The stranger looks at us suspiciously, but when Aron doesn't speak up, he grunts and returns to his food. "Long journey to Aventine."

"Definitely wasn't fun," I agree.

"It true what they say? ’Bout the Citadel?"

I pause. "What about it?"

"Destroyed?" His eyes are piercing.

I blink and feign ignorance even as Aron kicks me under the table. I kick him back. "I wouldn't know. Haven't been there…so. Where are you from?"

"Here," he says, and belches. "Better to be leaving this place than arriving, if you ask me."

That sounds ominous. "Oh? Why?"

"Riots. Thieves. A plague of dead babies. Haunted fields. Take your pick," says another man farther down the table who can't stop staring at my clothed boobs. He's a bit pervy, but he glances over at Aron and makes his gaze more respectful.

That all sounds terrible. "Why is it so crazy?" I ask, and reach for Aron's bowl of stew. He pushes it toward me and I trade him bowls, handing over my empty one.

The men look at me like I'm crazy. "How long have you been traveling?"

"A while," I say vaguely.

"Haven't you heard? It's the Anticipation. Rumor has it that the gods are appearing."

I make my eyes go wide. "You don't say."

The bearded man nods sagely, as if he's been at the center of things. Next to him, the other man speaks up. "Has to be truth. Why else would the Citadel fall to ruin? Goddess Tadekha must have struck it down with vengeance."

Aron snorts deep in his hood. I kick him and shove my spoon into my mouth so I'm not tempted to make a reply.

OceanofPDF.com

28

Turns out that we don't need to speak. Now that the topic of the gods has come up, the whole table's on fire with gossip. They all speculate about Tadekha's Citadel though none have actually ever seen it. They speculate if one of the other gods killed her and eventually it's decided that Kalos, God of Darkness, destroyed her because she turned down his advances many, many eons ago and he's apparently always held a grudge. Aron's totally silent so I have no idea if this is fact or not.

"There's another god on the coast, you know," someone at the far end of the table speaks up.

"Vor?" Another asks.

"No, different. Said he won't give his name but I know someone that saw him. My wife's sister was traveling back from Yshrem and saw him. Said he was as handsome as could be, took her breath fair away at the sight of him. Beautiful eyes, she said."

My skin prickles with awareness and I strain to hear the conversation. Aron's beautiful. Aron has striking eyes. It could be one of his Aspects that we're supposed to kill.

"Did she approach him?" Another person asks.

"No, he wouldn't speak to anyone. Had a female companion with him as anchor, but that was it. He wouldn't talk to anyone else. Didn't mingle. She said she wanted to talk to him and get a blessing, but she was afraid."

I nudge Aron's foot with mine, hoping he's listening. "Was he scarred up?" I ask. "Like, say, Aron of the Cleaver?"

This time, Aron kicks me hard.

The man turns to me, his lip curled. "Are ye daft? I said he was handsome. Aron's as hoary and grizzled as the lot of us, mark my word." He straightens and thumps his fist below his breast in the sign I've come to realize is one for Aron's followers. "The Lord of Storms won't be prancing around the countryside with a woman. He'll surround himself with the strongest of warriors and challenge them to fight him every day."

"My bad," I say quickly. "Maybe it was someone else."

"Probably Gental of the Family," the man speculates. "Though what he's doing in Yshrem is a mystery. Those book-loving weaklings are Riekki's followers to a one." He shrugs. "Even if they have a Cyclopae king now."

I eat some more of my stew, hoping the conversation continues on this line. I want to hear more about this beautiful god on the coast with a woman. After all, I'm with Aron, so they're wrong about a god like Aron not being with a chick.

And I personally think he's beautiful. A dick, sure, but downright gorgeous.

"It's the end of days," one greasy man laments.

Next to me, Aron snorts again.

Everyone at the table goes quiet. They're all watching us with far too much interest, and I figure it's now a good time to leave. "Think I'll see if this inn has baths. I bet my master would like one," I say brightly, a little louder than I should. "Thanks for the company, boys."

A big hand clamps down on my shoulder and I yelp, turning to see a pair of men behind me. My eyes go wide as the one with his hand on my shoulder grins down at me. He's at least six feet tall and massive, with a dirty beard and stumps of rotten teeth. "How much for your master to let us borrow you for a night?"

I try to shrug the guy's hand off as Aron gets to his feet. "I'm sure he'd say I'm not for sale—"

"Why don't you let him decide that, tart?"

Fuckin' tart. I'm really starting to hate that word.

Aron moves to my side and pats my back, as if to indicate all is well. He's still wearing the heavy cloak over his face, but I worry it's going to fall off if he beats the shit out of this guy for touching me, and then our cover will be blown.

"Master," I begin, but before I can say more, Aron puts his hand out, palm up.

The disgusting man grins at his buddy and then reaches into his pocket, pulls out a few coins, and places them in Aron's hand—

—or tries to. The moment his hand makes contact with Aron's, quick as a snake, the god's pale hand grips the other man's and twists it viciously. There's a crunch of bone that everyone in the inn can hear, and the stranger drops to his knees, screaming.

It gets deathly quiet in the inn, and no one moves.

Aron studies the coins in his hand, then flings them to the ground. Then, he puts a hand firmly on my shoulder and squeezes. The possessive gesture isn't lost on anyone, even me. He's branding me as his property without so much as a word.

The stranger's friend hastily backs away, abandoning his buddy to roll around in pain on the straw-covered floor of the inn. I glance around and everyone in the inn is staring at us, even the barkeep.

"Well," I say brightly, as if this is a normal sort of thing. "Where can a girl get her master a bath around here?" And I kick the guy that's down, just to show that I'm not afraid.

The room I share with Aron is small and grungy. We're given a greasy-smelling candle to serve as light, a pitcher of water to wash up, and a pile of blankets. The mattress itself looks like lumpy straw but it's not the ground, which makes it better than where I've slept for the last week. The room itself is about half the size of my bedroom at home, but there's a massive shuttered window that's open to let in a breeze. It'd be nice if Katharn itself didn't smell like a sewer and the view is that of the roof next door, which is so close I can practically touch it.

I'm still getting used to this world and how different it is from my own. I'm grateful to have this room, thanks to Omos's generosity with his funds, but I can't help but compare it to hotel rooms I've slept in back in my reality. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and when the innkeeper shows up with a small wooden tub and a few more pitchers of warmed water, I decide that I like this place after all. I pay him for the bath, then shut the door behind us and lower the heavy wooden bar over the door to “lock” it. I turn to Aron to ask if he wants first dibs on the bath—