think he’s bluffing, because a man with no future wouldn’t have been so upset at Yulenna’s choice. But if he wants to go, how can I stop him? Especially when I know if we sacrifice our lives, we’ll be saving hundreds on both sides—maybe thousands?
The Adassians could have spies in the city right now. Who’s to stop them from setting fire to the keep and burning us out while we sleep?
Great. Now I’m never going to eat or sleep again. I rub my aching stomach. “Solat, I don’t know—”
“We won’t tell Aron,” he reiterates. “Kerren and Markos will cover for me. I’ll sneak into the other camp and when I find the tent in that sea of tents where the anchor is hiding, I’ll mark it.”
“How?”
“With a symbol.” He grins. “Maybe a spider.”
“Solat…”
He moves forward and takes my hand in his, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss my knuckles, but all he does is raise my hand and bow over it like a courtly gentleman. “I know how to be ingratiating, Faith. Trust me to do this. Give me a few days and I’ll find that anchor.”
What other choice do we have?
Markos tastes all my food for the rest of the day, and Kerren hovers over the cook down in the kitchens to make sure nothing is compromised.
When Aron returns that night, I’m filled with love for him—love and desperation. He’s in his element with the war, the battles, pitting himself against an opponent. His eyes gleam with enthusiasm. Aron’s never been handsomer to me. I don’t care that he’s a god of war, or a god of storms. I just care that he’s mine.
And tonight, I’m feeling more than a little desperate. So I tackle him the moment we’re alone, and we make love three times straight before I collapse in the bed and he pulls me against his chest for snuggling.
“I think we are making headway, Faith,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my shoulder. “It’s just a matter of time.”
I hold his arm to my stomach and lean back against him. “I hope you’re right.”
78
Things fall into a pattern for days.
Solat disappears, as promised. I watch anxiously at the window as the armies clash at the walls and at the side gate every morning, and neither side seems to be gaining or losing ground by the time both sides retreat to their respective territories. Every night, bodies are burned.
The next morning, the men wake up and do the same. They put on their armor, cheer when Aron gives a war cry, and fight gloriously at his side.
Both sides are fighting for the god of battle, Aron of the Cleaver. The strange irony of that doesn’t escape me. No one’s going to ever back down because why would they? Their god is on the front lines, eating this shit up. The queen cries as her husband goes out to war every morning, convinced this will be the last time she sees him. I can’t imagine her terror. The only reason I’m calm is because I know Aron can’t get killed. He’s loving this, in his element with every swing of the gigantic double-bladed axe he now carries at all times. I want to be happy for him, but they haven’t made progress into the enemy camp, and I worry how long this will go on.
Will both Arons keep flinging their armies at each other until they run out of men? What happens then? It’s a sobering thought, and I think of poor Queen Halla, who clutches her infant son to her chest every day and frets over her husband.
As for me, I wait. I wait for Aron’s army to take control of the Adassian territory. I wait for Solat to send word that he’s found the other anchor. I wait for another assassin to appear. I wait for Aron to come back to me every night.
What else can I do?
I can’t leave. I can’t help.
All I can do is stare out the window and hope that there’s a break on one side or another, or that Solat appears with the information we need…or that the Aron on the other side disappears because Solat’s somehow assassinated the other anchor.
The only thing I can do is stand around and wait for something to change.
But days pass and there’s nothing.
It’s been maybe four days when everything breaks. The day starts as it always does. Aron wakes me up early for a fierce round of quick morning lovemaking before