Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

27

We walk for maybe another hour before we get into Katharn proper. The scattered streets grow increasingly dense as we move forward, and then lift up, surprisingly enough. They change from rutted, muddy roads to paved bridges and cobbled, wide roads, and I see why soon enough—Katharn has a big river running right through the middle of town. Of course, just because the streets are better doesn't mean that the buildings themselves are. The small, crowded houses look to be made of clapboard wood and push against each other like dominos just waiting for the right strike to topple. They crowd all the way along each street right to the massive sewer tunnels and up to the water's edge, where the stink of people turns into the stink of dead fish and people. The water itself is a brown, toxic-looking sludge that looks foul and smells worse, and I'm reminded of a history lesson from high school that said the river Thames in London was once so filthy with waste that you could walk on it. I couldn't picture it at the time, but seeing just how nasty these docks are and the river itself is, I believe it. The massive sewer system that runs underneath the crowded streets of Katharn dumps right into the water, and as we move along the wharf, between the small boats lining the edges of the docks, I can see waterfalls from where the pipes empty out.

There are people everywhere, too. They crowd around us, pushing their way through the streets as if they own them. There are fewer horses—land-hippos, whatever—here, simply because there's no room. There are tons of rats, though, and long-eared cats that chase after them.

And there's filth everywhere. It's piled up in the streets, against buildings, and everyone looks so damn dirty.

I'm really not liking the look of the place, but I didn't expect it to be so nasty. The little farms we passed were crude, and Omos's library was small but clean. Aventine was dusty but orderly. Heck, Tadekha had a glittering crystal palace floating in the air, so I know these people can be clean.

It's clear that Katharn just chooses not to be.

I study the piles of buildings, all falling onto each other, and move a little closer to Aron as I do. He's quiet, but the hood is pulled over his head so far that it's not exactly conducive to conversation. Still, I wish he'd say something. I feel better just hearing his voice, even if he is making sourpuss comments. A man with a dead chicken hanging from his hand leers at me as he walks a little too closely and I move closer to Aron. "So, uh, what's an inn look like in this dump?"

"You ask me as if I stay here often."

Good ol' Aron. "It's your damn world, not mine."

"This is not my city. Were it my choice, we would never set foot here.” He pulls the hood down lower.

Well, that makes two of us. I avoid chicken man and walk a little faster, and I'm relieved to see that Aron stays close to my side. We turn down a side street and find a marketplace, and before we can leave, Aron drags me over to a small tent where someone’s selling knives. Aron points at one, so I buy it. Then he points at another, and another, and a short time later, we’re light on money and loaded with weapons. I want to gripe that we need to save our money for better things, but then Aron will just gripe back at me, and he’s at least staying quiet.

And if we need the weapons? We’ll be glad to have them. So I shut up about it.

After that, I flag down a woman who's got an enormous basket of laundry on her hip and ask her where the closest inn is. Her answer is friendly enough, but there's a hard glint in her eyes as she looks us over, and that makes me think I should hold our money a little closer. She instructs me to look for a building a few streets over with a red roof, and I hold my belongings tightly to my chest, worried I'm going to get knifed in the back, as we walk there.

But we make it, and I'm so damn relieved to see the red tiled roof of the inn itself. The sun is going down and I didn't want to be out on the mean streets of Katharn after dark. The inn doesn't look so bad, I decide. The building's a big two-story that only sags a little. The windows have shutters and little pots of herbs outside each one. There's boisterous laughter and light pouring out from inside, and it smells like hot food. My stomach growls despite myself, because it's been days since I've had a hot meal and I'd really, really love a bowl of stew. I head to the door and then pause, glancing over at Aron. "We ready to do this?"

"Going inside?" He peers out from under the hood with a scathing expression. "Did you plan on standing out here all night?"

I bite back my snotty retort—arrogance, arrogance, arrogance, he can't help himself—and push the inn door open, heading inside.

The inside of the inn is about what I expected. The ceiling is low, the floor is old, creaky wood, and it's smoky and poorly lit. One side of the wall is nearly taken up with a massive fireplace, and there's a pot of something bubbling over it that smells fucking delicious. My mouth waters and I don't even care that there's a roaring fire going and it's about ten degrees warmer inside than it is outside. I'll sweat a little if I can get a bowl of food. I glance around, and while there are several long tables, they're crammed full of people. I can't help but notice that they all seem to be men, and they're staring at me.

I pull my cloak a little tighter around my clothes, even though it's warm. I feel naked despite the layers of clothing. Naked and unsafe. Maybe this was a bad call. There's a real rapey vibe to this place. Goody.

Aron nudges my shoulder, and I glance over at him. He's still got the hood pulled down heavily over his face, which is good. He's waiting on me, though. Right. I look around for someone that might be in charge, and when I see the bar off over by the enormous fireplace, I head there.

A big bearded man stands behind the bar, and he's the first person that doesn't leer at me in this building, so I like him already. He nods at me. "Travelers?"

"Yes. We're looking for a room." I give him my brightest, most businesslike smile.

"Three drabs a night," he tells me. Omos walked me through how money works here, and so I know what coin that is.

I feel around in my money pouch furtively and then toss the coins down on the counter. "One night."

"One room, then?"

I grit my teeth. "Yup."

This time the man smirks and takes the coins. "Room two's open tonight. Bowl of stew and tankard of ale included with the room. More than that and it'll cost you."

"Thank you," I say politely, and then glance around the dirty, poorly lit room. "Sit anywhere?"

"Anywhere ya want. Inside, outside, all the same to me." He pockets the money and turns away.

All right, I'm guessing this doesn't work like most restaurants back home. Fine then. I glance at Aron and gesture over at the fire. "Let's get some food and find a seat." I move forward without checking to see if he follows me, and by the fire, there's a stack of earthenware bowls. I manage to ladle my own stew without burning myself and grab one of the big wooden spoons tossed in a shallow basket. Not very clean, but I'm starting to think nothing in this town is. "You grab a bowl, too," I tell Aron, and then I survey the tavern area for two empty seats.

There's room at the end of one of the longest tables, but there's also a very gross-looking man I'd have to cuddle up next to, and the thought makes my stomach curdle. His dark hair is greasy, his face is several days unshaven, and he's missing half his teeth. He keeps looking over at me and rubbing his crotch, and I swallow hard.

Well, shit. If the goal is to spend the evening gathering information and listening to rumors, I guess I'm going to have to sit next to someone. I move forward with my bowl—only to have Aron push in front of me. He takes his food and slaps it down on the table and sits next to the filthy creep, then has a seat. He gestures at the open spot on the far side of him—at the end of the table, where no one will sit next to me.

In that moment, I could cheerfully kiss Aron.

I happily slide into the empty spot and clean my spoon on the hem of my tunic. As I do, I notice it's quiet, but when I start to eat, the conversation picks up again. A woman swings by and drops two mugs in front of Aron and me, and a quick taste reveals that it's a watery-tasting beer of some kind. Ugh. I drink it anyhow, because I'm thirsty as hell. The stew is a little greasy but otherwise heavenly, and I devour mine with gusto. I sneak a glance over at Aron, and he's sitting, hood still over his face, idly dragging the spoon through his food.

"Where you from?"

I look up at the old man across the table from me. Bearded, scarred, but mostly clean. Seems fairly harmless, I hope. "Me?" When he nods, I think quickly. "Aventine."

He nods over at Aron. "You too?"

"Oh, my master doesn't speak," I say quickly, putting my hand on Aron's arm before he can talk. "He's mute."

The stranger looks at us suspiciously, but when Aron doesn't speak up, he grunts and returns to his food. "Long journey to Aventine."

"Definitely wasn't fun," I agree.

"It true what they say? ’Bout the Citadel?"

I pause. "What about it?"

"Destroyed?" His eyes are piercing.

I blink and feign ignorance even as Aron kicks me under the table. I kick him back. "I wouldn't know. Haven't been there…so. Where are you from?"

"Here," he says, and belches. "Better to be leaving this place than arriving, if you ask me."

That sounds ominous. "Oh? Why?"

"Riots. Thieves. A plague of dead babies. Haunted fields. Take your pick," says another man farther down the table who can't stop staring at my clothed boobs. He's a bit pervy, but he glances over at Aron and makes his gaze more respectful.

That all sounds terrible. "Why is it so crazy?" I ask, and reach for Aron's bowl of stew. He pushes it toward me and I trade him bowls, handing over my empty one.

The men look at me like I'm crazy. "How long have you been traveling?"

"A while," I say vaguely.

"Haven't you heard? It's the Anticipation. Rumor has it that the gods are appearing."

I make my eyes go wide. "You don't say."

The bearded man nods sagely, as if he's been at the center of things. Next to him, the other man speaks up. "Has to be truth. Why else would the Citadel fall to ruin? Goddess Tadekha must have struck it down with vengeance."

Aron snorts deep in his hood. I kick him and shove my spoon into my mouth so I'm not tempted to make a reply.

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28

Turns out that we don't need to speak. Now that the topic of the gods has come up, the whole table's on fire with gossip. They all speculate about Tadekha's Citadel though none have actually ever seen it. They speculate if one of the other gods killed her and eventually it's decided that Kalos, God of Darkness, destroyed her because she turned down his advances many, many eons ago and he's apparently always held a grudge. Aron's totally silent so I have no idea if this is fact or not.

"There's another god on the coast, you know," someone at the far end of the table speaks up.

"Vor?" Another asks.

"No, different. Said he won't give his name but I know someone that saw him. My wife's sister was traveling back from Yshrem and saw him. Said he was as handsome as could be, took her breath fair away at the sight of him. Beautiful eyes, she said."

My skin prickles with awareness and I strain to hear the conversation. Aron's beautiful. Aron has striking eyes. It could be one of his Aspects that we're supposed to kill.

"Did she approach him?" Another person asks.

"No, he wouldn't speak to anyone. Had a female companion with him as anchor, but that was it. He wouldn't talk to anyone else. Didn't mingle. She said she wanted to talk to him and get a blessing, but she was afraid."

I nudge Aron's foot with mine, hoping he's listening. "Was he scarred up?" I ask. "Like, say, Aron of the Cleaver?"

This time, Aron kicks me hard.

The man turns to me, his lip curled. "Are ye daft? I said he was handsome. Aron's as hoary and grizzled as the lot of us, mark my word." He straightens and thumps his fist below his breast in the sign I've come to realize is one for Aron's followers. "The Lord of Storms won't be prancing around the countryside with a woman. He'll surround himself with the strongest of warriors and challenge them to fight him every day."

"My bad," I say quickly. "Maybe it was someone else."

"Probably Gental of the Family," the man speculates. "Though what he's doing in Yshrem is a mystery. Those book-loving weaklings are Riekki's followers to a one." He shrugs. "Even if they have a Cyclopae king now."

I eat some more of my stew, hoping the conversation continues on this line. I want to hear more about this beautiful god on the coast with a woman. After all, I'm with Aron, so they're wrong about a god like Aron not being with a chick.

And I personally think he's beautiful. A dick, sure, but downright gorgeous.

"It's the end of days," one greasy man laments.

Next to me, Aron snorts again.

Everyone at the table goes quiet. They're all watching us with far too much interest, and I figure it's now a good time to leave. "Think I'll see if this inn has baths. I bet my master would like one," I say brightly, a little louder than I should. "Thanks for the company, boys."

A big hand clamps down on my shoulder and I yelp, turning to see a pair of men behind me. My eyes go wide as the one with his hand on my shoulder grins down at me. He's at least six feet tall and massive, with a dirty beard and stumps of rotten teeth. "How much for your master to let us borrow you for a night?"

I try to shrug the guy's hand off as Aron gets to his feet. "I'm sure he'd say I'm not for sale—"

"Why don't you let him decide that, tart?"

Fuckin' tart. I'm really starting to hate that word.

Aron moves to my side and pats my back, as if to indicate all is well. He's still wearing the heavy cloak over his face, but I worry it's going to fall off if he beats the shit out of this guy for touching me, and then our cover will be blown.

"Master," I begin, but before I can say more, Aron puts his hand out, palm up.

The disgusting man grins at his buddy and then reaches into his pocket, pulls out a few coins, and places them in Aron's hand—

–or tries to. The moment his hand makes contact with Aron's, quick as a snake, the god's pale hand grips the other man's and twists it viciously. There's a crunch of bone that everyone in the inn can hear, and the stranger drops to his knees, screaming.

It gets deathly quiet in the inn, and no one moves.

Aron studies the coins in his hand, then flings them to the ground. Then, he puts a hand firmly on my shoulder and squeezes. The possessive gesture isn't lost on anyone, even me. He's branding me as his property without so much as a word.

The stranger's friend hastily backs away, abandoning his buddy to roll around in pain on the straw-covered floor of the inn. I glance around and everyone in the inn is staring at us, even the barkeep.

"Well," I say brightly, as if this is a normal sort of thing. "Where can a girl get her master a bath around here?" And I kick the guy that's down, just to show that I'm not afraid.

The room I share with Aron is small and grungy. We're given a greasy-smelling candle to serve as light, a pitcher of water to wash up, and a pile of blankets. The mattress itself looks like lumpy straw but it's not the ground, which makes it better than where I've slept for the last week. The room itself is about half the size of my bedroom at home, but there's a massive shuttered window that's open to let in a breeze. It'd be nice if Katharn itself didn't smell like a sewer and the view is that of the roof next door, which is so close I can practically touch it.

I'm still getting used to this world and how different it is from my own. I'm grateful to have this room, thanks to Omos's generosity with his funds, but I can't help but compare it to hotel rooms I've slept in back in my reality. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and when the innkeeper shows up with a small wooden tub and a few more pitchers of warmed water, I decide that I like this place after all. I pay him for the bath, then shut the door behind us and lower the heavy wooden bar over the door to “lock” it. I turn to Aron to ask if he wants first dibs on the bath—

–but as I turn around, I realize he's already undressing. Of course arrogant Aron would think he gets to go first. I should have expected that. I'm…not even mad, though? Because he tosses aside his cape and his tunic immediately and then I'm staring at a massive expanse of pale, perfect chest that looks as if it's carved from marble. It makes me feel curiously breathless, and I resist the urge to gawk. Funny how that after a week of travel, Aron still looks as glorious as ever and I'm like, entirely made of dirt.

Of course, then Aron unbelts his pants and shoves them down, kicking them across the floor, and my mouth goes dry. He's completely hairless and as perfectly sculpted on top as he is on bottom. I remember touching him—vaguely, so vaguely—but seeing him naked again makes me get all flustered. His cock is thick and long and brushes against his thigh, and his muscles flex with his movements. He's huge. Definitely a show-er not a grow-er. I watch as he moves toward the tub in a few powerful strides and with a flex of his too-perfect butt, seats himself in the tiny tub.

Damn. I blink repeatedly, trying to focus my thoughts while the slow-motion reel in my head plays back his casual stride to the tub. Over and over and over again.

Aron settles into the tub, shifting his big body and splashing the water everywhere. He splashes a handful over his skin, rubbing it and completely ignoring me. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder at me. "Well?"

"Well what?" I snap out of my dick-fueled trance.

"Aren't you going to wash me?"

Wash him? Is he serious? As I gape at his back, he casts another impatient look over his shoulder, his arms resting on the edges of the wooden tub and I realize that yes, he is serious indeed. I get that I'm his servant—of a sort—but this is the first time he's demanded I actually serve him.

Maybe he doesn't know how to wash himself, my brain chimes in.

Maybe he wants you to touch him, my other body parts chime in.

I feel a hot flutter in my belly. Even if it's innocent, it gives me a chance to touch him again, and I hate myself for wanting to do it…but I do.

So I shrug my dirty cloak off and pull one of the two pitchers of water near me as I sit behind his tub. I'm so close to him that I can see the beads of water on his shoulders. I swallow hard and wet a cloth, then lightly swipe it over his shoulders. "So…what did you think of all that downstairs?"

He grunts, which isn't much of an answer. "I think they were more interested in how to get between your thighs than what's going on in the land."

I drag the cloth over his shoulders and then rub the cake of soap over his skin, since I need to make it look like I'm actually washing him and not just drooling over his physique. "I thought they had some interesting things to say. I mean, some of it was garbage but that thing about another god being to the east?"

"Mm. It's not enough to go on. It could be Gental, like they said." He gives his head a shake, his hair playing over my hands. "I have no wish to travel for weeks only to say hello to Gental."

I mentally count back through the laundry list of gods that Omos made me memorize. "Gental is…the sea?"

"Family. Home. Hearth."

Ah. "Yeah, I guess he's not one of your closest buddies."

"We have nothing in common." He leans forward so I can dip lower with the washcloth. And of course, now I'm noticing how much his hips taper, and how there's two dimples at the base of his spine where his glorious bubble of a butt rises. Damn it, Aron. I wonder if he's going to want me to wash his front, and I squeeze my thighs together tightly because my body likes that idea more than it should. "It's a lead, though."

"We need more leads before we go in pursuit of one. Travel is not cheap. We'll need mounts. Guides. Supplies. Yshrem is inland and it will be a long journey."

"My favorite," I say dryly, and then run my hand over his soapy shoulders. Shit. Why did I just do that? I make sure to use the washcloth for the next swipe, because I'm an idiot who can't stop thinking about touching this guy. It's just because he's so damn pretty. It's certainly not his winning personality, that's for sure. "Okay, so tomorrow we wander around the city a bit more? Maybe find another inn to snoop around in?"

"It is as good a plan as any."

I continue to swipe the cloth over his shoulders and back, doing my best not to pay attention to just how well built he is. He's a god. Of course he's going to be well built. If I were a god, I'd make sure I had a kick-ass body too. No sense being a total slob. Still…he's a god of battle and thunder. Did he have to be so damn sexy? I bite back a stab of irritation and make my movements more brisk. There is no sense in being attracted to this guy. None.

Zero.

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