We try his knives, and it soon becomes apparent to both of us that you require skill and aim, neither of which I have when it comes to weapons. I can't throw them and hit a target. I have to be in extra close to use one to stab, and even then, Aron isn't happy with my technique. He picks through the daggers—I don't know how he acquired so many of the damn things, but I swear he has a half-dozen of them—and finds none that he thinks are fitting for me. "You are terrible with all of these."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Do you want lies or the truth?"

I sigh heavily, because we both know I want the truth. I need to be able to defend myself, and compliments won't get me anywhere if they aren't sincere. "So what do we do? The sword is out. The daggers are out. Unless you're carrying a can of mace somewhere under your cloak, I'm screwed."

"A mace would be difficult for you. They are very heavy."

"Not what I meant, but good to know."

Aron scratches his chin thoughtfully. "A bow, perhaps?"

"Because my aim's so good with knives you want to give me a bow and arrows?" I retort, defeated. I sit on the ground, sweating, exhausted, and angry at myself for not being a master with weapons. Who knew that defending yourself was going to be so challenging? I expect to be unskilled, but I'm fumbling so much that I even cut my fingers trying to fix my grip on one of the knives. I swipe at the sweat on my forehead, feeling rather pitiful. "I need a weapon for idiots."

He snaps his fingers. "Of course."

I look up, indignant. What does he mean, of course? But Aron's heading into the trees, preoccupied, and he returns a few minutes later with a big branch. "A staff?"

He studies it. "It might be too short to be a staff, but we can make it work." He lops a twiggy offshoot off of it, then holds it out to me. "Come, give it a try."

I get to my feet, and even though my arms are aching and I want to whine, I give it a shot anyhow. It was my idea to learn weapons, after all. I can't bitch and moan that I suck at them, not when he's taking the time to teach me. So I heft it in my hands. The wood isn't all that smooth and tears at my palms, but the weight isn't bad. It comes up to mid-breast for me, and there's a knobby, ugly knot at one end. "Okay, it's a staff. How do I do this? Where do I grip it?"

Aron looks at me like I'm stupid. "You hit people with it."

"Duh. I mean, I just walk around with a giant club? And people are okay with that?" Then again, he's wandering around bristling with weapons, but I feel like a girl wandering the countryside with a giant stick kind of screams obvious.

He gives it a thoughtful look. "We can decorate it. Throw some charms or fripperies on the end so it looks like an affectation instead of a weapon. And then when they dismiss you for a soft female, you hit them with it." He taps the knot at the end. "Especially with this part."

"So…I clock people with it like a bat?" I heft it in my arms and hold it at one end. It's a bit too long to be a bat, so I adjust my grip and give it a careful half-swing. It pulls at my wrists, but I think it's doable. "I can knock a home run with this, I think. I played softball when I was a teenager."

"You'll break your wrists holding it like that," Aron warns.

"Then make me wrist supports, Mr. Weapons Expert."

"Do I look like an armorer?"

I drop the staff again, toying with the heft of it. "You look like someone that wants to be hit in the head with a bat if we're asking me," I mutter.

He throws his head back and laughs. "You're very violent for one so soft, Faith. I like that."

His words make me flustered. I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not, since I just offered to knock him in the head, but he's a god of battle. Maybe that shit turns him on. "You're a very strange man, you know that?"

"Your first mistake is thinking I am a man," Aron tells me, and his eyes gleam with amusement, little sparks flicking in them and making me think of lightning.

Of course, seeing that makes me shiver, just a little. He's a god. Just because we joke around and he gets muddy like I do, it doesn't mean we're the same. Sometimes I forget. I'm so used to the electric charge when we touch I barely notice it anymore. I didn't notice it when I bathed him.

Good god, why am I always thinking of him naked? "I have far too many problems right now," I tell myself under my breath. "And all of them are named Aron." I shoot him a look, but he's still got that speculative, eyes-flashing-lightning expression on his face and I avert my gaze. "We should get going," I say loudly. "Just in case someone's coming after us."

"Indeed." He sounds thoughtful, but he doesn't move.

"I'll practice with my bat later," I tell him, and deliberately avoid eye contact, even when he moves closer to me. I focus on the branch itself, pretending to pick at a particularly knotty spot as he stands next to me, his gaze still fixed on my face…or my body. I wonder what he's thinking.

I wonder if he's going to touch me.

Goosebumps prickle up and down my arms as I remember that night in Tadekha's Citadel. The way I crawled all over his lap like a cock-hungry ho, begging for his dick. Is he thinking about that? Is me handling a weapon turning him on? I wait for him to say something, do something, and I keep prickling with awareness. I know he's watching me.

My stomach growls, the sound overloud in the early morning quiet.

Aron turns and walks away. "You have a few minutes to eat before we leave. I suggest you do so because I do not plan on stopping again."

OceanofPDF.com

35

Aron’s wrong of course. We do end up stopping again, though not for several hours.

The weather turns to a misty rain, which makes our clothing stick to our skin and everything damp. There’s a muddy, rutted road that cuts through the countryside, but we avoid it. Walking on it would probably be easier than creeping through the trees and bushes, which is what we’re currently doing since Katharn is still on the distant horizon, but every so often someone rides past on a horse, or in a wagon, and I don’t complain about hiking next to a road.

Even if Aron’s pretty clueless about some things, he’s right when it comes to keeping us safe.

Just when I’ve about hit my limit of walking for the day, a small farm comes into view on the horizon. It’s no more than a square cottage in the midst of an enormous plowed field, but Aron points to it. “That is where we’re going.”

“Sounds good.” I’m not so sure about his master plan of “steal horses and supplies” considering the place looks pretty bare to me, but he’s the one in charge, and I’m too tired to argue.

We pick our way through the barren fields, and I can’t help but notice that they’ve got the saddest-looking crops known to mankind. The ground here seems to be mostly rock and the plants are choked with mud and sludge and look wilted. My feet sink into the carefully tilled rows, messing up their symmetry and making me stagger behind Aron a good distance. Him, you’d think his feet were made of air. He doesn’t notice the mud, and even the rain doesn’t seem to be soaking him quite like it is me.

I hear him sigh heavily as he pauses. I catch up to him, about to retort that if he wants me to keep pace with him he needs to walk at a human speed, when I realize he’s not even looking in my direction. He’s looking ahead at the farmhouse, and so I stop at his side and gaze, too.