on him. "Well?" he demands.
"Sorry, you were saying?" Sometimes I really hate myself for being such a perv.
“I was saying it does not matter where we think an Aspect will go. It depends on where they arrive during the Anticipation. After all, I arrived in Aventine, and it was supposed to be a city loyal to me.” His lips thin with distaste. “We might as well point at a spot on the map and head there. It’s as good a guess as any.”
“Okay, well if you were Hedonism and you wanted to head someplace specific, where would you head?”
He thinks for a moment. “Mephis, I suppose. They are fond of nose-spices there.”
Drugs. "It's as good a guess as any other," I admit, because I don't have any ideas of my own. I don't know this place like he does. "And it's somewhere to start, I suppose. Is Mephis far from here?"
"Is Mephis far?" He snorts. "Is Mephis far? What a foolish question. Are you human?"
"Wow, are you a huge asshole?" I retort. "I was just asking."
"Everything will be far. Every place we travel will be grueling. Do you think the High Father sent me here so I could trot gamely between two neighboring cities and then return to him with my tail tucked between my legs, lesson learned in a day?" He straightens and crosses his arms over his broad chest, the look on his face downright scathing. "The High Father means to break me to his will. He plans to remake me and to teach me lesson after lesson until I come crawling to him, begging for forgiveness. So yes, it will be a long journey. It will be terrible. It will be dangerous. My other Aspects of self will be doing their best to purge my existence from this world to ensure their own survival. So no, it will not be a pleasant little voyage."
I gape at him for a moment as he bends down to study the map once more. "Wow, I think I really, truly hate you."
Aron shrugs. "I do not imagine I came to the mortal plane to make friends. It is no concern of mine what you think."
Yeah, he made that pretty clear from the start. For a moment, I glare hatefully at his shoulders, wondering how one person can be so damn unpleasant when a moment ago, I was blushing at the thought of him. I'm the idiot here. He's just being who he is—Arrogance. It doesn't mean I have to like him.
I really, really want to go home. For a brief, despairing flash, I think about packing up my things and abandoning him. Better yet, sending him on his way to Mephis or wherever the fuck he wants to go and staying behind with Omos and his cheese and his goats and his books.
Except…I can't. I remember the wracking pain when Aron and I were separated. I'm stuck with him.
And everyone's going to try to kill me because of it.
I lie down on the bed, too depressed to even consider what the next few weeks—or hell, months! years!—of my life will be like. I pull the blankets over my head and roll over to face the wall.
"What are you doing?" Aron snaps, rustling the map. "We are discussing strategy. Stop this foolishness."
"Go fuck yourself," I tell him and ignore him. If he wants to be an asshole, I can be one, too.
I ignore Aron for the rest of the day, no matter his attempts to get my attention. After a while, he gets surly and leaves to go prepare for our journey. From my half-assed listening, he chided Omos that the monk had no weapons at his house, and has spent most of the afternoon creating his own. He's whittled wood, broken pottery, and used the shards to craft some deadly-looking objects. Omos has fluttered around the little library itself, sometimes scratching notes into one of his books, sometimes packing up more food.
I ate. And slept. And ate some more. No one seems to think I can help out. I'm not talking to Aron and Omos just shoos me away when I try to help, so I keep busy with making clothes for myself and washing what I do have. Omos donated one of his gray robes, but it hangs on me like a potato sack and chafes against my skin, so I've done my best to modify it and make it less bulky. I ripped up the seams under the arms