“But how?” Halla protests. “We have tried that before—”

“I’ll go,” Solat says, speaking up for the first time since the assassin left the room.

We both turn to look at him.

“What?” I sputter. “No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s a good idea,” Solat continues. “I’m good at ingratiating myself. I’ll get one of their uniforms from off the dead and start hunting around. I know what to look for, how an anchor is guarded.” His gaze locks on me. “I’ll find the information and we can mark the tent he or she is hiding in.”

“You think we haven’t tried?” Queen Halla asks imperiously.

“I know how Aron thinks. Two different Arons,” he adds. “I know how they are different, but I also know the ways they are similar. I’ll be able to spot the anchor.”

And he looks at me for approval.

An infiltrator. Of course it’s smart. Of course Solat knows how Aron thinks. He was with Liar Aron and then he was with my Aron. He knows what to look for, more than any Yshremi or Cyclopae warrior because he’s ridden with Arons of different flavors for months now.

“It’s dangerous,” I admit to him.

“Does it matter?” he asks, all cockiness. “I never expected to get out of this alive. Did you?”

Queen Halla’s hands fly to her mouth.

He’s…not wrong, though. I think he’s bluffing, because a man with no future wouldn’t have been so upset at Yulenna’s choice. But if he wants to go, how can I stop him? Especially when I know if we sacrifice our lives, we’ll be saving hundreds on both sides—maybe thousands?

The Adassians could have spies in the city right now. Who’s to stop them from setting fire to the keep and burning us out while we sleep?

Great. Now I’m never going to eat or sleep again. I rub my aching stomach. “Solat, I don’t know—”

“We won’t tell Aron,” he reiterates. “Kerren and Markos will cover for me. I’ll sneak into the other camp and when I find the tent in that sea of tents where the anchor is hiding, I’ll mark it.”

“How?”

“With a symbol.” He grins. “Maybe a spider.”

“Solat…”

He moves forward and takes my hand in his, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss my knuckles, but all he does is raise my hand and bow over it like a courtly gentleman. “I know how to be ingratiating, Faith. Trust me to do this. Give me a few days and I’ll find that anchor.”

What other choice do we have?

Markos tastes all my food for the rest of the day, and Kerren hovers over the cook down in the kitchens to make sure nothing is compromised.

When Aron returns that night, I’m filled with love for him—love and desperation. He’s in his element with the war, the battles, pitting himself against an opponent. His eyes gleam with enthusiasm. Aron’s never been handsomer to me. I don’t care that he’s a god of war, or a god of storms. I just care that he’s mine.

And tonight, I’m feeling more than a little desperate. So I tackle him the moment we’re alone, and we make love three times straight before I collapse in the bed and he pulls me against his chest for snuggling.

“I think we are making headway, Faith,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my shoulder. “It’s just a matter of time.”

I hold his arm to my stomach and lean back against him. “I hope you’re right.”

OceanofPDF.com

78

Things fall into a pattern for days.

Solat disappears, as promised. I watch anxiously at the window as the armies clash at the walls and at the side gate every morning, and neither side seems to be gaining or losing ground by the time both sides retreat to their respective territories. Every night, bodies are burned.

The next morning, the men wake up and do the same. They put on their armor, cheer when Aron gives a war cry, and fight gloriously at his side.

Both sides are fighting for the god of battle, Aron of the Cleaver. The strange irony of that doesn’t escape me. No one’s going to ever back down because why would they? Their god is on the front lines, eating this shit up. The queen cries as her husband goes out to war every morning, convinced this will be the last time she sees him. I can’t imagine her terror. The only reason I’m calm is because I know Aron can’t get killed. He’s loving this, in his element with every swing of the gigantic double-bladed axe he now carries at all times. I want to be happy for him, but they haven’t made progress into the enemy camp, and I worry how long this will go on.

Will both Arons keep flinging their armies at each other until they run out of men? What happens then? It’s a sobering thought, and I think of poor Queen Halla, who clutches her infant son to her chest every day and frets over her husband.

As for me, I wait. I wait for Aron’s army to take control of the Adassian territory. I wait for Solat to send word that he’s found the other anchor. I wait for another assassin to appear. I wait for Aron to come back to me every night.

What else can I do?

I can’t leave. I can’t help.

All I can do is stare out the window and hope that there’s a break on one side or another, or that Solat appears with the information we need…or that the Aron on the other side disappears because Solat’s somehow assassinated the other anchor.

The only thing I can do is stand around and wait for something to change.

But days pass and there’s nothing.

It’s been maybe four days when everything breaks. The day starts as it always does. Aron wakes me up early for a fierce round of quick morning lovemaking before he puts on his armor and heads off to battle. I bathe and dress, then head into the queen’s chambers accompanied by Kerren and several other Yshremi guards who now shadow my every move. The queen sits with her ladies, her face pinched with stress. She was so happy that my Aron arrived, but it’s been days and we make no headway, and people just keep dying.

I sit down across from her and Kerren immediately starts tasting the food set out for me. “Morning,” I say to Halla, rubbing my eyes.

“Good morn to you.” Her voice is even, sweet. She’s good at hiding how she feels in front of the guards. It’s only after they settle to their places against the door that she lets some of her stress show. “Another day of this.” She spreads her hands in her lap. “I want to pray to the gods to watch over my husband, but there is no one in the Aether to hear.”

“Aron says they’re gaining ground,” I tell her. “I hope he’s right.”

“But will it be soon enough to save the lives of hundreds of good men?” She presses her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. I know you have as much control as I do on such things. I do have a small bit of good news for you on this day. My wizards have a spyglass for you.” Her smile is faint.

“Oh? That’s great. Where is it?” I’m itching to get a good look at the battle in the same way I’d pick at a scab. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.

“We can visit them once you have eaten,” she says, gesturing at the tray of food where Kerren even now stuffs his face, chewing as fast as he can. Tasting my food is a full-time job practically, because I eat so much. Poor Kerren.

I snag a fruit-stuffed tart that already has a large bite out of it and start eating. I know somewhere down in the kitchens, Markos is watching every bit of food that goes onto my plate. “Tell your cooks I appreciate the efforts. I’ve eaten better here than—”

There’s an urgent knock at the door. Before anyone can answer, the knock comes again and then a soldier rushes in, a chest in his hands.

The queen goes white as a sheet. “What is it?”