“It is tradition,” the prelate says faintly. “Slaves are given as cleaver brides every Anticipation—”
“I do not recall it being written in the sacred scrolls. Is it?” His voice is so casual and imperious at once, and I admit I’m hunching my shoulders every time he speaks, just because he sounds so darn mad—and the thunder crackles overhead constantly.
After a moment, the prelate licks his lips. “It is not, my Lord of Storms.”
“Is any of this in the sacred scrolls?” Aron flicks his hand at the crowded, trashed temple full of drunk, stuffed partygoers. At that moment, a naked woman squeals and runs from a man in red temple robes. “This carousing?”
I can practically feel the cringe of the prelate. “It is not, my lord. But it is all tradition done in your honor—”
“Then stop,” Aron snarls. He whips about and moves back to his chair, and I catch a glimpse of pale, hairless body and he’s just as muscular in the chest as he is in the backside…and I notice that he’s got large balls and an even bigger cock. Like, huge.
Okay, well, that answers that.
God-cock is apparently very impressive.
Aron flings himself back onto his throne and clamps his hands down on the arms. “This is my temple, is it not? Perhaps you should spend your time obeying my wishes?” His voice is practically a snarl.
The prelate drops his forehead to the floor again. “Of course, Lord of Storms.”
The angry god flicks his gaze over to me. I notice one eye is brown and one is green, and I’m frozen underneath that unusual gaze. “What am I a god of, woman?”
Oh shit, is this a trick question? “Cleavers?”
Someone makes a terrified sound.
His eyes narrow.
Pin drop.
I smile brightly even though the air is so heavy and ominous it feels like I’m about to be throttled from afar. “I should probably point out that I’m not from here and so I don’t know that answer.”
“Battle,” the prelate offers in a thin voice. “Battle and thunder.”
“That was going to be my second guess,” I add. “Don’t see what that has to do with sacrificing maidens. You guys would probably be better off holding a duel or a fight or something.”
The room gets quiet. The prelate stares at me with hot eyes as if he can’t believe that I’m daring to speak. Well, tough luck. Speaking up got me a cushion on the dais, and if that’s the only advantage I get, I’m going to use it. I suspect I’ll be paying for my “privilege” soon enough.
I should have never brought up the butt stuff.
“My servant is correct,” Aron says after a long moment. “You do me no honor with your sacrifice. If you wish to honor me with blood, do so on the field of battle. Release those maidens to go back to their families.”
“They are slaves, my Lord—”
“Then keep them and feed them as you would any other temple slave.”
“Of course, my Lord.” He sounds like he’s chewing glass.
One of the women in the back begins to sob loudly, and I can see the irritation spreading over Aron’s face. He gestures at the woman, who’s weeping as if she’s just now realizing she’s going to die, except she isn’t. “Why does she cry?”
I have to admit I’m as mystified as he is.
The prelate straightens himself, as if finding his spine. “She is dishonoring her master if she is not sacrificed to honor the gods.”
As I watch, Aron pinches the bridge of his nose, as if beat down by all of this. “How is it dishonorable if she is serving my temple at my wishes?”
The woman’s crying eases and her sniffles turn to surprise, and then she stumbles forward, dropping to her knees a short distance away from Aron’s throne. “I only wish to serve, Lord of Storms. However I can, I wish to be of service to the gods.”
I actually feel sorry for Aron for a brief moment, because he looks so frustrated with the situation that his jaw clenches and I suspect he’s moments away from rolling his eyes. “Serve my temple. And quit crying. The gods do not like tears,” he snaps.
All the gods or just this one, I wonder?
The prelate bows and then the other women are dropping to their knees, weeping their thanks. Aron just looks even more annoyed and his hand curls into a fist against one of the arm rests.
He looks like he’s about to change his mind, so I pipe up. “I bet all