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