We're getting close to Novoro.

“You’re mine, Faith,” Aron murmurs, his breath hot against my shoulder. He peels my dress back, exposing my skin. “We’ve fought this long enough, don’t you think?”

“I’m not fighting anything,” I protest, moaning. “I’ve wanted you since day one.”

“Show me how much you want me,” he says, and he hikes my skirts up, his face disappearing between my thighs. “Let me taste it—”

“Faith.”

I jerk awake, disoriented—and a little pissed off—that I’ve been woken up from such a vivid dream. Someone just had to wake me up now? Before it got to the good part? “What?”

Aron's hard face gazes down at me. "You were talking in your sleep."

"Was I? No I wasn't." I tug the blankets higher, wishing I'd slept in more than just my breast band and leggings. I swear I can still feel his breath on my thigh. "Don't be ridiculous."

But Aron isn't paying much attention to me. He's gazing off, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment, he seems to remember that I'm there, and raises his chin in my direction. "Ask me a question."

"Was I really talking in my sleep?"

"Yes." He grunts. "I am not lying to you."

"Are you sure?" When he gives me an irritated look, I shrug. "Let's test it again, just to be sure, because I'm positive I wasn't talking in my sleep." Because if I was, oh god, I hope I wasn't begging him to touch me in filthy, filthy ways. "Is my hair blonde?"

"Yes."

"Are you arrogant?"

"Yes." He grins at me, all boyish pleasure. "See?"

"You're right. What changed?" I stifle a yawn.

"He no longer influences me." Aron shrugs. "I am back to just me."

I can't say I'm displeased. As I get dressed for the day’s travel, though, part of me grows uneasy. If it’s that simple to just wipe an Aron out of existence…what happens to the Aron I’m with when this is over?

OceanofPDF.com

47

The first sight of Novoro takes my breath away.

First there's nothing there—just more endless mountains and craggy, snow-covered peaks. Then, we round a corner and suddenly there's a massive fortress tucked high amidst the cliffs. It blends in so well it's impossible to see from afar, and if there wasn't a well-traveled road leading up here, I'd think I was imagining things. The stone city looks as if its hewn straight from the rock itself, and it lofts high, hundreds of windows carved into the side of the mountains. The longer I look, the more windows and fortress come into view, until all I can see before us is just one big stone anthill of humans. It's fascinating to see, and I wonder how many people live here. Two thousand? Ten thousand? How deep into the mountain does this go? Two massive doors that look as if they're made of steel bar the entrance, and each one is easily three stories high and wide enough to fit two lanes of traffic.

They're also shut tight. Of course they are. Dozens of tiny plumes of smoke tell me that someone's home, though—not everything can be hidden away.

Markos sidles forward on his woale, moving to the side of the land-hippo I share with Aron. He gazes up at the massive gates that dwarf our small party. His expression is downright indignant, as if he's been insulted. "They do not welcome us, my great Lord of Storms. Shall I let them know of your presence?"

I wrinkle my nose, inwardly wincing. Do we really have to announce anything?

But this is Aron, Lord of Arrogance. I can practically feel him stiffen with indignation. "Demand that they let us in."

"At once, my lord." Markos gives a firm nod and then spurs his woale into action. The thing gives a deep belly squeal and then trundles forward, grunting, and Markos approaches the gates.

The hair prickles on the back of my neck and I'm tense as I watch him move forward. He looks impossibly tiny as he walks up to them. Woales aren't tiny creatures, and yet Markos and his mount look like toys in front of those huge gates. I hear him shout for entrance, but his voice gets lost in the cavernous canyon, as if soaked up by the rock itself.

We wait.

The gates don't open. Eventually, someone leans out a lower window and shouts something back, gesturing at us while we wait. Markos puts a hand to his mouth and calls back, and then…they sit there and bicker for what must be a good five minutes.

"Well, everyone does say Novoroans are weird," I mutter to Aron. "Novorese? Novorians? Novoroni? What do we call them?"

"We call them fools for not welcoming our lord," Solat says, his hippo restless.

I just roll my eyes. If there was a suck-up in the group, it'd be Solat.

Something moves in one of the windows, and then another. Nothing big, just a small shift of movement, but both Kerren and Vitar immediately push forward, drawing shields and blocking in front of us. The tiny movement gleams again, and then something points at Markos.

Arrows.

Oh fuck. I stare, shocked—it didn't occur to me that we'd be turned away at the gates. "Is there another way through these mountains?" I breathe, my voice low.

"Climbing," Solat says. "But woale are not sure-footed except on flat lands. We would have to lead them and travel overfoot ourselves…and it would be dangerous for us, as well."

"No. We are not doing that." Aron taps a hand on my hip. "Get down, Faith."

I automatically slide off the side of the woale, all too happy to take a leg-stretch or three. Yulenna slides off of Kerren's mount and lands beside me, rubbing her butt. "Are we turning around? What are we doing?" I ask, curious.

Aron points at Kerren. "Wait here with them. The others, come with me." And he rides forward, his woale doing that grunting little trot like Markos's mount. I didn't even know woale could move that fast. It's almost a horse-gallop, complete with fat bouncing sides and the jangle of supplies as all three men ride forward.

"What the fuck are they doing?" I hiss, shocked. I clutch at the neck of my cloak, horrified as Aron boldly takes off his cloak and casts it to the ground, revealing his dark hair and noble features. Solat and Vitar ride next to him, but they're not close enough to protect him with those shields. "He's going to get fucking killed!"

"My lady," Kerren says gently, looking at me. "He is not the target."

Oh.

Oh, right. It's me that's the target. I rub my arms, suddenly glad that he left me behind. "It's still not safe for him to ride forward like that," I tell Kerren and Yulenna. "I don't like it."

"He goes to show them that he is who he claims," Yulenna says in a reasonable voice, watching Aron ride forward. "Then they will bow to him and give him the welcome he deserves."

"Mmmhmm." They weren't with my Aron in Aventine, when someone tried to assassinate us. Or Katharn. Or at the Citadel. Or…man, we really get attacked a lot. That sucks. Maybe it's a good thing we now have bodyguards. I frown to myself at the thought and I wonder if the other Aron got constantly betrayed all the time or if we're just the lucky ones.

We watch, and I hold my breath as Aron approaches the fortress, his long hair waving like a flag. He makes a wonderful target, and I cringe inwardly when Markos and the others move to his side. I'm torn between watching Kerren for reactions and watching Aron, because I have a feeling Kerren's going to know something's wrong before I do. As I wait, I see a small door—inset in the much, much larger ones—open below and someone comes out to talk to Aron and the men. They all stand there, distant dots, and I wish I could hear their conversation.