedgerow.

Mushu's face pops in front of my own with a squeak. Curiosity shines in his bright orange eyes.

"I'm stuck," I whisper to him.

As predicted, my gargoyle falls over, laughing and snorting at my predicament.

"It's not that funny, Moosh. Now what am I supposed to do?" I hiss.

Getting out of the temple complex this morning was easier than sneaking back in. Much easier. I only had to follow the deliverymale who dropped off the meats for Postite Banio and I was free to wander the city at will.

Of course, I wasn't alone. Mushu and Mishu accompanied me while Momo stood 'lookout,' which is his way of avoiding the latest adventure to nap in my bed. He ate too much grief yesterday and needed to sleep it off.

I have snuck out three times, never getting caught. But, this morning, my curiosity got the better of me and I stayed to watch the orphans at the Mother temple play in the fountains. I overstayed, and missed the second delivery to Nateos' temple.

Mushu showed me this little hole in the hedgerow, stuck in between our temple property and the temple of the War gods' most exalted warriors. It lies near their eastern gate and our western gate. It isn't their House mausoleum, it was built during one of the Sands wars over a century ago and is still in use today. No one ever seems to come behind the building, where these thick bushes were planted between our graven hills and the quiet, grey stone building of the victims of war. Convenient, right?

Only if I can wiggle free of the branches and make it back inside the temple without anyone seeing me.

"Pull," I whisper to Mushu.

He yanks on my hands and I move... not at all. I wiggle again, my hips aren't budging. Mishu is pressing on my bum, chortling and smacking the flesh as if I'm made of dough he can squish down.

"That didn't work," I mutter.

Momo suddenly appears, his eyes shining with mirthful glee. I guess his nap is over. He and his brother start to dig, to enlarge the hole under me, both chortling their grating laughs, when suddenly they stop.

Ears perk, eyes narrow, hissing noises are spit from their gaping mouths full of sharp teeth. Both gargoyles disappear, and I can hear Mishu behind me snarling at the threat that has appeared.

My heart dips when I hear a deep male's voice. "Is this the trespasser, Nanto?"

Large hands grab my ankles and pull - in the wrong direction.

I think it's safe to say that my scream may actually wake the dead.

"Easy, female!" the War soldier who pulled me out of the hole is laughing. His companion is also chuckling, his arms held loose at his sides.

Both of them stop laughing when I scramble to my feet, my veil dislodging and falling away.

"You are the Flame," the second male breaths in astonishment.

I gape right back at them. They are not soldiers of War, not at all. They are Recondites, shadow warriors, protectors of the gods. They are scary. Of all the creatures in the world to catch me scurrying under a bush...

"Aye, it's her," the first one adds.

I frown. "I'm what, now?"

The first male grins, he has bright green, glowing eyes. The pupils are slitted like a cat's. A skinwalker, then. He's handsome, with his sandy brown hair and lively face. Not, exactly, what I thought a dreaded Recondite would look. He's a little too... friendly.

Mishu sniffs his leg, then sneezes, falling over dramatically, clutching his throat. I still don't know if they do it because they think its funny to pretend everyone smells or if they actually think we all stink.

I look at the other male. He's a bit more what I would expect a Recondite to look like. Skin the color of midnight. His eyes are like an Acera, a nice brown color. He has the tiniest horns peeking through his thick, black hair, and fangs poking out from under his upper lip. Also a skinwalker.

"The Flame of Nateos," the first male explains.

"I am?"

"I would think so. Not often we see this over here," the second reaches out to touch my hair, when Momo leaps up on my shoulder and bites his hand.

"Fucking shit!" he hollars, withdrawing his hand, shaking it vigorously and staring at me in pure astonishment.

What, he's never seen a female with a gargoyle before?

I dart back under the bushes. The gargoyles are pulling and tugging, and their earlier efforts must have paid off, because the hole is just large enough for me to wiggle through.

"Do we chase her?" I can hear one of the male's ask the other.

"Do you want to anger Death? That's his little female, Belen. Your laces are undone, by the way."

Darn it, Mishu. He's always tying boot laces together. I've started wearing only slippers and sandals because of that little stinker.

Darting up on the other side, I run and run. Inside, I am fuming. The Flame? Honestly, my hair is strawberry, not red! And I'm not little anymore, not if my efforts to fit through that hole tell me anything.

"Mara!" I hear Postite Falso call for me in the distance and groan internally. I've ruined my robes and he is going to kill me.

I dart through the maze of pathways and tombs, ducking behind cairns whenever my gargoyles do. I don't sigh in relief until I reach my father's pool room.

The interior of the room is filled with the deep sound of the god's laughter.

---

"Good Morning, Darling," Anthea smiles sexily at me.

I smile back, forcing myself to be happy for her. It always seems that I am forcing my happiness lately. My demon snarls in my mind. The beast is not happy, he is never happy, with only one exception...

I shake off my thoughts. It's been hard. The First House is unsettled, Arim the Lord of the House is dying.

My grandfather is a male I respect more than anyone. I have grown up on that male's knee, being told stories of our House, of the greatness I have been born into.

Now he is dying and with him goes so much knowledge. My mother, the Lady Kaimi, is his only child. My father, Everard, was born of the Mother, the Second House. They are a great pair, the Mother and the Father, but I am the male heir who will become the Lord when my grandfather dies. The title will skip over my father.

I am not ready. I can't tell Anthea what has been troubling me, but I know she can tell that something is wrong.

"Thane? Will we have breakfast together today?"

"No," I reply absently. "I want to see my grandfather first thing today."

"Oh," she withdraws her hand from me. I help her to stand on her feet. Our son is making her movements more clumsy by the day. "I'll see you at the nooning meal?" she asks with hope in her voice.

"We'll see, Anthea," I murmur. I splash my face with the cold water left in the basin by our bedchamber doors and leave to stride the halls towards my grandfather's rooms.

"Thane," my grandfather's raspy voice greets my ears as soon as I step foot into the darkened bedchamber. My demon flattens his ears, his lip curling at the stench of decay in the stifling air.

I ignore his protests and move closer to the frail male on the bed.

"So, my grandson has pealed himself away from his beautiful bonded to come see the old male, eh?" Grandfather teases me.

"It is just after dawn, Grandfather," I tease back, but internally I worry. He hasn't been sleeping lately. "Did you sleep well?" I dare to ask.

He coughs, "Death is coming for me, Thane. I feel him watching me. He will take me to the Underworld soon."

"You will have a place in the House of the Father, grandfather."

He chuckles weakly. "Fate has been kind to this family, Thane. You must remember that. Your path has been laid out perfectly for you to become the greatest of lords. A Prince of the city."

I feel uneasiness stir. A Prince? There hasn't been a Prince of our people in over two centuries. We haven't had one since we left behind the old ways and came to the city. We no longer live in covens, in family groups. We are so much more. But I'm not. I'm just a lord, nothing about me is princely and I can't imagine being one.

Especially without my truly Fated by my side.

"You must be faithful, always, to this House, Thane. Swear it to me, my grandson."

I falter. I have always been faithful to the First House. I have done terrible things for this House. My demon reacts violently to the idea that I must make this promise when I have already given so much. Claws rake my insides, but I have control over the beast. I am not an out-of-control half-breed.

"Thane," the whisper filters through my consciousness too late. In balking at my grandfather's request, I missed his death.

I inhale shakily. So, I am now the Lord of the First House. May the gods help me.

---

I ignore the red-headed little one as she races past me with a torn veil and leaves in her hair. Natoes knows that the poor thing can't be stuck in this complex all day with a bunch of old males as her only companions. So, I told Banio to pretend that he doesn't see her sneaking out. When she didn't come back with the egg and milk delivery I informed the Recondite patrolling the temple grounds that she is missing, most likely fine, but no one wants Death's daughter to be missing.

Apparently she found an alternative way home. I chuckle to myself, feeling the heavy cough in my lungs rise, then settle when I stifle it.

My demon stares out at the world, aged as much as I. If I ever feel too young, I only have to gaze on that wrinkled visage, the ruemy, wise eyes, the grey hair sprouting, to know that I... that we... are old.

Old as spit, perhaps, but we aren't in the gods' kingdom yet. Nateos is keeping us here for something, and I feel deep in my demon's bones that it is happening soon. There is an uneasiness in the air, a hush of anticipation.

Our little one has been bathing longer, and when she's caught in a daydream, she stares at the burial mounds pensively. I don't think she's aware that she's doing it. Still a child, only seventeen years old, she can hold as still as a statue for so very long. I may know nothing about children, but I know that that is odd.

It's nice to see her acting her age. In fact, I have been contemplating getting a few younger servants to join us here at the temple, young ones her age.

The ice that settles in my veins makes my head whip around. I feel it, the gods deep, unbridled anger.

"Mara," her name leaves my lips in a horrified whisper. Is our little one in danger? My demon hisses, but his attention is not on our temple complex, on the sacred pool I know Mara is bathing in to try to hide her latest adventure.

He is looking out over the city. To the northwest. The Father god.

The bells ring out. Low, the notes hanging in the air. A shiver of fear and loathing curves down my spine. Arim of the First House has died.

---

They come into the Great Temple of Nateos, Death, Lord of the Underworld, as if they own it.

The high, exalted Lady Kaimi, Arim's daughter and only surviving child, and her bonded mate, poor male, are first. The Lady is crying into her handkerchief. It's trimmed with gold thread that could buy food for a week for every orphan in the Mother House.

The lady has always troubled me. She is an enigma. So very proud of her station and her House, so very enamoured of her father and his worth, yet... I know how very bitter Arim of the First House was when his bonded only birthed a daughter, and never a son. Did the lady never feel that disappointment from her father? Or did he convince her it was her due, as a female heir?

Next comes the new Lord. Thane of the First looks too young to be a ruler of a House. Despite his father's bloodline, I would have made Everard the Lord. Well, it's not my House, I suppose.

The new, young lord looks as though the weight of the entire world rests on his shoulders. I eye him sharply, seeing the delicate, feminine hand wrapped around his elbow. His bonded, the Lady Anthea, is heavily pregnant and very beautiful. She is clinging to Thane for support, but his hands are held at his sides, rather than returning the loose embrace.

He is not worthy to be our little one's Fated. She deserves a male who will worship her as she deserves. Let it be, Nateos.

Of course, I will admit that as a father-figure in Mara's life, perhaps I am a bit picky as to who can ever be bonded to Death's Daughter.

The corpse is laid on top of the sarcophagus he will be interred in for the next year.

"Light the candle, Lord Thane," I instruct.

The flame flickers. Then dies. Flickers again, then dies. With a frown, the young Lord takes another stick of incense and holds the flame to the wick of the black mourning candle.

It flickers, then dies.

"Stop," I order in a hoarse voice. Everyone halts in place except for the two Recondites who were lurking in the shadows. The two Shadows step forward immediately, crowding the mourning First family away from the body of Arim.

"What is happening?" Thane snaps out.

"The candles will not light," I say. My demon is pacing, eyes bright. He knows how dangerous this burial has suddenly become. Carefully I look over the body of Arim. In death the powerful male is nothing but fragile skin and bones. White, pasty complexion of the recently dead, a few burst capillaries under the skin. Everything looks normal.

Everything always looks normal in these instances.

"Chain the body."

Lady Kiami begins to shriek in protest. From nowhere more Recondites pour into the small temple. All of the First House mourners are forced outside. I can hear the crowd turning into a mob. Fearful, angry, confused, they do not understand what is happening.

I trust in the gods' warriors to handle them. I have a much, much bigger problem.

"Where is Mara?" Postite Salbin hisses to me as he helps the others hook the chains around Arim.

"In her pool, thank the god, himself."

---

I watch the funeral parade as the body of Arim, Lord of the First House, patron of the Father god, is brought into the temple of Nateos.

I watch the nobles walk in, the proud lords and ladies. I see him. I see her. I turn away from them both, and the child of my Fated that weighs her down.

THe pennants of the First House flap in the breeze. Even those pieces of blue and gold cloth look proud. It turns my stomach, making the scene bleed red, the haze descending as the mourners march on, heads held high while blood drips and drips and drips...

Except the coffin is empty. The body of Arim of the First, a male I never saw but once, is not there. They are mourning emptiness.

Then Mushu farts on my head.

For once, I'm glad for it. Waking up, curled in the pool of my father's temple, in a cloud of gargoyle gas is much more preferable to the nightmare that haunts me.

I haven't left the sacred pool. I had no desire to watch the actual parade, to see Thane and Anthea pretend to mourn while secretly relishing their new, elevated status as the Lord and Lady of the First House. Greed is all that lies in their hearts. Thane is probably thrilled his grandfather is gone.

I shiver. I need to bathe, to wash away the nightmare and maybe with it, my own bitterness.