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Epilogue
I run my fingers over the threads of the web, waiting for the picture to change. The threads shift, forming pictures, and eventually outline Yule
“Hey!” I say in greeting. “About time!”
“Sorry,” she says with a small laugh. “I was, ah, distracted.”
“Ew, gross, don’t tell me any more.” I pretend to plug my ears. “I’m still scarred from your last story.”
Her laughter peals through the hall, and I grin back at her. Yule
I still find the Spidae creepy, after all. I don’t want to hear about her pleasuring all three of them at once. Again. I’m still trying to scrub the image of that from the last time she told me about it.
Still, it’s nice to have a buddy to chat with. I liked being friends with Yule
“So?” I ask, practically dancing in place. “Did you check?”
“On the woman for Markos?” She nods. “Her thread is strong and not currently entwined with anyone else’s. Are you sure you can maneuver the two of them together? Or should I get my masters involved?”
I wave a hand. “I can handle it. I’ll make Aron go to war with someone or other. She’s Cyclopae, right? She’s bound to love war.”
“True. Well, let me know if you need me to have their threads tweaked.” Her eyes gleam with anticipation.
“Let’s not make it too obvious just yet,” I say. “If Markos knows we’re matchmaking from the Aether he’s bound to get stubborn.” Both Yule
Then again, maybe that’s what Kerren needs. We’ll figure it out.
“That wasn’t why I was calling, though,” I say, even as I make a mental note to put a bug in my Aron’s ear about setting up some skirmishes on the Yshremi border that will allow a Holy Warrior of the Cleaver to hang out with a lady barbarian. “I was going to ask about the other thing.”
“Calling?” She tilts her head, curious.
“Uh, web-calling?” I gesture at the magic spiderweb that we communicate through. The gods are able to see each other from afar through the webs, and I have enough control after hours of practice to snoop on some mortal places. “It’s a telephone sort of thing. Long story.”
“I see. From your old home?”
I nod. Fu
Here, I’m Faith, eternal anchor and loyal companion to Aron of the Cleaver, Lord of Storms and the Butcher God of Battle. I know which one I’d rather be.
Yule
“Oh god. Do I?” I clutch my stomach. “I’m so nervous. You’re sure?”
“The threads don’t lie,” she tells me in a singsong. “You’ll see.”
I nod absently, even as thunder crashes outside. “Oh, that’ll be Aron. Can I call you back later?”
She chuckles. “Yes, do this ‘calling’ thing later. You know where I am.” And she waves from within the web and then fades out.
I turn away from the web and smooth my hands over my hair and then down my dress. It’s new, just like most of the stuff in my private chambers in the Keep of Storms. As promised, my Aron waged a (teeny tiny) war on Glistentide and accepted the spoils of offering. Now I have a ton of pretty dresses, urns full of incense and fine fabrics, and the best damn palatial bed I have ever seen. I have chairs and vases and books I can’t read and a harp that I have no idea how to play, but I was thrilled with all of it and made sure Aron blessed Glistentide appropriately as a thank you.
I picked something a little flashy today to get Aron’s attention. Not that it’s hard to get his attention, but I love it when he gives me one of those long, heated looks that tells me his mind is nowhere near the battlefield. The dress I’m wearing is a long, shimmery pink that fades to blue at the skirt, with a deep, deep embroidered neckline that shows off my impressive rack.
The massive double doors of the Keep of Storms open and men pour in, wearing armor and speaking in loud voices. They laugh and jostle each other, full of enthusiasm even though not a few moments ago they were fighting each other on the field of battle. That’s all they do here in Aron’s slice of the heavens—battles after battles after battles, then they come and feast. I smile at them as they surge in like a wave, and each one makes Aron’s symbol in my direction. Some even move their hand up slightly with a second thump over the heart, a new gesture people have started to do for me specifically. Aron says that I’m not worshipped—not yet—but he wouldn’t be surprised if I started receiving prayers in the next mille
I scan the faces of the men—and women—as they crowd the feast tables that magically replenish themselves and begin to eat. Solat’s here, and Vitar, and I wink at them as they pass by. Solat’s following a female warrior from Old Suuol with a look of interest that tells me he hasn’t changed, even dead.
I’m about to ask where my Aron is when thunder crashes overhead again and I roll my eyes, even as I smile. Dramatic entrance incoming. I clasp my hands, waiting beside my throne and pretending I’m about to sit down in my smaller chair next to his. It’s a game we play—I move to sit, and Aron grabs me before I can and pulls me into his lap. It doesn’t matter how fast I am, my ass never gets in that chair.
Even now, I barely put my hands on the arm of my throne and then a massive gust of wind and a crackle of lightning sweeps up against me, rustling my skirts. A big arm locks around my waist and then I’m hauled into Aron’s lap as he sits on his throne.
“My love,” he growls, his throat full of thunder and pleasure at the sight of me. He’s become fiercer and more magical as he adjusts to his return in the Aether. Today, wind makes his hair constantly blow—even inside—and lightning sparks his eyes. The other day he wore a crown of pure lightning in bed.
Fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
He nips at my neck, sending sizzles of pleasure through my body. “Did you miss me this day?”
“Nope,” I tell him.
Aron throws his head back and laughs, because he knows I’m lying.
I just grin and smooth his long hair back from his face, caressing his jaw even as I do. I’m getting used to the eyepatch and I have to admit, it does good things for my lady parts. “How was your day, dear?” I ask, teasing.
He gives me a pleased look, one hand gripping me high on my thigh. “Eventful. Prayers are coming in from Rastana. They are on the verge of civil war. I shall have to evaluate which side deserves my blessing.” He takes my hand and pulls my knuckles toward his mouth, pressing a kiss there. “You will help me?”
I squirm with pleasure. Aron doesn’t have to include me in his “job.” He’s the God of Battle, after all, but he likes to get my thoughts on things, and I love that he respects me enough to listen. “Of course.”
“After di
“Maybe later.” I pat his chest. We both know that feeding me usually turns into some hardcore sex. The man gets wildly aroused when I eat a piece of fruit, and well, I do too. “We need to talk about something important.”
He turns my hand over and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, his tongue flicking against my skin. “More important than me feasting between your thighs?”
Unf. This man makes me crazy with lust. He’s good at distracting me, and it makes me super hot that he’s this affectionate in front of the Faithful—his army of soldiers who’ve earned their place at his side. There is nothing I’d like more than to drag him to our private chambers, jerk his pants off, and suck on his length until he’s pulling my hair. I’m all aroused but I really did want to talk to Aron about important things. “We have a…I don’t know if you’ll call it a problem,” I begin, a little worried.
He looks up from raining kisses on the inside of my arm. “Problem?” He frowns, and his other hand tightens around my waist. “You did not eat yesterday, either,” he says, remembering. “What ails you?”
Thunder crashes overhead, different from the booms that normally accompany Aron. This is rage—and fear. He’s worried about me. The others quiet in their seats at the table, the massive hall going silent as all eyes turn to us.
Awkward.
I pretend to pick a piece of lint off of Aron’s battle-tunic. “It might be nothing…”
“Woman,” he growls.
“Has a name,” I remind him.
“Faith.” His eyes flash brighter than any lightning and he grips my wrist tightly. “Tell me what is wrong. Has someone bothered you? Do I need to destroy them?”
“You romantic,” I tease.
He doesn’t laugh.
I bite my lip. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just…”
Aron’s jaw clenches and he pulls me tight against his chest. He leans in close, his breath mingling with mine. “There is nothing to be afraid of, my Faith,” he murmurs. “You know I will cross the Aether to keep you at my side. If I must invade the Underworld once more—”
Oh gosh, now he’s getting super worked up. I pat his chest, trying to calm him down. “Nothing as bad as that. No need to go to war. I just…” I try to think of a delicate way to put it because I’m not entirely sure what he’s going to think. Or if he’ll even like the idea at all. My stomach clenches and not for the first time in the last few days, I feel sick. Really, really sick.
What if Aron hates this?
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt.
He stares at me. “With a baby.”
I slap his chest. “No, with a fucking roasted chicken. Yes, with a baby!”