Bound to the battle god

11

The moon is an unpleasant, bright red and huge in the sky over the night. I’m so tired that I don’t want to do anything but crawl into the nearest bed and go to sleep, but I know we can’t do that. I’m tempted to find a stable and a friendly horse that won’t mind sharing his stall, but something tells me we’d be smart to get off this little island and out of Aventine entirely.

Aron doesn’t say much—thank goodness—as we race out of the temple grounds and head for the docks. They’re surprisingly not hard to find. Stragglers from the big festival are still along a wide, cobbled, torchlit path and so we follow them as they head to the ferry.

The ferryman’s wearing soldier garb just like us and nods as we approach. It’s too dark for him to see under our hoods, but I feel my heart pounding anyhow. He ushers us on and doesn’t ask for money, and then it’s that simple to get away from the temple itself. The ferry waits a few minutes for the last few stragglers, and then pushes off from the shore, the guards poling the flat boat across the moonlit waters.

I lean in close to Aron. “From this point on, your name is Grover.”

Even though it’s dark and he’s hooded, I can still see a frown on his pale jaw. “That is a stupid name. Why?”

“Because no one’s going to think a guy named Grover is a god,” I whisper.

He grunts. “Do I not look godlike as it is?”

He does, but that can be explained away. “We’ll just tell them you’re a devotee. Just do your best not to touch anyone,” I say, thinking of the electric shock that happens every time his hand brushes against my arm. “And keep your hood up. And actually, just stay quiet the entire time please.”

That’s probably best.

“Do not tell me what to do,” he begins in an imperious tone.

I poke him in the chest to shut him up and jump at the spark that crackles between us. “Do you really want to go there right now, Grover?” I emphasize the fake name to remind him that we’re undercover.

The god goes silent.

I turn to stare at the waters, trying to figure out our next move. Where’s the best place to blend in this hellish medieval city? Where would one go to get information? I mean, it’s clearly not a temple—

“What of you?” Aron leans so close to my hood that goosebumps prickle up and down my arms.

I look over at him in surprise, and our faces are mere inches away from each other. Another ripple of awareness flashes through me and I remember that I’m supposed to be his slave. Serve him in all ways. “What of me what?”

“What is your name? What are you called?”

Oh. I guess I should be insulted that he’s never thought to ask until this point. Maybe I’ve got super-low expectations when it comes to Aron, because I’m kind of flattered he actually asked. “I told you before. My name is Faith.”

“You told me before, but I did not care before.” When I scowl at him, he arches that scarred brow at me. “Faith does not sound like a regular name. What is next? Door? Boat?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s just focus on the task at hand, all right?” I tell him tightly, and turn back to glaring out at the water.

When the boat pulls up against the dock, people begin to peel away. We get off after them, Aron keeping close to me. I don’t know where to go at this point, so I pick someone that’s stumbling around and just follow him as he heads into the city itself. At night, it’s a lot quieter. The narrow streets seem a little wider and less mucky, and you can’t see how run-down some of the buildings are or how they all cluster together like they’ve fallen atop one another. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whi

“Where are we going?” Aron leans in and asks me, and I feel another shockwave go down my arm as he brushes against me. Overhead, thunder begins to rumble, a sign that Aron’s mood is turning south. That’s not good—he needs to keep that shit under wraps or he’s for sure going to give us away.

As we turn down another narrow street, I hear the sound of laughter and someone shouting, and I see a distant wooden sign hanging over a building with light spilling out of it. As we get closer, I see the picture’s one of a goblet. A few horses are tethered outside. Oh. An i

“As if I control that?” he states haughtily.

“Well it isn’t me doing it, so you’d better fucking try,” I snap at him. I know I’m being pissy, but I’m exhausted, scared, and I’ve had a chunk of my head ripped out tonight, all because of him. I’m tired of his shit.

He reels in surprise, and I realize he’s probably never had anyone talk back to him ever before. Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. I don’t even regret it. I’m a little terrified that he’ll pull out that sword and kill me, but then at least I’d get some rest.

The thunder stops, and we glare at each other for a moment.

“That’s better,” I tell Aron.

His eyes narrow and he just stares at me. Slowly, he shakes his head. “You are not afraid of me at all, are you?”

I get goosebumps at that, wondering if this is the set-up for being eradicated by a god’s temper. Being a pain in the ass has got me this far, however, so I lift my chin. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know if I am amused or a

“Well, you didn’t ask for obedient volunteers, just volunteers,” I say, and I jump when he barks a laugh. It’s booming and almost as loud as the thunder. Still, I can’t find it in me to tell him to quiet down. I like his laughter.

We could both use a laugh after the night we’ve had and I’d rather have a laughing storm god than a murdering one.

I pat his shoulder. “I’m sorry your prelate tried to kill you.”

He grunts.

“Okay, we’re going to go into the i

He lowers his hood and arches a brow at me. “Blend?”

Right. He’s about one skin tone away from being albino, has the same scar the god does, and strange bi-colored eyes. Oh, and he’s unearthly handsome. “Hood up,” I say brightly. “Sit in the back of the room and try not to talk to anyone. Keep a low profile.”

“I should be the one asking questions while you blend. You look like all these other wenches.”

Prince Charming, he’s definitely not. I reach out and pull his hood back over his black, flowing hair. “Something tells me that’d be a bad idea. Plus, I think we’ll get further if someone’s not tossing around words like ‘wenches’ and ‘neck-wringing.’ Just let me handle the talking, okay? Like you said, I look like everyone else. No one’s going to notice another woman around here but everyone’s going to notice you.”

Aron grunts. “Let us go, then.”

The door to the i

Aron behaves, which is a relief. He ducks his head and moves to the back of the tavern, winding through the tables and heading for an empty one in the corner, by the fire. I watch him go and the crowd barely seems to notice him. He’s just another man in soldier’s clothing in a city full of the military. Works for me. I head to the bar and move to the counter, smiling at the woman behind it.

“Order something or move on,” she tells me in a bored, tired voice. “Food’s served here, drinks at a table. If you aren’t buying, then head on back out—”

My stomach growls at the mention of food and I grab my pouch. “I’ll have food and a drink, if that’s all right.”

That gets the waitress’s attention. She pauses from swiping down the counter with a wet rag and looks over at me. Maybe it’s something in my tone, but she looks suspicious. “Two crowns.”

I pull my change out and start picking through it, looking for coins with crowns on them. I find two and offer them to her, but her lip curls. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Right. I’m already fucking this up. I put the money on the bar and then pat the coins, and pull out the stolen tag that shows my Aventinian allegiance so I don’t get sold into slavery again. I avoid her question and change tactics. “How about we do things this way. I’ll give you any five coins you want, and you can give me some food and some answers about this place. Sound good?”

The girl leans over the bar and immediately grabs five of the smallest coins, dropping them into her bodice with a look at the man at the far end of the bar.

I slide the coins into my pouch again, mentally making a note that the tiny coins are the ones that are the biggest amounts. “Thank you.”

A second later, I’m given a pottery bowl with veggies, shredded meat, and a hunk of bread. A goblet of the sour-smelling wine is set down next to it, and the waitress crosses her arms, looking at me expectantly. “What do you want to know?”

My mouth waters at the sight of the food and drink. It’s impossible that I’m hungry again, because I ate like a pig a short time ago, but I could eat. I sop the bread in the juices from the meat and take a big mouthful. Heaven. “This is so good. Thank you.”

Her impatient expression eases a little. “Long day, eh?”

Oh my god, she has no idea. “The longest.” I take another bite and glance back at the corner, but Aron’s just sitting, arms crossed and hunched over the table. So far so good. “So uh, if I need to leave the city tonight, what’s the best way to do so?”

She picks up her bar rag again and shrugs. “You’ve got two options. Docks or south gate.”

Ah. I consider this even as I shovel food into my mouth. We don’t have a boat, and I don’t know anything about sailing, so the docks are out. “So the south gate, then. That’s the safest place to go?”

“Only place to go,” she corrects. “All the other gates are controlled by the army. South gate’s the only way in or out of Aventine.”

I nod thoughtfully and take a gulp of wine. It’s strong enough to make a shiver go through me, but I drink it anyhow. “What’s there?”

“Past the Dirtlands, you mean?”

Dirtlands. Interesting. That explains the fine grit that seems to catch the wind constantly. “Yeah, past the Dirtlands.”