by Ruby Dixon
“Don’t let me interrupt,” I say with an awkward smile, and look for somewhere to sit.
“You are an honored guest,” Queen Halla says, getting to her feet heavily. One of the ladies gets to her feet and reaches for the child, but Halla shakes her head. She holds her baby close as she approaches me. “Did you sleep comfortably?”
I flush, because I’m pretty sure Aron and I were loud last night. Did they hear that? “It was great, thank you.”
She turns to one of the maids. “Caitria, tell the kitchens we need a very large tray of food and more wine. Lord Aron’s anchor will be hungry.”
The girl curtsies, her head bowed, and then leaves the room, hands clasped.
“Please,” the queen says, gesturing at her quarters. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I smile at her and her baby. The little one has darker skin than Halla does, and his hair is jet black and shaved on one side of his head in the cyclops tradition. He sucks his thumb as he looks over at me, and for a moment, his expression is purely that of his father. “Cute kid.”
Her eyes flash with pleasure as she gazes at her son. “His name is Alistair, after my husband’s father. If our second child is another boy, we will name him after my father.” There’s a look of pride on her face, and it’s clear she loves her family. She looks over at me. “And you? We are of an age. Do you have children?”
“Me? Oh, god, no. I can barely muster the energy to run around after Aron.” Her eyes widen in surprise at my words, and I hesitate. “Did Aron tell you that I’m not…local?”
“I knew from your accent,” she admits. “You are from across the seas?”
“A bit farther out than that.” I wince. How do I explain that I’m from Earth without weirding her out? “Like, way, way out.”
Halla inclines her head. “Wherever you are from, I’m thankful that you and Aron came here. My home is your home.”
I look around the room as a maid opens the door—and she’s accompanied by Markos as she enters. As I watch, the girl sets the tray down and then takes a bite out of each of the foods. I’m startled, but I realize she’s tasting everything. There are two jugs of wine, and she pours herself a cup from each, tastes them, curtsies and leaves.
The baby gets fussy, so the queen moves back to her chair and hands him a ball, murmuring at him as her ladies smile and try not to look too closely at me. I guess I don’t match what they think Aron’s companion should be. Their hair is worn in intricate, looping braids that crisscross over their heads and are decorated with bits of jewelry. Mine’s loose and finger-combed. Their dresses are corseted and it looks like they’re wearing a dress over another dress. I glance down and realize that the dark red dress I put on today that belts loosely at the waist is just the under-dress. I didn’t realize it was a two piece. Whoops. At least I remembered shoes.
There’s a large window in the room, and I gravitate toward it. From here, I can see the battlefield in the distance, the clash of men, and the sea of banners that move as if alive. A distant horn sounds, and I glance back at the queen. “How long have the Adassians been camped at your doorstep?”
“Ever since the Anticipation,” she admits, settling her son on a thick rug at one of the women’s feet and then moving to my side. “We think Lord Aron arrived from the Aether into Adassia directly, and that is why he chose them. For a time, my husband was quite upset. He and his people are very devoted to the Lord of Storms.” She studies me. “Where are the two of you from?”
“He showed up in Aventine,” I tell her. “I was a slave there. Someone caught me wandering where I shouldn’t and decided I should be property. Then, I was taken to Aron’s temple to be a cleaver bride, but I opted to be his anchor instead.”
“Cleaver brides,” she murmurs. “A barbaric practice. The Cyclopae prefer for their warriors to give of themselves, not slaves.” She shakes her head. “Aventine is very far. Did you sail, then?”
“No. It was a lot of riding. A lot. We ran into one of Aron’s other Aspects outside of Katharn, and I think Apathy died a month or so ago. It’s only these two left.” I gaze out the window at the clash of men, the swords and armor gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Aron’s somewhere down there, eating this shit up.
“Then this is over soon,” the queen says, and there’s obvious relief in her voice.
I say nothing. Part of me wants it over soon, sure. Part of me is terrified at what happens “after.” I can’t stop thinking about what the Spidae said. I watch the field, but from here, I can only see movement, not individuals. “I don’t suppose you have a telescope, do you?”
“A what?”
“Er, a spyglass?” I gesture at my eye. “With a long tube and a piece of glass at the end that enables you to see farther?”
Her brows furrow. “I can ask if the court wizards have such a device.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I just wanted to see what was going on down at the field.”
She shudders. “I can’t watch it. My husband is eager to be at Aron’s side but…”
But Aron is immortal and her husband isn’t. I get it. “So…Adassia had a god show up, huh? Did you hear of any other places that might have had one? Everyone’s supposed to be down here for the Anticipation but we’ve only run into a few, and they weren’t my favorites.”
“All of the major city-states have been graced with a god,” she admits, her expression carefully blank. “Or so the rumors go.”
“Except you guys…until now?”
“No,” the queen says after a moment. “We have a goddess here. Magra, Lady of Plenty, is here.”
I gasp. “Really?” I’m shocked. I guess I thought I would “know” somehow if another god was lurking nearby. No one’s said anything at all. Even now, Halla’s expression is even, but I get the idea that she’s a little uncomfortable. “I have a friend that was a priest of hers. He sent a scroll with me in case I met her. Can I…can I see her?”
Queen Halla’s expression is the definition of neutral. “Are you sure you truly wish to? She is…not as Aron is. Her presence here is both blessing and burden.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come. I will show you.” She nods to her ladies. “Watch over Alistair for me, will you? We will return shortly.”
Markos pushes away from the wall in a clank of armor, straightening. “My orders are to follow you at all times, my lady Faith.”
Lady Faith? I want to correct him—or laugh—but I get that he’s trying to be polite. To give me the reverence I’m due as Aron’s anchor. Feels weird, though. “Come on, then.”
We stop by my rooms to get the scroll from my bags, and then I clutch it tight to my chest as Queen Halla leads me—and Markos, and about six additional guards—through the keep. My hands are sweaty as I hold it, because I think of Omos and how kind he was. He was the first polite person I met in this world. I want this to go well for him. I want her to look at the scroll and smile happily that such a devoted man is thinking of her. Just once, I want to have something go right. To bring good into this strange new world.
I’m surprised when we ascend one of the many towers in Castle Yshrem. The stairs seem to climb endlessly, and I wonder at a goddess that wants to hide away from everyone like this. She’s a goddess of plenty, so that means feasts and food and things like that. Crops, harvests, good times. Pleasant things. “So far away from everyone?” I ask as we continue up another set of stairs.
Halla gives me a searching look. “Lady Magra has requested rooms here because of the noise in the lower chambers. She prefers to be left alone.”
Oh. I think for a moment. She could be one of four Aspects—I don’t think it’s Hedonism. But anyone else could fit with a little bit of fudging. We arrive at a plain wooden door, and Queen Halla knocks, then enters, casting another glance in my direction.
I follow her in…and I’m surprised.
76
It’s dark inside. There’s a sputtering candle in one corner, but the larg
e windows are shut, the casement shutters closed. Very little light streams in. In the bed, a beautiful older woman with russet hair lies staring at the ceiling.
“My lady Magra,” the queen says in a gentle voice. “An honored guest wished to meet you. Lord Aron of the Storms has arrived and brought his anchor with him. She has a message from one of your most loyal followers.”
The woman in the bed makes a sound like a sigh.
I hesitate, not sure what else to do. The moment we walked in and I saw her in the rumpled bed, I knew what this was. It’s not arrogance, it’s not lies. It’s apathy. No wonder Halla has been so wary. I thought Hedonism would be the worst Aspect to visit given my experience with Tadekha, but clearly I see it’s this one. Just being in her presence is depressing. I look around the room, and sitting in a chair in the dark is another woman, an older one, her face hollow, her expression tired. She has a blanket in her lap and looks nearly as worn down as the woman she’s serving—because this has to be her anchor.
“Greetings,” I say, inwardly wincing at my own too-cheery tone. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lady Magra. I met a monk of yours a few months ago, a man by the name of Omos. Do you know him?”
She fixes her gaze on me, and her eyes are just…blank. Bored. “So?”
So?
“He was very excited at the thought of your arrival in this world,” I lie. Didn’t Omos say something like this would happen? He knew, somehow. He didn’t want to meet her because he didn’t want to see her like this. At the time I thought he was just being a little fearful. Now I think he was right. Even so, I’ve carried his message this far and I want to deliver it for his sake. He’s my friend. “Omos sent along a message should I meet you in my journeys.” I hold the scroll out, the precious scroll I’ve protected over miles and miles, because I owed it to Omos. I’m almost reluctant to hand it over.
Magra doesn’t reach for it. She simply looks at it, then looks at me, and rolls over in bed and faces the wall.
The queen grimaces.
Oh. I clutch the scroll for a moment longer, wondering if I should hold onto it or leave it anyhow. I try to think of what Omos would want. Maybe…maybe this Aspect of Magra won’t care enough to see it, but perhaps the next one will? I set it down on the table next to the bed. “I’m just gonna set it here, for whenever you feel like reading it.” When there’s no answer, I add, “He was a really good man, you know. One of the best I’ve ever met. I hope you’ll see that…”
The goddess doesn’t respond. She simply stares at the wall and I want to reach over and shake her. To tell her I know she’s not sleeping because Aron doesn’t sleep.
As I hesitate by the bed, the queen moves to the woman by the window. She takes the thin, veined hand in hers and leans by the woman. “Do you need anything?” Her voice is soft, gentle.
The old woman—the anchor—shakes her head. She closes her eyes. “Tired.”
Queen Halla pats her hand and sets it down gently on the blanket once more, then straightens and nods at me, indicating we should leave. I follow her out, and I feel like I can’t breathe until we shut the door behind us and head down the stairs.
“That…sucked,” I eventually manage.
“It has been difficult,” the queen admits. “We were overjoyed to be blessed as a kingdom, but we soon realized it was not as we expected. Her presence here has been both joy and pain. With her here, our stores never run dry. They are magically replenished every evening and it allows us to feed all of the people who have fled here seeking safety from the Adassians.” She touches my arm. “But…she has drained three anchors already.”
I swallow hard, thinking of the hollow cheeks of the woman in the room with her. “She’s using her powers to replenish your stores.”
“Yes. Once we realized what she was doing, we asked her to stop but…she simply doesn’t care.” Halla’s lips purse. “Those that volunteer to serve as her anchor know it is a death sentence, but they do it out of love for her, and because she feeds the city.”
That is indeed a hairy, awful situation. “So what do you do?”
“We are trapped right now,” Halla admits, holding onto my arm as we go down the stairs. Her steps are slower, and she holds onto her belly, and then I feel guilty for making a pregnant woman waddle all over this enormous castle. “The sacrifice of a few loyal anchors allows thousands to be fed while Adassia lays siege. But…” Her voice trails off.
Yeah, I see what she means. Do they boot the goddess out of the city or do they let her keep draining anchors? If they force her to leave, will she be angry? If they withhold an anchor from her after she uses this one up, will she remember their cruelty once she ascends again?
It’s a no-win situation.
We return to the queen’s rooms, and I see a pair of men holding plans and discussing as they study the wall that hides the secret passage. I look at them curiously and Halla speaks. “We’re bricking it up so the enemy cannot use the passage against us. It has been sealed on the other side, the statue destroyed.”
“Ah.” I look at the little boy, playing near the skirts of his nursemaid. “What if you have to leave in a hurry?”
“That is not the only hidden passage out of the keep,” Halla admits with a tiny smile. “If we must run, there are many ways to go. But hopefully it will not be necessary now that Lord Aron fights on our side.” Her hand grips mine. “And if we work together, perhaps we will be able to bring things to a close sooner rather than later. The men like war, but all I want is to be able to raise my family in peace.”
I squeeze her fingers back, nervous at the intense look she gives me. She seems to think I know how to stop things? I can’t even get Magra to take a message written exclusively for her.
This world has shown me time and time again that I don’t matter. That I’m nothing in the scheme of things. I’m not the one brought here to bring forth change. It’s Aron and all the others…isn’t it?
You will meet your destiny on the plains of Yshrem.
Or was that a hint? Is there something else I should be doing?
I shake my head at Halla. “I wish I could do more. I’m just one person. I’m not super strong. I’m not super smart. I’m just an outsider who got caught up with Aron because no one else wanted his arrogant ass.”
“You’re brave,” she tells me simply. “Sometimes that’s all we need.”
The day is long as hell. I pace Halla’s rooms, trying to watch the battle going on below. Part of me wants to put on some armor and a helmet and join them, because then I’d at least be doing something, but I know the biggest thing I can do is stay safe so they have Aron at the front. So I eat, and pace, and play with baby Alistair. I chat with Halla. I stare at all of the books in the room that I can’t read as Halla pages through an old tome.
“What’s that about?” I ask at one point.
“It’s a recording of the last Anticipation,” she says. “Six hundred years ago.” She gestures at one page with a delicate hand. “Recordings of sightings of gods, who fought alongside who, and for how long it went on.”
“How long did it go on?”
“Ten years.” She grimaces. “Let us pray that is not the case this time.”
“Yeah,” I say faintly. Ten years with Aron would be amazing. Not enough, but still amazing. I think of what the Spidae said, how I’m not getting out of this alive. It could be a lie. I feign idle curiosity. “Does it say what happened to the anchors of the gods that won? The last ones left standing?”
She shakes her head. “The anchors are rarely mentioned by name.”
“Of course not,” I say sarcastically. “Why would we be important, right?” Just to my Aron.
Only to my Aron.
The men return at dusk, dirty, sweaty, and covered in shallow wounds. The queen panics at the sight of her husband sporting a broken arrow out of one large shoulder. Aron’s riddled with them, but he’s also invulnerable. It’s clear the king’s in some pain, and the queen insists in him goin
g to the healer. Another clerist offers to help Aron out, but he only wants me and a hot bath.
“How was it?” I ask as we go up the stairs to our room, Kerren following close behind.
The smile on Aron’s face is pleased. “Glorious. It was an intense battle. Neither side gained much ground from the other. I am well pleased with the Cyclopae army.”
“No ground gained?” I ask, dismayed. “None at all?”
“Patience, my Faith. Battle will decide all things.”
I help him bathe and remove the arrows from his chest, neck and back. His wounds close up the moment the arrows are plucked free, and he’s in good spirits as he bathes. He’s practically fucking cheerful.
“Once you’re off to bed, I’ll rejoin the men,” he says as he towels off, a hot look in his eyes. It’s the look that promises some hot lovin’, because post-battle Aron is clearly a randy Aron.
“Rejoin the men? Why?”
“They are burning the dead,” he says. “I would give them an honorable send-off on their journey to the afterlife since they died in my name.”
I bite my lip as Aron takes my hand and pulls me to bed. He drags me against him and cups my breast, teasing the nipple even as he kisses my neck. His touch feels good, amazing, really, but I can’t stop thinking about his words. “How…how many men died?” I ask, trying to bite back a whimper when his mouth goes to my breast.
“A hundred, maybe more,” he murmurs, then licks my nipple.
A hundred? In just one day? Just to run up against the brick wall that is the opposing army? “Aron, maybe there’s another way—”
“I am the god of battle,” he says, pushing me onto my back on the bed. His big hand goes to my pussy, and he strokes it with his fingers. Even though I want to talk more about war, he’s far too good at distractions. “The men will spend eternity at my side. They will be rewarded. Now, let me touch my anchor.”
