The wafting scent of spiced lentils and fluffy flatbread welcomed Kigal as she exited the temple compound. Dragging a hand across her face, she found Nergal leaning against one of its mudbrick walls. Now that her nerves were quieting, she could almost feel the weariness settle into bags under her eyes—bags that stress would have no doubt made thrice as worse by now, were she mortal.
“You look like hell.” Nergal came to her side with a grin that shone in the torchlight.
When she didn’t answer, rubbing her temples with a sigh instead, his face fell, brow knotting. She dropped onto a bench near a cart selling buttered flatbread.
Nergal rubbed the back of his neck. “I was only joking. You look stressed is all.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, that’s not what I—You’re very—”
“Very what?”
The bowstri
