Page 32 of The Tenth Muse

“Call me Songbird.”

twelve

. . .

“Song—”

I stole the rest of Reaper’s word with my lips, letting them lead my unpracticed movements with their own. They nipped at my bottom lip, then captured my mouth, tongue delving to reach mine. They tangled together, and inhaled their fresh forest smell, the slightly sweet taste of their kiss.

“Bath. Now.” Reaper demanded against my lips. They scooped me up and cradled me in their arms before setting me gently in the steaming tub. The warmth enveloped my aching muscles, but my breaths were shallow, panting as I caught them while also never wanting the kiss to end.

They knelt by the side of the tub.

“Join me.” My voice was still tired and frail, but the command was no less confident. I lifted my chin for emphasis.

Reaper made no move to remove their clothes. Instead, they slipped one bare foot and then the other on either side of my hips before sliding down. I shifted forward, making room for them. The fabric clung to their skin, powerful legs next to mine. “Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

I nodded, speechless.

Reaper grabbed some shampoo and poured it into their hand. “Tilt your head back,” they instructed, and I gripped their legs, holding the damp fabric while their fingers dove into my locks, massaging my scalp until suds trickled down my cheeks. A smile crept across my lips and I groaned when their deft ministrations released pressure at either side of my head, shoulders releasing into the relaxation of it all. Rinsing off the lather, they worked conditioner in, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck, so soft and reverent that I couldn’t help myself. I turned my neck toward them and captured their lips, deepening the kiss.

No one had ever done this for me before. Growing up in the forest, I usually dipped into the stream, using herbs and flowers as I washed. Even at the palace, I never had the servants help me, opting to bathe myself. For as long as I could remember, I’d been on my own. Yes, the nymphs had been there, but as soon as I was able, I cared for myself, not wanting to be their burden.

Now I had someone who wanted to support me, who held me up, brought me the shelter of my fig tree and sustenance. Someone who’d done all they could to ensure I was cared for.

I stopped the kiss to let them rinse out the conditioner and then leaned back, nuzzling into the nook between their neck and chest, savoring therappingthat beat alongside my own pulse. A metronome I hadn’t understood but that had been steady through it all.

Calloused hands brushed over my arm, washing them in gentle circles before moving across my collarbones and doing the other one. Beneath my back, hardened tips pressed into me and I bit my lip, each drag of them across my skin zinging deep into my core, to the space hidden beneath the feathers at my hips. My breathing slowed, my heart ramping its pace with each stroke of their fingers, each graze of their nipples, the warmth of their body pressed to mine.

And then Reaper did something I never could have expected.

They sang.

At first the words were hushed, like a whispered lullaby, but with each touch its volume grew, the notes wrapping around me, absorbing into my skin, sinking deep in my soul. My throat was raw, but I joined them, a soft harmony to their strong chords. My nose dragged up their throat, savoring the vibrations of their voice blending with mine. It was a song of searching, of being lost then found. A song of longing and love.

Deeper than a song, it was a vow.

One between splendor and scythe.

Betweencompara.

I savored every breathy note, every sultry sound, every rattled inhale and exhale once we’d finished, only the sloshing water in the tub and the beats of our hearts between us.

“You have a beautiful voice,” I said, “I did not expect that from a scythe.”

I ran my thumb along Reaper’s bottom lip. They were so stunning. How come scythes faces were always hidden from view?

“We cover what we wish to share only with our compara. To cherish you with my lips, my tongue,”—between my legs grew slick, legs parting involuntarily—“my song.”

“Does that mean there have been no others before me?” I wrapped my tail around myself, covering where the feathers around my hips had fanned out. My body was flush with embarrassment, with a want I’d never gotten to understand. The shame of the Emperor’s words echoed in my mind.

You’re not some common whore… You’re a symbol.

“Scythes are not celibate,” Reaper said, gaze trained on my face. The corner of their lip quirked up, tone becoming playful, steadying my rampant heartbeat. “There are other pleasures wepartake in, but this is what we choose to worship only our compara with.”

I wanted to know what it was to be worshipped by my compara. By someone who loved me.

I clamped my lips shut, fear of shame, of rejection, swirling in my mind. We barely knew each other but this desire was as certain as the constantrap, rap, rapbetween my ribs. I wanted to feel the depths of what that duet had dragged to the surface, I wanted it deeper, a harmony that could only be reached with those lips exploring every inch of me.

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