“Try to stand behind him.” He chuckles at his own joke.

“Helpful” is obviously not in Aron’s repertoire. I frown at his back. “Wizard aside, they said the other Aron has troops. Like ten or twelve of them. Should we get mercenaries or soldiers for our protection? We’re only a day or two away from Katharn. Much as I’d hate to go back, I’d hate being dead a lot more.”

Aron shakes his head, idly flicking the woale’s reins as if it’s a lovely afternoon jaunt and not a ride into danger. “You worry too much, Faith. And before you prattle at me about how one of us needs to be concerned, remind yourself how many men I took down that first night we were attacked, and I was far more confused and disoriented then.”

My open mouth snaps shut. He’s got a point. He took down a half-dozen men in the blink of an eye and without a weapon. “I’m sorry to doubt you. This is all really new for me.”

“Troops are a distraction only, nothing more.”

I nod to myself, thinking. “You did say he was lies. Unless…they said he had a consort with him. You don’t suppose he’s Hedonism and just trying to throw us off?”

I’m not ready to confront any other Arons, but on my list, Hedonism is dead last. I don’t want to think about what that’ll mean for us, because it makes me get all flushed and awkward and things are already awkward enough.

“No, he will be Lies. Hedonism will be far more obvious. A consort does not mean anything. My cock works as well as any other mortal’s.”

Oh, I remember. My cheeks feel hot with just how much I remember. I change the subject quickly. “You think they’ll be setting a trap for us?”

He chuckles and glances back at me over his shoulder. “Undoubtedly.”

“Then we should practice weapons more, Aron.” I tap a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should stop early for the night and get some sparring in. Some swords, some staves, all the good stuff so I can be prepared.”

Aron just shakes his head, watching the road in front of him, and flicks the reins. If anything, the woale speeds up. Slightly. Like a gently caffeinated snail instead of just a regular snail. “Faith. You are trying to stall, are you not?”

I mock-snort. “Me? Not wanting to rush into danger and certain death? Psh. Can’t imagine why a girl would stall.”

“I will keep you safe. Do you doubt me?”

“Dude, you’re Arrogance. Of course you’re going to say that.” I ignore his bark of laughter that peals down the dirt road. “It’s just that…you’re a badass fighter. He’s you, so he’s going to be a badass, plus he’s got a wizard, plus he’s got mercenaries. All you have is me.” Just thinking about it makes my hands tighten on his belt. At what point do I trust him and at what point is his arrogance going to get us killed? I don’t have the answer, and that worries me. “All I’m saying is that we should practice some fighting when we stop, so I can help with the combat.”

“Faith. We could stop and practice for two years and it would not be enough.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, for Aron. “If Lies is meant to conquer Arrogance, then there is nothing I can do.”

The thought makes me sick. I’m not ready to die. I’m not ready for him to die. “I refuse to lie down and give up, Aron. Not without doing as much as I possibly can to stop it from happening.”

“No one is saying we are going to give up,” he tells me. “But perhaps our time would be better spent trying to think of a trap for them, since they will inevitably be setting one for us.”

“Fair enough.” It doesn’t make me feel much better, though. Aron’s life is tied to mine, and mine to his. If the other Aron decided that he needed a posse to protect himself…why aren’t we doing the same?

OceanofPDF.com

40

For two days, we ride the slowest mount known to mankind. Like Aron said, the thing doesn’t need to take breaks. It can keep plodding endlessly, and it does. It plods over hills and down the muddy path. It plods through fork after fork of road, and the farmlands turn to scrubby trees and distant gray mountains begin to loom on the horizon.

My ass can’t take the endless riding, though. It doesn’t seem to bother Aron in the slightest—not much does—but my mortal butt cheeks are sore by twilight on the first day. That’s when I learn how people sleep on a woale—we pause to sling two hammocks against the woale’s fat, rounded sides. It goes from one end of the saddle to the other, and for the first time, I see why the woale saddle has two pommels in front, and two in back (that have been digging into my ass for the last bajillion hours). The hammocks are slung from one side to the other and then, like the world’s ungainliest saddlebags, Aron helps me slip into one side and he gets into the other to balance me out.

At first, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, especially not with my head bouncing so close to the woale’s hindquarters, but the next thing I know, it’s dawn, my ass is one big aching bruise, and my stomach’s growling. While the sun is up, we ride on the woale’s saddle. When the sun goes down, we sleep in the saddle slings, and the time—and miles—creep past agonizingly slowly.

I’m mentally gearing up for another crappy night in the swing on day three when Aron abruptly stops the woale, and we grind to a halt.

I yawn at him. “Bathroom break again? I don’t really have to go.”

“No.” He’s all tension as he slides off the creature’s back, his body alert as he gazes off into the distance. “I saw campfire smoke.”

All of my sleepy exhaustion instantly vanishes, replaced by fear. “Where?” I whisper, sliding off the side of the woale and landing (okay, tumbling) on the ground next to him.

Aron catches me before I can fall on my ass and helps me to my feet. “Look to the tree line,” he tells me, pointing.

Heart hammering, I scan the trees. Sure enough, there’s a thin plume of smoke on the horizon that would be impossible to notice unless I was looking for it. He must have been watching the skies constantly, ever alert, and I feel like a bad companion.

“Is it them?” I ask, clinging to his arm in terror. We’ve been talking about this for days but it’s too soon in my eyes. I don’t want to run into them. I don’t want to fight. I sure don’t want to lose.

I feel like I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“One way to find out,” Aron says, and then moves to the woale. I think—stupidly—for a moment that he’s going to get out a telescope or something, but he hands me the reins. “Wait here.”

I let out a terrified squeak as he slings his sword and scabbard over his shoulder and then heads into the woods. “Wait,” I hiss, afraid to speak too loud.

He doesn’t wait, of course. This is Aron. I’m left holding the reins of the woale, who doesn’t bother to lift his head from his feedbag. The damn beast could care less if death is imminent. Me, I care. I half drag, half lead the thing toward the side of the road and crouch in the bushes, breathing hard. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t passed anyone all day and the road has gotten steadily more deserted the closer we get to the mountains. I’m terrified of the men waiting to kill us. I’ve never had someone want to murder me before I met Aron, and now it seems everyone wants to kill us.

I should have never taken his hand that first day we met.

I frown to myself. No, that’s not fair. If I hadn’t taken his hand, what would have happened to Aron that first night? He wouldn’t have lasted an hour with one of those milquetoast cowering girls, and no one else was volunteering to be his anchor. And me? I would have been sacrificed on his altar the next morning.

Remembering that calms me. Aron’s kept me safe so far. I need to trust him. I do. So I hunker down in the bushes, clutch the reins, and wait for him to return.