be something nice after all. "You're not so bad yourself. But let's stay focused. You don't look mortal, either. You're big and beefy and you practically radiate otherworldliness. If they did a police lineup, you'd stick out like a sore thumb." I gesture at his face. "The coloring doesn't help. The scars sure don't help. You might as well wear an axe atop your head and scream to everyone that you're Aron of the Cleaver and you've come to steal their wives and eat their children."
Aron's hard mouth twitches with a hint of amusement. "I want no one's wives. I have a hard enough time with you at my side."
I just laugh, because that is something so very Aron, and I'm getting used to him.
He rubs his jaw, studying me. "So you tell me I am too handsome to mingle with these people."
"Well, you are a god." Suddenly it feels like the conversation is turning, and I’m getting flustered. "But I, ah, meant the scars and the coloring."
"Of course." He doesn't sound like he believes me though. "I cannot change the scars, I am afraid. I won them in battle against the dragon One-Tooth who took my left eye before I found another."
Okay, that’s weird and I’m not going to ask, because I’m not sure I want to know more about dragons. We’ve got enough problems in this world. "Maybe we start with a cloak and see how these things progress."
Aron grunts and pulls the hood over his head, hiding his jet-black hair. It's in a messy braid and most of it has fallen out of said braid, and I realize that he might not know how to braid it himself. How do the gods function if they can't do simple things like this, I wonder? Or is it just a matter of waving a hand and being perfect? Either way, it reminds me how shockingly vulnerable Aron is. If I wasn't with him, he'd probably just wander into town, demanding people give him information…and he'd end up murdered right away.
Or wait, I'd end up murdered and Aron would die because of it. Neither one sounds good. I frown to myself as I reach up and pull his hood on a little deeper, completely hiding his features. "Keep this on at all times."
He tilts his head back and gazes down at me. "How am I supposed to see anything?"
"You're not. You're supposed to hide and let me handle things." I pat his chest, and then wonder why I keep touching him. Dammit, Faith. "Just in case, though, I should give you some of the money. In case we get split up."
"If we get split up, we have bigger problems than money," he says, and catches my hand when I pull it away. "I am going to be watching you closely. If you feel threatened or worried, simply invoke my name and I will slaughter all close to you."
I stare at him, eyes wide. I shouldn't be flattered by that. I shouldn't. But it sounds protective and in a bloodthirsty way, kind of sweet. A weird thought comes to mind: Is this the way a god of battle flirts? Surely not. But all I say is "okay."
Aron pulls one of the makeshift blades—a shiv, really—off his leather bracer and offers it to me. "Put this in your boot and do not be afraid to use it."
"How bad is this city?" I ask him, but do as he says.
"How bad is any big city? Better to arm you in case someone decides you should be a slave again."
Okay, he has a really great point. "Let's just go before I freak out and decide we should keep going to the next city."
"All outlying cities lead to this one. Katharn is a necessary evil."
Lucky us. "We stick to the plan, then. Get in, listen for rumors, find what we need, and head out from there." When he nods, I take a steeling breath. "All right. Let's do this."
Showtime, Faith.
27
We walk for maybe another hour before we get into Katharn proper. The scattered streets grow increasingly dense as we move forward, and then lift up, surprisingly enough. They change from rutted, muddy roads to paved bridges and cobbled, wide roads, and I see why soon enough—Katharn has a big river running right through the middle of town. Of course, just because the streets are better doesn't mean that the buildings themselves are. The small, crowded houses look to be made of clapboard wood and push