"We are sleeping together."

"No, not like that. I mean sleeeeeeping together. Like, doing the dirty."

"Do your people have no words for fucking?"

Gah. When he says it so bluntly, it's a little embarrassing and shocking. "No, we do. We have lots of words for it."

"Good. I was starting to wonder."

He sounds completely unconcerned, and I frown into the darkness, my fingers around the little pouch of herbs. "We should tell them that we're not." I pause, and then continue. "Fucking, you know."

"Why?"

"Because we're not? I didn't agree to fucking! Just to being your servant."

He laughs, and the sound is low and arrogant. In the next moment, he leans in and I feel his breath against my neck. "I remember your terms. No ‘butt stuff.’”

“That’s right.” A shiver races through me at the feel of his mouth so close to my skin.

“I could have you in this moment if I wanted you."

"Bullshit you could." My heart trips in my chest. I’m not afraid. I’m…excited.

“You think if I did not caress you and tell you sweet things, that you would not put your arms around my neck and beg me to take you?” His hand strokes down my arm, sending goosebumps through my body. “You think a god could not give you more pleasure than any mortal could?”

“I think…” And boy, is it hard to think when he’s being sexy and flirty. “I think that you would struggle with the whole ‘tell me sweet things’ part.”

Delighted laughter booms from his chest. “Perhaps that is so.” He continues chuckling. “That is why I like you so much, Faith. You are not afraid to speak your mind.”

Is that so? Because I have to admit (even if only to myself) that I was hoping the dare would go a little further than that. But I just squeeze my thighs tight together and close my eyes. “Go to sleep, Aron.”

“I do not sleep,” he tells me, amused.

I don’t either. Not for a long time.

OceanofPDF.com

38

Vian and her husband return in the morning and she immediately gets busy with cooking breakfast. My stomach’s growling, so I admit that I hover a shameful amount near her as she cooks. The rain’s still pouring down outside, which means it’s going to be another miserable day of travel.

Even worse, things are oddly tense in the tiny kitchen. I glance over at Aron as he glares at poor Cathis, who has his hat in his hands.

“What do you mean, you cannot draw me a map?” Aron demands. “You live in this land. You should know better than anyone how it is laid out.”

“I…have no schooling, my Lord of Storms.” The farmer looks ashamed, his shoulders hunched. “This was my father’s farm before me. I have always lived here. I have not traveled.”

Aron flings up his hands and casts me an exasperated look.

“Maybe you can tell us where the roads near here lead?” I ask, trying to be helpful before Vian’s baby starts crying from all the noise Aron’s making. “And we can take notes?”

“Do I look like a scribe?” Aron snaps.

“I can write it,” I tell them, moving toward the table where the charcoal stick and animal skin are located. I sit down, “But the only language I write is English.”

“Yeeng-lesh?” Vian echoes.

I smile tightly. “Foreign tongue. Let’s just…” Aron squeezes my shoulder, reminding me that we’re on a mission. “Let’s just focus. We’re trying to go north, right, Aron?”

“To the Ashen Sea,” he agrees.

“Is that north?” I ask Cathis, and when he gives a reluctant nod, I start to write on the skin. North to Ashen Sea.

“You do not want to go there,” the farmer says, twisting his cap. “There is nothing but death in that direction.”

“I am Aron of the Cleaver,” my traveling companion says oh-so-confidently. “And I do as I please.”

Cathis gives me another uneasy look and I just smile, nodding encouragingly. He hesitates, then continues. “Go north on the road for a week, through the mountains. The last city you find will be Novoro, the Nest of the Cliffs. Once you pass through its gates, there is nothing but wild, ravaged lands. The Ashen Deep is on to the north and the Red Glacier to the east.”

I write quickly. North. 1 week. Mountains to Novoro. Pass through gates. Red glacier = wrong way.

“What is this Red Glacier?” Aron asks. “It is not in my memories.”

“Maybe you forgot it?” I ask. He did, after all, forget sleeping (which I’m never going to let him live down).

“No. This is new.”

Cathis gives a small shake of his head and then freezes, as if realizing he’s disagreeing with Aron. His face pales and he drops his gaze to his hands, where he’s constantly twisting his hat.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not a problem. So we avoid this Red Glacier thing and then what?” I prompt the farmer. “Just keep going north? How many days to the Ashen Sea?”

He shrugs. “Possibly. The Ashen Sea is the edge of the world. No one goes there. I only know of it from my father’s fathers. I do not know of anyone that has gone there in recent times.”

Hmm. “Well, we can ask for more directions in…” I study my scribbly handwriting that’s already smearing thanks to the charcoal. “Novoro.”

Vian coughs, and when I turn to look at her, she’s focused on her baby.

“Is Novoro a bad place?” I ask.

Cathis looks as if he’ll faint. “No.”

“Then why do you cower, man?” Aron demands.

“Their customs are very different than ours.” Vian says, and her cheeks are red. “Two men share one wife. Sometimes three.”

“Well that sounds like hell,” I say drily.

Aron snorts, thunder rumbling overhead.

“They are a good people,” Vian continues, her voice soft. “Just…different.”

“All righty, we’ll keep open minds, then.” I smile brightly at her. “Which brings us to the topic of supplies. We’re going to need some for our journey.”

“Of course we will provide you with whatever you need,” Vian says, casting a look at her husband. “We live to serve the Lord of Storms.”

“We need a mount,” Aron says. “And food supplies. And clothing for my consort.” And then the bastard plays with a lock of my hair, as if to prove to everyone that I’m servicing his arrogant ass.

I wish his leg was under the table so I could kick him.

“I have but a donkey and a woale,” Cathis says. “You are welcome to either. Or both.”

“Let me see both and I will choose.” Aron releases my hair and then the two men head outside.

I’m alone with Vian, who’s very carefully stirring the cauldron over the fire, the scent of porridge in the air. “We really appreciate this,” I tell her, because she’s awfully quiet.

“Of course.”

“Is it going to put you out?”

She bites her lip. “All we ask for is a blessing.”

That’s not the first time she’s brought that up, but I’m not entirely sure what she means. “We’ll pay for whatever we take, of course. Just tell me how much money you need.”

Vian turns, startled, and her baby begins to cry. “It isn’t necessary—”

“Sure it is,” I say, and get to my feet. I wipe my charcoal-smeared hands on my tunic and then reach out and take the baby from her. The little one immediately grabs a fistful of my hair and begins to tug. Vian hesitates, then turns back to stirring the food. “We’re imposing on you guys. The least we can do is help monetarily.”

She pauses, and then turns back to me. “Money will help, but it will mean nothing if the rain doesn’t stop. That’s why we need Aron’s blessing so much.”

I blink. Then, the light goes on in my head. He’s the Lord of Storms and their fields are one big mud puddle. “Oh my god. The rain. I’m an idiot. Of course we can ask him to stop it.”