Aron just calmly removes my hand from his mouth, as if women manhandle him every day, and then goes back to his dagger. "Do you have a sharpening stone I can use?"

"Of course," the man says, then hesitates. "Should I get water first or the stone?"

"I can get the water," I offer, "If you show me where it is." Heck, this poor woman's got a baby to juggle and her husband looks ready to fall over with exhaustion.

They give me horrified looks, as if the thought of me tending to myself is abhorrent. Aron just rolls his eyes.

"We will tend to you," the woman says. "Please, take your rest."

I feel guilty about that, given that she's very heavily pregnant and they're both underfed. But they look terrified at the thought of displeasing Aron, and he's clearly not going to make any effort, so I look around for a seat. There's a stool, but I want to leave that for her, so I move to Aron's side and plop in his lap. "Hope you don't mind if your smelly consort takes a load off, then."

His hands go to my waist and he leans in to murmur to me, "As long as I do not breathe deep, I am fine."

"Prince Charming," I tell him. "You're going to make me swoon with your flowery words."

Aron just chuckles low, pats my hip, and then we watch as the poor farm couple scurries to make Aron welcome.

OceanofPDF.com

36

It should feel good to have someone waiting on us after days and days of being run out of every place we go to by a frightened mob of god-killers, but I can't relax. I just feel sorry for these two, because it's clear that they're very poor and very tired. They're also very worried, if the looks the wife casts in our direction are any indication. I don't blame them for being worried. They don't look like they have much, and Aron wants to take what they do have to make our journey easier, and somehow that feels wrong to me. We'd totally screw them if we took their food and their one horse. Well, land-hippo. They do have a donkey, though, and I picture Aron on a donkey and immediately get the giggles.

"Your bath is ready, my lady," the woman eventually says and sinks to her knees, averting her gaze. She gestures at the baby's small room, hidden by a thin burlap drape. "Shall I attend to you?"

I'm about to say that it won't be necessary, but Aron pinches my hip and I guess I'm getting attended. Yay. Maybe I'm supposed to butter them up and find out what we can take, or just get information, or something. Whatever it is, I smile brightly. "That would be awesome, thanks."

We pull the curtain closed and I undress, then slip into the tub of water. As Aron and I sat by the fire, the husband and wife worked to heat water and bring more in to fill the small tub, and as a result, I have a very small sit bath with tepid water. I don’t complain, though, because I know they worked extra hard just to get this much done. “I appreciate you both opening your house to us.”

“We are faithful to the Lord of Storms,” she says quietly, taking my clothing. “I will have my husband rinse your clothing with fresh water.” She takes them with delicate fingers, and they must smell worse than I thought.

“We got trapped in the sewers,” I tell her, desperate to explain. “I don’t normally smell like that.”

Her smile is soft. “I suspected not.”

She leaves and I soap up the rag provided, scrubbing at my skin. On the other side of the curtain, I can hear the woman murmuring to her husband, while Aron scrape scrape scrapes and sharpens his many weapons. I wash, even though the soap cake is as hard as damn rock, but it smells like flowers and clean herbs.

After a few moments, the woman returns, juggling her baby over to her other hip. “Shall I wash your back for you, my lady?”

“What? Oh, no.” I can feel myself blushing, comparing this to my last bath. “I can do myself, thanks. You’ve got plenty on your hands already.” When she remains, hovering, I try to make this seem normal. “So what’s your name?”

"Me?" The woman looks surprised and then blushes, the color standing out on her thin, pale cheeks. "I am Vian. This is Anora." She shifts the baby in her arms.

"I'm Faith," I tell her, and I'm not surprised at the puzzled look on her face. I guess “Faith” isn't a name around here. "Thank you for opening your home to us."

"Of course," Vian says, and that hint of confusion returns to her voice, as if she's surprised anyone would dare not to.

"I know Aron can be a bit much at times."

"He is the Lord of Storms," she acknowledges. “He is allowed to be whatever he likes.” The look on her face is troubled. She glances at the curtain, and then edges closer to me, taking the cloth from my hands and washing my back even though I told her I didn't need it. I don't protest, just hug my knees to my chest and lean forward. "You're…not afraid of him?" Vian's voice is a low whisper as she moves the rag over my skin.

Afraid of Aron? Oddly enough, I've been afraid of everything in this world but him. It's been an awful week—oh god, has it only been a week?—but the one constant is that Aron is at my side. In that sense, I do have a buddy experiencing all this hell with me. So no, I've never been afraid of him, ever. But I think of that torch-wielding mob and Vian's fear and I wonder if it's smarter to foster that intimidation of Aron instead of friendliness. People that aren't afraid try to kill him. If the farmer and his wife view Aron as vulnerable, they could easily cut my throat to be rid of him.

Disturbed by that fact, I snatch the rag out of her hands and pretend to scrub my knees. "It's in our best interests to be together in all ways," I tell her, hoping that makes us sound like a unified front despite my earlier ribbing. "He commands and I serve." Yeah, that sounds appropriately humble, even if it chokes me to think he might possibly overhear that.

The answer seems to appease Vian, but she leans in closer, whispering in my ear. "Do you need deathwort?"

"Deathwort?" I echo, curious.

"For preventing pregnancy?"

Oh my lord. I look at Vian, her earnest face and pregnant belly, the child on her hip who's still probably nursing. I know she's being thoughtful and kind, but…just…oh my word. "I'm not with Aron like that."

Her brows furrow. "But he has chosen a female anchor. You are his consort."

"Well, yeah, but…" I don't finish the statement. What am I going to say? He's not trying to get his rocks off? Should he be? Is that what all the others do with their anchors? I think of Tadekha and her angelic servant, who knelt between her thighs and used her mouth with obvious enthusiasm. What do I say that won't make things worse? I decide to just leave it at that. "I'm good."

She pats my wet shoulder. "If you need more, I will leave some under the pillow tonight. I have heard the gods can be demanding."

Aron's demanding all right, but just about the only thing he hasn't demanded from me is sex. Which…come to think of it, might be odd. Is he supposed to? Did I get the only celibate Aspect out there? Or am I not Aron's type and he took me only because he had to?

Why is the thought of that offensive? Because I threw myself at him and he ignored me? I bite back my scowl and wash myself, trying not to think about how many times Aron has told me that I stink. I mean, I do stink. But lots of the people here stink.