the Citadel and groan. Is that what this is going to involve? Falling out of building after building while people try to murder us? This place sucks.
30
The door shakes again, and I race for the window, because I like living. We fling open the shutters once more and look out on the roof. It’s piecey and falling apart, with unsafe-looking patches, but it’s also really close to the next roof. In the distance, I can see a cluster of torches and hear the shouts of angry voices.
How did they know it was us? We were so careful. Part of me hopes they’re just thugs trying to rob an easy mark, but I know in my gut it’s more than that. Whatever’s going on in this world, these people are scared and trying to do something about it.
If that means running Aron out of town—or worse—they’ll do it.
“Come on,” Aron says, and grabs my arm. Before I can hesitate, he’s moving out onto the steep roof. I have no choice but to follow.
“My boots aren’t done up,” I protest as we move forward.
“You can do them up later, or take them off, but we’re leaving now.” He releases my hand, hops the two-foot gap to the next roof, and a few tiles slide as he lands with a heavy thump. He turns and extends his hand to me, impatiently flicking his wrist and indicating I need to follow.
I hesitate, then kick off my flopping boots. When I jump, I wince, expecting my feet to hurt—but he catches me mid-air and gently lowers me to the roof. Oh.
“Next roof,” he murmurs, pointing at the nearest building a short distance away.
“Where are we going?” I whisper, sliding my hand into his instinctively.
“Away from here. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Seven roofs later, and we’re almost down the street. We jump down to a lower building and then Aron jumps down again, landing on a stack of moldy, filthy hay that hasn’t been yellow in years. He hops back up to his feet again and then gestures that I should follow. Biting back the cuss words rising in my throat, I jump down onto the hay, too.
It feels like landing on scratchy concrete. I huff, choking on the air that whooshes out of my lungs, and get to my feet. Aron snags my bag from the pile next to me and then half-drags me forward. “Keep moving, Faith.”
“Need…time…” I wheeze.
“You don’t have time,” he warns, glancing down the street.
“Don’t…be…dick…”
“Hey! Hey you!” someone shouts. “There they are!”
With a growl, Aron hauls me to my feet, and I find I can run a little after all. We go down a narrow, filthy alley, my toes squelching in mud—at least I hope it’s mud. At the end of the alley, we turn and go down a side street that leads to another side street…only to run into two men with torches waiting for us. Their eyes widen in surprise to see us race right for them, and one opens his mouth to call to his friends.
Aron grabs him by the throat, quick as a whip, and slams him into the wall. There’s a horrible, wet crack, and the torch drops to the ground, sputtering out in a puddle. A second later, Aron tosses him aside and slams his fist into the other man’s face, and he collapses to the ground.
It all took less than a breath.
Aron turns back to me, not even breathing hard. “Come on. It’s clear we’re not safe in the main part of the city. Let’s head toward the river.”
When he puts his hand out, I take it. I’m still shocked by the quick, effortless violence of his actions, but I have to remind myself that those men want to kill us. I pull my cloak over my face and Aron does the same, and we hide in the shadows, moving from alley to street and watching out for others. There are people everywhere in the streets tonight—not just men but women and children, fear and anger on their faces.
You’d think Aron was the boogeyman instead of a god. But maybe because he’s a god of battle, people are afraid. I think of the two men he brutally attacked and can’t blame them for being afraid.
We get to the river’s edge and go down the creaky wooden stairs towards the docks. At the docks, though, there are just as many people as there were out in the streets. These are almost all