by Ruby Dixon
"You are my servant, remember?"
"Answer's still no. You need me alive, remember? We're equals as far as I'm concerned."
He gives an arrogant little huff of a laugh that I choose to ignore. When he tosses his clothes down at me, I immediately wad them up and toss them back at him, which makes Aron laugh. "I like your spirit, little mortal."
"Good, because you're gonna be seeing a lot of it," I mutter, and climb, shivering, out of the water. It's getting colder by the hour and my clothes aren't much in the way of warmth. "Can we build a fire?"
"And draw attention to ourselves? Should we just go lie in the road, spread eagle, and wait for them to step upon us—"
"A simple 'no' would suffice," I tell him, interrupting. "You don't have to be such a dick every time I say something, you know." But I know that's who he is. He's arrogance incarnate. I just have to remind myself of that. "Enjoy washing your own clothes," I say pointedly, and huddle on the banks.
He just smirks at me as if I'm a constant source of amusement and wades into the water, groin-high. Of course, that calls a lot of attention to his godly equipment, and I pointedly avoid looking in that direction as he half-heartedly swipes at his clothing in the water. "Fear not, Faith. The sun will be up soon enough and I will keep you warm until then."
"Goody."
Aron continues on. "We will journey to the next town and get a map and mounts for the next leg of our trip. I imagine that the Spidae's tower will not be anywhere near the mortal lands, so we must prepare for a long journey." He doesn't sound upset. If anything, he sounds pleased, like this is a road trip and he's having a blast.
I'm glad one of us is having such a good time. Me, I just want to collapse and cry like a child. It seems that every time I turn around, someone's trying to kill us—or just me—and this entire world feels like one big death trap. I want my quiet apartment back home. I want my boring desk job and my boring reruns on television. Did I think my life was humdrum and monotonous? Clearly I was insane. I have a new appreciation for “safe” and “boring” and “quiet.” I'd like any and all of those things.
I should have never visited that fortune teller.
King of Pentacles—a man like a force of nature? Try a god of storms.
A journey about to begin? Fucking understatement of the year.
Lovers? I shiver at the thought. I’m not sure if I hate it or want it so badly I ache.
I give myself a little shake and force myself to concentrate on what Aron’s saying. “A road trip needs lots of preparation, Aron.”
“I know. This is why we need mounts and supplies. Pay attention, Faith.”
"With what money? Unless Omos taught me wrong about your money, we have enough for an inn room or two but nothing big like that." I pull the tiny purse of coins off my belt and open it, counting the strange coins.
"We will steal woales if we need to."
“Woales?”
“The large creatures everyone rides upon?”
“The land-hippos? Okay.” I didn’t realize they had a name. Of course they do. “You sure we can’t just buy one?”
“You said yourself we have no money. We steal everything.” Aron thinks for a moment. "Supplies as well. Weapons, too. Might as well get everything we can."
"Are you serious? We're going to thieve our way to visit your buddies in their tower? Don't you think that's against the rules that the big guy set for you? You're supposed to be improving as a person, not turning to a life of crime." I get up and hang my sodden cloak from the nearest branch in the dark.
"Bah. The High Father wishes to purge my flaws, and thievery is not one of them. I am the god of storms and battle. If I cannot get what I need, I suppose I could always threaten to wash away their homes in a violent deluge. Or I can demand that they go to the field of battle with me and fight for woales." He rubs his chin thoughtfully.
"You know what? All of that sounds awful. Let's just go with stealing. Jesus. I never thought that would be the least evil of our choices." I shake my head, hanging the rest of my clothing to dry and then digging through my woefully small bag for something fresh to wear. My cold ass is hanging out and I need something warm to cover me.
Plus, I'm feeling weird being naked around Aron after the bathing. I'm pretty sure he's impassive to human things like lust—well, except for his other Aspect that is nothing but lust—but me, I'm having a hard time figuring out where I stand with him.
"You sound upset, Faith." He wades back to the shore and offers me his wet clothes, as if I should hang them. When I don't take them, he tosses them over my wet clothes on the same branch, as if the problem is solved, and I have to bite back a curse of irritation. "It is a good plan."
"For you, maybe. What about the people you're stealing from?"
He snorts. "If they are anything like Katharn's fools, I should be glad to rid them of their belongings. They need to be taught a lesson or two. What kind of treacherous idiots try to kill a god?"
Apparently a lot of them, since that seems to be the agenda for oh, half the people we meet lately. "If they're like the Katharn people, I won't feel bad about stealing from them," I admit. "But what if they're more like Omos? What if they're moms and dads with kids to feed and we show up and demand their money and horses?"
Aron gives me an incredulous look. "You think I would cripple those that already suffer? What kind of man do you take me for, Faith?"
"An arrogant one?" I shove my arms through the sleeves of my new tunic.
"Arrogance is not selfishness or cruelty," he says, and pulls a tunic out of his pack and then offers it to me. "Wear this. You're still shivering."
I'm surprised—and touched—by his offer. "What about you?"
He shrugs. "I do not feel the cold nearly as much as you do. And we can huddle together for warmth if I do start to feel it. Are you going to sleep now?"
It almost sounds like he wants me to go to sleep. Is it because he's tired of talking? Or because he wants to hold me? I flush at the thought, discarding it from my mind. Probably not that. "Is it safe?"
"Safe enough, and you need to be well-rested for the morrow's journey." He sits, leaning against the trunk of a tree, one arm resting on a thick root as if it's a throne, and I can almost ignore the fact that he's bare-assed in the dirt. He still looks regal and imposing, and when he flicks a hand toward me, indicating I should join him, I do.
I delicately spread his tunic over his lap so I won't snuggle against his naked cock and balls, and then slide against him. "Thanks," I murmur. "Wake me up if we're in danger." I don't think I'm all that tired, but my eyelids grow heavy as he puts his arm around my shoulders.
I don't fall asleep right away, though. There's a rock under my butt, and Aron's shoulder is hard with muscle. Plus, he's started to play with my hair, which is…distracting. I think about our earlier baths. I think about that night in Tadekha's Citadel, too. Man, I really need something new to think about, because creeping on Aron is not going to end anywhere good. He's already shown he's very uninterested.
I yawn.
"Go to sleep," he tells me.
"I'm trying. Quit talking to me."
"I will once you go to sleep."
I poke him in the side and shift against him, doing my best to get comfortable. It's almost too quiet around us, and I didn't realize how noisy the town was until we got out here. It feels unnervingly silent, and every time something in the distance makes a sound—a branch snapping, an animal moving through the bushes—I tense up.
"Why are you afraid?"
"Well, let me think. We were chased out of town by both an angry torch-wielding mob and a graveyard full of undead. Gosh, I can't imagine what there is to be frightened of."
He pokes my face, an Aron attempt at being playful. "You are here with Aron of the Cleaver. Nothing shall harm you."
"Mmm. How come you're Aron of the Cleaver and I have yet to really see you wield an axe? Or wear an eyepatch?"
"Should I announce my pr
esence to everyone, then? Demand that they come and try their luck killing my anchor?"
"Good point." I settle back down against him. "Will we be safe at the Spidae tower?"
"No."
"You could sugar-coat it for me, just a little."
He continues to toy with my hair. "Why? I will never lie to you. That is another Aspect's job."
Har de har. I shift against him again, not entirely sure where to put my hand. I want to rest it on his chest or his thigh, but that seems a little too intimate. "So why isn't it safe? Is the countryside full of people waiting to kill us, then?"
"Not at all. It is the wildlands." Aron grows thoughtful. "No mortals live there. The mountains are full of foul creatures and ruins of places long overtaken by them. None dare to cross into those lands, so that is why the Spidae are there. They are safe from all those save the most foolhardy of pilgrims."
I shiver, thinking of “foul creatures.” I can only imagine. "So what you're saying is that we shouldn't go there, either."
"It is the place we will get the answers we seek."
“Yay.”
He grunts agreement and pulls me closer to him, tucking fabric over my exposed skin as if to keep me warmer. "It will not be an easy journey. Go to sleep."
I close my eyes obediently. "What do you do while I'm asleep?"
"I think."
"What about?"
"Many, many things."
I poke him again, yawning. "Such as?"
Aron sighs. "How I am going to leave this mortal realm behind. How I will be free of our tether. Where my other Aspects are and how I can best ambush them to ensure victory, because it is clear you will not be much of a fighter."
"Wow, I'm so glad I asked." I should learn at some point to stop while I'm ahead.
"I mostly think about the other Aspects, though. They will be thinking of ways to defeat me, so I must be ready. Your life depends on mine." And he plays with my hair again.
That soothes some of the irritation I'm feeling. I notice that he mentions me, and for all his arrogance, that's sweet, in an Aron sort of way. I know he's trying. I know it's against his nature to think of anyone but himself, and I should be more patient with him, but I'm only human, and man, Aron can be a real pain in the ass. But I move a little closer to him, because he's warm and because I'm feeling a little more affectionate toward the man. "You need to teach me how to fight," I tell him between yawns.
"I did not take you as my anchor because you were a fighter." He sounds amused, as if the thought of me with a sword is extremely funny.
I poke him in the side again. "You act like you had a bunch of options. If I recall, I was the only volunteer and your brain was still foggy from being booted out of Heaven." I put my hands over my eyes and assume a deep voice, mocking him. "Oh look, I'm Aron and I don't know how to sleep like humans."
He pinches my side and I bite back a squeal, but I can feel the laughter rumbling through his chest. "You are full of fire to me, I see."
"Well, sure. You can't do squat about my sassy attitude," I tell him sleepily, and this time when I put my hands down, I do put one on his chest. Why not. "You're stuck with me."
Aron grunts.
"I'm serious, though," I tell him. "I should know the basics of how to fight. Nothing fancy. Just enough to protect myself. This world's way more dangerous than mine. And if you were on Earth, I'd show you how to drive a car and use a debit card. You should do the same for me."
"I will think on it."
I pat his stomach. "Don't strain yourself."
His laughter rolls through the trees and I go to sleep, smiling.
34
Something hard nudges me awake, and I groan, rolling over only to get a mouthful of leaves. Sputtering, I sit up, wincing at sore muscles and wiping detritus from my cheek. We’re still in the forest, and somehow I managed to fall asleep and crash for several hours. Judging from the pale light wafting through the trees, it’s incredibly early. I grab a handful of Aron’s tunic and press it under my cheek as a pillow, lying back down.
The hard thing nudges me again. I turn over and glare. Aron stands over me, his boot nudging my backside. I swear, this man. “What the hell is your problem, Aron?”
“You wanted to learn how to fight. I have decided to show you.” He flicks his wrist, making an entreating gesture. “Get up.”
“Right now?”
“Was there a time you had more in mind? When we are surrounded by another mob? Perhaps when the dead finish crawling out of their graves and arrive?” He pulls a sword from its sheath and admires the blade, running his thumb along a sharp edge.
“God, you are such an ass,” I mutter as I manage to get to my feet. I’m covered in dirt and leaves from my sleep under the trees, and I ache all over. Last night, I wasn’t keen on the thought of stealing horses but today? Today I am all for it if it means I don’t have to walk any longer. “Fine. I’m up. Show me how to use weapons.”
His lip curls as if I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable. “You cannot learn it all in one day.”
Like I’m stupid. I put my hands on my hips, my irritated pose nullified by the leaf that chooses that moment to flop from my hair onto my forehead. “I know that. Just show me what you can today.”
“First, show me your hands.” He flips the sword casually in one hand and then stabs it into the dirt, then approaches me.
I stick both hands out, palms up, and wait for the next round of insults. This is Aron, after all.
He takes one of my hands in his and lifts it closer to his eyes, studying it. His thumb skates over my palm, sending ticklish sensations all through me. I want to jerk away, but I don’t. I just go very still. “What are you looking for?”
“Callus. You have none.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile as he meets my gaze. “I don’t know why it surprises me.”
“My world’s really, really different. No one works with their hands if they don’t have to. We have desk jobs. Like…clerks and scribes and stuff.” It’s a huge generalization, and I don’t want to get into an argument about farmers and laborers, who really do still work with their hands. Even they wouldn’t have the callus built up that he does, I think. Even now, where his hand brushes against mine, I can feel the hard pads of his hand where he’s used to gripping weapons. Instead of feeling disgusting, though, I’m oddly aroused by how weathered his grip is.
And that makes me look around suspiciously, just in case Tadekha’s waiting in the trees. But she’s not, and Aron only gives me a curious stare. “Something wrong?”
“Nope.” I slip my hand out of his. “So do I get to use your sword?”
He shakes his head, and I notice that despite an evening of roughing it under a tree, Aron looks as glorious as ever, his smooth black hair pulled back in a loose tail. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled, the bastard. “No sword for you. Your wrists are far too delicate. We’ll start with daggers.”
We try his knives, and it soon becomes apparent to both of us that you require skill and aim, neither of which I have when it comes to weapons. I can't throw them and hit a target. I have to be in extra close to use one to stab, and even then, Aron isn't happy with my technique. He picks through the daggers—I don't know how he acquired so many of the damn things, but I swear he has a half-dozen of them—and finds none that he thinks are fitting for me. "You are terrible with all of these."
"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Do you want lies or the truth?"
I sigh heavily, because we both know I want the truth. I need to be able to defend myself, and compliments won't get me anywhere if they aren't sincere. "So what do we do? The sword is out. The daggers are out. Unless you're carrying a can of mace somewhere under your cloak, I'm screwed."
"A mace would be difficult for you. They are very heavy."
"Not what I meant, but good to know."
Aron scratches his chin thoughtfully. "A bow, perhaps?"
"Because my aim's so good with knives
you want to give me a bow and arrows?" I retort, defeated. I sit on the ground, sweating, exhausted, and angry at myself for not being a master with weapons. Who knew that defending yourself was going to be so challenging? I expect to be unskilled, but I'm fumbling so much that I even cut my fingers trying to fix my grip on one of the knives. I swipe at the sweat on my forehead, feeling rather pitiful. "I need a weapon for idiots."
He snaps his fingers. "Of course."
I look up, indignant. What does he mean, of course? But Aron's heading into the trees, preoccupied, and he returns a few minutes later with a big branch. "A staff?"
He studies it. "It might be too short to be a staff, but we can make it work." He lops a twiggy offshoot off of it, then holds it out to me. "Come, give it a try."
I get to my feet, and even though my arms are aching and I want to whine, I give it a shot anyhow. It was my idea to learn weapons, after all. I can't bitch and moan that I suck at them, not when he's taking the time to teach me. So I heft it in my hands. The wood isn't all that smooth and tears at my palms, but the weight isn't bad. It comes up to mid-breast for me, and there's a knobby, ugly knot at one end. "Okay, it's a staff. How do I do this? Where do I grip it?"
Aron looks at me like I'm stupid. "You hit people with it."
"Duh. I mean, I just walk around with a giant club? And people are okay with that?" Then again, he's wandering around bristling with weapons, but I feel like a girl wandering the countryside with a giant stick kind of screams obvious.
He gives it a thoughtful look. "We can decorate it. Throw some charms or fripperies on the end so it looks like an affectation instead of a weapon. And then when they dismiss you for a soft female, you hit them with it." He taps the knot at the end. "Especially with this part."
"So…I clock people with it like a bat?" I heft it in my arms and hold it at one end. It's a bit too long to be a bat, so I adjust my grip and give it a careful half-swing. It pulls at my wrists, but I think it's doable. "I can knock a home run with this, I think. I played softball when I was a teenager."
"You'll break your wrists holding it like that," Aron warns.
