We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Oath of Fire, a new sapphic fantasy by K Arsenault Rivera—available now from Forever.
All Psyche ever wanted to do was help people, whether it’s in her job as a therapist or online as an influencer. So when a mysterious invitation arrives from the most captivating man she’s ever seen, asking for her assistance, she can’t refuse. But Psyche soon finds herself in a world of Courts, full of debauchery and treachery, where her only option for survival is to swear a strange oath to a mysterious masked woman named Eros.
Now Psyche has to figure out how to fulfill her end of her bargain with Eros, while trying to navigate having a flame-winged goddess show up in her tiny Brooklyn apartment. Uncanny vistas, a spacious mansion, and decadent experiences are all Psyche’s for the taking—so long as she helps Eros, and so long as she never looks under Eros’s mask.
But how long can she keep her curiosity at bay when Eros makes her heart tremble?
“…Bargain?”
“You’re learning this entirely too fast, do you know that?” Eros says. She picks up a slice of fruit and feeds it to Psyche, who is only too happy to take a bite. Juice dribbles down her chin. “Let’s hear it.”
Psyche wipes some of the juice away with her thumb. “If you take me to see the Court itself, then I’ll forgive you.”
In this world there are certain people who have always gotten their way. The minds of these lucky few cannot fathom that anyone might deny them, as no one has, and so their convictions, once voiced, are always decisive.
Eros is one such woman. She picks up Psyche’s thumb and slips it between her lips with the absolute confidence of someone who knows how much she’s wanted.
Thoughts dissipate like so much foam. Eros’s mouth is hot and her tongue is hotter, swirling over the smooth skin as if savoring the remnants of the juice. Blood shoots straight to Psyche’s aching core. She can’t keep her breath from catching or her cheeks from flushing.
“Y-you’re… making a good argument…”
Eros hums around Psyche’s finger. Then, smiling, she begins to suck.
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Oath of Fire
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It’s no use trying to fight it—not that Psyche wants to. She starts to grind in Eros’s lap, and Eros holds her tighter. For what feels an eternity, Psyche gives herself over to this lick of flame—until, at last, Eros withdraws.
In that instant Psyche notices two things.
First, the world is so, so much colder when she isn’t consumed by the fires Eros provides her.
Second, just before Eros withdraws, Psyche feels the pressure of teeth. Sharp teeth. Not enough to cut, no, but enough to make their presence known.
Her mind races along with her heart. Psyche swallows, trying to catch her breath. “D-does that mean…?”
“A question for you before I answer yours,” Eros says. She rights her mask, but for a moment there Psyche thinks she sees her tongue. “Do my teeth frighten you?”
She doesn’t have to think to answer. “No,” she says. “I want… I want to feel more. B-but not now!”
Eros nods. She sits up, allowing a little space to come between them, then looks out onto the shore. “Beneath the waves, everyone’s teeth are even sharper than mine,” she says. “And while no harm will come to you while you’re with me, they will press their luck so far as the laws allow. Are you certain you wish to see?”
Psyche’s blood does not yet cool. That pinpoint feeling…what would those teeth be like on the other parts of her? No, no, she has to focus.
“As long as I’m with you, there’s nothing to fear,” Psyche says.
“Then I will gladly show you. But,” says Eros. She holds aloft a finger. Psyche considers turning the tables on her. Wouldn’t it be fun to get Eros to moan, for once? “We will need permission from the King of Waves himself. He granted me only the use of the surface; anything more will need negotiations.”
Eros moves Psyche off her lap to stand—but Psyche stops her with a hand on the chest. Straddling her, Psyche waves a finger. “I want to try talking to him.”
“The King of the Waves?” Eros says.
“If I’m the one asking the favor, then I should be the one to speak to him. I did a bunch of reading! You know, they have all sorts of manuals on how to talk to you guys these days. Most of them are kinda…weird. But it’s how I summoned you the first time.”
She leaves out her little discussion with the Queen of Flame—best, she thinks, if Eros doesn’t have to worry about that.
A moment’s silence. The giddy impossibility of what she’s requested brings her joy; she looks out onto the waves expecting any moment to see a sea monster cresting them.
But there is only Eros staring up at her with unblinking eyes, Eros drawing long, considering breaths, and the churn of the red sea.
“I know it’s probably impossible,” Psyche says. She cups Eros’s face. “But I really want to try. Will you let me try?”
The sun paints Eros’s mask with its unnatural colors. Its expression does not—cannot—change. But she does touch Psyche’s cheek.
“Psyche,” she says. “Never look to me for permission. I would have you doing what you like, being who you like—or I won’t have you at all.”
How can she say such things without a hint of irony? For her voice is warm and confident and full, and hearing it makes Psyche feel like she’s the god in this relationship. Her mouth opens, but she can think of nothing to say. Eros has struck her between the ribs with tenderness.
Eros’s thumb traces Psyche’s cheekbone. “I would love to see what you do with it. And should anything go amiss, rest assured you’ll be in no danger. I’ll save you.”
Warmth blossoms in Psyche’s chest. She nods. “All right, then,” she says. “I won’t let you down. What’s this guy’s name?”
“Poseidon,” Eros answers. “Though we don’t usually address the Court Sovereigns by name. My mother being an exception.”
Psyche clambers off Eros. The boat shifts beneath her feet as she walks to the bow, but she takes it slowly. Part of her wonders if the oldest parts of her blood are happy with the situation. Somewhere in her lineage there is a sailor besides themselves with joy at the sight of her. What would her followers would think? Maybe she should take a photo or two…?
No, it can wait until after she’s settled matters with Poseidon.
She takes a breath. “Oh Lord of the Waves, Watcher of the Seas! To test my own bravery, I want to visit your court, and I’m willing to offer you a deal!”
For long moments, nothing: only the gentle breath of the sea, the chirping of the dolphins, and her own breathing. Had she erred? Perhaps she wasn’t formal enough? Doubt creeps in.
And then the roiling of the sea shakes it loose.
Gone, the calm—the waves are rippling now, beating against the little boat’s hull. The red beneath pulses with unnatural light. Yet when she gazes down upon the light, she sees that it is banded, not solid, as if she is between the ribs of a massive body.
She does not hear the voice so much as feel it: her bones rattle within her flesh, her lungs spasm. When she was a teenager, she’d always stand as close to concert speakers as she could get. This being’s voice is louder, heavier than any of the stacks she’d stood near before. It is less a voice and more a force.
“Who calls upon the King of Waves, and what does she offer in exchange for safe passage?”
Psyche staggers backward. Her hands rise to her ears, though it’s no use—the voice echoes throughout her body. Yes, she is afraid, but there is a giddiness in her heart, too. She is at the top of a roller coaster staring down at the drop.
So it is that with her hands covering her ears, she nevertheless shouts back at the god, “My name is Psyche. I swore an oath with Eros of the Court of Flame and am under her protection. She tells me the two of you go way back!”
The sea rumbles once more; the dolphins can no longer pull the boat along against the current. “Ah, her Oathsworn. I have heard tell of you, Psyche of the mortals. Eros has been kind to me where others have not, and at great peril to herself. That is why you have such bounty before you. You would ask more of me?”
If she squeezes her thumb, it’s a little easier to bear the onslaught of Poseidon’s voice. “The food was delicious, thank you so much! Definitely five stars!” she shouts back. “But that was a favor you granted Eros on my behalf. I’m humbly requesting a favor from you on Eros’s behalf. Completely different.”
The sea underfoot rises and falls like the laugh of a sleeping giant.
“So it is,” comes Poseidon’s voice. “What is it you would offer me, Oathsworn?”
Psyche takes a moment to think, standing at the bow of the ship, rubbing her chin. What would a god want? What would this god want? She casts a glance at Eros. Her masked companion stands within arm’s reach, looming, saying nothing.
Sometimes when you start a sentence, you know what you mean to say by the end of it. Maybe she’ll find her way to something proper.
“In exchange for a single mortal’s day within your Court and safe harbor there, I offer you…” Psyche begins. And just as she expected, she realizes there’s only one thing she can offer. “Pleasant conversation and company for that span!”
A diplomat’s upbringing is not an easy one. As a hilt is shaped on a lathe, so are they shaped for their duty—using people as a means of getting what they want. A diplomat of ten years would have extracted from Poseidon a deal that brought bounty to her home; a diplomat of twenty would have used this opportunity to seize untold power with a carefully worded request.
Psyche has been shaped. She has had the disagreeable parts of herself trimmed away, the rough parts smoothed, and what is left is a polished carving that the world cannot help but enjoy. She knows this. And she knows that, with enough time, she could have found a way to strike a better deal.
But more than that—she knows she doesn’t want to.
Eros has taught her how tiring a god’s dealings can be. If Poseidon is anything like Eros at all, he must want something simple. Something he doesn’t have to worry about.
Someone else—someone more prone to worrying, more calculating—may have trembled in anticipation of the answer. Psyche does not. She merely takes Eros’s hand, smiles at her, and waits.
The sea rises and falls. She hears the raucous bray of laughter.
“Eros, you’ve chosen an interesting one, haven’t you?” he says. “It has been centuries since someone spoke to me in such a way.”
“The most interesting of all,” Eros answers. “Utterly without fear. Do you accept her terms, within the confines of her oath?”
“I do,” he says.
A great pit opens in the sea beneath them—and at its base, the Court.
Excerpted from Oath of Fire, copyright © 2024 by K Arsenault Rivera.
