“I like to think it does.” I clutch my staff across my legs, careful not to hit him with it. “Thing is, I’m not thrilled about her staying with them either, but she chose to do that. If she’s not happy there, well, those are the guys that can fix it. They can pull her thread free and release her if she changes her mind. Those are about the only people in this world that can make that sort of change.”

“She won’t change her mind. She’s happy there,” he says, bitterness in his voice. “She is no longer a slave. Now she’s important. It’s all she ever wanted.” His jaw clenches and he stares out into the night.

I pat his shoulder. “Then be happy for her and get the fuck over it, okay?”

He looks startled at my words. He nods, and then gets to his feet as Markos returns. Markos is sweating, his dark hair plastered to his skull. “Six men,” he says in a low voice. “All armed.”

“Even out here?” Solat makes a sound of frustration. “We are practically sitting in the fields and he still sends troops out?”

Markos shrugs as Kerren heads in our direction, another figure cloaked in darkness. “I counted them twice to be certain. The Adassian Aron knows about this. He is covering the area just in case.”

Kerren nods as he approaches. “Six, but if we do not move soon, I worry there will be more. I overheard them speaking and one mentioned he would be returning to camp soon. If they are switching shifts, we don’t know how many we could be facing.”

I clutch my staff, terrified as I stand up. “But we have to wait for Aron, don’t we? For his diversion?” I’m terrified for my guy, even though I know he’s immortal, that I’m the one in danger. But that crazy fool plans on walking right through the army to announce himself. “Shouldn’t we wait—”

A horn blasts in the distance, three times.

Someone shouts.

Fuck.

“That’s Aron,” Markos says, grabbing my arm and hauling me forward. “Come. Let us waste no time.”

I nod and let Markos pull me along, and then we’re all running, trying to keep to the shadows in the darkness. There are a few trees nearby, and then a fence surrounding the cemetery that’s seen better days. Two guards stand in front of the gates of the cemetery itself, and I get a sense of déjà vu, back when Aron and I crept through Katharn.

We huddle at the edge of the fence, someone’s hand on my hip. Kerren’s big, sweaty body is blocking me from seeing anything, but I can hear voices. There’s confusion, and the jingle of armor.

Then, I see a torch bobbing as it heads toward the gates of the cemetery.

“What’s going on?” an unfamiliar, strangely accented voice says.

“It’s another god. He’s come to attack the Lord of Storms.”

“No!” another man laughs. “A showdown? Our lord will hand him his ass, wait and see.”

“I’m going to go watch,” one calls, breathless.

Yes, everyone go watch, I silently chant. Go and see the spectacle.

“Bad idea,” says another. “If you leave your post, that’s desertion.”

The man groans, and then the guards shuffle their feet. In the distance, the horn blasts three more times, and my heart clenches for Aron, who’s all alone in the middle of the battlefield…

And probably loving it, actually.

“They’re not leaving,” Kerren hisses. “What do we do?”

“We need more of a distraction,” Solat says, and then surges forward. Markos tries to grab him, but Solat sneaks to a bush nearby, close to where the two soldiers stand at the gate. Just inside, I can see two more patrolling. They said there were six total. All of the guards look to be paying attention to the sea of torches in the distance, across the river, where Aron’s saying hello to the enemy army. I’d give anything to see that sight myself, but first I need to save my own bacon.

Then, Solat throws a damn rock.

Markos shoots him an angry glare, and no one moves. One of the guards turns his head, frowning in our direction.

Solat throws another, a short distance away from his bush.

I can feel the tension vibrating off of Kerren. Off of Markos. I hold my breath, just in case I breathe too loud and someone hears it.

The guard say something in low voices, then one leaves the front gate and approaches Solat’s hiding spot. One step. Two. I feel like I’m going to explode as he takes out his sword, heading toward the bush, ready to attack.

To my utter surprise, Markos leaps from his hiding place and latches onto the guard the moment he gets close enough. His knife flashes, and then there’s a horrible gurgling noise. The guard falls to the ground, clutching at his throat and rolling in pain.

Oh shit. That’s not like the movies at all. It’s not a fast death. It’s not swift and painless. The man keeps making sounds and writhing, and I freeze, petrified. I knew we were going to make a break for the crypt, but I didn’t think about the fact that people were going to die.

I’m such a naïve idiot.

The other guard shouts, and then men are racing toward us, drawing their weapons.

Kerren grabs me by the arm and hauls me forward. “Come on. No time to waste.”

Solat and Markos confront the soldiers, while Kerren shields me with his body and keeps me against the rails of the fence. His sword is out, but because it’s dark, no one’s noticed us yet.

“In the gates,” he whispers to me.

I run forward, my staff clutched in my hands…right into a pair of guards.

They look startled to see me. “A woman?” one blurts out. “Here?”

“Surprise!” I yell, adrenaline rushing through me, and swing my staff like I’m trying to hit a home run. I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing, or if they’re going to kill me. I just swing.

I was pretty good at softball back in high school, and I definitely remember what the crack of the bat felt like against the heft of the ball. My staff slams into the side of the guard’s face and…it doesn’t feel the same. It feels a thousand times worse, and it makes a wet, cracking sound even as his jaw moves in a weird direction and blood flies and teeth spray and I can’t stop gasping as he stares at me, then staggers. He’s not going down, so I hit him again.

And again.

When he crumples to the ground on the third hit, I suck in a deep breath—fuck, there’s not enough air in the world right now—and try to focus. I just killed a man.

Later, Faith. Worry about that later.

Kerren struggles against two guards, parrying their blows as they push him back against a large stone grave-marker. I rush forward and swing for the closest guard’s head, but I only hit him a glancing blow from behind.

He immediately pivots and his sword slices out at me, too fast for me to avoid.

CLANG.

It feels like a truck hits my stomach, and I fall backwards as if kicked. I gag on the sensation of vomit creeping up my throat. I smack my staff against the back of his knee and he goes down like a rock even as I crawl onto hands and knees. While he staggers, I slam my staff against the side of his head, crushing his ear and knocking him over. A second swing makes him go still, and then Kerren shoves his knife in the man’s throat.

Markos and Solat jog up to us. One whistles, staring at the guards I mashed. “Damn, woman.”

I tremble, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s either that or vomit. I remind myself that it was them or me. Them or me. If they knew I was Aron’s anchor, they would have killed me just to get to him.

I still bend over and puke on some poor person’s headstone.

Markos gives my back a pat. “Hurry it along, Faith. More will be coming.”

Right. Right. Never mind that I just murdered two soldiers that were doing their jobs. This is war. I chant that to myself as Solat takes my arm and the men half guide, half drag me along with them, heading for the crypts.

Once we’re in the cemetery, I realize we never asked what the crypt itself looks like, but it soon becomes really obvious that we don’t have to. There’s one building in the midst of this place, with a statue of the god of the dead in front of it, skulls at his feet. Behind him rises a square building with columns, and absurdly, I think it looks a bit like a bank. It’s got double doors and columns and…well, bank. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me.