and creep out of the graveyard. The moment we get to the entrance of the graveyard, though, we run into two other Adassian soldiers. We’ve been rushing so quickly I didn’t even think about this being guarded.
Then, Markos grabs my ass.
I squeak in surprise, jumping. My boobs nearly fall out of my corset.
“Next time, let’s just do it in a tent, eh?” Markos says, manhandling me in front of the guards. “You’re a hot piece but it’s a long fuckin’ walk.”
I feel totally obvious as Kerren grabs my waist and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek, getting into the groove of our playacting. “I’ll do it in the graveyard if she likes,” he says. “Wherever she wants, as long as she does that thing with her tongue.”
The guards just roll their eyes. “Stay out of this area,” one tells us, pointing. “Back across the river to your commander.”
“Fuckin’ Hedonism,” the other mutters as we walk past. “Can’t nobody keep it in their damned pants.”
And just like that, we walk past them and toward the distant river. I let out a breath slowly, and eventually Markos takes his hand off my ass.
“Sorry, Faith,” he murmurs.
“No, it’s cool. Good thinking.” Heck, he was quicker on his feet than I was. Of course Hedonism is affecting all of the camp. I remember how Tadekha’s citadel affected me, how I practically humped Aron every chance I got.
Man, good times.
Even so, we can use this. Maybe it won’t be as hard to get into the Adassian camp as I thought.
We wade across and skirt wide around the battlefield. Even now, I can hear the distant clash of weapons, of men screaming, of people dying. As it fades away, we approach the camp itself, the cluster of hundreds of tents, and it’s like walking into another world.
From afar, I didn’t notice the empty wine casks everywhere. Or that men are sleeping wherever they fell, nursing hangovers in the middle of the day even as others die out on the battlefield. As we approach, I can hear a woman crying out in what is clearly sex, and there’s a tent with tits drawn on it which must be a brothel of some kind. Even though there’s a battle going on, there’s still tons of soldiers, and as we move between the cluster of tents, people start to watch us. My skin prickles uncomfortably.
“Do you know where you’re going, Faith?” Kerren asks, voice low. His expression is calm but his gaze is darting everywhere.
“I do.” I’m nervous as shit, but I remember the tent. Two flags. Weapon rack.
“Be ready to run there if we get caught,” he says. “Don’t stop for anything. Just run.”
I nod.
“You should—”
“What’s this?” a man says as he approaches us. He scowls in our direction. “What regiment are you in?”
Markos gestures at me. “Brought a tart for Lord Aron to enjoy.”
The man’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, and I stick my boobs out and do my best to look enticing. He studies Markos and Kerren, and then frowns. “Who’s your commander?”
Kerren and Markos immediately close ranks, standing so close that the man can’t see me. “It’s Lord Aron, of course. Who else would we be commanded by?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Have you partaken of nose spices?” When the men pause, he continues. “Are you drunk? Wounded? Because you do not look like any of the above to me, and while Lord Aron expects his soldiers to enjoy serving him, he also expects healthy men to be on the field at dawn. The whores are for nighttime.”
“Apologies, sir.” Kerren shifts his weight and gives me a shove.
Fuck. Now?
I glance around and duck my head, scooting away even as I hear the man continue to upbraid Kerren and Markos.
“For the last time, who is your commander?”
I wince, hating that I’m running away when they’re getting in trouble. I feel like I’m abandoning them, but I have to do this. I have to. I move quickly between tents, keeping my head down. I’m fifty feet away—maybe more—when I hear a man shout and a scuffle breaks out.
Please don’t die, Markos. Please don’t die, Kerren, I silently chant. I won’t be able to stand it if everyone dies because of me. I’m so close. I’m approaching the center of the camp, and as men rouse themselves to move toward the fight, I discreetly head in the opposite direction.
“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice calls. “Hey, you. Tart. Stop.”