Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  And he lowers his mouth to my belly, completely distracting me.

  We make love twice before Aron tenderly washes me and gives me a kiss. “Sleep,” he murmurs, caressing my face. “I will wake you up when I return.”

  For more sex, most likely. I can’t even be mad—I crave his touch like a junkie. But even after he leaves, I can’t stop thinking about the battle.

  A hundred men gone in one day. For nothing. I think of the pinched look that came over Halla’s face as the king showed up with a wounded arm…and I’m starting to see why she’s so worried. How many people will die to gain a few feet of ground across the river? That still doesn’t get us Hedonism Aron’s anchor. It just gets us a toehold closer.

  There’s got to be a better way.

  77

  “You see what I mean,” Halla says in a fretful voice the next day as we sit in her library. “I have tried to beg Mathior not to go out, not to fight such senseless battles, but it is in their very nature. Everything they believe is that battle is glorious and honorable. To die fighting in Aron’s name? To die for him? There is no greater glory. But…we are getting nowhere and every day, more men die.” She shakes her head, her hands trembling as she turns another page of the book. “Every day, it is the same.”

  I pace near the window, rubbing my growling stomach. Halla has sent a maid to bring food, but this one’s new and a little slow. She’s taking her time biting all my cheese and tasting all the meat. We’re probably getting the best stuff in the castle, so no wonder she’s being pokey. I do my best not to glare at her, but staring out the window as men die is surprisingly hungry work. “What do we do?” I ask Halla for the millionth time today. “What if your husband refused to go out on the battlefield with Aron?”

  Solat watches me pace as he leans against the wall. “Ask a cyclops warrior not to go to war? Better luck asking the sun not to shine.”

  I scowl at him. “Not helping, buddy.”

  “He’s right,” Halla says. “He will never refuse Lord Aron. This is the greatest honor he can imagine. You don’t know how it’s rejuvenated him to fight alongside Aron. Having him here makes me have hope once more. I’ve been so worried.” She pauses and closes the book in her lap. “So no, my Mathior would never agree to that.”

  The maid drops a piece of cheese on the floor.

  “Dude, seriously,” I say. “That’s my lunch.”

  “Sorry, my lady.” She bobs in a curtsy. “Almost done, I promise.” And she picks up another one of the myriad cheeses and nibbles on it.

  The cook should just send up an entire wheel of cheese so I can gnaw on it, instead of all these teeny tiny wedges that all have to be tasted. I bite back a sigh.

  “Will Lord Aron consider a parlay with the enemy?” Halla asks. “To discuss terms?”

  “Seeing as the whole goal is for them to kill each other? Highly doubt it.” I clasp my hands behind my back and pace back and forth. “The goal here is for each one to murder the other’s anchor so they can be the last one standing. There’s no peaceful way about this—”

  “What are you doing?” Solat’s low, casual voice distracts me.

  I turn to look at him, confused, but he’s not watching me. He’s staring at the maid, who’s frozen in place as she hovers over the tray.

  Halla and I exchange a look. “What’s the problem?” I ask.

  “I’m done, my lady,” the maid says brightly, curtsying again. “All safe.” She turns and heads for the door, but Solat steps in front of it, blocking her.

  The queen’s guards bristle with attention, and everyone’s staring at the maid.

  She bows her head. “Please, I would like to go back to the kitchens now.”

  “You weren’t eating Lady Faith’s food,” Solat says casually, arms crossed. “You were just pretending to.”

  “O-of course I was,” the maid stammers. She looks at me and the queen. “I ate a bite out of everything, just like I was asked. You can look at the cheese.”

  I pick up a piece, which does have tooth-marks in it. “It’s bitten—”

  “I’m sure it is. But I also saw her spitting out each bite. That’s very curious, isn’t it?” He tilts his head, his handsome features growing hard as he stares at the maid. “You put the food in the front of your dress.”

  The woman looks shocked, her hand going to the front of her gown. “You just want to see down it. Is that what this is? Harassing a servant—”

  This entire situation seems odd, but after all the time I’ve spent with Solat? I trust him. “I’ll look if you’re worried about a man seeing your boobs,” I offer. “If he’s wrong, I’m sure he’ll apologize nicely.” And I smile at her.

  Her face goes pale as she looks at me. A second later, she turns and tries to race to the far end of the room, not that there’s anywhere to go. She just wants to get away. As the men run after her, she races toward the window, as if she’s going to fling herself out of it. Solat tackles her before the guards can, and then the sobbing girl is lifted to her feet even as bits of food spill to the ground around her.

  “You were trying to kill Lady Faith, weren’t you?” Solat snarls, and I’ve never seen him so angry.

  “No!” she cries.

  “Then eat this.” He grabs a cake from the tray and holds it to her lips. “Go on. Take a bite out of it right now and swallow.”

  Her mouth trembles and she stares at him long and hard, but never moves toward the food.

  My jaw drops. I stare, hoping that he’s wrong, that she’ll eat the damn thing and show him he’s overreacting, but she just starts to cry.

  “Did the Adassians send you?” He grabs her jaw, startling me with how rough he is. “Did they?”

  “I am faithful to Lord Aron of the Cleaver,” she cries, collapsing at his feet.

  I can’t believe it. Someone just tried to kill me and I wasn’t even paying attention. I was freaking impatient because I was hungry. I knew my food was being tasted for such a thing but I didn’t really think someone was going to do it. Numb, I watch the girl weep as two guards move forward and pick her up from the floor.

  “I don’t understand. How did they find out I’m here?” I ask, approaching the woman.

  “Who else would sit with the queen?” She cringes back from me, trying to wrestle free from the guards. “I am faithful to Lord Aron!” she wails again when Solat leans in.

  “So am I! What the hell?” My shout startles her and she stares at me with wide eyes. I thump a fist against my chest. “You think I’m not loyal to him? Bitch, I am the most loyal person there is!”

  “It’s not the same—”

  I make a sound of frustration in my throat, turning away. I hate that she’s right. It’s not the same. Just because she’s working for Aron of the Cleaver doesn’t mean that it’s my Aron. I rub my brow, frustrated. I’m hungry, I’m scared, and I feel really, really alone right now.

  Nothing is safe. They’re going to try to kill me. Everyone is.

  Why wouldn’t they? The gods command it. I can’t fight against that.

  And even if they don’t succeed…I still have to die. I close my eyes, and I can still see the snap of my thread under the Spidae’s fingers. They knew all along. Just as they knew that Hedonism Aron would be meeting us here in Yshrem, they knew I was going to die.

  It occurs to me that maybe the Spidae have known the outcome of things all along. They’re guiding it in their own, warped little way. That my coming from the Earth web to this one “just because the veil between worlds was thin” is a crock of shit and it’s another thing they’ve manipulated. How do I know they’re not teasing and toying with outcomes just to guide things? How do I know they haven’t been drawing me towards this ever since I got my fortune read? Even the cards back then had spiderwebs on the backs.

  I know, suddenly, without a shadow of a doubt that this is their doing.

  They want me here.

  Which means they want my Aron to win.

  Which means I’m
going to die to ensure that happens.

  A strange calm settles over me. I continue to pace even as the guards take the woman away. Solat remains at my side, a furious scowl on his handsome jaw, like he’s personally offended that someone tried to get rid of me.

  New guards arrive in the room and settle at the doors. Queen Halla gets to her feet, picks up her cup, and then tosses the contents into the fire. “Get my chamberlain,” she says to one of the guards. “From now on, tasters will only be my ladies. The kitchens will be guarded. All food will be tasted, even that granted by the goddess—”

  “And we won’t tell any of this to Lord Aron,” I add.

  The queen turns to look at me in shock. “We cannot keep such a thing secret. The enemy knows—”

  “—that a stranger’s hanging out with the queen? It’s not hard to put two and two together.” I tap my hand against my thigh, trying to think. “They’ll try again. If not poison, then something else. Arrows. Maybe someone will burn down the whole keep. I don’t know. As long as they know I’m here, though, everyone’s in danger. They’ll take out the whole city just to get to me and you know I’m right.”

  Halla purses her lips. “Then what do we do?”

  “We have to act before they try again. We have to get the upper hand. Somewhere over there is his anchor. Unless we have a way to poison their entire encampment and can live with murdering thousands, we need to figure out who his anchor is and take him or her out.”

  “But how?” Halla protests. “We have tried that before—”

  “I’ll go,” Solat says, speaking up for the first time since the assassin left the room.

  We both turn to look at him.

  “What?” I sputter. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Solat continues. “I’m good at ingratiating myself. I’ll get one of their uniforms from off the dead and start hunting around. I know what to look for, how an anchor is guarded.” His gaze locks on me. “I’ll find the information and we can mark the tent he or she is hiding in.”

  “You think we haven’t tried?” Queen Halla asks imperiously.

  “I know how Aron thinks. Two different Arons,” he adds. “I know how they are different, but I also know the ways they are similar. I’ll be able to spot the anchor.”

  And he looks at me for approval.

  An infiltrator. Of course it’s smart. Of course Solat knows how Aron thinks. He was with Liar Aron and then he was with my Aron. He knows what to look for, more than any Yshremi or Cyclopae warrior because he’s ridden with Arons of different flavors for months now.

  “It’s dangerous,” I admit to him.

  “Does it matter?” he asks, all cockiness. “I never expected to get out of this alive. Did you?”

  Queen Halla’s hands fly to her mouth.

  He’s…not wrong, though. I think he’s bluffing, because a man with no future wouldn’t have been so upset at Yulenna’s choice. But if he wants to go, how can I stop him? Especially when I know if we sacrifice our lives, we’ll be saving hundreds on both sides—maybe thousands?

  The Adassians could have spies in the city right now. Who’s to stop them from setting fire to the keep and burning us out while we sleep?

  Great. Now I’m never going to eat or sleep again. I rub my aching stomach. “Solat, I don’t know—”

  “We won’t tell Aron,” he reiterates. “Kerren and Markos will cover for me. I’ll sneak into the other camp and when I find the tent in that sea of tents where the anchor is hiding, I’ll mark it.”

  “How?”

  “With a symbol.” He grins. “Maybe a spider.”

  “Solat…”

  He moves forward and takes my hand in his, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss my knuckles, but all he does is raise my hand and bow over it like a courtly gentleman. “I know how to be ingratiating, Faith. Trust me to do this. Give me a few days and I’ll find that anchor.”

  What other choice do we have?

  Markos tastes all my food for the rest of the day, and Kerren hovers over the cook down in the kitchens to make sure nothing is compromised.

  When Aron returns that night, I’m filled with love for him—love and desperation. He’s in his element with the war, the battles, pitting himself against an opponent. His eyes gleam with enthusiasm. Aron’s never been handsomer to me. I don’t care that he’s a god of war, or a god of storms. I just care that he’s mine.

  And tonight, I’m feeling more than a little desperate. So I tackle him the moment we’re alone, and we make love three times straight before I collapse in the bed and he pulls me against his chest for snuggling.

  “I think we are making headway, Faith,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my shoulder. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  I hold his arm to my stomach and lean back against him. “I hope you’re right.”

  78

  Things fall into a pattern for days.

  Solat disappears, as promised. I watch anxiously at the window as the armies clash at the walls and at the side gate every morning, and neither side seems to be gaining or losing ground by the time both sides retreat to their respective territories. Every night, bodies are burned.

  The next morning, the men wake up and do the same. They put on their armor, cheer when Aron gives a war cry, and fight gloriously at his side.

  Both sides are fighting for the god of battle, Aron of the Cleaver. The strange irony of that doesn’t escape me. No one’s going to ever back down because why would they? Their god is on the front lines, eating this shit up. The queen cries as her husband goes out to war every morning, convinced this will be the last time she sees him. I can’t imagine her terror. The only reason I’m calm is because I know Aron can’t get killed. He’s loving this, in his element with every swing of the gigantic double-bladed axe he now carries at all times. I want to be happy for him, but they haven’t made progress into the enemy camp, and I worry how long this will go on.

  Will both Arons keep flinging their armies at each other until they run out of men? What happens then? It’s a sobering thought, and I think of poor Queen Halla, who clutches her infant son to her chest every day and frets over her husband.

  As for me, I wait. I wait for Aron’s army to take control of the Adassian territory. I wait for Solat to send word that he’s found the other anchor. I wait for another assassin to appear. I wait for Aron to come back to me every night.

  What else can I do?

  I can’t leave. I can’t help.

  All I can do is stare out the window and hope that there’s a break on one side or another, or that Solat appears with the information we need…or that the Aron on the other side disappears because Solat’s somehow assassinated the other anchor.

  The only thing I can do is stand around and wait for something to change.

  But days pass and there’s nothing.

  It’s been maybe four days when everything breaks. The day starts as it always does. Aron wakes me up early for a fierce round of quick morning lovemaking before he puts on his armor and heads off to battle. I bathe and dress, then head into the queen’s chambers accompanied by Kerren and several other Yshremi guards who now shadow my every move. The queen sits with her ladies, her face pinched with stress. She was so happy that my Aron arrived, but it’s been days and we make no headway, and people just keep dying.

  I sit down across from her and Kerren immediately starts tasting the food set out for me. “Morning,” I say to Halla, rubbing my eyes.

  “Good morn to you.” Her voice is even, sweet. She’s good at hiding how she feels in front of the guards. It’s only after they settle to their places against the door that she lets some of her stress show. “Another day of this.” She spreads her hands in her lap. “I want to pray to the gods to watch over my husband, but there is no one in the Aether to hear.”

  “Aron says they’re gaining ground,” I tell her. “I hope he’s right.”

  “But will it be soon enough to save the lives of hundreds
of good men?” She presses her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. I know you have as much control as I do on such things. I do have a small bit of good news for you on this day. My wizards have a spyglass for you.” Her smile is faint.

  “Oh? That’s great. Where is it?” I’m itching to get a good look at the battle in the same way I’d pick at a scab. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.

  “We can visit them once you have eaten,” she says, gesturing at the tray of food where Kerren even now stuffs his face, chewing as fast as he can. Tasting my food is a full-time job practically, because I eat so much. Poor Kerren.

  I snag a fruit-stuffed tart that already has a large bite out of it and start eating. I know somewhere down in the kitchens, Markos is watching every bit of food that goes onto my plate. “Tell your cooks I appreciate the efforts. I’ve eaten better here than—”

  There’s an urgent knock at the door. Before anyone can answer, the knock comes again and then a soldier rushes in, a chest in his hands.

  The queen goes white as a sheet. “What is it?”

  Oh god. I stare at the soldier’s grim face, wondering who’s died. What terrible thing has happened…because I know this can’t be good.

  “Your Majesty.” He bows his head and sets the trunk on the ground. “We found this left in the bushes by the side gate. It says it should be delivered to Lord Aron’s anchor.”

  “Is it a trap? Have my wizards been consulted?” The queen’s voice is sharp and I don’t know if it’s anger or relief.

  “It carries no magic,” he says and bows his head. “We looked inside to ascertain this before we brought it in and…it is a man’s head, Your Majesty.”

  My stomach churns. Someone’s sent me a head? Whose?

  The answer comes before I even reach for the trunk. Oh god. I swallow hard and force myself to get to my feet and lift the lid. I open it just a crack, just enough to see Solat’s sightless eyes staring up at me from his handsome face. There’s blood crusting his hair, and…and I shut the lid again.