The Lightning God's Wife: a short story Read Online Free PDF Page A

reason.”
    Revida broke from his embrace.  “This is ridiculous.  You
are a creator.  Immortal, powerful beyond comprehension.  I’m human—an old one
at that—no more than an insect in the eyes of the lightning god.”
    Atagartis grinned.  “Then I fell in love with a cicada.”
    She stiffened and blinked back tears, grateful for the rain
that would hide any that might fall.  “You mock me.”
    His grin vanished, and his mouth thinned to a grim line.  “I
would never mock you.  I loved Nirari, Revida, and still grieve her death. 
That doesn’t mean I can’t learn to love another.  I have.  I do.  Can you not
love me in return?”
    His question was rhetorical.  She’d loved him since her
youth, when he’d courted her in dreams and comforted her in sorrow.
    Even though he likely heard her thoughts, he continued to
coax her.  “The world needs you.  I need you.”  Atagartis held out his hand,
inviting her to take it.
    Revida stared at his hand and then at him.  A burgeoning joy
made her lightheaded.  “You would make this old crone young again?” she teased.
    Lightning sizzled in his pale gaze, yet he remained
unsmiling at her jest.  “You will be neither old nor young, just everlasting. 
Walk beside me, priestess, and I will show you the vault of the heavens.”
    Revida laughed and took the hand of the lightning god.
     
    _____________________________________________________________________
     
    Rain drenched the grove and washed the heat out of the
stifling air.  The steady flash of lightning bolts illuminated a sky thick with
clouds as the storm rolled toward Neith.  If their luck held, it would last
through the night and thoroughly water the orange trees’ thirsty roots.
    Martise clasped Silhara’s forearm where it rested above her
breasts.  His other arm encircled her waist, and his finger traced the outline
of her navel through her shift.  Grateful for his warmth against her back now
that the storm had brought in the cooler air, she snuggled into his embrace.
    “So this priestess runs off with the lightning god and
consigns herself to an eternity of weeping because she loves him?”
    She rolled her eyes, unsurprised by his less than romantic
interpretation of the story.  “Of course not.  Her tears only invoked the others’
powers.  They say when the big storms come, like this one, it’s Atagartis
making love to Revida.”
    Silhara huffed.  “Well I’d appreciate a little less
enthusiasm on his part.  The last time he decided to tup the goddess near
Neith, he torched one of my trees.”
    Martise chose not to remind her lover that had he not risked
life and limb to force the storm into a path over Neith, he might still have
that tree.
    A sharp burst of lightning followed by a boom of thunder
heralded a different, rushing sound.  Rain drenched the grove, gray sheets that
pelted the trees and streamed fountains and waterfalls off the balcony’s ledge.
    “Ahh, that’s what I hoped to see.”  Silhara kissed the top
of Martise’s head.  “May your Revida bless us for several hours.”
    Martise echoed the sentiment and added, “I’m glad you don’t
have to go out there again.  What you did before was dangerous.”  Not that such
a thing ever stopped him. He’d stolen from a lich too and nearly gotten them
both killed during that escapade.
    Silhara turned her to face him, a black shadow in the
tenebrous room.  “Breathing is dangerous, Martise.”  He bent to kiss her, and
she tasted darkness and fire in the intimate caress.  “Come to bed,” he said as
he bent to nuzzle her neck. “We’ll pretend I’m Atagartis and you’re Revida.”
    She laughed.  “That sounds terribly sacrilegious.”
    “My favorite kind of entertainment.”
     
    *END* Discover other titles by Grace Draven
    Master of Crows
    Entreat Me
    Draconus
    Wyvern
    Arena
    Courting Bathsheba
     
     
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