The newcomer drops to his knees before Aron’s woale and stacks his fists over his heart. I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. There’s a great shout, and as I watch, the people in the windows retreat. The man gets up from his knees, and then there’s a massive groan as the gates slowly shudder open.

“Looks like we are welcomed,” Yulenna says.

Kerren glances over at her. “Give Faith your cloak and switch mounts with her.”

She nods. “At once.”

I want to protest, but I’m ashamed to say that I don’t. He’s setting up Yulenna as the target, just in case we’re going to be betrayed again. It’s smart, but I can’t help but feel guilty as Yulenna comes to my side and envelops me in her cloak, even as Kerren raises his shield and steers his woale in front of us to hide what we’re doing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her as she fastens it around my neck.

“Do not be. I know I am expendable.” Her smile is bittersweet. “At least this way, I can be of service.” She tugs the hood over my head and then pulls my cloak around her shoulders, pulling my hood over her long, curling hair.

“Well, I hope it’s all not necessary.”

Kerren dismounts, his armor jangling. “We all hope it is not,” he says easily, and then offers his hand to Yulenna. “Let us get my lord’s anchor mounted once more. I think you should walk, Faith, so you seem like the servant.”

“I can do that.” For once, I’m glad that Yulenna’s the one in the flowing dress and I’m the one in a stained tunic. It adds to the feeling that she’s the important one and I’m not.

Kerren grabs the reins of the woale, and Yulenna adjusts her clothes, delicately smoothing out the cloak. She holds onto the pommel, and then we move forward to greet Markos, Solat, Vitar and Aron at the gates where they wait for us.

The walk across the rocky field feels as if it takes forever, and a thousand eyes seem to be staring at us, even if the windows remain dark and empty. The gates continue to groan their way open and I watch them with fascination. I bet the Statue of Liberty could stroll through them and not have to duck her head, they’re so tall. As we move forward toward the gates, armed soldiers arrive, flanking a man in a swirling black cloak lined with white. They pause.

Then, to a one they kneel before Aron and bow their heads, waiting to be addressed.

Aron doesn’t speak to them right away, though. He watches us as we approach, his eyes narrowed. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, flicks to Yulenna, and then he turns to look at the rest of our men. No one’s saying a thing or even looking at me, which means we’re all on the same page.

“Rise,” Aron says finally.

The man in the cloak gets up, and the others flanking him follow suit. He’s a tall man with a grim face, a thick black mustache and salt and pepper gray hair. His eyes are alight with excitement, though, and he reaches out to Aron. “It is the greatest of honors for Novoro to host a holy Aspect, my Lord of Storms. You are well loved here. I am Secuban, lord of this stronghold and all that dwell within. Let us host you and your servants.”

Aron ignores the outstretched hand. “We require private quarters.”

“You shall have mine,” Lord Secuban says immediately, and doesn’t look upset that his handshake was ignored. If anything, he just looks thrilled to see Aron, and the glee on his face makes him look like a freaking fanboy. “You bless all of Novoro with your presence here. We shall celebrate the honor of your company—”

“Later.” Aron gives an impatient flick of his cloak. “I wish to go to my chambers and bathe, and my anchor will have needs as well. My soldiers and my concubine”—and this time he gestures at me—“will also need to be quartered close. Our mounts must be taken care of as well.”

“Anything,” Lord Secuban says fervently. “Anything and everything you desire will be yours.”

Aron grunts approval. “Good. Show us in, then.”

The lord of Novoro moves to Aron’s side and speaks to him in a low voice, giving him a tour as we head inside. Stable boys rush forward to take the reins of our woales, and then Yulenna slips to the ground next to me, pulling her cloak tight.

I'm fascinated by Novoro. This place, more than anything else, looks like something out of a Game of Thrones set. The entire place is one big fortress, and inside I expected to see hundreds of little houses tucked behind the walls, but it opens up into a muddy courtyard and then lifts high up into row after row of windows. Everyone lives in the castle carved right out of the rock. Everything's gray, too, and people lean from stone windows and peek out of turrets and watch us. They wear heavy fur-lined cloaks in dark colors, and soldiers are all over the place. Someone leads away our woales, and Solat follows them to get our gear. Aron is led forward by the lord of the place, who talks a mile a minute, eager to share his home and its splendors. People bow as they pass, cloaks flopping onto the wintry cobblestones, and we follow a short distance behind. There's awe and pleasure on the faces of these people—which is a relief. I don't think they'll be betraying Aron, and I start to feel a little better about things.

To my surprise, Yulenna grabs my hand and pulls me close. "Stay with me," she says tightly, and her steps grow faster, as if she wishes to somehow catch up with Aron and the Novoro lord. I speed up, too, wondering what's crawled up her butt. I glance out at the crowd…and then I see it.

They watch Aron with awe and affection all right, but the look they cast in Yulenna's direction—and mine—is a little more…creepy. I catch the eyes of someone in an ornate cloak and the look he gives me is downright lascivious. Another man licks his lips as we walk past, and it doesn't take more than a few more steps before I'm clinging to Yulenna's hand, too. Bunch of creeps. Maybe they don't get out much and so any new woman that walks in gets leered at.

"Aron will protect us," I tell Yulenna. "Don't worry about that."

"He will protect his anchor," she says tightly.

Right. Me and not her. I just squeeze her hand reassuringly, because I'm not going to let these people creep on her.

More and more people arrive, and as the crowd fills out, I'm relieved to see women and children in the crowd, too. They all gaze at us with awe, and I see more than one make Aron's gesture and bow their heads in piety. Even though Aron's a war god, he's well known enough that even the moms and grandmas are fisting his gesture.

At the far end of the courtyard is a massive set of steps flanked with torches, and the lord leads Aron in, so we follow. Once inside, I blink at the low light. The smell of torch smoke increases, and then as my eyes adjust, I can make out the hall itself. A large chair sits atop a stair-stepped dais at the far end of the room, by a massive fireplace. My skin prickles at the sight of it. Nothing good ever happens in rooms with a dais, I'm learning. They had a dais in Aventine—and tried to murder us. They had a dais in Tadekha's Citadel—and a rampaging army arrived. "Third time’s a charm," I tell myself, though my stomach gets sour when I hear the scrape of chains and two slave women peek out from behind the throne. They have cloaks to keep them warm in the drafty keep…but it looks like they're not wearing anything underneath.

Great. This place falls a few more notches in my estimation. Less and less of a fan of Novoro.

Aron gives the throne room a curt look.

"Please, my lord, sit and make yourself at home. Everything I have, I share with you." Lord Secuban's eyes gleam and his gaze flicks to Yulenna, and he licks his lips. "In Novoro, to share brings great honor."

"My mortals are tired and wish to rest," Aron says in that same imperious voice I've grown to know. "I want private quarters for myself and my anchor."