That's about the only defense I have, because now that I'm looking, he's got dozens of these terrible things pinning his tunic to his skin. As I stare, a spot of blood blooms where I've pulled the first shard. Great.

He remains silent as I get to work, plucking shards and unpinning fabric bit by excruciating bit. If it hurts, he doesn't indicate it. In fact, he barely moves. Me, I'm wincing with every tug, imagining just how painful it must be and how much he's hurt all day and I didn't pay attention. The blood dotting the back of his tunic isn't helping me feel better, either. As I pull out one particularly big chunk, I set it on top of the pile and decide to say something. "Aron?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you for saving me back there. I'm pretty sure I would have died if I'd landed flat on the ground."

"You would have," he agrees.

I frown absently at his back as I tug another piece out. My fingertips are bleeding and raw, because this crystal makes no friends, but that doesn't matter. "I'm grateful."

"You should be."

I bite back my irritation. This is just Aron. This is who he is. A big, arrogant douche. "Anyhow, thank you for saving my life."

He is silent for a long moment. Then he glances over his shoulder back at me. "Do not imagine yourself important. I need you. I save you because I am saving myself."

Dick. "Gee, thanks."

"Would you rather I coddle you with lies?"

"I would rather you be nice about it. I'm thanking you and you're kind of being an ass about it."

He merely snorts. "If I was being an ass, I would demand you show me your gratitude on your knees, as Tadekha would demand of her anchor. Instead, I am letting you rest and tend to me." He spreads his arms. "Am I not the most benevolent of gods?"

"No, you most definitely are not," I mutter under my breath as I pluck another crystal.

OceanofPDF.com

21

The next day, I'm so hungry and thirsty I'm delirious. It takes everything I have to move one foot in front of the other, and even that I'm doing badly. Aron has to haul me along by one arm, dragging me beside him all morning. The sun gets high in the sky and then it's too much to do even that. I'm panting and not sweating despite the heat, which I know is a bad thing. I need water and shade and rest…and there just isn't any.

Eventually, Aron realizes that I'm not being lazy as much as being “collapse” and hauls me into his arms. He carries me as he walks down the road. "You are not allowed to die, Faith," he tells me sternly.

I give him a weak thumbs up. "I'll keep that in mind."

He frowns down at me. "Put your arms around my neck. You are sliding out of my grip."

"I really don't want to," I begin, but he gives me a hard jiggle and I have no choice but to do so. I'm burning up and touching him just makes everything hotter and more miserable. Sunstroke, I bet. There's no shade and I'd give anything for a drink. "You might have to get yourself a new anchor," I tell him woozily, the world tilting. I'm so tired.

"I will not." He gives me another hard jostle. "Wake up."

"Asshole. Let me sleep through this misery." He shakes me again, until my teeth are clenched with frustration and I have to knot my fingers against his collar to keep my grip there. "I hate you."

"You think I care? You are here to serve me, and yet here I am, carrying you because you are too lazy to walk." His words are dickish as fuck, but he says them in a quiet, calm manner, as if he doesn't truly mean them.

I don't know what to make of that. Or of him at all. Damn arrogant prick. I wish I'd been found by the god of cupcakes or kittens instead of the arrogant god of battle. And storms.

Wait.

"Aron," I gasp, clutching at him. Blackness fades in and out of my vision, and I'm so overheated it feels like I'm going to die. "Can you make it rain?"

"You wish a storm? Why?"

"I need a drink," I whimper at him. I know I'm whining, but I don't care. "Please. I'll do anything."

He sighs and holds me close against his chest. "I forget how fragile you mortals are." For a moment, I think his voice sounds curiously gentle, but that has to be the heatstroke talking. But then thunder crashes overhead and clouds roll in. The terrible sun that feels as if it's baking me like a potato disappears, and a moment later, a downpour drenches the skies.

The temperature changes immediately, so quickly that it sends a sharp pain through my head. I gasp as cold, wet rain pounds my skin and soaks me, washing away dirt and heat and all the terrible things of the day. Even so, it’s wet and refreshing and I don’t care how much it makes my head hurt. I moan and tilt my face back, catching the rain in my mouth.

"Better, little mortal?"

"Thank you," I gasp, and then drink more. I cup my hands to drink as much as I can, and then collapse back against his chest, exhausted.

The downside of rain is that after it fades away, the air is humid and sticky once more. My wispy gauze dress is soaked, and I suck on the moisture there for another drink later, and then fall back against Aron's shoulder, unconscious. I want to tell him that I'm not normally such a wimp. That I can usually handle myself and I'm a decent hiker, but I don't have the energy.

This is what it feels like to be dying, I think. Strange how it came on that fast. Shouldn't it take a few days for me to die of thirst? But I feel like I'm at my end as it is, and Aron seems to think so, too.

"Not much farther," he tells me as I fade in and out of consciousness.

I'm pretty sure he's lying to me. That's all right. It's a nice lie.

Distantly, I hear the sound of thunder, and I feel more rain patter against my skin, but I'm too far gone in sleep to pay much attention. I want to wake up and thank him, but it feels like a huge effort, a mountain that I'm sitting at the base of, and it's much too far to climb.

"Not much longer, my friend," Aron says, his voice a whisper against my hair.

Aw. He thinks we're friends now. It's a nice thing to hear right before I die. I struggle awake despite the mountain of effort and manage to open my eyes. The storm clouds roll overhead, highlighting Aron's unearthly beauty.

"Look," he tells me. "Shelter."

It takes everything I have to turn my head, but when I do, I see…grass, like a green carpet. In the distance, there are small bushes and neat rows of what looks like a tended field. Off atop a distant cliff there's a tiny building with a plume of smoke rising from the chimney.

Huh. We've reached the edge of the Dirtlands.

I must have drowsed off, because the next thing I know, I open my eyes and the house is right in front of us. Come to think of it, it looks less like a house and more like an old timey church, complete with long stone walls and straw roof. I don't care, though. As long as they have food and water, I'll sleep on a church floor.

Aron, being Aron, goes up to the heavy wooden door of the church and kicks it. "Open up," he calls out in that imperious voice of his. I want to tell him that's not exactly how you ask for a place to stay for the night, but I'm too tired. I just rest my head on his shoulder and try not to think about how dry my throat is. He looks down at me with alarm and gives me a rough jostle. "You are not allowed to die."