“He showed up in Aventine,” I tell her. “I was a slave there. Someone caught me wandering where I shouldn’t and decided I should be property. Then, I was taken to Aron’s temple to be a cleaver bride, but I opted to be his anchor instead.”

“Cleaver brides,” she murmurs. “A barbaric practice. The Cyclopae prefer for their warriors to give of themselves, not slaves.” She shakes her head. “Aventine is very far. Did you sail, then?”

“No. It was a lot of riding. A lot. We ran into one of Aron’s other Aspects outside of Katharn, and I think Apathy died a month or so ago. It’s only these two left.” I gaze out the window at the clash of men, the swords and armor gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Aron’s somewhere down there, eating this shit up.

“Then this is over soon,” the queen says, and there’s obvious relief in her voice.

I say nothing. Part of me wants it over soon, sure. Part of me is terrified at what happens “after.” I can’t stop thinking about what the Spidae said. I watch the field, but from here, I can only see movement, not individuals. “I don’t suppose you have a telescope, do you?”

“A what?”

“Er, a spyglass?” I gesture at my eye. “With a long tube and a piece of glass at the end that enables you to see farther?”

Her brows furrow. “I can ask if the court wizards have such a device.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I just wanted to see what was going on down at the field.”

She shudders. “I can’t watch it. My husband is eager to be at Aron’s side but…”

But Aron is immortal and her husband isn’t. I get it. “So…Adassia had a god show up, huh? Did you hear of any other places that might have had one? Everyone’s supposed to be down here for the Anticipation but we’ve only run into a few, and they weren’t my favorites.”

“All of the major city-states have been graced with a god,” she admits, her expression carefully blank. “Or so the rumors go.”

“Except you guys…until now?”

“No,” the queen says after a moment. “We have a goddess here. Magra, Lady of Plenty, is here.”

I gasp. “Really?” I’m shocked. I guess I thought I would “know” somehow if another god was lurking nearby. No one’s said anything at all. Even now, Halla’s expression is even, but I get the idea that she’s a little uncomfortable. “I have a friend that was a priest of hers. He sent a scroll with me in case I met her. Can I…can I see her?”

Queen Halla’s expression is the definition of neutral. “Are you sure you truly wish to? She is…not as Aron is. Her presence here is both blessing and burden.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come. I will show you.” She nods to her ladies. “Watch over Alistair for me, will you? We will return shortly.”

Markos pushes away from the wall in a clank of armor, straightening. “My orders are to follow you at all times, my lady Faith.”

Lady Faith? I want to correct him—or laugh—but I get that he’s trying to be polite. To give me the reverence I’m due as Aron’s anchor. Feels weird, though. “Come on, then.”

We stop by my rooms to get the scroll from my bags, and then I clutch it tight to my chest as Queen Halla leads me—and Markos, and about six additional guards—through the keep. My hands are sweaty as I hold it, because I think of Omos and how kind he was. He was the first polite person I met in this world. I want this to go well for him. I want her to look at the scroll and smile happily that such a devoted man is thinking of her. Just once, I want to have something go right. To bring good into this strange new world.

I’m surprised when we ascend one of the many towers in Castle Yshrem. The stairs seem to climb endlessly, and I wonder at a goddess that wants to hide away from everyone like this. She’s a goddess of plenty, so that means feasts and food and things like that. Crops, harvests, good times. Pleasant things. “So far away from everyone?” I ask as we continue up another set of stairs.

Halla gives me a searching look. “Lady Magra has requested rooms here because of the noise in the lower chambers. She prefers to be left alone.”

Oh. I think for a moment. She could be one of four Aspects—I don’t think it’s Hedonism. But anyone else could fit with a little bit of fudging. We arrive at a plain wooden door, and Queen Halla knocks, then enters, casting another glance in my direction.

I follow her in…and I’m surprised.

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It’s dark inside. There’s a sputtering candle in one corner, but the large windows are shut, the casement shutters closed. Very little light streams in. In the bed, a beautiful older woman with russet hair lies staring at the ceiling.

“My lady Magra,” the queen says in a gentle voice. “An honored guest wished to meet you. Lord Aron of the Storms has arrived and brought his anchor with him. She has a message from one of your most loyal followers.”

The woman in the bed makes a sound like a sigh.

I hesitate, not sure what else to do. The moment we walked in and I saw her in the rumpled bed, I knew what this was. It’s not arrogance, it’s not lies. It’s apathy. No wonder Halla has been so wary. I thought Hedonism would be the worst Aspect to visit given my experience with Tadekha, but clearly I see it’s this one. Just being in her presence is depressing. I look around the room, and sitting in a chair in the dark is another woman, an older one, her face hollow, her expression tired. She has a blanket in her lap and looks nearly as worn down as the woman she’s serving—because this has to be her anchor.

“Greetings,” I say, inwardly wincing at my own too-cheery tone. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lady Magra. I met a monk of yours a few months ago, a man by the name of Omos. Do you know him?”

She fixes her gaze on me, and her eyes are just…blank. Bored. “So?”

So?

“He was very excited at the thought of your arrival in this world,” I lie. Didn’t Omos say something like this would happen? He knew, somehow. He didn’t want to meet her because he didn’t want to see her like this. At the time I thought he was just being a little fearful. Now I think he was right. Even so, I’ve carried his message this far and I want to deliver it for his sake. He’s my friend. “Omos sent along a message should I meet you in my journeys.” I hold the scroll out, the precious scroll I’ve protected over miles and miles, because I owed it to Omos. I’m almost reluctant to hand it over.

Magra doesn’t reach for it. She simply looks at it, then looks at me, and rolls over in bed and faces the wall.

The queen grimaces.

Oh. I clutch the scroll for a moment longer, wondering if I should hold onto it or leave it anyhow. I try to think of what Omos would want. Maybe…maybe this Aspect of Magra won’t care enough to see it, but perhaps the next one will? I set it down on the table next to the bed. “I’m just gonna set it here, for whenever you feel like reading it.” When there’s no answer, I add, “He was a really good man, you know. One of the best I’ve ever met. I hope you’ll see that…”

The goddess doesn’t respond. She simply stares at the wall and I want to reach over and shake her. To tell her I know she’s not sleeping because Aron doesn’t sleep.

As I hesitate by the bed, the queen moves to the woman by the window. She takes the thin, veined hand in hers and leans by the woman. “Do you need anything?” Her voice is soft, gentle.

The old woman—the anchor—shakes her head. She closes her eyes. “Tired.”

Queen Halla pats her hand and sets it down gently on the blanket once more, then straightens and nods at me, indicating we should leave. I follow her out, and I feel like I can’t breathe until we shut the door behind us and head down the stairs.