The sights and the smells of the war camp greeted Nirav and me.

His gaze darted from the horses to the sentries, brandishing their weapons in greeting. It lingered on the shining steel and the glow of the cooking fires. His nostrils quivered when I called out passwords. He all but smirked when someone commented,"Ismar gonna die riding a prick. The old girl loves her trophies," behind our backs.

Nirav's obvious enjoyment of a soldier's simple life—the life I chose for myself years ago and nearly gave up—fired me up. I hugged his waist as soon as he dismounted.

"The crones say that a bad peace is better than the best war." I kissed his already parted lips.

"They lie, Ismar." He warmed the hollow on my neck with his breath. It seemed to draw his lips like a magnet draws the metal shavings.

I took his hands into mine, leading him inside my tent. He had to bend his head a little to walk in. Once we were through the flap, he straightened and gasped.

I didn't lie when I promised him a wonderful display. I had my full kit out, polished and ready, plus a few extra toys. Axes so sharp they could chop a woman's limb off in one stroke and those that crushed skulls. Half-dozen of throwing axes too. Three different shields. An armor set for battle and a fancy breastplate for parades. Bracers. Ankle guards. Riding boots with spurs. I enjoyed the display with him, for the sight of my collection never failed to please me. He was a great addition.

"You are so precious, Duke," I whispered.

"May I?" He indicated one of the long-handed axes.

"Of course."

As soon as he grabbed it, the blade dove precariously to the floor.

"Butterfingers!" I took it away from him, stepped back and gave it a proper swing. "A weapon has to be balanced for the wielder, sweetheart, and it still takes years of practice to be good with it. Try something less ambitious."

The darling man milled about the tent, while I watched him from the bed. Yes, we didn't have much time, but every time he caressed a weapon, I felt pleasure as acute as if he put his beautiful fingers inside me. I moaned when he reached for the sheathed dagger that I had removed from my belt and put on the bed next to me.

"Careful with this."

He slipped the sheath off half-way and studied the dagger's black facets. "This one looks different."

I had to moisten my lips before responding. "You're holding my misericorde, Duke. It's black steel."

He echoed my moan and knelt by the bed, still holding the dagger, sheath half-off. Despite the value of the black steel, the handle was a simple wrap-around, worn out by use. The sheath was the same. He slipped it off and touched the blade on his thumb and cried out. The dagger dug in, drawing out a thin line of blood.

"This is not a kitchen knife," I chidded.

"I see that now." He smiled sheepishly and stuck his thumb into the mouth, but didn't let the blade out of his grasp. Good, because if he did, I'd be bidding him a farewell. Black steel was more precious than anything in the world to a warrior.

"Now you know the bite of the black steel. Never again tease a weapon made of it," I warned him. "For it thirsts for more."

I leaned over the side of the bed to pull a medicine chest from underneath it. A cedar box had pricey sap, the only remedy that could help. I embraced his shoulders, waiting for a single drop of it to coat his cut.

"The wounds inflicted by black steel never close unless treated with this rare medicine. It's a slow killer if you want someone to die slowly. A cut as shallow as yours will torment a victim for days before bleeding to death. It can also kill faster than anything else in the Knowable World."

"It stings," he muttered.

"I know. I had almost died like that. My dreams sometimes return me to that day. I stumble along the streets, bleeding and desperate for what seems like eternity."

"And then?" he wanted to know.

"Then..." I put my tongue in his mouth, where his thumb had been. A fair trade. We kissed. "Then, I wake up in a cold sweat. Let's not talk about it."

"You called it a misericorde," he reminded between our kisses. "What's that?"

"A mercy-killer. Do you see how it's shaped like a spike? That's to puncture an artery, right here." I found the pulsating spot on his neck with my lips. "Warriors must not wait long to die after a battle. Some wounds would have them linger for days in pain and I don't want that."

His heart's rhythm sped up, but he clung to me. It seemed we just couldn't stay away from talking about death. It wasn't great to dwell on it on the eve of a battle, but it excited him, so I continued his education. "Only a woman can truly comprehend the pain when someone dies, because a woman gives birth. Men don't understand mercy."

"Oh, yes." Nirav sighed. "Men don't understand mercy, wisdom and temperance. Also, we lack the intelligence to even remember the list of things we don't understand. Yes, Ismar, I had been taught that."

"You sound like another man I know."

He pouted. "I hoped to become someone special for you."

The black steel smirked at me before I replaced the dagger in its sheath. It tasted Nirav's blood and liked the experience.

"I stole this dagger from a woman who died a terrible death," I told him. "It served me well, even when men brought misery to my life."

Nirav followed me like a faithful hound when I went to replace the dagger in its place on the chest. "I know something of misery, Ismar."

"Then there is no point in talking about it, Duke."

My gaze lingered on the dagger. I would give everything to own an ax forged from black steel, but only the poets of steel from the Land of the Swift Sunrise knew its secrets. That's where Ondrey went, to fight a campaign with Marezhka on the far side of the Knowable World.

The sand clock tumbled over. The grains of sand started another run. Like sand, the night was slipping through my fingers as I stared at what I had already possessed and wished for something I couldn't have. Something too far away.

Nirav, on the other hand, stood very close to me. I inhaled his scent to bridge the awkward gap. He pressed himself to my back, touching me through the fabric, a tentative yet unmistakable hint.

I guided his hands around me, letting him search for pleasure. He searched with his mouth. He searched with his hands. He searched with his penis. All of his efforts seemed unfocused. I made a step towards my weapons' array and put the dagger back into Nirav's hand. Mindful of his earlier clumsiness, I curled his fingers round the hilt properly and guided his moves.

The shape of the blade was better for piercing than for slashing, but the black steel cut the jeweled bodice of my dress easily. Working together, we freed my body to the waist before I turned to him, ready to destroy his garments in the same manner. He dropped to his knees first, peeling off my skirts. His lips cleaved to another hollow on my body and breathed my name.

The ecstasy I didn't receive from him in the alley came onto me at once, sending me staggering to the bed. I held onto his shoulders. There are pages of texts advising on the graceful moves for maximum pleasure. They could burn in the fires of the Primordial War!

Clumsy was fine with me. Awkward was fast and hot. Our limbs could tangle whichever way, as long as I could have him inside me. My energy was needed in eliminating the tiniest gaps between us. I clawed the pricey fabrics out of the way. They would never be as desirable as the touch as his skin. He bore out my weight easily through our rocking.

I tested Nirav's virility time and again, before cradling his genitals in my hand and letting him doze off in my tent.

Sleep didn't figure in my plans for the dawning day. Meticulously, I geared up for war. Before parting the tents' flap I turned for a look. My lover nestled on the blankets crumpled by lovemaking. He was like a giant sleeping amongst the landscape of ridges, valleys and lakes. We spent this night as if we were the Divines.

I could not resist walking back to take another kiss from his full lips. It was an uncautious kiss and it woke him up.

He exhaled Ismar as he opened his eyes. Then he gaped, terrified, at my jingling chainmail. "Are you... leaving?"

It took me a moment to realize he suspected a betrayal of a professional kind. "Yes. But don't fret, sweetheart. I'm off to fight for you and Idezza."

"But the Tigress is far out yet, nowhere near the Enzara Planes."

He was adorable, blinking at me like that. I brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Don't worry, I know where she is. I intend to catch her with her skirts hiked up for some spanking. My scouts found a perfect spot for it. Everything will be wonderful."

He tossed the blankets aside, dragged his shirt by the sleeve from under the bed, pried its hem apart. His hands trembled in excitement. "I want to come with you."

How very sweet, but... no. My expedition would kill an untrained woman, let alone a man.

"Your job is to stay safe with your people, Duke. Keep the morale up and finish the work on the walls. Fill up the stores."

He hung his head.

I hooked his chin and made him look at me. "I'll bloody Burandok. It'll be our first sniff of one another on the battlefield, but it won't be the end of the fighting. You'll get your fill of it before you know it."

"I see." A pout puckered his lips, making them even more tempting than before, if such thing was possible.

"Come now, sweetheart, kiss me for luck."

He did. In the middle of it, the sound of ripping fabric startled me. I backed a step from the bed.

Apparently, Nivar tore one lace cuff off his shirt. He extended it to me. "Remember me, Ismar."

The fabric smelled like him. I took it.

As we ventured through the jungles toward Burandok's troops, I would press the lace to my lips, feel sore in my heart and smile at the sweet memories.

Yes, I remembered him as I marched.

At first.