I follow close behind, because Aron’s somewhere around here. He—

He’s there, right in front of me. I stop as I clear the wall of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, jostling each other. Aron’s in the center of the room, standing next to a young-looking man with long black hair and an eyepatch. He wears a cloak of startling white fur and leather leggings, and grins at the queen when she approaches, offering her his hand. Is that the king? Not that I care.

All of my attention is on Aron, who’s practically unrecognizable.

From head to toe, my Aron is covered in blood. His hair is plastered to his scalp, his clothing demolished and shredded, and his skin is a mucky, dark red. His eyes shine bright—green and brown—in his face, and as I watch, he pulls another arrow out of his arm. I can still see two more sticking from his side.

He looks like a damn mess.

I’m so relieved to see him I want to cry.

He grins at something the king says, and then I can’t stop smiling as I approach. I’m so thankful he’s here and whole, so happy.

The queen whispers something in her husband’s ear and then he looks at me. Aron does, too.

And his pleasure fades away to rage.

“Why is she bleeding?”

Thunder booms overhead, and my head feels as if it was just struck by lightning.

I stagger, pressing my palm to my forehead. “Aron! Stop it! Control your temper!”

He immediately moves to my side, his hands on my gown. It’s a pale green and my hem is muddy from all the running around. “I will control my temper when I see for myself that you aren’t hurt.”

I look down as his big hands move over my abdomen, and hiss when his fingers burn over my scrapes. Sure enough, I look down and there are two dark, wet spots, one on each side of my stomach. I’m confused until I remember the sword that tried to slice me in half. “Oh. I guess that guy’s blade connected a little more than I thought.”

“Blade?” Aron says quietly, and the thunder grows louder.

I grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye. “If you give me another nosebleed it’s going to hurt you a hell of a lot more than these little scratches do.”

He clenches his jaw, but I can hear the thunder ebbing. The room around us is utterly quiet, as if no one is sure what to think. “Tell me you’re not wounded badly,” he finally manages, straightening. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to haul my tunic off my body and check for himself right here, right now.

“I’m not hurt badly,” I promise, and give him a light pat on the cheek. Truth be told, I’ve had so much adrenaline rushing through me I don’t know if I’m hurt that bad or not. I’m pretty sure it’s all right, though. I’d feel it if things were worse, wouldn’t I? So I beam at Aron as if it’s all good. “We made it in one piece, though, which is more than I can say for you.” And I gesture at the arrows sticking out of his side.

Something rumbles in his chest that sounds like amusement. A hint of a smile flashes across his face and then Aron grabs me and hauls me against him. He kisses me fiercely, his teeth clashing with mine. It seems I’m not the only one feeling the charge of adrenaline. I kiss him back, my hand going to his neck…which is wet with blood.

I pull away, making a face. “You’re filthy.”

He just grins at me, looking like a crazy person. “It seems I need to clean up before I claim my anchor.”

To say the least. But he keeps his arm locked around my hips as he turns back toward the king, and I scrub a sleeve over my face, only to find it smeared with gore. That crazy son of a bitch…I’m so glad to see him.

The king drops to a knee in front of Aron and makes the clenched-hand symbol over his chest in honor of the Lord of Storms. “We are at your disposal. Yshrem and Cyclopae are honored to serve. Anything you need from us, we will provide.”

The queen hesitates, then tries to drop to a knee, clutching her rounded stomach.

“That’s not necessary, right, Aron?” I poke him in the side gently.

He grunts at me.

I poke him again.

He shoots me a look, then offers his filthy, filthy hand to the queen. To her credit, she takes it with a gracious smile. “You and your anchor are welcome here. Our home is your home for as long as you like.”

“What I would like,” Aron says slowly, “is to take down my opponent across the river and give Yshrem victory.”

Cheers fill the room. The Cyclopae king gets to his feet, and he’s got that war-hungry, eager look that Aron gets in his eyes, too. “With you leading us, we are sure to prevail, Lord of Storms. And if we do not, it will be a glorious battle to the end!”

The men cheer.

I don’t. Neither does the queen. We share a look, instead. The guys might be cool with dying on the battlefield, but the thought terrifies me.

“I’m tired and dirty,” I say to Aron, forcing a smile to my face. “And you’re filthy and I’m pretty sure you still have a crossbow bolt between your shoulders. Can we get somewhere we can clean up?”

“Oh, by the gods,” the queen says, shaking her head. “Of course. Please, come with me. We will house you in the finest rooms Castle Yshrem has to offer. And baths for both of you.”

“And food,” I add, taking the hand she extends me. “Please.”

“And food,” she agrees. “Whatever you like.”

I turn to look at Aron, strangely reluctant to leave his side again.

“Where are her guards?” Aron asks, frowning.

“I’m sure they’re upstairs just hanging out where I left them,” I say brightly, because I can feel the queen’s hand clench against my fingers. “We sort of scared everyone when we dropped in. It’s fine, Aron.”

His eyes narrow.

“Fine,” I say again. I let go of the queen’s hand and move back to him. I take a hold of the front of his filthy, filthy tunic—or what’s left of it—and tug him down closer to me. “I’ll make sure they stay outside the room and guard it, okay? And I’ll take a nice hot bath, and you’ll take a nice hot bath, and then you’ll come upstairs once you’ve finished talking war and you can make love to your anchor all night long, all right?”

“I am a god, Faith,” he murmurs. “We do not love.”

“Right. Sure.”

But he kisses me fiercely, and the room fills with cheers from the soldiers I forgot were there, and it seems to me that for a god that doesn’t love, he sure is affectionate.

Our first stop upstairs is not a bath after all. I’m taken to a healer and the two gashes on my stomach—surface wounds, really—are cleaned and neatly stitched up while the queen’s men retrieve Markos, Solat, and Kerren. Then, I’m brought down an opulent hall and the queen gestures at the room at the end. “These were my father’s chambers when he was king. I couldn’t bear to take them after I became queen, so they are used for visiting dignitaries. Will Aron mind if you’re both in the same room?”

Her inquiry is so polite, so sweet.

“If you’re asking if we’re sleeping together, the answer is yes. One bed is cool.”

She nods, and we continue into the room. She pushes open double doors and then I’m staring at an opulent chamber swathed with tapestries. A large, ornate wooden bed is in the center of the room, and by the fire in the fireplace, servants are pouring water into a large tub. I can smell fresh-baked bread and hot food, and my stomach growls.

“I know an anchor must eat to fuel her bond with her Aspect, so I’ve had the servants bring a large tray. If it’s not enough, say the word and I’ll make sure the cooks are ready to prepare you whatever you’d like.” She moves to the center of the room and waves in a new servant, this one carrying a small trunk. “A few things for you. Combs. Scented oils. Fresh clothing.”

“Thank you. This is all really great.”

She turns and gives me a smile, ever the gracious hostess. “My name is Halla, and it would please me if the two of us could talk in the morning?” She gives me a searching look, and I get the impression that there’s a lot going on behind that sweet exterior.