Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

72

A group of women sit in the room in front of us. It’s a library of some kind, the walls filled with books and scroll-nooks. Chairs are seated near a fireplace, and one woman sews on an embroidery pedestal while another holds a book in her lap. A third woman stands as we stumble inside. She’s got a long, thick braid and wears a pale lavender dress that looks incredibly ornate and very expensive. There’s a circlet on her brow. Her pregnant belly is rounded and in her arms is a child of no more than one or two years old.

Her eyes narrow at the sight of us. “Guards. Bar the secret passage and arrest these intruders.”

“Hi,” I say, waving. “So this is terribly awkward, but Aron told us to come here.”

A man rushes out of the room and I can hear him bellowing for guards. Markos and Kerren pull closer to me, holding their swords, while Solat tries to shove me behind him to protect me.

Sweet thought, but no.

I shove him back and take a step forward. “We mean no harm, okay? We just had to get away from the Adassian army and Aron told us there was a secret passage in the crypts because the ugly statue was dedicated to him. I swear we’re not here to hurt anyone.”

The woman holds her baby closer to her chest and takes a step back as guards flood into the room. “If you mean Aron of the Cleaver sent you, then you must be working for the Adassians.” She holds her baby’s head protectively and steps behind one of the guards. “Take them to the dungeons. My husband will want to know how they managed to sneak in.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” one man says, moving forward.

Markos raises his sword and I put my hand on his arm. We’re not attacking anyone. “So this is awkward. I think you’re talking about Aron of the Cleaver—Hedonism Aron, who’s shacked up with the Adassians and is attacking you guys, right? That’s not who I’m with. My Aron is the Aron of Arrogance. He’s just outside, creating a diversion so we could get away. He’s come here to join the Yshremi army.”

The woman—the queen—pauses. “Your Aron?” She arches an eyebrow.

Aw shit. I might have just given myself away as his anchor. I ignore the flutter of panic in my chest. “I’m a devotee,” I lie. “But I’m telling the truth—there’s a second Aspect of Aron here, and he’s fighting his way toward your gates even now. If you don’t believe me, look outside.”

The queen gives us a tight look. She hands her child to another one of her women, who scuttles out of the room with the baby, accompanied by a few guards. More file in to take their place, and the room feels stifling.

“Give us your weapons,” she says in an imperious voice. “You’re surrounded and there’s no hope for your plot to work.”

I gesture at Kerren and the others to do so. “There’s no damn plot. We’re here because my Aron wants to fight the other Aron and he said the Yshremi are faithful to him. I promise, just go look outside.”

The queen exchanges a look with one of her guards. She leans in close to him, whispering as others take our weapons away. I give up my quarterstaff and grimace as I pull the shield out of the front of my dress. Damn thing must have cut into my sides somewhat awful, because my skin hurts. I hear the word “husband” mentioned, and “front lines” and the queen’s expression grows even more pinched. She seems to age in a matter of seconds. But she straightens, looks at me, and then flicks a hand, indicating she wishes to be followed. “Take the woman. We will see if this is truth or not.”

“No,” Kerren says, trying to push in front of me. “She stays with us—”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, putting up my hand before he can get himself killed. Or me killed. “We have nothing to hide. It’s fine. I promise.”

“If Aron finds out,” Markos begins, warning in his voice.

“Then we tell him it was necessary.” I step forward, and I don’t panic when two guards immediately grab my arms. “It’s fine. This is all fine.”

It’s really not fine. I’m kind of freaking out, but if the queen can wear a serene expression, I can, too. I smile as if this is all totally going as planned and let the queen’s guards drag me along as she sweeps out of the room.

“Faith!” I can hear Markos yelling as I’m taken into the keep itself. We move quickly, following behind the queen, and there are so many guards around me that I can’t really see much about this particular castle, other than it’s got a high stone ceiling in the rooms we cut through and banners cover each wall, most of them emblazoned with a red hand over an eye or a scroll.

We march up stairs, and my bruised front and sides ache with every step. That shield must have been a bad idea. I can just imagine the mark it left—then again, it saved my life…and Aron’s. I’ll take a few bruises.

The queen doesn’t speak as we go up twisting stairs after twisting stairs. I’m panting by the time we get to the top, and then our small group steps outside into the night. The queen moves to the edge, her hands on the crenellated wall as she stares down at the gates just in front of the broken bridge.

I jerk against the arms holding me, and the guard glares at me. “I want to see, okay? I just want to see.”

The queen glances over at me, then points. “Something’s happening down there. Let her look her fill.”

I practically run to the wall the moment their hands loosen on me and peer over the side, down at the scene below. The tower we’re in is at the edge of one side of the city, and there’s a cluster of close-packed houses below us that seem to go on for forever, right up until they butt against the wall. We’re high enough that I can see beyond the wall, and it looks like a swarm of ants on the far side of the river, surrounded by torches. The rickety temporary bridge is down, but no one’s crossing it, and I fidget anxiously, looking for signs of my Aron.

Surely he didn’t just hang out in the enemy camp just because?

Then, the crowd just in front of the bridge—the swarm of ants—erupts, and I can hear a man bellow. Lightning crashes and thunder booms overhead. It sounds angry, and I immediately brace myself for a surge of pain if Aron reaches for his powers. My head’s fine, though…which means Aron’s not angry.

He’s having fun.

“That fucker,” I breathe, unable to tear my gaze away. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

The anthill spills, and then they give space to a single man in the center, a man riddled with arrows, his clothing torn and bloody. He brandishes an axe—not sure where he got one—and then lets out another battle cry.

Men charge at him, and they lose. Every single time. Within moments, there’s a pile of bodies in front of him, and he whirls the axe again.

The queen shoots me a look. “He’s attacking the Adassian troops.”

I nod. “He’s creating a diversion so we could get here safely.”

“Why does he want to come here?”

“Your army,” I admit. “He was offered one in Novoro but he wasn’t a fan. He said the Yshrem and the Cyclopae kick everyone’s ass and so if he was going to have an army, he wanted the best army in the world. We didn’t know the other Aron was here until today.”

She stalks toward me, her eyes wide, and grabs my sleeve. The queen leans in, studying me. “You keep saying ‘we.’ Are you…his anchor?” Her voice lowers in a hush.

I swallow. If I say so, am I condemning myself?

Before I can answer, a look something like relief crosses her face. “You are. He sent you here for safety…because he’s coming to our side?” Her hand clutches my arm tightly. “To join forces with our side? You’re certain?”

“Well, he’s sure not joining the other guys.”

For a moment, the queen stares at me. Her shoulders sag, ever so slightly, and I catch a flash of relief in her eyes. “Thank the gods. We have a chance.”

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73

We watch as the one-sided battle plays out for a while. Eventually, the men stop attacking Aron, and he spreads his arms wide, a taunt for them to continue. To take a chance. No one takes him up on it, though, and he throws the axe to the ground and then crosses the bridge into Castle Yshrem.

“They’re opening the gates,” the queen murmurs. “Come. My husband will be with them.”

We head back into the keep and down the stairs, the queen utterly silent and the only sound the jingle of armor of the men who accompany us. When we arrive into a large hall, a cheer goes up, and for a moment, I think they’re cheering the queen. But it’s clear when we get inside that no one even knows she’s there. The place is absolutely packed with men, some dressed in leather and fur, some dressed in armor of varying types. All of them are filthy and cheering.

They also completely block the doorway, so the queen can’t enter.

She turns and looks at one of her men in frustration.

“Make way,” he bellows, storming forward, only to have his words drowned out by another cheer. The man shoves his way through the crowd, clearing a path for the queen, and once people realize she’s approaching, they part for her.

I follow close behind, because Aron’s somewhere around here. He—

He’s there, right in front of me. I stop as I clear the wall of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, jostling each other. Aron’s in the center of the room, standing next to a young-looking man with long black hair and an eyepatch. He wears a cloak of startling white fur and leather leggings, and grins at the queen when she approaches, offering her his hand. Is that the king? Not that I care.

All of my attention is on Aron, who’s practically unrecognizable.

From head to toe, my Aron is covered in blood. His hair is plastered to his scalp, his clothing demolished and shredded, and his skin is a mucky, dark red. His eyes shine bright—green and brown—in his face, and as I watch, he pulls another arrow out of his arm. I can still see two more sticking from his side.

He looks like a damn mess.

I’m so relieved to see him I want to cry.

He grins at something the king says, and then I can’t stop smiling as I approach. I’m so thankful he’s here and whole, so happy.

The queen whispers something in her husband’s ear and then he looks at me. Aron does, too.

And his pleasure fades away to rage.

“Why is she bleeding?”

Thunder booms overhead, and my head feels as if it was just struck by lightning.

I stagger, pressing my palm to my forehead. “Aron! Stop it! Control your temper!”

He immediately moves to my side, his hands on my gown. It’s a pale green and my hem is muddy from all the running around. “I will control my temper when I see for myself that you aren’t hurt.”

I look down as his big hands move over my abdomen, and hiss when his fingers burn over my scrapes. Sure enough, I look down and there are two dark, wet spots, one on each side of my stomach. I’m confused until I remember the sword that tried to slice me in half. “Oh. I guess that guy’s blade connected a little more than I thought.”

“Blade?” Aron says quietly, and the thunder grows louder.

I grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye. “If you give me another nosebleed it’s going to hurt you a hell of a lot more than these little scratches do.”

He clenches his jaw, but I can hear the thunder ebbing. The room around us is utterly quiet, as if no one is sure what to think. “Tell me you’re not wounded badly,” he finally manages, straightening. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to haul my tunic off my body and check for himself right here, right now.

“I’m not hurt badly,” I promise, and give him a light pat on the cheek. Truth be told, I’ve had so much adrenaline rushing through me I don’t know if I’m hurt that bad or not. I’m pretty sure it’s all right, though. I’d feel it if things were worse, wouldn’t I? So I beam at Aron as if it’s all good. “We made it in one piece, though, which is more than I can say for you.” And I gesture at the arrows sticking out of his side.

Something rumbles in his chest that sounds like amusement. A hint of a smile flashes across his face and then Aron grabs me and hauls me against him. He kisses me fiercely, his teeth clashing with mine. It seems I’m not the only one feeling the charge of adrenaline. I kiss him back, my hand going to his neck…which is wet with blood.

I pull away, making a face. “You’re filthy.”

He just grins at me, looking like a crazy person. “It seems I need to clean up before I claim my anchor.”

To say the least. But he keeps his arm locked around my hips as he turns back toward the king, and I scrub a sleeve over my face, only to find it smeared with gore. That crazy son of a bitch…I’m so glad to see him.

The king drops to a knee in front of Aron and makes the clenched-hand symbol over his chest in honor of the Lord of Storms. “We are at your disposal. Yshrem and Cyclopae are honored to serve. Anything you need from us, we will provide.”

The queen hesitates, then tries to drop to a knee, clutching her rounded stomach.

“That’s not necessary, right, Aron?” I poke him in the side gently.

He grunts at me.

I poke him again.

He shoots me a look, then offers his filthy, filthy hand to the queen. To her credit, she takes it with a gracious smile. “You and your anchor are welcome here. Our home is your home for as long as you like.”

“What I would like,” Aron says slowly, “is to take down my opponent across the river and give Yshrem victory.”

Cheers fill the room. The Cyclopae king gets to his feet, and he’s got that war-hungry, eager look that Aron gets in his eyes, too. “With you leading us, we are sure to prevail, Lord of Storms. And if we do not, it will be a glorious battle to the end!”

The men cheer.

I don’t. Neither does the queen. We share a look, instead. The guys might be cool with dying on the battlefield, but the thought terrifies me.

“I’m tired and dirty,” I say to Aron, forcing a smile to my face. “And you’re filthy and I’m pretty sure you still have a crossbow bolt between your shoulders. Can we get somewhere we can clean up?”

“Oh, by the gods,” the queen says, shaking her head. “Of course. Please, come with me. We will house you in the finest rooms Castle Yshrem has to offer. And baths for both of you.”

“And food,” I add, taking the hand she extends me. “Please.”

“And food,” she agrees. “Whatever you like.”

I turn to look at Aron, strangely reluctant to leave his side again.

“Where are her guards?” Aron asks, frowning.

“I’m sure they’re upstairs just hanging out where I left them,” I say brightly, because I can feel the queen’s hand clench against my fingers. “We sort of scared everyone when we dropped in. It’s fine, Aron.”

His eyes narrow.

“Fine,” I say again. I let go of the queen’s hand and move back to him. I take a hold of the front of his filthy, filthy tunic—or what’s left of it—and tug him down closer to me. “I’ll make sure they stay outside the room and guard it, okay? And I’ll take a nice hot bath, and you’ll take a nice hot bath, and then you’ll come upstairs once you’ve finished talking war and you can make love to your anchor all night long, all right?”

“I am a god, Faith,” he murmurs. “We do not love.”

“Right. Sure.”

But he kisses me fiercely, and the room fills with cheers from the soldiers I forgot were there, and it seems to me that for a god that doesn’t love, he sure is affectionate.

Our first stop upstairs is not a bath after all. I’m taken to a healer and the two gashes on my stomach—surface wounds, really—are cleaned and neatly stitched up while the queen’s men retrieve Markos, Solat, and Kerren. Then, I’m brought down an opulent hall and the queen gestures at the room at the end. “These were my father’s chambers when he was king. I couldn’t bear to take them after I became queen, so they are used for visiting dignitaries. Will Aron mind if you’re both in the same room?”

Her inquiry is so polite, so sweet.

“If you’re asking if we’re sleeping together, the answer is yes. One bed is cool.”

She nods, and we continue into the room. She pushes open double doors and then I’m staring at an opulent chamber swathed with tapestries. A large, ornate wooden bed is in the center of the room, and by the fire in the fireplace, servants are pouring water into a large tub. I can smell fresh-baked bread and hot food, and my stomach growls.

“I know an anchor must eat to fuel her bond with her Aspect, so I’ve had the servants bring a large tray. If it’s not enough, say the word and I’ll make sure the cooks are ready to prepare you whatever you’d like.” She moves to the center of the room and waves in a new servant, this one carrying a small trunk. “A few things for you. Combs. Scented oils. Fresh clothing.”

“Thank you. This is all really great.”

She turns and gives me a smile, ever the gracious hostess. “My name is Halla, and it would please me if the two of us could talk in the morning?” She gives me a searching look, and I get the impression that there’s a lot going on behind that sweet exterior.

“Sure.” I nod. “I’ll be happy to talk.”

“Excellent.” She heads out in a sweep of lavender embroidered skirts, and then servants flee after her, everyone exiting the room at the same time. I’m left alone with Markos, Solat, and Kerren.

“Are you guys okay?” I ask. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“They stripped our armor and weapons from us and were just about to take us to the dungeons,” Markos admits. “But we were not hurt, no.”

Solat adds, “You should have seen the looks on their faces when they found out you were telling the truth. They couldn’t bow and scrape quick enough for ‘Lord Aron’s guardsmen.’” He smirks and moves to the tray of food, picking up a wedge of cheese.

I head over to it and slap his hand. “That’s mine.”

He grins at me and eats it anyway. “Shall we sleep in the doorway and keep you guarded?”

I think about Aron, how happy he was to greet the king. How he let me leave with the queen, no questions asked. He trusts these people. Even so, it’s been a hell of a journey to get here. “We’ll ask for you guys to have an adjoining room,” I decide. “One can stay on guard at the doorway while the others are relaxing. And ask for a tray from the kitchens,” I say, slapping Solat’s hand again when he reaches for another piece of cheese. “If you eat any more of that I’m going to throw you from the rafters.”

“Never come between an anchor and her meal,” he says with a wink, but he pulls back. Good.

I flick my hands at them. “I’m filthy, and Aron kissed me and transferred his filth to me. I’m going to bathe and then eat until he gets here. Are you guys okay to do your own thing?”

“We’ll find a servant,” Markos reassures me.

“A pretty one, hopefully,” Solat adds.

“Glad to see you’re back to being yourself.” I eat a piece of cheese myself as they file out, and then Kerren points at the door, indicating he’ll be just outside.

Then, the heavy doors are shut, and I’m all alone in the sumptuous room.

I spend the next hour in the tub, eating cheese and meat, drinking wine, and relaxing in the scorchingly hot water. It’s so damn nice that I hate to get out, but I do when I tragically run out of wine. I get out of the tub, towel off, and then wrap myself in a fur-trimmed sleeping gown I find in the trunk. I crawl into the epic-looking bed and sigh with pleasure.

And fall asleep.

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74

I wake up in the middle of the night to a big, naked body spooning my backside and hiking up my nightgown.

Aron kisses my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “Should I let you sleep?”

I moan, reaching for him. “Not now that I’m all turned on.”

He chuckles, the sound low and delicious. “Then my plan worked.” He continues to kiss my neck, his mouth devouring with need as he rolls me onto my belly and then hikes my hips into the air. “I need you, Faith. Are you wet for me?”

His hand slides between my thighs and he strokes my folds, teasing me. I moan as he pushes a finger into my pussy, working it back and forth. He’s not giving me any time to think about things, his hands insistent. He must still be fired up from the battle earlier, because I can feel his enormous cock stabbing into my thigh as he presses his big body against my backside.

Arousal, quick and urgent, shoots through me, and when he pushes my nightgown up to my shoulders, leaving the majority of my body exposed, I get on my hands and knees, arching my backside even higher into the air like a cat in heat. I need him just as badly as he needs me. I want his touch. Need it. “Aron,” I pant. “Claim me like you mean it.”

“Oh, I always mean it, my Faith.” His fingers glide over my folds, teasing my clit expertly. “Look at how wet your cunt is for me already. You like it when I take you, don’t you?”

“If I didn’t, you’d know about it,” I manage, my fingers twisting in the blankets under my hands as he pets and strokes me. He’s right, though, I’m so wet already that I can hear the slick noises my pussy’s making as he touches me. Just his touch is enough to get me all worked up within seconds. I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I’ve wanted this man. It’s like there’s some charged connection between us at a deeper level—he turns me on as I’ve never been turned on before.

He laughs, easing a second finger into my pussy and fucking me with it. “Always with a retort,” Aron murmurs. “Never willing to admit that you need to be fucked, and fucked hard.”

I moan, burying my face against the blankets. “Aron.”

“You do, don’t you, though?” he says, determined to dirty-talk his way through my orgasm. “You need me to fuck this wet, juicy cunt. You need my thick cock deep inside you until you scream. You need my fingers on your breasts—”

“They haven’t been on my breasts yet, have they?” I manage, panting.

“Is that what I’m doing wrong?” he teases in a sultry voice, and then his fingers slide out of my pussy and move to my breast, teasing it with a wet caress. “Now will you scream for me?”

“I’ll scream if you don’t get inside me in the next minute.” I wiggle my backside, trying to entice him.

I get what I want—he pushes into me in the next moment, and my cheek skids across the blankets. I don’t even care—it feels so amazing that my toes curl and I’m gasping as he thrusts into me again, so hard and deep that I swear I can feel him all the way to my belly. He holds onto my hips and uses my body—I can’t even keep a rhythm with him because he’s so quick and fierce, and each thrust is so hard that it takes me by surprise. He’s pumping into me with such power that there’s a pleasure-pain edge to things, and I can’t last longer than a few moments before I shatter into a million pieces, choking out his name as I come.

Then, he reaches between my thighs and toys with my clit until I come again.

By the time he finally comes, I feel wrung out. I curl up on the bed, utterly sated as he gets a towel and then washes us both off. Funny, that I wouldn’t think of the god who just fucked my brains out as tender with aftercare, but he is. He washes my pussy clean of his release with gentle hands, then tosses the cloth aside. He tucks the blankets around us and pulls me close to him, his lips on my brow.

I start to drift off to sleep again when he speaks. “You’ll be safe here with the queen.”

“Mmm?” I manage. “I’m staying with the queen?”

“I told First Warrior Mathior that it is my command. No one is more guarded than the queen and her son. You’ll be safest with them.” He pauses thoughtfully, his hands brushing my hair off my brow. “He loves her.”

“Good for him. She seems like a nice lady.”

“They are very different,” Aron muses. “The Cyclopae are not as civilized as the Yshremi, but he has wanted her ever since he was a small boy. The moment he became First Warrior, he took her as his bride. I remember him offering many times to me, determined to have his way. I liked his spirit.” He presses his mouth to my brow again. “Which is why you will be safest with her. The entire kingdom would have to collapse before Mathior would let the enemy approach Halla.”

I tuck myself closer to him. “So you’re leaving me tomorrow? You can’t go far—we’re tethered, remember?” I frown at the memory of the intense pain I felt when in Citadel, all because I didn’t realize that I couldn’t step away from Aron’s side.

“I’m not leaving,” he corrects. “But every day, I will be on the front line of the battlefields.”

I lift my head and look up at him, and he’s smiling.

Men.

“So you’re excited about war?”

He grins. “Of course.”

I am decidedly less thrilled, but I console myself with the fact that he can’t get hurt. I stroke a hand down his chest. “What’s the goal?”

“What do you mean? The goal is to win.”

“He can’t die, though. And you can’t die. So are you charging through to look for his anchor? Or what?”

“Mmm…eventually. I need to figure out his strategy first.”

I suspect his strategy will be ‘take out Aron’s anchor,’ since that’s our strategy. “I’m afraid. What if he sends assassins?”

Aron hugs me closer. “You will be guarded at all times. Your food will be tasted, your wine, too. No one will get close enough.”

I really, really hope that’s not arrogance talking.

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