Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  Then I remember last night's humiliating dinner in the audience chamber with Tadekha, when I rubbed myself all over Aron like a cat in heat and he petted me between my thighs like it was some sort of obligation. Ugh. I fling myself off of him, rolling to the ground.

  I flop down on my back, staring up at the sky. The rope swings back and forth high above, taunting me. The Citadel itself is beautiful in the sunlight, glittering like a translucent many-tiered wedding cake floating in the deep blue sky. It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen…too bad it's filled with assholes. Or just one big asshole. I think of lovely, dainty Tadekha and the smug smile on her face. I think of the adoring shimmering-winged angel women she surrounds herself with. I think of last night, when Tadekha's anchor eagerly planted her face between the goddess's thighs and muff-dived as if her life depended on it.

  Next to me, Aron staggers to his feet and dusts off his plain red tunic. His hands slap at the fabric and it sends a wave of dust into my face, causing me to choke and cough again. "It is time to go," Aron tells me.

  I don't want to get up just yet. In fact, it would be great if I didn't have to move again, ever. "Everything hurts," I tell him. "Let's give ourselves a few minutes, okay?" The thought of hauling myself to my feet and walking these endless dirt plains seems like a terrible idea. Damn it all, maybe we should have taken our chances with the guards, tried to shanghai the Citadel from Tadekha's grasp.

  "Get up," Aron says bluntly. "There is no time to waste."

  Isn't there? The Citadel is peacefully drifting overhead, and while there are no birds chirping, it's still rather serene. I want to stay here just long enough to have a nap and let my throbbing, aching body recover.

  As I stare up at the floating crystal city, something small and dark flies through the air toward it. For a brief moment, I think it's a bowling ball, and that makes me pause, because why would a bowling ball be flying through the air—

  A crashing sound like a thousand glasses breaking interrupts the silence. Overhead, I watch as one delicate tower collapses on itself and a rain of crystal chunks fall from the sky overhead toward the ground.

  Toward me, stretched out on the ground.

  I gasp, but before I can do anything, Aron's covering me with his body, and there's a tinkle like windchimes all around us as the crystals rain to the dirt.

  "What was that?" I manage to choke out, covering my mouth with one gauzy sleeve. The air's filled with dust and crystal fragments.

  "Trebuchet," he tells me, voice abrupt. His expression is that pissy, impatient look he always wears, and I know what he's thinking—he just had to save my ass again. "It is time to go."

  "Let's go," I tell him faintly. I don't want to be underneath the Citadel as it's attacked. That might be the worst place possible—death from above and death from the troops that approach closer and closer.

  Perhaps escape wasn't such a good plan after all.

  20

  We walk across the dusty, crumbly hills of the Dirtlands. Or at least, Aron walks. I sort of stagger behind him, my entire body throbbing with pain. If he's hurting from his fall, he doesn't show it in the slightest. His form is as straight as ever, his clothing unblemished by what we’ve gone through. Meanwhile, my filmy dress is torn in several places, and the hem is covered in dirt. I'm sweaty and the fabric sticks to me in unpleasant places. Elegant, I'm not.

  How I look doesn't matter, though. All that matters is getting away from the Citadel because it is most definitely under attack. Every so often, there's a sound like a crash of windchimes, and when I turn back to look, smoke pours up from one of the graceful, spindly towers of the floating city. I think of all the people there with horror, because where are they supposed to go? Sure, Tadekha’s ladies have wings, but they didn’t strike me as particularly warlike. I don't see anyone flying around the Citadel itself, so I'm guessing they're not much in the way of defenses. I think of the soldiers in the hall—they didn't have wings. Seems like an oversight to me. I stare up, shielding my eyes against the sunlight, wondering if they're all doomed.

  A hand grabs mine and I yelp, even as a shock jolts up my arm.

  "This is no time to stare," Aron tells me. "We are still too close."

  "Sorry," I tell him, and grab a handful of my long, flowing skirts with my free hand, because he's not letting go of my other. I'm forced to trot behind him, no easy feat considering I have no shoes and the ground beneath our feet is crumbling and loose dirt, but we manage.

  We continue like this for what feels like hours, Aron half dragging, half hauling me along behind him, and me stumbling after him. Without shade, the day gets hot, and there's no food or drink to be found. I want to cry at how overheated I am, but there's no point—it's not like there's a lemonade stand anywhere. I just need to suck it up and keep going. It's towards sunset that there's a terrible, roaring sound and the ground trembles beneath our feet. I tear my hand out of Aron's ruthless grasp and come to a halt, gasping and staring at the ground. "What…the fuck…was that? An earthquake?"

  He frowns at me, probably for stopping, and then gazes over my shoulder, off into the horizon. "Tadekha's Citadel," he says after a moment. "It's gone."

  Gone?

  I whip around, staring at the area we've left behind. I don't see the Citadel itself anywhere on the horizon, which is shocking in itself. There's just a dark smear of smoke. "Where is it?"

  "Gone," he repeats, clearly impatient. "Does 'gone' mean something else in the mortal tongue? It has been destroyed."

  "Don't be a dick," I retort, putting a hand to my brow as if that'll help visibility. To be honest, visibility isn't the problem. Even from the distance of a few hours’ walk, I can see the red line of the Aventine troops, splashing like blood against the dirt. I can see the smoke pouring from the skies, and ahead of them…glitter on the ground.

  Oh no. So much glitter. The Citadel's nothing but a bajillion broken shards. "Oh my god. What about all the people inside?" I turn and look at Aron in horror. "What about Tadekha?"

  "Dead," he says flatly. "Her own fault."

  I give him a shocked look. "How is this her fault?"

  "She knows perfectly well what the Citadel was doing to the land. She did not care. Aventine has taken it back. Maybe someday something will grow here again." He shrugs. "Now the battle begins. I imagine it will not be much of one."

  "If there's anyone fucking left!"

  "If there is, they will capture any survivors and sacrifice them in my name as thanks for their victory. Or they will make them slaves." He shrugs.

  "What? Is that why you don't give a shit?" I'm horrified. "It doesn't matter that all those people just died horribly because hey, fuck it, I'll get a few good prayers out of this?" I spread my arms wide. "Are you fucking serious, Aron?"

  "I am a god of battle. Not sacrifices. I do not ask for such things, nor do I approve them. They do this of their own accord." He shrugs those big shoulders. "As for Tadekha, she has been warned many times over the years." He looks thoughtful. "I wonder what happens to your Aspect if you die. Has she already returned to the Aether?"

  "Jealous much?" I say sarcastically.

  "No," he replies. "Tadekha—if she lives—will be tortured for quite some time. It is not one to be envious of."

  "This is not making me feel better, Aron!"

  He gives me a stern look. "You feel sorry for her? When she would rather enslave her faithful into sexual play instead of protecting them? She cares nothing for their fates, because she is immortal. She cares nothing for this land." He spreads his arms wide, and I gaze around at the ruined, dirt-filled place that should be crops and trees and birds and is just awful nothingness. "She does not care about anything but herself, so do not feel sorry for her. She doesn't deserve it."

  I can't disagree with him after hearing that, and I wonder if it makes me a bad person. I'm unhappy about the fates of the others—First, the goddess's anchor, and all of the other young, happy, devoted faces I saw there. So many people.
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br />   But Aron's right. They threw their lot in with her. If everyone knew this was going to happen…someone should have done something.

  When he extends his hand out again, I swipe at my eyes (didn't even realize I’m crying) and take it once more, letting him lead me away.

  When the sun goes down, Aron takes pity on my constant staggering and stumbling. There's a large boulder on one side of the road, and he leads us to it. "I suppose we must take shelter for the night. It's clear to me that despite the danger, you can't go on much further."

  I'm not even mad about his arrogant words. I'm just too relieved that we're going to actually stop. My body throbs with pain like it's one big bruise, and my feet are blistered from walking barefoot all day. I haven't complained, though. At least I'm alive. I keep thinking of First and her beautiful, crystal wings—and the fact that she's probably been crushed under a hundred tons of falling Citadel. That puts things in perspective. No matter how big of a dick Aron is, he wants to keep us both safe and alive. He protected me when we fell, and I won't forget that. It had to hurt a lot.

  Aron releases my hand when we reach the boulder, and I collapse gratefully at the base of it. I lie down, not even caring that the cobbled road is covered with a fine layer of grit and dirt. All that matters is that we've stopped. I close my eyes, wallowing in my pain for long moments.

  I'm alive and that's all that matters.

  "Thank you for stopping," I whisper through parched lips.

  Aron only grunts acknowledgment of my words. There's no snideness, no pissy commentary. I open my eyes a slit and glance over at him. He's not sitting. He's staring off into the distance, his hands on his hips, his tunic plastered to his back. He must be sweaty. I find that strangely odd, because Aron seems unaffected by the elements. Even in the heat of the day, he was cool and unbothered while I panted and huffed and choked on mouthfuls of dust.

  He glances down the road, in the direction we're heading, and for a terrifying moment, I think he's going to demand that I should get up, and we should keep going. But he doesn't. He merely looks thoughtful and I relax.

  When I lay my head back down on the dirt, I realize that his back is glittering.

  I frown, slowly sitting up, and as I do, the crystals flash and catch the fading light. "Aron, your back."

  He glances over his shoulder at me. "What of it?"

  "You've got crystals embedded in your skin." I get to my feet and hobble to his side. Sure enough, his tunic is sticking to him not because of sweat, but because it's pinned against his flesh by crystal shards. I think back and remember how the crystals rained down on top of us with the first trebuchet hit to the Citadel…and then I remember Aron landed on his back, with me on top of him. Oh dear. Guilt hits me. "Are you okay?"

  "I am standing and whole. Of course I am fine." He scowls at me as if it's a stupid question to even ask.

  I do notice he doesn't say his back is fine, though. I'm starting to read between the lines the longer I get to know Aron. He's full of bluster—piss and vinegar, as my mother would say—but he's not heartless. He just doesn't understand a lot of this world. I know how that feels.

  "Come sit down by the boulder and I'll pick them out for you," I tell him, reaching out and taking his hand. There's a skittering shock as I touch him, but he doesn't protest and lets me lead him forward. I go back to my spot by the rocks at the edge of the path, sit down, and cross my aching legs, then pat the spot in front of me. "Here."

  He sits, his back toward me. As he does, I realize again just how massively big this guy is. His shoulders spread wide, thick with muscle, and I think he's more than twice the size of me. I'm not exactly dainty, either. I'm a nice, solid, average girl, but Aron's sheer size makes me seem like a delicate Disney princess to his Conan the Barbarian. Of course, he is a god of battle. I don't expect him to be built like a scholar, but it's still good to know this guy's on my side.

  Concentrate, dummy, I tell myself as he shifts, his shoulders bunching. I'm doing a crappy job of helping him by just staring at his back (no matter how appealing a wide set of shoulders is, they're still attached to him). I reach out and pluck the largest chunk of crystal shard from his back and set it down carefully on one of the cobblestones. It's the size of a needle and I feel terrible that I didn't notice it before. In my defense, though, he's run me to the point of exhaustion.

  That's about the only defense I have, because now that I'm looking, he's got dozens of these terrible things pinning his tunic to his skin. As I stare, a spot of blood blooms where I've pulled the first shard. Great.

  He remains silent as I get to work, plucking shards and unpinning fabric bit by excruciating bit. If it hurts, he doesn't indicate it. In fact, he barely moves. Me, I'm wincing with every tug, imagining just how painful it must be and how much he's hurt all day and I didn't pay attention. The blood dotting the back of his tunic isn't helping me feel better, either. As I pull out one particularly big chunk, I set it on top of the pile and decide to say something. "Aron?"

  "Mm?"

  "Thank you for saving me back there. I'm pretty sure I would have died if I'd landed flat on the ground."

  "You would have," he agrees.

  I frown absently at his back as I tug another piece out. My fingertips are bleeding and raw, because this crystal makes no friends, but that doesn't matter. "I'm grateful."

  "You should be."

  I bite back my irritation. This is just Aron. This is who he is. A big, arrogant douche. "Anyhow, thank you for saving my life."

  He is silent for a long moment. Then he glances over his shoulder back at me. "Do not imagine yourself important. I need you. I save you because I am saving myself."

  Dick. "Gee, thanks."

  "Would you rather I coddle you with lies?"

  "I would rather you be nice about it. I'm thanking you and you're kind of being an ass about it."

  He merely snorts. "If I was being an ass, I would demand you show me your gratitude on your knees, as Tadekha would demand of her anchor. Instead, I am letting you rest and tend to me." He spreads his arms. "Am I not the most benevolent of gods?"

  "No, you most definitely are not," I mutter under my breath as I pluck another crystal.

  21

  The next day, I'm so hungry and thirsty I'm delirious. It takes everything I have to move one foot in front of the other, and even that I'm doing badly. Aron has to haul me along by one arm, dragging me beside him all morning. The sun gets high in the sky and then it's too much to do even that. I'm panting and not sweating despite the heat, which I know is a bad thing. I need water and shade and rest…and there just isn't any.

  Eventually, Aron realizes that I'm not being lazy as much as being “collapse” and hauls me into his arms. He carries me as he walks down the road. "You are not allowed to die, Faith," he tells me sternly.

  I give him a weak thumbs up. "I'll keep that in mind."

  He frowns down at me. "Put your arms around my neck. You are sliding out of my grip."

  "I really don't want to," I begin, but he gives me a hard jiggle and I have no choice but to do so. I'm burning up and touching him just makes everything hotter and more miserable. Sunstroke, I bet. There's no shade and I'd give anything for a drink. "You might have to get yourself a new anchor," I tell him woozily, the world tilting. I'm so tired.

  "I will not." He gives me another hard jostle. "Wake up."

  "Asshole. Let me sleep through this misery." He shakes me again, until my teeth are clenched with frustration and I have to knot my fingers against his collar to keep my grip there. "I hate you."

  "You think I care? You are here to serve me, and yet here I am, carrying you because you are too lazy to walk." His words are dickish as fuck, but he says them in a quiet, calm manner, as if he doesn't truly mean them.

  I don't know what to make of that. Or of him at all. Damn arrogant prick. I wish I'd been found by the god of cupcakes or kittens instead of the arrogant god of battle. And storms.

  Wait.


  "Aron," I gasp, clutching at him. Blackness fades in and out of my vision, and I'm so overheated it feels like I'm going to die. "Can you make it rain?"

  "You wish a storm? Why?"

  "I need a drink," I whimper at him. I know I'm whining, but I don't care. "Please. I'll do anything."

  He sighs and holds me close against his chest. "I forget how fragile you mortals are." For a moment, I think his voice sounds curiously gentle, but that has to be the heatstroke talking. But then thunder crashes overhead and clouds roll in. The terrible sun that feels as if it's baking me like a potato disappears, and a moment later, a downpour drenches the skies.

  The temperature changes immediately, so quickly that it sends a sharp pain through my head. I gasp as cold, wet rain pounds my skin and soaks me, washing away dirt and heat and all the terrible things of the day. Even so, it’s wet and refreshing and I don’t care how much it makes my head hurt. I moan and tilt my face back, catching the rain in my mouth.

  "Better, little mortal?"

  "Thank you," I gasp, and then drink more. I cup my hands to drink as much as I can, and then collapse back against his chest, exhausted.

  The downside of rain is that after it fades away, the air is humid and sticky once more. My wispy gauze dress is soaked, and I suck on the moisture there for another drink later, and then fall back against Aron's shoulder, unconscious. I want to tell him that I'm not normally such a wimp. That I can usually handle myself and I'm a decent hiker, but I don't have the energy.

  This is what it feels like to be dying, I think. Strange how it came on that fast. Shouldn't it take a few days for me to die of thirst? But I feel like I'm at my end as it is, and Aron seems to think so, too.

  "Not much farther," he tells me as I fade in and out of consciousness.

  I'm pretty sure he's lying to me. That's all right. It's a nice lie.

  Distantly, I hear the sound of thunder, and I feel more rain patter against my skin, but I'm too far gone in sleep to pay much attention. I want to wake up and thank him, but it feels like a huge effort, a mountain that I'm sitting at the base of, and it's much too far to climb.