He frowns at me, probably for stopping, and then gazes over my shoulder, off into the horizon. "Tadekha's Citadel," he says after a moment. "It's gone."

Gone?

I whip around, staring at the area we've left behind. I don't see the Citadel itself anywhere on the horizon, which is shocking in itself. There's just a dark smear of smoke. "Where is it?"

"Gone," he repeats, clearly impatient. "Does 'gone' mean something else in the mortal tongue? It has been destroyed."

"Don't be a dick," I retort, putting a hand to my brow as if that'll help visibility. To be honest, visibility isn't the problem. Even from the distance of a few hours’ walk, I can see the red line of the Aventine troops, splashing like blood against the dirt. I can see the smoke pouring from the skies, and ahead of them…glitter on the ground.

Oh no. So much glitter. The Citadel's nothing but a bajillion broken shards. "Oh my god. What about all the people inside?" I turn and look at Aron in horror. "What about Tadekha?"

"Dead," he says flatly. "Her own fault."

I give him a shocked look. "How is this her fault?"

"She knows perfectly well what the Citadel was doing to the land. She did not care. Aventine has taken it back. Maybe someday something will grow here again." He shrugs. "Now the battle begins. I imagine it will not be much of one."

"If there's anyone fucking left!"

"If there is, they will capture any survivors and sacrifice them in my name as thanks for their victory. Or they will make them slaves." He shrugs.

"What? Is that why you don't give a shit?" I'm horrified. "It doesn't matter that all those people just died horribly because hey, fuck it, I'll get a few good prayers out of this?" I spread my arms wide. "Are you fucking serious, Aron?"

"I am a god of battle. Not sacrifices. I do not ask for such things, nor do I approve them. They do this of their own accord." He shrugs those big shoulders. "As for Tadekha, she has been warned many times over the years." He looks thoughtful. "I wonder what happens to your Aspect if you die. Has she already returned to the Aether?"

"Jealous much?" I say sarcastically.

"No," he replies. "Tadekha—if she lives—will be tortured for quite some time. It is not one to be envious of."

"This is not making me feel better, Aron!"

He gives me a stern look. "You feel sorry for her? When she would rather enslave her faithful into sexual play instead of protecting them? She cares nothing for their fates, because she is immortal. She cares nothing for this land." He spreads his arms wide, and I gaze around at the ruined, dirt-filled place that should be crops and trees and birds and is just awful nothingness. "She does not care about anything but herself, so do not feel sorry for her. She doesn't deserve it."

I can't disagree with him after hearing that, and I wonder if it makes me a bad person. I'm unhappy about the fates of the others—First, the goddess's anchor, and all of the other young, happy, devoted faces I saw there. So many people.

But Aron's right. They threw their lot in with her. If everyone knew this was going to happen…someone should have done something.

When he extends his hand out again, I swipe at my eyes (didn't even realize I’m crying) and take it once more, letting him lead me away.

When the sun goes down, Aron takes pity on my constant staggering and stumbling. There's a large boulder on one side of the road, and he leads us to it. "I suppose we must take shelter for the night. It's clear to me that despite the danger, you can't go on much further."

I'm not even mad about his arrogant words. I'm just too relieved that we're going to actually stop. My body throbs with pain like it's one big bruise, and my feet are blistered from walking barefoot all day. I haven't complained, though. At least I'm alive. I keep thinking of First and her beautiful, crystal wings—and the fact that she's probably been crushed under a hundred tons of falling Citadel. That puts things in perspective. No matter how big of a dick Aron is, he wants to keep us both safe and alive. He protected me when we fell, and I won't forget that. It had to hurt a lot.

Aron releases my hand when we reach the boulder, and I collapse gratefully at the base of it. I lie down, not even caring that the cobbled road is covered with a fine layer of grit and dirt. All that matters is that we've stopped. I close my eyes, wallowing in my pain for long moments.

I'm alive and that's all that matters.

"Thank you for stopping," I whisper through parched lips.

Aron only grunts acknowledgment of my words. There's no snideness, no pissy commentary. I open my eyes a slit and glance over at him. He's not sitting. He's staring off into the distance, his hands on his hips, his tunic plastered to his back. He must be sweaty. I find that strangely odd, because Aron seems unaffected by the elements. Even in the heat of the day, he was cool and unbothered while I panted and huffed and choked on mouthfuls of dust.

He glances down the road, in the direction we're heading, and for a terrifying moment, I think he's going to demand that I should get up, and we should keep going. But he doesn't. He merely looks thoughtful and I relax.

When I lay my head back down on the dirt, I realize that his back is glittering.

I frown, slowly sitting up, and as I do, the crystals flash and catch the fading light. "Aron, your back."

He glances over his shoulder at me. "What of it?"

"You've got crystals embedded in your skin." I get to my feet and hobble to his side. Sure enough, his tunic is sticking to him not because of sweat, but because it's pinned against his flesh by crystal shards. I think back and remember how the crystals rained down on top of us with the first trebuchet hit to the Citadel…and then I remember Aron landed on his back, with me on top of him. Oh dear. Guilt hits me. "Are you okay?"

"I am standing and whole. Of course I am fine." He scowls at me as if it's a stupid question to even ask.

I do notice he doesn't say his back is fine, though. I'm starting to read between the lines the longer I get to know Aron. He's full of bluster—piss and vinegar, as my mother would say—but he's not heartless. He just doesn't understand a lot of this world. I know how that feels.

"Come sit down by the boulder and I'll pick them out for you," I tell him, reaching out and taking his hand. There's a skittering shock as I touch him, but he doesn't protest and lets me lead him forward. I go back to my spot by the rocks at the edge of the path, sit down, and cross my aching legs, then pat the spot in front of me. "Here."

He sits, his back toward me. As he does, I realize again just how massively big this guy is. His shoulders spread wide, thick with muscle, and I think he's more than twice the size of me. I'm not exactly dainty, either. I'm a nice, solid, average girl, but Aron's sheer size makes me seem like a delicate Disney princess to his Conan the Barbarian. Of course, he is a god of battle. I don't expect him to be built like a scholar, but it's still good to know this guy's on my side.

Concentrate, dummy, I tell myself as he shifts, his shoulders bunching. I'm doing a crappy job of helping him by just staring at his back (no matter how appealing a wide set of shoulders is, they're still attached to him). I reach out and pluck the largest chunk of crystal shard from his back and set it down carefully on one of the cobblestones. It's the size of a needle and I feel terrible that I didn't notice it before. In my defense, though, he's run me to the point of exhaustion.