by Ruby Dixon
That’s Arrogance and the god of battle, all wrapped up into a pretty bow. He’s not Hedonism. I don’t need to check the strings to know that, and I’m so relieved that I burst into tears.
“Shh,” he murmurs, and pulls me against him. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself for the last few days, have I?”
“Apathy,” I manage to choke out. “Apathy is dead.”
“I know.” He strokes my hair, letting me weep against his chest. “There is only one left, which means we cannot stay any longer. He will move to meet us, and I would rather meet him with an army on the fields of Yshrem.”
I nod, but all I can think about is my thread. How easily the Spidae plucked it from its moorings and snapped it. How it fell against the Aos world web so limply. How it’s only tied to Aron now. “And once we beat him…what happens to us?” I whisper. “What happens to me when you win?”
“If you worry that I will send you away, the answer is ‘never,’” Aron says. He holds me tighter. “You’re not leaving my side. I won’t let them part us.”
It might not be his choice. I hug him close. “Just promise me that when you absorb the last guy and then re-ascend, you’ll never forget me, all right? Even if we can’t be together, I need you to always remember me. Promise it.”
His hand clenches possessively in my hair. “You are not going anywhere, Faith. I have promised.”
“All right,” I whisper, but I’m not entirely sure I believe him.
He holds me close, but I don’t want to leave it at that. I need him as much as he needs me, I think. Maybe more. I turn toward him and kiss his cheek, kiss the scar that crosses the left side of his face. I kiss his mouth, and when he kisses me in return, I push him onto his back. I straddle him, hiking up my skirts, because in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than to feel him deep inside me. I need him to claim me and remind me why I do this. It’s not just the sex. It’s never been just the sex. It’s everything Aron is, and how much I believe in him.
How we’re good for each other in all the right ways.
Aron tilts me forward, pulling off his leggings, and then I ease down against his cock. I’m not yet wet enough to take him, so he snags a hand behind my neck and pulls me down for a harder kiss, his mouth fiercely claiming mine even as one hand grasps my breast and teases the nipple. He works it to a hard point with his thumb, rubbing back and forth as I rock against his cock. I want to take him deep, need the connection between us, and when he gives a little push, I sit back, letting gravity do what my body won’t.
That’s not enough for Aron, though. He growls my name, a single syllable of need. “Faith.” One hand clamps on my hip and the other goes to my clit, and he rubs his thumb against it as I rock over him. Oh, fuck. That does it. I close my eyes, losing myself to pleasure as he rubs my clit and slowly I sink onto the hard, thick length of him.
I ride him, my hips working as I move over him. I need this. Need him. I’ve missed him, even though it’s only been a few days since he was lost to me. It made me realize just how much I’ve come to crave him. Not just my body, but my heart.
Maybe even my soul.
“I love you,” I tell him as our bodies work together, faster and harder. “Love you, Aron.”
He doesn’t say it back. I didn’t think he would. But when I climax and collapse atop him and he flips me onto my back and uses me for his pleasure, he growls out something that sounds like “mine.”
It’s enough for now.
I’m not sad to leave the Tower of the Spidae.
Well, I am in a sense. I want to stay at Aron’s side and do nothing but simply exist. I want to have those lazy, blissful days forever…but I know that won’t happen. That’s not in the cards for us. Aron has to defeat his other Aspect and I’ll end up…who knows where. I’m not dwelling on semantics yet. But staying at the tower? That’s a no-go. The feel of the place has changed since Aron had his apathy spell. Maybe it’s the memory of the Spidae snapping my string right before my eyes. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the Spidae telling us in a subtle way to leave now that they have Yulenna all to themselves. It feels a bit like we’ve fed her to the wolves, but when we pack our final supplies to leave, she’s there to send us off with a smile and a wave.
And she looks…happy. Renewed. Like she has a purpose, even if it’s just to be the servant of a trio of creepy spider gods. So, good for her, I guess. I certainly can’t judge.
Kerren loads our supplies onto the cobweb raft (I recognize the material now after being surrounded by it for weeks) and poles across while the woales wade on through, gliding through the water with light bounces as their feet land and hit the shallow bottom. The lake is wide, but it’s not deep in the slightest, and if I thought it was dead before, it’s a tomb now.
I worry a little, though, thinking of Vitar. “It’s safe,” Markos reassures me from the woale ahead of mine, his grip on the harness as we swim-bounce-plow through the water. “Lord Aron killed everything in a single breath when we arrived and it’s been safe to cross ever since.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” I clutch at my woale’s harness as it dips lower in the water, surging forward after it pushes off the bottom. It even swims like a damn hippo. I’m a little nervous to be riding by myself, but with five woales and five riders, it doesn’t make sense to double up. I miss being able to hold onto Aron, though. He’s decided it’s safest if I ride in the middle, so he pulls up the rear while Markos and Kerren ride ahead.
Once we cross the lake, we change out of our wet, cold clothing, and remount again. I wrap my cloak tightly around my body and give the tower one last, final look before it disappears as we head into the mountains.
We’re heading to Yshrem. To our destiny.
I’ve never been so damn scared in my life.
70
ONE MONTH LATER
I wasn’t expecting that the war would beat us to Yshrem.
We sit atop our mounts on the edge of a cliff and stare down at the plain below us. It stretches out for miles, and I almost expect to see more of the tiny villages along the roads that we’ve seen up until now. Instead, there’s a massive, white stone keep with a huge crenellated retaining wall. It butts up against a wide river, and on the other side of the river is an army.
In between them is a war zone.
Trenches are dug all along the river’s edge. A bridge that looks as if it used to cross to the other side is demolished in the middle. Spikes have been pushed into the ground to act as barriers and all over I see churned earth, scorched piles of ash that still smoke in the late morning sunlight, and in the distance, a field full of tents. Men crawl behind the barricades on the other side of the river, and even from here, I can see armor and spears. Flags flutter in the breeze, and as I watch, yet another rises behind a spiky barricade as if to taunt the cool-looking keep on the other side.
“What is this?” I ask, a little shocked. Part of me thought we’d show up to Yshrem—the capital city of the kingdom Yshrem which bears the same name—and maybe regroup a little before building an army. Clearly we’ve been beaten to the punch.
“It’s a siege,” Aron says, his gaze on the tableau below, eyes darting as he takes in the sight.
“But who’s sieging Yshrem? They’re the castle, right?” I raise my hand to my eyes, shielding the sunlight as I gaze at the massive fortress. On the far side of the wall, roads and fields lie spread and ordered in neat rows…but they’re empty and I don’t see crops growing. The last village we passed was completely empty and we didn’t know why.
Now I guess we know—they’ve all hidden inside the keep.
“Adassia,” Markos says, and Aron nods.
Over the last month, I’ve been given a crash course on Yshrem and Adassia history. They’re neighboring kingdoms, both conquered by the Cyclopae—who are barbarian warriors—about twenty years ago. Yshrem is fully under Cyclopae control, as their queen married the cyclops king, but it seems Adassia is not as big a fan. They’ve rio
ted in the past and fought against cyclops control before.
“Right. I guess that makes sense that they wouldn’t be happy.” I scan the army, at the bright red banners that fly over every tent and rise over multiple parts of the scarred up battlefield. My heart stutters when I see a familiar axe symbol. “Aron, they’re carrying your mark.”
“I see that.” His voice is flat. “That explains much.”
“What does it explain? Spell it out for us slow people.” Were they waiting for him? Did they know he was coming?
Have the Spidae betrayed us already? Is this all one big game?
“My last Aspect will be there, with Adassia.” He gestures at the sea of tents. “Why else would they war against a much stronger kingdom? They must have something—or someone—on their side to tip the scales in their favor.”
Hedonism Aron is there? I look at the sea of tents for signs that it’s him, but all I see is Aron’s symbol on flags, Aron’s symbol painted onto hammered breastplates. He can’t be wrong, though. The air feels charged, the troops a little too happy as they laugh behind their barricades. They’re laying siege to a hella big castle, but they act like they’re going to win. Even from here, I can tell there’s no tension in them. It’s like they’ve got this in the bag.
They would think that if they have the god of battle on their side.
You will meet your destiny in Yshrem.
Well fuck. They weren’t exactly wrong about that. Our “destiny” has already amassed an army when my Aron refused one. I bite back my sigh. Sometimes I wish Aron was a leeeetle less Aspect of Arrogance and more the Aspect of Common Sense, but I guess that wouldn’t make him who he is. Even so, staring down at the massive Adassian army that Hedonism Aron has manifested makes me think I’d feel better if we went back and got the Novoran army my Aron had been promised. “What do we do?” I ask, looking over at Aron as he gazes down the cliffs at the mess below. “What’s our new plan?”
Kerren, Markos and Solat are silent. I know we’re all waiting for Aron to decide. We can’t take on an army on our own. There’s no freaking way, and Hedonism Aron isn’t going to shove his anchor out in front of us so we can take potshots at it just for funsies.
My skin prickles, and I feel more vulnerable now than ever. I hitch my hood a little higher over my head, as if that will somehow hide me from my inevitable fate.
“We go to Yshrem as planned,” Aron says, nodding at the forbidding keep. “The Spidae will not steer us wrong.”
I’m not so sure about that. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re all being manipulated.
Even so, I’ll follow Aron’s lead.
He dismounts from his woale, casting one last glance over the armies below before turning his attention to me. He comes to my side, offering his hand, and I take it and slide down off my mount, only to be pulled into his arms. Aron cups my face and pulls me to him in a fierce kiss, and I can practically feel the anticipation rolling off of him in waves.
He’s excited that we’re here. He’s excited there’s a war.
Of course he is. He’s the god of battle. I have to keep reminding myself of that. This is his bread and butter. This is what he loves. I’d probably feel the same about a new Twilight book or an entire box of Cadbury Creme Eggs magically showing up. But it scares me.
That army down there means we’re nearing the end.
After a month of crossing the mountains and then the endless forest to get to Yshrem, you’d think I’d be prepared for this. I’m not, though. While I don’t miss the cold of the mountains or trying to lead my woale through the forest for hours on end, I still enjoyed every day I spent with Aron and the others. It was “our” time, strangely enough. Sure, the travel was no fun, but the company was great. And every night, I got to curl up in Aron’s arms and make love to him. Sometimes it would be slow and sweet lovemaking, and sometimes it would be rough and exciting, but it was always good. Between rounds of sex, we’d talk about everything and nothing. I’ve told him all about my life before—how I was just one of dozens of cubes in an insurance company call center. How I was a no one. He doesn’t believe it, and I find that achingly sweet. In his eyes, I’m so important that he can’t imagine anyone overlooking me.
Aron tells me all about his stories, too. About how once upon a time, in the dawn of Aos’s civilizations, Aron was a mortal. A butcher, of all things. He tells me of how his village was invaded by a neighboring war-tribe when many of the men were conscripted into serving their king, and so the village was left undefended save for Aron, who had been recovering from a broken hand and was left behind. He told me how he defended the village from soldier after soldier, slaughtering them with his butcher’s cleaver and held off the enemy one handed long enough for the women and children in the village to flee to the hills.
He died in the fight, but the High Father was so taken with him that he raised him to the Aether and made him the god of battle. And storms, which are battles in the Aether. Every day, I learn more about Aron, and it makes me sad that this man who has come so far is being punished by the High Father like this. There has to be a better way to set the gods back on the right path than this, though what it is, I don’t know.
Not that I’m ungrateful. I’m just happy to be with Aron, to wake up in his arms and feel a little bit of contentment, however fleeting.
I feel all of that slipping away as Aron gazes back down at the field of battle below.
Aron wants to be down there. I can tell. He’s recharged in a way I’ve never seen before at the sight of the battle preparing to happen below. It’s early, but I can see troops gathering on the walls of the Yshrem keep and the Adassian soldiers are organizing, getting ready to move. It’s sure to be a bloodbath, given that they’ll be running up against stone walls protected by a river, but it also looks like no one cares.
For a moment, I want to take Aron by the hand and lead him away from this, from all of this. There’s no time limit on how long it takes for Aron to kill his other Aspect. We can find a little cabin somewhere, hide out from the world, and just live together, taking each day as it comes. Hell, we can wait for old age to decide things. Maybe Hedonism Aron’s anchor will go first—a likely scenario since he—or she—has got to be affected by his master’s pleasure-loving slant. Maybe we just let fate sort things out.
But…that’s not who my Aron is. He can’t sit by and wait for life to happen. He has to make things happen. He has to go to battle because it’s part of who he is. He’s war. It’s not just about winning and controlling which Aspect re-ascends to the Aether.
It’s about Aron being a war god. I have to accept it, because I have to accept Aron as he is or not at all.
I understand it, even if it fills me with terror.
So I take Aron’s hand and link his fingers in mine, and gaze out at the battlefields below. “He’ll be hiding his anchor,” I guess. “He’s going to want him close enough that he can keep an eye on him, but far enough from battle that he won’t get hurt. That means he’s probably somewhere in one of those tents.” I gesture at the sea of them in the distance.
“Or he’s put him in armor and is hiding him in plain sight. It might be worthwhile to see if any of the soldiers remains behind when the others surge ahead.” Markos moves to the other side of Aron, gazing down at the field.
I look over at my Aron. “What would you do?”
“I’m Arrogance,” he answers simply. “I won’t think the same as he does. Did he pick his anchor because it was a soldier that volunteered? Is it a wench he wanted to bed? Or did he simply have no other options like I did?”
“Oooh, burn on me,” I tease. “Just call me Last Resort Faith.”
Aron flashes a playful smile in my direction. “I’ve come around to liking how things turned out, though it probably would have been wiser to pick someone who knew how to carry a sword.”
And who he didn’t want to stick his dick into constantly. I mean, I get it. For a god of battle, a wimpy girl like me is a ba
d call. I have no muscle strength, I can barely sit on a woale for a few hours without bitching about it, and I’ve never used a bladed weapon. I’m a poor choice. A sitting duck.
No one will ever care for Aron as much as me, though. No one. I’m the best woman for the job.
A horn sounds from down below, and the men line up. We watch atop the distant cliff as the men bellow out a cry, a narrow bridge is dropped over the river, and then they surge forward to attack the keep. Ladders are produced and just as quickly destroyed by the men crowding the ramparts. Trash—and hot oil—are thrown down on the enemy men, and on and on it goes. They’re not getting a toehold in the slightest. It seems senseless to me.
Then, off to the side, a massive keep gate opens on the far end of the river. Men ride out on horses—the first horses I’ve seen since I arrived here—and carry spears. They’re deeply tanned, with long, flowing hair, and scream war cries as they raise their spears into the air.
“The Cyclopae,” Aron murmurs.
As I watch, a group of Adassian warriors split off and approach the Cyclopae riders, who surge across the water farther down the river and then regroup on the far side. One of the Adassians steps forward, flinging his cloak off and then brandishing an axe with a flourish. He stands on the ground before the others, and they surge around him, like waters parting. Avoiding him.
That’d be Hedonism Aron.
A brave man approaches, his horse circling, and then he zooms in for the attack. He’s quickly cut down, and then newcomers approach. I swallow hard. He can’t be killed. This isn’t even fair to watch. I turn away, because I don’t want to see more men fling themselves at certain death. “How do we get down to the keep?” I ask, trying to focus. “How do we get inside it?”
“There’s no getting around that army,” Kerren says. “We’d be giving ourselves a swift death if we approach.”