Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Good Gods, Kasala, how much salt did you put in this?" Nimmi sputters, the chutney from the pani puri twisting against the tip of her tongue. Her lips pucker at the sharp taste of glabrous beans mashed with black salt, which left her feeling vaguely ill. She grabs a goblet of water from the nearest table and downs it.

"What? It doesn't taste good?" Kasala frowns and glances at his measurements. He points to the note, "I followed the recipe!"

Nimmi wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and coughs, "Let me see."

Kasala hands her a sheaf of paper.

She quickly glances at the ingredient list on the bottom section of the page before walking over to the counter and inspecting the physical proof of Kasala's folly. She lifts the salt container, eyes it, and then sets it down. She turns to the High Priest, grabs a hand towel, and whacks him on the chest.

Kasala yelps, "What was that for?"

"The recipe says fine salt, this is crystal salt, which is saltier than the fine salt," Nimmi explains flatly and tosses the towel on the chair. "I can't believe you tried to kill me via dehydration."

He laughs sheepishly, "I thought they were the same."

Nimmi glares at him, "If I use white iron instead of black iron for a sword, would it hold the same?"

Ores, by nature, were not equal. Even when mixed with different metals and alchemical properties, if their natural properties did not equal their elemental property in weight, the material will give. Alchemical infusion into weapons is a very new practice; it was born in Dahri and spread beyond the realm through traveling merchants. Nimmi had seen those weapons strapped to Dahri diplomats in Sumeru City years ago, and the image of those weapons shimmering in the sunlight—almost as if they were alive. It stuck with her as she began the Akademiya.

Nimmi had despaired when choosing a darshan, but ultimately decided to stay in Spantamad and occasionally enroll in Kshahrewar courses to get a better feel for mechanics in her youth.

"Are you free for dinner later?"

Nimmi shakes her head, "I have an order due tomorrow morning, so I'm going to be working into the night to complete it."

Kasala frowns disapprovingly, "Nim, tell me you didn't go drinking in Ay-Khanoum."

"I came home at a respectable hour," Nimmi scowls and glances at her workstation. "Honestly, I go out one night and come home hungover, and suddenly you're my mother...this commission I received requires a lot of...concentration. I've been experimenting with different heating points and water to steam ratio; it's very detailed. "

"What's the commission?"

"It's a catalyst in the form of a flute," she says and wiggles her fingers against the fatteh spread. "Don't ask. I'm not a music expert, but it's a very unusual request, opposed to my other contracts."

"Why did you not reject the commission?" Kasala tilts his head and tosses out the puri for his grilled fish. "As you said, you aren't an expert. I would assume instruments require...some type of background information."

"It does," Nimmi agrees and finishes her lunch. "I have a friend in the Kshahrewar department who got his hands on some schematics. I had told my client that it would be easier for him to procure an instrument from a specialty shop, and I could just enhance it, but he wanted it to be custom-made from the beginning to the end. Which is a pain, but you know how I like a challenge."

Kasala shakes his head.

He does know.

Since the moment Kasala met her, with skinned knees and flour on her face in the bread shop, attempting to fight a bowl of dough near the window, Nimmi had this inordinate competitive streak. If something broke, she would fix it. If something refused to work, she would work needless hours of the day to put it back together. If she didn't understand something, Nimmi would research the topic to her heart's content.

Her father had said it was pure stubbornness that turned her into the person she is today, but Kasala knew it was her dedication that made her an expert.

"I have the night shift today," Kasala hands her his last piece of almond crackers. "I will try and stop by if you're awake."

Nimmi waves her hand and puts her notebook over her face before dipping into a light doze.

—

"We cannot conquer Gavireh Lajavard and the Realm of Frankhert without supplies or weapons," King Deshret says with narrowed brows and glances at his court. His pearly, moonlit hair glimmered a bright white under the crack of the sun. "The abyss has overrun the mountain range leading north to the Samudra Coast. Any closer to the ley lines and it will poison a substantial amount of Irminsul."

"We understand this, my lord," The Crocodile King agrees and presses. "But we cannot allow The Sands of the Three Canals to go unprotected."

"And what do you propose we do, Sobek?" the Ibis King hisses. "Send the soldiers up to the mountain range without weapons?"

"If one would have a vision, I daresay it's better than nothing, Thoth," Sobek scowls heavily.

Hermanubis sighs from behind the Lord of the Red Sands. He does not know what his lord was thinking, inducting such troublesome and volatile members into the Seven Pillars, yet the smirk on the proud king's face tells him one word: amusement. His Lord is such an anomaly, he thinks with mild wonder.

"Is the lack of weapons due to the scarcity of materials, my lord?" The Goat King asks, cutting through the squabbling.

King Deshret raises his brows, "To my knowledge, we have more than enough resources. Hermanubis conducted an audit among the blacksmiths in the nearest cities and towns. While they can forge multiple weapons, the matter comes down to quantity over quality. After our last campaign to the east, numerous weapons had been destroyed in battle, and the armory had taken a hit because of this."

Heryshaf inclines his head, "Mass producing weapons would deplete the quality of these weapons."

The God-King agrees.

"We could probably allow a faction of soldiers to monitor the Three Canals if we had reliable and quality weapons," Hermanubis adds in after a moment. "But, my lord would not rush the art of weapon making since it's the only instrument deflecting death from the citizens."

The Sages were quiet at that.

"The Primal Constructs will have to do for now to monitor the ley lines," Deshret purses his lips. "Eventually, I will set up an elemental barrier once the constructs need to be sent back for maintenance. I refuse to send my people to the border and have them die due to shoddy craftsmanship."

Kasala was not a new High Priest, but he was very new to maneuvering the politics of the palace. Usually, he remains silent when the Sages—the Pillars argue amongst themselves in front of the King. Hermanubis had once said that the best way to learn about people is through observation, studying their behaviors, their tics, their personality, and their actions. That leverage is often the best motivator when these people in power forget themselves.

Kasala had been inducted into the High Priests not too long ago. His Lord had rejected his application at first, firmly believing that he needed finish his studies in the Akademiya before applying for this position, and offered him an apprenticeship under Hermanubis while he was a student. Kasala had been most grateful for his foresight and had taken well to Hermanubis's instruction while juggling his studies.

Hermanubis had hinted that the King had a soft spot for Kasala, but the younger priest firmly denied it, sputtering with embarrassment, yet flattered at the thought.

Hermanubis had laughed.

He wonders if this is the time to lean into that favoritism, or at the most, put it to the test. There is a certain trepidation when speaking aloud in a room full of such powerful people, but he knows that he would regret not taking the chance when he had it. He flickers his gaze toward the bickering Ministers and the King's somewhat bored expression before steeling himself.

Kasala swallows before walking closer to the center of the room from the side of the pillar, "To clarify, my lord, we would need specialized artillery to station men at the border, and because we lack weaponry, we should wait until we replenish our arsenal?"

The Crocodile King whirls his head around from the squabble and barks, "Is that not what we just said?"

"Sobek," Deshret snaps warningly, the Crocodile King chidden drops his head down, and flickers his gaze to Kasala, minutely surprised by his participation. His eyes soften fractionally, "Yes, Kasala, that is the gist of the matter."

Kasala shifts, "I...may have an idea about that, my lord."

Deshret raises his brows, "Do you?"

"What is this idea you have, Kasala?" Hermanubis asks encouragingly.

He swallows and fights the urges to fidget when numerous pairs of eyes land on him, "There is an...artisan that builds customized weapons west of the Aaru checkpoint."

"Customized weapons?" Hermanubis repeats dubiously. "Commissioned weapons, you mean?"

"Artisan," Deshret repeats slowly and tilts his head, "What peculiar wording."

"Their orders are usually commissions, yes," Kasala answers vaguely. "But these weapons are customized for the user. I use the word artisan because this person does not create just weapons, nor are they a standard blacksmith. Their weapons are forged with elemental energy and alchemical techniques."

"I do not understand," Bennu says after a moment. The Most-Radiant Sage frowns, "Most weapons are mediums for elemental energy. Are you telling me that this artisan can forge weapons embedded with elemental energy?"

"Yes," Kasala really does fidget when the Sages break into whispers of disbelief. "Alchemy is also used in these weapons, for example, a sword that has Varunada Lazurite Fragment embedded in the shaft of the weapon to give hydro users extra stamina when using their elemental burst or a catalyst soaked in heatshield potion that allows the user to spend longer hours in the desert without the fear of dehydration."

Hermanubis blinks rapidly at his disciple.

"This artisan," Deshret starts with equal parts of mild intrigue and bemusement. "Has created such a thing?"

"Yes, my lord," Kasala bows his head. "If you need specialized weapons or custom weapons, I highly recommend this artisan."

Kasala thinks that Nimmi might kill him for recruiting more work for her.

"Hermanubis," Deshret flickers his gaze over to his close friend with a small frown. "Why did this person not turn up in your audit?"

Kasala interjects hastily, not wanting his beloved mentor to be subjected to the King's irritation and reprimand, "U-Um, my lord, she does not consider herself a blacksmith nor is she registered as one, so it's highly unlikely that she would turn up in the consensus."

"She?" The Crocodile King sputters.

"Is there something wrong with a woman in that profession, Sobek?" Bennu narrows her eyes at him.

Thoth snickers quietly in the corner.

"O-Of course not," Sobek coughs and glances away. "It's just highly unusual."

Shesepankh rolls her eyes and turns to look at Kasala with a small smile, "We are very interested in knowing this artisan of yours."     

"S-She is not mine," Kasala stammers immediately and groans when the Sages begin to laugh at him.

Deshret's lips twitch upwards, and he raises his hand, the Pillars immediately falling silent. He orders, "Enough. You are all dismissed. Kasala, Hermanubis stay. I would like to know more about this artisan."

Hermanubis huffs amusedly when Kasala rubs his red cheeks.

—

They had not gone into more discussion as the Desert Scribe required the King's assistance in the lab—one of the primal constructs had begun to malfunction. After a late dinner, Kasala was summoned back to the throne room, and Hermanubis had disappeared to do something...which filled the young priest with much anxiety. It's embarrassing enough to admit that Hermanubis had been something akin to an older brother to him, without him, Kasala felt that he was floundering about in the palace and had the intelligence of a scarab.

Nimmi would have snickered and told him that Hermanubis is not his safety blanket.

"I would like to visit this artisan," Deshret states after a moment, and grabs his cape from the arm of his throne.

Kasala blinks and stares in disbelief, "N-Now?"

"Did you not say that this artisan would be working through the night?" he turns his head to flicker heavy gold eyes at him.

"Y-Yes," he swallows and swears inwardly. He did say that somewhere during his babbling before the King got pulled away. "She has a commission due in the morning, it's just that...I haven't told her about this."

Deshret looks amused, "You are springing this...on your friend without proper approval?"

Kasala puts a hand on his face and groans, "She's going to kill me."

He laughs.

Deshret doesn't laugh often, or at least not in public. He remains impassive in expression, indifferent, collected, and cool, but it's never enough to hide the emotion in his eyes. Only with close company does he allow his true emotions to trickle out, and Kasala counts himself lucky that his Lord is comfortable in his presence to do the same.

"Tell me, Kasala," Deshret starts as they leave the palace. "How did you meet this artisan? I find myself curious."

"Nimmi," Kasala says softly. "Her name is Nimmi."

"Nimmi," he corrects with an inquisitive gaze.

"We are childhood friends," Kasala clears his throat. "We were neighbors back when I lived in Naat village. We grew up together. Her father is a baker on South Ct, and Nimmi used to help her father in the shop until we went to the Akademiya. She was the one who encouraged me to go to the Akademiya, actually."

"Oh?" Deshret chuckles and adjusts his cape outside the compound of Khaj-Nisut. "And here I thought I was the one who did that."

"N-No you did, my lord," he breathes nervously and explains. "Nimmi was the one who said I could be a High Priest if I really wanted to, but she thought I should go to the Akademiya with her first so I could get a broader view of the palace and other subjects."

"She was right," Deshret says approvingly.

"I did not have much confidence in my studies growing up," Kasala says after a moment. "Nimmi believed in me and would help me whenever she was free. She's my best friend."

The Lord of the Blazing Sun eyes his High Priest thoughtfully. He had always valued Kasala's honesty with him, and these conversations with him, it would be unfair to say that he wasn't fond of the young priest in contrast with his other High Priests, but he is. There is something so...earnest and youthful about him that softens the edges of his persona.

"This Nimmi sounds intelligent; did she not want to join the palace?"

Kasala laughs at the mere thought – his lord blinks at that – and shakes his head, "Not to be impertinent, my lord, but Nimmi abhors politics and laws. She hates being put in a box, and she's extraordinarily stubborn. It's why she chose to become an artisan. She likes puzzles, technology, and alchemy—breaking the natural rules of science to fit her agenda is her life's mission."

Deshret frowns—she almost sounds like...he pauses. A flare of heat tickles the back of his throat, curiosity, a sharp blade of intrigue nicks the back of his neck, and just as he's about to voice his thoughts, they come to a cottage with a kiln outside where the sound of filing fills the ear in a nonsensical buzz.

"Is she a researcher?"

"I don't think that would be an accurate description of her multiple talents," Kasala says hesitantly and unlocks the gate. "She belongs to the Spantamad Darshan, but she occasionally dabbles in the Kshahrewar department. Her skills that combine smithery and forging are a mystery, even to me."

Deshret hums.

"She's in her workshop," Kasala says and leads the king to the side door where Nimmi is polishing what looks like a whistle.

Deshret blinks when he sees a woman wearing a backless top, with thin silk wrapped around her neck and down her hipbones. Her tattoo of a mandala on her back is not what surprises him the most, but how short her hair is. It's cropped, curls kissing the back of her neck, fae-like in nature, but surprisingly feminine for her slight features. Sumeru women tend to favor long hair, thick and heavy, as it's a strong part of their heritage. But Nimmi wears hers like a crown.

Kasala clears his throat, "Nim, do you think—" He pauses abruptly when he sees her plate of uneaten dinner sitting on the counter, irritation sparking the back of his neck, and asks aghast, "Nimmi, did you skip dinner again?"

"Oh," Nimmi sounds far away, fingers sliding over the piece with a cotton-tipped brush. "Kasala, it's you. Can you hand me the microfiber towel on the bench? I just finished."

Kasala scowls, muttering dark threats under his breath and grabs the rag from the bench, "Nim, you need to eat proper meals! Your father is going to kill me if you waste—"

"Kasala, you're breathing too much, go away," Nimmi says flatly and waves her hand away.

Deshret's lip twitches upwards; the scene vaguely reminds him of well, him and Rukhadevata.

Kasala bristles.

Nimmi finishes wiping the whistle part of the flute and leans back. She snaps her fingers, and the flute hovers above her. She laughs breathily, amazed, "Behold, Kasala, the most annoying but sophisticated commission. The flute catalyst, I shall call it, Wind's Waver."

He snorts, "You're still terrible at naming things, it seems."

"Must you put scarabs on my sandhill?" she sighs exasperated and spins in her chair with the flute in front of her, a glistening white metal. "Now, I'm thinking of staining the flute silver. My client has an anemo vision, and you know that silver is generally a better conductor for an anemo user, but gold is more malleable. What do you think, Kasala?"

Deshret walks closer, "It is true that silver is a better conductor, but I find that using platinum is more durable than silver in catalysts. Surprisingly enough, swords work better with silver plating since it's more soluble under white iron shafts."

Nimmi nods absently, "Reasonable, but if I could use both perhaps, there would be an advantage with respect to elemental particles, but I think the aesthetic—"

She snaps her head up.

Deshret watches her with an even gaze, arms crossed under his chest. He notes that her features are soft and fine despite the harshness of her profession. Smoky claret eyes with flecks of amethyst in her irises signify a pyro vision or perhaps geo, he cannot ascertain. Short hair suits her, he thinks. Thick hair with curls flicking upwards, tousled over the crown of her head, and curling just underneath the top of her cheekbones.

"You didn't tell me you were bringing a friend, Kasala," Nimmi drawls and eyes him warily.

Kasala sputters, "W-What?" He leans into a hurried whisper, "Nim, t-this is the Scarlet King."

"Scarlet King?" Nimmi stares at him blankly as her best friend shoots her a heated look. Suddenly, she blinks rapidly in realization and stands up abruptly. She hisses, almost panicked, "Kasala, why didn't you tell me the Lord of the Desert would be visiting?"

"Please do not be cross with, Kasala," Deshret interrupts with a slightly perplexed expression. "It was a last-minute decision."

"Of course," Nimmi snaps her head back and moves to kneel in front of him, but she wavers when she moves too fast, vision swimming with black dots, but then she's promptly shoved into a chair.

"—irresponsible! I knew I should've left you a snack, always eating like a blasted bird—"

Ah, it was Kasala harping on and shuffling her to a table. He throws out the cold plate of biryani and brings out a tea set. He glares at her, "You will drink this tea and eat one plate of biscuits while I try forage for something edible in your pantry."

"Yes, mother," Nimmi rolls her eyes.

"None of your insolence, Nim!" Kasala scowls and turns to Deshret with a placid expression. "Please have some tea, my lord, it's the red rose tea that you prefer."

Deshret stares at him with mild disbelief at the turn in expression and takes a seat in front of Nimmi while Kasala tinkers away in what he believes is the pantry. He asks quietly, "Is he always like this?"

"Self-righteous and overbearing?" Nimmi sniffs and grabs a biscuit. "Most of the time, yes." She falters, suddenly realizing with whom she's speaking, and clears her throat, "Um, my lord."

Al-Ahmar tilts his head at that and begins to serve the tea without looking at her. She almost tries to stop him so she can serve him, but he does not even respond to her attempts. He inquires, "Do you take sugar in your tea?"

"No," she says after a moment. "Just some milk."

He nods and prepares her a cup, "Do you often forgo nutrition when working?"

It was a reprimand, and a genuine question wrapped in one. Nimmi considers, "Depends on my project. Eating slows down my workflow."

"I used to tell Rukhadevata the same thing," Deshret quirks his lips upwards and sips his tea.

"The Dendro Archon?" she asks with a fraction of surprise and takes another biscuit.

"When I am not holding court or out on campaigns, I work primarily in the innovation department," he explains, and she sips her tea. "The primal constructs were my latest inventions."

"I hadn't realized you built the primal constructs," Nimmi says with a hum and fidgets with a gingery biscuit. "I had thought that the Akademiya worked on them."

"Some consultants are from the Kshahrewar department, yes," Deshret supplements. "But I am the one who crafted that piece of tech; I am currently drafting similar prototypes." He glances at her workstation, "Rukhadevata often comes to pull me out of the laboratory; sometimes I do not recognize that a week or a month has gone by."

"I suppose time moves differently for Gods," she offers with a small smile and muses rather morbidly. "If I didn't eat for a week, I would most likely die."

Deshret blinks at the thought before conceding to that fact.

"Yes," Kasala interjects, carrying a tray of fresh fruit. "That is correct; if I do not stop by every few days, you probably would expire."

"I don't recall having all of this in my pantry," Nimmi comments, amazed.

"You don't," the High Priest says bluntly. "I cut them from a nearby tree. I'm making sabz stew and some naan. You will eat until I am satisfied, or there will be consequences."

"Kasala, I will burn off your clothes."

"I did not know you could cook, Kasala," Deshret remarks with surprise, effectively interrupting a possible squabble. "How domestic."

Nimmi muffles a giggle from her teacup.

Kasala flushes, "I-I can make certain dishes, my lord. Nimmi's father taught me so she wouldn't starve."

"Respect your elders, Kasala, and go to the kitchen," Nimmi glares, fed up with the abuse.

Kasala scoffs and hands her a fork, pointedly, "Eat."

"Begone," she shoos with quick fingers. "Go."

He scowls again and mutters darkly under his breath on his way back to the kitchen. Nimmi nibbles on a slice of fruit, but otherwise does not take another biscuit. She quickly changes the subject before the king can study their behavior. She hums, "At the risk of sounding impertinent—" She didn't look remorseful, he notes. "—but was there a reason that you are visiting my home nearing the witching hour, my lord?"

"Do I need a reason to visit one of my citizens?" Deshret raises a brow.

Nimmi wonders at his audacity.

"It is not very...appropriate to visit a woman in the middle of the night," she pronounces after a moment and finishes her tea.

Deshret makes her another cup of tea, "Kasala was to visit you originally, and I gather that this is a common occurrence. Is that not appropriate?"

"That would require me to view Kasala as a man," she says dryly.

Deshret flickers heavy gold eyes at her, and with the small tilt of his mouth, he contests, "And yet you view me as one."

Nimmi parts her mouth in shock.

She doesn't often find herself struck speechless, but she finds herself nearly squirming in her seat with mortification and bashfulness. Nimmi picks up her tea and tucks her incredulity under her throat before responding, "It is not the same."

"Isn't it?"

Nimmi lets the silence fall for a moment and sips her tea, "You have power over me, not the other way around, my lord."

Deshret sobers up at that response and clears his throat, "Be at ease, please. This is a social visit."

She looks at him with disbelief and repeats, "A social visit."

"Kasala tells me that you are an artisan," he says after a moment, and takes a sliced peach. "What is the difference between that and that of a blacksmith?"

Business. This is business, Nimmi realizes, and relaxes a touch. She tilts her head, "Well, blacksmiths focus primarily on weaponry, artisans are more versatile. Not only do I make weapons, but I can build furniture, art, and occasionally jewelry. That and, well, blacksmiths are typically associated with males, and evidently, I am of the fairer sex."

Deshret cannot quite suppress his smirk of amusement, "Unsurprisingly."

Nimmi flutters her lashes downwards when she smiles.

"I need to order fifty custom weapons."

She snaps her gaze back to him, staring at him in shock, and gapes, "Fifty?"

"This has not been announced, though I am sure there are rumors," Deshret starts. "I plan to expand the Red Sands toward Gavireh Lajavard and the Realm of Farakhkert. The northern part of the desert is corrupt with abyssal creatures and—for lack of better terminology, the area itself is corrupted and rotting. We need weaponry of high quality, better equipped to handle the strength of those beasts."

Nimmi leans back in her chair and considers that, "I see. I do not think I've seen an abyssal creature."

"Currently, they only reside in the north," he answers and pours himself another cup of tea. "I have yet to receive a report of these abyssal beasts trespassing the Desert of Hadramaveth."

"In order for me to curate these weapons," Nimmi begins and puts her fork down. "I need to study these abyssal creatures, field observation. Next, I would need a detailed profile on whoever is receiving the weapon; it is imperative that I know their fighting style, vision, weaknesses, elemental mastery skill, and temperament. Then, I would need their measurements."

Deshret considers the detail Nimmi goes through with glittering ochre eyes and nods, "How long does it take for you to curate a weapon?"

"It depends," she shrugs, and Kasala walks in with a pot of sabz stew, along with fresh naan. "If one has a weapon already, I could work off that piece and modify it to the best of its ability; that could be a one-to-three-day commission, depending on the requirements they have for the weapon. If it's a weapon completely from scratch, it could be from a week to a month."

Kasala serves Nimmi and Deshret each a plate.

"And this flute that you have created," Deshret tilts his lips upwards. "The Wind's Waver?"

Nimmi fights a pout, but her bottom lip juts out without permission and dips her naan into her stew, "That was a month's work. I had no background knowledge on musical instruments, so it took a lot of trial and error to get to that level of detail. Eventually, I had an expert help fine-tune it after I got my hands on a schematic for an instrument."

"It's beautiful," he comments softly. "I would never imagine a flute as a catalyst."

"Thank you, my lord," she smiles at that and shakes her head. "Apparently, musical instruments as catalysts are quite common for users with less volatile elements, such as hydro or anemo."

"I cannot imagine geo as a catalyst."

Kasala blinks at the quip and glances at the two of them, perplexed by the conversation.

Nimmi snickers and takes a bite, "What? A drum doesn't sound plausible?"

Deshret chuckles, "Perhaps."

"Gods, Kasala," Nimmi winces at the pepper climbing up her throat and grabs her tea with a surprising amount of force. "How much spice did you put in here?"

"Are you awake?" Kasala raises a brow.

"Unfortunately."

He smiles pleasantly, "Then, I put enough."

Nimmi glances, but her eyes water when the spice hits the back of her throat in a sting. Deshret pushes a cup of raita towards her and advises, "Add some yogurt, it will cool the spice in the stew."

"Would it not curdle?" Nimmi dumps half the yogurt in her stew and mixes.

"No. That happens only when on an open flame."

Nimmi takes a bite and sighs when she isn't assaulted by a barrage of chillis and cloves. She glares at Kasala, "You better thank the Lord of the Desert for postponing your planned murder. Could you not have drowned me instead? Death by stew sounds pathetic."

Kasala rolls his eyes.

"The intent to murder a citizen is considered treason in the desert," Deshret points out smoothly and spoons his raita into his naan.

"For whom does this apply toward?" Nimmi raises a brow in challenge.

Kasala nudges her knee under the table.

"Either," his eyes dark with kohl glimmer in the firelight.

"Yet, due cause is subject to the cause of murder."

Deshret's lips twitch upwards, "I thought you said she didn't like law, Kasala."

"She doesn't, my lord," Kasala agrees. "But unfortunately, that did not mean she isn't good at it."

"I like knowing my rights," Nimmi says easily and flickers her gaze upwards. "But I suppose the question is: whose life do you value more?"

Deshret pauses, unable to answer when Kasala and Nimmi look at him expectantly.

"My lord?"

The Lord of the Red Sands flickers his gaze away from his High Priest to look at Nimmi, who hides her pleased smile behind her teacup.

—

"You have met this artisan, my lord?" Sobek asks in disbelief and wonders at the oddness of it all. It was a quick-moving action by anyone's consideration. He supposed that the situation in the north is more dire than what he first believed. He points out, "But we just learned of this woman yesterday?"

"Kasala introduced us last night," Deshret says indifferently and flips through his pamphlet of possible transportation routes. "She should be arriving soon."

"What did you think of her, my lord?" The Most-Holy asks curiously. "Did young Kasala find a diamond in the rough?"

"Nimmi," the Lord of the Blazing Sun corrects and tilts his head in remembrance. He says remarks softly, "I daresay she's more than a diamond."

Hermanubis's raises his brows, "My lord?"

"She is interesting," Deshret says thoughtfully and puts a hand underneath his chin. "Intelligent, beyond compare, she has a certain...charm."

"Charm?" Sobek squawks.

"Blacksmiths are eccentric," Al-Ahmar says absently and flickers his gaze to the empty elevator. "Artisans, I suppose...are no different."

Hermanubis hesitates to say something. The rest of the Pillars stare at their king with incredulity. King Deshret's comments on the artisan are highly unusual, to say the least, but there is something off about this entire situation. His lord's comments are warm and...on the edge of something. Something. He cannot put his finger on it.

"—remember to kneel when you enter the threshold," Kasala whispers loudly on the route up to the elevator.

"I am not a child, Kasala," Nimmi's voice reverberates through the walls as they are pulled upwards and shifts on her feet. "I am capable of socializing."

Deshret smiles slightly at that and sits up, "Sounds like them."

Thoth blinks at his expression.

Nimmi, in all her glory, stands in front of him in the throne room, more put together than the early hours of the night, with smoky kohl lashes and stained lips. A deep red halter-style top, with an asymmetrical bottom, a wink of hip peeking through the side of her shirt, and a matching skirt with slits at the side. Her hair is still artfully messy, with tendrils kissing the top of her cheekbones and ears.

Kasala follows behind her.

Deshret stands up abruptly, just before she reaches the threshold. The rest of his Pillars kneel immediately in response. Nimmi pauses mid-step, unsure of what to do – Kasala kneels at the back of her – and the king walks toward her, offering her his hand. Nimmi blinks at the move, momentarily stunned by the appendage and gesture.

"Welcome to Khaj-Nisut," Deshret greets with bright gold eyes.

Nimmi clears her throat, but takes his hand regardless, "Thank you." She glances at the Seven Pillars warily, "This is a bit more than what I expected."

"Perhaps," he closes his hand over hers and escorts her down the throne room. "I have heard that you like a challenge."

"I do not like heading into a fight blind."

"You presume this will be a fight?"

"Isn't it?" Nimmi flickers her gaze to him.

"You believe that your king would lead you into a battle without a strategy?"

Nimmi does not respond but follows him up the stairs to the small daybed west of the window. He motions for her to take a seat, while Deshret sits next to her as soon as she is situated properly. A small space fits in between them as the sunlight pours out from the window behind, warming the back of her neck and sharpening the color of Deshret's moonlit hair. Nimmi is aware that sitting on the same elevation as the king is the highest of compliments, but with the witnesses looking at her as if she came out of a zoo is another.

She swallows thickly.

"This is Nimmi," Deshret speaks first and puts his ankle on his knee casually. "She is the artisan that Kasala recommended yesterday. I have witnessed and judged her work; it is exceptional. Introduce yourself."

Nimmi blinks slowly, unable to make sense of the juxtaposition of his personality.

"I am Thoth, the Ibis King," A man with deep green hair and tinted skin nods in respect. "I rule over the Qusayr Al-Inkhida' faction."

"I am called Bennu, the Most-Radiant, my lady," A woman with straight brown hair and a stern face says kindly. "A saint that monitors the dunes of the desert."

"I am Heryshaf, the Goat King, minister of the court and hand to the Scarlet King," Heryshaf, with his gruff expression, emphasizes. "I rule the east of the tornado."

Deshret narrows his eyes.

"I am Shesepankh, the Most-Holy, my lady," A woman with red hair tilts her head. "I oversee the palace and temples."

"I am Sobek, the Crocodile King," A man with flowing black hair and a scar over the side of his face says. A scowl heavy on his astrocytic features, "I rule Bareh Bal."

"I am—"

"Hermanubis," Nimmi interjects with surprise, and Deshret turns to look at her.

Hermanubis blinks and answers slowly, "Yes. I do not recall meeting you, my lady."

"Kasala has told me much about you," she says lightly, and Kasala inches toward a stone column. Sandstone and ruby, her eyes glitter, "I am so pleased to have met—"

"Nim!" Kasala whispers a shriek from the side, and Nimmi hides a hand over her mouth to hide her grin.

Hermanubis coughs to hide a chuckle, "He's a very diligent student."

"I am aware," she flickers her gaze over to a flustered Kasala and winks. She looks back at Hermanubis with a small smile, "Please, be kind to him. He is so very sensitive."

Kasala makes a strangled sound.

"That is quite enough teasing, Nimmi," Deshret says lightly and leans back into the daybed. "Can you not see how shy our Kasala has become?"

The young High Priest gapes as the king and his best friend, who dare to tease him in front of the Seven Pillars. Nimmi covers her mouth again, but cannot quite muffle her laugh. Kasala covers his face with his hands and makes a noise of distress.

"We should stop before Kasala combusts, my lord," Nimmi swallows her mirth with a mere titter.

"If we must," Deshret exhales and glances at her from the corner of his eye impishly.

She flutters her lashes at that.

Hermanubis has to physically get a hold of himself at his lord's blatant flirting. Good Gods, he doesn't know how many more surprises his heart can take.

Sobek, shellshocked, stammers, "M-My lord, are you sure she is an artisan?"

Nimmi blinks and then, after a moment, "Pardon?"

The Crocodile King ignores her, "My lord, she does not look like a proper artisan. I suppose with the mannish hair and blatant disregard for propriety, she might be some sort of apprentice of sorts. Perhaps, some modification in the finer arts of such, far too slight to be anything but—"

"I would think that a member of the Scarlet King's Seven Pillars would conduct their judgment with not just respect, but decorum," she says quietly but sharply as a knife when she crosses her legs. "I suppose I put too much weight in my expectations. How disappointing."

If that was a slight against Deshret or his Sages, there was nothing to differentiate between the two, and so the words hung in the air with a heavy charge.

Deshret's voice is cold like a tundra and twice as harsh, "You overstep, Sobek. Apologize."

"O-Of course," The Crocodile King falters and kneels. "Many apologies, my lord—"

"To Nimmi."

Sobek pauses mid-monologue, "Pardon?"

"Beg for Nimmi's forgiveness," Deshret elucidates. "Are you incapable of basic comprehension, Sobek? You have wronged, insulted, and degraded my guest. Do you need a lesson in courtesy, or shall I dismiss you from your position?"

Nimmi turns her head to look at the king with surprise at the severity of his chastisement. She didn't expect the king to defend her so fiercely, but she supposed that since he witnessed the vitriol from his own Sage incited embarrassment or anger, his own Pillars would act in such a way. Kasala looks furious from the back of the Pillars, but his position in Deshret's circle is not very well known...

...to the rest of the court.

"Apologies, Lady Nimmi," Sobek sounds tight and tempered. "I meant no disrespect. I merely questioned the validity of your work, since we, the Pillars, have yet to see proof."

Nimmi stares at him for a moment, letting his knees dig into the sandstone of the floor, and allowing the moment to halt in time as she considers how lackluster his apology is. She questions, slightly curious, "Which bothered you more—that I am a woman or that I bypassed court protocol?"

Hermanubis snaps his head to look at Nimmi with a new admiration; so, she does know.

Deshret stills at the question and looks at Kasala with raised brow. Kasala mimics the action of opening and reading a book—indicating that Nimmi knows a lot more than she lets on. To her knowledge, no one has sat on the same height level as King Deshret – sans the other two gods that rule Sumeru alongside him – even moreso those gods never sat in his throne. Ever. She is, at the least, aware of the political maneuvering the Scarlet King just used.

She doesn't know what he's planning, but that doesn't mean she's going to head into a fight without a knife.

The Crocodile King opens and closes its mouth, unable to answer the question. Not with Shesepankh and Bennu very nearly glaring at him from their position on the floor. Nimmi raises her brows when he doesn't respond, defiant until the end, and Deshret—when she glances at him—he was not pleased.

Nimmi glances away from the court to look at Kasala, who grimaces at the awkward silence. She clears her throat, "Did you want me to procure weapons for your Seven Pillars, my lord?"

Deshret shifts on the daybed and replies coolly, "Originally, yes. However, their behavior leaves much to be desired."

Thoth startles hard at that, "My lord, it was only—"

"Before you can shame me any further, you are all dismissed," Deshret interrupts coldly and crosses his arms over his chest. "I will not reward bad behavior, and I most certainly will not tolerate this behavior in my kingdom nor in my home. Kasala, Hermanubis, remain here."

—

The room is silent and heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

"I hope, that you are aware that the behavior of my Seven Pillars is not a reflection of me," Deshret says softly, after the room empties out.

"I am," Nimmi stands up, but doesn't look at him; the muscles in her back pull at the movement. "I highly doubt members of your court would arrive at a woman's house in the middle of the night."

Hermanubis visibly gasps.

A hand grasps her forearm as she takes the first steps of the stairs. Nimmi stills suddenly before slowly turning her head to see Deshret grab her arm. Kasala inches closer to the daybed, uneasy.

"Are you teasing your king?" Deshret asks with a raised brow.

Nimmi tilts her head mischievously and replies, "Am I? Or am I telling the truth?"

Hermanubis stares hard at the two of them.

His king's lips twitch upwards, but otherwise releases her before following her down the stairs. Nimmi walks straight to Kasala and wraps her arms around his neck. She accuses him lowly, "You did not tell me they would be like this."

Kasala sighs exasperated and puts an arm around her waist in comfort, "They are usually more behaved than this."

"That does not fill me with confidence, Kasala," she huffs and pulls back to glare at him.

"I hope, as my Lord said before, you are aware that not all the Sages think like this," Hermanubis says apologetically.

"That is kind of you to say, Hermanubis," Nimmi slides her arms off Kasala to wrap an arm around his waist in tandem with his. "However, comments like the Crocodile King are not unusual."

Deshret eyes the arm around her waist with hot gold eyes and addresses swiftly, "Are you saying that you are used to such vitriol?"

"It's not uncommon," she inclines her head and flickers her gaze to the window. "But it is a reality that I have to live in."

Hermanubis frowns. He's not unused to the passing comments a handful of High Priests and occasionally a member of the Seven Pillars say. Ignorant, perhaps, but dismissive because of the power imbalance. As a Sage, Hermanubis does his utmost to respect his colleagues and those who are of lesser power than him, regardless of their views. As a Tignarian, he abhors the advantages some of the members take on everyday citizens, and while he knows that he should pick a side when it comes to such debates, diffusing the conflict is better than leaning toward the king.

Deshret's lips thin at the answer. He's not so unaware that his Seven Pillars exercise their power, but it is impolite to express these uncouth remarks verbally. He expected his court to speak with respect and cordiality. He says after a moment, "I will rectify their behavior immediately. How do you handle such hostile clients or bystanders?"

The king is careful not to imply any suggestions that she is incapable of handling such antagonistic behaviors simply because she is a woman, but he knows that the violence of men is not discriminatory. Women, often, are targets for such behavior. The Scarlet King has no tolerance towards abuse, especially towards women and children, and if he hears an inkling of such conduct, he would carve out their hearts where they stand.

"My work speaks for itself," Nimmi smiles almost knowingly. "Does it not?"

Deshret nearly rolls his eyes, but shakes his head almost fondly.

Hermanubis interjects before his brain could put pieces of the puzzle together with prompt. There are too many moving parts, he concludes dizzily, and clears his throat, "What is that you plan to do, my lady?"

"My lord intended to introduce me to the Seven Pillars to curate weapons for his court first, a test, I assume," Nimmi explains the subterfuge. "However, I can say that I did not anticipate that amount of blowback from their—the Crocodile King—" she corrects. "It is surprising that he chose to comment on my physical appearance rather than my skills."

Kasala frowns, "Nim, you know that what he says isn't true—"

"I don't care, Kasala," she removes an arm from his waist to rest on her hip and glances at him boredly. "He can talk as much as he wants, but you and I both know that there is no one in Sumeru who can build weapons as I can."

"Except the king," Hermanubis adds in loyally.

Nimmi raises a brow at that before she turns to look at Deshret, whose unreadable expression morphs into an expectant one.

She curls her lips upwards, "Can you?"

"Do my primal constructs not speak for themselves?" he scoffs.

Nimmi laughs lightly at how he used his words against hers. Kasala tugs on the edge of her skirt, the silver of skin slowly revealing toward the sharp jut of her hip, the tug of the string pulls at the crystal embroidery, and Deshret follows the motion with an indifferent face. Kasala frowns, "What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I highly doubt you are going to curate weapons for the Seven Pillars, Nim," Kasala replies, exasperated. "Out of spite, you are going to fashion their instruments last."

Nimmi snickers, "Am I that transparent, Kas?"

Hermanubis mouths the word.

Kasala glares at her.

She shakes her head, "Obviously, there is only one option." She looks up to the sunroof at the top of the pyramid, exposing the expense of her bare neck, and exhales the tension in her shoulders. "And probably the most sensible of them all."

Deshret raises a brow, "Which is?"

Nimmi lowers her head to look at him and says simply, "You."

He blinks slowly, "Me?"

"Kings are to lead by example," she gives a small smile, claret eyes mischievous.

Deshret stares at her, lips twitching upwards at the taunt.

"I should curate a weapon for you first," Nimmi elucidates and crosses her arms underneath her chest. "It makes sense. If my lord uses the weapon that I make, then others wouldn't hesitate to use what I build either."

It's not as if Nimmi doesn't have other clients who could vouch for her. She had numerous clients, but she wouldn't use them as a witness under the observation of King Deshret nor his Pillars. The weapons she had built, while they were made for combat, but they were never made for war. She wouldn't allow the King or his High Priests witness how nervous she actually is to curate the Lord of the Red Sand's weapon.

This would make or break her career.

"It is sound reasoning," Deshret agrees and huffs an amused breath. "I didn't anticipate being the first one to receive a gift from you."

"At the risk of sounding impertinent, my lord," Nimmi exhales a chuckle, the sun warming the reds of her clothes and flecks of amber in her eyes. "That is not very kingly behavior."

Kasala visibly twitches.

Hermanubis clears his throat, "It's logical, my lord. If the Lord of the Red Sands is seen favoring a weapon designed by Lady Nimmi, it would breed trust and curiosity among the citizens, soldier,s and other High Priests."

Kasala jumps in, "And Nim, you could probably charge double the amount for a commission."

"Let's just get through this first, Kasala," Nimmi rolls her eyes and pats his cheek fondly. "I've already explained to my lord about the process in which I began forging last night—er, this morning."

"I remember," Deshret reminds her softly.

She smiles.

—

East of the main palace, there is a training arena on the lower level of the main archives. Nimmi follows Deshret and his High Priests down a series of intricate pathways and high-clearance gates to the training grounds. She had a headache just thinking of how many twists and turns they had gone through.

"Are you telling me that you all train directly underneath the sun?" Nimmi sounds aghast as she looks at the open arena. "Do you not fear sun sickness?"

Hermanubis shrugs, "The helms are to help with our vision and the sun's protection."

"Kasala!" she snaps and puts her hands on her hips. "You complain about my eating habits, yet you are prancing around in the heat and sun without a hydration potion?"

"I do not prance," Kasala says, offended, but shifts awkwardly when the king and Hermanubis look at him.

"Be at ease, Nimmi," Deshret declares smoothly—smooth enough to nearly send shivers down her spine. "We take excellent care of young Kasala."

"Yes, well..." she trails not knowing how to respond to that, but Kasala hides his red face in his hands.

"Shall we get started?" Hermanubis shifts the conversation with badly hidden amusement.

Nimmi blinks and then coughs, "Right. I suppose we can work backwards."

Deshret nods and steps in front of her. He asks with his arms crossed, "How do you want me?"

Her mouth parts open and closes just as abruptly, floundering. For a moment, her brain is filled with the static that one would hear in the middle of the desert, surrounded by scorpions and primal constructs. She flushes hotly at the comment and swallows, "R-Right here is...fine." She turns abruptly to her childhood friend with red cheeks and wide eyes, "Kasala, you can be my assistant."

Hermanubis exchanges a flabbergasted expression with his apprentice before Nimmi shoves a piece of parchment and charcoal at Kasala. Then she pulls out a measuring tape from her magical pocket and scratches the back of her head, stalling.

Gods, she needs to get her wits together. She mentally slaps herself and straightens up. Nimmi then pauses before muttering, "Um, excuse me, my lord."

Nimmi kneels in front of him with her tape and carefully puts a hand on his waist to roll the tape down his thigh. She pointedly ignores the king's inhale when she brushes the inside of his thigh down to his ankle, "Kasala, inseam is thirty-eight."

Kasala scribbles something down, but is transfixed on Nimmi's actions and, more importantly, his king's reaction. His jaw had clenched when she slid her fingers down his thigh and the inside of his leg. She quickly stands up, blinking away the dots at the rush of her blood after measuring his height, and wraps her tape around his waist, thumb ghosting over his navel. She tries to ignore her close her mouth is to his chest, when she drops the tape to his hips and barks out numbers to Kasala.

"Lift your arms outward, my lord," Nimmi stumbles over her words and waves a random gesture. "I need to measure your wingspan."

"Are all of these measurements...necessary?" Hermanubis asks as Nimmi struggles to measure the length of the king's arms. Deshret had watched her like a hawk, how her fingers move, the expressions on her face, and the way she breathlessly tried to expand her tape while remaining professional.

King Deshret is a tall man, much to her secret delight, but he was a good foot shorter than Hermanubis.

"Yes," Nimmi answers absently, then pauses when she peeks at the measurements Kasala wrote down. "Huh, how interesting. Your wingspan is longer than your height."

"Is something wrong with that?" Deshret asks after a moment.

"There's nothing wrong with it, per se," Nimmi hums and glances at the rest of his numbers. "Your proportions show that your torso and legs are of equal length, but your wingspan is two inches longer than your height. Typically, your wingspan is equal to your height."

"Are you saying that the king is not proportionate?" Hermanubis almost sounds offended.

"Yes," she shrugs and grabs the tape to measure his chest. "I suppose not even Gods can be perfect."

"That sounds almost blasphemous," Deshret comments lightly when her fingers brush his bare chest.

"Forty-three," Nimmi says and lifts on her toes to measure from his shoulder to head. She wobbles slightly, and her breath catches in her throat when he places a hand on her lower back to steady her. She looks at him in the eyes for a moment, unmoored in a sea of gold, before tightening her grip on the tape. "It is reassuring, not blasphemous."

"How?"

Nimmi lowers herself back to the ground and curls her lips upwards, "I just need to measure your back, and I should have nearly all of your measurements."

"Nearly?" Hermanubis interjects.

Deshret almost looks annoyed at his High Priest for interrupting, but turns around so Nimmi can measure across his back. She hesitates for the briefest moment before gently sliding her fingers over his moonlit hair. She silently revels in the fine, silky texture, almost reminiscent of spider silk, as she pulls it to the side. She quickly measures across his back to dip in his waist before quickly pulling back, "Your preliminary measurements are done."

Kasala gazes at her wide-eyed when she takes her notes back, and she mouths a hasty swear at him. Nimmi turns to look at the king with pink cheeks and coughs, "Now, it's time for the customization part. Is there a weapon you prefer to use in combat?"

"The polearm," Deshret says simply. "It is the standard weapon for High Priests."

Nimmi scribbles that down, "Do you use any other weapon?"

"I can use all weapons," he tilts his head. "But I prefer the polearm in combat."

"What element do you use?"

Deshret pauses, "I use geo, pyro, electro, and very rarely anemo."

Nimmi pauses mid-stroke and stares at him with incredulity, "You can use multiple elements?"

"Nimmi, this is common knowledge," Kasala nudges her shoulder.

Her pink cheeks puff out, and she rubs the side of her face, "I am not exactly kept abreast of palace politics, Kasala."

"Come," Deshret holds out his hand for her to take and softens his face. "Let's get you out of the sun. I highly doubt you are used to direct sunlight."

Nimmi protests, "My lord—"

He puts a hand on her lower back when she doesn't take it and ushers her to the concave where the spectators and teachers tend to spectate. Hermanubis shoots Kasala a look of concern before following the two of them to the overhead. Deshret does not care for personal contact, nor does he initiate physical contact, with the exception of the other two ruling Sumeru Gods. But here he is, a hand on her back, ushering her to the overhead and helping her sit. Hands curling around her biceps, lingering fingertips, warm and heavy as he leads her into the seat.

Nimmi feels her heart is going to thump out of her chest.

It's a deliberate move.

Like in the throne room, where she took his hand, when he put his hand on her lower back to steady her, to lead her, and unnecessarily help her into her chair. These were methodical movements, superfluous, but chivalrous in nature. Considerate and thoughtful, but no less held with authority.

Deshret sits next to her, knee brushing hers, and the two High Priests rest against the ledge of the box.

Nimmi stares at her paper for a moment and grabs her wits, "Do you always wear gloves?"

He considers that, "Yes, unless we have a spectacle in Khaj-Nisut."

Nimmi writes down covalent handle on her parchment. She can feel Deshret peering at her notes and fights the urge to fidget. "What about a holster? Or do you keep your weapon in a magical pocket?"

"Pocket."

She nods and changes the scribbles to solid writing, under pressure from his observation. She writes some alchemical equations, balancing the weight of the handle with electrical current. She murmurs, "I've never built a weapon that can funnel multiple elements. This...is going to require much planning."

"There is no rush," Deshret says soothingly, whether she intended for him to hear.

"Isn't there?" Nimmi looks up at him. "Primal constructs are not enough. To conquer the rest of the desert means that you have to purge the abyss from Gavireh Lajavard, and you can't do that without weapons strong enough to handle that amount of exertion."

"I never told you about the primal constructs," he says with mild surprise, but then turns to look at Kasala knowingly, who hides behind Hermanubis.

"I assumed," she half-lies to take the heat off Kasala and looks at her notes, away from him. "Do you want a weapon made from scratch or do you want me to customize a current weapon?"

"I believe, for all your efforts, an original piece from you would be most prudent," Deshret explains.

"I will need to build a skeleton then," Nimmi hums and looks at her notes for a moment. "Do you have your polearm with you? I would like to observe your current weapon to make adjustments to the newer one."

Deshret pulls out his polearm from thin air.

Nimmi blinks.

It's brassier than what she expected, decorative, with crystal chunks running through the main system, and it's heavy with black iron at the bottom. She's mildly surprised that the tip of the blade is rounded, to ensure maximum damage rather than a pointed blade that could subdue an attacker. She hums, "Let's stand out in the sun so I can see its energy properly."

And if Nimmi takes advantage of her ogling, circling the king to observe him, his weapon, and his body—well, no one can claim that she was a saint. Her eyes rake down his form, from the broad expanse of his chest, the muscle in his back, to his hard abdomen, down to the sinewy lines of his legs. He really is perfect, she thinks with wonder. Beautiful, tapered, and full of authority.

The lust sinks behind her teeth like a wild thing, but she swallows the fire before it can burn her.

"Your polearm is too short for you," Nimmi concludes with a small frown. "It should reach be a little over a foot taller than you."

Deshret furrows his brows.

"Does that affect his combat skills?" Hermanubis says, perplexed.

"Yes," she nods. "There would be about an eight percent increase in output and a ten percent decrease in exertion. Because your arms are longer than your body, it's normal that your weapon should be a few inches longer than your arms, including your height."

"Maximum efficiency," Deshret says thoughtfully.

"Ideally, yes," Nimmi agrees. "I am surprised, my lord. I thought your weapons were made to be wielded specifically by you."

"The Dendro Archon had this weapon made for me."

"Lord Rukhadevata?" Kasala says with mild surprise. "I didn't realize she dabbled in weaponry."

"She doesn't," Deshret scowls inwardly. "But she is the Lord of Wisdom, and she's knowledgeable in all areas. It is very...trying to argue otherwise with her."

Hermanubis chuckles under his breath.

"Well," Nimmi says lightly. "I suppose you have a valid reason to argue with her now. Your weapon is not suited for your body. I do not think she took into consideration your wingspan, which makes sense now that I see the full picture. I dare say there will be a learning curve when you have the proper measurements, which would mean, for all my impertinence, that the Dendro Archon was in fact, wrong."

The Scarlet King's golden eyes brighten at that, almost anticipating the oncoming argument coming his way, and the fact that he would win against the Lord of Wisdom is a heady enough thought. He looks at her with a certain reverence, an expression that he doesn't quite know what to do with her, but a smirk curls against the stained berry of his lips. He drawls out, low and raspy, "Nimmi, I dare say you are the most interesting person I've come across in years."

She raises her brows despite her pinked cheeks and repeats, "Interesting?"

"Fascinating," he corrects and tilts his head. "I have yet to come across someone bold enough to challenge an Archon and tease a king."

"I do hope I have not overstepped, my lord."

"You have not," Deshret lets the moment hold. "I doubt Hermanubis would allow you to live if you had."

Nimmi flinches, paling rapidly, and takes a step back, unsure about the change in conversation. Kasala stiffens from the side of her, and she doesn't dare look at Hermanubis. She doesn't speak; the lump in her throat prevents her from uttering a word, even a squeak.

The Scarlet King pauses in his perusal of her, "That was a jest."

"O-Oh," she smiles weakly at that, palms damp at her sides. "I see."

"I see that it is a jest in poor taste," Deshret frowns and takes a step forward, lips tilting downwards when he notices that she shifts her position to a sturdier stance, almost as if she is to brace herself. "I would not harm you, Nimmi."

Nimmi doesn't verbally reply; her smile becomes strained, and Kasala inches closer to her. She glances away, "If my lord would allow me to examine the polearm, I can begin my calculations and start on a prototype."

The Lord of the Red Sands' fists clench at his sides, but he inclines his head in agreement and extends his elbows so she can grab the polearm. Nimmi's slim fingers slide over the staff. For a moment, his eyes hold hers in suspension, a thick, weighted blanket over their shoulders, gold against ruby. She grasps the polearm. When Deshret releases his grip on his staff, she staggers under the weight of the weapon and yelps as she nearly faceplants into the sand. Kasala, with his quick hands, grabs her under the chest and hauls her up to help her from losing balance.

"Why," Nimmi wheezes with incredulity and struggles to hold up the polearm. "Is it so heavy?"

Deshret looks bewildered and holds his hands outward, almost as if he were to knock Kasala's hands off her, "I do not understand."

Hermanubis quickly grabs hold of the polearm, taking the weight off Nimmi's shoulders as she awkwardly adjusts her stance. He assesses the weapon, "It has some weight to it, but I would not say that it's...heavy."

Nimmi looks at him, out of breath for half a minute before whirling her head to look at Kasala, "Kasala, you try it."

Kasala furrows his brows, unsurely, but takes the polearm from Hermanubis's hand and falls to his knees when the weight topples him over. He cries out, "What in the bloody—

Deshret snatches his polearm from his High Priest's hand with blatant disbelief. Nimmi quickly helps Kasala up, and he wheezes in response, "It's definitely heavy."

She muses with shock, "How in Teyvat do you even wield that?"

"But it is not heavy," The Scarlet King defends suspiciously and throws the polearm in the air before catching it in his hand without blinking. Hermanubis shoots his king a confused look, unable to understand what the artisan and his apprentice are on about.

Nimmi and Kasala stare at him agape. Nimmi snaps out of it and protests hotly, "But it is." She takes two steps closer – completely forgetting the tasteless jest – and steps in front of him. Deshret's gold eyes widen fractionally, she puts both hands on his polearm right above his grip, "Go on. Let go."

He hesitates, one part surprised at her thinly crafted request as an order, and one part curious. Deshret doesn't move when he releases his grip on the polearm. Nimmi releases a labored breath when the weight pulls her down, her shoulders shake, and her elbows tremble. She pants knowingly and flickers her gaze to the sand, "See. I am sinking."

They turn to look at the sand swallowing her legs, right up to her knee-line. With a blink, Deshret grabs his polearm and wraps an arm around her waist, swiftly pulling her into his chest and out of the sand. Nimmi doesn't dare breathe, not when she's flat against his bare chest, mouth right at his sternum, and his arm heavy around her waist. She looks up, scorched rubies against molten gold.

Deshret is close enough to count the tiny moles on her face. One under her left eye, one on the right side of her other eye and one right near her chin. A perfect triangle, he notes with wonder. With his free hand – because magicking his polearm away was more instinct than it was to have an able appendage – he lifts his chin upwards, exposing the elegant length of her throat and asks softly, "Are you hurt?"

Nimmi could burst into flames with how hard her heart is pounding – exertion or nerves, she cannot tell – and shakes her head with his fingers still grasping her chin. His lips curl upwards at that, a cross between—not a cross, she thinks rapidly, it is a small, impish smirk. She is going to implode; she thinks with mild horror. She's hot and cold, gooseflesh running up and down her arms, across her back, and over her cheekbones. Gods, he's far too attractive to—

"You are not human," Nimmi blurts out in realization with an owlish blink and becomes aware of her hands against his chest.

Deshret raises his brows in response.

"That is why the weight of the polearm did not bother you or Hermanubis," Nimmi quickly removes herself from the king's grip. "Kasala and I are mortal; our strengths vary."

"I didn't realize that weapons vary on user," Hermanubis says after a moment.

Nimmi doesn't look at him to categorize the expression that goes with that tone of voice. Instead, she focuses on the target practice on the other side of the arena; Gods, just how strong is the Lord of the Red Sands? She almost doesn't want to find out. The anticipation builds in her fingertips up to the tip of her tongue, and she bites down to dissipate the emotion, "I will have to weigh the polearm at a later date, but my last question to complete the preliminary measurements is the use of a homing mechanism."

A pause.

"A homing mechanism?"

Nimmi turns to look at the king after calming down and nods, "Yes, I think it's better if I demonstrate."

Kasala maneuvers to the left side of her and the King, with his remaining Sage mirrors the movement on the other side. She pulls out her bow and arrow from her pocket. Deshret's mouth parts open when he sees the tattoo on her back illuminate against the bronze of her skin – a pyro user, he confirms – and the blazing arrow cuts through the air. Just before the arrow can hit its target, Nimmi waves two fingers sideways, and the arrow flies back to her hand.

The hilt was safely in the palm of her hand.

Hermanubis gapes.

"Like that," Nimmi nods and magicks her arrow away before turning back to look at her party. "If you throw your polearm, I can use a combination of alchemy and some mechanics to create a homing print in the shaft."

Deshret looks at her with smoldering, sun-burnt eyes and demands, "How?"

She brightens at that, "It's a combination of an alchemical equation that has to do with elemental properties, by using that along with a mechanical blueprint for a detection compass...um," she looks at Kasala, who looks rather strangled. She coughs, "Perhaps another time, my lord...it's rather complicated."

Deshret finally glances at his High Priests, Kasala, who looks rather put-out under the heat, and Hermanubis, who keeps his eyes locked across the arena. He agrees, "Yes, perhaps you can tell me over lunch."

Nimmi blinks rapidly, "Lunch?"

"Yes, lunch," he says, amusedly, and puts a hand on her lower back to usher her out of the sun. "If what Kasala says is to be true, then you have a bad habit of skipping meals."

She glares at Kasala, who looks away from her. She fidgets a little as they leave the training grounds for the long path toward the main palace, "I usually work through lunch."

"For a mind like yours, that is akin to abuse," he says distastefully and presses his fingers rapidly on the keypad to another room. "You must take care of yourself, Nimmi. Such a priceless existence must be handled with care."

Nimmi barely manages to stammer out, "You embellish, my lord."

She glances at her best friend with slightly panicky eyes and back to the front. Kasala mimes some passionate gestures to Hermanubis, incredulous and slightly afraid. Hermanubis makes a gesture of confusion, silently wording his own shock toward their king's behavior. 

"I do not embellish," Deshret scoffs. "At least not verbally, you may ask Kasala if you need confirmation."

Kasala stumbles slightly over a step, blindsided by the question, and coughs, "Nim, my lord...always says what he means. Very rarely does he not."

"I...see," Nimmi doesn't know what to say to that and clears her throat. She asks the obvious question, "And where are we going? I am not familiar with Khaj-Nisut."

"The palace is constructed into three factions," Deshret explains patiently and drops his hand from her lower back to lightly grip her elbow. He murmurs pointedly to the steps with lapis humming with primal energy, "Watch your step."

Nimmi grips his bicep in response and adjusts her footing to follow him up the stairs.

"The leftwards building is the archive, besides records and books, it's solely devoted to the departments that oversee the desert. Commerce, trade, finance, and agriculture are some of the main hubs," he continues, and walks with her through the left corridor. "The middle of the compound is the throne room, which has a banquet hall for large events and a training area for certain programs. The right of the faction, where we are, is my home."

"It's very," Nimmi pauses to take in the high arches and wistful white curtains. She finishes half-heartedly, "Grand."

"So Rukhadevata tells me," Deshret says amusedly. "She was appalled at how dark the throne room is and demanded that I put large windows in the palace."

"She had the right idea," Nimmi replies with a small huff and glances out at the window. "You can see the setting sun from this side of the compound and the moonrise."

He looks at her for a moment, with an indecipherable expression, and curls his lips upwards. He slides open the sunroom door and motions for her to walk first, a hand returning to the small of her back, "They say that the setting sun, in the desert among the warmth of the sand, burns red among the sun's rays. They say the morning star is angry that it must leave the earth's embrace, but to quiet in awe when the moon rises among the silver of the sands. That the Scarlet King must be pleased that such heavenly forms beckon for his attention."

"Do they?" Nimmi asks and pinkens when he pulls out a chair for her. She takes a seat, and Deshret takes the other next to her, rather than across.

"Do they what?" he asks absently and snaps his fingers for the servants to start serving food. He looks at his High Priests with a flat expression and lifts his brow in irritation. He demands, "Are you two waiting for an invitation?"

Kasala opens his mouth and then snaps it shut when Hermanubis pushes him toward a seat next to him, across from the king and his guest.

Deshret nods his head approvingly and turns his head to look at Nimmi, "Apologies, Nimmi. What was your question?"

Hermanubis drops his grape on the table in shock. In all his years of serving the Gods, the palace and Sumeru—never once has Hermanubis ever heard the Scarlet King apologize. Not to the Lord of Flowers and not to the Dendro Archon, no one.

"The heavenly forms," Nimmi looks at him for a moment before spooning some rice onto her plate. She repeats, "Do they beckon for your attention?"

Deshret turns his head to look at her; she doesn't look back at him, but she lowers her lashes to hide her expression, and he finds himself wanting to lift her chin just to see her eyes. He pours her a cup of wine in turn and replies after a moment, "Not all of them."

She blinks mid-bite into her salad and asks with a raised brow, "Not all?"

His lips curl upwards secretly, "Not the one that truly matters."

Nimmi looks away, unwilling to decipher his expression, and nibbles on a cucumber. She pokes a grayish green spread with her knife and hums, "This is new. I've never seen this at any of the restaurants here."

"It's roasted eggplant and mint," Deshret answers, almost bashful. "It's not a...known Sumerian food."

"Are you saying," she replies mischievously. "That this is the Scarlet King's favorite dish?"

His cheek twitches in an attempt to tamp down his smile, "Perhaps."

"Did you come up with it?" Nimmi spreads some of the dip on her flatbread with a chunk of meat.

"I did," Deshret confesses and quickly spoons some yogurt on her plate. "When I was expanding the eastern territory towards the Hypostyle Desert, on the campaign, it wasn't unusual to have cooks and chefs with us to serve the soldiers. However, I do cook my own meals occasionally when the time comes for it, especially in areas that are not secure for safety reasons, and this is one of my own recipes—"

She coughs when the spice hits the back of her throat and quickly dips her bread in the yogurt to cool her tongue.

"—and it's full of harra fruit." Deshret finishes dryly, a small grimace mars his lips as he scoops more yogurt onto her plate.

Nimmi swallows another mouthful of yogurt and makes a pitiful sound, "I think I just burned a hole through my esophagus."

"Impossible."

She pinches her nose, hoping the burning sensation would stop, and says pitifully, "You did this on purpose."

"Did you just accuse me of arson?" Deshret asks tonelessly; his two High Priests pale at the question.

"You didn't warn me," Nimmi puffs out her cheeks and nibbles on her cucumbers. "You spooned the yogurt on my plate knowing that I would need it as I made myself a bite with a mountain of that...concoction and watched me eat it."

He chuckles ruefully, "Perhaps. I should have been more mindful of your tastes since early this morning." He hands her a cup of padisarah pudding from a silver chalice, "Apologies, Nimmi."

Nimmi's eyes light up at the cooling pudding and accepts the cup with greedy fingers, "You are forgiven, my lord. Feel free to send your regrets with more sugar."

"Now, now," Deshret wags a finger and makes himself a pita with grilled lamb. "Didn't the adults teach you that too many sweets are not healthy for a strong body?"

"I doubt one could call myself strong-bodied," Nimmi playfully rolls her eyes and gestures to her fine features. "Kasala had called me feeble once."

Kasala almost chokes on his fatteh at the accusation and retorts waspily, "I did not!"

"Nim, your weak disposition leaves you vulnerable in the rainforest. Sit before the wind takes you," Nimmi mimics his gruff and disappointed tone. "I will have you know that I am not feeble. Honestly, you make it sound like I am an old woman, Kasala."

Hermanubis nods in agreement.

Deshret turns his gaze back to Nimmi, scrutinizing her with deep ochre eyes, and raises his fingers to brush the side of her cheek—his pinky finger dragging painstakingly across the corner of her mouth. At the corner of her lips, a dried patch of padisarah pudding hangs and falls onto the side of his finger. He envelops the finger into his mouth absentmindedly and turns back to his plate unbothered, to make another pita pocket. "She is more waif-like, Kasala."

Hermanubis drops his pani puri on his plate, the shell cracking against the brass.

Kasala's mouth hangs open.

Nimmi, is dizzy with the blood rushing to her cheeks, and she tightens her grasp on her spoon before digging rather violently into her pudding. She is feverish, and her skin is ultra-sensitive to the light breeze from the window. Heart pounding and ears fuzzy, she could hardly focus on the matter at hand. She doesn't know—she cannot tell if Deshret did that on purpose or if he was aware of his own actions. Somehow, she finds the latter to be less believable.

She digs and digs deep to find her admonishment. Nimmi flushes hotly, "I am not waif like! I have to be strong enough to procure weapons, my lord; smithery is not an easy profession."

Hermanubis jumps in to diffuse – he waves his hand inwardly – the tension, "She has a point, my king. To bend metal under such harsh conditions requires a lot of upper body and core strength."

To Nimmi's relief and dismay, Deshret doesn't look back at her and sips a mouthful of wine, "She is an archer."

"Yes," Kasala blurts out and blinks rapidly into his stew. "Yes, Nim...is an archer."

"Kasala?" Nimmi asks with a trace of concern.

"I think the heat is getting to me," he says weakly, unable to look at anyone.

"See, I told you," Nimmi scolds lightly and puts her chalice down to walk over to the other side of the table, ignoring the king's frown. She crouches to grab Kasala's face and puts a hand on his forehead. She murmurs, "You are a bit warm." She scowls and stands up to lean over him with arms crossed under his chest, "For all that you harp on about me not taking care of myself—the kettle is calling the pot black, no?"

"Not the time, Nim," Kasala whimpers pathetically and rests his head into her stomach. Gods, he doesn't know if it's the heat, the fact that his king and lord is flirting with his childhood friend, or the fact that Nimmi is pretending very terribly not to like it.

His head spins with far too much information for him to process.

Her fingers automatically wrap into his dark hair and stroke his scalp soothingly. Her features tighten with worry, and she frets, "Do you need a healer, Kas? A doctor? Surely there must be one near the palace."

"He's fine," Hermanubis interjects before his king can say something he cannot take back. "I will care for him, Lady Nimmi. My lord, and you must continue your intelligence gathering into the abyssal creatures for your research."

Nimmi purses her lips, "Yes, but—"

"It is nothing, a bit of rest can take care of," Deshret interjects and puts his napkin on the plate. He stands up to walk over to the two of them and notices that when Kasala raises his head, "You do look a bit dazed, Kasala."

Nimmi bites her lips and crouches again to cup his face, "He's right, Kas."

Deshret puts a hand on her lower back, fingers just barely grazing bare skin, and her breath hitches against Kasala's forehead. Kasala blanches immediately, looking vaguely ill at the sound, and pulls his face back from her face to wobble backwards closer to Hermanubis. Nimmi slowly stands up, Deshret's hand moving over her back in a caress at her movements, and she just barely—barely manages to stop the shudder.

"We have a healer in the south corridor near the kitchens," Hermanubis says after a moment and focuses his attention on Kasala. "I shall let him know. He will likely need to take a hydration potion and be urged to rest."

"Good," Deshret says firmly before Nimmi can protest. "We will continue as scheduled. Nimmi, finish your sweets. I will call for the cavalry."

When Deshret leaves to do whatever that means, Kasala grabs her hand and glares at her, "I have yet to turn thirty of age, and you have me inching closer and closer to my grave."

Nimmi looks at him, flabbergasted, and gapes, "What did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do!" Kasala whispers frantically, on the verge of a meltdown. "Gods, your father is going to kill me."

"Don't bring Baba into this!"

"I have never seen my lord act this way before," Hermanubis staggers faintly with surprise, though the way his ears flicker tells a very different story. "I feel almost uncomfortable in the room with you two."

"We met yesterday—this morning," she corrects and whispers. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything! Has he always been so...roguish?"

Kasala blanches.

Hermanubis shakes his head and replies, bewildered, "It's like he's a completely different person."

"And what was that licking?!"

"I am going to vomit," Kasala says plainly, disassociating from the horridly subtle flirtations of the king against his sister. "Violently."

"Perhaps you should head toward the healers instead," Deshret returns with his helm in one hand. A concerned look on his face, "He may need a sofral potion."

Kasala stands up immediately, Nimmi stumbles backwards at the suddenness of his movements in an attempt to avoid getting clipped in the chin, and falls back into a warm, hard chest. Nimmi gasps lightly at the sensation of skin on skin, but Deshret's hand is heavy on her stomach, steadying her. Lingering.

Kasala blurts out, horrified by his lord's hands on his best friend, "I am fine, my lord. It was just a brief moment of dizziness."

"I don't need a brief moment of dizziness when you are out in the sun, Kasala," Deshret says, displeased, and drags his hand off Nimmi to lead her to the open doors of the gallery. "It is a liability I cannot afford to have."

Hermanubis looks a bit put out at the question, "Will you send for guards? I can have a list of available soldiers from the reserve ready for a trek towards the mountains in twenty minutes."

"Unnecessary," Deshret replies and slides open the door to the steps. "It is only a scouting mission, and I would rather not use soldiers who are inexperienced in fighting abyssal creatures."

"My lord, you are going into the mountains unescorted?" Kasala asks faintly and turns worriedly to Nimmi, who looks unbothered.

"Yes," he replies with a raised brow and flickers his gaze over to Nimmi. "Do not worry, Kasala, I will take excellent care of Nimmi."

That is exactly what he is afraid of.

For all of Kasala's dramatic tendencies, he had never imagined that his lord had been planning to go to the Temir Mountains alone with Nimmi. It is not unusual for his king to disappear for a small pocket of time, knee-deep in research. Campaigns were always led by a high-ranking High Priest or the King himself; his lord would never allow anyone to go into battle without a fighting chance. Now that Kasala's put himself in a position where he's seen as incompetent, the hands he has left to play have diminished into nothing.

"A horse?" Nimmi asks with surprise, eyeing the mare in front of the fountain. "I heard that you usually use a chariot."

"Only when there is baggage or groups of people," Deshret agrees, pleased with her knowledge and glances at her from the corner of his eyes. "And I have neither."

"Oh?" Nimmi says, more amused than offended. "I am not considered baggage, my lord?"

"No," he huffs, amusedly with a small smirk. "Just that, if you are one, then it is one that I wouldn't mind carrying."

She flushes something fierce and looks away, minutely pleased.

Kasala is going to jump out of his skin.

"This is Hema," Deshret introduces his mare to Nimmi. "Have you ridden a horse before?"

"Yes," Nimmi answers and tilts her head. "Though not side-saddle."

"I would prefer you in front, where I can hold you," Deshret answers and pats Hema's head. Nimmi swallows thickly at the confession, "But because we most likely will not be trotting up the mountains, you should be seated behind me to avoid receiving the brunt of the force."

She privately agrees.

Deshret hands Hermanubis his helm and secures the saddle on Hema before pulling off his robe abruptly. Long corded muscles shade and lighten under the afternoon sun, moonlit hair flying haphazardly at the dramatic action. He brings his white, cotton-y robe forward, dusting out the folds before sweeping it over Nimmi's shoulders.

Nimmi can hardly look away now, when he tilts her chin upwards with a wayward finger to dip the string under her jaw against her clavicle.  

Al-Ahmar's fingers swiftly tie the robe in front of her chest, securing the knot with a gold buckle and gingerly pulling the hood over her head. He says softly, "To protect you from the sun."

Nimmi smiles shyly before nodding her head.

He smiles back and takes his helm back from Hermanubis to secure it over his head.

She exhales a chortle, "That's better, your hair is quite blinding in the sun."

Deshret startles into a laugh – Hermanubis and Kasala startle at the rare sound – and shakes his head, "I have yet to hear that comment before. Is it a compliment, Nimmi? Or a slight?"

"Which do you prefer?" Nimmi chuckles and walks closer toward the horse.

Kasala grabs her arm and hisses, "Nimmi, I cannot let you go without a chaperone."

"A chaperone?" she asks, bemused. "A chaperone for what?"

He opens his mouth and closes it when he notices the king turn to look at them from his position on the horse, "To...protect you!"

"I am capable of fending for myself, Kasala," Nimmi scoffs. "Besides, I will be with the Scarlet King. I daresay I will be the most protected person in the desert."

"That is not what I meant," Kasala replies heatedly and rubs a hand over his face, vexed. He drops his voice to a whisper, "I meant...your virtue."

Nimmi stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before bursting into a fit of laughter. She laughs for a few seconds, hand on her stomach as she empties out her mirth, and then pats his face roughly with the palm of her hand, "You're so funny, Kasala. I will see you later tonight."

Kasala stares at her, flabbergasted, before Deshret offers her one gloved hand to help her up on the horse. Nimmi swings her leg over the saddle, and he tucks one gloved hand under a knee to push her forward, so that her back arches upward. He wraps her arms around his waist and drops his arms so she can rest her chin on his shoulder.

Deshret turns his head to look at his High Priests, the side of his face brushing Nimmi's nose, and says, "We shall be back before sundown, if any later, do not be alarmed. Sandstorms are common near the tornado." He flickers his gaze over to Kasala, "Take care of Kasala, Hermanubis. I do not want him leaving the palace until I am back."

Hermanubis inclines his head, "Of course, my lord."

"Behave for Hermanubis, Kas," Nimmi adds in with a small smile. "The adults are off to an expedition."

Kasala scowls darkly at that.

Deshret laughs low under his breath and turns his head to face the sun, snapping the leather reins.

Hermanubis wisely does not mention that the king could control the sandstorms, for his apprentice’s head might explode.