Right now is one of the latter times.

Aron leans in, my hand still trapped in his grip. Little sparks shiver through my skin at his touch, reminding me that he’s not mortal—as if I’d ever forget. “I remember what you have sacrificed, Faith,” he murmurs, expression intent. “And the only one allowed in your bed is me.”

With that, he releases my hand and leaves me wondering exactly what the heck he meant just now.

He turns back toward Vian and Cathis. “We will take the woale you have offered us, and any food supplies you can share. The rain will not return. I am not the Aspect of Lies, so this is truth I tell you. And we will pay you for any supplies you give us. Is there anything else you would share with us that can help? Remember that it is not just my life in danger on this journey, but hers.” And he gestures at me.

Vian’s wide eyes go to me, and then she shakes her head. “There is nothing.”

I have to believe her. Even if there was more information to be shaken out of her, it might take days to get her to admit it, and we don’t have that. Aron’s made it clear we need to get to the tower, and pronto. His urgency drives mine, because if a god is worried about something…well, we all need to worry.

But I look at Vian’s thin face, her arms (and belly) filled with children, and I think she has enough on her plate.

When we leave the farm, the sun is shining hot overhead, the air dry and rain-free. The roads are drying, thanks to the heat, and our woale—or land-hippo, as I like to think of him —plods along a rutted path, contentedly going about the speed of a bicycle with two flat tires. Our bags are saddled, and Aron and I sit atop the thing's wide back on a blanket that passes as a saddle. I sit behind him, clinging to his waist, because it feels as if any moment I'm going to slide off the thing's side. Aron lightly holds the reins and he sits atop the thing as if he's ridden woales all his life. Maybe he has. Maybe this is what gods do for fun.

The thing makes a gronking noise, shits all over the road behind us, and then pauses to eat some grass on the side of the road. Aron mutters a curse, tugs on the reins, and our woale reluctantly starts walking again.

"Remind me why we're taking this thing instead of walking?" I ask him, shifting carefully. My backside is hurting from the thing's spine and it's been less than an hour since we left. It's going to be a long day in the saddle—so to speak. "I imagine we could crawl faster than this thing's going."

Aron just snorts.

"I'm serious. I bet if I look behind us I'll see the farm still."

"It's not about speed, Faith. A well-trained woale will continue along a road all day and all night without stopping. They don't need to sleep or rest for days on end. They're useful for their stamina."

"Goody. So you're telling me we get to somehow ride on this thing through the night?"

"If we must. If we find someplace suitable, we'll stop and rest for a while." He doesn't sound bothered either way.

Must be nice. I hold onto his leather belt and grit my teeth as the thing lumbers along, swaying. I want to rest my cheek against Aron's back, but I don't want him to read more into my body language than he should. Resting against him would also mean pushing my boobs against him, and I'm still mulling some of his comments from the last few days.

Especially the one about how he could have me anytime he wanted. I think it's more arrogant bullshit, but he's also becoming increasingly touchy-feely and it makes me both breathless and confused. My thoughts start to migrate in a sexy direction and I carefully steer them back to the present, watching as Aron pulls one of the waterskins from the saddlebag in front of him and takes a sip, then offers it to me.

"Thanks," I say, surprised at his thoughtfulness. I take a sip—warm, yummy—and hand it back. "Cathis and Vian were sure grateful for the money, weren't they?"

"Of course they were. They should be grateful they kept their heads. The fact that we rewarded them for withholding information probably seems like it's too good to be true." His tone is sour.

I poke him gently in the side. "We didn't pay them for withholding information. We paid them for giving us supplies and letting us take the world's slowest mount."

Aron chuckles. "I have been on slower, if it makes you feel better."

"When?" I demand to know.

He shrugs. "I do not recall. Only that I know it is truth. Perhaps in the last Anticipation?"

I keep forgetting that this has all happened before. "Do you remember much about it?"

"Some. The memories are fragmented, I suspect because when all Aspects reunite, the individual is lost."

"Mmm." That's strange to think about—that the man I'm holding onto might not exist once this is done. I wonder if it bothers him to think about that, or if he's accepted it as fact. "So who won last time?"

"Won?"

"Yeah. Which Aspect won out? Hedonism? Lies? Arrogance? Apathy?"

He thinks for a long moment, considering. "Hedonism, I think. I know it was not Arrogance."

For some reason that makes me sad. It's hard to think that it's all the same person, just split into four different ways. That this isn't the real Aron, just some piece of him. I'm growing fond of the guy, all said, and I don't like the thought of him disappearing, or dying, or whatever happens when this is over. Not that it'll matter to me, of course, since I'll be home.

But I still think about it. "But it wasn't Lies that won last time, either?"

I guess I'm pretty transparent, because Aron casts a look over his shoulder at me. "If you are worried about confronting him, speak your mind, Faith."

"Well, seeing as how we haven't exactly been killing it on our own, yeah, I'm worried."

"Killing it?"

"Doing well? Thriving?"

He snorts, turning back to the road. "I think we are doing quite well. We have supplies and weapons. I have an anchor. You have a full belly and no plague. I see nothing wrong with our position."

Plague? He just casually throws plague out there? I bite back my horror and decide to point out the bigger problems first. "Vian and Cathis said that the other Aspect had mercenaries with him. Like ten. And a wizard. A motherfucking wizard. Aron, what do we do against those things?"

"We make sure that we remain aware of them and plan accordingly."

"How do you freaking plan against a wizard? You need to help me on that part because where I come from, the only wizards are racist assholes and can't actually do magic." I poke his side again, and I'm surprised when he shudders. Aron's…ticklish? What the heck? Why do I find that so ridiculous and yet delightful? "Maybe you should have hooked up with a wizard."

"Did you see any wizards volunteering upon my arrival?"

Good point. "I'm sorry you're stuck with me."

He grunts. "You have not been a bad companion, Faith. Do not vex yourself on that front. You have been adequate."

"You're killing me with all that praise," I murmur, but I am pleased, weirdly enough. That's a compliment, considering where it's coming from. "Still, what do we do against a wizard?"

“That depends.”

“On…?”

“On whether or not he is a true wizard or a pretender. True wizards are rare. Pretenders are far more common.” His tone is dismissive and clearly unworried.

Obviously I get to be the worrier of our party. “Let’s assume he is real. Just for giggles. What do we do then?”