see a few trying desperately to be stoic while another has tears shining on her face. Dawn’s getting closer and no one gives a crap about these poor women. I have to do something.
I glance up at the god on his throne. He stares ahead, his eyes narrowed, watching the people crowding his temple. I wonder what he finds so fascinating, because to me, they’re not all that interesting to watch. He’s not eating or drinking, either. He’s not even trying. The cup he was offered a while back is still mostly empty and sits on the end of his armrest, and the platter of food being held by a quivering slave is untouched. Huh.
I should say something about the cleaver brides. I can’t live with myself if I don’t try to save them. I turn to Aron’s throne and wait for him to notice me.
Of course, after a minute or two of staring, he continues to ignore me. So much for gods being omniscient. I clear my throat softly, and when that doesn’t get me anywhere, I try again, a little louder.
Aron of the Cleaver turns to look over at me and scowls. “Are you sick?”
“Uh, no—”
“Choking?”
He really does make it hard to like him. “I was trying to get your attention.”
“By irritating me?” He gestures out at the room of revelers. “Do you think I am not maddened enough by these fools? You have decided to join in?”
I choose to ignore that. “I need a favor.”
He swivels back to me, a look on his face that’s half amused, half irritated. “You are asking me for a favor? Are you not supposed to serve me?”
“I realize it’s a little early in the game,” I tell him breezily, deciding that confidence is the best tactic with this asshole. After all, groveling got the prelate nowhere. “But yes, I need something done and you’re the only one that these dumbasses will listen to. So I’m asking—”
“Asking,” he repeats flatly.
I sigh. “Okay, begging, if that’s what you want to hear.” I gesture at the cluster of blondes in the back of the room. “But they’re going to sacrifice all those women at dawn in your name. As cleaver brides.”
“And?”
“What do you mean, ‘and’?” I stare at him. “You want that to happen?”
“I do not care if it happens or if it does not. Why should I? I am a god. They are mortals. Their life is as fleeting as a speck of dust.” He slicks his thumb and forefinger together as if to indicate so. “Why should I bother myself with them?”
“Because they shouldn’t have to die to honor you. It’s barbaric and stupid. They could honor you in a completely different way.”
“Such as how I’ve been honored on this night?” His mouth flattens.
“Look, I’ll be the first to admit that these people are shit at being properly deferential to a guy of your status,” I say, deciding to play to his vanity. When he grunts acknowledgment, I go on, “But that’s no reason that these women have to die. They didn’t have anything to do with it. They’re just slaves bought up by some assholes and dragged here as offerings. It’s not their fault.”
He looks over at me. “You were one of them, yes?”
“I was. I was going to die at dawn.”
“And instead, you have chosen to serve me.”
“That’s right.” I don’t tell him that I’m having regrets, or that fate might have brought us together. That’s too corny even for me.
He watches the women with narrowed eyes. “Some of them are far more lovely and probably more servile than you. Are you telling me I can pick a different anchor?”
“It has to be freely given, remember? I’m the only one that stood up.”
“Truth.” His mouth twitches, and I can’t tell if he’s irritated or amused. Possibly both. After a moment of silent contemplation, he looks over at me again. “And why should I help them?”
“Because I’m asking real, real nicely?” I give him my brightest smile. “And we’re a team?”
“We are not a ‘team,’” Aron of the Cleaver says in that icy cold voice of his. “I am a god and you are my anchor to this world. There is no ‘team’ involved in any of that.”
Sheesh. This guy could give lessons on dickery, he’s so good at it. “Okay, then I’m begging you. Please save them. I can’t stand the thought of them dying in the morning. I’ll do whatever you want.”