Bound to the battle god

68

Nothing comes to an end for weeks, though. We pass another two glorious, lazy weeks in the Spidae’s keep, and the men spar on the beach every day while Yule

I’m head over heels in love with the big guy. I’ve never been so happy. Those two weeks pass in an instant.

One morning I wake up, though, and I immediately know something’s wrong. Aron’s not in bed with me, and at first I think he’s out sparring with the men. It’s awfully quiet, though, so they must be talking strategy or discussing plans. I get dressed, slip on a pair of shoes, and head to the balcony so I can watch.

But Aron’s on the balcony, much to my surprise.

“Oh, hey, you’re up here? No practice today?” I move forward and slide my hand into the crook of his arm, pressing a kiss to his bicep.

“Not today.”

There’s something in his tone that seems…off. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t give me one of those heart-melting smiles, doesn’t even act like his normal arrogant self. He just puts his hands on the balcony ramparts and stares out at the wide, gray lake.

“Aron?” I ask again, starting to get worried. For the first time, I notice that his long hair is slightly disheveled, as if he hasn’t brushed it or run his fingers through it after getting out of bed. His clothing looks like what he wore yesterday, wrinkled and the laces undone. I notice he’s got no shoes on his feet.

This isn’t like him at all.

“I’m fine, Faith. Go back to bed.”

I playfully run my fingers up his arm. “Only if you come back to bed with me.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not in the mood.”

Not in the mood? Not in the fucking mood? I’m hurt, but it quickly passes. This isn’t Aron. Something’s wrong. Something’s different about him and it’s worrying me. Aron has been in the mood ever since we first made love. Sometimes I wake up to him pushing between my thighs because he doesn’t want to wait until morning for me to wake up—and I love that. I wake up to him kissing me or going down on me because he loves my taste. The man loves sex.

How can he not be in the mood? He’s always in the mood.

I study him for a moment longer, then suggest something I think will break him out of his funk. “So when we get to Yshrem, what’s the plan?” Talking war strategy with the men always makes him light up. If nothing else, it makes him talk, sometimes endlessly. Right now I’d be happy to let him fill my ears about troops and battle plans if it means he’ll just talk to me. “Carry on as we have been? Or amass an army to take out your opponents? Do you think we’ll need to fight our way there?”

He shrugs.

He fucking shrugs.

That’s the only answer I get.

This is…not my Aron. Something’s definitely wrong.

I pat his arm and move away, heading back inside. I turn and look at the man standing on the balcony, just in case he’s messing with me, but Aron continues to stare out at the gray waters, seeing nothing.

And suddenly, I know what this is. I know exactly why he’s like this…but I need proof.

Fear makes my heart thump loud in my chest. I hitch up my skirts and storm my way up the ramp. I walk slow at first, but as the path winds around the tall tower, I start ru

One of the Spidae is there, gazing up at the web. He looks the same as he always does—long white hair, long white robes—and I don’t know if it’s one I’ve met before or a different one. It doesn’t matter. I rush toward the web. “Where’s his strand?”

The Spidae doesn’t ask for more details than that. He knows what I mean. He gives me a look that might have something like pity in it, and then strolls forward, gesturing at another section of the web. I follow him, moving in close. As I approach, each strand seems to take on its own individual life, and out of the cluster, I see the shining golden strand that has to be Aron’s. I lean in, studying it, making note of where it crisscrosses with other threads, and continue to follow it into the weave.

There are three strands…or there should be. I see the one that is Aron—my Aron—intertwined with my own. I follow the others instead. Two of the strands have moved closer together, so close they were almost interwoven. Now, one hangs loose, broken free from the web itself.

“One of his Aspects is dead,” I murmur, as if saying it aloud confirms it.

“Yes,” the Spidae moves to my side. “Killed by another, it seems.”

I stare at the two closely tangled threads. Hedonism and Apathy moving together. Now only one thread remains. I turn to look at the Spidae. “It’s Apathy that died, isn’t it? Someone killed his anchor?”

He inclines his head. “He is gone. Aron is re-absorbing him. His personality will be different for a few days.”

I know that. I do. Didn’t we go through this with Liar Aron? But my heart still hurts. I ache for the Aron that’s gone—even though I know he has to go—and I’m a little afraid that only one Aron remains.

Hedonism.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter.

“Aron has many flaws, but that is not one of them,” the Spidae says in that cool voice of his. “Have you made your decision?”

I clench my fists, straightening. “What decision?”

Instead of answering me, he walks slowly behind the web, and my skin prickles. I know where he’s going. Reluctantly, I follow, and I see the second web—the Earth web—and my strand, stretched taut across the two. Is it just me, or are the few threads that are pulled tight between the two webs—displaced people like myself—fewer in number than before? Or is it my imagination?

“Have you decided if you wish to return to your world or stay with Aron?”

“You know my answer.” I thought it was obvious after the weeks that have passed. “You want me to say it aloud?”

He inclines his head in a nod.

Bastard. “I’m staying. I won’t leave my Aron.”

“Very well.” He reaches out and pinches my thread, tearing it away from the Earth web. Something small and fragile feels as if it’s tearing away inside me, too, and I choke on a gasp.

He just did that. He just fucking did that.

He didn’t have to. He could have left it for however long it needed to be up and he fucking pulled me free. I stare at him in horror and then turn and leave the room, too furious to speak.

“You are angry, Faithful?” he calls after me. “Why?”

I don’t answer. I storm down the hall, determined to never look at those bastards again. Forever will be too soon. I hate that as I head away, I know he’s following me. I can hear his light footsteps on the spiderweb-covered ground. Is he following so he can twist the knife? Or is there more to this story?

If there’s more, I don’t want to hear. It’s clear I’m not dealing with stable entities. He might think it’s no big deal, but I can’t stop seeing his hand twisting and plucking at my thread, tearing it away from the web.

Tearing it away from my past.

Now I have no choice but to go forward, and that’s completely tied to Aron, who’s currently full of apathy.

“Faith?” Yule

I immediately step in front of her, feeling protective. I turn and face the Spidae who followed me, a curious look on his normally blank face. “Can’t you just fuck off, already?”

He just blinks at me. “You are angry. I wish to understand why.”

“Because you’re playing with us. We’re not people to you. We’re strings to be pulled and manipulated.” I shake my head, unable to articulate just how unsettled and angry I am at his actions. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You don’t snip someone right in front of their eyes, okay?”

“Because you came in to see if Aron had been affected,” he murmurs, and for a moment, I get that his robot brain is trying to understand why I’m upset. “You were not asking about yourself so you should not have been…tampered with?”

“All I’m saying is try to think like a real person, all right? We’re not puppets. We’re not strings. We’re flesh and blood people and when we’re having a bad day, maybe you don’t fucking snip our strings in front of our eyes.”

Yule

“I see.” He nods slowly. “So I wait for…a good day to do such things?”

“Or not do it at all!”

“I must. It is my job.”

I frown at him, thinking. He said there were three of them in this tower. He’s clearly not lies, apathy, or arrogance. He doesn’t seem to strike me as any of those, just so bizarrely out of touch that he doesn’t grasp how the mind works. “You’re…you’re not split like Aron is, are you?”

He inclines his head, his eerie pale eyes locked on mine. “I am not part of the Anticipation. This is how I have always been.”

As we talk, another Spidae arrives, this one exactly the same as the other Aspect, but his eyes are pale gray and so colorless they look like ice. He stands next to his other-self and watches us, his head tilting to the side like a curious bird…or a spider.

I can feel Yule

I also wonder if that’s why they push with so many weird questions.

So I lift my chin, staring at the newcomer. “Which one are you? Past, present or future?”

“Is that how we are designated, then?” He smiles, and the expression is more creepy than reassuring.

“What are you, then?”

“The Spidae,” they answer at the same time.

“But you’re supposed to be split? Like this?”

One spreads his hands in a gesture while the other answers. “The High Father ca

“Here, in our exile,” chimes in the other.

I exhale a sharp breath. “You really need an anchor to keep your shit together, dude. Both of you.”

“It is true,” the original Spidae says. “We do not know—or care—about humankind because we interact with them so very little.”

“But they are fascinating,” his brother murmurs, his gaze on my furious expression.