me and not him. "I have no idea how that makes me feel," I whisper.
"Me either." And Aron frowns to himself, as if displeased with this realization.
As he does, it comes to my attention that I'm still straddling him. My hands are splayed across his chest. Our bodies are posed not as if we've just taken a tumble but as if we're in bed together and I've decided to be on top. I can feel my cheeks grow heated at the thought, and Aron's eyes narrow as he gazes at me, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.
Then I remember last night's humiliating dinner in the audience chamber with Tadekha, when I rubbed myself all over Aron like a cat in heat and he petted me between my thighs like it was some sort of obligation. Ugh. I fling myself off of him, rolling to the ground.
I flop down on my back, staring up at the sky. The rope swings back and forth high above, taunting me. The Citadel itself is beautiful in the sunlight, glittering like a translucent many-tiered wedding cake floating in the deep blue sky. It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen…too bad it's filled with assholes. Or just one big asshole. I think of lovely, dainty Tadekha and the smug smile on her face. I think of the adoring shimmering-winged angel women she surrounds herself with. I think of last night, when Tadekha's anchor eagerly planted her face between the goddess's thighs and muff-dived as if her life depended on it.
Next to me, Aron staggers to his feet and dusts off his plain red tunic. His hands slap at the fabric and it sends a wave of dust into my face, causing me to choke and cough again. "It is time to go," Aron tells me.
I don't want to get up just yet. In fact, it would be great if I didn't have to move again, ever. "Everything hurts," I tell him. "Let's give ourselves a few minutes, okay?" The thought of hauling myself to my feet and walking these endless dirt plains seems like a terrible idea. Damn it all, maybe we should have taken our chances with the guards, tried to shanghai the Citadel from Tadekha's grasp.
"Get up," Aron says bluntly. "There is no time to waste."
Isn't there? The Citadel is peacefully drifting overhead, and while there are no birds chirping, it's still rather serene. I want to stay here just long enough to have a nap and let my throbbing, aching body recover.
As I stare up at the floating crystal city, something small and dark flies through the air toward it. For a brief moment, I think it's a bowling ball, and that makes me pause, because why would a bowling ball be flying through the air—
A crashing sound like a thousand glasses breaking interrupts the silence. Overhead, I watch as one delicate tower collapses on itself and a rain of crystal chunks fall from the sky overhead toward the ground.
Toward me, stretched out on the ground.
I gasp, but before I can do anything, Aron's covering me with his body, and there's a tinkle like windchimes all around us as the crystals rain to the dirt.
"What was that?" I manage to choke out, covering my mouth with one gauzy sleeve. The air's filled with dust and crystal fragments.
"Trebuchet," he tells me, voice abrupt. His expression is that pissy, impatient look he always wears, and I know what he's thinking—he just had to save my ass again. "It is time to go."
"Let's go," I tell him faintly. I don't want to be underneath the Citadel as it's attacked. That might be the worst place possible—death from above and death from the troops that approach closer and closer.
Perhaps escape wasn't such a good plan after all.
20
We walk across the dusty, crumbly hills of the Dirtlands. Or at least, Aron walks. I sort of stagger behind him, my entire body throbbing with pain. If he's hurting from his fall, he doesn't show it in the slightest. His form is as straight as ever, his clothing unblemished by what we’ve gone through. Meanwhile, my filmy dress is torn in several places, and the hem is covered in dirt. I'm sweaty and the fabric sticks to me in unpleasant places. Elegant, I'm not.
How I look doesn't matter, though. All that matters is getting away from the Citadel because it is most definitely under attack. Every so often, there's a sound like a crash of windchimes, and