SWORN TO THE SHADOW GOD

RUBY DIXON

Copyright © 2020 by Ruby Dixon

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Image: Sara Eirew Photographer

Cover Design: Kati Wilde, Badass

Edits: Aquila Editing (All typos are mine because I always change shit after she sends it back to me. I’M SORRY, GIRL. I make you look bad when we both know that you’re amazing!)

Created with Vellum

For Mr. Ruby, because when I was an asshole and asked for a map in two days, you did it for me.

For Kati, who encouraged every step of the way.

For Marina, who sprinted word count with me even when I was working for 14 hours a day on this book and was probably tired of hearing me talk about it.

For everyone that read the first book and actually liked it. I’m still a little stunned (and thrilled) that my weird project of the heart made you happy. <3

CONTENTS

Content Warning

Sworn To The Shadow God

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Pantheon of Aos

Need More Ruby Dixon?

CONTENT WARNING

Hello there!

Let’s talk about triggers for a brief second before you crack this open. SPOILERS BELOW - STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

This is a book about death. The hero is the god of death, and because of that, there’s no getting around discussing death ad nauseum between these pages.

Death in all forms is discussed quite a bit. There’s references to suicide, murder, infant mortality, sickness, and zombies in these pages. If this sort of thing is going to be problematic for you, please don’t read this book. It won’t make you happy.

And because I’m trying to get better at warning about these sorts of things, there is also a trigger for an attack/attempted rape on a character.

SWORN TO THE SHADOW GOD

Adventure.

It's what my boring life is missing, so when I fall through a portal into another world, I'm excited. Here, I'm important. Here, I'm special.

I find out just *how* special when I meet Death.

Yup. That guy. He's been exiled to the mortal realm to work through his flaws, and he's just as spoiled and awful as you'd think. Rhagos, the Shadow Lord, is arrogant and rude and controlling and demands to get his way. He's selfish. He's impossible.

He's also utterly gorgeous. Magnetic. Lonely. And strangely protective of me.

Thanks to a magic bond, I now serve him as his anchor to the mortal realm. It means that I'm his conscience, his guide...and the target for any assassin or glory-seeker. After a few days of this, I'd rather go home than continue on this 'adventure'. I need a way back to Earth, and fast.

As the world falls down around us and we're hunted simply for existing, I find myself wondering what it'd be like to serve the lonely god of death...in all ways. To kiss him. To touch him. To bed him.

Except...I'm supposed to be finding a way home, not trying to kiss Rhagos. No matter how tempting he is. No matter how much he stares at my lips.

No matter how much I want it.

PROLOGUE

RHAGOS

Rhagos the Undying, Lord of the Dead and ruler of the Underworld sat on his throne and drummed his fingers with irritation at his anchor.

Sniveling fool.

The man in question—a mortal now granted eternal life by tethering to Rhagos as his “conscience”—was currently sitting on an ornately carved chair across the room, pretending to read a book. Every so often, he would sniff and swipe at his eyes, and Rhagos knew all he had to do was glare at the man and he would turn into a quaking, shivering mess. Had he always been so spineless? So pathetic? Clearly when Rhagos had been trapped in his mortal form, he’d simply taken the first mortal that volunteered, not the one best suited for the job. Or perhaps he’d wanted a mortal that was obedient. This one certainly was. He didn’t have a disobedient thought in his head. Or a clever one. Or a unique one.

And therein lay the problem. Eternity was a very, very long time to be saddled with a nitwit.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne again, thinking. In the distance, the songs of the souls were a soothing cacophony at the back of his mind. He could focus in on any one of those thousands of voices and know their boring history, know their boring life, their bland and too mortal innermost thoughts. He could raise them up, pluck them from the various circles of the Underworld, and make them part of his eternal court. And then they would simper and grovel and kiss his boots and do whatever he asked, simply because he asked it. Because he was Rhagos, and everything after death was his domain, his to command, his to oversee according to the rules of the High Father.

For some reason, that bothered him more and more with every day that passed. Not that days mattered in the Underworld, but mortals thought in that manner and he’d taken it on out of habit.

How many days had passed since he’d returned from the Anticipation? Which Aspect of himself had succeeded? He wasn’t entirely sure—he’d asked to be left without the memories of that humiliating time—but looking at the pathetic anchor he was saddled with and his current displeasure? He wondered if somehow the flaw of Apathy had managed to persevere.

Which meant he would be like this until the next Anticipation…if there ever was one. The High Father had established new rules for his Twelve to rule over Aos, though. He’d decided it would be better for them to keep their touch on humanity, and thus an anchor would be their constant companion in this realm as well as the human one.

Rhagos hated it.

He hated being told what to do. Hated being forced to be around the puling idiot who had somehow managed to remain as his anchor. Yet he couldn’t get rid of the fool. Because of their tether, they had to stay in close proximity to one another.

Close proximity…to an idiot he hated…for all eternity.

Surely his brother Kalos would laugh and laugh hard at Rhagos’s irritation. He could hear his brother’s mocking laughter in his head, even now. Kalos would not simply settle for the anchor he’d been given. He would sneer at such a thought. Kalos would find what the rules were and bend them to his needs.

And so Rhagos would take a page from his brother’s book. He got to his feet, his black robes swirling as he stood.

His anchor stood as well, a look of fear on his pale face as he clutched the book to his chest. “My lord?”

The lord of the dead looked over at his anchor. He stared at him for a long moment, thinking. “Tell me something, Varian.”

“Varias, actually—”

He raised a hand to cut off the man’s trembling voice. “I did not ask to be corrected. I asked to be entertained.”

And he waited.

The mortal’s eyes went wide. He glanced around him, as if the other ghostly nobles that filled the Halls of the Dead would be of some assistance. When they avoided eye contact, he swallowed hard, his thin neck working, and spoke. “I…would you like a story?”

“About?”

“The…gods?”

Rhagos knew all the stories of the gods. He’d lived them. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Rhagos pulled his hood over his face and took his leave from his throne room. The anchor attempted to follow.

Rhagos raised a hand. “I do not require you.” He strode away, ignoring the irritating pull that reminded him he was leaving his anchor too far behind. Time and space could be warped in the Underworld, and as a result, his anchor had to stay even closer than most. A dark scowl creased his divine features. Was he not the god of the dead? The Lord of the Underworld? Why must he bow to so many rules even in his own domain? It was ridiculous.

It was not to be borne.

He needed a solution.

He paced the halls of his keep, looking for ways to solve this problem. It was a small one, as far as divine problems went, but an irritating one that seemed to grow larger by the day. He thought of that buffoon Aron of the Cleaver, who’d given back the eye he’d stolen from Rhagos millenia ago in exchange for his anchor. A female, with pale blonde hair and a lean figure. She hadn’t even been beautiful or well spoken, but there had been something about her that had entranced Aron to the point that he was willing to wage war on the gods to retrieve her.

That intrigued Rhagos.

What would it be like to have a companion that one actually wanted to spend time with? That one valued the words coming from his or her mouth? He’d met Aron’s female—kept her in his realm for a time because she was dead and thus part of his domain—before Aron had stormed his gates, demanding her back. He’d found her curious. She was unafraid of Rhagos, unafraid of Aron, and so full of a certain…spark that he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He’d gotten his eye back, his vision whole once more, but…sometimes he wondered if he’d made a poor trade.

What would it be like to have a companion? A real companion? Someone that would have actual conversations with him instead of simply telling him what he wished to hear? Someone that would look at him with welcome in their eyes? Someone that would smile when he walked into the room?

Someone that was a friend and lover both. Someone to ease the lonely ache in his soul.

He thought about Aron’s anchor a lot. Far too much, perhaps. Not that he wanted that particular mortal for fucking. If he wanted to fuck, Belara, goddess of beauty, would welcome him. Any of his subjects would gladly take his cock and act as if it was their duty.

Perhaps that was it. Duty irritated him.

Where was the free will, the spirit that he’d seen in Aron’s anchor? He wanted that. He needed that.

Rhagos needed a new anchor, he decided. He could banish his current one to the depths of the Pit of the Betrayers, even though he’d been loyal. The underworld was Rhagos’s to command, after all. But the agony of their stretched tether would pain him and Rhagos would still be bound to the idiot. No, there had to be something else that could be done.

But what?

He walked his keep, thinking, and still no answer came to him. When he found himself back in his throne room, the court had made itself scarce, disappearing to avoid his foul mood. Only Varias remained, as pale and trembling as ever.

He raised a hand and sent him to the pit anyway, simply for being irritating. Anchor on his humanity be damned. If the High Father wanted him to be kinder and gentler then he needed a damned reason.

And Varias was not it.

When Rhagos remembered the mortal that Aron had come crashing to his door to retrieve, he remembered not just the female, but Aron’s reaction to her. Aron had been the Battle God of Aos since nearly the dawn of time, back when the mortals were little more than a crude tribe here and there. He’d become as jaded as Rhagos and the others, perhaps more so. But when he’d seen the mortal waiting for him? When he’d heard her squeals of delight at the sight of him?

He’d cracked.

For the first time, Rhagos had seen pure and utter joy in one of his brethren.

Rhagos hungered for that.

Fucking envied that. He wanted that joy. He wanted to care about something so very much that it drove him mad. Right now? He did not care about much of anything.

Had to be the Aspect of Apathy that had won, damn all the luck.

How to get that joy, he wondered. He couldn’t simply steal the woman away from Aron. Not only would he likely lose his eye again, but he’d felt nothing for her. He’d had her in his clutches for weeks and she’d inspired nothing but curiosity and a hint of confusion.

This was the creature that Aron was storming the underworld for?

He fingered the deep scar across his face, the one from when he’d lost his eye. He had his eye back—but he kept the scar as a reminder of the past. It did not pain him, but Rhagos rubbed it anyhow, thinking.

Perhaps he could lean on one of the other gods who had returned. Steal their anchor if the mortal proved to be more pleasant and entertaining than his own. His brother Kalos would assist him in this…provided that Rhagos did not attempt to steal his own anchor. Brothers they may have been, but gods were also incredibly possessive.

Kalos would want something from him, though. Brothers though they were, Kalos only sought out Rhagos when he could use him. Perhaps in centuries past, Rhagos would have gone along with such plans, but he’d tired of them – and of being used – and so he avoided his brother entirely.

He thought of who else had returned. Magra, but the harvest goddess was useless to him. Vor, Lord of the Seas—not a friend. Gental of the Family would likely have some sniveling idiot—or worse, a mother with twenty children—hitched to him, and the idea was unappealing to a one. Perhaps one of Tadekha’s crystal-crusted handmaidens, or Belara, though he had no idea if either of the goddesses had returned.

Besides, Belara would have picked a male, and Rhagos was far more interested in a female. He thought of Aron and his blonde anchor, the way she’d flung herself at him and twined her legs around his waist. That had hinted at far closer a relationship than mere companions.

He definitely wanted a female.

Kassam was long gone, Anali would be a bore and…

The Spidae. Hmm. Rumor had it that they had a lovely and willing anchor. Now there was a thought.

Rhagos flung himself up from his throne, crossing the long pillared hall that was now empty of souls. His footsteps echoed on the stone floors, and the walls seemed to vibrate with his sense of purpose. At the far end of the Hall of Souls was his own web, stretched between two pillars, that allowed him to contact the Spidae and other gods in their realms. The threads of the Spidae were magic, able to span space and time, and Rhagos brushed his fingers over them now, strumming them like a harp.

He waited.

The threads shimmered. A picture focused, and a pretty female with dark skin and a thick braid came into view. She wore a crimson dress that made a bright contrast to her flesh, and her hands moved back and forth as if sewing. She had not yet noticed him, so he studied her. This was their anchor, then. Her form was shapely, and he wondered if she was intelligent. Clever.

He wondered how one took an anchor from another god. He still had to get rid of the problem of his own anchor. Even now, there was a dull pain burning in the back of his mind where he’d sent Varias away, and the stretch of their tether was giving him a headache. He’d have to retrieve the fool soon enough.

A figure garbed in white paused by the female, and she looked up, smiling. It was one of the Spidae, and Rhagos watched as he caressed her face with an almost careless touch—except that at the last moment, he brushed his fingertips over her mouth and she shivered, her smile growing wider.

Then, the pale eyes of the Lord of Fate focused on him.

“You cannot have this one.”

Rhagos frowned, arms crossed over his chest. He had said nothing.

“She belongs to us.” The Spidae swept forward, all fluttering pale clothing and even paler skin. He gave Rhagos an imperious look through the view of the web, stepping carefully in front of the female and obscuring Rhagos’s view. “You have an anchor.”

“Precisely my problem,” Rhagos bit out. “And if you know so much, then you must know of my problem.”

“Is it a problem? Or do you simply see it as one?”

He gritted his teeth. They loved to answer questions with more questions—a rather irritating tactic. “Do not play your games with me. I do not have the time or the patience.”

“The problem with you, Lord of the Dead,” the Spidae continued in his hollow, toneless voice, “is that you see this as a game, a manipulation. You see my answers as more questions, but you do not realize that every question you ask has multiple answers. It is up to you to seek the one that you want.” His pale eyes stared through the web at Rhagos.

“You know what I want,” he stated again. “I want—”

“To change the outcome of the Anticipation? To have a new anchor? To reverse time?” He reached into the air and pulled a thread out of nothing, a faint smile on his face. “They are all one and the same in this instance, brother Rhagos.”

He bit back a snarl of irritation. The Spidae were not his brothers save in godhood, and yet…he was getting somewhere. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I can have a new anchor?” Rhagos asked. Now that the idea had been planted, he couldn’t unsee it. Yes. He didn’t want the pretty girl the Spidae had, or even Aron’s bright-eyed blonde. He wanted a companion that was wholly his own, that would be suited to him…a companion that was not Varias.

He wanted someone that would look at him as if he was more than just death. Someone who saw him.

“Can you?” When Rhagos snarled at the web and raised a hand to tear it down from the pillars, the Spidae spoke again. “You had four a short time ago.”

He lowered his hand once more. “Four?”

“You know how the Anticipation works, do you not?”

That was a rude question, so he ignored it. He did know how the Anticipation worked. It was the bane of every god’s existence, the punishment of the High Father for imagined sins or for simply being poor at one’s job. It was when the gods were gathered from their realms in the Aether and cast down to the mortal landscape of Aos, forced to dwell without powers in mortal-seeming bodies. Each god’s personality was split into four Aspects—facets of the things the High Father wished to eradicate from their essence: Apathy, Hedonism, Lies, and Arrogance. Spending time with the mortals would improve each returned god for the better, or so the High Father thought. It would make them feel more in touch with their subjects.

Fucking rubbish.

All it made Rhagos want to do was burn the entire mortal realm to the fucking ground.

“I know how it works,” he gritted out. “I just went through the Anticipation.”

“Then you know how to get another anchor, do you not?”

He frowned at the Lord of Fate, resisting the urge to tear the web from its moorings. “You can release mine. Unbind our threads.” If he was in the mortal realm, he could swap anchors by simply releasing the tether…but the High Father had bound this eternal tether, and Rhagos was trapped to it.

“We will not. If you require a chance, you must go through the Anticipation.”

Rhagos growled, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. “I have already been through it. Am I not back in my own realm?” He flung his arms out, gesturing at his chamber. “That foolishness is done.”

The Spidae regarded him coldly. Eventually, he raised a hand in the air and moved it, as if tracing a long line. A glimmering thread appeared between his fingers, and he toyed with it for a moment before holding it up to show Rhagos. “Behold. If I hold the thread here,” he pinched one end. “Or here,” he pinched the middle. “Or here.” He touched the end. “Does that change the thread itself? Or is it still the same thread no matter where I grasp it?”

Was this a trick of some kind? He studied the Fate, knowing that there was an answer of some sort in this question. “Explain your riddle.”

The Spidae sighed heavily. “Fate is like time. Time is like fate. The web is interwoven and the strings cross one another in the ways that they should. But a thread can be moved and adjusted, teased into a new home…or a new place. A new time.” He gave Rhagos a meaningful look. “Now do you understand?”

He was beginning to. “You can move my thread,” he declared. “Send me back through the Anticipation so I can change the outcome, change the anchor I am stuck with.”

The elegant, pale head inclined. “It is so.”

Go through the Anticipation again? Horrendous. It was not to be borne. But he thought of the female Aron had. The one with laughter in her eyes and the complete lack of fear. The way she’d greeted the Lord of Storms with her entire being, legs twining around him. Hunger ripped through him.

An eternity with someone like that…or with Varias.

He gritted his teeth, hating the answer. “If I must, I must. You can do this for me?”

“It will require some…adjustments.” He smiled thinly. “But this will be done in exchange for a favor.”

There was always a favor. No one simply talked to Death. They always wanted something. “Of course,” Rhagos sneered. “But I do not want to go into the Anticipation blind and helpless. I want to be prepared.” He thought for a moment. “And I want to choose the Aspect I inhabit.” Hedonism would be the most pleasant way to pass the turmoil, if he must pass through it again. Hedonism with a pretty, spark-eyed female at his side and—

“No. The choice is not yours to make. It has already been made.”

Rhagos clenched his jaw. “How can it be made if I have not yet agreed?”

The Spidae smiled mysteriously. “You will agree.”

“What about the female?”

“Yours has already been decided. She will be pulled, her thread maneuvered once yours is.”

“I want to pick her for myself—”

“She has already been chosen. You have already selected her.”

He was going to grind his teeth into powder at this rate. “I have selected nothing.”

“Have you not? Do you wish to change all of the results, then?”

He made it sound as if it were done. As if he had seen it all already. And perhaps he had? Time was fate, fate was time. A pinch at the top or the bottom of the thread did not change it. Interesting. So if he had already chosen…and had already agreed to this, then the companion… “Where is she? I want to meet her before I agree to this.”

“Her thread cannot be pulled into this web until it is time. To toy with it now could damage it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Pull her thread into this web?”

The Spidae gave a cold smile. “Have I said too much?” He arched an eyebrow. “Or have I intrigued you?”

He considered this, and began to pace. Rhagos stormed back and forth in his hall, not caring if the Spidae waited on him. If time was fate, he could wait forever and it wouldn’t matter. He had to think. There was something about this that bothered him. Something that did not sit well. He thought for a moment, and then turned on his foot, regarding the web and the cool, expressionless immortal that stared back at him through it.

“You’re far too eager for this.” He’d only spoken in half riddles, after all.

The Spidae inclined his head. “Your instincts are correct.”

With narrowed eyes, Rhagos approached the web once more. Behind the Spidae, he could see into the tower itself. The dusky-skinned woman in the red skirts sat in her chair, sewing, but he could see she paid attention to the Spidae as he talked to Rhagos. Behind them, webbing covered the wall, and if he stared hard enough, he could pick out gleaming threads of gold amongst the tangle of pale, colorless threads.

Pull her into this web.

That meant she was not currently in this web. She would be pulled from elsewhere…like Aron’s anchor?

Now he was intrigued. He wanted a curious, bold female like that for himself. But the Spidae were far too eager, so he made his expression calm. “What do you propose?”

The Spidae spread his hands. “Just what we have said. I will send you back to the beginning of the last Anticipation. You will choose your anchor, and the strings will be interwoven as they should be. The anchor you desire will be at your side instead of your current one. And no one needs to know of this manipulation save us.”

No one needed to know…that meant they were breaking their own rules. Rhagos tilted his head. “And what do you want from me?”

“You know.” The Spidae’s eyes glittered. For once, they were not cool and impassive. They grew hard and fierce.

He could guess. “You want me to swear I will never touch your pretty mortal, is that it? Keep her safe from the hand of death? Ensure that she never enters my realm?”

Again, the Spidae inclined his head. “And for your brother to swear he will never give her his dark caress.”

No death, no disease. “You are Fate.”

“Fate. Time.” He inclined his head. “But also cautious.”

Cautious indeed to request—no, demand—such things in exchange for breaking their own rules. “You must truly be in love.”

“You have no idea.” The cold smile returned. “But you will.”

Bah. Love was not an emotion the gods felt. They were muted to most human feelings, because humans were nothing but specks of dust in the endless void of time. They lasted but for a moment and flashed away. Was his realm not filled with millenia of those that had come and gone? They were all the same. He did not love any of them.

He was ever alone.

“Hedonism,” he reminded the Spidae. “That is the one I wish. And make my human a blonde,” he added, thinking of Aron’s anchor. “With nice tits. I will contact you when I am ready.” There were things that he had to do, first. He had to prepare his followers for his arrival. A prophecy of some kind to be seeded amongst the loyal. If the Spidae could move his thread, they could also allow for that.

Protect one wench to get what he wanted from Fate? It was almost too easy.

1

ELSEWHERE

MAX

“M axine, where is my coffee?”

I grimace and jump to my feet, racing toward my boss’s office. “It’s brewing right now, Mr. Perkins. I’ll bring it right in.”

“Why’s it taking so long?” His voice was utterly petulant, as it always was. “I have to be on my call in four minutes.”

“I’ll have it to you before then, I promise,” I told him, faking a bright smile before I turned and calmly walked to the far end of the office floor, where the coffee station was set up. I’d sort of forgotten to make his coffee when I came in, but I always forgot that sort of thing. I just need to make it looked like I’m on the ball now.

Not that I should be making anyone’s coffee with a degree in computer science, but fuck it. A job’s a job, right? I’m just pretending to be a secretary—excuse me, executive assistant—until a position in the right department opens up. I smooth my dumb jacket and hope no one notices I’m wearing a blazer over a T-shirt or I’ll get a wardrobe citation. Again.

I jerk the paper cup of coffee out from under the brewer the moment it’s full and dump cream and sugar in it, one of each, just like how my dickweed boss likes it.

“Hey Max,” a familiar voice calls, but I hold up a finger and slam a lid on the coffee.

“Hold that thought. Mr. Perkins has a meeting. BRB.”

My buddy Jim blinks at me. “Did you just literally say B-R-B?”

I shrug and race as fast as I can back to my boss’s office with his coffee. It slops over the lid despite my efforts, burning my hand, and I nearly take a tumble in my high heeled work shoes that aren’t required, but are ‘highly recommended’.

God, I hate being a corporate drone.

“Here we go,” I call out, just as Mr. Perkins glares at me from over his bifocals, his hand on his phone as a conference call blares over the speakers.

“You’re spilling it everywhere, Maxine,” he protests, plucking tissue from a box and swiping it on the puddle I leave on his desk. “Can’t you do this without making a mess?”

I cringe, because I totally did make a mess. “I know, I’m sorry. I was trying to hurry. I’ll do better.” I say that every time, and every time I always forget, rush around, and then make the same big sloppy mess I always do. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I seem to be bound and determined to lay brick every day, because I always say I’m going to do better and I never do.

I try to exit quietly out of his office, so I can wash my coffee-splashed hands. I’m almost out, closing the door behind me, when Mr. Perkins stops me. “Maxine?”

Ah, crap. I bite back a wince and paste my smile on my face before I turn to him again. “Yes, Mr. Perkins?”

The conference call blares from the speakers, the chimes of middle management logging into the call—ting—over and over again. My boss ignores it, just giving me that look of sheer disappointment as he clasps his hands. “I’ve been told you’ve been sending private emails on the work server?”

She had? Everyone did. Why is this a thing today? “I try not to unless it’s absolutely necessary, Mr. Perkins,” I lie. “I just had a personal emergency come up and needed to contact a friend and didn’t want to use my cellphone at my desk during work hours.”

He studies me. “I can pull a list of your emails from IT. Will I only see one personal email on there?”

“Just one,” I lie bravely. If he sees the hundreds, I’m so fired. So, so fired.

But I keep smiling, and he just sighs and mops at the coffee puddle on his desk. “Try and do better, Maxine.”

“I will. Thank you, Mr. Perkins.” I give him a sincere look of utter chastisement before I close the door behind me. Once it’s shut, I exhale deeply and head back to the coffee bar where my best buddy, Jim, is waiting for our morning conversation.

“You spilled something,” he points out as I move to the coffee station and wash my hands.

I look down. Sure enough, I’ve got coffee splatters all over my tweed skirt that matches my dippy blazer. I groan. “This is dry clean only. Do you know how much dry cleaning costs for a suit?”

“No.” He looks at me with pity. “You also have coffee splatters on your glasses.”

I groan and pluck them off. Sure enough, in the corner of one of the frames is a big splotch.

“It must suck to be an executive assistant.”

“I hate you,” I tell him cheerfully. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says LEEEEROY JENKINS and a pair of baggy jeans that hide his spindly legs. His hair’s tipped in blue spikes and he’s wearing sneakers and I’m so jealous I could spit.

I hate being on the corporate and finance side of Boxfire Games. Hate it. Hate. Haaaate.

“Any openings in your department?” I ask him brightly and gesture at my skirt. “I promise not to wear coffee if you give them my résumé.”

“Nope. You know there’s a hiring freeze.”

I make a face. I do know that. Until the next expansion of Boxfire’s flagship game launches, there’s a hiring freeze. It sucks, too. I get myself a cup of coffee, dumping a ton of creamer into it and stirring rapidly. More coffee sloshes, and I sigh and grab a napkin. That’s the thing with me—I really do have the best intentions, but I’m easily distracted and never learn from my mistakes. “You’ll let me know if something comes up, right?”

“Max,” he says again, pity in his voice. “You know what it’s like over there.”

Oh, I do. For a big company, Boxfire has very outdated ideas on workplace roles. “Look, I know it’s a total sausage party over in dev, but I swear I can hang with the guys. You’ll have to hire a chick or two eventually, won’t you? For like, gender equality laws or something?” I give him a hopeful look.

“They hired a girl last spring. She’s out on maternity leave, and you know my boss is shitting bricks over that.”

“But I’m single,” I say helpfully. “That’ll count for something, won’t it?” He stares at me for so long that I answer my own question. I sigh. “I know, I know. It’s just…you said if I applied, you’d put in a good word with your boss. That my gender didn’t matter. And then you helped your buddy Sam get hired last month.” I’m trying not to feel betrayed.

“That was different,” Jim says.

Is it? Or is he just telling me that because he’s not going to help me get hired on at all? It’s weird. Everyone talks about being enlightened but the moment they see a vagina, the development department shrivels faster than a penis in ice water. I might as well toss my résumé in the trash.

They say it’s not a boys club anymore, but they’re fucking lying liars that lie. The only job I can get at Boxfire Games is running coffee to my boss who’s middle management accounting. And I’m so trusting that I thought my friend would help me get the job I wanted…but he helped his buddy, instead.

“Anyhow, are we raiding tonight?” Jim wants to know. “Can I bring my Reaper instead of my Paladin?”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Raid starts at nine. Did you get the invite?” I sip my coffee and look at him.

“I’m ready. We’re meeting at the Chocolate Square?”

“Yup. Gathering there, and then we’ll go hunting for the mini-boss in the park nearby. Make sure the battery on your phone is charged.”

He fist pumps like the dork he is. “I’m ready. Ok, I have to run. I just wanted to check with you.”

“Bye.” I smile at him as he leaves and return to my desk, coffee in hand. Even though I just got chastised by my boss for sending personal emails, I send another, just because.

I mean, I figure I’m this far in, so why not, right? If emails are a crime, it doesn’t matter if I send 600 or 601—I’m still toast if they find out.

IT’S A LONG DAMN DAY. So long. I spend most of it tweaking spreadsheets and preparing a deck for my boss’s annual meeting. Then I have to make sixty copies—spiral bound—of a color handout for yet another meeting, and that eats up far more time than it should. The day is long and all I can think about is the raid in Heroes of Ancient Legend later tonight. It’s not the first one I’ve run for my guild, but I always obsess over how we can improve things. That’s what a good guild leader does.

By the time the end of the day hits, I pack up my desk and practically race out the door with the rest of the corporate drones as we all stream toward the parking garage. I wobble on my shoes—my balance is even worse after a full day of being in high heels—and nearly crash into Todd from Account Management. Gah. I manage to careen out of his way and text on my phone, typing with one hand into Discord.

RAID IN TWO HOURS, BITCHES. BE @ CHOC SQUARE W/UR BATTERIES CHARGED.

I get a flurry of gifs and thumbs-up emojis from guildmates who are equally excited, and I smile even as I narrowly avoid running into a pillar in the garage. I find my car and back out of my space, then turn in the opposite direction of Chocolate Square restaurant. I probably need to stop by my apartment and get extra chargers anyhow. There’s always some dingdong who isn’t prepared. Speaking of…I look at my own phone battery and grimace. 54%. That might not do it for the raid.

Well, I wanted to change out of my shoes anyhow, right? And my coffee-stained skirt. It’s the weekend, which means jeans and T-shirts and all-night gameathons. I sure don’t want to spend it in this uncomfortable mess. I want some sneakers and my comfy jeans.

I race home to my apartment building and plug my phone into the charger while I change clothes. Most of the raids turn into an all-night thing, which means cold air, so I throw on a pink GAMERS DO IT WITH BATTERIES T-shirt and jeans. My hair goes into two low pigtails because the wind drives me nuts, and I stuff my messenger bag full of extra charging cords and head out.

I head back in a moment later to get my own phone, because I’m the worst at remembering my own shit. Good intentions and all that. With my phone in hand, I race back out to the hall…and then pause.

My friend Faith lives all the way down the hall, next to the empty apartment. We sometimes run into each other at the mailboxes and chat for a few minutes, and we always look out for one another if there’s a package to be had—she’s as addicted to Amazon deliveries as I am. I can’t help but notice that her door’s hanging open, though.

And I’m pretty sure it was hanging open this morning when I left for work, too. I thought I’d just missed her in the hall, because who hasn’t run out to grab a coffee down the street and left their door open in case they lost their keys?

Just me?

But her door’s been open all day, so this isn’t a coffee run or a mail run and now I’m getting a little concerned. My phone pings with a million messages of guildies on their way to the raid location and I know I have to go soon. Chocolate Square is a casual restaurant, but it’s Friday night and we’re going to have a big group, which means I need to get there early to hog tables so everyone can have a seat.

I need to go.

I’m going to get so much grief from people if we can’t get enough tables.

Instead, though, I head toward Faith’s door slowly, trying to think about the last time I saw her. Yesterday? Day before? I tiptoe forward and pause in front of the open door. “Faith?” I call. “You there?”

No answer. I knock on the door, and then jerk my hand back. Shit. I shouldn’t touch the door and leave fingerprints if this is a crime scene.

And then, shit, why am I even thinking about that? This isn’t a crime scene…I hope. I swallow hard and because I’m a chicken, I use the corner of my pink cardigan to push the door open a bit farther.

“Faith?”

Still no answer. Her apartment looks empty. Clean—which is really, really unnatural for someone like me—but definitely empty. Her laptop’s on her coffee table, still open and not plugged in as if it was recently abandoned. Hmm. I glance down the hall, but no one’s coming, so I step inside. Faith wouldn’t be pissed, after all. She’d be glad I’m looking out for her. I peek into her bedroom, but it’s equally clean and empty. After a moment’s hesitation, I move to her laptop and swipe my finger across the trackpad. The computer lights up, asking me to input a password, but the battery in the corner flashes bright red.

Unless Faith likes to live dangerously with her battery life, she’s been gone for a while.

My skin prickles when I notice her phone is between two of the couch cushions. Okay, no one in this day and age leaves their phone behind. This right here’s a damn murder scene and I’m touching all the equipment. With a shudder, I head for the door, desperate to leave. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth and I’m starting to pant with sheer panic. Did someone kill Faith? Am I next? I’m freaking out.

I’m two steps out her door and about to head to the office when I notice the apartment door next to hers is open, just a crack.

Oh my god. This is some serious Pennywise situation stuff going on right now.

I stare at the door, wondering if I’m going to be the dumb girl that goes through and gets murdered, or if I’m smart and run away and call the cops.

“Faith?” I hiss, just in case.

No answer.

What if she’s there in a pool of blood? What if she’s trying to hit some sort of Life Alert bracelet and if I walk away she dies? The apartment’s supposed to be empty. Supposed to be.

I stare at the door and then whimper when I realize I’m going to be the dummy that goes inside to see what’s in there. God, I hate my brain. I know I can’t leave. Not now that I thought it into existence.

“I’m coming in,” I warn the axe murderer on the other side. “And if you kill me, I’ll haunt you forever and warn all your future victims.”

There’s no answer from the axe murderer on the other side, so I suck in a breath, push my glasses up my nose, and open the door to step inside.

2

I  open my eyes to bright light streaming down through the trees, and my first thought is that the murderer clearly hit me in the head and I’ve been unconscious for hours.

Unless he murdered me and this is Heaven. I’m not entirely sure I qualify for Heaven, but there has to be a logical explanation somewhere as to why I’m staring up at trees instead of walking into an apartment in my building.

Or why it’s bright daylight outside instead of the sun going down.

Why am I lying on the ground in the grass?

An insect buzzes near my ear, and I swat it away with irritation. As I do, I see something massive and grayish brown move out of the corner of my eye. I freeze, sucking in a breath. Is that a…monster? I don’t know what it is. It doesn’t match up with anything my earth brain sends in its direction as I try to identify it. It’s large and alarming like a rhino, but there’s no horn and it’s plump like a hippo. The face is broad and dangerously close, and I let out a squeak of alarm as it lowers that big fat head. It’s going to kill me.

I’m going to die.

I’ve somehow been dumped into a zoo exhibit by a murderer and now I’m going to die and—

The thing nibbles at the grass next to my pigtail and grunts, placidly chewing.

Okay, so maybe I’m not going to die. Maybe this is just my overactive brain on alert once more. It still doesn’t explain why I’m at a zoo. Or outdoors.

Or wherever the heck I am.

I push the cow-hippo thing aside and sit up. My surroundings aren’t familiar. I’m not in a park, because there are fields and crops in the distance, and it looks almost as if I’m at the edge of a forest. I get to my feet, dusting off my clothing, and pat my pockets. No phone. No keys. No purse, no anything. Either I’ve been robbed or they didn’t come through with me. I stare at the creature plucking at the grass and eating nearby, trying to figure out if I’ve ever seen anything like it before. I’m no animal expert, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t.

I raise a hand to my eyes and squint up at the sky, trying to tell the time. As I do, I notice the moon is coming up over the distant horizon…and it’s enormous. And red.

That’s not Earth’s moon.

I stare at it, dumbfounded, and then suck in a deep breath. Oh shit. I’ve read about this in books—and watched enough anime—to know what this is. I’ve fallen through a portal into another dimension. Part of me is a little panicked, but then that fades.

This.

Is.

AWESOME.

I let out a little squeal of pure delight. I’ve been chosen for something if I’m in a strange land. Isn’t that how it goes in all these fantasy books? I’ve been tapped by the gods or selected to perform some sort of quest, and then I get to go home to my world a badass or rule things here. Or something. I forget the details, but I’m bubbling with curious anticipation as to what this new place has for me.

“Can you believe this shit?” I ask the fantasy-world-hippo. “Me! Chosen!”

It takes a look at me, chews grass, and poops on the ground.

I wrinkle my nose and step to the side. Well, I can’t expect the livestock to be excited on my behalf. That’s cool, though. I’ll have some sweet adventure here in this strange world, and then I’ll go home with a new appreciation for…something. I dunno. I always thought I was pretty appreciative of things in general, but maybe the universe is going to teach me a bigger lesson. “Whatever it is, I’m ready,” I say cheerily.

There’s no answer from the universe.

All right, then. I put my hands on my hips, thinking for a moment. What would I do if I was a level one toon in a game with no armor and no equipment? I pat my pockets. And no money?

Hmm.

“First things first,” I tell absolutely no one in particular. “I find the nearest town and get quests and newbie gear from NPCs.”

Right. This isn’t a game—the big black fly that lands on my arm and takes a bite out of me proves that—but I can follow the basics of some game mechanics to guide me. I look around again, and opt for fields instead of forest, heading in the direction of what looks like a tiny bit of road in the distance.

As I walk, I wonder what class I’d be. Ranger? Thief? Bard?

IT’S AT LEAST an hour before I get anywhere close to a town. By that time, the “fun” and newness of this place has worn off. I’m being bitten by big, nasty bugs every time I catch a breath, I’ve stepped in more cow-hippo shit than I thought was possible, and the place ahead of me does not look like any sort of town I’ve ever seen before.

It looks like a fucking garbage dump.

This…is becoming less fun by the moment.

I’ve also decided that my class is Idealistic Moron. I have no skills that translate to any sort of video game class. I’m too clumsy to be a fighter, too clueless of magic to be a cleric or a mage, and too hamhanded to be a thief. I don’t know anything about forests so rangering is out, and I’m definitely not a barbarian type. I can’t sing a note, so I’m not a bard. I don’t know what that leaves other than…dork.

“Level one dork, right here,” I mutter to myself as I put my hands on my hips and eye the garbage dump—excuse me, town—in front of my eyes.

It’s no city, that’s for sure. There’s maybe twenty houses all clustered together, most of them with hay roofs and what look like mud-brick walls. There are deep ruts in the muddy, mucky road that goes through town, and the flies seem to be everywhere. As I approach, there’s a terrible stink that creeps over me until it feels like I can practically taste it.

I swallow hard and force myself to walk forward.

People eye me as I approach but no one comes to greet me.

I've never been so terrified in my life. It occurs to me that if I get killed here, no one's going to know what happened to me…just like Faith.

Oh my god. Is Faith here somewhere? I look around the shitty village but I don't see any familiar faces. Everyone's just staring at me. Their faces are dirty, their clothing rough, and one of the men leering at me has like, three teeth. If someone picks up a banjo and starts playing the Deliverance theme, I'm out of here.

I force myself to take a few more steps forward, then clear my throat. "Hi, uh, I need some help. Or advice? Does anyone have a moment to talk to me?"

They just look at me. One man spits on the ground. "You're talking right now, aren't you?"

"So I am." I keep smiling, even though I feel a little frozen and more than stressed out. "I'm afraid I'm lost and I'm out of money." I'm about to add that I don't have a weapon, but that seems incredibly stupid so I shut up.

"You askin' how to earn your meal, sweetmeat? I got a few ideas." And three-tooth grabs his crotch.

Ew.

"Actually, I just think I want directions," I say desperately, even as the door to one of the huts opens and a big, strapping woman comes out. She's older than me, her hair a mixture of brown and gray, and her face is weathered. She scowls at the men and to my surprise, they back off.

"Hi there," I say politely, extending my hand. "I seem to be lost—"

She ignores my hand. "Spinner's expecting you. Follow me."

"I'm sorry, did you say ‘spinner’?" I ask as she turns on her heel and heads away. She seems to know what’s going on, so I follow behind her, trotting. "How did she know I was coming?"

"Spinner knows everything," the woman says in a rough voice.

Oh. Okay. "I don't suppose you've seen a blonde woman around here, about my age, really fond of cussing? Goes by the name of Faith?" The woman ignores me, continuing on her way, and I jog behind her, absurdly glad that I'm wearing my sneakers as we wade into taller grasses at the edge of the village. It's a mystery to me where we're going, but then at the edge of the woods, I see a small hut with an even smaller trail heading toward it. Ah.

I'm really hoping the spinner is a lady that just likes her privacy and not, say, a wicked witch of some kind.

3

T  he tall woman approaches the hut fearlessly, which makes me feel a bit better. She bangs on the door with two hard thumps and then calls out. "Stranger's here, just like you said."

"Coming, coming," answers a frail voice, and for a moment, I picture the spinner like a television granny, all gray and black hair pulled into a tight bun, a sweet face, and a rounded figure.

The door opens, and I'm hit with a waft of pure BO. This woman smells like pits, so powerfully that I cough, my hand flying to cover my mouth. A moment later, a little woman shuffles out, short and with crazy white hair and bent shoulders. She's not strong and sturdy like my grandma, but fragile, and as she steps into the light, I see her eyes are completely covered with gray cataracts.

At least…I hope they're gray cataracts.

"This is the spinner," the tall, brusque woman says to me. "Come on. I'll make tea."

"Oh, uh…" I try to think of an excuse to stay outside, so I don't have to go into Stink Central, but my brain fails me. They both head back in, and it's either leave and offend them, or go inside and hold my nose. Because I'm such a coward, I take a deep breath and then head in after them.

The inside of the hut smells even more powerfully than I thought. My eyes water, and I try not to stare at my surroundings, since that doesn't seem polite. The hut is more like a hovel, though. There's two stools by the fireplace, a dirt floor covered in all kinds of nasty debris I don't want to put a name to, and dried plants hang from the walls. The roof seems claustrophobically low, and I swallow hard when I see bits of sunlight drifting in from above. My terror changes to sympathy—how awful to live like this. And I'm expecting these people to give me a handout? Heck, I don't even know if they have enough food for themselves.

"Sit," the taller woman says, pointing at one of the stools.

"Thank you," I murmur, dropping onto my seat and clasping my hands on my knees. "I'm sorry to bother you guys. If you could just give me some directions, I'll be on my way."

"So very polite," the spinner cackles, creeping over to the other stool and then plopping down on it without looking. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I ask, because now I'm curious.

"Big tits," she says bluntly. "Not those little things."

I recoil. "Um, excuse me?"

Both women cackle as if this is the funniest shit ever. I resist the urge to put my hands over my boobs. I mean, they're perfectly fine boobs but by no means magnificent. "So, uh, where am I exactly?"

"You are nowhere," the spinner says, peering over at me. Maybe she can see through those thick cataracts, though I don't know how. "And not where you need to be just yet."

"How do you know where I need to be?"

The spinner taps the side of her head. "Because I see it all. I know it all. He's coming soon and you won't be here. You'll be where you need to be for the weave to align."

I'm fascinated by her despite myself. Weave to align? "Who's coming?"

The spinner just smiles.

"Is it someone I'm supposed to meet?" I lean in and whisper, confessing my secret suspicions. "Am I some sort of…Chosen One?"

Both women cackle with laughter as if I've said the funniest thing ever. My face burns with embarrassment. Okay, maybe I'm not the Chosen One.

"Humor. I see why, now. It all becomes clear." The spinner nods. "Humor and a positive spirit. It will be a good balance."

"What will?" I ask.

She waves a claw-like hand in the air. "You did not come to ask me that. You came to ask where you were. I can only help you so much before I must send you on your way."

“How did you know I need help?”

She gestures at me. “It is obvious, little sweetmeat. You are not from here, or there, or anywhere in Aos.” Her clawlike hand waves in the air, pointing in different directions.

Aos. I repeat the word over and over again. At least I have a starting point, and a name. Aos. Wherever I am, this place is called Aos. I don’t know if it’s the town, or the region, but it’s a start.

“Tea,” the big woman says, sloshing the contents of a dipper into a wooden cup. She hands one to me, and one to the spinner, and I notice there seems to be an entire twig floating in mine. Puts a whole new perspective on “tea leaves.” I try to ignore it, sipping around it, and cough at how strong the tea is.

The spinner just shakes her head and sighs. “Far too trusting.”

I freeze. “Did…did you just poison me?”

“No, it’s just tea. But you drank it without asking, like a fool. You won’t last long, mark my words.” She sips her cup and then turns her head, ever so slightly. “Arla, get my threads.”

“Yes, spinner.”

I sit patiently, holding my cup as Arla—the younger of the two women—pours herself a drink and then turns to watch us. I look over at the old woman—the spinner—and realize she's been staring at me this whole time. Creepy. "What is it?" I ask. If it's not poison, why do they keep staring at me?

The spinner just lifts her chin in my direction. "I knew you were coming, but you are yet a surprise. The gods are mysterious."

Well, heck, I'm curious, too. "What do you mean, you knew I was coming?"

"The omens are in the threads," the spinner says simply. "They have been snarled into the threads for months now, but I did not know you were on your way here."

“What omens?” I look around the room, then at Arla.

Arla shrugs, her expression one of boredom.

"You'll see," the spinner says. "Just heed my words and you'll do well. Or not. Only the gods can say." She laughs, the sound reedy and thin and like she's carrying a year of congestion in her throat. I bite back a grimace and sip my tea again.

"So what is this place?" I ask again. "This region, if this town doesn't have a name?"

"You are in the land of Glistentide," the spinner says. "Near Port Tidewater. What are those things on your face?"

My face? I reach up and touch my glasses, realizing what she means. Oh. I take them off and hand them over to her. "They help me see."

The spinner puts them on her face, blinking broadly and peering around the room. "Magic?"

"Just, uh, good crafting. So Glistentide? Is this a good place? Is there a way back home?" She mentioned magic, and I wonder if it's real. Then again, why wouldn't it be real? I got here, didn't I? I watch as the spinner hands the glasses to Arla, who manhandles the lenses and smudges them, then peers through herself. I hold my breath until they pass them back, and I can barely hear Arla mutter something about magic seeing. When I put them on, though, they're just my glasses. A little filthier than they were two minutes ago, but still normal.

"Home?" the spinner asks, leaning in to peer at me. Her smile is full of yellow, aging teeth with big gaps between them. "You'll have to be more specific than that, little one."

"It's ah, Max," I tell her. "Short for Maxine. Maxine Chavez. But Max is just fine. And home is Earth? More specifically, Chicago?"

The spinner sits back, as if disappointed in my answer. "Never heard of it."

"You'd like it. Lots of toothpaste." I bite my lip the moment I say it, because the last thing I need to do is insult the people that are being nice to me. "I know I must seem like an idiot—"

Arla snorts.

I ignore that and continue. "But I'm really out of my depth and I need help. I—"

"Of course you need help. That's why you're here." The spinner smiles again. "Arla, my basket."

Arla moves away from the fire and rummages through a stack of…things in the shadows. I hear the sounds of items rustling and what sounds like straw, and then Arla pulls out a covered basket made of reeds, decorated in faded colorful rings. The spinner takes it into her lap and runs her hands over it gleefully, caressing it like she would a lover. "The threads," she murmurs, her voice reverent. "The threads will guide us."

"Back to Earth?" I ask hopefully. "Because while this was really cool at first, and I always thought it might be fun to be in a fantasy world or a video game, I'm starting to realize that this is not my bag and I'd really just like to go home. Please." I pause, and then add, "pretty, pretty please."

"I can't guide you back to your home," the spinner says, passing a gnarled hand over the basket's closed lid. "But I can guide you in other ways." She closes her eyes for a moment, her expression vague. When she opens them again, she looks at me and then pulls the lid off the basket, holding it out slightly. "Put your hand in here."

I hesitate. The basket's kind of deep, deep enough that I can probably sink my arm in up to the elbow. "Is this a trick?"

The spinner cackles. "Do you want it to be?"

"No?"

She holds the basket out again. "Let the threads help you. Go on."

It occurs to me that there could be a snake in the basket. Even as I reach in, I'm a little terrified of what I'm going to touch…and I jump when I reach in and my fingers touch…thread. Lots and lots of tangles of thread, some rough, some smooth. Some feel as if they cling to my fingers, while others seem to slip away from my touch.

This is a sewing basket. Which…duh. Given all the spinner and thread metaphors this lady's tossing around? I shouldn't be surprised. I let out a deep breath. "What now?"

"Now you pull out a handful of threads and show them to me," the spinner replies, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.

I fish around, wondering if there's a trick. "Any threads?"

"Any threads."

“What does this do?”

The spinner watches me closely. Her rancid breath seems to be filling the room, she’s breathing so heavily. “Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Who can say what the gods will tell us today?”

I bite my lip. I’m kinda hoping the gods are in the mood to be chatty and point the direction back home. I won’t even be mad that I missed the game raid or that my Friday night has been ruined. I’ll go home, hug my toothpaste a little closer, and be glad this “adventure” is over. Help me go home, I silently ask. Then, I pull my hand free from the basket and reveal the wad of threads in my hand.

Every thread is black. Jet black.

Both Arla and the spinner gasp.

“What?” I cry. “What is it? What’s black thread mean?”

The spinner gives me a sober look. “It means death is all around you.”

“No way,” I scoff. The looks they’re giving me are uneasy. “How do you know there wasn’t a bunch of black threads that just happened to be at the top of the basket?”

“You picked them,” the spinner says. “You tell me.”

I take the basket from her hands and peer down inside it. Sure enough, there are hundreds of strands in there, all as wildly colored as the outside of the container. “Just luck,” I say, and stick my hand in again. I rummage around, holding the spinner’s gaze as I pull my hand out again.

More black threads.

Fuuuuuck. I bite back a whimper. “I’m going to die?”

“I did not say that,” the spinner replies. She picks up the threads I cast aside and begins to pull them apart between her fingers, studying the strands. “The threads are whole. It means the death is not yours.”

“Well, whose is it?”

She just gives me an odd look and says nothing. As I watch, she pulls the threads apart and adds them, one by one, to the basket, mixing the contents as she does. When they’re all carefully added back in, she stirs it with her hand and then holds the basket out to Arla. “You pick.”

Arla reaches one large hand in and pulls back out just as quickly. In her hand are several threads of a variety of colors, and the spinner hums approval. She reaches in herself, and pulls out a single, long white thread.

“Ah,” the spinner says, as if that explains it all.

“What is it?” I ask. I feel like a broken record, but I thought this was supposed to be helping me? Instead, she’s just scaring me to death.

The spinner leans in, as if about to impart a secret.

I lean in, too.

"It is the Anticipation," she whispers.

I keep waiting for the big news, and when she doesn't say anything else, I lean back. "The Anticipation? What the heck is that?"

The spinner waves a hand in the air, as if disgusted that I don't know what the Anticipation is. Arla makes an impatient sound in her throat. "Do they have no festivals where you are from? And you want to go back there?"

So it's a…holiday of some kind? I try to follow what they're saying. "What exactly are we anticipating?"

"The Anticipation is the return of the gods," the spinner says ominously. "They will be cast from their homes in the Aether and forced to do penance in the mortal realm. It will be a time of much chaos. A very dangerous, dangerous time. A time of opportunity, too, for those that pursue it." And she gives me a shrewd look.

I want to shake my head to clear it, because I'm not following what she's saying. A time of opportunity. The gods returning. Is this…like the Easter Bunny? Oh dear. I bite my lip, remembering from vague college classes that most medieval people were super uneducated and believed in things like witches and spells. This whole thread thing is probably crap, too, and she's made me all nervous for nothing. "Well, I super appreciate your help," I tell her brightly. "But I'm not sure I believe in the Anticipation or the gods—"

"You will believe, because death is coming," the spinner says, and shakes a gnarled finger in my face. "He will be all around you. Entwined with you. That is why your threads are black. He has plans."

I blink. That's fucking ominous. Here I was trying to be polite and she's telling me death is heading for me? "Death is coming with the gods?"

"Death is one of the gods, fool," Arla snaps.

Oh. Oh, shit. "You think I'm going to hang out with the gods? Is this…a bad thing to do?" I wonder if it's a festival where someone dresses up like Death or some shit and then everyone pretends he really is the god. If so, I guess I can hang out with that if it gets me home?

"It is not good or bad. But your destiny is with him." She nods sagely. "Seek the shadows and their embrace."

This is sounding suspiciously like she's about to start rubbing crystals or something. "Shadows. Gotcha. And then I can go home? Because I'm sure Death is a really nice guy—or girl, I'm an equal opportunity sort of Death believer—but I'd really just prefer to go home."

The spinner ignores me, turning to look at Arla. "This is truly the Anticipation. Tell no one here what I have told you. We cannot have them act against the Shadow Lord's wishes."

Arla nods. "Of course not."

"You will pack a bag and accompany this fool to Port Tidewater," she continues, speaking to Arla. "I do not trust her to make it there on her own."

I frown as the two women nod. Did…did she just call me a fool? That's awful rude. "Um, I can hear you guys. Not appreciating the whole 'fool' thing—"

The spinner gives me another sharp look. "I am a guide, no more. I cannot make miracles out of a sow's teat."

The fuck? "I'm not sure what you're trying to say here?"

To my surprise, the spinner reaches out and clasps my hand. Hers are warm and gentle even as she gives me a hideous smile. "You are a fool, girl, but a sweet one. That is why I send Arla with you. To ease your way."

Oh. "Thank you…I think?"

"You will both leave tonight, in secret." She releases my hand. "When the moon is high. Stay off the roads."

That sounds ominous. "Is it dangerous?"

"Oh yes." The spinner nods.

And she's just sending me with Arla? I look at the other woman. She looks strong and capable, sure, but I think I'd rather have a soldier. Or like, anyone with a weapon. Which reminds me. "I don't suppose you have a weapon I can borrow? Since it's so dangerous and all?"

The spinner nods and gets up from her stool. She rummages around in her baskets and then holds an item out to me.

I take it…and then frown to myself. It looks like a stick. Maybe it's a dagger that's been cleverly disguised? But I run my hands over it, looking for a hilt, and find that no, it really is just a stick.

The spinner looks at me.

I hold the stick out. "I hate to break it to you, but this is a stick."

The spinner cackles. "Do I look as if I'm rich, little fool? I don't have good knives to hand off to any beggar that shows up at my door." She points that gnarly, bent finger in my face again. "If you're meant to die, nothing will save you. But if a stick makes you feel better, then carry it."

I sigh. I think for a moment about tossing the stick away, but I really don't have anything. I guess if someone attacks me I can…hit them on the nose with the stick? "A stick. Got it. Thanks, I think."

"I do all this to help you, believe it or not," the spinner says. She leans forward and cups my cheek, and for a moment she looks less like a looney tunes old lady and more like someone's grandma. Her eyes are sad as she watches me. "Put in a good word for us with the Lord of Death, yes? So he will take no more from me?"

My heart squeezes. She's just a sad woman, I realize, and she thinks I can do a lot more for her than I truly can. "I really don't think I’m going to meet him—"

"You think you have a choice in this? Did you choose to come here, little fool?"

"Well, no—"

"You will not choose him either." She nods once. "Fate has already decided your path through the web. Hold Death close when he arrives." She stares at me for a long, hard moment, and then her hand gets tight on my jaw. "Wrap him in a cloak when you see him. It is your only chance."

I jerk away before she bruises my face, rubbing my chin. "That sounds alarming."

Her eyes glitter in the firelight. "Good. Then maybe you will listen."

4

A  short time later, we leave the spinner's hut. The old woman doesn't accompany us, but she gives us her “mark” to let others know that we're under her protection. Or something. Basically she drew a muddy squiggle on my forehead, and if it looks anything like the squiggle on Arla's forehead, we look like idiots.

But hey, if it keeps me from being raped and murdered while we travel through the night? I am all for idiotic squiggles.

Arla carries the pack on her back and heads down the road, and all I have to do is keep up with her. I trot at her side, trying not to look at the rest of the village as we leave it behind. Everyone's come out to watch us. Actually, they're just watching me, and their stares are mighty uncomfortable. I feel dozens of eyes on me, prickling against my skin, and I really, really don't like this. I clutch my stick—a stick of all things—as I walk, and try not to panic.

There's bound to be a way home. Just because I haven't found it yet doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I just need to figure it out. And the spinner said that the “gods” were coming. Maybe they're not gods at all, but more people from my world that the locals just think are gods. That means there'll be a portal back to my world, which means I can find it and go home. This seems like the most logical explanation, and it makes me feel better. I have a plan, at least. With a plan, I can figure things out. A bit more at ease, I move to Arla's side and gaze out at our surroundings.

It's dark, so it's hard to tell where exactly we're going, but the moon is so huge and red in the sky that the entire night seems lit up with bloody shadows. That's a little bit alarming, but I choose to ignore it. I watch as the trees thin out around the path, and as we head into the night, I can see distant hills that we seem to be heading toward.

We walk for an hour or two in silence when a man leaps out of the bushes, brandishing a knife. I bite back a scream, hiding behind Arla. She stares at him and points at her forehead, at the mark the spinner gave her.

The man stares at it, and then at me, and turns around and abruptly leaves.

"What was that?" I whisper as Arla starts to walk again. I grab the edge of her skirt and stick close to her, like a lost child. "Who was that?"

"Robber, most likely," Arla says in that ever practical voice.

"But he didn't try to hurt us."

"Because the spinner has marked both of us. He'd be cursed if he so much as touched us."

He would? I want to touch the dirty mark on my forehead, but I don't dare. I don't want to wipe it off. "And he believed that?"

She makes a scoffing sound. "You don't?"

"I don't know what I believe," I answer honestly, and when she swats my hand away from her skirts, I let it go and move to her side. Arla's big and strong and clearly unafraid, and since all I've got is my stupid, stupid stick, I'm sticking close to her. "I'm not from here."

"If a robber stops us on our journey, he will be cursed for all eternity. He knows that. It's not worth a few coins or a bit of cunt to burn in agony for all time."

I clutch the neck of my T-shirt. A bit of cunt? "He was going to rape us? Are you serious?"

Arla shrugs. "If we didn't have coin, you think he'd just shrug and leave?"

Jesus Christ, now I really want to go home. I swallow the knot in my throat and try not to worry about my poor neighbor, Faith. Wherever she is in this crazy place—because she has to be here somewhere—I hope she's doing okay. I want to help her but I'm afraid I need too much help myself. "How far are we from…the port town?"

"Port Tidewater," Arla says. "And we should be there by midday if we keep a brisk pace."

Midday. It's barely dark right now and I'm already mentally exhausted. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the next few hours. All I want to do is curl up somewhere safe and cry and quietly freak out about my situation…except there's nowhere safe. The roads have robbers and rapists, the “god of death” is supposedly coming for me, and no one has ever heard of Earth.

Did I ever wish for adventure in the past? I'm clearly an idiot.

I watch Arla, who seems as patient as ever, and wonder how it is she's not panicking about this situation. The spinner made it sound so damned dire. "So is it normal for the gods to show up? Because you seem pretty calm to me."

Arla shrugs, sidestepping one of the ruts in the dirt road. "They're not coming for me, I know that much."

"So are they coming for specific people? Why would they come for me if I'm not from here? I don't even know anything about your gods!" I throw my hands up. "I haven't been to church since I was twelve!"

She gives me an odd look. "You truly know nothing about this world? About the Anticipation?"

Does she think I'm just leading her on and pretending to be stupid? "I really, really don't. Can you tell me about it? Maybe I'll feel less like I have to vomit if I know what I’m getting into."

Arla moves to the side of the road and digs through the bushes. I wait, half expecting another robber to burst forth, but after a moment she snaps a twig off of one plant and holds it out to me.

"What's that?"

"Chew that. It'll help a sour stomach."

I take it and sniff it once, then chew on one of the leaves. I immediately spit it out, because it's sour and awful. "Jesus, what is that?"

Arla just shakes her head at me. "You really are gullible."

These people are downright cruel. I wipe my fingers over my tongue, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. “That was a joke?”

“It is not, but you don’t even stop to ask questions. You just assume everyone tells you the truth.” She shakes her head again. “You won’t last long with that kind of thinking.”

“I don’t know anything about this world,” I point out. “How am I supposed to know what’s okay and what’s not if you keep testing me all the time?”

Arla scoffs. “You cannot truly be so clueless.”

Is that what all this is? She keeps testing me because she doesn’t believe what I’m saying? I fight back a wave of irritation. This is what I have to work with, so I need to make do. “Let’s pretend I’ve been hit over the head and now you have to explain things to me like I’m a child.”

“Won’t be hard to pretend that,” Arla says, continuing down the path.

I ignore her tone. “Which gods are coming? In the whatchamacallit?”

“The Anticipation,” she tells me. “And we will not know which gods are coming. It is whichever of them that the High Father has decided to punish for their selfish, capricious ways. It may be one god only, or it may be all of them.”

“And they’re selfish?” This reminds me a little of my Greek mythology, when literally every single god listed was a jerk in some way or another. Or related. Or both.

“It is well known that the gods serve themselves before anyone else,” Arla says. “Sometimes our prayers are answered, but we exist to amuse the High Father’s children.” She shrugs. “Then he punishes them to purge their sins, and they are banished here to the mortal realm until they earn their return, and the cycle starts again.”

“Sounds fucked up.”

That makes her laugh. “I suppose it is, yes.”

“Have you ever lived through one of these Anticipations before? Does it happen all the time?”

“No, very rarely. One has not happened for hundreds of years.” She grimaces. “I would say that we will be blessed to see them brought low, but the Anticipation is always a time of great upheaval. Last time, the god of disease was here in Glistentide and wiped out entire cities.” She flicks her fingers over her shoulder, as if dusting something off. Then she reaches over to my shoulder and does the same. At my confused look, she adds, “To ward off evil.”

“Thanks.” I guess that’s kinda like throwing salt over one’s shoulder. In a way, it makes me relax. This might not be so different from my world if there are small things like that that seem familiar. It makes me feel better. “So who are the gods, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Arla casts an irritated look in my direction. “You want to know all of them, or just the one you will be meeting? The spinner has already said Death will greet us in Port Tidewater.” She pauses and then adds, “Or at least, one of his Aspects.”

“Aspect? That’s another word I don’t know.” When she gives me another cross look, I give her my sweetest expression. “I mean, if I’m meeting the guy, I should know all about him so we can become bestest buddies, right? So I can put in a good word for you and the spinner?”

“Hmph.” There’s a grudging hint of respect on her face. “You’re learning.” She sidesteps another deep rut in the darkness, moving away from me, so I quickly follow in her footsteps. “As for the Aspects, the gods do not come down to the mortal realm whole. They are too powerful. Everyone knows that.” She looks back at me again. “Well, almost everyone.”

“Right. Some of us are clueless. Keep going. So an Aspect is a fragment? What is it, like a hand or an arm or something? Do we have to piece him together like a puzzle?”

The look she gives me is scathing, as if I’ve said something monumentally dumb.

Maybe I have. “Look, I don’t know,” I say. “You said he’s in pieces—”

“I said he will be an Aspect of himself. His flaws, made flesh.”

Oh. Well that’s different. “So I’m meeting a bad guy?”

“The Aspects are not good or bad. They are just flawed. The High Father wants those flaws expunged, so he sends them here. Do you know what the flaws are?”

“Dude, have I known any of this so far?”

“I do not know what a ‘dude’ is.” She snorts. “But you make a good point.”

“Speaking of dudes…how is it that you can understand me?” I look over at her, curious. “How is it that you speak English?”

“English?” Arla gives me a dismissive look. “You’re speaking common.”

I am? I sound the same to my own ears, but maybe if there’s magic that can pull me from my world, the magic also makes me speak their language. Who knows. “I…guess I am. So what are the flaws of the Aspects, again?”

She gives me a sour stare, then shakes her head. “This is worse than teaching a child.” With a heavy sigh, she continues. “Every time the gods have come forth on the day of the Anticipation, there have been four Aspects—Hedonism, Apathy, Lies and Arrogance.”

I consider this. I mean, as far as “flaws” go, those aren’t too bad? It’s not “Murderface” or “Cannibalism” or “Hella Big Rapist” or “Likes to Kill Kittens And Laugh.” “So which one do you think we will get?”

“We?”

I’m surprised at her response. “You’re taking me there, aren’t you?”

“That’s all I’m doing.” Arla doesn’t even look in my direction, just plods ahead, one strong foot in front of the other. “I take you because the spinner says the gods decree it. She has seen your arrival there, and so to ensure you make it safely, I am here with you. But that is all I am doing. My thread is not twisted with yours.” She thinks for a moment and then adds, “I have no wish to meet Death.”

“I don’t want to, either!”

“There is a difference, though—you have no choice.” She smiles thinly. “I do.”

Her words strike me like a blow. “I could turn around and leave right now,” I bluff. “Maybe I won’t go to this town after all. Nobody says I have to.”

“You think that will stop the god of death? If he has decided to have you, it does not matter where you go. Take off through the hills if you like.” She gestures at the rolling landscape around us. “Go running and see if he does not find you.” When I hesitate, Arla gives me a shrewd look. “The spinner has sent me with you because she has seen you safely arrive in Port Tidewater. The strings have told her that much. If you do not go directly to Port Tidewater, I cannot be sure that you will be safe. But the god will find you, one way or another.”

“So that can’t be changed? At all?”

“Oh, it can change. But if there was a better solution, she would have told you about it.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you think anyone wants Death here? In our cities? Near our homes?”

She has a point.

If I believe all the stuff I’ve been told, I’m safe.

Well, safe-ish. But it sounds like Death doesn’t want to kill me. I don’t know what he wants with me, but if he wanted someone to off, he could pick anyone. It doesn’t make sense to drag me from my world to this one just to kill me.

At least, I hope it doesn’t.

5

I ’m exhausted and stumbling by the time dawn appears. Arla never stops, though, and so I keep going because I don’t want to be left behind. The sight of the robber jumping out of the bushes to attack us has been burned into my brain, and with all the sweating I’m doing, every time I wipe my brow, I’m afraid I’ve wiped the mark away. It’s all the more reason to stick close to Arla. Not only is she the one that knows where she’s going, she knows what to do in dangerous situations like that. So even though I’m beyond tired, I can’t stop moving. Somehow I manage to keep going, even though my legs feel chafed from the denim between my thighs and my feet are sprouting blisters despite my comfortable sneakers. Nothing’s really comfortable after ten hours of walking, and I’m sure it’s been more than that.

I’m in a tired daze by the time the trail turns from muddy ruts to cobblestones and begins to slope gently downward. There are vague glimpses of white buildings, clustered atop one another along a cliff, and sparkling blue-green water in the distance. It reminds me of a postcard of an island from Greece that one of my co-workers had in his cubicle.

We head down the path and there seem to be a lot of people flooding into the city.

I rub my eyes. “This is Port Tidewater?”

“It is.” Arla turns to me and holds out her pack. “This is where I leave you.”

I take the pack from her and nearly fall over. It must weigh forty pounds all on its own, and I’m too tired to drag it over my shoulder. “Thanks. What’s in this, rocks?”

“Yes, rocks.” She gives me a thin smile of amusement. “It’s food and a cloak, a waterskin and a few coins. Keep it close, because thieves are everywhere.” She pats my shoulder. “I’d advise wearing the cloak. You won’t look quite so obvious then.”

I nod, yawning. “What now?”

She shrugs, grabbing the pack and opening it when I make no effort to do so myself. “I go home. You meet your destiny. Just remember that if our village ever comes to Death’s attention, the spinner helped you.” Arla pulls out the cloak and tosses it over my shoulders. “Understand?”

“Quid pro quo, I got ya.”

She gives me an odd look, makes that brushing motion on her shoulder as if I just cursed her. “Remember the spinner’s words. Seek the shadows. Give Death your cloak when he arrives.”

I give her a tired thumbs up, positive I’m not going to remember any of this, and yawn hard again.

She shakes her head at me, and then turns and leaves. I watch her dumbly, staring as she goes, until she disappears behind a hippo-drawn cart full of vegetables and then I realize I’m here alone.

Fuck. Alone again.

I look around, hefting the bag into my arms and hugging it close. Nothing looks familiar, and the streets are getting more crowded by the minute. People chatter, and as I stare, someone sets up a booth a short way down the lane, busily talking to a neighbor. In the distance, ships with bright white sails glide across the waters.

It’s not home, and I’m so exhausted that I don’t even want to explore.

The cloak on my shoulders feels heavy and comforting, like a blanket, and I’m reminded that I’m incredibly sleepy. I shuffle my way past a few clustered buildings, and when I see an alley with a few people sleeping in the shadows, I can’t resist. Stick to the shadows, right? Well, napping in them is kind of the same thing, I figure.

I drop down next to what’s probably this world’s equivalent of a homeless bum, use my pack as a pillow, and instantly fall asleep.

I CLOSE my eyes for only a moment when there’s a tug on my blanket. A moment later, it’s gone, and sunlight floods into my face.

“Hey!” I sit up, dazed, and realize that it’s no longer early morning but late afternoon, and it’s hot as blazes. My T-shirt is soaked with sweat and strands of my hair stick to my skin. My cloak—the heavy cloak I used as a blanket—is gone, and I see someone racing down the now-sweltering alley with it. I jump to my feet, ignoring the bruised throb. “Give that back! That’s mine!”

I chase after him for a few moments, and he turns a corner. When I follow, he’s gone into the maze of alleys, disappeared into the crowd that’s moving between the cluster of buildings and colorful awnings. Shit. I needed that. Chewing on my lip, I put my hands on my hips and glare at my surroundings. Do I chase him down or leave? The decision’s made for me when I notice everyone’s staring at me nearby. A woman in a pale linen dress and multiple belts whispers to another woman standing nearby with a basket on her hip. Someone gestures at his face while talking to a friend, and I touch my glasses, realizing I stand out like a sore thumb in my pink top and jeans and glasses. Okay then, best to just give up on my cloak.

I head back down the alley I came from, and a cluster of children shriek and scatter the moment I come into sight. A bad feeling starts in my gut and I start running, but it’s too late.

By the time I get back to my sleeping spot, my heavy pack with the supplies Arla gave me is gone, too.

Shit. I am really, really not doing good at this whole Chosen One thing. Is there an opposite of Chosen One? Am I the last resort? It’s starting to feel like it.

Frustrated, I kick a nearby broken mud brick that was probably the thing stabbing my side all day while I slept. “Fuck!” I’m mad, mostly at myself. I was so tired I plopped down in the middle of a strange place and got all my loot stolen. Of course I did. If I was in a video game, the smart thing to do is find a safe zone. If you don’t know if the zone is safe, you don’t camp there. It’s rule number one of any fantasy-world game—play smart or someone’s going to gank you.

I have officially been ganked by this world.

Pacing, I pull at my sweaty T-shirt and look for a shadowy place to get out of the sun and relax. I’m thirsty as hell, I have to pee something awful, and everything is tired and hurts. Okay, Max, I tell myself. Think of this as a video game. Sure, your supplies are gone. You’re back to square one—or level one.

That’s ok. I can start small and work my way forward. Little bits of progress and all that.

My mood brightens as I rationalize this world with a video game. A town is a safe spot, theoretically, but it’s also a place to get quests.

And really…I’ve already been given the biggest quest of all—find the god of death. Once I find him, I’ll level up or ding or whatever I get in this strange place, and then I can figure out what to do.

I’m going to try really, really hard not to panic about the fact that I have to find the god of death. He won’t hurt me, according to the spinner—my quest giver—so I just need to take this one step at a time.

I can do this.

“I can do this,” I tell the world around me, shaking my fist at the crowds in the streets. “Just you wait.”

As if the world is responding to my challenge, music starts up.

The music—all drums and pipes and rhythmic sounding chimes—gets my feet moving. It sounds like a party is going on somewhere, and I remember what Arla said about this being the Anticipation. It's like they know someone's coming and have decided to celebrate it. I head through the winding, crowded, claustrophobic back alleys and step into a main street—and into what looks like a big parade. I stare in wonder as people dance around me on the wide thoroughfare. This particular street heads down through the city and winds down the hill, heading toward the bottom of the cliffs and the docks, and where the heart of Port Tidewater is (unless I miss my guess). Streamers dance as women twirl their skirts, and a man walks past, his hands fluttering against a drum fastened to his hip. Everyone's smiling and having a good time, and my mood lightens at the sight of them.

This is a party.

"Smile," someone says to me, and a woman with a basket pushes a piece of golden fruit into my hands. She carries on, dancing past and handing fruit to others as she heads down with the rest of the parade, and I watch children split off from the people standing along the sides to go chase her down. I'm starving, so I bite into the fruit—and moan with delight. It has the texture and juiciness of a peach, but slightly more tart, and it's the best thing I've ever tasted. Juice dribbles down my chin as I devour the fruit, and I start to follow along with the scattered parade. I'm wondering if it'd be bad manners to ask for another piece of fruit when I see a woman on the sidelines holding out a dipper that drips with cool water and I automatically veer toward her.

She holds it out to me with a smile when I approach.

"I don't have any money," I tell her, hesitating.

The woman shakes her head and offers it to me again. "It is the Anticipation! We all celebrate this day."

I want to kiss this kind woman. I give her a relieved nod and take the dipper, drinking deeply. It's a little warmer than I'd like, but wet and fresh and it tastes so good I want to cry. She lets me drink two dippers-full before I move to the side and she offers the dipper to the person behind me. I wipe at my mouth, watching as more drummers and dancers move past. People lining the streets clap their hands and sway in time to the music, and everyone looks like they're having a wonderful time. It's weird. I thought people would be more upset about the god of death showing up, but everyone's just so damn happy.

I clap my hands a little and lean over to the woman with the dipper. "Why is everyone so excited?" She gives me an odd look, and I decide to lie. "My village doesn't celebrate like this. I'm not from around here."

"Ahhh." She laughs, holding the dipper out for another person, who rewards her with a flower. "Port Tidewater celebrates the Anticipation with much joy every year," she tells me. "We want this to be a welcoming place if the gods ever decide to show up."

It's a good philosophy, I decide, clapping my hands as more blurry, colorful figures whirl past. The costumes seem to be getting brighter and more ornate, and I wish I could take my glasses out of my pocket to look at them, but I don't dare. "So you've never had a god show up?"

"Oh no," she laughs. “Not to our city. But we are ever hopeful. Look, here come the Chosen."

I turn to look where she's pointing, and squint as men and women in ornate headdresses and cloaks appear in the midst of the parade. They're as colorful as everyone else, walking in twos, but something about them seems different. Their faces are painted bleach white and even though they're smiling, it's a little ghoulish and reminds me of skulls.

"Who are they?" I ask. "We don't do that in my, er, village."

"The Chosen," the woman with the dipper says again. A girl walks past, throwing flowers, and one lands on my foot. I absently pick it up and tuck it behind my ear, so I look more like a partygoer. "Each one of them represents one of the Twelve. If we are lucky enough that one of the gods shows up, he will have an Anchor ready for him."

"An anchor?" I ask. Her brows furrow and I realize I've pushed my ignorance too far. "Oh, right, anchor. I missed what you said." I wiggle my ear, pretending to be hard of hearing, and her smile relaxes once more.

What the hell is an anchor?

As she passes the dipper to others that approach, I slide away and follow the parade walkers. The ones in the headdresses seem more somber than everyone else despite the smiles on their faces, and I wonder if they know that someone's going to show up…if the spinner's right. This might all be one big joke being played on me. The spinner and Arla both said I was too trusting. Maybe this is all bullshit. I almost hope so. I'm not sure I want to meet Death. I squint at the people in the headdresses, watching as they swirl past in their elaborate costumes—mostly necklaces and loincloths and fluttering bits of fabric and beads—and try to pick out Death's “chosen.” There's a girl at the far end with long hair and a black cape, and she's tall and lean and clearly beautiful despite the ghastly face paint. Huh. I wonder if Death knows he's going to be stuck with short, average me. Maybe he'll make a switch at the last moment and I won't have to worry about this.

"Fingers crossed," I murmur to myself as she passes. After all, the spinner hasn't been able to see everything. She gave me a big bag of supplies and it was immediately stolen. She—

A dancer whirls past me, her long, colorful scarves fluttering. One brushes over my face, interrupting my thoughts, and the girl laughs and stops. "This one must be for you," she tells me, untying it from her wrist and then draping it around my shoulders like a cloak. With a flash of a smile, she's gone again, dancing away to the music, and I'm left holding the bright red scarf, big enough to be a cloak.

Well…shit.

The world seems determined to provide me with a cloak and I remember what the spinner said. Cover him.

Seek the shadows.

I keep hoping that this is going to be nothing but the crazy talk of an old woman and somehow this world is determined to prove me just wrong enough that it makes me wonder.

I wind my way through the festival, and everywhere around me, people are laughing and celebrating. Children run between grown-ups and race through the streets, and the parade dissipates as they move towards the bottom of the cliffs, where the road opens up into a large plaza. There's a huge temple-looking building at one end, and at the far side of the city I can see docks that lead out into the bright blue waters. I raise a hand to my eyes and squint up behind me and it looks as if the houses here are clustered along the cliffs, and we're now at the bottom of a bowl. I'd be charmed by this place if it wasn't for the fact that this isn't my home.

I still don't even know how I'm speaking the same language they are, but at least I can talk to everyone. Thank god for that.

The parade circles around in the plaza, and as I watch, large thrones are set up on the steps and festooned with flowers. Each of the people in headdresses takes a seat at the base of each throne, not sitting in it, but at the foot of each one, as if waiting for the occupant.

The gods, I guess. From my conversations with others and from what I've picked up on in the streets, the Anticipation is a party every year and no one really expects anyone to show up.

Boy are they gonna be in for a surprise. If this is like a video game—and I'm not saying it is, just that my experience in fantasy worlds is pretty limited to that medium—there's never a big party without something bad happening and everyone flipping out.

I push through the crowd, noticing that the plaza itself is boiling hot without a hint of shade, and I pull my new shawl over my head to block the sunlight. There's shadows by the large stairs, and I veer toward those, even though it means I'm on the sidelines and awfully close to a few of the thrones at the edges. I can't tell which one is for which god—not that I can even remember the names that Arla rattled off to me, but I remember some of their duties. There's a god of war, a god of magic, a god of family…

I flinch as I realize the girl sitting gracefully at the feet of the empty throne about twenty feet away from me is the same girl I saw from before—the handmaiden to Death. Of course I accidentally ended up near her. It's like everything I do is pulling me in this direction.

I'm getting sick of it, too. Maybe I don't want to hang out with the god of death? He doesn't sound like he'd be a party. He doesn't sound like the type to say “oh, hey, let me help you get home to Earth.” I glance down at the shadows I'm standing in and even though they're cool—thanks to the shadow of the nearby statue—I step out of them, because I'm tired of playing along with this game.

And then I step forward again, because the shadow seems to follow me as I move ahead. Then I step forward again, and again, and…I'm still in shadows. Before I can wonder what's going on, someone else cries out, and then everyone starts screaming around me. I look up and it's not just me in shadows. The world is growing dark, and it's as if the world is being swallowed into night.

Didn’t I say that nothing good ever happened at a festival? Me and my big mouth will learn to shut up someday.

The light grows dim and cold, and slowly disappears.

“It's just a coincidental eclipse," I tell myself as others jostle past and someone starts to cry. "It'll be gone in a minute."

Funny how I don't even believe myself. I close my eyes when the pitch black of my surroundings makes it impossible to see, and fight back the panic I feel. All around me, everyone is crying and wailing, and I hear the crash of a wooden cart, and the music has died. The party mood is officially over. It's utter chaos, and I clutch my shawl to my shoulders and try not to panic like everyone else. This will go away, I promise myself. The world never really gets dark like this for no reason. Count to ten and wait.

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to see the darkness around me, and count. One…two…three…

I crack open an eye, just because I'm an impatient sort.

Just like that, the light returns. A moment later, it's blazing hot in the plaza once more and all the colors of the festival seem to return to life. People stare at each other, dazed, and I'm not the only one completely confused. Everyone looks puzzled. A nearby mother clutches her crying child against her hip, frowning, while her husband looks equally concerned. No one seems to know what's going on.

Then, someone screams.

"The Anticipation!" a woman cries out, and points at the steps behind me.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as another cries out. "He's here!"

Like a rippling wave, people drop to their knees in front of me and press their foreheads to the cobblestones of the plaza. There's pure terror on their faces, and it's gone utterly silent.

I don't have to turn around to know who's here. I've been told a dozen times in the last day. Even so, I realize there's a cold aura emanating from behind me, like the shadows are ice…and I'm terrified to turn around.

I don't want to look at the god of death. I don't.

But I can't keep standing here like an idiot. I have to do something. It's either drop to my knees and pretend like the spinner never said anything to me and hope to blend with the crowd…or face my destiny.

I suck in a deep breath and slowly, slowly turn around.

I'm not prepared for the god of Death to be young.

Or gorgeous.

I stare in shock at the man standing before the throne closest to me. He's utterly naked, which is rather startling, and his skin is so bleach pale that he looks strange, like he's never seen the sunlight before. His hair is inky black, and falls in loose, careless waves around his head like a thick halo. He's tall, his shoulders broad and sculpted, his body lean and lacking even the slightest bit of fat, and he's got an enormous dong between his legs.

I mean…he is a god. Of course he's a show-er.

He lifts his head to look out at the audience, and I suck in a breath. His features are jarring. They don't seem to fit together at first—the full, lush mouth, the large nose, the slashing black eyebrows over vivid green eyes—but somehow they come together to make a picture that's utterly gorgeous. I've never seen anyone like him.

The god staggers slightly, and then stares at his hands in front of him, as if he's not entirely sure what's happened to him. There's a black line on his arm, and I'm close enough to see scribbles of some kind. A tattoo, then. He gazes down at it, his expression thoughtful.

Me, I stare at the man in wonder.

I've never seen a god before. He really is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Even though he's pale, he looks…perfect.

He straightens and then looks at the girl at his feet, the death maiden chosen for him. She cowers and quivers and his lip curls slightly as if with disgust. He scans the audience, hearing the terrified cries, and his gaze focuses on no one in particular. It's almost like he's looking for someone.

There's a queasy-yet-excited feeling in the pit of my stomach as I remember what the spinner said. This guy's my quest. He's my ticket home. And he's flipping beautiful.

Really, really naked, but beautiful.

I remember what the spinner said about covering him. Right. I clear my throat and step forward.

His gaze immediately swings to me. Those green eyes look so vivid that I feel seared as he stares at me. He makes no move to greet me, or say anything at all, but he doesn't look away. In fact, he just keeps staring at me, and the look in his eyes is so hungry and full of yearning that it makes me ache.

Is he lonely? Frightened?

"I'm here," I whisper. "You don't know me, but I think I'm here to help you." I take another step forward, and then I'm coming up the steps, as if drawn toward him. No one moves. No one gets up to stop me from approaching the god.

The god himself just stares down at me, pinning me with his gaze, as if watching to see what I'll do. He can't be the god of death. He's too perfect, too normal seeming. Maybe he's a god of beauty instead and that's why he's ignoring the death maiden at his feet? Even now, she looks at him, gaping in a mixture of terror and awe. I know how she feels. The only reason I'm not crapping my pants at the sight of him is because the spinner told me this was going to happen.

"Everything's going to be all right now," I reassure him, and then I feel silly. He's the god, not me, but here I am reassuring him? It's ridiculous. I smile brightly as if to add weight to my words and confidence to my actions, and take the long, bright scarf off my shoulders and hold it out to him.

He doesn't move. Just stares at me.

His big dick stares at me, too. Well, okay, it's not really staring, but it's hard not to look at it when it's all just right there and hanging out. I can tell I'm blushing, and when the god doesn't take the scarf from me, I decide to move forward.

"It's cool," I tell him. "We've got this. It's all part of the quest." And even though I'm intimidated, I move forward and carefully drape the scarf around his shoulders, blanketing him. It…doesn't cover his dick. Hm. I glance down and then feel like a creep for doing so. "Maybe…maybe you should wear that as a skirt instead."

"Name?"

His voice is deep, almost rusty with the lack of use, but it curls through my body and makes my senses flutter.

"Me?" I touch my chest. "Oh. I'm Max. Pleased to meet you." I stick my hand out in greeting. "I think we're supposed to be friends."

He reaches out and as he does, there's a bone-crushing chill that moves through the air. It's like it's enveloping him, like the heat of the day and the sunlight won't touch him, and for a moment, I think I've made a mistake. This is not a god of beauty. There's death in his touch, and maybe I shouldn't be the one touching him. That this is all wrong. But then his fingers brush over mine—oh, he's so big and cold—and he clasps my hand. His grip is tight, and I get the odd impression that there's no escaping him…ever.

The world tilts, and darkness seems to fall all around me again. Everything spins, and blackness swirls over my eyes.

"Max," he murmurs in that deep, chocolate voice of his. I catch a glimpse of bright green eyes and the triumphant, exultant look in them.

And then the world goes dark around me, and I'm so, so cold.

6

I 'm unconscious. I know I am, but somehow I'm still vaguely aware of a presence, cool and dark, at the corners of my mind. It's like it lurks over me, watching me, and then disappears.

I wake up to blurriness, and rub my eyes. The cool darkness is gone, and I'm back in the steamy, humid air of Port Tidewater. I touch my face, looking for my glasses, but they're not there. I feel around in the blankets for them…

…and realize I'm naked under the thin linen sheets.

Gasping, I sit upright, clutching the sheets to my body and squinting at the room around me. It's not totally dark; there are torches on wall sconces and a few candles along the walls, but it's dimly lit and I can't see anyone or anything. I didn't undress myself, though. "Who's there?"

A candle—at least I think it's a candle—bobs toward me and then a face looms over mine. It's a woman with sun-browned skin and artfully curled ringlets of hair. "You are awake, mistress." She smiles down at me.

I relax at her reverent tone. This isn't some jerk creeping on my naked body, then. "Where are my glasses? My clothes?"

"I do not know what a 'glasses' is but your garments have been taken to be washed. We will be very careful with them, mistress, I assure you. Your other things have been brought to this room." She gestures behind her. "Shall I bring them?"

I clutch the sheet to my boobs. "Yes, please."

A moment later, a small pile is set on the foot of the bed. It's the shawl I wrapped around the god, my small hoop earrings, and my glasses. I snatch them up and shove them on my face, relieved as everything comes into focus. Well, almost. They're horribly smudgy with fingerprints, and I clean them as I glance over at the woman hovering nearby. "Who are you? And where am I, exactly?"

"I am called Vossa, my lady, and I am here to serve you at Lord Rhagos's wishes. I hope I do not displease you in any way." Her voice has a trembling quality to it.

I put my glasses on and sure enough, she looks like she's shaking. "Are you okay?"

"I am just afraid I have made you upset, esteemed one." Vossa looks ready to cry. "You seem unhappy with my service—"

"I'm not upset. I just didn't know why I was naked." I hold the sheet to me and look around the room. "I'm not from here and I thought you were a pervert."

"My only goal is to serve you, my lady." She drops to her knees beside the bed and gives me a wide-eyed look. "I would never do anything inappropriate. You are the Shadow Lord’s sacred anchor."

That sounds…ominous. It sounds binding. I picture myself as a ship's anchor, dragging behind the dark, muscled form of the god of death. Gives new meaning to the term “ball and chain.” "Is that what I am?"

"You are his mortal anchor," she says. "It sent a wave of power through the crowd when you touched his hand. I felt it myself, and knew it to be so."

"And so he brought me…here?" I glance around, but there's no tall, sexy dark god anywhere. "Where is here, exactly?" It beats sleeping in an alley with hobos, but I'm not entirely sure I'm any safer than before.

"You are in the palace of Port Tidewater. Lord Petren has asked that you be given the finest of chambers and he is quite honored to be serving your lord."

My lord. Right. The big dark god who doesn't seem to be anywhere around. I feel a shy flush move over my body and I squirm in the bed. "Am I naked because he wanted me naked?" That is so dirty and wrong and so, so sexy to think about.

Vossa shakes her head. "You were sweaty and overheated, so I thought a cool bath and fresh clothes would make you feel better."

Oh. I blush. Well, I suppose that makes sense, too.

I look around the room once more. The walls appear to be stone and the entire room is dark and somewhat cooler than outside. Other than the sconces, there's not a ton of furniture. A few spindly-looking decorative stools artfully arranged in corners and a few pretty jars sit across from an unlit fireplace, but that's it. I thought a palace would be more ornate, but maybe this is a guest room. Or maybe these people just aren't big fans of clutter. That, I totally understand.

I get to my feet and wrap the sheet around me like a dress. I'm less scared now—it's hard to be scared when a servant's following you around and calling you “my lady.” "Where is he?" I ask, thinking of my dreams. I have a vague memory of cool fingers brushing over my naked shoulder, and I suddenly want to see the death god, to see if he's as unearthly gorgeous as my memory is making him out to be.

"Lord Rhagos?"

Rhagos. Right. The god of death. Or darkness. Or something. "Yeah. Him."

Vossa bows her head, her hands clasped before her. "He is in his chambers. My lord Petren's best servants have been sent to tend to his every need."

Oh. I thought that was the anchor's job, but okay. I guess if I'm going to be serving the guy until we figure out how to get me home, maybe we need to establish job details and boundaries. Maybe a duties list, like my boss Mr. Perkins made for me.

Ugh. I really, really hope Rhagos isn't like Mr. Perkins. That would be hell. "Can I see him? Rhagos? I need to talk to him about…our plans."

"Of course, my lady. Would you like to dress first?"

I look down at the sheet I'm clutching to my small chest. "Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea."

I try not to twitch too much as Vossa dresses me in a long, flowing dress that seems comprised entirely of linen folds. She drapes something over my shoulders and then spends the next while making artful tucks at the waist, until I feel as if the entire work of art will unravel if I so much as move wrong. It's pretty, though. There's a beaten-metal mirror on the far wall and even though my reflection is wavy and distorted, I can see that Vossa's making my dress in the same artful style of her own—lots of tucks and layers to contrast with my bare arms and the flashes of bare leg that will show when I walk. I look like some of the ladies I saw at the festival outside, which is good. I want to blend.

I just hope I don't have to dress myself in the future.

I look at my reflection again, and then remember the part about “blending” and take my glasses off. Reluctantly, I tuck them into the front of my dress, settling them between my boobs.

"You look very pretty, my lady," Vossa says finally. "May I style your hair?"

"Why not?" The words end with a rumble of my stomach, and I give her an embarrassed look. "Sorry. It's been a while since I've eaten."

"I've brought you food and drink." She moves to a tray at the corner of the room and brings it toward me, setting it on a table. She pulls a stool close and then gestures at it. "Eat while I comb your hair."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I look at the tray of bread, dried fruit, and nuts, and nibble at a few things. I pour myself a cup of wine and gulp it down before I realize it's probably pretty alcoholic. It tastes delicious, though, and I pour another anyhow. Fuck it. I try everything on the plate and find it all tasty, and before I know it, I'm chewing on the heel of the bread and eating the last of the nuts. Jeez, I just ate an entire loaf of bread by myself. That's…awkward. "I hope this wasn't supposed to be for both of us," I say as she tugs on my scalp and uses a pick-like instrument to weave portions of my hair.

"Do not worry, my lady. It was all for you. I am told anchors have a voracious appetite."

"Oh, okay. Cool." I hesitate again. "Anchor?"

"The god's personal servant. You are his anchor to the mortal realm," Vossa says.

"Right. That anchor." I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to know more than I do, but I bet I can ask the god—Rhagos—more about what my duties are. My belly flutters at the thought of meeting him and I wonder if he's going to think I'm pretty.

I feel like a dork for even thinking it, but the man was smoking hot. And I'm his Personal. Servant.

This always turns into a romance side-quest in video games. Always.

And those are my favorite.

I try not to wiggle with a weird sort of anticipation in my belly.

"You are still hungry," Vossa murmurs, tsking. "Let me get another tray of food for you and more wine."

"Oh, but…" I hesitate, and then realize she's right. I'm still starving. "Water, too?"

Vossa returns with a new tray of food—this one with cheeses to go with the nuts and fruit—and I end up eating six cheese sandwiches and all the nuts before she finishes my hair. The water is room temperature, which is kind of odd, but it's got a minty, herbal taste to it that's surprisingly crisp and I down it all, too. I don't know what's gotten into me. I've eaten so much I should be barfing, but all I can think about is more food. And Rhagos's handsome face.

Maybe it's the anchor thing. Maybe I'm supposed to be obsessing because I'm his anchor.

"All done, my lady. Now you are ready to see the god."

See the god. I swallow hard and then take another swig of water, swishing it around my mouth to fix my breath. I feel nervous, like I've been set up on a blind date. I pull my glasses out and check my reflection in the mirror and the woman looking back at me is startlingly elegant. My hair is pulled back in a few tiny braids that are looped into a larger twist at the crown of my head. She's tucked small sprigs of flowers into my thick hair and between it and the dress, I look like a stranger.

It feels odd. Like it's not me.

Blend, I remind myself. You're not supposed to be you. You're on a quest.

Right. A quest. I touch my elegant gown. This is the armor for my quest. I take another deep, steeling breath, smooth my sweating palms down the drape of my clothing, and then turn to Vossa. "Let's go see him, shall we?"

She nods. "Follow me, if you please."

Vossa hands me a pair of soft slippers at the doorway, and then we head down the hall. The slippers are too big and slap against the stonework floors, so I slow my steps and try to walk as gracefully as I can. My glasses are hidden again and I wish I could see more of what's around me, but from the blur I can see long, dark halls lit by torches, guards lining the walls that have colorful tapestries on them, and somewhere outside, there's the faint sound of music. Everything is cool around me, which makes me think we're still deep inside the building.

Vossa nods at people as we pass them, so I do the same. After a few moments, the halls clear out and we turn down another, deeper into the palace, I think.

"May I ask you something, my lady?" Vossa asks after a moment of quiet.

"Of course."

"Do you…feel any different? Now that you are anchored to a god?"

I think about that. I don't know if the flutter of anticipation in my belly is because of my bond with Rhagos or because I'm excited to see the hot, powerful guy that will also be my ticket home. That I'll be serving exclusively. That might just be the fangirl in me that fell in love with Prince Zuko instead of Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I've got a thing for the bad guy. Not that I've ever met one before now. "I, ah…don't feel different," I decide. "Should I?"

"I do not know. You are the first anchor I have ever meet." Vossa's smile is apologetic. "I was merely curious."

Well, I'm curious, too. "Is Rhagos the only one that showed up? The only god? Or did the others come while I was sleeping?"

"My Lord of Death is the only one here," Vossa says in a low voice. “Legend says that not all of the gods are cast out at once. It might be one. It might be all. Only the High Father knows. Lord Petren has sent ravens out to the other cities to inform them of our good luck and to inquire who else has been blessed, though.”

“Got it.” The music trickles down the hall, reminding me that there’s a festival still going on. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours.”

"How long is the party going to go on?" I ask as we turn down another hall. This one is lined with men, all of them wearing armor and looking rather important. I suspect we must be getting close, and for some reason, my excitement kicks up another notch.

"Normally the Anticipation festival will last two days. But since we have been blessed, the festival will continue for as long as my Lord Rhagos wishes it," Vossa says. "We await his pleasure."

Right. Everything's focusing on Rhagos now that he's here. And me, I guess, since I now serve Rhagos. As we approach a large pair of double doors at the end of the hall, a serving woman slips out of them, a tray in her hands. She bobs her head at me, avoiding eye contact, and hurries away. I watch her go, curious. I thought I was supposed to be the one serving him? But maybe “serving him” is just a term for something else? I guess I need to ask him. Which reminds me. I jog up to Vossa's side, the pleats of my dress feeling dangerously as if they're going to fall apart with the movements. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my lady. I am here to serve you." Her eyes are bright as she says it, and I get the impression she's excited to be my handmaiden, though I'm not sure why I need one if I'm going to be “serving” too.

"Have you met Lord Rhagos? Since he appeared?" I'm suddenly wildly curious about the man who's the key to everything and who's disrupting everyone's lives. He's the god of death according to everything I've heard, but he's not…scary? He doesn't make me think of horror movies like Freddy Krueger or other terrifying things. He makes me think of the Greek myths and Hades. Beautiful and remote and just trying to do his job.

I might also possibly be dazzled by his hot body and enormous dong. I freely admit this.

"Very briefly," Vossa whispers, pausing in front of the doors.

"But you have met him," I emphasize, and when she nods, I continue. "Which Aspect is he?"

Her brows furrow.

"You know, boredom, arrogance…" I snap my fingers, trying to think of what I was told by the spinner and Arla. “Which one of the five—”

"Four Aspects," she leans in, whispering. "To expunge the four flaws. Apathy, Arrogance, Hedonism and Lies."

"Right." I point at her, smiling. "That's what I meant. Which one is he?"

She hesitates, her hand on the door handle, then looks over at me. "We are not certain yet."

I frown, because that answer strikes me as weird. "You mean you can't tell?"

"It is…complicated." Vossa smiles at me and then opens the door, gesturing that I should enter.

I do so automatically, and jump with a little bit of surprise when the door shuts behind me. The room is as dark and shadowy as the one I left, and I squint at my surroundings for a moment before digging through the front of my dress and pulling out my glasses. I don't need to blend in around this guy, after all. He's going to send me home to Earth.

Once my glasses are on, the room comes into view, and I'm surprised at how richly appointed it is compared to mine. Thick tapestries hang on the walls and beautiful fabrics seem to be draped on every surface. A glittering harp-like instrument sits in the corner of the room, and there are carved chairs of the finest make and an ornate fireplace with a fire burning in it that looks so beautifully carved it should be in a museum. I can make out a drapery-laden bed on the far side of the room, surrounded with curtains.

In front of the fire, there's a large tub. And in the tub is the god—or his Aspect, at least. His wide shoulders are on display, and decorative tattoos in a writing I've never seen dance across his skin. He looks over his shoulder at me, his face almost hawkish in profile, and then gets to his feet. Water sluices down his body as he casually lifts one leg out of the tub and then paces toward me, dripping water all over the floor.

Oh. Oh my. All of the spinner's words and Vossa's cheerful encouragement haven't quite prepared me for this moment. I saw him naked earlier of course, but now he's wet and dripping and we're alone and it's kinda dark in the room except for the torches and the fire, and I'm feeling all kinds of fluttery things in my belly. He's still bone-pale, but his eyes are vivid green, his hair a thick mass that curves around his face. He's gorgeous. So gorgeous.

I feel so out of my depth at the sight of him. I swallow hard as he stalks up to me, purpose in every step. For some reason, there's a weird energy between us, and it practically crackles as he gets closer to me. Is it the bond between us? I push my glasses up on my nose and look up at him as he looms over me.

To my surprise, he reaches over and touches my face. His fingers skate lightly over my cheek. Not in a creepy way, but the way a blind person would if they were learning someone's face. I don't know what to make of that, so I remain perfectly still as he traces his fingertips over my brows and along my cheekbone. His touch is cool against mine, but not in an unpleasant sense. It reminds me of peppermint, oddly enough, the sharp bite and tingle of a chill that invigorates rather than repulses.

It takes me about thirty seconds to realize I'm gaping up at him like a fish out of water. How embarrassing. "Hi," I whisper as he studies my face, his fingertips moving under my chin.

"You are comfortable?"

Oh god, there's his deep, echoing voice that seems to hit all the right chords. I'd forgotten how rich and velvety it sounded. It's as perfect as the rest of him.

It takes me a moment to compose my thoughts, and then I nod. "I am. You?"

His returning smile is thin. "I am mortal. What do you think?"

I…don't know what to say to that. Do I commiserate? Be offended? I'm mortal, after all, and that might have been an insult. But the way he stares down at me with intense fascination makes it feel like something other than a slam, so I ignore it. "I wanted to talk to you. I thought we could talk…you know, about how we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement." Look at me, using my corporate words. Mr. Perkins would be so proud.

He studies me with those vivid green eyes. “What are those things on your face?”

“My what?” I reach up and touch my face, and slap my glasses back higher on my nose. “Oh! These are my glasses. I can’t see well without them and sometimes I forget I have them on. I was trying not to wear them so I could blend in but I wanted to get a good look at you.”

The gorgeous man arches an eyebrow.

I blush. How can I not? He’s all dick and balls and dripping water and good lord, I’m still staring.

7

“I ’m staring, aren't I? Sorry, I guess I'm being rude. I'm just flustered." I reach up to brush my hair back from my face, but I've forgotten it's all tied up in decorative knots and so my fingers just flutter by my temple and then fall uselessly to my side.

"I see.” He studies me, as if waiting for me to continue talking.

"So…" I clasp my hands in front of myself, trying to ignore the fact that he's totally naked and totally gorgeous and we're standing inches apart. "I came here to talk to you about a few things, but mostly I wanted our first meeting to focus on goals." I've learned after a few years in the corporate world that if you come in sounding confident, people tend to assign more importance to your words, and for some reason, it's really vital to me that this guy take me seriously.

"Goals," he echoes.

"Yes. Mutually beneficial goals."

“Ah.” He blinks slowly, showing off gorgeous lashes. "Go on."

I'm momentarily disconcerted—again—by how handsome he is. Do all gods affect people like this or is it something more? Because normally I'm my usual dorky self around men. It takes a while for me to become attracted to a guy, and I'm usually drawn to things like humor and intelligence. I'm not the type that gets blown away by a pretty face and an expansive pair of shoulders…until today.

Unless…he's Hedonism. The thought curls in my belly with a mixture of erotic anticipation and a little bit of fear. "Before we go on, can I ask which Aspect you are? Or is it forbidden to ask?" I grimace when he makes no response. "I'm not trying to sound gauche, but I really don't know the rules of this place."

"Which Aspect? Does it matter?" He arches a brow.

"I think it'll help me figure out how to approach our partnership."

"Partnership." For the first time, a small smile curves his mouth. "Yes, I suppose we are a partnership, aren't we?"

And now I'm blushing again. "You're totally Hedonism, aren't you?"

He throws back his head and laughs, and I'm utterly magnetized at how gorgeous he is. I'm blushing with embarrassment, sure, but I still can't stop staring at him.

Rhagos puts his hands on his hips and meets my gaze again, still chuckling. "What makes you think that I am Hedonism?"

"I mean…" I gesture at his naked body.

"Ah." He circles me slowly, as if studying me from all sides. "You are attracted to me, aren’t you?"

"I'd have to be blind not to be," I mutter. Then, louder, "It might be that you're a god and I'm just not used to this sort of thing."

Rhagos continues to move around me slowly, and I want to point out he's dripping water everywhere, but I guess no one scolds a god. "Mmm. And you think mere attraction is all it takes for me to be the Aspect of Hedonism?"

I'm surprised at his question. "I…didn't give it much thought, to be honest," I stammer. "I just know I'm not used to being all 'hot damn, that's a fine piece of ass' when I see a guy, and so that tells me there's something more to you."

He leans over my shoulder. "So you think I am a 'fine piece of ass'?" His breath brushes against my skin, warm and intimate.

I shiver. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it?"

I'm getting totally flustered around him. If we're going to work together, I'm going to have to focus. I put my fingertips to my temples and try to think about things other than the fact that a naked, gorgeous, dripping god is leaning in so close to me that I can feel his breath against the back of my neck…focus. Focus. What was I asking? Oh, about hedonism, right. "So you're not Hedonism?"

"I would be a bit more…hedonistic if I was, don't you think?" He trails a finger up my bare arm. "Wine and women and every sort of deviant pleasure, yes?"

Oh. He's got a point. Just because he's hot doesn't mean it's because he's a hedonist. "Excellent point. I'm sorry if I insulted you."

He laughs again, the sound low and delicious. It's like I'm being seduced on voice alone. "Do you think I'm insulted? I like to think it is because we simply have a special connection. Perhaps that is what makes us drawn to one another." And he paces away.

I watch the pale globes of his perfect, bouncy ass move. He's got his hands clasped behind his back, just above that bubble butt, and I swallow hard because all of my attention is shamefully, hopelessly drawn there. I can't stop staring. I wish he'd come back and loom over me a bit more—because that was freaking sexy and I'm a dork—but this view is equally distracting. Not Hedonism, I tell myself. "So you're…" I pause, waiting for him to keep filling in the blanks.

"…tired of this game," he finishes for me. Rhagos looks over his shoulder in my direction and then moves to one of the tapestries, studying it. "I imagine you'll figure it out soon enough on your own. I've no wish to draw attention to my own shame by naming it."

For some reason, I feel abashed. Like I've just been subtly chastised. Of course he's not going to want to be all "Why yes, I'm totally an arrogant god, thanks for asking." No wonder Vossa said it was complicated. I'll talk to her later when I get out of here, and maybe we can compare notes. Or maybe it's like he says and I'll figure it out as time passes. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn't my goal."

He nods once, then goes back to studying the tapestry. "Then why are you here? Remind me."

I twist my hands. "We were going to talk about making our partnership as mutually beneficial as possible?"

"Ah. Yes."

That's all he says. I wait for a minute, but when he remains silent, I suspect he's waiting for me to speak. I plunge ahead. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not exactly local. In fact, I'm not from this world at all. I know that sounds crazypants, but hear me out." I walk across the room, my slippers flapping on the stones, avoiding the puddles. I pick up a long, soft towel from a nearby stool and bring it to him, holding it out. "All I know is that I was in my building, looking for my friend Faith, and the next thing I know I'm in this world, and a spinner's telling me I need to hang out with the death god."

That makes him turn to look at me. "A spinner, you say? Interesting how these things unfold." His mouth curves into a smile as he gazes down at me. "And you're not afraid of me, then? Even though I am Death?"

"Will you be death to me?"

Rhagos gazes down at me with those magnetic green eyes. "No."

I smile up at him. "Then there's nothing to fear. You're just a guy with a crappy job. Trust me, we've all been there." I gesture that he should take the towel. "But anyhow, I'm not from this place, and the spinner said that you were the key to me getting home. That's my goal—to work with you so I can get home."

"Mine as well."

Whew. That's a relief. I beam up at him. "Awesome. Then we can work together on getting home and we'll get done twice as fast. We'll do whatever task you need to do—since I assume there's some sort of quest involved, right? And then you can send me home." He doesn't reach for the towel, and it occurs to me that maybe he doesn't know it's supposed to go around his hips? He wasn't wearing anything when he arrived, after all. So I discreetly move forward and try to wrap it around his hips for him. "There."

Rhagos gazes at me, a hint of amusement on his face. "My nakedness is so overwhelming you must conceal it from your virgin eyes?"

"Oh." God, I'm blushing. I put the back of my hand to my cheek to cool it. Virgin eyes. He nailed that one. “It's not that it's overwhelming—well, okay, it is—but it's just, you know, polite to cover the bait and tackle when having a conversation."

"Bait and…tackle?" His mouth twitches. "I am not familiar with that term…?"

Now I'm really blushing. Am I ready to have a penis conversation with a man that might or might not be hedonism incarnate? Perhaps not. "So you think you can send me home once we finish your quest?"

Rhagos doesn't even blink. "I know I can."

It's like a great weight falls off my shoulders. I want to stagger with the feeling of relief, but instead I just cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself, and fight back the emotional tears that threaten. "Great. Awesome. Thank you, Rhagos. You don't know how much I appreciate it."

He lifts his chin in an almost nod, and then reaches forward to touch my cheek again. His fingers are blissfully cool against my flushed skin.

I swallow, feeling shy. He sure does like touching me. Not that I'm complaining. I'd never complain about that. But it makes me flustered. "So when can we get started on your quest?"

"Soon."

"How soon? Not that I'm impatient, I'm just curious—"

My words fall silent as his thumb caresses over my mouth, like a lover. Oh. Oh, man.

"Tell me about you," Rhagos says.

"Me?" The words squeak from my throat.

"Is that a problem? That I wish to know about my anchor?"

"Of course not. I just… " I hesitate. How did I expect this conversation to go? He's being polite. I know his name but he doesn't know mine. He doesn't know anything about me and really, all I know of him are the legends that Vossa has shared or the things the spinner told me. I feel like a jerk. Of course we need to get to know each other. We're going to be working super close together for the next while. We need to trust each other implicitly. He's got to have my back in all ways and I've got to have his.

Totally makes sense.

"What do you want to know?"

Rhagos gives another smooth chuckle. "Everything?"

"Everything covers an awful lot of ground."

His chuckle rumbles into a full laugh. "It does, but I would know more about you. We are bonded together, you and I. We are closer than lovers in all ways." He holds his hand out to me, palm up. "Would it not make sense that I would want to know everything and anything about you, my anchor?"

I immediately put my hand in his. "Maxine Chavez, at your service."

Rhagos gazes down at our joined hands, our palms touching, and he clasps his other hand atop mine, sandwiching it. A ripple of sensation floods through me, both with the pepperminty chill and something deeper I can't quite name. "So trusting," he murmurs, "to place your hand in death's without question."

"You know, it's a little concerning that everyone's always talking about how trusting I am," I point out. "It's starting to freak me out."

His mouth crooks in a half-smile. "Most would tell you not to trust me. I am the Lord of Death and they fear me and everything about me. Death is not welcomed by anyone."

"But you said you wouldn't hurt me, so why would you lie?" I peer at him. "Unless you're the Aspect of Lies."

"No."

I figured as much. I keep thinking Lies would be smarmy and unctuous, and I just really find him fascinating in all the naughtiest sorts of ways. That's totally not like me, so I'm leaning toward Hedonism. "You and I are going to be friends," I tell him firmly. "I don't care if you're the god of death. You're Rhagos to me and that's all that matters. We're going to figure out how to get you home and how to get me home, and then we'll be done with our quest. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

"Easy," he murmurs. "I like the thought of that. You're so confident, aren’t you?"

"I believe in the power of positive thinking, as corny as that sounds. We just need to envision ourselves kicking asses and make it happen."

His smile widens. "If you say so."

Rhagos's answer isn't very enthusiastic, and I get a niggling sort of worry that he might be Apathy instead of Hedonism. It would explain a lot, I think. His reluctance to tell me which Aspect he is, for starters. Poor guy—if he really is Apathy, he must be miserable. I can't imagine. It's the opposite of who I am as a person—I need to make things happen because I can't sit around and wait for the world to notice me. So I just “do.” "I'll win you over with positive thinking," I reassure him. "Wait and see."

"I believe you." His fingers caress my trapped hand, and he makes no move to release it. "Tell me more about yourself. Do I call you Maxine Chavez?"

I shake my head. "No one calls me Maxine except my mother and my abuelita." At his confused look, I add, "That's Spanish for grandmother. My family's originally from Mexico but I don't speak it. Third generation and all. Just call me Max."

"Max," he repeats, and it sounds sexy on his lips.

"And you? Do I call you Rhagos? Lord Rhagos? Lord of Death? What? I don't know a lot about your mythos here." I grimace. "Or I guess…it's not a mythos if it's real, right? And it's clearly real because you're touching my hand, so I don't know what to call it. Or you."

"To you, I am just Rhagos." The brush of his fingers over mine sends skitters up my spine. "No lord, no death, just Rhagos."

"I guess you can't nickname that one, huh? Rhag? Gos? Rhaggy?" I wrinkle my nose. "Rhaggy sounds like Scooby Doo with a lisp."

His eyes narrow. "Just Rhagos."

"Right." There I go, trying to build a bit more of a bond between us and I'm just irritating the guy. "Sorry if that came across as dickish."

"It did not." His thumb brushes over my wrist. "But you will call me by my full name."

“Rhagos,” I say, tasting his name on my lips. It’s not a casual name, or one that invites lighthearted buddy conversations, but then again, this guy doesn’t either. There’s something deeply intense about him, so it works. “Well, just call me Max. I’m definitely not a Maxine.”

“I see.”

I chew on my lip, thinking. “So what else did you want to know about me? Education? Skill sets? Family? I’m not sure a lot of that applies in this world. I can speak a smattering of Spanish but I mostly picked it up from my mother. I’m not fluent.”

“Lovers?” He says the word oh-so-casually.

The question makes me blush and sends some deep emotion skittering through my belly. “No. No lovers.”

“You are a virgin, then?”

The way he watches me is hot and hungry and makes me quiver deep inside. “I…I’m not sure if I should answer that. Does it matter?”

“A mere curiosity. I wish to learn who is serving me. Who Max truly is.” His fingers move up my bare arm, toying with the shoulder of my pleated dress.

“That’s another thing I wanted to ask you about,” I say. “What exactly does it mean when you say I’m to serve you? Because I saw a maid bathing you.”

“Jealous?”

I blush, horrified. “Of course not! I just…back home, we bathe ourselves, you know?” And now I’m thinking that maybe I am just a wee bit jealous, because she got to see him naked and touch him. And that’s making my imagination go crazy. “I wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

“I’m sure you could figure it out.” He continues to play with the shoulder of my dress. “As for an anchor, they serve their god in any and every way he could ask.” And he gives me a meaningful look.

Oh.

Oh. “So…you mean sleep with you?”

He chuckles. “If I so request it. Do you wish to leave my service now, little one?”

I’d normally bristle at the whole “little one” thing. I’m short, true, but the way he says it makes it feel like…I’m getting complimented. It’s just because he’s hot, I tell myself. That’s why I think it’s okay. “Um. We literally just met. I think you’re very attractive, Rhagos, but I need to get to know a guy first. That’s just who I am as a person.”

“So you say.” Rhagos lets go of my dress and walks away a few steps. “And if I told you that you getting home required you getting into my bed and under me?”

I swallow hard. As attractive as he is, it doesn’t sound like a hardship, but I’m still shy and uneasy about the whole thing. “I…guess I’d do it but I’d probably cry the entire time,” I admit. “Might be a bit of a boner killer.”

He turns to look at me again. “You would cry?”

I spread my hands helplessly. “Girls cry when they feel like they have no choice. It’s a thing we do.”

Rhagos stalks toward me again. He heads to my side and then looms over me, and it takes everything I have not to flinch away or retreat. We’re bartering sex on the list of duties, I realize, and I’m not totally opposed to it down the line if feelings emerge, but I’m not comfortable with it right now. I don’t know the guy. I don’t know anything about him. And that’s the frightening part.

But he moves to my side and slides a hand against the back of my neck. His thumb brushes against my chin and then he angles my face up so I’m gazing at him. “I would force you to do something against your will,” he murmurs.

He would? I jerk backward, startled. “What?”

He shakes his head. “That came out wrong. I am your master, but the only thing I wish from you is your service as my anchor. Understand?”

Relieved, I nod. “Thank you. I’d like for us to become friends, if that’s all right.”

Rhagos studies me, and then gives a short, jerky nod.

I smile at him, feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. Why is my dirty, dirty mind disappointed that he didn’t grab me and fling me onto his bed? It’s for the best. We have to work together. I need to stick to the quest—the plan. “Can you tell me what’s going on? With the Anticipation?”

He lets me go after a long, intense moment, and then shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. My memories were stripped when I was cast out.” Rhagos moves to one of the chairs and drops into it, his legs a lazy sprawl in front of him. “You and I must work together to send me home. That is all I know.”

“Oh.” I grab the seat across from him and sit, crossing my ankles and clasping my hands in my lap. “That’s kind of disappointing. I might not be a good anchor, then, because I don’t really know the rules of this world, either. I’m in the dark as much as you, no pun intended.”

His mouth curves in a half-smile. “You will be a terrible anchor, true. But you are what I have.”

Jeez. That’s a bit of a slap to the face, but I do my best to ignore it. He’s a god. Maybe he’s not used to being nice. “So the four Aspects thing, that’s true, right?”

He shrugs and continues to study me with hot eyes.

Is…that an answer? It’s like he’s stripping me naked with his gaze, and my nipples prick in response. I sit up straighter, determined to ignore it. “If you don’t know which one you are—or prefer not to say—do you know where your other Aspects might be?”

Rhagos shrugs again. “I care nothing about them. They are not worth my time.”

I stare at him. “Um, okay. So they’re not around here?”

His smile curves his beautiful mouth. “Do you see them anywhere?”

“So…you don’t have to like, go find them?” I gesture at the door. “Or what is the plan?”

“No plan.”

“Then how do we get home?”

He shrugs again.

“But…you told me you would help me go home. And you said you wanted to go home, too.”

Rhagos just watches me, eyes glittering, and I get the impression that he’s…humoring me? I don’t know what to think of that.

“So what’s the plan, then?”

“What would you like it to be?”

“I feel like you’re the one that should have the answers. You’re the god, right? I’m just the anchor and I’m not even from this world.”

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs.

I’m also getting a sinking feeling in my belly as to which Aspect he is. I’m going to need to talk to Vossa later tonight, maybe get some answers from her. Maybe she can help me brainstorm a plan, because Rhagos doesn’t seem to have one.

After this conversation? I’m pretty sure that Rhagos is Apathy.

8

I  sit with Rhagos for a time—feeling obligated to do so, really—but it's obvious he's not into conversation at the moment. He seems lost in his own thoughts, watching me through slitted eyes or simply staring off at nothing. After a while, I feign sleepiness, mumble something about having to leave, and make my exit.

It's either that or sit in an empty room with a god for a few hours more and I'm not sure I even want to. Oh, he's beautiful and all, but I can't stop thinking about how little he seems to care about anything. If I'm going to get home, I need him to be a man of action. If I have to win a quest, I can't do it with Apathy at my side. I don't know what to do. Is this why the spinner was so vague about my fate and all? Because she knew I'd be saddled with an apathetic death god?

Yikes, just saying it kind of worries me. Of course he won't be a danger to me. The only thing he's in danger of is gathering dust.

Chewing on my lip, I exit into the main hall of the palace, shutting the door to Rhagos's chamber securely behind me. Vossa waits on a stool nearby and rises to her feet to greet me. "Is all well?" she asks.

What do I say to that? But I smile brightly. "Everything's great."

Even as I say it, I decide everything's going to be fine. If Rhagos is Apathy, I imagine he didn't choose to be so. Poor guy's probably trapped in a constant state of lethargy. It's like depression, and I'm going to have to just treat him with care and understanding. I'm here to be his friend and buddy, and I will be. If he can't be the strong leader…I'm going to have to be the strong leader.

All right, then. Already I feel better. We just need a plan.

I walk back to my rooms, Vossa at my side. Guards and servants of every kind move past, and I can still hear the festival music outside. My stomach growls again, and I rub it absently. When I get to my doors, I gesture that Vossa should come inside with me. I need someone to talk to, and so far Vossa has been the biggest help. Maybe she can help me with bouncing ideas around so I can come up with a plan.

"What is it, my lady?" Vossa asks as the door shuts behind us.

I move to her side and grab her hands. "He's Apathy."

She flinches, then nods. "I see. I am sorry."

"It's all right. We work with what we've got." I squeeze her hands and smile. "It just means that I'm going to have to take charge of the situation."

"Do you…do you think he will agree to that, my lady? He is a god. He might not want his anchor to have such a role."

"No? Are anchors normally more subservient?" When she nods, I think for a moment, and then drop her hands, pacing away. "Okay, well, I'll talk to Rhagos again in the morning and see if I can't convince him to see my side of things. If he's Apathy, he's not going to want to do much, so I can just pose it as me taking all of the concerns of the world off his shoulders until he goes home."

"What can I do to help?" Vossa asks.

I don't know. For a moment, I'm staggered with just how much I don't know about this world, about Rhagos, about any of this. I've been dropped into a strange society like a babe in the woods and expected to quickly take control of the situation. It's overwhelming, but I push those thoughts away. I'll think of this like learning to swim the hard way. Someone's dumped me into the deep end of the pool but I'll figure it out. Pacing, I keep thinking. I wish I had another person to ask questions about what's expected of an anchor. I clasp my hands together as I walk, thinking hard. "No other gods came through in the Anticipation, did they?"

"Not here, my lady…either that or they have simply not made their presence known. We will know more when the ravens return."

Right. Ravens. They were sent to other cities to see who else came to the mortal realm on party day. With luck, maybe we'll be able to find someone else nearby and we can pool resources and share information. Two heads are better than one, and I know I can work with someone else. I'm sure I can convince Rhagos of it, too. "How long will it take for the ravens to come back?"

"Less than a week?" Vossa offers. "Do you think to work with another god and make an alliance?"

I turn to look at her. "How did you know?"

Her eyes glitter with excitement. "That is how it is done in the tales, my lady. Rhagos worked with his brother Kalos in the last Anticipation and together they brought down the mighty kingdom of Oorm.” She hesitates. "All were killed, though."

Erm. "Maybe we don't bring Kalos in unless we have to. I'd rather not kill anyone."

She nods. "He is the betrayer." Her voice hushes and she glances at the wall, as if convinced that Rhagos can somehow hear her badmouthing his brother. "In the very first Anticipation he tricked and betrayed Belara the Beautiful and she has never forgiven him." She makes the hand gesture to ward off evil. "From what I have seen, my lady Max, you are kind and I want you to serve my lord Rhagos long and well." Her smile is bright.

I beam at her. "Thank you, Vossa. With your help I'm sure I will. We'll see what the ravens say and decide who we work with, right? Maybe we got lucky and just Rhagos was affected by this Anticipation."

"Perhaps," Vossa agrees, but she doesn't look convinced. "While we wait for ravens, I will inform Lord Petren that you require the assistance of scholars in order to better serve Lord Rhagos. Perhaps they will be able to offer insight."

Now that sounds like a plan.

THE NEXT DAY, I don't see Rhagos at all. Instead, Vossa has a flurry of people show up in my rooms, all armed with enormous books and scrolls and ready to fill my head with knowledge about this world and the gods. They have information about the prior Anticipations, she tells me, so I try to learn everything I can. It's an overwhelming amount of information and I don't have a way to take notes, so I just try to memorize the highlights.

There's twelve gods—or twelve positions, I guess—and a High Father who rules over all of them. Each god has his own plane that's kinda like his own private kingdom, and being exiled to the mortal plane is a grave insult. Half the gods seem to be men and the other half are women, and all have been exiled via the Anticipation repeatedly throughout the history of Aos.

There's Vor, the god of the seas, who sounds like a real temperamental asshole and a troublemaker. There's Rhagos, who is my buddy.

There's Aron, the Lord of Storms and god of battle, who sounds bloodthirsty and terrifying.

There's Kassam, the Lord of the Wild and also known as Kassam the Lost, because he disappeared from the world a few Anticipations ago and no one knows what happened.

There's Gental, the God of Family that everyone seems to love and adore. He's the cuddly one of the group, I guess, but when I find out he's got a harem of women as part of his “family” it gives me the creeps. I'm told that the last Anticipation, he had a notable female anchor and also kept all her sisters as his lovers, too. Because, yanno, family.

Gross.

There's also the Spidae, which seem to be a trio of fates but not much is known about them other than they live in some tower on the edge of the world and like spiders.

So far I'm not hearing a lot of people Rhagos and I can potentially work with, and the ladies aren't much better.

There's Magra, the Lady of Plenty and a crop goddess, but she's enemies with Rhagos from long ago. I'm guessing it's the whole life versus death thing.

There's Belara—the goddess of beauty—who is also known as Belara the Betrayed, who was tricked by Kalos the Diseased (aka Rhagos's evil brother) and now holds a grudge.

There's Tadekha, Lady of Magic, but everything about her indicates that she's sneaky and is a bit of a wheeler and dealer.

And there's Anali, the Lady of Light and Health, and Riekki, the Peacekeeper. I'm not sure either one would want to work with the Lord of Death.

Slim pickings, indeed.

I learn all about anchors through all the different Anticipations, too. There's four different Aspects of each god and each one has an anchor to “bind” him to the mortal plane. The anchor feels increased needs for food and drink, because they're connected to the god. It's like eating for two. It also explains why I'm constantly stuffing my face with the delicious pastries Vossa brings in. I learn that an anchor can never stray too far from his or her god, because the bond will cause incredible pain until reunited. This means I can't leave Rhagos sitting pretty in the city while I go and try to find my way home. We have to stick together.

I learn that almost every anchor mentioned in the scrolls ends up becoming the lover and bedmate of the god they serve. Each one is tied romantically to the god but it never states how those relationships end up. Just “Melesi served Lord Gental and brought her sisters to his bed as well" or "Lady Tadekha remained for thirty years during the first Anticipation and kept her anchor, the fair Jenesse, at her side at all times." Which sounds innocent, but the pictures in the scrolls showed otherwise.

It's a lot to take in. Of course, I'm not all that surprised at this, because I find Rhagos terribly attractive. It makes sense that I'd have to serve him like that…doesn't it? It's like I've known it on some level. It's that whole “serve in all ways” thing that keeps being tossed in my face. I'm like a girlfriend and servant all in one.

I'll…cross that bridge when I get there, I decide.

The next bit of info is a bit more troubling.

It seems that each Aspect has to defeat all his other aspects in order to return to the god planes. That troubles me, because I think of Rhagos and how little he seems to care about anything. He's not exactly burning with ambition to take out the others.

And then I learn the worst part of all, the part that everyone's neglected to tell me thus far.

The god's Aspect is immortal. He cannot be killed.

His anchor, however, is a different matter entirely.

I'm the target.

To get to Rhagos, other Aspects are going to come after me. If they kill me, the tether we have that links us together is severed and Rhagos—this Rhagos—is defeated.

Which means I die.

Once I hear that, I choke on my pastry. Coughing and wheezing, I ask the scholars to leave me alone for a while. The robed men gather up their books, bob their heads at me, and then scuttle out of my chamber so I can freak out in private. I swallow hard, trying to digest this information. Not only do I get to eat for the god, I get to fuck the god, and then I get…fucked over by him?

Does Rhagos know this?

I have to talk to him. He has to send me home, and quickly.

Before I get murdered.

I DON’T GET to see Rhagos that day, or the next one, though. I’m told he won’t see anyone, even me. It’s frustrating because I have so many questions and I feel as if he’s got some of the answers, but who is going to tell a god “no” when he says he wants privacy?

And I get it. I really do. It seems like every minute of every hour, someone’s showing up in my room. There are kitchen servants with fresh food and drink. Bedservants with new linens. Maids to scrub things, and others that bring in gifts from the locals. My once-empty room is now filled with flowers, vases, tapestries, musical instruments, and chest after chest of scary-expensive looking jewelry. Vossa controls my wardrobe like an elegant dictator, pulling in seamstresses from all over Port Tidewater and having them fit gown after gown to another servant about the same size as me. I offer to do it, but everyone looks scandalized at the thought. I’m far too important to sit around for fittings.

Not so important that I don’t just sit around, of course.

Because I do that a lot. I eat. I nap. I eat more. I flip through old books and look at pictures, trying to remember everything I’ve been told. And I wait for Rhagos to remember I’m alive.

It’s around three days later when a girl breathlessly enters my room and drops to the floor, pressing her brow to the stones like they do when Rhagos is around. When she finally sits up, she gives me a wide-eyed look. “The Lord of Death has sent for you, my lady.”

A thrill shoots through me and I put aside the candied dates I’ve been mowing down. I lick my fingers and jump to my feet, then pause. Dude’s been making me wait for days now. I’m not going to jump to his bidding. That sets us both off on the wrong foot. He’s not supposed to be my boss, but my partner, and the people pleaser in me squirms a little as I sit back down again and pop another date into my mouth. “I’ll see him when I’m done eating.”

The maid hesitates, then looks to Vossa.

For some reason, that irks me. If I’m supposed to be so special and important, why are my wishes not considered? I get that Rhagos is a god, but…still. The spinner said he wouldn’t hurt me, and unless he wants to nuke himself, he can’t. I’m his anchor. If I bite it, he does, too. So I grab another handful of dates and ignore everyone. I kick my feet up on the stool nearby and cast a defiant look at Vossa, even though I’m cringing inside. This isn’t me. I’m not a rule-breaker. I’m the nerdiest of rule-followers.

But I have to establish some guidelines or else I’m going to get stomped. It happened at Boxfire Games and I’ll be damned if I let Maxine Chavez be a freaking doormat here in a new world.

Vossa just nods and moves to the table, refilling my wine glass. “My lady will be there soon enough. Please let Lord Rhagos and his servants know.”

The maid sits up, her expression resigned. “Yes, mistress, yes, my lady.” She nods at both of us, gets to her feet, and rushes out of the room.

I pretend like I’m not rattled at all, and go back to eating.

9

T  ime passes. I have no idea how long. I only know that each moment seems like eternity, and it takes everything I have not to watch the door. For some reason, I’m afraid that I’ve messed up, that the god of death is going to come sweeping in and fuck me up. But…if we’re going to be partners and work together to get home, that means we really do have to be partners.

And one partner doesn’t jump to answer the other partner’s bidding. It has to go both ways. I force myself to drink more wine, even though it doesn’t make me tipsy, and nibble on a few pieces of hard, flat bread while I wait. I’m not exactly sure what I’m waiting for. Just…for the right moment to come. Then I’ll go see Rhagos.

But just as I reach for the last bit of bread, the door to my room flies open.

Rhagos saunters into my room as if he owns it, all tall, pale body and fine-ass form. He's also buck naked.

I stare. What else can I do? His dick is practically waving a hello as he strides forward and approaches me.

"Did you not receive my summons?" Is it possible for a naked man to be imperious? Because he's absolutely imperious, stretching to his full height and glaring down at me. The tattoos crisscross over his arm and flex when he puts his fists on his hips.

It takes everything I have to make eye contact with the man. "Um…shouldn't you put on some clothes?"

His eyes narrow. "Why?"

"It's proper?"

Rhagos snorts, as if my words amuse him. "You want me to be proper? I am a god. I can do as I please."

I haven't forgotten that he's a god. It's like he reminds me simply by being…godlike in his beauty. I've seriously never seen a more attractive man. Even his hair—black and wavy—seems to tumble loose and perfectly around his face and frame it like some sort of dark angel. And because he's a god and I'm just another mortal that serves, I want to drop to the floor and press my forehead to the tile like everyone else does. But…then I won't be his partner, will I? His equal? I'll be placing myself lower than him.

So I stand up, hoping my shaking knees don't show under my long, pleated dress. "Come on in to my room," I joke. "Door's open."

He frowns, brows creasing together, and then looks behind him at the door that now hangs open because he opened it. He turns back to me after a moment and studies my face, ignoring Vossa who remains crouched with her brow to the floor nearby. "Why did you not come to my summons?"

"I was heading there," I say, then add, "Soon. I wanted to finish eating first."

"You do not avoid me.”

Is that a question? I scoff. "No."

“Then why avoid me?” he questions, studying me. He takes another step forward and his sly smile broadens when I take a quick step back, moving farther around the table and away from him. He turns his head slightly in Vossa's direction. "Leave us alone."

"Of course, my lord." Her voice is a barely audible whisper and she hurries out of the room. Another maid does, too, and then the doors shut quietly behind us as Rhagos studies me.

Then I'm alone with a big, naked god.

"I wasn't avoiding you," I protest, trying to think of something to say. He's overwhelming now that I'm alone with him, and I'm very aware of his nakedness—and his beauty. "I was just going over some of the information the scholars gave me about anchors."

"And what did they say about anchors?" He moves forward, close enough that it's clear he has no concept of personal space, and touches one of the dangling locks of hair Vossa teased out from my updo to frame my face.

"That they…serve."

“And this makes you blush?”

I am. I totally am. "Some of them serve a lot."

Laughter rumbles through him, dark and achingly erotic. "Do they? Does that trouble you?"

I chew on my lip, considering my answer. When I look up, he's still watching me with a hawk-like gaze, his green eyes intense. "I don't know."

"But you find me unattractive," he prompts.

"No, of course not." God, my face feels like it's on fire. I want to press the backs of my hands to my cheeks to cool them but that'd be too obvious. Almost as obvious as how quickly I blurted out my answer, I realize.

His smile grows wider, and I feel like the biggest dork. "So you find me appealing, then."

"I'm not going to answer that."

Rhagos laughs, a sultry sound, and then he touches a finger lightly to my jaw. I feel that intense, pepperminty connection between us as our skin connects, and bite back a gasp when he frames my face in his fingers, tilting my chin up so I have to look at him. “This must be how one reacts when they are not attracted, then,” he says in a sly way, brushing his fingers over my hot cheeks.

Busted.

“I’m not used to this. I'm sorry." I whisper the words out as he gazes on me, and again, that hot thrill of attraction shoots through my body at his presence. He's overwhelming, this guy. I've heard the phrase of someone “taking all the air out of the room” and never thought it was a thing until now. Around Rhagos, I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but…tingle.

And man, am I tingling right now.

His thumb skates over my lower lip, and it takes everything I have not to gasp at the sensation that ripples through my body. "Tell me of your past lovers, Max."

I swallow, not entirely sure I heard him correctly. "Lovers?" My voice squeaks.

"Yes. Tell me of your likes and dislikes. What appeals to you between the sheets." He leans closer. "Where you like a man's mouth on your body."

Oh god. My knees tremble. Is this part of the anchor package deal? Him putting his mouth on my body? "I—no lovers."

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for him to laugh in my face at nerdy Max, who hasn't had a real relationship that ever went beyond a few early dates. Of how my own awkwardness sabotages almost every attempt at intimacy. It's something I'm increasingly aware of as I get older. No one wants to be a twenty-four-year-old virgin. It doesn't imply that you're choosy, it just implies there's something wrong with you.

"But you like my touch?” he asks softly, and leans in so close his breath feels hot on my face. When I’m silent, he continues. “Tell me you hate it, then. Tell me you hate my touch even though I can see your nipples clearly through your dress.“

A little gasp escapes me then, soft and aching. I’m so turned on at his words. “You shouldn’t be looking at that.”

“Why not? You are mine to look at, aren’t you?”

His voice is like seductive chocolate, and when his thumb moves over my lower lip again, I have to fight the urge to bite down on the tip of it. This isn’t like me. I’ve never been so viscerally attracted to someone in my life, but I can’t stop the constant mental images of me flinging myself at Rhagos. God, I want to so badly.

“What do you like?” I blurt, then inwardly cringe at how stupid I must sound.

He pauses. It’s clear he didn’t expect that from me. “From a lover?” When I nod, he runs his knuckles along my jaw. “My memory is blank. Is there anything you would like to do to me?”

Oh, filthy, filthy things. But I keep my thoughts to myself.

“Disrobe for me?”

The question is a low murmur, so low I almost think it’s my imagination at first. But when I look up, Rhagos is watching me with those blazing green eyes, and I shiver all over.

He wants me to get naked for him? To be his servant in all ways?

I should totally be offended but I’m so turned on I can’t think of anything but him. Of wanting to touch him. To pleasure him. Even so, I reach for the fastenings of my gown on my shoulders, where an ornate brooch holds together a billion folds. “Are…we doing this then?”

“You are in my service,” Rhagos says, watching me closely. “It is only service if it is given freely. Otherwise it is merely taking, is it not?”

He’s got a point.

I’m even more breathless when he changes his mind about me getting naked. Instead of watching me undress, he takes my hand in his and puts it low on his stomach, just above the dark curls that frame his enormous cock. “Will you serve me now, Maxine?”

Oh…god. I practically come just from hearing those words.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Anything you like? In this moment, I am yours.”

I shiver with anticipation. He’s still standing naked in front of me, all that muscular, pale flesh like utter perfection. I’m normally not attracted to pale guys but there’s something about him that fascinates me. It’s like someone knew what my fantasies were and brought them to life. So I look up at him and boldly ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Of course, I think I’m being bold. When it comes out, it sounds shy and girly.

He doesn’t answer me. He just cups my cheek, tilts my face up, and puts his mouth on mine.

In contrast to the pepperminty, tingly feel of his hands, his lips are scorching. They’re firm and authoritative as he takes my mouth over and over in a hard, overwhelmingly amazing kiss. His lips seem to conquer mine before his tongue glides against my own, and then I’m utterly lost, my hands curling on his chest as we kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

I lose all track of time. The world ceases to exist outside of his mouth, or of the feel of his body under my palms. With every slant of his mouth over mine, I’m a little more aroused, and a little bolder. I slide one hand to his cock and curl my fingers around it. Even though I’m a virgin, I’ve done a little stuff below the belt. It’s been forever, but touching Rhagos like this feels right. Like this is how I’m meant to be with him.

The sharp intake of his breath when I touch him just confirms it. His mouth lifts from mine, and his green eyes are still hungry, but they’re as clouded with lust as my own. “Max…”

I want to keep doing more. So I move in closer, one hand on his waist, and press my mouth to one of his pectorals in a light, feathery kiss. I move lower and lower, pressing more kisses to his body.

He groans when I squeeze his cock lightly.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, even as I press another flirty kiss on his stomach and drop to my knees in front of him.

Rhagos makes a low sound in his throat—almost a growl—and his hand goes to my hair, indicating that no, he doesn’t want me to stop at all.

This is every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had. He’s gorgeous, his body perfect, and he loves my boldness. It’s unlike me, but I’m loving it. I’m loving touching him, tasting him, and maybe it’s time for Maxine Chavez to stop being a frightened mouse and start being a kick-ass woman who takes what she wants. And right now? I totally want this man. I slide my hand up and down his long, hard shaft, fascinated with the sight of it. Most dicks seem to be ugly or odd, but this one could be shaped out of marble it’s so perfect. The crown is plump, the shaft thick, a single vein tracing underneath. There’s a droplet of precum on the head that draws my attention and I lean in and lick it off. The first taste of Rhagos is intoxicating.

A little moan escapes me, and I cup his length, then tease the tip of his cock with my tongue, swirling it against the underside and licking the divot in the center before sucking on it.

I love the sound he makes when I take him into my mouth, the way his fingers clench against my scalp. “You are exactly what I expected in an anchor,” he rasps. “Exactly.”

I pop my mouth off his cock and lick that tantalizing vein. “I hope that’s good.”

“Both. Neither,” he manages, caressing my cheek.

Right. It’s a weird statement, but I can tell he likes my touch. I’m encouraged at how worked up he sounds, how much he seems to enjoy my mouth. I’m enjoying it, too. I curl my fingers at the base of his cock and feed him deeper into my mouth, rubbing my tongue along the underside as I do. He groans again, his body shuddering as I work him. His hand fists in my hair and his breath catches when I suck a little harder.

“You’re terrible at that,” he says, voice low and husky.

I freeze.

What the fuck?

Here I am, throat deep on his cock and he tells me I’m garbage? Hurt flashes through me, paired with outrage, and I do the only thing I can think of.

I bite him.

He howls, jerking free as I recoil away from him. Rhagos stumbles backward, his green eyes blazing in shock as he clutches his junk.

“Fuck you,” I snarl, wiping my mouth. Then, I turn and race out of the room.

10

I  stumble down the hall, desperate to get away from anyone and everyone. It's impossible, of course—there are servants and guards crawling the cool, shadowy halls of the palace, and there's no escaping anything. Even so, I race down corridor after corridor, just wanting to put distance between myself and the asshole I'm tied to.

I'm so stupid.

I can't believe I kissed him, went down on him, and expected him to be flattered. For him to enjoy my touch. He's a god. I probably seemed like the most feeble of idiots trying to blow him.

You're terrible at that.

His words ring in my ears, over and over again, the low, quiet way he said it somehow making me crazier than if he'd used a scathing tone. I don't understand him. Why coax me to touch him, to put his hand in my hair and encourage me when he's just going to tell me how terrible I am?

I run out of breath, leaning against a wall and panting hard. There are guards at the far end of the corridor I'm in—and where I'm at, I have no clue—but I ignore them. I sag against the wall, hugging my knees and hiding my body between two large amphorae, feeling ashamed and stupid. My dress is a mess, the folds about to come undone, my hair a snarled wreck, and worst of all, I'm still throbbing between my thighs thinking about that kiss.

I hate myself almost as much as I hate him right now. It's my own fault—I was dumb enough to go down on him, right? I let myself be dazzled by a smooth voice and a pretty face. Ugh.

"My lady?" Vossa turns the corner and then races toward me, her dress fluttering. She has a look of concern on her face. "Are you all right? What happened?"

I crouch low, squeezing my knees tight, and say nothing.

She crouches next to me. "Did something happen? Lord Rhagos is in a terrible mood. Did…did you anger him?" She twists her hands, a worried look on her face. "What can I do to help?"

I shake my head. I know she's trying to be kind and supportive but I also know he's got all the power. She's afraid of him, and I don't blame her. "I don't think I want to be his anchor anymore, Vossa. I'm done with this." I sure can't look him in the eye again, not after that horrible moment.

You're terrible at that.

I let myself be open and vulnerable to him. I offered myself to him. I sucked on his damn dick. And what do I get?

You're terrible at that.

I press my palms to my ears like a child, wishing I could drown out the sound of his voice ringing in my ears. It's impossible, though, and for a long moment, I'm stupidly glad I bit him. I hope it fucking hurt. I hope his precious dick fucking falls right off. I hope he never lets another girl go down on him again. It'd serve him right.

To think that if he’d asked me to get into bed with him, I would have leapt at the chance. I’d have given him everything. I’d have happily served in all ways just like every other anchor.

I’m so dumb. So, so dumb. The spinner said I was too trusting, didn’t she? Well, she wasn’t wrong. I trusted Rhagos and he basically slapped me in the face with his words.

Vossa touches my knee again, her face all worry. I lower my hands so I can hear her, and she speaks. "My lady, there is no way to break the bond. You are his anchor until he ascends once more. That is how the Anticipation has always worked."

I shake my head, refusing to accept this as the answer. "There has to be a way. I want money and some supplies. And a weapon."

"But why?"

"I'm leaving," I decide. The moment I say it aloud, I like it. If Rhagos isn't going to help me get home like he said he would—and so far he's made zero effort—then I'm going to have to go questing on my own. At this point it seems like a better option than seeing him ever again.

"You cannot leave his side," Vossa points out, a worried look on her face. "An anchor is tied to her Aspect—"

Yeah, well, I'm going to test that theory. I shake my head. "How long will it take for you to get me the stuff I've asked for?"

She blinks. "Not long—"

"Then I'll wait here. Go get my things and I'll wait." I smile at her to take some of the bitchiness out of my tone. I know I'm being short with her and kind of impossible. She's been the only one that's been genuinely nice to me since I arrived, and I know this has to be frustrating for her. But I'm not going back to my rooms to just sit and wait for Rhagos to notice me again. Plus…he's probably really mad that I bit his dick.

Briefly, I wonder if that was a smart move. Should I piss off the god of death?

Then again, does it matter? If what Vossa says is true, he's stuck with me as much as I'm stuck with him. If not…then I'll worry about his anger.

Vossa hesitates, then nods and gets to her feet. "Wait here, my lady. I'll return as quickly as possible."

"Thanks." I remain where I'm at, noticing that a few guards file down at the end of the hallway and keep an eye on me. I'm used to being tailed all the time at this point, and the fact that they don't approach tells me that they're here to guard me like usual. Maybe no one knows that I bit Rhagos's dick? Maybe he didn't say anything about it?

It seems like forever before Vossa returns, and my butt gets cold and numb from sitting on the floor. When she does return, though, I notice she's got another handmaiden with her and no bag. That's not a good sign. I get to my feet to meet her as she approaches, and there's a worried look on her face. She wrings her hands. "My lady, I bring bad news. I'm so sorry." She looks ready to cry.

"What is it?"

"Lord Rhagos has returned to his apartments and wishes for you to join him."

Oh, is that it? He’s overruled her? “Yeah, you can tell him no."

She wrings her hands, clearly upset with my decision. "My lady—"

"I know. I don't want to hear it, though." I get to my feet, dusting off my dress. "Is he still in my room?"

Vossa hesitates. "No, he has returned to his chambers."

Good. I nod and start to head back for my rooms. Ok. I obviously can't stay here—not after I humiliated myself in front of that asshole—so I need to pack a bag and get the heck out of Dodge. I'll slip out quietly and be on the road before he even knows I'm gone…and he probably won't care. He can find someone with more skill to suck his dick because I'm not touching it ever again. I don't care how gorgeous he is. Clearly being his anchor made my mind snap. Now that I'm aware of what a jerk he is, though, it won't happen again.

Vossa's silent as we head down the halls, staying close to my side but a few steps behind me. When we get to my rooms, though, I stop. There are a dozen people scurrying in and out, ripping hangings off the walls and bundling up my blankets. They're stripping everything out of the room. "Is that bastard kicking me out?"

I mean, I wanted to leave anyhow but it's doubly insulting if he's the one doing it.

"I…do not know." Vossa looks just as perplexed as me. She stops a maid with an armful of dresses. "What is this?"

The girl looks as if she wants to drop into a deep bow but can't with her arms full. She settles for bobbing her head and averting her eyes. "Mistress Vossa. My lady anchor. The Lord of Death has requested that his anchor be moved into his apartments."

What? "I don't want to go. Tell him no."

Everyone freezes and looks at me. Vossa goes pale. The servants stop.

"My lady, he is a god," the servant whispers. "We await his bidding. We cannot tell him no."

"Well, I'm not going." I grab the basket out of the servant's hands and storm into my rooms. "You don't have to tell him anything at all, but I'm not going." I drop the blankets back on the now-stripped mattress and glare at the servants all staring at me. "All of you, out."

"But…" one begins.

"You heard my lady," Vossa says in a crisp voice. "Everyone out. She wishes for privacy."

One by one, the servants drop what they are gathering and shuffle out of the room. Vossa watches them go with her head tilted at an imperious angle, and then shuts the doors quietly behind them when the last one is out. The moment we're alone, she turns and gives me a wary look. "My lady, I don't wish to pry, but do you think this is wise?"

She has no idea what just happened with Rhagos. She probably can't understand why I never want to see him again, not when I've been dopey over his beauty for the last few days. "Long story, but trust me when I say I don't want to see that man right now and I'm pretty sure he's just doing this to make me angry." I pick up one of the blankets and fold it. "I just…I need some time to think, all right?"

"Very well." Vossa doesn't look as if she agrees, but she inclines her head. "Shall I go to Lord Rhagos and tell him you are unavailable?"

Her face is drawn, and I can tell she's frightened. "No. He can figure it out on his own. For now, you can get me that bag of supplies we talked about earlier."

She bites her lip, and I can tell she doesn't want to get this either. "My lady…you are his anchor—"

"Just…get it for me, ok?" I smile to take the sharpness out of my words and add a tiny lie. "I probably won't even use it but I like the thought of having it around."

"Very well." Vossa bobs a curtsy at me and then leaves the room.

I toy with the folded blanket in my hands, then just crawl onto the stripped bed and curl up. Here I thought this would be an adventure. A quest. Instead, it's been humiliation after humiliation. At this point, I just really want to go home. Fuck Rhagos and fuck all of this. Did I think I didn't fit in back home? It's nothing compared to how awkward and out of place I feel here. Is that the lesson I'm supposed to learn from being in this world? It's not about questing at all, just teaching me that I'm not special?

If so, message delivered. Loud and clear.

I MUST FALL asleep curled up on the bed, because the next thing I know, Vossa's leaning over me and touching my arm. "My lady. Please wake up. We have a problem."

Her face is alarmingly pale, and for the first time since I've met her, Vossa looks ever so slightly disheveled, her intricate updo with tendrils escaping everywhere. She looks as if she's been running. I rub a hand over my face. "What is it?"

"Lord Rhagos is upset that you will not come to him—”

"Tough titty."

"—and vows to kill one person every hour that you stay away."

That makes me sit up. "He what?"

Vossa wrings her hands again, her face pale and utterly grave. "My lord Rhagos says he will kill one person for every hour you hide away from him, my lady."

"He can't do that!"

"My lady," Vossa says, voice low. "He is the god of death."

She’s right.

Of course he's going to kill people. That's what he does. To him, death is just part of the job. I swallow hard. Something tells me he won't think anything at all of just killing everyone in this palace until he gets to me. Frustrated and upset, I get out of bed and straighten my clothes. "Fine. Take me to him."

Vossa bobs her head and gestures that I should follow her.

I like to think of myself as a rather sunny, even-tempered sort of person. I really am. I prefer the glass half full—or better yet, the glass will be full as soon as I can pour some more water into it. I believe in making a plan and acting to get what you want. I'm an optimist and I believe that if you work hard, you get the results you need. But being near Rhagos has completely rattled me. I feel as if every time I start to figure him out, he throws me for a loop.

I didn't think this would be easy, but I thought I could handle it. I'm starting to realize I can't handle anything. That dealing with a god—or even his Aspect—is completely different than dealing with a mortal man. I'm not sure I'm prepared.

Guards and anxious people line the halls, watching as Vossa leads me toward a large chamber I've only been into once—the throne room. I can feel all eyes on me, and I know they're all thinking the same thing. If I act like a brat who isn't getting her way, they're going to die. I'm thinking it, too. Rhagos isn't playing fair. He's bullying me into getting what he wants, and I hate that it's going to work.

Most of all, I hate that I was attracted to him.

I tell myself it’s gone now. That just because he’s unearthly beautiful, it can’t hide the fact that he’s a huge asshole, and that’s going to kill my lust for him. I’m attracted to brains, not to the shell…or at least, that was what I always thought.

I enter the throne room, my posture upright, and I keep walking forward even when Vossa pauses at the entrance and then drops to her knees in the subservient pose everyone assumes around Rhagos. All around the chamber, people are sitting on their knees, watching and waiting. There's a low murmur of voices as I pass them, gossip starting already. At the front of the long, echoing, shadowy chamber, there's a throne on a dais, and on that throne is the god of death himself. He's dressed, which I suppose is a blessing, but he's really leaning into the whole “death god” thing. He's wearing a dark, form-fitting tunic of all black with black leggings and a black cloak. It makes his face look paler than ever, the scar across one side of his face standing out like a fresh slash.

And he watches me as I approach, his eyes narrowed and intense.

I can feel my face getting hot as I move forward. I think about our last terrible interaction, of me going down on him, wanting to please him, utterly attracted to him, and him telling me how awful I was at it. I don't know if I'm ashamed of myself or of him for being such a dick. But I won't let him bully me. I'm supposed to be his partner. I know I am. Nothing in the books—and nothing the spinner told me—said that I was just a whipping post for a spoiled god who wants to get his way above all else. So I have to have a backbone. I have to.

I walk right up to the edge of the dais, utterly erect, and give him the coldest look possible. "What is your problem?"

His brows go up.

The room gets deathly quiet.

"My problem?" he echoes in that smooth voice. “Is there a problem? Or do I simply have a disobedient anchor who runs away from me?”

"Maybe your anchor wouldn't leave all the time if you weren't such a jerk to her," I snap, then bite back the rest of my angry words. Glass half full, Max. Glass half full. There's no point in yelling at the man.

But he only smiles, that oversized mouth somehow sexy despite his unusual features. "You are not afraid of me?"

Is that a dare? Does he want me to be afraid? "You can't kill me," I point out. "That doesn't suit your purposes."

"There are a lot of things that can happen before death."

Just hearing that makes my anger flare again. "I know you aren't threatening to torture me."

He smiles and makes a hand gesture, acknowledging that I'm right.

"I don't want to move in with you," I point out. "I want my own chambers. I need privacy."

Rhagos watches me with those intense green eyes. "You do not get a choice."

"Because I'm your anchor?" When he nods, I continue. "Fine then. I don't want to be your anchor, either. I want to sever this bond between us."

"Again, you do not get a choice." His eyes glitter, narrowing. His expression turns dangerous.

"You said there was a way to sever the bond. Either you know it or you don't." He doesn't answer me, so I charge ahead. "I won't be stuck with a bully, and you're in no hurry to do what we agreed on, so I'm leaving. I'll go on this quest without you."

"Go ahead and try." He leans forward, his hands tight on the arms of his throne. "See how far you get."

I scowl at him. "I don't want you to send your goons after me to try and stop me, either. I'm leaving and I'm done."

He leans back in his throne, smiling. "I will not chase you down."

"And you won't kill anyone?" I shake my finger at him like an angry wife. "Just because you're not getting your way?"

"I will not kill anyone unless you ask me to," Rhagos says in a soft voice.

"I don't plan on asking," I say, and turn on my heel and leave.

I thought it was a pretty good exit, too, until he starts laughing as I retreat. And then I just get angry all over again.

11

Everyone watches me as I leave.

It's not a surprise. I guess if Rhagos is a celebrity here, I'm sort of one, too. I'm getting used to the constant eyes on me, but right now I just find it annoying.

Vossa hands me the pack she's prepared as I walk out to the palace steps. Her expression is downright reluctant. "My lady, this will not work—"

"I know," I say. "Anchors are tied to the gods and yadda yadda. But I have to try. I'm going to try. It might just be a lie to keep me at his side and that's the last place I want to be right now."

She nods, stepping out of my way. I shoulder the pack, pick up my skirts, and head down the main thoroughfare that winds through the sloping town. I know if I head where the road goes down, I'll get to the docks and the shipyards. I'm not keen on the thought of sailing, so I head up instead, up the sloping streets the way I came several days ago. Maybe I'll stop by the spinner's house and tell her she's gotten it all wrong. Maybe I'll see if I can find the portal back to my world and just give up on this “adventure.” If it's not there, well, then, I'll just head in a different direction entirely. I'll do this quest on my own, without Rhagos.

There's no doubt in my mind that he's Apathy. And since he is, I can't count on him to actually do this with me. I'm on my own either way, so I might as well leave him behind.

People flock out of their houses, watching me with curious looks. A few of them smirk and others cheer. My face flushes, and I wish I'd remembered not to wear my glasses so I could blend in more, but I guess the time for blending is long gone, too. The dress I'm wearing is a million folds of a silky, embroidered material that's richer than anything that the people I'm passing wear, so not only do I look like an angry rich wife leaving her husband, I look like an idiot.

I'll change when I'm good and on my way, I decide.

Even as I make the steep hike up the main road toward the edge of the city, my limbs feel heavy. At first I think it's because I'm a desk job kind of girl, and I'm not used to such a steep climb. But with every step, it gets more difficult, to the point that something feels…wrong. By the time I get to the edge of the city, where I can see the distant gates that keep the wilderness out, my chest is hurting and it feels as if every step will be a painful one. Like I'm tearing something inside myself.

They were right.

I'm not going to be able to leave him. I have to stay close to him at all times until this bond is finished or broken.

I stare at the gates, my jaw clenched. I want to scream and curse at someone or something, but I take several deep breaths, calming myself. Even those hurt. Okay. I can't leave. I'll have to figure something else out. Onward and upward, glass half full, et cetera. Steeling myself, I paste my smile back on my face and turn around, heading back toward the palace.

I take off my glasses because I don't want to see the faces of the people around me. Doesn't matter if they're laughing or if it's pity, I'm better off not knowing.

Each step I take back toward the palace—and toward Rhagos—feels better. The tightness in my chest eases, the pain disappearing. My body feels less sluggish, and by the time I head up the palace steps and wordlessly hand my pack back to a waiting Vossa, I feel great, physically.

Mentally, I'm trying to hold it all together.

Once I step inside the cool shade of the palace, I hesitate. Go to my rooms that are even now being cleared out? Or confront Rhagos and admit that he won this round? I think for a moment, and then sigh. Might as well get this over with. I head back for the throne room, and a guard opens the doors for me. The room is filled with people, most sitting on their knees, but a man in robes—a scholar, I think—stands before Rhagos, speaking.

I approach, keeping my steps calm and measured, and as I do, I can feel Rhagos's attention turn to me. He's nothing but a distant dark blur, but I can feel it.

He moves a hand and fingers snap. "Get my anchor a seat."

Servants scurry to do his bidding, and I slide my glasses on my face as I pass the scholar. Rhagos's green eyes are watching me with intense scrutiny, but I say nothing. I stand next to the scholar and wait. When the servants arrive with the chair and start to place it below the dais, with the crowd, Rhagos frowns and gestures angrily at the spot next to his throne.

I think I'd prefer to sit with the crowd.

But I'm sweaty, and tired, and when the ornate, low-backed golden chair is set next to his and an embroidered cushion fluffed and settled on the seat, fatigue hits me. I'm so tired of all of this. Not the hiking, but the mind games. So I go and sit.

"You win," I say in a low voice to Rhagos as I smooth my skirts.

"It gives me great pleasure."

I shoot him a look. His expression looks anything but pleased, but there's no mistaking those words. "Are you trying to deliberately be mean?"

"Yes." He watches me closely.

Sigh. This guy. I gesture at the scholar. “Don’t let me interrupt with my return. I’m sure you were expecting me.”

Rhagos reaches over as if to touch my hand with his. To comfort me? I don’t want it. I lean away, staying out of his reach, and stare so hard at the scholar that it feels like my eyes are crossing.

Rhagos sighs, and I can feel his gaze on me. After I continue to ignore him, he speaks to the robed scholar. "Is there word of my brother Kalos?"

"Not yet."

He makes a sound of displeasure.

The scholar clears his throat. "It does not mean that he has not arrived in this Anticipation, my lord. Simply that we do not have word of him yet. We have sent ravens to all the large cities and have not yet heard back from several. I promise that as we receive information, we will bring it to you."

"Mmm." He's quiet for a long moment, and when I look over, Rhagos is rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Magra in Yshrem. Vor in Glistentide. Riekki in Hrit Svala. And Belara? Where is she?"

"We do not have word yet," the scholar says again.

"When we find where she is, we will find Kalos, I think," Rhagos continues in that smooth voice. "He is ever drawn to her."

The scholar nods. "Of course. We will send out more ravens, looking specifically for her if it pleases you."

"Any word on my other Aspects?"

The scholar freezes, and won't look Rhagos in the eye. "We have heard…rumor, nothing more."

"But you have heard something."

There's a tension in Rhagos's tone that makes me watch the scholar closely. The man is sweating. Nervous. He has heard something, it's obvious. "I…it is not good news, my lord."

"And yet you withhold it from me?" The rich, butter-smooth voice sounds utterly dangerous for a moment.

"No, of course not." The scholar drops to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"Then speak."

The scholar sits up, his face pale. "Ravens have given word that two of your holy Aspects were seen in Blackwall and New Fanor. One has fled with his anchor and has not been seen again. The people of New Fanor …" The man chokes on the words. "They rose up and killed your Aspect, my lord."

I stare in shock at the man. They killed a god? That means they killed his anchor, because the Aspect himself can't be hurt, according to what I've been told. I shoot Rhagos a panicked look. "Why would they do that?"

"I do not know." Rhagos glances over at me. "I will keep you safe."

I'm not sure I believe that, but what choice do I have? I want a weapon at all times, I decide. Enough with these fluttery, pretty dresses. I need a knife or two to keep me safe. Because I don't feel safe anymore. I'm not sure I ever felt safe, really. I've been deluding myself, thinking that I'm important in the scheme of things when really, I'm just a target. I lick dry lips and clench my hands in my lap.

Okay. I need a new plan. Step one of the plan, never sit at the front of the throne room again. Because everyone's watching me, and I feel like a target. A great, big, obvious target. Time to stop being so obvious and be smarter about things.

I also need to talk to Rhagos when we leave this room. Make sure we're on the same page. He might be a jerk and a half, but I've never gotten the impression he wants me dead. He has to know why—or have an idea—why the people would rise up to kill him instead of worshiping him.

"Is there anything else, then?" Rhagos's voice sounds bored. I look over and he's leaning back in his throne, the picture of idle boredom. How can he be bored right now? I'm shocked. I want to pull the scholar aside and quiz him on everything he knows, but Rhagos looks as if he doesn't care.

I dig my nails into my palms in frustration.

"One more thing, my lord." The scholar's voice quivers and he glances at another man in the audience. A priest, it looks like, in black robes. The man has a shaved head and looks equally worried, and my gut churns a little.

"What is it?"

"Since the gods have ah, descended upon the mortal realm, the natural ways have been upset." The scholar mops at his sweaty brow, then continues. "And any city such as this one has a great many people in it, and a great many dead for a variety of reasons."

"And?"

I grit my teeth at his bored tone.

"Because you are here in the mortal realm, my lord, the dead are unable to rest. They are trapped inside their bodies. We have several awaiting your dark touch."

My jaw drops. The dead aren't…dying? Oh my god. I look over at the man at my side and feel stupid. Of course they're not dying. I'm sitting next to the god of death who has been exiled. If the dead can't be received…I don't know how this works in their world, but it doesn't sound good. At all.

Rhagos just tilts his head, looking for all the world as if he couldn't give a shit. "And?"

The scholar exchanges a look with the priest. "I-I-I…I thought you should know, my lord," he stammers. "They will be in agony until you take them into your eternal embrace."

The god of death smiles thinly and gestures at himself. "I am without my powers here in the mortal realm."

"The scrolls say—" the scholar begins, and then stops when Rhagos glares at him.

I lean forward in my chair? "What? What do the scrolls say?"

“No one cares," Rhagos says.

I frown. "I want to hear it."

He glares at me, and then gives the scholar an irritated flick of his wrist, indicating that he should continue.

The scholar's voice is thin, terrified, as if he hates the thought of contradicting the god of death. "The scrolls…say that you can strain and access your powers."

Rhagos makes a soft sound of acknowledgment in his throat and shifts his weight in his chair. "But why should I?”

I make a wordless noise of protest in my throat and all eyes turn to me. I stare at Rhagos. “You’d leave them like that?”

“What would you have me do?”

I sputter. “Your fucking job!”

His hooded eyes watch me. A smile curls his mouth. “And what would you do in exchange for that?”

My throat locks up. I know where this is going. He wants me in his rooms, all right, because he wants that girlfriend relationship—or more. It doesn’t matter that I bit him and ran away. I’m sure he has ideas on how it should go and how he’ll “entice” me back into his arms. Or maybe he intends to punish me for the way I acted. Whatever it is, the thought fills me with repugnance. “Not that.”

His smile thins. “Then ask me nicely.”

“Please.”

“I said, nicely.”

I can just guess what he means by that. “You’re disgusting.”

For some reason, my response makes him chuckle. He turns back toward the scholar. “How many?”

“What?”

“It is as you said. My powers here are useless unless I strain myself to my limits, are they not? Exactly how many I am to help move on?”

The scholar bows his head again and turns to the priest, who speaks up. “Seventeen in the last week, my lord. All have been housed in your temple awaiting burial.”

I press my hand to my mouth as the realization hits me. People are trapped in their dead bodies, waiting for his return. Does that mean…are they in pain? What happens? Are they zombies? I’m horrified at the thought. This is a city by their standards, with houses clustered atop of houses along the cliffs leading down to the bay of bright blue water, but I don’t think there’s more than five thousand people living here. If seventeen died in the last week, how many will be trapped waiting for death before Rhagos returns to his realm?

The thought of all those people hurting and trapped, unable to die, makes me sick. I turn and look at him, only to see that he’s watching me, those green eyes inscrutable.

“Please,” I murmur.

He nods once and leans back in his throne, closing his eyes. The room falls silent. For a moment, I think the pressure in the air is changing. Something feels different. He’s doing something, then—straining to send the dead home even though he’s without his powers. My head throbs as I watch him, a headache forming behind my eyes.

My nose itches and I touch it absently. When I pull my hand away, though, it’s covered in blood. Horrified, I pinch my nose to stem the bleeding. What the heck—

My mind squeezes as if something pulls hard and tight on my skull. It’s painfully tight, like a rubber band being stretched too far, only to snap back violently. A star bursts behind my eyes and then the world goes black.

12

“M y lady.” Vossa’s gentle voice touches my ears. “My lady. Please, wake up.”

A hand touches my cheek, warm and soft.

I moan, my head throbbing, and try to open my eyes. Something wet and heavy is over them—a cloth.

“She rouses, my lord,” Vossa whispers. “Should I leave?”

There’s no answer, but the weight next to me doesn’t move. Vossa’s hand touches my face again, lifting the towel, and I open my eyes slowly. I feel like I’ve been trampled. Everything hurts, and I can still taste a hint of blood in the back of my throat. I touch my nose, but even that small motion feels like effort, and it seems to take forever for my gaze to focus in on Vossa, who leans over me.

Over her shoulder is the dark-robed Lord of Death, his gaze glittering as he watches me.

“Welcome back, my lady.” Vossa says, her voice low. “Shall I get you a drink?”

I nod, and she gets up, leaving me alone with Rhagos.

He moves toward the bed—and I realize I’m not in my room. There are thick, heavily embroidered hangings above the bed that aren’t mine, and I’m surrounded by soft pillows. His room. His bed. I want to get up in protest, but I don’t have the strength. It seems like a small, pissy thing at the moment.

Rhagos traces my cheek with his fingers, his gaze inscrutable. “Are you well?”

I rub my forehead, where the pounding lingers still. It’s obvious that he had me taken here when I passed out, and I’m touched. “I’m ok. Thank you for caring.”

He touches my chin, then his thumb skates over my mouth in the barest of caresses. “I care nothing for you.”

And then he turns and walks away, leaving me completely and utterly bewildered once more. I can’t figure him out. Just when I think he’s being completely tender, he’s cruel.

I put my hand to my brow again, frustrated.

“Drink this, my lady,” Vossa murmurs, coming to my side with a cup. “A bit of wine will do you good.”

I sit up and she helps me drink. A few sips of the sweet wine helps the taste in my mouth, but not much else. I still feel as if I was run over by a truck. “What happened?”

“The scholars say…” She hesitates. “You are Lord Rhagos’s anchor, yes?” When I nod, she continues. “As an exile, an Aspect cannot have access to his magic. It has to come from somewhere. It seems that it comes from his bond through you.”

Which means that if he uses his magic to kill others, it hurts me. I flop back on the bed. Oh goody. Another facet to this bond that I hate. “No one told me.”

“I am not certain Lord Rhagos knew,” Vossa says. She holds the cup, hesitating by the side of the bed. “He was very upset when he saw you hurt. I have never seen him so frantic.”

Probably because he was risking his own hide. I rub my brow again, frustrated. I’ll think about it more later. For now, I want that wet cloth back over my throbbing eyes so I can rest. “Thank you, Vossa.”

She leaves, and I’m alone with my thoughts.

I NAP off and on for the rest of the day. Every time I wake up, I can feel Rhagos’s presence, though. He’s lurking in the room, and my skin prickles with awareness as if he’s watching me sleep. Maybe he is. I don’t know how gods think, clearly, because he’s an utter mystery to me. I don’t want to talk to him, though, so I go back to sleep.

By the time I can’t sleep any longer, it’s fully night. I can hear Rhagos talking to someone in an antechamber, but he’s no longer in my—our—bedroom. I sit up in bed and find a pair of slippers, then pull a robe over my thin, filmy nightgown. It gets hot here at night and there’s no air conditioning, so everyone sleeps in as little as possible…which makes sense unless you’re sharing a room with the all-powerful god whose dick you might have bitten. That makes things awkward.

I get up and look around his room, and when I spot a pair of doors, I head for it. It’s not that I’m running away—there’s nowhere to go—but I just need a break from the constant pressure of his presence. Even a bathroom where I could lock the door behind me would be nice.

Instead of a closet or a bathroom, though, the double doors open up to a balcony. I gasp in surprise as moonlight floods in over the stone tiles and step forward. Rhagos has a view of the city, spread out below to the left. To the right, I can see the bay and all the ships bobbing in the harbor. There’s a few small vessels but one or two seem rather large and even now, one comes in from the sea, lit up by the enormous blood red moon that fills the skies and is far, far closer than Earth’s moon is.

It’s beautiful out here, the night crisp and crystal clear, and yet it feels so very alien. There’s nothing at home that looks like this, the hundreds of clustered, tiny houses along the sloping streets. There are dogs—and people—sleeping in alleyways while the god of death lives in opulence in the palace and does nothing. There’s something about that that feels very wrong, but I don’t know what to do about it or even if I can.

“You’re not asleep?”

His smooth voice curls through the night behind me.

I shiver, holding my robe tightly to my chest and pretend to focus out on the sleeping city. “I’m awake.”

“Your head?”

“Better than it was.”

He moves out onto the balcony to stand next to me. His dark robes ruffle in the breeze, and when I glance over at him, his thick hair is windswept and gorgeous. The man is sickeningly beautiful…and impossible to understand.

“Shall I call for your servant woman?” he asks, clasping his hands behind his back and watching me with that intense green gaze.

“No.” It seems rude to wake Vossa up just because I napped all afternoon. When Rhagos keeps watching me, I finally dare to ask him what’s on my mind. “Why am I here?”

He smiles thinly. “That is an answer only the Fates can give.”

“No, not that. I mean, why am I here in your room? With you? Instead of rooms of my own?”

Rhagos stares down at me for a long moment, and I wait for his answer. Then, he turns out to the city and gazes out at it, and I realize there’s no answer forthcoming. If he knows it, he won’t say it. Or maybe he doesn’t know it and wants to leave me wondering. Either way, it’s frustrating as heck.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” I tell him.

“Don’t you?” For a moment, he sounds so, so sad that I’m taken aback.

“We’re supposed to be partners,” I remind him. “Anchor and Aspect. That’s how all the history books have it. We work together.”

“Who says we are not?”

But he won’t look at me when he says that. Just stares out at the moonlit city as if it has answers.

“Partners work together,” I emphasize again. “But every time I ask you something, you won’t answer me. Every time I try to do something, you fight me on it.”

“I will not do anything that is not for your—our—good,” he finally says.

“Then help me! Tell me when I’m doing something wrong. Tell me when I don’t know something. I want to trust you, Rhagos. I want to work with you so we can both get home. But I don’t see how I can trust you if you don’t answer me when I ask you the simplest things.”

He stares out at the city, silent once more. When I’m resigned to the fact that I’m not going to get an answer yet again, he finally speaks. “Trust my actions, if not my words, perhaps?”

I have no idea why he’s asking me a question. “I guess? But which actions?”

Rhagos gives me a mysterious smile and simply turns back to the view, and I’m left to wonder what the hell he’s talking about.

13

F or a week, I’m trapped to Rhagos’s job. Every day, while we wait for news from other far-flung cities to trickle in, Rhagos sits in his throne room and lords over the court. That means visits from scholars, petitioners who want to get a look at him…and his priests, who arrive every day with news of more dead.

At first it shocked me, because how are so many people dying on a regular basis? But then Vossa tells me that people from all around are bringing their dead to Lord Rhagos in the hopes that he’ll free them.

Free. Them.

It’s horrifying. I was right - no one can die while Rhagos’s Aspects are here on the mortal plane being punished. I don’t know who thought that was a good idea, but I can’t imagine. The graveyards are heavily guarded, because the dead need to be kept in. Mothers arrive on the steps with dead children in their arms, pleading for either help or a release from the half-death they’re stuck with.

Even more horrifying? Rhagos refuses to help them.

Just absolutely refuses.

It takes me a few to realize he’s not doing it to be a dick, he’s refusing because he knows it hurts me. It makes my nose bleed and gives me a migraine, and if he “pulls” too hard, I pass out. Each time he does it, I feel a little more wrung out and fragile, like he’s draining something out of me that’s not being replaced.

That’s why he refuses.

And each time someone shows up, I ask him anyhow. I can’t stand to see everyone suffering. I can’t stand the mothers weeping over children who are dead, but still twitching. Rhagos gets angry. Refuses again. Says he’s not here to serve the masses.

But the moment I say “please,” he does it.

So I spend a lot of the week with a cloth over my head and a throbbing headache. I have nosebleed after nosebleed, and each time I wake up from a nap, I see Rhagos standing at the side of my bed, looking down at me with a thin-lipped expression of disapproval. I know he doesn’t want to do it, but anyone with a heart wouldn’t refuse.

I’m also growing increasingly convinced he doesn’t have a heart. Maybe that’s why the High Father sent him down—to learn a lesson. If so? It’s not sticking.

But I don’t know what else to do. I feel trapped here in Port Tidewater, by the hordes of people arriving with the dead loaded in carts, or just wanting to get a glimpse of a god (or his anchor). It feels like a spectacle instead of a quest, and I don’t feel like we’re doing anything to get home—for him or for me. Every time I try to bring it up, he changes the subject or refuses to answer me.

Something has to change, and soon.

“WHAT NEWS?” Lord Rhagos’s voice is totally bored as another messenger arrives in the uniform of a crowmaster.

It’s another day in the oppressive, crowded throne room. I’m dressed to the nines thanks to Vossa, but she’s started changing my dresses from pale, ethereal colors to dark, somber ones because the blood stains aren’t quite so garishly noticeable. After a week of this, I’ve started carrying handkerchiefs, and I’m currently twisting one in my lap, waiting for the inevitable brain-squeeze. I can see supplicants waiting at the back of the crowded chamber, anticipating their turn to speak, and I know what’ll happen after that.

Yet how can we refuse? We can’t.

“We have news, my Lord Rhagos,” the crowmaster says, bowing deep and then straightening. “Three crows arrived from other cities, carrying a great deal of information.” When Rhagos gestures that he should continue, the man speaks. “Lord Aron of the Cleaver has appeared in Aventine. Or at least, he was for a short while. He was attacked and fled. Another one of his Aspects is rumored to be in Adassia.”

Rhagos grunts, pondering this information. I scroll through the mental list of gods, trying to place who Aron of the Cleaver is. War. Right.

“Aventine,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “And fled…where? To the Citadel?”

The crowmaster looks uncomfortable. “We have word that the Citadel has fallen.”

This makes Rhagos sit up, a look of surprise on his bored features. “Fallen?”

“Destroyed. The Aspect of Lady Tadekha and all her handmaidens were killed, or at least that is the rumor.” The messenger bows again. “Aventine has reclaimed the Dirtlands.”

I look over at Rhagos. He says nothing, but I can tell from the look on his face that he’s not thrilled with this news. I recognize Lady Tadekha’s name—the magic goddess who lives in a floating palace. Something tells me that was the Citadel.

Aventine sounds…unsafe. If the people there chased out one god and killed another, it doesn’t sound like anywhere we want to go.

“Aventine sounds promising,” Rhagos murmurs. Before I can digest that, he goes on. “Any word of my brother’s Aspects? Or of Belara?”

“We have heard that the Lady Belara has an Aspect south of here, and there are rumors of Lord Gental and Lord Vor on the Opal Coast, but nothing has been confirmed.”

“And of my other Aspects? Have you located the third?”

The crowmaster clears his throat. “No news of the third yet but…my lord…” He glances at someone standing nearby, who nods. “We have heard that your Aspect in Blackwall was promptly slaughtered after his arrival. He is no more.”

The room goes quiet.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. Slaughtered? I clench the arm of my chair, terrified. Sometimes I forget that if anyone hates Rhagos, they’re going to come after me. I suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable sitting in front of a room full of people wearing nothing but a filmy deep blue dress.

That’s two Aspects. Two Aspects in under two weeks. Are they supposed to die that fast? Because it seems awfully fast to me. All the legends, all the books made it sound like the Anticipation—the exile of the gods—could go on for years and years. Rhagos’s Aspects don’t even sound like they’re going to last the month.

I’m terrified of what that means for me.

Rhagos’s cold, pepperminty hand touches mine briefly, as if to reassure me. His smooth voice rolls out. “Which Aspect?”

“My reports do not say, my Lord.”

I look over at him, whispering. “You’re not surprised?”

He turns to me, his gaze searching, before he finally says, “I am surprised. I thought I would put up more of a fight.”

14

I  turn this information over in my head all afternoon. One of Rhagos’s Aspects appeared…and his people immediately killed him.

Twice.

I don’t understand it. He’s a jerk, sure, but there’s no questioning his power. Is it because he wouldn’t give the dead rest? Did something else happen? I don’t understand—why would you want to kill a god? He has all eternity to exact revenge on you. Why would you risk that?

Something isn’t adding up.

I worry about this as I nibble on fruits and pastries in Rhagos’s quarters, trying to ease another headache. Rhagos is in the room, which isn’t helping things, but he’s not talking to me. He’s just quiet. Thoughtful. Watchful.

Maybe the Aspect of Rhagos that appeared was more unbearable than this one? This Rhagos is imperious and kind of a jerk, but he’s also pretty apathetic because of who he is. Maybe a more dynamic one was impossible to live with. I can’t even imagine how irritating the “arrogance” Aspect of Rhagos must be. I feel sorry for whoever’s the anchor to that one.

There’s an urgent knock at the door, and before I can answer, Vossa enters. She’s trembling, her eyes wide and face pale, and the moment she sees Rhagos seated by the fire, she drops to her knees and prostrates herself.

She sits up again quickly, her hands on her thighs, and gives me a wide-eyed, terrified look. "My lady. We must speak in private. Please."

“Say whatever you must in front of me," Rhagos says, not getting up from the chair he sprawls in. His expression is lazy boredom.

Vossa shoots me another panicked look.

I go to her side and grab her hand. "Let's go to the balcony where we can talk alone." Whatever it is must be dire, because I know she's wary around Rhagos and yet she still looked to me first. We head out of the room and I close the large, wooden doors behind us. It's near twilight, and the whitewashed mud-block houses glow orange in the sunset, descending down the slope toward the blue, blue bay below. A large ship is at the docks, sails tightly furled, and there are distant people crawling all over the docks with busy intent. It's just another day here. Everything looks normal. I put my hands on the stone railing and gaze out at the city itself and for a moment, I wonder if this is all I'm meant to do—babysit a pouty death god while he waits to go back to Heaven. Or Hell. Or wherever their death god goes. I forget at the moment.

Vossa moves to my side and touches my hand. Her fingers are ice cold, and not in the curiously invigorating way that Rhagos's touch is. "My lady…I am afraid for you."

I look over at her, worried. "What's wrong?"

She glances at the doors, then takes a step closer to me, so close we could practically kiss. It's a weird invasion of personal space and I do my best not to squirm away as she leans in. "I overheard the scholars talking. A new one has arrived, a learned man of ancient languages."

"Okay." When she doesn't continue, I prompt her. "So?"

"So…my lord Rhagos has tattoos on his back and along his arm. Has he told you what they say?"

I shake my head. "I can't read this language." Whatever magic allows me to speak it doesn’t extend to writing, it’d seem.

She shakes her head. "It's not our language. It is a very old tongue used for wizardly missives. And I cannot read it either. Neither can anyone else, but when this scholar met with Lord Rhagos earlier today, he saw the tattoo upon his back and spoke with the other priests." She tenses, as if not wanting to seem accusing. "You know how he likes to walk about."

I do. Rhagos likes to sprawl in chairs, and his favorite outfit—when not in his official black robes that he wears in the throne room—is nothing more than a pair of soft, loose pants and that's it. No shoes, no shirt. It's his unofficial uniform when we're in our chambers together. It's like he's trying to remind me that he's got rock-hard abs and obliques for days. Like I need a reminder? I see those muscles in my dreams. I see him like that, and I'm filled with fascination and yearning…and hatred, because I remember the soft way he touched my hair and told me I was doing a shitty job of blowing him.

I gesture for Vossa to continue when she goes silent. "Does the tattoo say something?"

She nods slowly, her eyes wide. "I overheard the scholars talking. The one across his back says 'Give the lord of death that which pleases him most.'"

I think for a moment, mulling the words over. For some reason, my stupid brain flashes back to when I was before him, on my knees, but he made it quite clear I wasn't doing it right. Damn him. I repeat the words again, and again. And gasp as I realize this is why the other Rhagos was killed. "He's asking for death. For himself?"

She nods once, quickly.

I feel a pang of sympathy. "Being an Aspect must be awful. He gets to ascend again after all of his Aspects die, right? Maybe he's stacking the deck to ensure it's over quickly."

Vossa's cold hands grab mine. "My lady, he cannot be killed. Remember?"

It's like the cold leaches into my body. It takes hold in my gut and spreads from there. I'd forgotten for a brief moment. Rhagos might be asking to be freed, but it means that I die. I'm his anchor, his tether to the mortal world.

And if everyone gives him what he wants most, I'm in the crosshairs. "Oh shit."

"I am worried for your safety if you stay, my lady Max. Please." She squeezes my hands, her face full of worry. "You cannot remain here in Port Tidewater."

I'm worried for me, too. If one scholar knows about Rhagos's request, the others will know eventually. And why wouldn't they? It's not a secret to keep. They want to make Rhagos happy. They want to give him what he wants. No one cares what boring anchor Max wants, so no one is going to think twice about killing me. I'm just a roadblock.

Not even a road block. More of a speed bump.

If Rhagos has this tattooed on his skin on all his Aspects…it suddenly clicks as to why the others are being taken out right away. His people think they’re obeying his commands.

They’re giving him exactly what he wants.

Vossa's right. We do have to leave. We have to get started on this quest that Rhagos promised me when I agreed to serve him. But Rhagos is full of apathy. He doesn't want to go anywhere. How do I pry the man out of a palace when he's perfectly content to let the world serve him and do nothing to deserve the adulation? I give her hands another firm squeeze and turn back toward the chambers, where Rhagos waits inside. He's probably still in the same chair, that bored expression on his face.

How am I going to convince him that we need to live? He’s tattooed with a request for death, but I’m not ready to give up. I’m not going to roll over and just let it happen. If he's not going to take action, I need to. I have to convince him that the best thing for both of us is to leave.

I push the doors open and put a firm, determined expression on my face. "Rhagos? We have to talk."

Sure enough, he's still in the chair by the fire, staring into the flames. His gaze flicks to me and I get the impression that he wasn't paying attention to the fire but completely focused on me, instead. I ignore the shiver that ripples through me in response.

I've forgotten the spinner's warnings, I realize. I've been so wrapped up in the gamut of emotions that Rhagos elicits that I've completely forgotten one of her warnings.

Cover him.

I realize now it's so no one can see his back tattoo, which tells them all to kill me. Why she couldn't just tell me that, I'll never know, but it's my fault for thinking that everything was fine after the initial meeting. I need to remember to think ahead—my biggest flaw. That, and trusting people, which is also currently kicking my ass right now.

This isn't a one-and-done. Working with Rhagos isn't a task list I can just check off. This is ongoing, and I need to remember that.

15

He stands as I approach, my hands knotting in my dress with worry. I lean in close to him, utterly aware of his naked, pale chest. "Do you know what your back tattoo says?"

"No."

He doesn't? Part of me is relieved. That means he wasn't deliberately planning my death. But how did it get there if he didn't know about it? Did another god put it there? Perhaps there's a conspiracy against him that I'm unaware of.

"It says you want me to die, Rhagos. It's telling everyone to kill me. Do you…do you really want that?"

Rhagos's expression is immediately tormented. He twists, trying to crane his neck enough so he can see the scrawling runes that dance over his shoulders. After a moment he gives up and simply stares at the writing that trails up his arm.

But he's not answering me, and that's terrifying in itself. I know he's the god of death, but…does he want mine? He's been so worried every time he pushed for his powers and it hurt me. "Do you want that?" I prompt again, full of fear. Have I tied myself to a monster?

Rhagos reaches out and to my surprise, he caresses my cheek, like a lover would. His gaze is intense. "I want to help you get home."

All of the awful tension building in my body eases, just a little. We're still on the same team. I don't know why that's such a relief, but it is. I take his hand, pulling it off my cheek and clasping it tight between my own. He feels cool when I touch him in that strange, crisp way, but it's not unpleasant. It's the opposite of unpleasant, and it reminds me of how easy it is to lose my mind around this guy. "Rhagos, if we stay here, they're going to try to kill me because they think it's what you want. It's written all over your back. We have to get out of here. We have to escape, you and I, and go someplace where no one knows who you are or what I am. But I can't leave without you. Please say you'll go with me." My voice cracks, because for a moment, I'm so terrified he won't come with me, that he'll plant his feet and want to stay here. And why wouldn't he? He's treated like a king. It's a win-win for him—if he stays, he gets booted home the moment I'm dead.

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

The god of death studies my face, his large features so strangely handsome and elegant. He nods once, just a tiny nod, as if even that small action is difficult to do. Then he pulls his hand from my clinging grip and moves to the wall.

I watch, confused, until he approaches one of the ornamental swords decorating the wall and pulls it out of the ornate sheath. "Right. Weapons. Good idea. We need money, too. Supplies."

Rhagos turns, sword in hand, and then shrugs.

Right. He's Apathy—I'm almost positive he's Apathy—and so he doesn't care. Why would he? I shrug off my feelings of worry because he's promised to leave with me. I'm in charge of this escape attempt. He'll help me, and that's enough for now. I move forward and touch his arm. "Thank you, Rhagos."

He's silent, but he watches me like a hawk.

I hesitate, then give his arm a little pat. "I'm sorry I bit your dick."

This time, a ghost of a smile crosses his mouth. “Are you truly?”

Okay, he's got a point. He was an asshole and made me feel awful, and I can't ever forget that moment. "Then make me sorry by being awesome and helping us escape, okay? Let's just get out of here. Please. We need to leave. Tonight." And before he can reply, I remember Vossa's out on the balcony, waiting.

I rush out there, bursting through the doors once more, and meet her worried gaze. "We're going," I hiss-whisper to her.

Relief crashes through her face and her eyes fill with tears. "Oh, my lady. I'm so glad. You have convinced him?"

I nod, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the apartments I share with Rhagos. The god gives her a sharp look but turns his attention back to his sword, but I get the impression he's still listening in, watching us without really watching. "If we can, we're getting out of here tonight. But we need clothes. Money. Supplies."

Vossa nods. "I've already prepared a pack in the servants' quarters. I told the maids my brother was visiting from one of the ships that came into the harbor, and so they think the supplies are for him. I can get it and bring it back here—"

"But then everyone will know we're leaving," I point out. "Won't they try to stop us?" Even now, guards wait outside the doors of Rhagos's chamber. In fact, he doesn't go anywhere without a bevy of people at his heels.

"I can handle the guards if you like," Rhagos says over his shoulder, and raises the sword to eye level, peering down the blade to look at the balance.

Vossa and I exchange a look. Yikes.

"I have a plan for this, too, my lady," Vossa says. "You need your strength to escape. Do not let him use his powers.”

Right. It’s a terrible idea for him to go all “instant death” on people while we’re trying to be low key.

She levels her gaze at me. “Do you trust me to get you out of the palace safely?"

I do. Vossa's had my back since day one. I don't know what she's risking to help me, but I worry for her. "Of course. Will you be safe? Will they know you helped me?“

“I will be fine. Your secret is safe on my lips.” She looks to Rhagos and then back to me. “I have a pack for you, and some cloaks. A guard is going to help us. He’s loyal, I promise.” Her gaze is confident. “Give me a few moments and I shall return, and we will smuggle you out.”

Before I can nod agreement, she lets go of me and races out of the room.

I turn to look at Rhagos. He’s busy belting the plainest sword sheath at his waist. It still looks a bit too ornate, but I don’t want to start an argument. “We need a cover story,” I tell him, thinking fast. “If we’re going to be on a ship, we’ll pose as travelers. Newlyweds. I’m your wife, you’re my husband, and we’re going to visit family somewhere—”

“Aventine,” he says.

“Okay, Aventine.” It sounds as good a place as any other, except for the fact that they chased a god out of their city and destroyed a magic palace. But whatever. We can change plans as we go, we just have to get out of here. “We just got married, if anyone asks. Actually, let me do the talking.”

He turns and looks at me, his gaze heavy-eyed. “Will you be able to endure my touch? If I am to be your husband, I must act as one.”

Something tells me he’s not just talking about holding hands in public or something. “I’ll do what I have to in order to survive,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “But as long as we put on a good front, no one should ask questions. Can you try and look human?”

He arches a perfect brow at me, a small smile curving his mouth. “How does one look human?”

I move toward him. “Not so…unearthly. Maybe a little more messy.” I reach up and tousle his thick black hair, as if we’re on familiar terms with one another and not this weird vibe that’s been between us since that one night. “A little disheveled.”

Rhagos grabs my hand as I pull back, holding my wrist gently in his grip. “Will it bother you to be mine?”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Or will you bite me again?” The look he gives me is both challenging and teasing. As if my attack on him is some sort of wicked joke we’re both in on. He’s not mad about it. He’s…amused?

Did I think I was breathless before? It’s nothing compared to how I feel right now. He’s freaking teasing me about that awful moment. I don’t know what to think. If anything, he sounds the opposite of mad.

And I bit his dick.

“Rhagos, I—”

The doors open, and Vossa rushes back in, looking frayed. She has an enormous trunk in her arms, and waits until the doors close behind her. Once they do, she sets the trunk down and begins pulling items out, including a large pack. “Madavar and a friend will be switching posts with the guards out there shortly. They will knock when they are ready.” She hands me a long brown length of fabric. “Put this on.”

It’s an overdress in the most boring shade of tan I’ve ever seen, which is perfect. I put it on, then toss the cloak over my shoulders and pull the hood over my hair. Rhagos is given a dark cloak and he pulls it deep over his face, hiding it. It’s…not very good. He still looks imposing and ever so slightly terrifying, but there’s nothing we can do about that.

Vossa hands me a bag that jingles with coins, and hands Rhagos the pack. “There’s food and waterskins and changes of clothing. I packed more coins as well. Save them until you get to the docks. My brother Atollo sails on the Darkwitch. Tell him that I sent you and he is not to ask questions. Pay him the coins in that pouch. Your names are Kemma and Taros, and you need to leave at dawn. That should be enough to handle it.”

I nod, the knot in my throat growing. “And the guard? What do we use to pay him?”

She pauses. “Madavar has a young daughter prone to sickness. I promised him that the gods would look kindly upon him helping Lord Rhagos. I hope I did not overstep.”

Oh no, a sick kid. In exchange for Rhagos not killing her before her time, he’s going to help us escape. I hope the kid isn’t so sick that she dies before Rhagos returns to his home, or that could make things awkward. “Of course you didn’t overstep. It’s fine. Right, Rhagos?”

“I follow your lead,” is all he says.

Vossa gives me a worried look. I pat her hand again. “It’s fine.”

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and we freeze. My heart trips and I meet Vossa’s gaze again.

“It’s time, my lady,” she whispers. “Are you ready?”

I’m not ready. I’m terrified. I’ve never been hunted before, and even those uneasy moments walking through the spinner’s village where everyone acted creepy was nothing compared to this. It feels like if we step out of the palace, we’re going to have targets on our heads. And instead of having a partner and a buddy on this quest, I have a veritable ball and chain. I have the Rhagos of Apathy, who’s going to fight me at every turn because it’s his nature.

But what is our other option? Stay here and give up? Wait for Rhagos’s devoted to come and murder me because that’s what they think their god wants? I can’t do that, either. So I smile at Vossa and nod. “Kemma and Taros. Darkwitch. Atollo. I’ll remember.” Impulsively, I pull her into my arms and hug her. “Thank you, Vossa, for being my friend.”

She squeezes me back, sniffing, and when she pulls away, she swipes at her eyes and glances at Rhagos. “I am sorry, my lord. I know I disobey the commands you have written on your skin, but I do it for your lady.”

He nods slowly. “I have no wish for either of us to die this night.”

But I can’t help but think he says it a little weird, a little stiff, as if he’s fighting to get every syllable out of his mouth. There’s no time to ask, though, because Vossa opens the door and then it’s time to go.

16

Even though I'm nervous as hell, we make it down to the docks without incident. Vossa's guard friend, Madavar, leads us through the busy, crowded docks that are still surprisingly busy even at this late hour. There are men standing around and talking, dice games thrown atop crates, and enough unsavory-looking characters that it makes me glad Madavar is here. Not that I don't feel safe with Rhagos. I do. I just don't think his methods of crowd control would let us get in and out of town easily.

It takes a few minutes for us to find the Darkwitch, but when we do, Madavar waves us forward and I get my first good look at it. It's a pirate ship, complete with sails, and several men linger in front of her.

"What do you want?" one sailor asks, stepping forward. He's missing a few teeth and his face is hard and lined. He crosses his arms over his chest and studies us like we're a problem.

"Find Atollo for me," Madavar says. "I have passengers for him."

The man arches his eyebrows and studies me, hard. At least, I think he does, because I had to take my glasses off to blend with the crowd, a decision I know is smart but I'm regretting. He leers at me for a moment, and Rhagos puts a big hand on my shoulder, as if staking his claim. I can practically feel him glowering at the man from behind me. Obviously he's already forgotten about our whole “keep it low key” conversation so I pat his hand and smile brightly at the sailor, as if it's totally normal for a married couple to show up to a pirate ship in the middle of the night as passengers.

Who knows? Maybe in this world, it is.

Atollo eventually shows up, a gangly-looking youth with an angular face and a shaved head. He's got Vossa's clever eyes, though, and I immediately feel better at the sight of him. At least, I do until he puts his hand out and waits.

The guard glances over at me. "You'll be good now." He gives us both a nod, his gaze lingering on Rhagos. "Remember your promise."

I squeeze Rhagos's hand tighter to remind him not to speak and hold the pouch I have out to Atollo. "Vossa said you'd find room for us on your ship. We have to leave as soon as possible."

His expression doesn't change, but he takes the money and doesn't even count it, just tucks it into the front of his tunic and pats it. "Wait here. I'll speak to the captain and see if we can accommodate special needs."

"Thank you."

His mouth curls in a hard smile and he pats the bag of money again. "No, thank you." He bounds back up the ramp that leads to the ship, and I'm alone on the dock with Rhagos.

Minutes crawl past and the sailors continue to drink and gamble, smirking at us and whispering in low voices. It occurs to me that Atollo could have just grabbed our money and ran off and there's nothing we can do about it. But he's Vossa's brother. He wouldn't do that…would he? I feel Rhagos's hand twitch on my shoulder and turn to look at him. "You all right?"

His jaw is set to a grim line, and he looks the opposite of all right. "Do you think I like how these men look at you?"

"No." Why would I think that? It's a weird thing to ask. "But this won't be long. He'll be back soon."

Rhagos's hand goes to my waist and he pulls me closer, then jerks my hood deeper over my head, hiding my face. It's kind of possessive and oddly sweet, which is strange coming from a jerk like him. Then again, maybe he just doesn't like other men looking at things he views as his property. That sours my thoughts, and makes me want to pull away from him. I don't, though. I'm not crazy. We have to be a unified front in front of these rough-looking men. A couple of newlyweds heading out on a voyage.

At midnight.

On a pirate ship.

Sure.

To my relief, Atollo returns a short time later and gestures that we should head up the plank onto the deck after him. Grateful, I hold my cloak close to my body and brush past the cutthroat-looking sailors who reek of sweat and booze, and climb the steep wooden ramp up to the deck of the ship. It feels creaky the moment I step on and far less solid than I'd hoped. I can feel its gentle bobbing and swaying in the harbor, and that adds to my unease.

"I'll show you to your quarters," Atollo says, all crisp movements as he heads across the dark decks. "You're paying for a regular passenger bunk, you and your husband." He flashes a grin over his shoulder at me. "Though better quarters can be arranged if you want to pay the captain in other ways."

"I'm married," I protest, shocked.

"So are a lot of our midnight passengers."

Gross.

Atollo opens a small trap door that leads below, and then gestures that we should descend the rickety-looking ladder. A strange expression crosses his face and he leans in. “Why’s your husband look like that?”

Uh oh. Are we busted already? I turn to Rhagos and give him my best dopey newlywed smile, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. He still doesn’t look quite human. His skin is that unearthly pale, as if he’s never had a tan—and he probably hasn’t—and there’s something a little…extra about him. Like he’s a hundred and fifty percent of person crammed into a regular body and doesn’t quite fit. “He’s just pale. Been sick. And I’m sure the quarters you’ve got for us are fine.” I lean in. “Vossa said you shouldn’t ask questions.”

“What’s the names Vossa gave you?” Atollo asks, his expression shrewd.

“Kemma and Taros.”

“Yeah.” He smirks. “I get a lot of Kemmas through here. Keep your husband with you at all times, will you, Kemma? The men don’t see many women on board. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Rhagos stiffens.

I squeeze his hand painfully tight so he doesn’t say anything. “Great. We’ll remember that.”

We follow behind Atollo, and I can’t help but compare him to Vossa. She’s a complete sweetheart and utterly trustworthy, but something about Atollo makes me nervous. Maybe it’s his playful, lazy smiles or the way he greets everyone he passes with a bump to the lower arm, this world’s version of a bro-shake. And the people he passes are not savory types in the slightest. They look as if they’d murder me (and Rhagos) for a bite of a sandwich.

The interior of the ship is cramped and dark, and it feels a bit like we’re walking into a floating coffin. The decks below are cramped, and Rhagos ducks his head. I’m short, but it feels as if the ceiling is going to scrape my hair, too, and it only adds to my unease. Atollo leads us down a narrow hall and then pulls open a folding door, just like the one I had for my dorm closet. “These are your quarters.”

I squeeze past him to get inside, and it reminds me of my dorm closet again. There’s a small, tight bunk with a lip against the wall, dirty sheets, and no pillow. There’s room underneath for our bags and…that’s about it. There’s barely enough space for both me and Rhagos to be inside, much less share the bed. But, okay. This isn’t about comfort. This is about escaping with our lives. “Great. Thanks.” I try to sound pleased as Rhagos squeezes his way in, a look of distaste on his face as he studies the quarters. After a moment’s hunched contemplation, he sits on the edge of the bed.

A very small, narrow bed for both of us, I can’t help but notice.

Atollo leans into the room, his hands on either side of the doorframe, and for a moment, his expression changes. “How is my sister? Does she fare well? Is she safe?”

I blink in surprise at the change on his face. Gone is the smarmy pirate boy, and in its place is a boy that looks just like any other teenager.

“She’s good,” I say quietly. “Happy. Healthy.”

“Safe,” Rhagos adds.

Atollo lets out a long heave and nods once, and then that slimy smile returns to his face, almost as if he’s putting a mask on. “Come on. I’ll show you the washroom.”

I look around the small cubby that’s going to be our new home until we arrive in Aventine, and sure enough, there’s no bathroom. “Oh. Okay.”

I guess there’s a shared one? I don’t have high hopes for this place, but the palace spoiled me. It had running water and when I wanted a bath, servants would fill the tub with warm, scented water for me. This is…not going to be the same. But if it’s the choice between being murdered in my sleep or running away on the Good Ship Lollipop, I’m totally down with the ship. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.

It wouldn’t be a quest if it was easy, right? No sense in freaking out over having to use a public restroom for the next few weeks…or months…or whatever.

It occurs to me that I have no idea how long a ship voyage will be.

Oh god, if I have to stay in that closet with Rhagos for months…I don’t know what I’m going to do. I picture his enormous body, the way he leaned against the bed and somehow took up the entire room, and the way he watches me. Always, always watching me.

I shiver, and it’s not from fear.

17

“C ome with me,” Atollo says, and pushes away from the doorframe. I follow behind reluctantly, but I’m glad when Rhagos joins us and I can feel his presence at my back. If you had told me a month ago that the god of death would be a comforting presence to me, I’d have thought you were crazy. But I feel a lot safer when he’s around, and I know he’s looking out for me. After all, if he wanted me dead, we could have just stayed in the palace. That’s easiest for him, being Apathy. It’s probably a lot for him to join me on this runaway quest, and I give him a grateful look over my shoulder.

His green gaze catches mine and he looks surprised at my smile. I turn forward again, and feel his heavy hand on my shoulder, as if guarding over me like the dutiful husband.

Then, a rat scurries over my boot.

I smother a scream, because it’s the middle of the night and the ship is teeming with people even if we can’t see them—we can hear them and the stinking smell of unwashed bodies is all around. I stagger backward, right against Rhagos’s chest. He puts an arm around my shoulders, steadying me.

“Mind the rats,” Atollo says casually.

Rats. As in, lots of ’em. Oh god. Suddenly that tiny bed a few feet off the floor is looking mighty nice. At the far end of the narrow hall, I see people bunking down on the floor itself and can’t imagine. How does anyone think this is a good traveling experience?

But then it gets worse. At the end of the narrow hall, we step over a few sleeping people and he points at a barrel with a wooden lid over it. “Drinking water. Food’ll be served at the bell in the morning. Just follow everyone else and grab a bowl.”

“Great,” I say faintly.

He kicks a sleeping man, who rolls over, taking his blankets with him, and pulls open a rickety door. Immediately, a horrible stink hits. It smells like an outhouse, and I can guess what this is. He gestures I should go in. I just peer inside instead. It’s dark, lit only by the light coming out of the hole in the toilet, oddly enough. I lean forward and yup, it’s just a hole big enough to let everything drop through into the water on the other side. Classy. Even more strange, there’s a long rope going over one side and disappearing into the toilet “hole” and no matter how long I stare, I can’t figure it out. “Why is there a rope?”

“It goes into the water,” Atollo says, matter of fact. “If you need to clean your bum, just pull it up and use the wet end.”

“Oh,” I say faintly. Because what can you say to that? It’s a…poop rope. Of all the things I thought I’d encounter on my quest here, a poop rope is at the very, very bottom.

And this is going to be my life until we get to Aventine, so I need to suck it up.

By the time we make it back to the cabin, I’m relieved to see the cramped quarters, because for now, they’re mine. There’s no people sleeping on the floor here, no rats, and no poop rope. It’s all a little much for me, and I’m reeling trying to take it all in. I knew this would be hard. The first day I got here and Arla led me to Port Tidewater? We walked all day, used the bathroom in the bushes by the road, and drank from streams. When I got to Port Tidewater, I slept in an alley and was promptly robbed by the poor.

But nothing seems to prepare me for this awful ship. Maybe it’s because it feels like a cramped, floating coffin of filth and there’s no way to escape. Walking through the woods, I can escape. The alleys of Port Tidewater? I can escape. On the Darkwitch, there’s nowhere to go. And there are leering, filthy pirates everywhere who look as if they’d like nothing more than to kill me…and then do awful things to my dead body.

I shudder.

“We’re setting off as soon as the men return from the tavern,” Atollo says with an easy grin. “Might be best for you to keep to your quarters until we’re well out to sea. Lay low and all that.” And he shuts the door behind him before I can reply, leaving me alone with Rhagos.

I stare at the pack we left on the bed. It’s the entirety of our supplies, other than what we’re wearing. It doesn’t feel like much. I know we just gave the majority of our money away to Atollo in exchange for this…cubicle. “I should have asked how long it’ll take to get to Aventine.”

“You probably wouldn’t like the answer.”

He’s not wrong. I cross my arms, staring down at the bag. It looks enormous on the bed, but only because the bed is so damned small. On a hunch, I stretch my arms out and my hands hit the opposite walls. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Rhagos looks over at me, waiting, his head tilted because the ceiling is so short. He looks horribly uncomfortable. I gesture at the bed. “You want the inside or the outside?”

“Outside. If anyone breaks into our room, they will see my body and not yours and pause…don’t you think?”

Break in? I didn’t even consider that, but when I look at the door behind us, there’s no latch or locking mechanism. It’s just basically a folding piece of wood that pretends like we have privacy. I fight back a hysterical laugh. “I try not to think about this at all.”

He grunts.

I lick my lips, then pull my cloak off my shoulders and hold it awkwardly in my hands. There’s nowhere to hang it. In fact, I’m afraid of putting our bag on the floor because then the rats will get into it. I move it to the head of the bed, like a pillow, and then spread my cloak over the stained mattress and gingerly lie down, facing the wall. The wood is painted, but underneath it looks warped and rotted and awful.

All of this feels so unsafe.

The bed creaks and groans as Rhagos sits on the edge, and I feel his hip press against mine. He’s not lying down—not yet—but he will soon enough, and then we’re going to be pushed up against each other simply because there’s nowhere else to go.

I try to make myself as small as possible on the bed. Up on deck, someone shouts something, and then the boat gives a lurch and bobs hard in the water. I guess we're leaving. I think about what Atollo said, that we'd leave the moment the men got back from the tavern. "They're setting off in the middle of the night," I say lightly. "Is that normal?"

"Not for law-abiding ships?" There's an amused tone in Rhagos's voice, as if he's inwardly laughing that I even had to ask. He's right, though. No one bails out at midnight if they're on the up and up, no matter how much we pay to get on board.

The feeling of being trapped intensifies, and I shiver, thinking of all the frightening-looking pirates on this ship. Vossa said we'd be safe, but I feel anything but safe. The moment these people find out who Rhagos is, they'll want to kill him. His back practically tells everyone to do it. I'm a dead woman walking. And I'm completely, utterly terrified. The urge to get up and bolt out of the rat-infested, cramped, coffin-like ship intensifies. "I don't think I want to stay here, Rhagos," I blurt out.

"My name is Taros,” he reminds me. "And do we have a choice?"

We don't. I asked him to leave with me because I wasn't ready to die. I asked him to go on this quest with me. I guess there's a choice—staying behind and waiting for the inevitable murder. But I'm not going to roll over and die, either.

Rhagos shifts his weight on the edge of the hard, narrow bed. Eventually, he eases down next to me and then his big body is pressed up against mine. I can feel the pepperminty chill of his flesh, but more than that, it adds to the cramped feeling of being trapped here. Even Rhagos has nowhere to go. He's touching me and we're going to keep touching over and over again until this ship lands at Aventine.

And they drove out a god in Aventine. Why are we going there again?

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks, doing my best to cry quietly. I'm alive. I'm going to get this quest rolling, and I'm going to fight another day. I can do this.

But right now, I'm so, so scared. And even though the big body of a handsome god is pressed up against my back, I feel…alone. Completely and utterly adrift in a strange world where everyone wants to kill me.

A big hand touches my shoulder. "Why are you upset?"

"Why am I upset?" I choke out. "We're stuck on a floating coffin going to a dangerous place and anyone that finds out who you are is going to want to murder me. We have no money, no clue what we're doing, and no idea of where to go. We left a palace where everyone wants to murder you and jumped on board a pirate ship. I'm fucking terrified."

He rubs my arm. Just once, but it's oddly soothing. "Do you think I would let anything happen to you?"

Comforting words, but Rhagos is a man full of contradictions. His back has instructions to kill me, but he wanted me in his apartments at all times…despite telling me that I was bad at blow jobs. "I don't know what to think of you at all."

"Mmm."

I swipe at the tears again, hating them. "I'll be more positive in the morning," I tell him. "I'll come up with a game plan then. But right now, I feel very, very alone."

He pauses. I think for a moment that he's going to deny this. That he's squeezed onto this tiny, uncomfortable bed with me and how can I be alone? But he just touches my shoulder again. "Max, you are alone."

And that strange response, delivered in a deep, gentle tone, confuses me even more.

THE FIRST DAY on the ship seems impossibly long. We eat and drink our food and water packed in our bag, because I can't stop thinking of Atollo's suggestion for us to lie low. If a pirate is warning us to stay out of sight, it seems like a real, real good idea. Rhagos and I hang out in our cabin for as long as humanly possible, but with no window and very little room to stretch, I eventually start to feel claustrophobic. Plus, there's no toilet and I can only hold it for so long. Eventually, I have to break from our cabin.

Rhagos insists on going with me, and I'm relieved. I don't want to leave our cabin alone. I feel like a walking target as it is. He puts on his long, dull-colored cloak and I muss his hair, trying to make him look normal.

It doesn't work. He still has an unearthly air about him no matter what. He draws the eye simply by standing. Heck, if I can't stop staring at him, no one else is going to be able to, either. But he pulls his hood deep, hiding his face as much as possible, and while it screams “hey look at us!” in my eyes, it's the only option we've got. I hold my hand out so he can take it, and then off we go to the bathroom and to refill our waterskin at the community barrel.

Just a brief excursion out tells me that it's smarter to stay inside. Now that it's daylight, there are people crawling all over the decks and littering the halls. No one wants to stay in their tiny cabins, and the passengers that we have to squeeze past seem every bit as dangerous as the pirates. Unwashed men leer at me and deliberately sprawl in my way despite the fact that I've got my “husband” walking a step behind me. Men sharpen knives and play dice on the wooden floor of the ship by candlelight, and there's a line for the privy. It seems to take forever to get through the line, and I force myself to stare straight ahead, not making eye contact, as people cough and whisper in low voices. It's a good thing I'm not wearing my glasses, because I don't want to see just how many people are staring at us. It's better that it's all a dark blur to me. The little I've seen was bad enough.

Rhagos, bless his strange heart, hovers over me like an attentive newlywed husband at least. He keeps a firm hand on my shoulder, and when the occasional man leans in too close, he pulls me back against him and puts an arm out, as if shielding me from the crowd.

By the time we get back to our quarters, I’m so relieved I never want to leave the privacy of our cubbyhole-sized room ever again. Miserable, I get back in the bed—because there’s nowhere else to go—and try to nap.

Two long, agonizing days pass like this. Each hour seems like a hundred, and every breath feels cramped and trapped. All the while, the ship gently rolls on the waves, and I assume we're sailing across a sea—assume, because I'm too terrified to go up on deck. The passengers here are bad enough. I don't want to be anywhere near the sailors, who are even rougher.

The one shining spot is Rhagos, oddly enough. He's a constant presence. Because there's no room for us to move around much, we're constantly touching—a leg brush here, a graze of an arm there. At night, his big body is pressed up against mine, and when I wake up, his arm is over my waist. You would think that with our history, I'd hate being cramped in such a small space with him, but it's actually comforting. The constant press of his much bigger body reminds me that I'm never alone in this, and I'm actually able to sleep when he's crammed up against me. It's not sexual in the slightest, either.

At least, it's not on my end. If it is on his end, he's doing a great job of hiding it. It's hard to think about anything sexy in this reeking, rat-infested ship, though.

18

T  ime passes. Not fast enough, but it does pass.

Sometimes when there's not much to do, I lie in the cot next to Rhagos and try to get to know him.

This goes about as well as I suspect, which means it goes terribly. When he does answer me, it's never with a real answer. I don't know if he's just vague because he's a god or if he's vague because he doesn't give a shit. I imagine it's hard to give a shit when you're the Aspect of Apathy.

And I'm doubly sure he is, now. I even ask him, point blank. "You know that I'm aware of which Aspect you are?" I ask him one hot, stinking afternoon on the endlessly rocking, creaking ship.

"Are you?" There's the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah. I know you said you didn't want to tell me. But I can't help but wonder. Anyone would in my position, you know." When he's silent, I continue on, my hands neatly folded over my belly, my head resting on my pack. It occurs to me that it probably looks like I'm lying in a coffin, and it feels like I am, too. "Vossa and I talked about it a lot," I say.

"And what conclusion did you come to?"

"That you're Apathy."

He's silent.

I give him a little nudge with my shoulder. "It's okay, you know. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I just wanted to know so I could figure you out a little better. Understand you a bit more. Since we're in this together, right?"

Rhagos grunts, which might be a yes.

"Anyhow, out of the four, Apathy is the most likely. You're not Hedonism. That's pretty clear."

"No?"

"No," I say firmly, and my face feels hot because now I'm thinking of that awful moment when I had his dick in my mouth and he told me I was giving him a shitty blow job. I don't want to think about it—I try not to think about it at all—but I can't help it. God, I hope he doesn't remember that day. "The scholars went on and on about how Hedonism aspects would act. And they put a lot of stuff in your room to please you and you never took it. No nose spices—which I guess is like cocaine in my world." I'm babbling, but I don't care. It's something to do, all this talking. "No sweets, no wine. They said they even offered you bed servants and you didn't act interested. You're not Hedonism."

"I see."

"I thought you might be Arrogance for a bit, but you're letting me take the lead on this, and I don't think Arrogance would, you know? Or rather, I think Arrogance would be more of a gung-ho sort when it comes to quests and you just haven't cared. If it were up to you, I think we'd still be at the palace."

"You know me so well."

There's sarcasm in his tone, and I nudge him with my elbow again. "I'm just speaking the truth. Am I wrong?"

He thinks for a moment. "Not necessarily."

"Exactly."

"I could be Lies."

"You could be," I agree. "But you wouldn't tell me you were."

He chuckles.

"And you told me to judge you by your actions," I remind him. "And your actions are most definitely Apathy."

Rhagos is silent.

"There's no shame in it," I remind him. "It's not like you chose to be Apathy. The big guy upstairs is just punishing you and working this out of your system. That's all. When you get home, it sounds like you'll be a new and improved Lord of Death. That's something to look forward to, I suppose?"

"Mm." He doesn't sound convinced.

I don't blame him. All of this is a pretty shitty way to learn a lesson if you ask me, but no one did. "At any rate, we know who and what you are, so like I said, we'll work with what we have. I'll take the lead on things. You just stick with me and I'll get you through this until the end." I reach over and pat his hand—or try to. I end up patting his thigh instead, and heat curls through my body as I think about that awful blow job again.

Of course he told me it was terrible—he's Apathy. Nothing I did was going to please this man because he'll be impossible to please.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I know this is hard for you. The goal is for you to be the last god standing, so we're going to make that happen. All right?"

He looks over at me, his green eyes intense. "And you're willing to stay by my side for all of this?"

I give him a weak smile. "We both know I don't have a choice."

"You don't."

"But even if I did…I might? We're friends, and sometimes you need a friend to stick by your side at all times. You're helping me with this quest so I can get home, and I'm going to help you get home, too."

He gazes at me for so long and so hard that I want to squirm under his intense scrutiny. I can't, though—there's simply no room on the cot. We're packed onto this thing like a pair of sardines. But then Rhagos gives me a small smile, the expression strangely beautiful on his somber face. "There is nothing I want more than to get both of us home."

I beam at him. "Then that's our goal." I almost feel a little bad for him—as the god of death, he's not a god of smiles or happy things. No one's thrilled to meet him. And he's…not all that bad? I try to picture him with all the apathy stripped away and it's hard to do. I know so little about him, and he offers up even less. "Do you have any idea of where we should head once we get to Aventine? Which, by the way, still strikes me as a terrible idea."

He shrugs. “Our ship will blend in if the city is a shipping hub, don’t you think?”

“I guess? And after that?”

He shrugs again.

What a great plan. I bite back my frustration. "Well, I'm thinking we should avoid the temples. They might help us at first, or they might try to kill you like they tried with the god of battle. We'll stay undercover, traveling as newlyweds, and ask around. Maybe someone will know something and can help us along."

Rhagos thinks for a long time, and then looks over at me. "I'll let you lead."

I nod, giving him a sympathetic smile. Of course he is. He can't muster enough of a damn to lead on his own, and it's not his fault.

It's just…Apathy.

And we'll work around it if we have to.

BETWEEN CONVERSATIONS AND NAPS, I wake up and look over at Rhagos. He's awake, gazing up at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on his face. Another time, I wake up and he's watching me with that same intense, thoughtful expression on his face. I rub a hand over my eyes, trying to wake up. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, okay." I lie back and breathe deeply of the stuffy air. The cabin feels overly warm and cramped, but it doesn't smell better out of it, and we've been instructed not to go up on deck. "I don't suppose we're in Aventine yet?"

Rhagos's voice is threaded with amusement when he answers me. "Soon, perhaps?"

I look over at him. "Do you ever sleep? As an Aspect?" I don't think I've ever seen him do so, not even when we were sharing a room back in the palace. I thought he was just finding ways to avoid me, but now I wonder if it's more than that.

"Have you seen me eat?" he says in that low, deep voice. "Or drink? Or any other mortal function?” His face is inscrutable. “I am here beside you, but I am yet the god of death, am I not?" He watches me to see my reaction.

I just nod, because none of this surprises me anymore, and I had a hunch about all of that anyhow. "I knew about the hunger and thirst—that's why I'm always eating and drinking so much." Even now, my stomach rumbles a reminder that it's due for another feeding. "But I wasn't sure about the sleep. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He seems surprised at my response. "Why?"

"Because at least when I'm sleeping, I get to escape all this." I wave my hand at our cramped surroundings. "You don't even get that."

His hard mouth curls into the faintest smile. "I am being punished, aren’t I? One might suppose this is all part of the punishment."

"I guess." I turn over on my side, tucking my hand under my cheek and studying him. Maybe it's the sleepiness, or maybe it's the cramped quarters we're sharing, but lying here in bed with him feels both intimate and comfortable. Like it's the shittiest slumber party ever but we're still in it together. "Tell me more about you."

The god of death eyes me curiously. "What do you mean?"

"About Rhagos." I poke him with a finger. "How did you become the god of death? Was there a contest and you drew the short straw? Did you volunteer?"

He thinks for a moment. "I am not sure how much I can say."

"Because it's against the rules? If so, you don't have to say anything. I just was curious about you. That's all."

Rhagos looks over at me again and for a moment, there's a flash of such loneliness and longing that it makes the breath escape my throat. "If I could…I would tell you that I was created for this role. That both my brother and I were born to serve the High Father. I love being the god of death. It is not…lonely." The word seems ripped from his throat, and then he goes utterly silent.

Okay, that was…weird. But then again, Rhagos is a weird guy. "Job satisfaction is important. I'm glad you like it."

He smiles thinly at me. "Because I have so many choices?"

I give a little shrug, thinking about it. "I mean, you might? Everyone comes to you sooner or later, right? You can choose a lot. You can guide them to their final reward. Or you can make their afterlife an eternal misery. There's a lot of power in that."

"And which do you think I am?" he asks, watching me closely. He turns on his side, facing me, and then we're inches apart, our noses close to touching, our breath mingling. He smells faintly of that cool, minty aura he always has about him. For a moment, I wonder if he's flirting with me. If he regrets telling me I'm the worst at blow jobs and making me bite him. But he doesn't move. Doesn't try to kiss me. Just looks at me with that calm, quiet intensity.

"Do I think you're a bad guy or a good guy? Is that what you're asking?"

He shrugs again.

I lick my lips, thinking. "I don't know. I don't know enough about your world. Just the basics of who's who in the gods because we might run into one of them. I don't know anything about your afterlife. You could tell me, though, couldn't you?"

"No."

"Right. Okay then, I'm just guessing based off of you." I don't bring up the Apathy thing because it seems to bug him. It'd bug me, too, I suppose. Of all the flaws, that one seems to be the most frustrating. Hedonism kinda sounds exhausting, but like a party. This guy is definitely not a party. "From what I know of you…" I think, hard. I consider all the times I've argued with him. All the times he's touched me or protected me…and all the times he's pushed me away. His personality is utter chaos. But he was never cruel to those around us. He didn't want to do his job as god of death, sure, but I blame that on the Apathy. To Vossa and the other servants at the palace, he was always calm and respectful. "I don't think you're a bad guy," I venture to say. "I think you want to do right by people. But…maybe sometimes you just don't know how."

He grunts. "Isn't that why I'm being punished?"

"Probably." I give him a wry smile. "Unfortunately you're stuck with me, too. It's the blind leading the blind in this case. I don't know jack about your world either, so I'm not much of a guide."

"You're not," he agrees, but there's a smile on his lips.

I poke him again, and for some reason, I'm not offended. That’s just Rhagos being Rhagos.

19

A fter another night of cramped sleep, I’m reaching the edge of my sanity. That day, we leave the cabin more times than before. I’m aching from the tight fit on the cot and want to stretch my legs, and our tiny quarters are making me feel claustrophobic. It doesn’t help that all day long, we hear the voices of others, the scurry of rats moving along the floors, and the constant sound of the water and sea birds. When our rations run low, we head out with the others to wait for the ship's food. Everyone brings bowls and an awful, greasy-looking stew is slopped into them. Everyone stands out in the halls and eats, and I want to retreat back to our quarters so I can choke down the mess in private (because as an anchor, I'm starving enough to eat even this nasty swill), but we don’t have a way to get drinking water unless we go to the barrel. So we go out and wait in line with the others. As we wait for one of the sailors to roll out a fresh water barrel, I hear whispers.

Whispers about us.

He never leaves her side.

You think he's a lord in hiding?

No. Too ugly. Too strange. Too big. Lords are puny.

Ugly? Are they looking at the same man I am? Because his features are big and each one alone might be strange looking, but they seem to fit together perfectly on his face. He's not traditionally handsome, no, but there's something so utterly arresting and intense about Rhagos's face that it makes him breathtaking to look at. That's part of the problem with being with him—trying to reconcile his gorgeous face and frame with his shitty, strange personality. But I constantly remind myself that the gods wouldn't be exiled and split into four equally shitty personalities if they were good guys. They're spoiled brats and this is how the High Father punishes them.

Even so.

I say nothing as we get our portion of water and head back to our room.

They're retreating back to their quarters.

So uppity. Think they're better than the rest of us.

Are they rich, you suppose?

Could be.

Wouldn't take much to go and see.

She's a pretty bit. I'd gladly take a turn between those thighs.

I swallow hard, looking around. With the shadows and the cramped quarters and my lack of glasses, I can't make out who in the stinking, unwashed crowd is speaking. They might not even be talking about us, I reason with myself. They might be talking about someone else. I'm not all that much of a “pretty bit” after all, and Rhagos is handsome. Even so, I'm unnerved and I stick even closer to Rhagos as we head back to our cabin. If he hears any of the conversation, he ignores it, but I'm grateful for his heavy, cool hand on my neck.

The ship’s food—if you can even call it that—makes me sick. I wake up in the middle of the night with my stomach gurgling and protesting, sharp pains rocketing through my gut. I sit up, clutching my belly. "Oh god."

"What is it?"

"I need to go to the bathroom," I tell him even as my stomach gurgles again and my guts clench. I think back to the awful stew, and the weird taste of the meat. Ten bucks says it was bad. I wouldn't feed that shit to a dog back home but apparently here it's fine for passengers. I have no doubt it's what's making my stomach protest, and I worm my way off the cot and shove my boots on my feet hurriedly. "You don't have to come."

"Don't I?" His voice is lazy and bored, as it always is.

"Whatever, just hurry." I'm not sure if I'm going to vomit or something's coming out the other end, all I know is that I need to purge.

I rush out of our room and head down the hall. For once, there's not much of a line for the bathroom and I'm grateful. I step over the sleeping, piled up bodies and squeeze past the people lounging in the hall. There's always passengers loitering, so I don't think much of it. I'm in the bathroom just in time, and when my body is done purging, I clutch my stomach weakly, feeling rough and unkempt and wrung out.

This is the worst.

I re-fasten my clothing, use my sleeve to mop the clammy sweat from my brow, and then exit out of the stinking cubby of the bathroom. There's a man waiting to use it after me and I give him a half-smile and start to head down the hall.

He grabs me, jerking me backward, and his arm goes over my chest and squeezes my small boob. "You're nothing but a mouthful, ain't ya?"

I let out a squeak of distress, horrified at his foul breath and his awful hands on me.

“You gonna share that?” another man says, pressing up against me. Suddenly I’m sandwiched between two stinking men, and I don’t know if they’re pirates or other passengers. All I know is that I’m in a hell of a lot of danger.

“Let me go—”

A hand covers my mouth even as a third man appears from the shadows, his eyes gleaming. Two more are behind him. “Show us what you’ve got, Wittis.”

Hands—so many hands—grab at my skirts, ripping the fabric. I fight against the hands holding me down, terrified beyond thought. All this time, I never thought I was in real danger. Sure, I’m traveling with the god of death and people want to kill me, but I just always assumed I’d figure a way out of it. That it wouldn’t really hit home. After all, I was brought to this world for a purpose, right?

But maybe I wasn’t.

As the first layer of my clothing is ripped away, I realize with horror that maybe there’s no purpose at all. Maybe I’m going to die here on deck, gang-raped by strangers.

I try to choke out another protest, biting at the hand clamped over my mouth, but he doesn’t let me go, no matter how much I kick and flail. He’s squeezing my breast so tight it feels as if it’s going to rip off my chest and I can’t breathe. Each second feels as if it’s a million years long as hands claw at me, tearing at my clothing and violating my personal space.

Just like they’re about to violate the rest of me.

Flailing, I kick at one man, and to my surprise, he collapses. A second later, there’s a rush of blood from my nose, and the man holding one hand over my mouth makes a sound of disgust even as my mind feels as if it’s being stabbed. Pain flares behind my eyes, and through a haze, I see Rhagos storming through the group of men, slapping each one aside, and as he does, they collapse. He looks like a thundercloud of rage—an angel of death—as he approaches down the narrow hall, and he’s coming right for me.

I’ve never been so happy to see him.

Time slows. Each man collapses as Rhagos pushes past him, until there’s only the villain holding me. My captor presses up against the wall as Rhagos leans in, and the hall smells like fresh blood. My head hurts so badly that I want to collapse, but I try to fight through the pain as Rhagos leans in.

“That is my wife.”

He slams his hand against the forehead of the man clutching me to his chest, and new, fresh agony explodes in my head.

I faint.

A COLD, wet cloth is pressed gently to my forehead.

Throbbing pain pulses behind my eyes, and I moan as the cloth gently wipes down my cheeks and my face. I can hear a bit of water in a bowl as the cloth is dipped again and then fresh, cool water is wiped over my skin.

I manage to open my eyes, lashes fluttering just enough to show Rhagos bends over me, his expression one of concern as he gently washes my face. We’re back in our cabin, if I don’t mistake the ceiling above us. Images flash through my head, the strangers mauling me, the terror of realizing I’m in danger, and then the sight of Rhagos striding down the hall, batting men aside as if they’re nothing.

He killed them. Just slapped the life right out of them as if they were nothing. And not two or three men, but six…maybe eight. It felt like too many touching me. I’m not even upset that he did it.

He saved me in the only way he knew how. He could have let me die and ended his round as Apathy, but he saved me instead.

I grab his hand as he moves to wash my face again, and our eyes lock. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Rhagos says nothing, simply puts down the cloth and studies me with those haunting, intense green eyes.

I feel as if I should say something. He just killed a half dozen men for me. More than that, we’re supposed to be hiding out undercover, and someone’s bound to ask questions. Atollo’s going to know we fucked up. Everyone will.

They might come after us again. This time, though, there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run to. “I think you gave away our secret,” I tell him with a tremulous smile.

He picks up the cloth again and wrings it out. “You think they will find anything if I threw the bodies overboard?” He places the cloth over my eyes, and the cool dampness helps dull the knives behind my eyes.

“You…what?” How long have I been out? Did he really do that?

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He touches my brow, pressing down lightly on the damp cloth. “Rest, Max.”

“Stay here with me.” I grab at his hand blindly, and when I find it, I squeeze it between mine. “Don’t go back on deck again. Just stay at my side, okay?”

It’s quiet. I wait for an answer, tense, and it feels almost as if he’s trying to think of something to say. Like he’s holding something back that he desperately wants to tell me. But he only caresses my hand, rubbing his fingers over the backs of my knuckles. “Rest, Max,” he repeats. “We are safe.”

I do rest. And as I go back to sleep, I try to picture the elegant, apathetic Rhagos dragging dead bodies onto the deck and then dumping them over the edge just to save me.

20

When I wake up, Rhagos is curled protectively around me and our bag is pushed in front of the folding door. It’s a minor stumbling block for anyone that wants to try to get into the room, but it’s a sobering reminder of just how much trouble we’re in. We’re supposed to be undercover and Rhagos went all “god of death” on a half-dozen people. I touch my bruised boob and I don’t regret what he did to protect me, but it’s going to make things complicated.

It takes me a moment to realize that it’s awfully quiet on the ship. Normally there’s a constant low murmur of people, but this is almost…too quiet. It gives me an uneasy feeling. It’s like everyone knows who is with me, and they’re avoiding him…or waiting for the right moment to strike.

I sit up in bed, alarmed by the unnatural silence. The air feels heavy. As if the world is waiting on something. It’s an eerie prickle on the back of my neck, the same feeling I got when I stepped through into this world. “Something weird is going on,” I whisper to Rhagos. “Do you feel it?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s no surprise. He never gives me an answer when I want one. I’m used to it. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore the strange feeling I have. I move forward, touching the door and leaning in. All is quiet.

“Get back from there,” Rhagos says suddenly, and my ears pop.

“I’m just—”

There’s a loud roar, and the ship lurches. Hard.

I go flying across the small closet of our room, backward onto the bed and Rhagos puts an arm around my waist, holding me against him. For a moment, the world bobs and tips and my stomach gives a mighty protest.

The ship groans, the wood creaking so loudly it feels as if it wants to give up, and then slowly rights itself. I let out a choked breath, realizing belatedly that I’ve got an arm around Rhagos’s shoulders and my boob is practically pressing into his face. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” He sets me down and kicks our bag—which skidded across the floor—out of the way. “Wait here.”

And he pushes the door open and leaves.

Hold up. Wait here? Is he crazy? I’m not letting him get out of my sight. Swallowing my protest, I grab his arm and hold onto him as he pushes down the hall toward the ladder that leads above decks. To my surprise, the hall is filled with passengers, everyone crammed together but still eerily silent. Several wait near the ladder but stumble backward when we approach, giving us room.

Rhagos climbs up and I follow after him, and a rush of windy, salt-laden air hits my face the moment we get on the deck. The ship rolls and creaks with the waves, but it feels so good to breathe fresh air and feel sunlight for the first time in days that it takes me a moment to realize the smell of smoke is in the air.

There’s a dark, dirty plume of smoke curling in the air, a thicker haze of it over the ship. Over by the wheel, a couple of people toss buckets of water on a broken, burning mast that hangs over the side.

The god of death looks over at me, frowning as if he’s just realized I followed him up, and then puts a hand on the back of my neck, steering me along at his side. There are people crowding all over the deck, heading toward the railing and staring off into the distance. I can’t see anything, because there’s a wall of people crowding us. I pass by Atollo, who has a gray cast to his features, a look of dread on his face. His eyes meet mine, and then he stares off at the distance. “Tell him to remember what I did for you,” he murmurs as I walk past. “Tell him not to let me suffer.”

I want to ask what he’s talking about, but Rhagos is steering me to the railing. People brush against me, realize who I’m with, and then shy away in horror. I put my hands on the railing and look out…and see another ship.

It’s on the edge of the horizon. Not too close that I can see the faces of the crew, but I can make out people standing on deck. The ship looks bigger than ours, and sleeker, and there’s a black flag flying above the mast.

That…alarms me. A black flag means pirates…at least it did on my world. I can’t think it means unicorns and rainbows here. We’re on a pirate ship of sorts, too, but the fact that their ship is nicer and is approaching ours at a speedy rate makes me nervous. I clutch at Rhagos’s arm.

“Look at the deck,” Rhagos murmurs. “See the mages.”

“Mages?” I echo. I squint at the ship but everything’s a blur. I fish my glasses out of my pocket, not caring at this point, and everything comes into a crisper view. There are men on deck on the other ship, but two men in strange, matching uniforms stand atop the highest deck, looking as if they bend over a table. “What does that mean?”

Suddenly, the air grows heavy again and my ears pop.

Rhagos turns to me with a look of alarm. He grabs me and pulls me away from the edge of the ship, wrapping himself and his cloak around me.

“FIREBALL,” someone screams.

A crash.

A wave of heat rolls over the deck, singeing my hair and instantly drying out my skin. Rhagos’s hands are all over me as if he can shield me from the worst of it, one big hand on the side of my head, cradling me against his chest, the other arm fiercely wrapped around my torso as the fire blazes around us.

It’s the slowest second of my life—and it is only a second.

Because in the next moment, we’re flung into the air.

21

I  soar through smoky air, weightless. It feels hot around me, like I’m standing in the middle of a fire.

Then, I hit a hard surface—water—and slam into the depths. I sink so far down that the light above me becomes dim, and it seems to take forever to claw my way back to the surface. By the time I make it, my lungs are burning and there’s darkness creeping at the edge of my vision. But I break through, and suck in deep lungfuls of air. Once, twice—then the water slaps my face and I go back under again, my clothing heavy and pulling me down.

I bob back to the surface again to catch my breath, and my head is screaming in pain. There’s black smoke everywhere above the water, and I don’t know what happened. Did I get flung overboard?

The next thought: fireball spells are a real thing here?

I cough, sputtering water, and reach for a piece of wood that floats past my arm. I try to rest my arms atop it but it’s not big enough to hold me up, and I let it go once more. Another piece of wood drifts past, and then a body.

I recoil in horror, looking around me.

The ship—the Darkwitch—has been completely demolished. Off to one side, where the smoke is the thickest, the wreck of it is slowly sinking into the waters. Pieces of wood and garbage float as far as the eye can see, and the ship that bombed us—fireballed us?—is nowhere to be found. I can’t see far enough to see if it’s still approaching. There’s too much smoke.

Another body drifts past, face down. I reach out and gently turn the man over, just to make sure that he’s not alive—and there’s no face left. No front of him left at all. It’s been destroyed by the fire. Gagging, I jerk away, flailing backward in the water.

Big hands grab me from behind and haul me to the side.

I scream, splashing—only to realize that it’s Rhagos. His chin-length, thick hair is plastered to his skull in an inky black mess, and water drips down his nose. He stares at me with that intense gaze, then pulls me toward the barrel he’s got under his arm. “Hold onto this.”

Coughing up more seawater, I try to clutch at the barrel, but my arms aren’t nearly as long as his. It just spins against me and dumps me back into the water. Rhagos mutters a curse under his breath, and then finds a piece of rope drifting nearby. He loops it around the barrel, knots it, and then hands the rope to me. This time, I cling to it without spinning, and I’m able to relax for a moment as the barrel bobs along the choppy surface.

“What…what happened?”

“Fireball,” he says, as if that explains it all.

“The ship. It’s destroyed.” I stare at the smoking wreck in horror. “I can’t believe they did that.” I cast my shell-shocked gaze in his direction. “Were they hunting for us?”

He gives me a look that tells me everything I need to know, and I feel horribly guilty. My lower lip threatens to quiver, so I bite the inside of my cheek. Crying won’t help. I have to have a plan. I can cry when we’re safe. I stare down at the murky, cold waters and watch as another dead person drifts past. “Are we the only ones alive?”

“Who knows?” He swims next to me. “Are you hurt?”

I feel a bit like a cooked sausage, scorched all over the surface, but I don’t have anything broken, so I shake my head. “We need to find land,” I manage, only to have the water slap me in the face again. I sputter against the salty mouthful and adjust my grip on the barrel. “Survivors, and land.”

“You want to find survivors?” When I nod, he shakes his head. “Don’t you think they’ll try to kill us for what happened? You know we’re responsible.”

My belly sinks at the thought. We are responsible, aren’t we. The Darkwitch was a pirate ship, so they weren’t entirely innocent, but I suspect we were the targets. They’re trying to kill Rhagos.

They think he wants to die.

The thought is terrifying, especially now that we’re out in the water. I grab a handful of Rhagos’s wet clothing and pull him toward me. “You don’t want to die right now, do you?”

“Of course not.” He detangles my hand from his clothing and smacks it back onto the barrel keeping me afloat. “Hold fast.”

I’m not sure I believe him. He answered that far too glibly, far too quickly. “Rhagos,” I whisper. “Please, please don’t let me die here. I don’t want to drown.” There’s nothing more terrifying and I can’t keep the thought out of my head. I keep seeing the dead bodies floating past, and every one that does feels like another knife in the gut.

Everything here wants us dead.

Wants me dead.

Rhagos touches my cheek, his fingers wet and cold. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Max.”

For some reason, that feels reassuring. I nod. Shivering, I cling to the barrel and bob on the waves, waiting. The smoke slowly clears enough that I can see around us, and it looks as if the ship that bombed the crap out of us is gone. They didn’t stick around to see who survived—and I don’t blame them, because I’m not entirely sure how I survived. All around me there is death, and I notice a rusty shade in the water, and then my heart begins to panic over a completely new situation.

Blood and dead bodies in the water are going to attract predators.

I grab at Rhagos’s hand, from where he floats on the other side of the barrel. “Do you guys have sharks?”

“Sharks?” he echoes.

“Man-eating fish?”

He thinks for a moment, studying the water around us with a troubled gaze. “No.”

I sag against the barrel with relief. “Oh good. That’s one less thing to worry about.” I sigh and look around. As far as the eye can see, there’s nothing but water. Endless, slapping, salty water. “We have to get to shore, Rhagos.”

He grunts acknowledgement.

Yeah, I know I’m stating the obvious, but it feels better to say a plan out loud. Always does. I look around, hoping for a distant shore to pop up if I stare hard enough, but nothing does. It’s just…more water. I keep watching anyhow, looking for anything that will hint which direction we need to head. A seagull would help. Waves splashing against rocks. Something. Anything.

Please, anything.

Something bumps against my foot. I choke back a scream as a large, dark shape drifts underneath my legs. “What the hell is that?”

Rhagos moves to my side of the barrel. I cling to his arm, terrified and desperate as the dark shape drifts under the water and slowly surfaces a short distance away.

It’s a body.

I don’t know if this makes me happy or not. It’s not a man-eating predator, but it is another dead person. There’s tons of them still floating around us, along with broken pieces of wood and debris. A fine layer of soot covers the water near us, and everything smells just a bit like blood. It’s a nightmare, one I can’t seem to wake up from.

As I stare, the body ahead of me twitches, the arm flopping in the water.

I gasp, looking over at Rhagos. “You said no one was alive!”

He blinks, and only sighs, as if disappointed.

I ignore it and swim forward, determined to help the man. “I’ve got you,” I call out as I cut through the water, using crisp strokes from childhood swimming lessons. “I’ve got…”

Even before I get to the man, I can see he’s dead. There’s an enormous blackened hole where his chest should be, and his eyes are staring up at the sky, seeing nothing.

A knot forms in my throat because it’s Atollo, Vossa’s brother.

I’ve gotten her brother killed. My one true friend in this world, and this happened. I swallow hard, feeling like the worst person ever. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, hesitating. Part of me wants to go and shut his eyes, and part of me doesn’t want to touch his corpse at all. I’m squeamish. But I know it’s the right thing to do, so I close my eyes, suck down a deep breath, and then move to his side. I touch his shoulder and lift my pruney fingers, reaching for his face.

Before I can touch him, his eyes flick. He looks over at me.

I yelp in shock, flailing and splashing in the water. At first, I think he’s alive. That he somehow survived the impossible wounds in his chest, and he needs my help. But when I touch him a second time, he’s ice cold, and his chest isn’t rising.

My gut churns as I realize what this is.

He’s dead. He’s dead but he’s still trapped inside his body.

Bile rises in my throat. I close his eyes with a touch, silently apologizing to him, and then I swim back to Rhagos. He watches me with calm, almost bored eyes. Why isn’t he freaking out? Why isn’t he upset?

Oh, right, because he can’t die. I’m the one that bites it. He just gets to go home.

Even as I swim back to him, I see another body twitch nearby. No, it’s not a body. It’s just a pair of legs that don’t have an owner any longer, I realize sickly. We’re floating in a sea of dead people that are trapped inside their own corpses.

And they’re going to be stuck until Rhagos goes home.

It’s the most horrifying thing ever. What if…what if they get eaten? What if their bodies bloat and—I shut down that line of thought, squeezing my eyes closed.

A warm hand touches my shoulder, and then Rhagos draws me against him, his other hand holding the rope attached to the floating barrel. I’m close to losing my shit. I’m panicking, on the verge of hyperventilating. I always try to put a positive spin on things, or have a plan to put in motion, but all I can see around us is death, and it’s freaking me out.

Everything here wants to kill me.

“Max,” Rhagos murmurs in that dark, velvety voice. “Breathe.”

I grab the front of his wet clothing, twisting my fingers in it as I meet his gaze with my panicked eyes. “You have to help them.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “Help who?”

Does he truly not care? Are they nothing to him, everyone that just died around us? Everyone on that pirate ship who didn’t realize we were sheer danger as they took us on board? “All of them,” I tell him in a ragged voice, and splash-gesture at the water. “You have to set them free. It’s the right thing to do.”

I’m haunted by the look Atollo gave me, just before the fireball hit. He knew. He knew he was going to die and asked me to have Rhagos grant him mercy. He knew he would be trapped. I’m hysterical with the awful magnitude of it.

When he says nothing, I grab the front of his tunic harder. “You have to,” I cry. “Do it!”

“And hurt you?” He scoffs. “When you need your strength?”

“You motherfucker,” I shake him—about as well as I can given the circumstances. “They’re people. They matter! You can’t let this happen to them. I don’t want to be your anchor if you’re going to do this over and over again!” I’m sobbing as I scream in his face. Even as I shout the words, I know it’s true.

Am I being the world’s most selfish woman for not wanting to die? For asking Rhagos not to let everyone kill me? If all the Aspects returned, he’d go back to his kingdom and all the dead would be free of their prisons. But…I want to live.

I’m weeping as he pulls me against him in a sodden hug.

“I want to live, Rhagos,” I tell him between hiccuping sobs. “I want to live. I don’t want to die here in the water. Please don’t let me die here.”

He holds me close, his arm wrapped around my waist as he half-nuzzles my wet face. “I will always keep you safe, Max.”

The words sound like a vow.

I sob again, wanting to let him hold me, but the water won’t allow it without us both sinking under. “Then please, please do the right thing,” I say to him brokenly. “Help these people.”

“The same ones that tried to rape you?” His tone is unforgiving.

“You killed them already, remember?” I don’t even want to think about where they’re trapped. “You don’t know these men were bad.” I lean in closer, so close that our noses are practically touching. “I’m supposed to be your conscience, right? This is wrong. This is all so wrong that it’s tearing me apart. Please, Rhagos. Please.”

I can’t imagine that my pleas do much. He’s likely heard them a million times before from a million different throats. But all I can do is beg. I’ve got nothing else left.

Rhagos just grits his jaw. “Drawing on my power won’t hurt you?”

“I don’t care!”

He growls, the sound fierce, and then closes his eyes.

I feel it within me, that hard, sharp pull against my mind, and it’s almost a relief to feel the stab of pain that lances through my brain. I welcome the gush of blood that erupts from my nose, welcome the hard pinch of agony at the forefront of my mind.

I welcome the darkness that follows, too.

22

T  ime floats past in slow, endless ripples. It’s hard for me to stay focused and conscious. The sun beats down overhead without a single cloud to provide relief, and it feels like I’m baking alive surrounded by water. I’m already wrung out and drained from Rhagos’s work at sending the sailors to their final death, but adding in a sunburn that gets worse by the hour and the fact that there’s nothing to drink? It makes it hard for me to stay conscious. Fever holds me in its clutches, and it seems like a kinder mistress than being awake, so I sink into it. I let the fever carry me. I let it blur the world into nothing more than a series of memory flashes.

Of my dry lips, cracked and bleeding, flaking off like scales.

Of Rhagos wetting my skin, pouring handfuls of water gently over my forehead to cool the burning heat.

Of the barrel being tugged through the water as I cling weakly to it.

Of a choking, too-tight arm holding me above the water so I don’t drown as I fall unconscious over and over again.

Of something bumping my legs, and waking up to hear Rhagos snarling, the water splashing, and then a hard, terrible pinch in my mind that sends me unconscious once more.

These images flit through my parched brain, interspersed with darkness.

It seems to take forever for me to finally wake up, but when I do, it’s to sand underneath my limbs, the gentle caress of the ocean waves playing against my bare feet.

Moaning, I struggle to sit up, wiping sand off my face. I peer at the world around me. Everything’s a blur, my glasses gone. Even so…the ground underneath my feet isn’t moving. I’m on land, and it takes me a moment to realize just how momentous this is.

I dig my fingers into the wet sand, reassuring myself that it’s real. It’s not just another feverish, head-splitting dream caused by dehydration and sunstroke. The sand feels real, though, and when I sit up, everything hurts so badly that I want to cry.

That’s real, too.

I feel scraped all over, my body aching. I manage to sit up, and just that small effort takes all my strength. Panting, I stare at my surroundings. Where am I? I see the rolling waves and the pale, buff-colored sand. There are green, leafy trees in the distance that promise shade, but I’m too tired to walk to them. Farther beyond, I see distant hills.

An island. A big one.

Considering that my last views of the world were nothing but more endless sea waves, I’ve been unconscious for a really long time. I try to lick my lips, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. I know I should get up from my spot in the sun, but I can’t find the energy. My muscles are screaming with pain, and I’m so thirsty and weak that I immediately flop back onto the sand again, this time on my back.

I just need a nap. A nap…and then I’ll go find those trees. And Rhagos. He’s got to be here somewhere.

A shadow falls over my face, cool and welcome. Fighting unconsciousness, I struggle to keep my eyes open and try to focus on the dark shape over me. A pale face with a scar looms close, bright green eyes focused on me.

Rhagos.

I should have known he’d be right here next to me. My bond isn’t hurting, after all. The full body ache I feel is more like a fever than the full-on nerve implosion I felt when I tried to leave his side. More memories flash through my mind, of the god carefully holding me through the night, his arm locked around the barrel. Of him murmuring words in my ears as I flitted in and out of consciousness. Of the endless, salty slap of his wet clothing against my skin, reminding me that he was always close at hand.

He’s never abandoned me for a moment, not even when it would have been easier to let me just die. Just let go of me and let me sink under the waves.

But we made it. I’m alive.

I give him a wan smile and my dry lips immediately split at the effort.

He kneels down next to me, and his skin is blessedly cool as he pulls me into his arms. “Drink this.”

Something presses to my mouth and I’m dimly aware of the hard lip of a shell…and then water dribbles through my lips. Fresh water. It’s warm, but it’s clean and it tastes so good I want to gulp it all down. I force myself to take small sips, wetting my lips and mouth as I do. It takes forever but I drink the entire thing, and he studies my face as I do.

“More?” he asks.

Oh god, yes. I want more. I want to drink bathtubs full of that water. But I know more will probably make me vomit and I have to pace myself. “Soon,” I manage, and sit up. “We’re on an island?”

He ignores my question, running a hand over my limbs. “Are you hurt?”

“I think I’m okay. Just dehydrated. Help me stand up?” I push out of his arms, trying to get to my feet.

Rhagos stands and offers me his hand, and I manage to pull myself upright. His grasp is so cool against my overheated skin I fight the urge to press his hands all over my body. It just feels far too refreshing to touch him. I notice that his clothing is still sodden and heavy, clinging to his skin, which means we haven’t been on shore long.

Our eyes meet. Silently, he holds out my glasses. They’re dirty and smudged, but whole.

Just the sight of those precious, so important glasses in his grip humbles me. He knows how much I need them, so he saved them. Somehow, he’s held onto them through a shipwreck and being adrift in the ocean. A huge knot forms in my throat and tears spring to my eyes.

Impulsively, I reach out and hug him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his wet tunic. “Thank you for saving me.”

He touches my back lightly. Just once. Just briefly. “You did not deserve it.”

I’m not offended by his words. Doesn’t matter if I deserved it or not. The proof is in his actions, like he said, and he kept my glasses safe—kept me safe—all through this. It speaks volumes to me. Instead of being insulted, I just chuckle. “Thank you anyhow.”

I release him when his body language remains stiff and unyielding. He’s uncomfortable at my hug. It’s fine. I take a step backward and weave slightly, still hot and achy and exhausted. “Do you know where we are?”

“An island?” He shrugs.

I nod. I’ve got no clue, either. “That’s okay. We’ll figure things out as we go. Land is an improvement to our situation no matter what we do. We just need a plan.”

“Mmm.” I can tell from his tone that he doesn’t quite believe me. His intense green eyes focus on me and he steps close, ever protective. “What do you need?”

“More water, I think.” I press my hand to my sun-burned forehead. My skin’s darker than his naturally, but for some reason I’m utterly fried from the sun and he looks untouched, the jerk. “And food, if there is any. I’m not particularly hungry, but I need to get my strength back if we’re going to figure out how to get out of this mess.”

“Come,” he says, putting a hand to the small of my back and pointing at the distant trees.

It takes a few steps before I sag against him, letting his strength carry me forward. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I stagger along. “I’ll be better soon. Really.”

“Shh.” His grip is firm on my waist.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just excuses, I know, but I really do appreciate you.” It’s almost like…he cares. “I know it’s just you saving your own skin, but I can still say thank you.”

“Saving my own skin is definitely the priority,” he counters in that rich, amused voice. He gives me a little squeeze as we stagger forward. “Yours is worthless.”

I laugh. It feels good to laugh, even if he’s calling me worthless. I know I’m not. He wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep me alive if I was. He wouldn’t have saved my glasses. He wouldn’t have held my head above water for hours on end just so I wouldn’t die. His words are just teasing, nothing more. “Such flattery. This is all going to go to my head if you keep this up.”

He laughs. Just a little, but it’s fascinating to hear. I just made the god of death laugh. It feels like an accomplishment. Or maybe he’s just giddy at being on land, too, and is forgetting himself.

23

I t seems to take forever to get to the damned water. The beach gives way to a slope, and then we go past a treeline and into the greenery. Big leaves and fern-like plants are everywhere, but I hear the water before I see it. There’s a faint splashing like a waterfall amidst the rustling greenery and the calls of birds, and I want a drink so badly that I ache.

When I see the pool of water, a sob of relief chokes out of me. It’s crystal clear, trickling from a rocky cliff high above, and big enough to quench our thirsts for a hundred years.

“This is amazing,” I tell Rhagos, weeping.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because we’re going to live.” I bury my face in his tunic again and hug him tightly. “Thank you again.”

This time, his hand stays on my back for just a little longer. It’s progress. I’ll thaw him yet, I decide. A guy that saved me from drowning and a fireball and a ship full of pirate rapists can’t be all that bad. No matter how thorny he seems, how selfish his words, I have to remind myself of his deeds.

He’s still stiff as I touch him, though. I keep hugging him, smiling to myself. “You should know that I’m a hugger,” I point out. “You’re going to have to get used to it at some point.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” I reassure him and pull back. “You…” My voice dies as I look at the trail behind us. We’ve left an obvious one through the leafy ferns. The plants are a vivid, brilliant green, but they can’t hide a red trail of blood. The leaves are smeared with it. There’s a thick trail on the ground, almost black in color and fresh.

I gasp, pulling away from Rhagos in horror. I’m wounded? I’m wounded and I didn’t even realize it? I look down at my wet clothing. Sure enough, the front of my dress—normally a bland green—is dark and wet, and when I touch it my fingers are red.

“I think I’m hurt,” I tell him, stunned.

Rhagos makes a pained sound in his throat. “Impossible.” He runs his hands over my torso, and while it doesn’t hurt more than anything else, I’m cold with terror.

All this blood. Maybe my head is woozy because I’m dying. I look around me, shocked. I made it through all of that just to die on a tropical island? That never happens to the Chosen One.

“This place really needs to brush up on its rules,” I mutter even as I pull at my dress. I’m making jokes, but I can’t seem to help it. Rhagos’s hands are frantic as he touches my arms and my neck, my cheek, trying to see where my wounds are. I know it’s under my clothing, though. “Help me take this off.”

I don’t even think about nudity until we both rip my dress over my head and then I’m naked in front of him except for my short-slip, which is this world’s version of underwear. It’s nothing but a pair of wispy pantaloons that cover me from navel to mid-thigh. The fabric clings to my body, outlining everything and leaving nothing to the imagination.

Rhagos stops.

Just stops.

It fills me with terror and I run a careful hand over my front…but I don’t find any wounds. I cup my breasts and push them aside, just in case they’re hiding something, but nope. I’m a little battered and bruised, a little scratched up, but I’m not gushing blood anywhere. “I don’t understand.”

I look at Rhagos…and blush.

He’s transfixed on my breasts.

It didn’t occur to me to be shy. I was too freaked out at the thought of bleeding to death, so I just ripped off my clothes. Even now, as I cup my small tits in front of him, I don’t feel…bashful? My nipples get hard at his fascinated reaction, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to touch me.

You’re terrible at that.

The memory creeps through my mind, ruining the moment. Right. Rhagos and I are better as friends than as lovers. I grab my gown and clutch it to my front again, hiding my boobs away from him. I’m not sure why he’s so fascinated—he’s a god. He’s seen a billion boobs before. “I don’t understand. I’m not bleeding?”

He doesn’t respond. Just reaches out for my bare skin, my cleavage that shows just above where I’m clutching the dress.

I slap his hand away before he can touch me, like he’s a naughty child.

Rhagos jerks back, his gaze shocked. Everything in his posture seems to say “how dare you?” As if I’ve forgotten that he’s a god. But those are my boobs.

As he pulls away, I notice a trickle of blood down his wrist, coming from under one of his long, wet sleeves.

I forget all about boobs and hand-slapping a god. “Rhagos…are you hurt?”

“No,” he scoffs.

I drop my dress because I need both hands to open his tunic. I expect him to fight my touch, but he doesn’t. He just stands there as I tug at the laces at the front of his tunic, and then I stop, because the tunic is sticking to his skin. I suck in a breath. “I need to take this off you to see how bad the damage is.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says patiently.

“I don’t care. Just because you’re the one that can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t get injured.” I shake my head at him, carefully pulling his tunic free from his skin. It sticks in far too many places, and I realize blood is crusted all over him. “Come sit by the water’s edge.”

He does.

For the next while, we’re both silent as I tend to his wounds. Once I’m able to take Rhagos’s tunic and heavy cloak off, the extent of his injuries is made obvious. He’s been mauled. He said their world didn’t have sharks, but they clearly have some sort of equivalent. There are gash marks all over his body, bites taken out of his pale skin, and there’s one ragged wound on his side that looks utterly hideous. I remember the flashes of memory of him fighting something in the water…and I had the nerve to act like I’m the wounded one?

Worse than that, when I see his back, it makes me realize he’s been holding back a lot on me. Rhagos’s tunic is nothing but charred shreds along the back, and it falls apart when I pull it off his skin, revealing blisters and deep red burn wounds. In the chaos of my memories, I remember him grabbing me and pulling me against him, shielding me from the fireball with his body.

I thought it was just luck that we’d managed to live.

I feel like the worst companion ever.

“Oh, Rhagos,” I whisper as I dab at his wounds with the fresh water. “I wish you’d said something.”

He remains perfectly still as I minister to him. “Why?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have leaned on you so much. Or made you walk all the way back here. I can’t believe this. You swam and you fought sea monsters and…” I just spread my hands, a little bewildered at how much damage he’s taken. It’s more than enough to kill a mortal man. “…how much blood have you lost?”

He shrugs absently once more. “It will heal, won’t it?”

“Even so.” I tear a strip off his cloak, determined to use it as bandages. “I hate that you got so hurt and I didn’t realize it.”

“Because you realizing it would change things?” He gives me a crooked smile.

“It wouldn’t, but…you know what I mean.” Then again, maybe he doesn’t. If there’s one thing that’s becoming readily apparent to me, it’s that Rhagos and I function very, very differently, and I’m not just talking about physical aspects. Mentally, he doesn’t think like the people here, and neither do I. It makes for a weird combination for both of us. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

I dab the cloth against one of the deepest wounds, and hate that he winces. I suspect he’s downplaying things so I don’t panic. Oddly enough, I’m not panicking. He can’t die. The ordeal we just went through proves that. The fact that he survived the fireball when everyone else didn’t proves that.

He can’t die…but he can hurt, and I feel like a jerk that I didn’t notice it previously. He was busy saving me from drowning and fireball and sharks while I pretty much flailed in the water. Oh, sure, he might have squeezed my brain into a pulp using his powers, but I’d asked him to do that, too.

“Next time you get hurt, just tell me, okay? I can at least tend to your wounds.”

Rhagos looks at me over his shoulder as I press a wet cloth to a deep, still-bleeding gouge. “Very well.”

His gaze flicks lower and he stares at my breasts again. Right. I’m still mostly naked. It just hasn’t seemed important. I snap my fingers by my face. “Eyes up here, Death.”

He looks up, scowling at me, but the scowl melts away as I give him a challenging stare in return. It smooths into a chuckle and he shakes his head, turning to stare away into the waters even as he speaks to me. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Considering that parts of you look like raw meat and you worked your ass off to save me more than once? No, I’m not.”

“Even before then,” he points out. “You never have been, have you?”

“I haven’t,” I agree. “I guess because to me, it’s hard to see you as the god of death. My people don’t have a god of death. We just have one god of everything. We think about death, but it’s a little different than your version. I guess that’s why I’m not scared. I don’t associate you with my death. Just deaths on this world.”

“But you’re here now.”

“I am, but I’m going home,” I tell him firmly. “Remember? That’s why we’re partners. Equals. Companions.”

He scoffs a little at that. “Partners with a mortal.”

“Yep, because we both want the same thing.” I wet the strip and finish binding a deep gash in his arm. “We both want to go home. We just…need a plan.”

Rhagos gestures at the tropical trees and the waterfall. “How does all this fit in with your plan?”

“It doesn’t. But plans can change. We can figure out what to do next soon enough. We just need to rest and regroup.” I hesitate, looking toward the shoreline in the distance. “Should we wait to see if anyone else survived? If anyone else is going to arrive?”

“You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

A knot forms in my throat. I guess I do. I think of all the dead people floating in the water. I think of how absolutely packed the ship was, and my stomach churns with guilt and sadness. I think of Atollo—Vossa’s little brother. How he’d seemed like just another hard pirate until he let his guard down for a moment. Just a moment. It was just a mask he was wearing to survive. Poor Vossa. Poor Atollo. I think of everyone on the ship, all those people.

I swallow hard. “I can’t stop thinking about Atollo. He knew what was going to happen. He looked at me when we got up on deck and…he knew.” I sniff. Shit, I’m crying.

“I did everything I could for him.” Rhagos reaches up to touch my shoulder to comfort me.

At least, he tries to. Instead, his hand accidentally brushes against my bare nipple.

We both freeze.

My breast tingles with awareness. My body throbs. Rhagos is utterly still, too. His gaze locks on my face.

We stare at each other for a moment, both of us acutely aware of that brief touch.

“Max,” he murmurs, leaning close.

You’re terrible at that.

God. Right. I can’t be more than just friends with this guy. I jump to my feet. “I should get dressed.”

24

Even though I want nothing more than to never touch wet clothing ever again, I put my dress on anyhow. The touch of it against my skin is irritating, but I need distance between myself and Rhagos. I can’t hate him. Not after he worked so hard to save me. At the same time, I’m absolutely not pursuing a romantic relationship of any kind with the guy. He’s arrogant and rude and selfish and far, far too dismissive of humans.

We’re working together for a common purpose—to get home. No more, no less. Our relationship can just be a working one…like detectives and their partners. I don’t care if every other anchor has served her “god” in bed in the past. I doubt every other anchor was from Earth. I’m going to bring different sensibilities to the table, and he needs to understand that.

Business partners. Nothing more.

With that positive thought ringing in my head, I get to work. If we’re going to be on this island for a few days—or longer—we need things. I find a few more shells to use as drinking vessels, and we have fresh water. We need food and shelter, and weapons.

I’m always thinking about weapons, it seems.

We need fire, too, but I have no idea how to make one or where to start. So I focus on the other things first. I dig through the bushes, looking for berries or nuts of some kind, but there’s nothing. There’s a few sketchy-looking mushrooms, but I avoid them because I don’t want to survive a shipwreck only to die of poison. There’s also nothing particularly weapon-like, so I work on kicking down a thin tree and then rubbing the head of it against sharp rocks until it makes a point. Sort of. It looks more like a blunted pencil but I’ll stab a bitch with it if I have to.

Between drinking more water than I probably should and taking lots of breaks, I also manage to make us a shelter. It’s a pretty terrible shelter, all things considered. It’s mostly a lean-to against a cliff wall, and with a few flimsy sticks supporting things, I layer oversized palm leaves to make a roof-slash-wall. I’ll have to crawl inside to get comfortable, and I’m not sure the entire thing will hold up against a strong breeze, but it’s a start.

I check Rhagos’s wounds regularly, and I’m no expert on god-healing, but they seem to be patching up pretty fast. Most of the wounds are already completely closed over and pink with healing. One less thing to worry about.

Not that Rhagos is worried. He lounges, watching me as I work busily to make an encampment. He doesn’t even get up. He just watches me with a slightly perplexed look on his face, as if survival has never occurred to him. It probably never has. He acted as if all the servants in the palace at Port Tidewater were just his due, after all.

I try not to think of the palace too much, because it makes me think of Vossa, and that makes me sad. It also reminds me that everyone in this world is trying to kill me, and it makes me clutch my spear tighter.

When darkness falls, I try to make a fire and fail miserably. I haven’t seen wild animals—or other castaways—on this island, but I’d still feel better with a fire. Without one, there’s nothing to do but sit in the dark. I crawl into my lean-to, and I’m not entirely surprised when Rhagos crawls in right next to me, settling his big body against my own. His arm goes around my waist without hesitation, pulling me against him.

He’s just being protective, I remind myself. It has absolutely nothing to do with more than that. I should push him away, but the selfish part of me is glad for his protection because I have no fire and no weapon.

Well, other than a stick. I’m starting to hate sticks.

It’s one of the worst nights of sleep ever. Bugs—or crabs—crawl all over us. It gets far too cold and my sunburn hurts. My stomach growls and growls so much that it wakes me up. I can’t get comfortable, and every time I shift, Rhagos’s attention is drawn back to me.

He doesn’t sleep at all, which doesn’t help things. I’m hyper-aware of his presence as he lies next to me, silent and staring, his hand on my waist. It makes me wonder what he thinks about all night.

But then morning eventually arrives, and I emerge from my lean-to and drink all the fresh water I possibly can. I lie down next to the pool and notice that my sunburn isn’t as awful as it was the day before. I’m healing. And I’m on land. If we can find food, this might not be so bad.

After all, no one can try to assassinate me on a deserted island, right?

Hunger gets me moving, and I spend the day exploring the small island. There’s all kinds of plants, and I try eating leaves, and roots, and spit out anything that burns my mouth.

“Are you…grazing?” Rhagos asks me when I sit down next to him and nibble on a mouthful of leaves. His lip curls with disdain.

“Have you seen any food around here?” I brush dirt off of a promising-looking root I just dug up. If I use my imagination, it almost looks like a pale carrot. I nibble on the end—and then promptly spit out the burning, acrid stuff. Not edible. With a sigh, I toss the pale carrot away. “I’m twice as hungry as a normal human, so this is a special kind of torture,” I point out to him. My stomach growls so loudly that it hurts, and I’m feeling shaky and weak.

“Do you want me to find you food?”

I look over at him. “You mean you know how to find food and you’re letting me eat the bushes?”

He shrugs, as if I never asked so he never offered.

I throw a leaf at his head, and he brushes it aside, scowling at me. “Seriously, I am starving here. Please, please find some food if you can.”

Rhagos shifts an assessing look in my direction. “And what will you give me if I do?”

I shove his shoulder, probably a little harder than I should. The nerve. “You’re kidding, right? How about I’ll be your friend?” I hate that I immediately think about me on my knees before him, his hand tracing along my jaw even as he tells me just how terrible my blow job is. “If you’re asking for sexual favors, I’m not going to do that. We’re partners, nothing more.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, but very well.” He closes his eyes and holds a hand out over the water’s edge.

I watch him, curious. Does he have additional powers I’m unaware of? My nose tickles, and I sneeze just as something flops to the surface.

It’s a dead fish.

Rhagos casts me a smug, triumphant glance as if to say ‘See?’

I stare back at him. I can’t decide if I’m completely grossed out that he just used his powers to kill a fish or if I’m amused. I touch my nose, but it’s not bleeding. It was just enough of a brain squeeze, I guess, to make me sneeze and not completely knock me out. “Thanks. I think.”

We fish the dead animal out of the water and I look for a sufficiently sharp flake of stone to cut it open with, since we have no knives. There isn’t one, but a broken piece of shell does the trick. I gag a little as I cut the fish open, because I’m going to have to eat it raw. Just think of it as sushi, Max, I tell myself. Sushi with really terrible packaging.

I’m so hungry that even gutting and scaling my own food doesn’t deter me. By the time I’m able to cut thick slices of meat from the fish itself, my mouth is watering. I eat a piece and have to bite back a moan at the flavors that explode over my tongue. It’s raw fish, sure, but it’s absolutely the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I eat every bit I can, then bury the gross bits on the shore and say a little mental thank you to the fish that gave his life for me. Having a real meal in my belly improves my mood a lot, and I start to look at our tropical island with new eyes.

We have shelter.

We have fresh water.

We have food.

It’s warm here, and solitary.

“You know, Rhagos,” I murmur, sliding my feet into the pool and soaking my legs as we talk. “This might not be a bad place to stay for a while.”

Rhagos glances over at me. “You mean hide.”

“That’s not what I mean at all,” I protest. Except…it kinda is. “It’s just…right now our plan is what, to go to Aventine? They drove a god out already. Do you think they’re going to be super excited to see us?” When he doesn’t answer, I plunge on ahead. “I know this is a game to you, but it’s life or death for me. Everyone’s going to be trying to kill me because they think it’s what you want.”

He grunts acknowledgement, but he doesn’t protest what I’m saying. We both know I’m right.

“Maybe we just stay here for a while. The goal is to be the last Aspect standing, right? Then you get to keep this part of yourself intact?” I wave a hand at him.

“Yes. That’s the goal.”

“So maybe we hide out for a while. We turtle in on this island until stuff settles. The Anticipation is still really new. The history books said this stuff could last for years. Maybe…” I wet my lips, thinking. “Maybe we don’t stay here for years. I’m not sure I can eat raw fish for years. But maybe we stay for a while. Just to catch our breath.”

He leans in close to me, as if sharing a secret. “You’re forgetting something, are you not?

“What’s that?”

“Neither one of us knows where we are or how to leave this place.”

A laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Good point. Very good point.” I kick my legs in the cool waters, looking around the peaceful island…a peaceful island that might be thousands of miles from land, or it might be ten miles from land. I have no way of knowing. “So you don’t know where we are?”

He shakes his head, watching my feet as I wiggle them.

I didn’t think about the fact that we’re lost. But for some reason, I also feel like we could leave this place if we wanted to. We could build a raft and load it up with water somehow.” I haven’t figured that part out yet. “We could eat fish and just float until we found shore, you know? But…I like the idea of staying here better.” He says nothing, so I reach over to touch his hand. “Will it bother you to stay here with me?” I ask him, breathless.

“A little,” he admits. He shrugs a moment later, watching my face.

No, I realize. Not watching my face. Watching my mouth specifically.

Like he wants to kiss me.

I suck in a breath, realizing we need to have another conversation. If it’s just me and Rhagos on this island, I need to make absolutely sure he’s on the same page as me. “I hope you realize we can’t be more than friends,” I tell him quietly.

His gaze snaps up to my eyes and he scowls.

“I’m serious. I’m not saying this to be a jerk. It’s just…we have a quest before us, right?” I give him my most convincing look, I hope. “We need to stay focused on getting home. And because of that, I think it’s best that I don’t serve you in your bed. I know other anchors have done so in the past, and that’s great for them, but I don’t think I can do that and not hate you afterwards.”

Rhagos’s eyes narrow. “Hate me?” he echoes, voice flat.

I nod again. “We already had one awkward run-in. I might have bit things I have no business biting.” I flush with embarrassment. “And in a way, I’m glad we had that little, ah, problem, because it reminds me that we have to do this without emotions getting involved. We’re partners. We have to be logical and focused on the task. We can’t get distracted with feelings. And if you’ve ever been around co-workers that dated in the past and broke up? You know it makes it super uncomfortable for both of them. That’s why we can’t do anything. We can’t afford to hate each other. I’m not saying stuff would lead in a sexy direction between us. I’m not trying to assume.” I’m also blushing like crazy, because he’s just silent and glaring at me. “But I figured I should say something just before either one of us got the wrong idea.”

“You think I would fall in love with you?” His hard mouth curls at the edges.

Wow, he doesn’t need to sound like such a dick about it. “That’s not what I was saying at all. I just said neither one of us can afford to get emotional. Kind of like right now, when I want to punch you in the mouth for making that sound so shitty.”

Rhagos gets to his feet, his body stiff. “I do not know how much they told you about gods, Max, but know this—I will never fall for a human.”

He storms away, heading toward the beach, and I’m left by the jungle pool of water with my mouth open slightly.

So…that went well.

25

Rhagos is super pissy through the rest of the evening. I guess I offended him by even suggesting that we might get romantic. Maybe it’s a huge insult to say that to a god. Whoops. Either way, he doesn’t come to bed until late, and he doesn’t touch my waist or hold me protectively. That sucks. I still want us to be friends.

He’s gone again in the morning, and when I climb to the top of a nearby hill, I see him walking along the beach, his wrinkled cloak fluttering in the breeze. He obviously needs time to clear his head. Or maybe he’s tired of being around me. Either way, I feel guilty.

I need to talk with him again. Explain to him that I still want to be friends. That we need to be friends if this is going to work. I didn’t mean to insult him.

But because he’s gone, this means I also have the perfect opportunity to bathe. I eye the pool of fresh water with longing. My skin is peeling and itchy with sand, and I feel dirty and unkempt. I’ve been wanting to bathe for at least a day, but I also kept thinking about how Rhagos stared at my naked body when he was wounded. It just made things so awkward, and then prancing around naked after having a conversation with him about just being friends? That would seem like the most hypocritical of actions.

Rhagos is gone now, though.

I can bathe in private and get clean.

I hesitate for only a moment, and then strip my clothing off as quickly as I can and jump into the water.

I’M FLOATING on my back, eyes closed, enjoying the bliss that is clean water when something heavy slaps down over me, like a scratchy blanket. Sputtering, I go under the water’s surface, flailing my arms, only to find that they’re weighted down. The realization makes me panic, and I desperately struggle, trying to resurface. It’s a net. Someone’s thrown a net over my head and it’s tangling my arms and legs and—

The net gives a massive jerk, and then I’m being hauled forward.

Gasping, spitting water, I break the surface and then I’m dragged onto shore and land at the feet of two strangers. I push at the ropes of the net, rolling onto my back, and look up.

The men gaze down at me with cool expressions. They’re dressed differently than the Port Tidewater men, who wore flowing, light-colored clothing to deal with the heat and sunshine. They’re garbed more like the pirates on the Darkwitch, wearing form-fitting pants and tunics, a hood pulled over their hair. Both of them have a symbol carved into their foreheads, an undulating swirl of red.

And both of them are scowling down at me. For a moment, I think that they’re survivors from the Darkwitch. That we were wrong and there were others that lived through the terrible wreck. I remember my attack on the ship, and my blood runs cold. I fight against the net, but it’s made of some sort of material that seems to cling and stick no matter how much I fight against it.

I’m so screwed. I’m naked and alone and utterly vulnerable.

“You think this is his anchor?” one says.

The other shrugs. “Who else could it be? Our orders said they would be the only ones here.”

The first one grunts and tightens the nets around me. “Let’s take her back to the boat and wait for him to find us, then.”

Okay. Not survivors, then. Possibly not rapists. They’re kidnappers that somehow knew I was here with Rhagos. I manage to find my voice. I clear my throat, trying to sound cool and calm. “You probably don’t want to do that. Lord Rhagos—”

I’m tossed over the bigger man’s shoulder, and my stomach slams into his arm. Vomit threatens, and I dry-heave for a moment before I recover. “That answers that,” he says to his companion. “It’s her.”

“My lord will be pleased,” agrees the other, jogging to my captor’s side.

Shit. Did I just give everything away? I wheeze. “Please…let me go.”

They ignore me. “Sinfas is going to have to pay up,” the second one says cheerfully, jogging ahead. “He had money on a male anchor.”

The one carrying me snorts. His hand goes to my butt and squeezes it through the net, which makes me yelp. “Been a while since we’ve seen a wench. Maybe my lord will let us all take a turn with her.”

That makes me kick my legs harder. No one’s taking a fucking turn with me! “Let me go! Rhagos is going to kill you!”

They just laugh. “Your god is powerless right now, little one. And if he wants to save his hide, he’ll come with us.” He slaps my ass. “We can just as easily fuck a dead body as a live one.”

I go still, horrified. “Ew!”

The pirates laugh harder.

“Rhagos is going to kill you,” I hiss.

“His powers are gone,” one of the pirates counters. “I doubt very much that he’ll lift a finger to help you. Rumor has it that he wants to go home very badly. You’re lucky we don’t gut you right now.”

I swallow, hard.

“Alas, my lord Vor wouldn’t like that. He has a use for you and your master,” the pirate holding me says, and gives my ass another pat. “So alive you stay for now.”

I squirm in the net, trying to break free as they walk. Vor. Vor. Why does that name sound familiar?

It’s only when we get to the beach and I’m dumped onto the sand at the feet of a half-dozen more men, all with the same strange marking on their foreheads, that the name clicks. Vor is the god of the seas. In all the legends, he was a temperamental one, too, which fills me with terror. This must be the actions of one of his Aspects.

“Well, well, looks like a rather interesting sort of fish,” one of the pirates says, leering as he looms over me.

I struggle in the nets, trying to break free. “Fuck you.”

“And a mouth on her!” They all laugh. “That must be why she was chosen.”

To my surprise, one of the pirates pulls his cloak off and immediately heads to my side. He touches the net and whispers a word, and it falls away like water. Is that…magic? The man says nothing to me, simply wraps his cloak around my body, hiding my nudity and helping me stand. He brushes sand off of the cloak as I get to my feet, and glares at his compatriots. “She is in the service of the gods, just as we are. She deserves respect, too.”

They just laugh at him. “Then you can watch over her, Zakros.”

Zakros’s face flushes, and I realize that he’s young compared to some of the others. They sneer at him as if watching over me is an insult, but he leads me toward the boat bobbing on the shore. “Come. We will wait aboard.”

“Who are you guys?” I ask. I want to stay on land, but I know it’s not going to be permitted. I think of Rhagos and worry that we’re going to shove off without him. If so, I’m going to be in agony. Already I can feel uncomfortable prickings of my bond with the death god, aware of the fact that he’s not close by. “We can’t leave. I can’t leave—”

“We are not leaving without your Aspect,” Zakros says, gesturing at the boat. “Come. You are safe with me.”

I hold the cloak closer to my body and follow him up the wooden ramp. The boat isn’t quite like the sailing ship I was on—this one looks more like an oversized lifeboat with oars and a large sail at the front. The sail has the same symbol on it that the men wear on their brows, the curving, swirling lines. When the man gestures that I should sit on a bench at the front end of the boat, I do. I can’t help but notice the others are standing around on shore, laughing and talking as if waiting for someone else to arrive for a party. They wear swords, and I see them fingering their weapons and scanning the trees, no doubt looking for Rhagos.

“Can I get you food and drink?” Zakros asks.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

He flushes again, his freckled face almost as red as his hair. “Lord Vor has sent us to do his will. You do the will of the gods, too. It is deserving of respect.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have talked to your buddies.” I gesture at them on the shore. One’s rolled up something that looks like a cross between a cigar and an enormous joint and is sharing it with another friend.

Zakros just shakes his head. “They do not understand what it means to truly serve. My mother served all her life in one of Vor’s temples. And my brother…” He pauses for a moment. “My brother serves Lord Vor.”

As his anchor? That’s…probably good to know. “What does Vor want with us?”

“To talk.” Zakros’s face shines with innocent enthusiasm. “He fears that Rhagos will not want to speak to him, so he instructed us to capture you to get Rhagos’s attention.”

I’m not sure they’re going to want the kind of attention they’re about to get. I think of the pirates that attacked me on the ship, and how Rhagos just mowed through them, killing them with a thought. I reach out and take Zakros’s hand. “You’re being nice to me, so I should warn you…you’re going to want to stick close to me when Rhagos appears. I’ll try and protect you.”

Zakros looks confused. “Protect me?”

“Yep.” Unless I miss my guess, Rhagos is gonna be plenty pissed when he finds out what happened. I glance around, looking for a weapon for the inevitable fight that will break out. “So where are we? What is this island?”

“One of many. This is a chain of islands just west of Sunswallow.”

That means absolutely nothing to me, but I file the information away anyhow. “Where’s your Lord Vor? On another one of the islands?”

“He’s nearby, don’t you worry.”

“Which Aspect is he?”

Zakros gives me a wary look. “I’m not sure I should tell you these things. I—”

A gurgling cry from the shore cuts him off. My nose gushes blood and my head slams with pain, as if someone took one of the oars and struck me with it. I cry out, too, clutching at my brow.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Zakros shoves a square of linen at me.

I hold the linen to my nose, noticing that it stinks of body odor. This is his sweat rag, now gone from the collar of his tunic. Gross. “That’s Lord Rhagos,” I tell him, my head throbbing.

“But…”

He gets to his feet, his words dying away as he stares at the shore. I peer around him, and sure enough, a dark, lonely figure is coming over the crest. It’s Rhagos, his broad shoulders set, his footsteps quick and full of anger. I can’t see his face thanks to the lack of my glasses, but I’m pretty sure he’s frowning powerfully.

A figure moves forward, and Rhagos raises a hand into the air, as if slapping away the breeze. The man—still a good distance away—lets out a cry and drops his sword, falling to his knees and then face-first into the sand. Another mind-splintering headache rips through me, this one worse than the last.

“MAX!” I hear Rhagos bellow dimly, even as another headache knocks me to the floor of the boat.

I groan, blood streaming down my face. It feels like his hand is taking my brain and squeezing it tight. “Stop,” I pant, breathless with pain. Then, louder, “Stop! Please!”

“What is it?” Zakros whispers at my side, touching my arm.

I weakly grab his shoulder and force myself upright once more. My head is swimming and dizzy, and I’m on the verge of passing out. Even so, I need to get Rhagos to stop this. This isn’t like when he was sending the other dead sailors to their deaths. This is just him mowing through the enemy and cheating the system, and the system’s taking its price out on me. I hiss with pain as another sharp, scraping agony racks through my mind.

“Rhagos,” I cry out. “Fucking stop!”

Zakros puts an arm around my waist, trying to hold me upright. It’s odd, but he feels very different than when Rhagos holds me. Then, I feel safe. Cared for. In Zakros’s grip, I just feel like he’s going to knock us both over the side of the boat.

Blearily, I try to focus my gaze, squinting hard at the shore. Rhagos is there, standing amidst bodies on the sand. His hand is still raised in the air, as if waiting for me to tell him to keep going, and at his feet, a man writhes and twists in agony.

“No more,” I manage to call out. “You’re hurting me.”

“They touched you?” he snarls, storming up the ramp to the boat. Even from here, I can feel his fury reverberating all around me. “They dared steal you?”

“I’m fine. Or I was.” I hold the cloth to my nose with shaking hands again. “Please, Rhagos. I can’t take any more. Each time you do it is worse than the last.”

He storms onto the boat, shaking it with his steps, and as he approaches, I can see the rage that’s imprinted on his features. He is incandescent with fury, his green eyes wild, the scar that slashes across his face livid against his pale skin. Even as he looks me over, his gaze falls to Zakros, who has his hand to my waist. That furious snarl starts in his throat again—

“Don’t,” I say, stepping in front of Zakros. The movement makes my head feel as if it’s about to explode, but I don’t want him hurting him. “He was being kind to me. He gave me a cloak and kept me from the others.”

“The others,” Rhagos repeats, voice flat. “The others were cruel to you?”

“No,” I say quickly, imagining what he’ll do to them if he finds out how they really treated me. “I was just scared. Zakros was nice to me. Please don’t kill anyone else, okay?”

Rhagos arches a brow. I can practically hear his hand tighten to a fist. “Zakros?”

Oh god, is he jealous that I’m on a first-name basis with one of the captors? I need to defuse the situation, so I stumble forward, heading for Rhagos, and when his arms go around me, I press my cheek against his tunic. “Thank you for coming for me,” I tell him. “No more headaches, please.”

He touches my cheek, a silent agreement.

“These men are from Lord Vor,” I manage to gasp out. Just those few steps forward have made my brain hurt and blackness ripples in from behind my eyes. I’m not going to have long to stay conscious now, and I can feel my thoughts fading. I grab the front of Rhagos’s wrinkled tunic, clutching at the fabric. “He’s nearby. Wants to meet…”

And then I slide to the deck, unconscious.

26

When I wake up, it’s dark outside. The boat is gently bobbing on the water, and a wet cloth presses against my brow. My head hurts worse than a thousand hangovers, but I don’t feel like I’m splintering anymore, so I guess that’s an improvement. I’m cradled in someone’s arms.

I let out a little sigh when I realize the one holding me is Rhagos. Of course it is. I don’t think he’d let the others touch me. His eyes meet mine when he realizes I’m awake, and peels the cloth off my forehead, wetting it and then replacing it.

“Where are your clothes?” His tone is mild, but I can hear the anger bubbling underneath.

“They came up on me when I was swimming,” I tell Rhagos thickly. “Did you kill all of them?”

“I should have,” he mutters.

I shake my head. I’m getting awfully tired of falling unconscious in pain. “We have to be more careful with your powers,” I tell him. “Hurts more every time.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, you don’t,” I grumble. “Help me sit up.”

Rhagos’s big hands support me as he helps me upright, and one lingers at the small of my back. He studies my face, and then silently offers me my glasses.

“You found them?” I slip them onto my nose and want to kiss him for remembering how important they are to me. “Thank you so much.”

“Stay close to me when we get to Vor’s lair,” he murmurs. “Trust nothing he says or does, all right?”

I nod. If this was our greeting, it doesn’t give me high hopes for the rest of how a meeting will go. “I’m a little surprised we’re still heading out to visit. I thought you’d want to stay on the island.”

“Alone? With you? No.” He gazes at my face for a long moment, and then shrugs. “Best to meet with Vor and see what he wants first.”

“I like how you talk trash to me and then hug me,” I tell him wryly. “Gotta love those mixed messages.”

He touches my chin, rubbing his thumb over my skin. “What did I tell you before?”

“Ignore your words and pay attention to what you do?”

He nods, once.

“Right. I’m trying. I appreciate you coming for me. I appreciate you getting my glasses. But can you try not to be such a jerk? For me? For the sake of our friendship?”

Rhagos’s mouth flattens at the word “friendship” and he gives me a sharp nod, then gazes out onto the waters.

I look out, too. It’s all blues and blacks at night, the skies brighter than the murky waters. The weather is calm, though, and the bright, blood-colored moon is nowhere to be seen. In the distance, I can barely make out a cluster of small lights at the edge of the horizon—a settlement. I glance down the boat. Zakros and one of Vor’s men—just one—are at the other end, watching us warily. The oars are untouched, lifted high out of the water. The sail is full, carrying us right to where we need to be. At least, that’s my suspicion.

I really, really hope that Vor isn’t going to be an asshole. It’s clear he doesn’t want Rhagos dead. His men had somehow known we were on the island, and had come to kidnap me to force Rhagos to come along. So Vor wants something…but what? And he clearly doesn’t know that Rhagos is far more destructive than he should be if he’s so powerless. Or maybe Vor doesn’t care? The stories I was told never painted Vor in a particularly pleasant light. He was always temperamental and prone to outbursts, but I thought that was just a way for them to explain weather on the ocean. Maybe the ocean’s a mess and hard to predict because Vor is, instead of the other way around? Who can say in this world?

If that were the case, though, wouldn’t Rhagos be calm? Death is one of those things where I feel it should be, but this Rhagos is full of anger and pent up fury almost always.

Maybe he really, really hates being Apathy. Or maybe he’s more Arrogance than Apathy? Sometimes I wonder.

THE TOWN on the edge of the water is quiet as we arrive.

I half expect a rollicking party, like the one I walked into at Port Tidewater, but all is quiet. Zakros and the other soldier pull the boat to the docks and meet others with the same symbol etched on their brows. Their faces turn grim when they see how empty the boat is, but no one steps up to explain. Rhagos casts them an imperious look when they attach a walkway, and makes sure to keep me close as we step onto the dock.

My glasses get a few weird looks, but I suspect so does the fact that I’m not wearing anything but a cloak.

“Take us to Lord Vor,” Rhagos says in his most impatient tone. “My anchor is tired and needs to rest.”

I want to protest that it’s cool, really, that I’m doing okay, but I figure now’s not the time. At least now, maybe, we can get something to eat.

“Please follow us, my lord,” one of the newcomers says, and pulls his cloak deeply over his face, hiding his expression in the shadows. The man takes off, leading us through the dirty streets, and we have to race to keep up.

It’s a little worrying to me that we’re hustling so fast through the streets. Do we not want to be seen? Or is it that it’s dangerous out? Everyone seems to be wearing hoods except for myself and Rhagos, and the town itself seems to be a little on the sketchier side. It’s on the edge of the water, like Port Tidewater, but unlike that place, it’s run-down and filthy. The docks reek of dead fish and shady-looking characters watch us from alleyways. We pass by one place that seems to be partying, but it’s only after I see the bare tits of a woman calling from the window for customers that I realize it’s a brothel. Okay then. I’m acutely aware of my bare feet as I struggle to keep up with the longer legs of the men, and I cringe every time I step in something wet or dirty.

What I wouldn’t do for a pair of shoes right now.

“In here,” one of the men says, and leads us into a building that looks like a giant, ramshackle warehouse at the far end of town, at a different dockyard. It doesn’t look like the type of place to house a god, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with worry.

As if he can sense my fear, Rhagos puts a big hand on my shoulder.

27

T  he door opens and another man with the symbol on his brow meets us in the doorway. He looks for his brothers, then his eyes go wide at the sight of Rhagos with me at his side. He bows low, and then everyone else in the house does, too.

Only one remains standing, and his freckled face looks similar to Zakros. His hair is an odd color between red and brown, and he’s got a wide, broad smile that immediately seems a little too friendly.

“My lord Rhagos,” he says, stepping forward with open arms as if he’s going to hug us. “Lord Vor will be quite pleased to see that you have decided to visit after all.”

“Is that so.” Rhagos’s voice is flat with disapproval.

If the man notices it, he ignores it. He gives a little nod of his head. “I am called Sinfas, and I am the anchor to my glorious lord Vor while he is visiting this world.”

“Visiting. Is that what we’re calling it?”

Oh damn, Rhagos is on fire today. I wince, feeling awkward on the man’s behalf.

Sinfas only chuckles, nodding again. “My lord Vor will wish to see you immediately. Won’t you please follow after me?” He turns to the others, pointing and indicating they should leave us alone. “I trust the Brotherhood was courteous in their escort?”

“Courteous. Is that what we’re calling it?” I add, unable to resist the retort.

Rhagos glances over at me.

Sinfas does, too, and his face flashes with a bright, almost surprised grin. “They are a little uncouth at times, I imagine. They are new to serving my lord but they are eager to please. Perhaps a little too eager.” He gestures at his forehead and rolls his eyes. “We aim to keep a low profile here in Sunswallow, made a bit more difficult by the fact that our men have decided to declare their fealty in such an obvious way. Luckily, this port is made up almost entirely of pirates and drunks, so it just seems like a cult to them.” He shrugs as he walks down a narrow hall, torches flickering in sconces that don’t give nearly as much light as they should. “With all the unrest, cults are very understandable right now. There is safety in numbers.”

I eye our surroundings through my glasses as we walk. There’s little in the way of decoration or comfort in this place. The building’s made of wood boards, none of them new or particularly straight, and everything looks weathered as hell. It’s dimly lit by more torches, so there’s smoke everywhere. There are men with the brow tattoo every direction I turn, most of them young. They watch us but make no move to step forward or interrupt, and it does seem like they defer to Sinfas. They all dress very similarly, too. We pass by rooms full of cots, and a large area that seems like a mess hall. This place reminds me a bit more of a barracks than a pirate hideout.

Or, yanno, a cult. I can’t get that image out of my head now that it’s there.

Then we’re led to a room with double doors and I can hear faint music coming through the walls. Sinfas gives a little flourish. “My great and esteemed lord, Vor, ruler of the waters.” He opens the doors and steps aside so Rhagos can enter.

My first glimpse of Vor’s quarters is that he’s kept all the comforts for himself and given none to his men. Rich draperies hang from the walls, and colorful flowers and foods line the burgeoning tables. The room is filled with trunks, some of them spilling their riches out onto the floor, but most tightly shut and stacked. Piracy is clearly very lucrative, and the fact that Vor has a throne in the center of all this makes me think of him like a dragon atop his hoard. There’s double doors closed behind him, and I’ve no doubt that’s an equally packed full and ornate bedroom.

In the small space that is cleared out before the throne, a man and a woman in skimpy costumes writhe to the soft piping of flutes, and the flutist—naked—sits cross-legged on the floor and sways to the music she creates.

I blink at the sight. Here I thought Rhagos was letting himself be spoiled back in Port Tidewater, but it’s nothing compared to what this man has crammed into every inch of this room. I clutch my cloak tighter, realizing we still don’t know which Aspect this Vor is. My guess would be Hedonism.

Vor gets to his feet, all smiles. He looks nothing like Rhagos, I realize. Rhagos is towering with massive shoulders, but built more like a swimmer. Vor is shorter than him, all stocky muscles and bulk. His hair is shock-white about an inch or so long, and sticks up from his head like a flame. He has a goatee that’s as pale as his skin, and the expression on his sharp, too-smiley face is all angles. His brows slash, his chin is pointy, and his cheekbones are so high that he makes Rhagos’s big, oversized facial features seem almost blunted in comparison. He’s dressed in pale, flowing pants and a loose, open vest that’s clearly designed to show off the musculature of the wearer. He’s barefoot, too, which I find strangely bizarre.

In contrast, Rhagos seems modest and utterly covered up with his long robes and ever-present cloak.

“Rhagos. Not the god I would have expected to see and yet I find that I am grateful to see you after all, Lord Death. It has been a long time.” Vor nods at me, a twinkle in his eye. “Who’s this at your side?”

“No one important,” Rhagos says coldly, not even glancing in my direction.

Ouch. I ignore that, because there’s something about Vor that doesn’t look trustworthy. He’s got too many smiles, and far too many teeth showing. He reminds me of a used-car salesman, determined to say anything to make the deal.

“What do you want with me?” Rhagos continues. “And why such a rough greeting? Surely you could have sent a messenger.”

Vor exchanges a look with Sinfas, who nods and bows. “We are keeping a low profile here in Sunswallow,” the god says. “And you know as well as I do that messengers can be intercepted. But none of that matters right now. Let me get you a seat suitable to your needs.” He pauses as the woman and man continue to writhe on the dance floor, and his voice turns cold. “I did not see my entertainers bow to your presence.”

The flute goes shrill and chokes off. The room gets quiet.

The dancers stop and immediately drop to their knees, their foreheads pressed to the floor. I swallow hard, wondering if I should do the same. I peek over at Sinfas, and he isn’t bowing to Rhagos, so I don’t bow to Vor. Even so, I don’t like the tight look on his face.

Vor just shakes his head. “It truly is so difficult to find good entertainment in these disgusting modern times.” He gestures at the dancers. “Get out. All of you. I will show you how a god is to be greeted…but later. Until then, you know what I require.” His voice goes from hard to smooth in the space of a breath.

Trembling, the dancers and the flutist crawl out of the room slowly, on hands and knees. The flutist clutches her flute between her teeth as she crawls, and I can’t get past the sight of her, bare-ass naked, crawling down the hall with tears dripping down her face.

We’ve only been here for a few minutes and I already want to leave. Instinctively, I step closer to Rhagos. His hand goes to the back of my neck, and I feel better.

I’m not the only one that notices such a touch, though. Vor’s gaze lands on me for the first time, and lingers for far too long. I suddenly wish I hadn’t worn my glasses. Not because I don’t want to see, but because I don’t want him to realize that there’s anything different about me. That I’m not from here.

“Sinfas,” Vor calls out in that too-charming voice of his even as he returns to his throne. “Why don’t you take Lord Rhagos’s anchor and get her cleaned up and fed? And send in servants with a chair and a fresh change of clothing for Lord Rhagos. He should be properly attired for his station.”

“At once, my lord.” Sinfas nods and bows deeply at the waist, then moves toward the door and waits, casting me a look that seems to silently encourage haste.

I reach for Rhagos, because I don’t want to leave his side. Bad things always seem to happen when we’re separated, and it makes me nervous. I don’t trust any of these men. I sure don’t trust the pale, short god that’s grinning at both of us like the cat that ate the cream.

Rhagos glances down at me, his expression shuttered. He nods, as if giving me permission to leave, and then turns back to Vor. “How did you end up in this place?”

I’ve been dismissed.

It stings, but he gives my neck a squeeze, as if he knows just how rude his actions were, and then he lets me go.

“Please come with me…” Sinfas begins, and then waits for me to tell him my name.

“Kemma,” Rhagos says dismissively before I can answer. “Her name is Kemma.”

That’s the fake name that Vossa suggested we use on the pirate ship. Oh. Rhagos doesn’t trust Vor either. I suddenly feel like we’re on the same page again. That’s why he’s being such a dick. He doesn’t want anyone to know our true relationship. He doesn’t trust Vor.

That’s good, because I don’t trust him, either.

I smile faintly at Sinfas and head in his direction. “Thank you.”

“Of course, dear Kemma. Come with me and I’ll get you fixed up.” He shuts the door behind us, and then it’s just me and the other anchor in the hall. We stare at each other for a long moment.

I wait.

“They’re going to be a while. I’m pretty sure Vor has a million things he wishes to say to your lord without our little ‘mortal’ ears present.” He immediately pauses and gives me a look that’s both impish and full of secrets. “You’re the first other anchor I’ve ever met.”

Oh. “You too. I haven’t met any other anchors. Or gods,” I add. “This is all pretty new to me.”

“Where are you from?” he asks, leading me away from the double doors where Vor and Rhagos are meeting. “I’m from Adassia originally, but I was here in Sunswallow serving on a ship when I was called to Lord Vor’s side. He liked the look of me.”

“I’m from Port Tidewater,” I say, since the people there had the same browned skin and dark hair that I do. Even so, I cringe a little as I tell the bald-faced lie, hoping he won’t call me on it.

He doesn’t. He only gives a little grunt, as if unsurprised with my answer. “Can I ask what those things are on your face?”

“My glasses? Oh. They’re for seeing.” I hold them out so he can look. “Very popular at home.”

“Is that so?” He peers through them. “Fascinating. Wizard made?”

“Of course,” I lie. I don’t remember wizards at Port Tidewater…but then I remember the fireball that blew up our ship. Wizards are real, all right. I take the glasses back from him. “So, um…I guess I should say thank you for bringing us here?”

Sinfas shrugs, and his smile is wider and more genuine. “We follow the whims of the gods. You’re serving, just as I am. I hope we can work together. We can look out for each other.” He grips my hand in his, tightly. “Watch each other’s backs since no one else will.”

I’m a little surprised at his impulsive touch, and even more surprised at the thought that floats through my head. Rhagos would hate that Sinfas is touching me. It doesn’t matter that it’s a brotherly touch. He’d hate it. Not that I care what Rhagos hates or not. “You mean that no one will look out for us other than the god we serve, right?”

He hesitates, and the look he gives me is pitying. “So innocent. You’re going to be eaten alive in this Anticipation, aren’t you?”

“I certainly hope not.”

Sinfas just chuckles. “They don’t think like we do, Kemma. Remember that. Now come, let’s get servants to my lord Vor before he loses his temper.”

“Does he do that a lot?” I ask, clutching my cloak tightly to my chest.

Sinfas doesn’t answer me, just shoots me another look that says I’m far too innocent, and wades into the mess hall. He talks to one of the men, pointing and giving orders, and then returns to my side. “Come. We don’t have women’s clothing here except for the dancers, so we’ll steal from one of them.”

“I can wear men’s clothing,” I protest, thinking of what the dancers were wearing. The word “transparent” comes to mind. It’s not what I want to wear around Vor…though I do wonder what Rhagos would think if I dressed like that.

Not that I care what he thinks. I just happened to wonder. That’s all.

“Even if your lord Rhagos was fine with that, my lord Vor would question it. You should be dressed as befitting your station.” He pauses and then adds… “Which is that you exist solely to please Lord Rhagos.”

“I thought I existed solely so I could be his target.”

Sinfas blinks, and then barks with laughter. “Is that why he chose you? Because you had such an outrageous tongue?”

Something tells me that I shouldn’t point out that I come from another world and was told to find Death. That I pulled threads from a spinner and got nothing but black. That Rhagos has a request tattooed across his back. All of these things scream at a lot more going on than just me and Rhagos becoming bonded because I occasionally sass him. “Along those lines, yeah.”

He chuckles. “The gods have such interesting tastes.” He leads me down the hall, his tone taking on a conspiratorial whisper. “My lord Vor is very fond of obedience. You wouldn’t think it with a mind and a will as chaotic as his, but it’s true. The moment he heard your tongue, he’d cut it from your mouth.”

I swallow hard. Is…that a warning? If so, message received. Message clearly received.

Sinfas blinks at my silence. “Oh, I’m frightening you. I’m sorry.” He squeezes my hand. “I’ve just learned to navigate my lord’s whims quite a bit over the last while. Truly, he can’t do anything to you without Rhagos’s explicit permission. You belong to the Lord of Death, just as I belong to the Lord of the Seas. If he likes your sharp tongue, then he likes it.” He shrugs. “I’m just talking. It’s a habit of mine when I’m excited.”

“Excited?”

His eyes gleam as he looks over at me. “Because now our plans can move forward.”

That sounds…relevant. “What kind of plans?”

But Sinfas just waves a hand. “The gods work that out amongst each other. For now, my only job is to get you cleaned up and pretty for Rhagos’s approval.”

I smile, even though I want to comment on how blatantly sexist something like that is…except I keep thinking about Vor cutting out my tongue. I can live with sexism for a night. Or two nights. Or however long we’re here.

Suddenly I’m worried. This isn’t our island, or Port Tidewater. We’ve got no place safe to go, no money, no friends…except Vor and Sinfas. Ugh. I’m not entirely sure I want to stay here and “work with them” considering that they kidnapped me and tried to force Rhagos to come here. They’re lucky he was curious and wanted to come here anyhow.

We head up a series of stairs and turn down a long hall. There, at the far end of the hall, the three dancers are sitting on their knees, facing the wall, their backs completely straight. They don’t turn when we approach, or move a muscle.

Sinfas notices my curious look and waves a hand at them. “Punishment. They’ll be fine. They’re just doing this to get back into Lord Vor’s good graces. He likes a big show of obedience, like I said.” He passes by one of the dancers, the woman, and taps her on the shoulder. “Lord Vor wants us to dress Lord Rhagos’s anchor. Where are your best outfits kept?”

Oh, I’m not sure I want to steal her best outfits. I open my mouth to protest…and then snap shut again, pressing my tongue against my teeth. I want to keep it.

“Blue trunk,” the woman says, continuing to stare at the wall. “Take whatever you need. I give everything gladly in the service of Lord Vor.”

“I’m sure you do,” Sinfas says slyly, and then opens the door to her room.

28

I nside the woman’s room, it’s messy but familiar. There’s a bed big enough for two—and I remember the sexy dance she did with her partner—and several small trunks along the wall. Worn clothing and bedding is strewn everywhere, and Sinfas makes a noise of disgust in his throat as he picks through the mess and opens the blue trunk. “Here we go. Strip down, my dear, and see how this one fits.” He pulls out a pale, filmy gown of baby pink and holds it out to me.

I clutch the blanket to my chest. “Um.”

Sinfas glances over at me, and then sighs. “I’m an anchor too, remember? Even if I wanted to touch you, I wouldn’t, because Lord Vor wouldn’t approve. I exist solely to serve him now, and right now he wants you dressed properly for dinner. If your lord is anything like mine, he likes to watch you eat. It feeds some deeper thing inside them, I think.” He shrugs, picking through the gowns.

Right. I take the pink thing and try not to flinch. It’s pretty much a skirt and that’s it. “Is there anything else to wear?”

Sinfas shrugs. “Lord Vor likes lighter colors on women.”

“Lord Rhagos likes darker colors.” I hold the skirt back out to him, stubborn. “And modesty.”

Sinfas gives me a smile of grudging respect. “Perhaps we’ll meet somewhere in the middle, then.” He digs through the trunk for a moment more and then pulls out something that’s a deep, velvety blue and voluminous. “This? My lord Vor likes blue, and it’s fairly dark.”

“Perfect.” I’m reluctant to let go of my cloak but Sinfas glares at me. “Turn around, please.”

He huffs, but does as I ask, and I drop my cloak and put the dress on. And I fight back a groan of dismay. The fabric looked simply shiny in his hands, but now that it’s on my body, it’s completely see-through and ever-so-slightly shimmery. There’s an oversized, rounded neck that drapes off my shoulders, Flashdance-style, puffy sleeves that go to my wrists, and the sheer dress falls in a straight A-line all the way to my knees. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and I hate it.

Sinfas turns around as I fuss with the neckline, and makes a pleased noise in his throat. “Decent. You have a fine body. You should show it off more.”

I want to put my hands over my breasts to hide them. Or over my pussy, which is also clearly outlined in this dress, right down to the fact that I’m entirely natural down below. God, this is so humiliating. I grab the cloak and try to pull it back over my body, only for Sinfas to grab it out of my hands and toss it onto the bed.

“No,” he says. “Trust me. If your lord wants you covered, he’ll cover you.”

“Can I have shoes at least?”

“Lord Vor doesn’t like shoes in his house.” Sinfas winks at me. “Now sit so I can do something with that mop you call hair.”

Grumbling, I sit down, and it’s clear that Sinfas isn’t a stylist. He rips a hairbrush through my tangled, saltwater-destroyed hair until I want to scream bloody murder. When I think I can’t stand it any longer, he ties the most half-ass ribbon in my hair and then shrugs. “You’ll do. Come on. We should go back so we can eat. I’m always starving.”

“Me too,” I confess. I hesitate, casting one more longing look at my cloak before Sinfas heads back out in the hall. “I’m not sure Rhagos wants all these people looking at me,” I tell him even as I hurry behind him, arms crossed over my chest to hide my breasts.

“We’ll tell them to turn around,” Sinfas says easily. “They won’t disobey. Because you’re an anchor, you run the show here. You’ll see.” He casts a smug look over his shoulder at me. “They all think we have our lord’s ear and no one wants to anger the gods. It’s fun to have a bit of power, and we’ll have even more soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t say. Yet.” His eyes are full of mischief and delight. “All I can say is that if we work together—the gods and the two of us—we’ll be unstoppable.”

This definitely sounds more aggressive than my original plan of “hide out on an island until it all blows over.” I feel a little stupid for suggesting such a thing to Rhagos. He’s a god. Why would he want to hide? Why wouldn’t a god want to go on a conquering spree of some kind?

I feel completely inadequate as Rhagos’s guide. All I’ve done so far as his anchor is get us shipwrecked and refuse to serve him in bed. Meanwhile it’s clear to me that Vor’s creating his own little sailor cult with plans to do more…and Sinfas is with him every step of the way. They definitely seem to be a team.

I’m jealous. Rhagos and I haven’t quite gotten in sync yet. We constantly seem to be clashing or fumbling in some way. We’ve been on the run more than we’ve worked together. Somehow they’ve gotten enough information that they knew we were on the island.

Exactly…how did they know we were there? I’m suddenly curious…and a little wary. We haven’t had much luck with sailors so far. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. We’re going to work together, you and I.” He gives me a conspiratorial look. “Like I said, we need to have each other’s backs.”

“How did you guys know we were on that island? Did Vor use his powers?”

Walking next to me, Sinfas suddenly pauses. “He can’t use his powers. Not without destroying me. Or so we were led to believe.” He studies me closely, gaze intense. “Rhagos has used his, then?”

I hesitate for a moment, and then nod. “Back in Port Tidewater. We had court wizards read a lot of old scrolls and it turns out he can access his powers. I made him do it to send some of the dead onward but…it takes a lot out of me when he does. It feels like my head is being torn apart.” I press my hand to my forehead in memory. “The worst pain you can imagine. And it takes forever to recover.”

“You can’t let him do that, Kemma.” Sinfas’s expression turns worried. “He can kill you if he pulls too much power.”

I believe it. Every time he’s done it, it feels like my head is being fried inside my skull. I nod. “It was just…we couldn’t let people stay trapped in their bodies, you know?”

“Listen to me. We do what we have to in order to survive.” He grabs my hand, clenching it tight. “Everyone else is out to kill an anchor. The last thing you need is your Aspect doing it, too.” He gives my hand a little squeeze. “We won’t tell Vor about this. When you talk with Rhagos tonight, tell him you can’t do it anymore. Tell him it’s causing you too much pain. Tell him whatever, just get him to stop.”

I blink. He’s going to keep that from Vor? It’s not going to be a secret for very long once Zakros and his friend that survived our kidnapping start talking. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.” When he looks relieved, I relax a bit. Maybe we can be friends despite everything. It’d definitely be good to have someone else I can trust. “You still haven’t told me how you guys knew we were on the island.”

He laughs, his tense expression easing as he drops my hand. “That’s easy. There’s a temple of oracles not too far from here. They offer guidance for a fee. I was able to convince one priestess that my lord wanted allies. It was easy enough to get the information and go from there.” Sinfas starts walking again. “We have information on many of the Aspects stranded here, but they wouldn’t tell us about Vor’s other selves. Said they had to stay neutral or some such madness. They were quite eager to give up the locations of others, though.”

A temple of oracles? “Where’s the temple?”

Sinfas shrugs. “Balsingra. It’s not far from here and so we thought we’d use them for what we needed. Everyone knows it’s there. It’s not like we’re bending the rules of exile. Not like using powers is.”

I ignore that little jab and mentally file away this information. A temple of oracles with information. A temple of oracles, each one devoted to a specific god. We absolutely need to go there. If they have information about which Aspect landed where, they’ll surely know how I can get home? I’m excited at the prospect and can’t wait to talk to Rhagos. I know he’ll want to go there as soon as possible, too, because he wants to go home just as badly as I do.

“At any rate, you don’t need to go to the oracles,” Sinfas says confidently as we stroll to the double doors. “We already have all the information you’d want. We know where Death’s other Aspects are.”

Now that’s some relevant information. I smile at him. “I’d love to know that.”

“I bet you would.” He winks. “Since I’m sharing some information, can I ask you something personal?”

I blush. Is he going to ask if I’m sleeping with Rhagos? I know we’re sharing information but I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to confess the exact nature of our weird-ass relationship. I’m acutely aware of just how naked I am under this dress…and how vulnerable. I don’t have shoes, decent clothes, or a bit of money. Heck, I don’t even have a stick. “Shoot.”

“Shoot?” He cocks his head, confused.

I gesture with my hand. “I mean, go ahead and ask.”

Sinfas leans in close, whispering in my ear. His breath is hot and…almost creepy? I can’t help but compare it to the times Rhagos has leaned in and it filled me with…well, not the creeps. It made me utterly aware of his presence and his nearness. This just makes me want to push Sinfas away. “What Aspect is he?” the sailor asks me.

I draw back, surprised.

29

He gives me an apologetic look. “I know it’s bold of me to ask, but I’m curious.” He leans in again, his tone confessional. “Mine is Arrogance. I think that’s why he’s so controlling.”

Oh. That makes sense. I relax a little. “Mine’s Apathy.”

“That’s good,” Sinfas says, grinning.

It is? By whose standards? “Okay.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “It’ll make him easier to control.”

Control? Has he even met the man? Even with Apathy coloring everything Rhagos does, the last thing I feel like is “in control.” Before I can digest that information, he flings the doors open and bows with a flourish. “We have returned, my lords.”

Clutching the neckline of my dress, I do a hasty little bow, too.

The room has been slightly modified since I was here a short time ago. A second throne has been placed adjacent to Vor’s, both of them angled so they can face each other ever so slightly while still gaze out at the main floor. The dancers haven’t returned, but there’s a pillow at the foot of each throne, which I’m guessing is where Sinfas and I get to sit. Across from them on the empty dance floor is a large table with a map and a bunch of small, toothpick-sized knives sticking out of it in spots.

Maybe those are the locations of others. I suddenly want to get a closer look, but I force myself to ignore it and focus on Rhagos.

I can’t help but notice that in the time I’ve been gone, Rhagos has changed clothing, as well. Someone came in here and stripped him naked, taking his old clothing and he’s now dressed in dark pants similar to Vor’s, but the long, black tunic that covers him looks rich and luxurious and far more like the Rhagos I know. He’s got a thick cloak tossed over his shoulders, as well. Whoever dressed him knows his taste…and then I’m irritated that someone else showed up and stripped him naked.

And then I’m irritated that I’m irritated.

“Come, come, sit,” Vor says, flicking a hand impatiently at his anchor. “Enough with the formalities. I see your anchor cleans up well enough, Rhagos.”

Sinfas immediately heads over to Lord Vor’s throne, all smiles.

Rhagos isn’t smiling, though. He glares at me as if I’ve somehow offended him, his gaze on my sheer gown that hides absolutely nothing and shows far more than I ever wanted it to. I cringe, raising my hands to cover my tits, and then lowering them again because I don’t want to offend the gods. I know they’re not my gods, but you feel things differently when you’re sitting in front of two deities. Right now, I’m feeling like I absolutely don’t want to piss anyone off.

I step awkwardly over to Rhagos’s side, unable to make eye contact with him. I’m far too embarrassed. To my surprise, the god of death jerks to his feet and yanks his cloak off, then settles it over my shoulders, concealing my body.

Vor barks a laugh. “What’s the matter, Rhagos? Not pleased with her appearance? I like the way she looks.” He gives me a lascivious stare that makes me want to run from the room, screaming.

“She belongs to me,” Rhagos snarls. His gaze searches my face and then he returns to his seat, his body brimming with tension. “Do not look at her unless I allow it and I do not allow it.”

I worry for a moment that Vor saw his tattoos when he undressed, and my throat tightens. But…surely Rhagos wouldn’t make the same mistake twice?

I hope?

I glance over at Vor, but he just smirks with amusement in my direction. It doesn’t look like he wants to kill me, so I guess that’s good. Besides, he wants Rhagos alive, doesn’t he? So they can work together. I relax a bit more and sit on the pillow at Rhagos’s feet.

Sinfas doesn’t sit, though. Not right away. Instead, he leans over the side of Vor’s chair and whispers something into his ear. They both glance in my direction, and continue whispering, and I somehow know—just know—that Sinfas is confessing everything I told him to Lord Vor. I feel like a dumbass for letting him know as much as I did.

Then again, it was an equal exchange of dumbassery, wasn’t it? Because I got information out of him, too, and I absolutely plan on sharing it with Rhagos.

Vor touches Sinfas’s hand and nods. “Get food for yourself and the little prude. I imagine she’s as hungry as you are.”

I stiffen at the “prude” comment but if it means he doesn’t get to stare at my nearly naked tits all night? I’ll be a damn prude. I clutch Rhagos’s cloak closer to my chest and scoot nearer to his leg. Right now not a huge fan of Vor. He’s a pompous, arrogant blowhard.

Which fits. Sinfas totally nailed that one.

My stomach is growling as Sinfas moves to the buffet of food and heaps a plate full for me. He gets a wineskin and brings both over to my side, casting an apologetic smile in my direction. Then, he serves himself, all the while Vor strokes his sharp little beard and watches Rhagos. Rhagos, for his part, seems almost bored with everything that’s going on.

“You’re going to want to work with me, Rhagos,” Vor eventually says. “You would not believe how much information I have already. You’re going to be grateful that I bail you out of this situation.”

I choke on a bit of smoked meat. God, he really is an ass.

“And what situation is that?” Rhagos asks, his tone bland.

“All of this.” Vor waves a hand in the air. “You want to be the last one standing, do you not? That’s my goal as well. If you work with me, we can do just that. We have allied together in the past.”

“I seem to recall you betraying me in the past…did you not?” Rhagos inquires politely. “Or am I remembering wrong?”

Vor chuckles. “It’s a time for new alliances. The old ones don’t matter. Your brother has been cast far, far from here, and you can’t lean on him for support. You need new allies. You need me.” He smirks, pleased with himself. “Together, we can conquer cities.”

“But why would we? Why should I care?”

“Power, of course. If we must be here, why not grab all the power we can?” He clenches a fist even as I hurriedly eat a handful of nuts. This conversation sounds…insane. It sounds like something a megalomaniac would say. If Rhagos got up and left, it wouldn’t surprise me at all…which is why I need to eat fast. Even a meal of island sushi hasn’t kept my starving belly full and I want to eat everything in sight. I look over at Sinfas and notice he’s eating as quickly—and as much—as I am. Maybe he suspects this is going to go south as fast as I think it is.

“You’ve forgotten I only have one Aspect left,” Rhagos says calmly. “Why should I join forces with you instead of hunting him down?”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about your Aspect. But I know you, Rhagos. I know you’re as bored with eternity as I am.”

There I go, choking on my food again. Bored? With eternity?

Rhagos touches my shoulder. Just the briefest of touches, but I know what he’s trying to say. Chill the fuck out. I force myself to chew slowly. This is a game of bluffs, right? They’re both bluffing. I just need to sit through all of it and let them wave their dicks around until an agreement is made. I’m not a betting type, but I’m pretty sure we’re going to end up working with Vor. He’s already got a lot going for him—cult and all—and I don’t even have a pair of shoes. It seems like a no-brainer.

“Who says I am bored?” Rhagos asks. He picks up a knife from my plate and begins to slice a piece of fruit. After a moment passes, he offers the slice to me.

I take it and eat it, because it’s food, and because this is familiar to me. How many times have I sat next to Rhagos while he tried to feed me?

Apparently it’s not familiar to the others, though. Sinfas slows his eating, licking his lips as he watches me, and Vor’s gaze narrows. His focus is entirely on me and I feel awkward when I take the next piece of fruit that Rhagos offers.

“I know you’re bored,” Vor continues. “Because I have heard that you spoke with the Spidae just before our exile. You clearly wanted something from the Lords of Fate. I’m curious as to what.”

“Nothing important. How do you know they didn’t contact me instead?”

He snorts. “Because we both know how the lords of fate work.” Vor shakes his head. “I think you are bored with the endless monotony of our tasks. The High Father doesn’t understand. That’s why he punishes us when we seek to entertain ourselves with mortals. But look at it this way. If we remain here in the mortal realm, who can punish us? We are already being punished, yes? So who is to care if we conquer a few kingdoms or raze our enemies?” He clenches a fist. “Tell me that you wouldn’t like to bring Belara’s people down low for the insults she has given your brother. Tell me that you wouldn’t like to see Anali’s puling priestesses have their mouths closed permanently.”

“I would not,” Rhagos says calmly, and gives me another slice of fruit.

“Because you are Apathy?” Vor tilts his head. “Your sweet little bit at your feet was quick to tell Sinfas all about that.”

30

I  stiffen, even as Sinfas gives me an apologetic look. I’m humiliated to be called out so quickly, but Rhagos touches my jaw with a sticky thumb, as if comforting me.

“Does it matter if I am Apathy? You still have plans to use me, do you not?”

Vor gives Rhagos a shrewd, calculating look. “I heard many rumors about you out of the oracles.”

“I am not interested in your rumors,” Rhagos says quietly. “Only what you offer. Tell me your plans and be silent, or let me and my anchor go.”

Vor settles back in his chair, finally getting down to business. “When I first arrived here, I decided I would stay in the mortal realms for a while. I enjoy my realm, do not misunderstand me, but it has an endless sameness to it, and we are ever hampered by our fellow gods and by the High Father. We cannot have…fun. We cannot be free.” He steeples his fingers and casts a smile in our direction. “You understand.”

“Isn’t your idea of fun shipwrecks and hurricanes?”

“Those are fun,” Vor agrees. “But we can’t do those here. Any enjoyment we have in the mortal realm is a powerless sort of fun, since we have been stripped of our magic.”

Lucky for me, I don’t choke that time, not even when Sinfas casts a glare in my direction.

Vor continues his mansplaining. “There is still fun to be had in the mortal realm, though. Imagine if you will, an entire kingdom of mortals bending at the knee to us. We could raise an army. We could amass all the wealth of the kingdoms. We could change the very face of this world. I know you are not fond of Yshrem —we can wipe it from the map. Do you want a bevy of redheads at your feet? We can do that, too. Whatever we want, we can have it here in the mortal realms. It will be endlessly diverting.” He leans in, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “And the High Father can do nothing because we are already exiled.”

It doesn’t sound like “fun” to me. It sounds a bit like Hitler Junior…or not even very Junior. I cast a worried look over at Sinfas, but he’s got a proud expression on his face as he gazes up at Vor, as if their plans are all coming to fruition. I don’t know that I want to go along with this. I don’t want to exterminate people. I don’t want kingdoms to bow to us.

I’m sure trying hard not to think about the bevy of redheads at Rhagos’s feet. Not that I care about that because we’re just friends.

All of this just sounds…wrong. Awful. Greedy. I wait to see what Rhagos says, glancing up at him as he offers me the last slice of fruit.

He lifts his thumb to his lips and licks it clean of juice, then shrugs. “Show me what you have found out, then.”

Vor lights up, giddy as a child, and gets to his feet. He gestures at the map, and Rhagos rises, all elegance. They both lean over it, and when Sinfas gets to his feet, I do, too. I’m not going to be the only one left out of this conversation. The men lean over the map, and sure enough, each little blade is the spot that a god’s Aspect has been rumored to be. I can’t read the writing on the map itself, and none of the geography looks familiar, so most of the conversation goes over my head. Magra in Yshrem. Gental in the north and on the coast. Aron in Aventine, Katharn, and Adassia. Belara in Glistentide. Kalos far, far to the south and the Wildlands. Tadekha in the Dirtlands at Citadel.

“Some of these are no longer accurate,” Vor points out. “My information is at least a week old and you know how things change with the wind.” He gives me a sly look, then reaches over and plucks a dagger off of a tiny island in the middle of the sea and then sticks it next to what must be his.

“You have word of my Aspect?”

“I do.” He gestures across the map. “One landed in Blackwall. One in New Fanor and one in Adassia heading east. I don’t know which one survives, but I will find out.”

Rhagos grunts. The names mean nothing to me, either, but I try to memorize them. Only one of the three is still alive. I just don’t know which one. The one good thing is that they all seem to be far, far away from where we’re at, which is on the coastline of a much larger continent. Port Tidewater was to the south, and we’ve moved north.

“You should at least thank me,” Vor demands. “My people worked hard to get this information.”

Rhagos ignores his comment, staring down at the map. “What do you plan to do with your own Aspects?”

“Slaughter them.” Vor grins wickedly, leaning over the map. “Assassins have already been dispatched. I’ll know in a few days if they’ve been successful or not.”

I swallow hard, shocked. He’s going to take them all out himself? Of course, that’s what we should be doing too, isn’t it? But hearing it stated so coldly makes me feel terrible inside. Rhagos once had three other anchors who wanted to live…and two have been murdered.

Vor doesn’t seem happy with Rhagos’s reaction to anything. He’s watching him with narrowed eyes, and I get the feeling that he’s less pleased to have his buddy here than he thought.

“Do you know which Aspect is where?” Rhagos asks, walking away from the map and returning to his throne, as if all of this bores him to death.

“Of course not. Most are not so quick to declare what they are.” He turns to face Rhagos, leaning against the table-map. “Most like to hide it from the world.”

“Most,” Rhagos agrees mildly. He picks up the knife and another piece of fruit, and begins to cut it. “Kemma, are you yet hungry?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. I shrug, moving to his side. “I could eat.” I don’t want to—I want to digest all that my head’s been filled with tonight—but I’m always hungry. I hug his cloak closer to my body and return to my seat, obediently taking the piece of fruit he offers me. Is it a little submissive? Sure.

Am I about to rock the boat in front of Vor and his anchor? Hell no. I will eat my fruit like a good girl and shut the fuck up.

As I eat, Rhagos cuts another piece. Sinfas goes to sit on his cushion, his gaze on me. He’s got a worried expression on his face, as if none of this is going how he planned. I know how he feels. It’s a little like being on a rollercoaster, torn between the two gods. No one is stopping the damn ride and I wanted to get off of it days ago.

Did I ever want to be the Chosen One? I obviously did not think this through. I don’t want to be Chosen anything. I just want to go home, back to my boring, sexist job where I’m some jerk’s assistant and where I raid with guild members on the boring weekends. I like boring. After all this? I love boring. With boring, my life is never in danger. I don’t feel like a mouse batted between two cats.

Tonight? I definitely feel like a mouse.

Vor begins to pace. He clasps his hands behind his broad back and saunters back and forth, as if he can’t sit because he’s got too much energy pent up. “I think the next thing I should ask is what your plans are, Rhagos.”

To my surprise, Rhagos shrugs. “Haven’t thought that far ahead. Right now I am focused only on staying alive.”

Is he deliberately hiding our plans from Vor? Because other than our excursion to the island, our plan was to get to the mainland—which we have, I suppose—and find a way to somehow break the bond holding us as anchor and Aspect. Our goal is to go home. This isn’t Vor’s goal, though, and I wonder if Rhagos is playing stupid. I say nothing, just shove another piece of fruit into my mouth when it’s offered.

“Then you should join with me,” Vor states. “I can work past your Apathy. You just need to let me be in charge of things. I will handle our armies. Those that join us in your name will fall under my banner, since I’m the one that will be leading the charge.”

It’s an arrogant statement. No surprise there.

“And how do you propose we raise an army?”

Vor grins. “It’s very simple. You have a ready-made army, do you not? I have my men sink ships and as the dead wash up, we force them to obey if they wish to go on to the afterlife.”

I choke on my fruit after all.

What Vor is suggesting…it’s horrific. Killing people just to make undead soldiers out of them? Trapping them in their corpses and then just…letting them sit? Forever? Because Vor doesn’t want to go home, and if Rhagos makes him an army, he’s not going to want Rhagos to go home, either. “That’s awful,” I blurt out between coughing.

“Oh, do you not approve, little one?” Vor sneers. “This is why we prefer you don’t talk. Stuff your mouth with fruit or I’ll give you something else to choke on.”

I gasp. That might be the most horrible thing anyone’s ever said to me. A little terrified, I take the piece of fruit Rhagos offers me and glance up at him, my expression pleading.

He won’t look me in the eye. “The dead are a pathetic army.”

“But you have used them in the past, have you not? Your brother slaughtered by the thousands with his diseases and you raised an army of the plague-bearing dead to take over the Dirtlands many, many ages ago. You don’t remember that?”

“No,” Rhagos says flatly.

Vor just grins, his expression horrific and ever-so-slightly crazed. “It will not be the fastest army, but it does not need to be fast. It just needs to be unstoppable.”

I’m learning a lot about Rhagos just from Vor’s comments, and I’m not liking what I’m learning. He raised an army in the past like that? Knowing that it’s torture for people? Does he just not care?

Of course he doesn’t care. That’s why he’s being punished.

Right now, this punishment feels a bit like the foxes being let free in the hen house, though. Vor’s plans are not good for anyone but Vor.

“Well?” The god of the seas asks Rhagos. “Are you with me?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Rhagos to do the right thing.

The god of death shrugs. “Very well.”

I fight back the sound of dismay that rises in my throat. I don’t want to be part of this. This is turning into a nightmare.

Vor glances over at me, a smirk on his face. “Your little anchor does not approve, brother.”

“What she wants is unimportant,” Rhagos replies in a bland voice. He offers me another piece of fruit.

I don’t take it. I don’t want to vomit all over his fresh new robes, and if I eat another thing in this room, I’m definitely going to puke. I can’t believe that this is what we were brought here for. I can’t believe that I’m going to have to stand by and watch this happen…unless I want to kill myself.

There has to be a better option. Tears prick behind my eyes.

“Just one more question for you, my brother,” Vor says. “And then we can bring the dancers in and celebrate our alliance properly.”

“Hmm?” Rhagos sounds more bored than ever.

“What color is my vest?”

I…think I must have misheard something. I resist the urge to touch my ear and shake it, as if that will somehow fix my hearing. What color is his vest? I look at the god of the seas—all in white—and wonder if this is a trick somehow.

“Why are you asking me that?” Rhagos sounds exasperated.

“Why don’t you just answer?” Vor sneers.

“What is the point?”

“My point is that you answer every direct question with a question of your own. Are you hiding something, brother?”

“Of course not.” Rhagos sighs heavily. “Are we done here?”

“We are not. Just say what color my vest is. Say it.”

I look back and forth between the two gods, utterly confused. I don’t understand what’s happening. I look over at Sinfas and he has an utterly grim expression on his face.

“This is ridiculous,” Rhagos says, and gets to his feet.

“Is it? Because I do not think you are Apathy, like your little precious virgin anchor assumes. You care far too much. She cares far too much, and she is surprised by your answers.” Vor gives a toothy smile. “If she was truly used to your Apathy, she would expect such answers from you. Unless you have been lying to her, too.”

Rhagos just sighs again, as if he’s completely irritated by this conversation.

“Then give me a direct answer. It’s simple.” Vor spreads his hands. “We can play a game if you like. If you don’t want to tell me what color my vest is, tell me if I am seated or standing. Tell me what color the sky is. Tell me any of these things and I will apologize.”

I look at Rhagos, waiting. It’s such a simple thing. I don’t understand why he’s balking. He’s got to be Apathy. Has to be. There’s no other explanation for it.

And yet…now I’m wondering.

I’m wondering, and the knot in my gut is sinking even lower. Have I been lied to this entire time?

“Just say it, brother,” Vor taunts. “Give me the simplest of answers. Send my doubts away.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Another question,” Vor calls out mockingly. “You are avoiding telling me the truth. You’re not Apathy at all, are you?”

“Rhagos,” I whisper. “Prove him wrong.”

He looks down at me with those intense green eyes, his mouth flat. “I have nothing to prove. To anyone. Come, Kemma.”

“You cannot speak the truth, because of who you are,” Vor crows, vicious in his triumph. “The Aspect of Lies is unable to speak the truth to anyone, even to save his own hide. Come, brother. Admit your failure. I can work with Lies. I just need to know where it is that we stand.”

Rhagos ignores him. He keeps staring at me. Waiting for me to join him, to get up and cross to his side.

I don’t get to my feet. I stay where I am, clutching the cloak against me and waiting for him to give the right answer. Any answer. Just so he can prove them wrong.

This isn’t happening.

I feel completely betrayed by his silence. By his refusal to answer. By everything. He’s not who I thought he was. This isn’t the Aspect of Apathy.

This is a damn liar who’s been misleading me every step of the way.

He doesn’t want to go home. The thought hits me like a brick. That was a lie.

He…wants to stay. He doesn’t want to help me get home. I’m not even sure there is a way home after all the lies he’s fed me. My eyes brim with tears. I hate that I’m weeping, but I’m so frustrated and distraught at the realization that he’s lied to me that I want to rage.

I want to throw things.

Instead, I cry. I’ve always cried when I was angry, ever since I was a little girl. It’s the most frustrating response, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

Vor tsks. “Look. You’ve hurt her feelings.”

Rhagos shoots him a quelling look. He turns to look at me, and I hate that in that moment, I’m wiping at my cheeks, my nose running with snot and my eyes leaky and red with tears. I’ve been betrayed by the only person I trust here. The only person I can count on.

I’m alone. Truly alone, in a strange world with no one to call a friend. It hurts more than I thought it would.

Rhagos watches me for a moment longer, thinking. Is he going to apologize? Declare that I’m being a baby?

Instead, he lifts his chin an infinitesimal amount. “I regret nothing that has happened here.”

And he turns and flings the knife—the fruit knife—right at Sinfas.

Blood sprays.

Sinfas’s hands go to his throat and he chokes, his gaze on me even as I leap to my feet and cry out. Vor cries out, too, but the sound is rage more than horror. He doesn’t look at Sinfas as the man falls to the ground, twitching. He stares right at Rhagos with hate in his eyes.

“I will remember this, Liar.”

Rhagos simply shrugs and waits.

Vor looks over at me, and our eyes meet. I’m full of terror as he takes a step toward me…and then slowly vanishes, fading out as if he’s never existed. There’s not even a puff of smoke to mark that he was here. He’s just…gone.

Sinfas is still, his body lying in a pool of blood on the floor. I stare in horror, then look at Rhagos.

He’s watching Sinfas’s body. After a moment, he grunts. “It seems that anchors do not get instant death. That’s different.”

His words make no sense. I look down at Sinfas, but no, he’s really dead. Right. Because Rhagos is lying to me. He’s a liar.

“Why did you do that?” I whisper. I want to move to Sinfas’s side, but somehow I don’t think Rhagos would like that, and right now I’m a little terrified of Rhagos.

“Why?” Rhagos straightens, and the look on his face is impossibly cold. He moves toward me, and his scowl deepens when I take a frightened step backward. He approaches until I’m pinned against the arm of the chair, unable to go backward, and then touches my chin with the gentlest of fingers. “Who am I, Max?”

Is this a trick question? “R-Rhagos,” I stammer. Then add, “Lies.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is oh so patient. “Who am I?”

I realize what he wants. “Death. You are death.”

His green eyes gleam with acknowledgment. “Never forget that.”

Forget it? I think it’s been burned into my brain after tonight.

31

I  can’t believe what just happened.

Somehow I thought that if a god died—or rather, his anchor—there’d be a massive explosion of some kind. The world would wrack with a sonic boom and my hair would fly backward. For Vor to just fade out into nothing is…bizarre. It’s messing with my head.

I sink down next to Sinfas, still in shock. His eyes are wide open and staring, but his body is still. There’s no spirit trapped inside. There’s nothing left. With a choked sob, I reach out and close his eyes. I can’t stop staring at the knife jutting from his throat, red, thick blood pumping onto the floor at my feet.

He didn’t deserve this.

I turn to look at Rhagos, utterly shocked. “How could you?”

The god of death’s brows furrow and he gives me a puzzled look. “How could I what?” He moves to the table, plucking the tiny knife-markers free, and then begins to roll up the map.

“You killed him? With a knife?” I don’t know why that particular accusation comes out of me. There’s no good way for someone to be murdered. Even so, it’s the first time I’ve seen Rhagos use a weapon on anyone. “Why not just snap your fingers and give him a humane death, at least?”

That makes Rhagos pause. He looks over at me. “You said you didn’t want me to use my powers because it hurt you?”

“Do not blame this on me,” I say sharply, and then look to the door, half afraid to see an army of crazy sailors rushing in to take vengeance for Vor’s death. They probably don’t know he’s dead yet. We’re safe, for now. “I never said I wanted you to kill Sinfas. He was nice to me!”

“He wasn’t Vor’s creature,” Rhagos says dismissively, tying the thick roll of the map shut and then tucking it under his arm.

What the hell is he talking about? I know I’m freaking out. I’ve seen others die since I got here, but Sinfas was…nice enough. We had conversations. He was an anchor, like me. We were going to have each other’s backs.

I mean, sure, his master was talking about some Hitler level shit, but maybe we could have stopped that. Made Vor see reason. There was no need to murder Sinfas just to get at Vor. I shake my head, still beyond shocked. I’m even more disgusted when Rhagos steps over Sinfas’s dead body and starts rummaging through a trunk, shoving jewelry and trinkets into his pockets.

It’s like he doesn’t even care that I’m upset. That he just murdered a man who only wanted to serve the god he worshiped. “You’re awful.”

Rhagos shoots me a look over his shoulder. “You are mad at them and taking it out on me.”

I frown. “What? No! I’m fucking mad at you! You—”

My voice dies as his look turns patient. He raises an eyebrow.

“Fuck,” I mutter. He’s lying to me. He’s lying because just like Vor said—and Vor was fucking right—he can’t speak the truth. “I’m not mad at you,” I bite out. “I’ve been betrayed.”

“Yes.”

That simple word makes me pause. So he understands—

Then it registers that no, everything he says is a lie. He doesn’t think he betrayed me at all. I huff, beyond furious. “You’ve lied to me all this time. Me! I thought we were supposed to be partners!”

Rhagos shoves a pouch full of coins into his belt, and glances over at me. “Yell louder. It won’t bring anyone in on us.”

My nostrils flare with incandescent rage. I want to punch Rhagos’s beautiful mouth. Just punch it over and over again until he realizes how I feel. And I’m not even a violent person. I’m a happy person. I am. I’m positive.

Right now, I’m fucking positive Rhagos is the utter worst.

“So, what are we doing now?” I ask, hugging the cloak he gave me tight around my shoulders. I can’t believe he saw my practically naked body under this. I can’t believe that made me a little titillated. I’m not titillated now. I’m horrified I didn’t see this earlier.

I really am the most trusting idiot, just like the spinner said.

“We don’t have to leave,” Rhagos says.

“So we’re just going to murder them, rob them, and race out into the night?”

He pauses and then flashes me a roguish grin that makes my heart skip a beat. Shitty, shitty heart. “No.”

“Don’t grin at me,” I snap. “I’m not helping with any of this.”

“Where are your clothes?” he asks, ignoring my anger. “Shouldn’t you get dressed?” He pauses for a moment and then looks over at me again, no longer smiling. “I liked that garment. Wear something like it again.”

I squint behind my glasses, trying to follow his thoughts. His tone sounds ominous despite the positive words, and it takes my brain a moment to decipher. Oh, he didn’t like my dress? Too effin’ bad. Not that I liked it either, but damn. He’s not in any position to demand anything. Not after he just murdered someone in front of me for no reason.

He’s murdered other people before, my traitorous mind whispers.

I ignore it. That was to protect me. This is different. This is just…willful. “You killed them because they fronted you out,” I say to him. “They exposed you and so you got rid of them.”

Rhagos moves toward me. I take a step back, stumbling into the pool of blood. He gives me an exasperated look, and then reaches down and plucks the knife out of Sinfas’s throat. “You’re correct.”

“Talking to you like this is giving me a headache.”

He frowns in my direction. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“That’s right,” I exclaim. “I am afraid of you. You just slaughtered another anchor like he was nothing. Like he didn’t matter.” My lip wobbles and I feel like I’m about to cry again. “Anchors have to matter, damn it.”

“Max,” he murmurs. “You don’t matter to me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I say, tired. I press my hand to my brow. “I can’t trust anything you say. How do I know you’re not lying with your lies to mislead me even more?”

“That’s not confusing at all.”

“Exactly!”

He gazes down at me, looming over my shorter form. I don’t take another step back, though I want to. I feel like I’m staring at a stranger. Like my entire world has been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew? I have to throw it out the window and start over. Maybe that’s why I’m freaking out so much.

It takes a moment, and then I realize Rhagos isn’t just looking down at me, he’s gazing down at my mouth, his expression thoughtful.

“Fuck it,” he says after a moment, and then leans down and captures my mouth in a hard, quick kiss.

I’m so shocked by this turn of events I just stand utterly still, unable to believe what is happening. His mouth is hot on mine, his tongue brushing over the seam of my lips.

It’s an instant, only.

Then I pull back and stare at him in disgust. “You do not get to kiss me right now! Or ever!”

“I’m going to keep hiding what I want,” he tells me in a low growl. His hand tangles in my hair and he gazes at my face with such lust and longing that I’m shocked. Where the fuck has this been hiding?

Why the fuck is his timing so awful?

Why is he so awful?

Rhagos leans in to kiss me again and I turn my face to the side, my heart hammering. He can kill me with the blink of an eye. Just snap his fingers and I’m dead, like a puppet with cut strings. It’s clear anchors mean nothing to him, and when he said he wanted to go home, he lied.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting tears.

He said he wanted to help me find a way home.

He growls low in his throat, then grabs me by the waist and slings me over his shoulder. “We’re not done here. Come on.”

32

I  slam a fist against his back, but he ignores it, hefting me out of the room. He shuts the doors behind him and thunders down the hall so loudly that my breath catches in my throat. Is he going to give me to the enemy? Or is he just going to slaughter everyone in this building?

I don’t know what to do. Helpless, I remain quiet as I bounce along on his shoulder…and then I feel him stop. Craning my head, I glance around and see we’ve paused in front of the mess hall, now filled with dozens of sailors with the same marking on their brow.

They’re all watching us.

Rhagos gives them a nod. “I’m taking my wench to my quarters.” I fight back the outraged noise that rises in my throat. “We don’t wish to be disturbed,” he continues. “Lord Vor is celebrating our alliance with his anchor and also wishes not to be disturbed. He says he will see you in the morning and we will make plans then. For tonight, he says to open the kegs and let the mead flow freely.”

A cheer meets this pronouncement and Rhagos continues down the hall with me on his shoulder. Oooh, he is far too good at lying. No one suspects a thing.

No one comes after us as Rhagos, boldfaced liar that he is, saunters right out the front door with me in his arms, and no one even questions a thing. They’re too busy getting themselves drinks or whatever it is they’re doing in the mess hall. I’m a little outraged that no one even attempts to take us down. Not that it would matter if they did. Rhagos will just twirl a finger and nuke them on the spot.

In this moment, I hate his guts. Like, a lot.

“Where are we going?” I spit out at him when he heads down the dark street and into the slums. “And I can walk. Put me down.”

“You have shoes and decent clothes on, thus I will carry you,” Rhagos says easily. “Now, do you want to die? If so, be quieter. Your voice doesn’t carry at all.”

I scowl into the darkness, but I pay attention to his words. I hate Liar Rhagos. “I like how you’re all chatty now,” I say in a low tone, keeping my voice down. “I guess now that you don’t have to worry about outing yourself, you’re just gonna talk my ear off, aren’t you?”

He chuckles.

“I liked you better silent.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Utterly.” His voice is dry with sarcasm. I guess snotty rejoinders count as lies?

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace we’ll be sure to be found.”

I roll my eyes. Captain Obvious. Of course we’re going someplace we won’t be found. “And where is that?”

“Patience,” is all he says. Like I’m the problem here.

I’ve run out of things to say to him, though. Unless screaming incoherently is allowed, but that will draw attention to us quickly. Even though I hate Rhagos right now, I have to admit that he’s good at blending. He walks the dirty, cobbled streets as if he’s always lived here, and when he pauses, it’s to talk to a soldier passing by on the street. The man chuckles at the sight of me—as if a kidnapped woman is nothing more than an interesting diversion.

“Where’s the whorehouse?” Rhagos asks, his own tone conveying brotherhood and amusement.

The man gestures down another alley and grins at Rhagos. “Looks like you’re going to have a wild night, my friend. Pace yourself.”

“Oh, I shall.”

Now I really, really want to do a round of incoherent screaming in frustration. I stew in silence as Rhagos heads for the brothel, and before we even get inside, I can hear music and laughter and the sounds of partying. There are people loitering in the alley, and they catcall as Rhagos hauls me into the place.

It immediately reeks of perfume and some spicy scent I’ve never smelled before. It all makes my nose crazy, and I start sneezing immediately. A woman in one corner with her breasts hanging out of her dress eyeballs me, her gaze lingering on my glasses. I immediately take them off and hide them in my hand. The room around me blurs, but that’s probably not a bad thing.

“Who among you has a sense of adventure?” Rhagos asks, jingling the money pouch at his waist.

A few of the women giggle and one bold one saunters up to Rhagos. I can feel her hair brush against my legs as she leans in to touch him. “I’ll take you up on that offer, sir.”

“Do you have anyone smaller?” he asks, voice casual. “About her size?”

He slaps my ass, eliciting a squeal of indignation from me.

The woman huffs. “I can lick her cunt as well as I can lick your cock.”

“I’m sure you can, my love, but this is a particular fantasy of mine,” Rhagos purrs. “Now find me someone closer to her size.”

The woman flounces away in a cloud of perfume, glaring in my direction. Like I’m the problem. She moves to the corner and talks to a girl that can’t be more than fourteen—ew!—and the girl approaches. She’s flat as a board up front, but she is approximately the same size as me. Even though Rhagos hasn’t told me a thing, I assume we’re getting me clothing.

“You’ll do, won’t you?” he says, pleased. “Show us to your rooms, love.”

I hate that he’s so good at this. He sounds so very natural with his lies. I’m starting to mentally pick apart everything he says. How did I never notice that he phrases everything as a question so he can skate around the fact that he can’t answer straight? It’s so obvious now. He’s smooth, though. By the time we head up the stairs, he’s got the teen hooker eating out of the palm of his hand. She’s all giggles as she leads us through the whorehouse and into one of the back rooms, where I can hear grunting and moaning behind several closed doors.

“I’m here,” the girl calls, and then we step inside a room and Rhagos finally sets me down.

Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy. I press a hand to my brow, needing a moment, and when I focus, I notice that the girl’s room is hazy, and the strange smell of spices is thicker here than it was downstairs. The walls are bare and there’s nothing in here but a messy bed, a small trunk, and a stool in the corner.

She leans in close to me, her hand sliding to my breast. “So our job tonight is to make you happy? Is that it, my lord?”

I squeak in distress, slapping her hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

The girl pulls back in confusion, looking at us. “I’m confused. I thought this was a double?”

“Be patient and we’ll get there.” Rhagos puts a hand on the back of my neck, supporting me. Or holding me in place. I don’t know which one just yet. “What’s your name?”

She tilts her head and then a seductive look crosses her face. “Belara, like the goddess.”

“I’m sure it is,” Rhagos murmurs. Ouch. But the girl doesn’t get the slam. She just keeps smiling and Rhagos continues. “Belara, do you have sturdy clothes in this one’s size?”

“Clothes?” Her brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell me if you have clothing she can have,” he says patiently, his voice smooth and deep. It seems like he can speak commands without having to lie, which makes sense in a weird way. “And tell me if you know the best way to leave the city without getting notice.”

“Oh, I see. This isn’t about fucking at all, is it?” The girl—Belara—gives us a shrewd look. “I might have clothes she can wear, aye. I might also know a smuggler’s route out of the city.” Her chin goes up. “Your clothes are rather fine, so it won’t be cheap. How much are you willing to pay?”

Rhagos just gives her a slow smile that makes my heart turn over. “How much do you want?”

Her eyes flare with interest. “A golden crown for the clothing. And a golden crown for the route.”

Rhagos pulls his coin purse free. “And another crown for your silence?”

“Oh yes,” Belara purrs, her expression turning greedy. “Another crown for that, too.” She snatches the coins that Rhagos offers her, and turns around, biting them to make sure they’re legit. When she’s positive they’re not fake, she gives a little sigh of pleasure, then moves to a small table next to the bed. She pulls a pouch out, licks her finger, and dips it into what looks like a bunch of dirt, or herbs. Then, she sniffs hard, rubs her nose, and adds a bit more of the herbs to the candle by the bedside, and the stink grows stronger in the room. “All right, then. You tell me what you need.”

Rhagos just gestures at me.

I’m still furious at him. I still want to stomp my feet and scream…but I’m also practical. I need a plan. I can’t do anything or go anywhere half naked and barefoot. For all that I want to punch Rhagos in the face with frustration (repeatedly), he’s thinking clearly.

I grit my teeth and force myself to smile at Belara, because she’s being friendly enough. “I need everything. Shoes, undergarments, the works.”

She opens a small trunk at the foot of the bed and begins to pick through her clothing. “Most of this is what I wear here. I assume you want to cover your tits instead of show them off, yes?”

“Definitely covered.” I say, blushing. “Think, uh, farmer, instead of working girl.”

“Working girl?” She hoots with amusement. “Oh, I like that. You must be from a prim and proper land indeed.” Belara shakes her head and pulls out a few things. “Let’s try this. It’s not fancy, but you’re not paying for fancy, are you? You’re paying to blend.”

Belara’s a smart cookie.

Hesitantly, I release the cloak I’ve been clutching to me like a lifeline, and Belara immediately makes a soft noise. She ignores my near nudity and fingers my sleeve instead. “Are you going to keep this?”

“You can have it.”

Her smile grows even wider. “My customers will love it.” She leans in. “Want a bit of nose spices? It’ll make a bad evening so much better.” She rubs her nose again.

I shake my head. I’m already feeling woozy from the haze in the room. “I’m good, thanks.”

There’s a stool in the corner, and I watch as Rhagos moves to sit in it. Even relaxing, he looks imposing. He rests his elbow on one thigh, and his intense green gaze stays locked on me. Is he going to watch me undress? Really?

Flustered, I think about how he kissed me. Fuck it, he’d said, and just kissed the hell out of me. The timing is awful. Plus, I don’t know what that kiss means. Has he decided I’m going to serve him like an anchor should? In his bed? Or is it more deceit to throw me off?

I can’t trust him.

“Is…is that blood?” Belara asks, glancing down at my bare feet.

I glance at my bare legs, and sure enough, they’re spattered with deep red stains, and there’s more of it on the soles of my feet and between my toes. It’s Sinfas’s blood, and I feel sick at the sight of it. “Can I have some water to clean up?”

She pats my shoulder, as if seeing the shell-shocked look on my face. “Wait here, love. I’ll get you all fixed up.”

Belara slips out of the room, leaving me alone with Rhagos once more.

I stare at him uneasily, crossing my arms over my breasts.

“I know you don’t have questions,” he states, his voice hollow. “We won’t talk more later. In private.”

Part of me wants to snap. To really give it to him. But I just nod, because I can’t do this right now. I have to be smart, even if smart means biting my tongue. Heck, I’ve done that a million times at my corporate job, haven’t I?

This is just like having a shitty boss again. The thought is depressing, but familiar. I’ll treat Rhagos the same way I treat Mr. Perkins — with fake deference and silent loathing. I can do that. I do it 40 hours a week, 52 weeks a year for my job. I can surely do it long enough to get home.

33

Belara returns with a pail of water and a washrag, and a large tray of food, along with a waterskin. “You’re going to need rations if you’re escaping the city tonight,” she says. “I’m happy to sell them to you at a premium.”

At least someone’s making out like a bandit in this. I clean my feet in silence, exhausted. How long has it been since I’ve had a good night’s sleep? It’ll be longer yet, because once again, we’re on the run. The thought is a bitter one, and then I wonder why I’m so mad.

Vor was awful. Sinfas was going to use me for information for his master. That much was obvious. But why am I burning with so much rage?

It’s all because of Rhagos. He killed Sinfas like he was nothing. He never told me the truth about who he was. And now I feel…like an idiot for trusting him. I feel like I’m nothing to him, and that both hurts me and makes me furious.

More than ever, I’m trapped. Chosen One, my ass. More like Chosen Sucker.

Belara goes to the door and starts moaning. “Have to make it sound good,” she whispers, pointing at the neighboring room. “Walls are thin.” Then she launches into a constant stream of theatrical moaning, little whining noises of pleasure, and everything she can to make it sound like she’s being fucked within an inch of her life.

I. Am. So. Embarrassed.

Belara’s smart, though, so I take a page from her book. It’s almost comical, us preparing to slink out of the city while a teen whore caterwauls and pretends to have sex with both of us. I pull off my slinky, see-through blue dress and immediately begin to change into Belara’s clothing. It’s rough, coarse material of earth tones and I can see patches where it’s been mended over and over again. The skirt is long, though, and the top looks like it’ll cover everything, which is perfect. I find the neck hole of the big, blousy cream-colored tunic-top and pull it over my body.

And then, because I’m a masochist, apparently, I look over at Rhagos.

A gentleman wouldn’t watch me change. A gentleman would look away and try to give me some privacy. Not Rhagos, though. His gaze burns as he watches me with that intense stare, and I know he’s memorizing every movement I make, every time I curl my toes against the floor. His gaze shifts to my front, and I know my nipples are pressing hard against the front of the shirt, obvious little pebbles that fill me with shame and a pooling arousal both.

Okay, so apparently I have a danger fetish, or an exhibitionist fetish. It’s the only logical reason as to why I’m getting turned on when I want to do nothing more than take a brick to Rhagos’s lying head. It’s that hypnotic, intense stare he gives me that has to be making me respond. He looks at me…like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

More lies. It’s all to deceive.

That pops the bubble, and I turn my back to him and finish dressing. Belara’s cries get louder, and she goes over to the bed and shakes it hard, thumping it against the wall, then gives me a critical look. “Here, let me.”

She helps me dress like I’m a child, and I’m reminded of Vossa and her kindness. Tears prick behind my eyes. Has it only been a week since I saw her? I hope she’s okay. I hope she didn’t get in trouble for us leaving. I hope she realizes we never meant to get her brother killed.

Belara tucks the tunic into the skirt, and then gives me a small leather vest that laces up the front. She pulls the laces tight, and by the time she’s done, I’m trussed up in billowing pale sleeves, a dark leather bodice, and a long skirt. It’s not a bad look and everything is covered, which is nice. It’s better than I thought we’d get from her, and then I feel like a jerk. Of course Belara has normal clothing. She’s not a prostitute all hours of the day.

“Boots,” she says, and hands me a pair, hesitating only for a moment. Boots must be expensive. She shows me how to put them on, and to lace up the ties that crisscross over the leather, all the way up to my calves.

They’re a little snug on the toes, but it beats being barefoot by a mile. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of them.”

“You can toss ’em in a ditch for all I care,” she says. “You’re paying a lot of coin for ’em. What else?”

I shrug, helpless.

She studies my appearance, and then grabs a small bag and puts a comb in, along with a change of underpants, and then adds the food. She sets the waterskin next to it, then goes to her trunk and pulls out a cloak, gesturing at the fine black one pooled at my feet. “I assume that’s his, so you’ll need a cloak for bad weather.”

“Good guess.” I take her cloak and fasten it around my shoulders, then pull the hood over my hair.

“There’s a pocket inside the lining for your eye things,” she comments.

I slip my glasses into it as she picks up Rhagos’s cloak, shakes it out, and then crosses the room to give it to him.

“Can I make another guess?” she asks after a moment. When I nod, she looks over at Rhagos. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of what?”

“The Aspects,” she says. “I may be just a whore, but I keep an ear out. I know it’s the Anticipation. And I know there’s an odd lord taking up with the sailors down at the big building on the edge of the docks. I sometimes go there for a few jobs and they’re secretive. Like they’ve got something to hide. You can’t hide much with that many men carving a symbol of Vor on your forehead, though.” She snorts dismissively, then studies Rhagos a bit more. “You have the same look to you that he does, the fine lord.”

“What look is that?”

Belara gestures helplessly. “Like you’re…too much. Like if I stare at you too long, it’ll brand me. That’s why I think you’re an Aspect.”

It’s an excellent way of putting it.

“Which one do you think I am?” Rhagos asks casually, his expression neutral.

“Oh, I think that I know better than to ask that.” Belara winks at me, her expression sly. “I think I’m already asking far too much as it is. I met no one and saw nothing tonight, and I have the coins to prove it.” She clasps her hands in front of her, for a moment looking innocent and young. “So what else do you and your fine lady need from me?”

My stomach growls and my mouth is dry. I don’t want to be thinking of food at a time like this, but as an anchor, I’m always thinking of food. I run my hands over the tight vest, which seems to be acting as a bodice. “Do you think I could fit a knife in here?”

“I imagine you could, but I’m not allowed weapons. The mistress of this place doesn’t like it.” She grimaces. “She prefers poison.”

My expression must show my dismay, because Rhagos clears his throat and gets to his feet. “What’s the safest way out of the city?”

“Boat,” Belara says.

“Not on a boat,” I add quickly.

Rhagos turns to me. His expression is oddly intimate. “Don’t you want to go back to our island? Like you said before?”

My jaw drops. Is he serious? “And stay there with you? After everything that’s changed? You’re kidding, right?”

“I am.” His smile is faint.

I shake my head. “No. My goal hasn’t changed even though everything else has.” I give him a pointed look. “I still want to get home. I know you’ve lied to me. I know you don’t care what happens at this point, but I do. Even if you’re working against me, I still need to do what’s right for me…and that includes returning to where I belong. I know we have to work together, though.” I hate saying the words. I hate admitting that we’re trapped together. But I need him to agree to do this even if he’s a lying sack of crap. “Will you help me get home?”

“Max,” he murmurs, moving closer. “You know you can’t trust me.”

I almost laugh at hearing him say that. “No shit.”

He glares in my direction, knowing that I’m deliberately misunderstanding him. That’s fine. Let him have a taste of his own medicine for a while. He moves even closer to me, his voice dropping low. “We will not discuss this more when we are alone. I want to give our enemies fuel to use against us.”

The look he gives me is pointed.

Right. As much as I’m mad at him, everyone else on this damn world is out to kill me. For some reason, he hasn’t let me die yet and saved my life. Whatever’s going on in that head of his, he wants to stay alive for a while longer, which means we need to keep our secrets between us. I glance over at Belara.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, dipping her finger into her spice bag and taking another snort. “You two sound like an old married couple. You want some married couple advice?” She smiles. “It’s on the house. Okay. So…you guys should compromise.” Her voice has a dreamy tinge to it, thanks to the spices. “You, big guy.” She points at Rhagos. “You give your woman what she wants. And in return, she’ll suck your cock until you can’t see straight.” She beams at us, as if she’s solved all the world’s problems. “Compromise!”

I sputter. “I didn’t agree to suck anything!” I hate that my face turns bright red, because now I’m thinking of that time with Rhagos when I did get in front of him on my knees, and…

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I’m just saying,” Belara shrugs. “Women are complicated. Men can usually be fixed with a quick suck.”

I am not taking her advice. Absolutely not. I turn to Rhagos and give him what I hope is my most somber, non-blushing, non-virginal look. “I want to go to Balsingra,” I whisper. “To the temple of oracles. That’s where Sinfas got his information for Vor about all the other Aspects. We can go there and see if we can persuade them to tell us how to get home. If anyone will have information, an oracle will.”

“Mmm,” is all he says. I don’t know if that’s a lie or the truth.

Belara giggles drunkenly, gesturing at us as we whisper. “See? She’s telling you what she wants. Give it to her and she’ll suck your cock.”

“Stop saying that!” I hiss over at her. “I’m not giving him sexual favors!”

“Suit yourself.” She takes another snort of her drugs. “Always gets me what I want.”

I clench my jaw.

“We won’t go there,” Rhagos murmurs. “To Balsingra. You don’t have my word.”

“Your word is useless,” I point out, arms crossed over my chest. I refuse to yield. If he doesn’t want to go with me, I’ll freaking tie his ass down and drag him all the way there. Somehow. Some way. If these oracles of the gods knew where all the Aspects were, they’ll know how I can cross back to my world…or they’ll know who to ask.

At any rate, it sounds like a better plan than staying here or going to Aventine.

Or back to the island.

34

I  hold my hand out. “Map, please.”

An expression of relief crosses his face and he hands it over to me.

It’s somewhat crumpled thanks to our journey here, but it’s still readable enough. “Show me where Balsingra is and where we are.”

We spread the map over the bed, and Balsingra is easy enough to find. It’s a large blob of city to the north of here, and of lakes, and between it and Sunswallow are lots of what look like rivers and streams and ponds.

Belara taps the map, pointing. “If you don’t want to go by boat, you have to go through the Ghosthollow Murk.”

Ghosthollow Murk? If I was in a video game, that would absolutely be a zone I’d want to avoid. “It sounds ominous.”

“Swamps always are. This one’s haunted.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose again. “If you stayed to the main road I’d say it wouldn’t be a problem, but you’ll want to take the Robber’s Way.”

“Robber’s Way?” I echo.

“A bandit trail,” she agrees. “My spice runner takes it when he comes to town.” She gives me a dopey smile, her pupils enormous. “There’s an old, old trail that cuts through the swamp. When you get to the bridge to the north of town, instead of going over it, you go under it. There’s a small cave behind some stones that are just big enough to squeeze through. The cave comes out into the swamp, and from there, the trail should be easy enough to follow. The trees are marked so other spice runners can follow it easy enough.” She grins. “But I’d avoid saying hello to anyone on the trail if I were you.”

I blanch as she runs a finger across her throat. “Message received. And what about the ghosts?”

Belara gives me a delighted look. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“Do I need to be?”

“Yes.” Belara nods.

“Yes,” Rhagos says, his voice short and exasperated. “We cannot handle ghosts. Anything else?”

Belara taps her chin with a lazy finger, and then shrugs. “I think that’s everything. You might get lost, but if you can’t find your way, no one can find you either, right?”

“I…guess?” I really wish she wasn’t high as a kite so I could trust her directions a bit more. I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I’m literally putting my life in the hands of a wasted teenager and the embodiment of lies. It does not give me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Okay. You guys wanna follow me? I’ll show you the back way out.” Belara puts a finger to her lips, indicating silence. “It’s a house secret. This is where we escape angry customers and the mayor when he wants his taxes.” She giggles at her own joke.

We gather our things, and Rhagos takes the map and hides it under his cloak. He takes the supplies as well, and when I go to pass him, he taps me on the shoulder.

I turn, and he offers me a knife. Just a small one, obviously pilfered from Vor’s opulent throne room, but it’s a weapon. It’s also not the one he used to kill Sinfas, for which I’m grateful. I take it from him, tuck it into the tight front of my leather bodice, and follow after Belara.

The girl leads us down the hall, watching to make sure no one is around. She lifts up a bawdy-looking tapestry of people fucking in every possible position and opens a small door set into the wall. “Follow me.”

We duck into the narrow passageway, and it’s dark. I’m acutely aware of just how close Rhagos is, how large his form is compared to mine. I can’t help but think about his nearness, and the times he touched me in the past. I can’t trust any of it, and it makes me intensely sad.

Belara grabs my hand and heads down the hall. “Keep one hand on the stonework and you can’t get lost,” she tells me. I reach out and touch the cool stones to my right, and sure enough, we follow the tunnel and come out from underground into the neighbor’s stable. One of the hippo-like creatures bleats nearby, and another stomps its feet. “And we’re out,” she says triumphantly. “You can head north for the bridge, and from there, it should be easy enough to find Robber’s Way. If you pass a spice runner, tell him to come see me. I’m almost out.” And she sniffs again.

“We’re grateful for your help,” I tell her. Really.

Rhagos just silently holds out a few more coins, and Belara snatches them up, grinning.

I hesitate. She looks so young. I hate that she’s in a brothel and clearly hooked on drugs. There has to be a better life for her out there than this. “You know, you could come with us? You don’t have to stay here. You shouldn’t be forced to prostitute yourself.”

She blinks at me, and then laughs, clutching at her sides as if I’m the most amusing thing she’s ever heard. “Forced? I’m not forced to do any of this. Working here lets me buy all the spices I want and I make good money. I’m happy here. I wouldn’t be happy on a farm.” She shakes her head, amused. “Forced. You’re funny.”

“I just…I thought…” I can feel myself blushing. “Never mind.”

“I don’t need saving,” Belara says with a giggle. “Not everyone has a greater destiny. Some of us just want nose spices.” She winks at Rhagos, and then slips back into the tunnel. “Good luck to you both, people I never saw!”

She shuts the door, and then I’m alone with Rhagos. And cattle. Or this world’s version of cattle. I glance over at him, suddenly exhausted. “Shall we get going?”

“Can you?” he asks, voice gentle. “You’re not tired.”

He’s right. I’m super, super tired. I’m so tired and mentally weary that I want to close my eyes and sleep for a week. But I remember the last place we ran from—they sent a ship after ours. I have no doubt that we’ll be pursued once they realize Vor is dead.

We didn’t even kill a god last time.

“I can walk,” I tell him, and I mean it. I’ll walk all night if I have to. I’ll crawl on my knees through the swamp if it means living. I won’t give up, ever.

35

Here I thought “crawling on my knees” through the swamp would be a metaphor.

The Ghosthollow Murk sucks. It just flat-out sucks.

At first, our journey isn’t too bad. We managed to find the bridge north of town before sunrise, and found the secret tunnel underneath that led out directly into the swamp.

When she’d said there was Robber’s Way, I’d thought she meant that there would be roads to walk on. A dirt path if nothing else. This is just a swamp. We immediately sink knee high into murky, boggy water and mud. There’s a thick green scum over everything, and the trees here have roots twisting into the water and making for a difficult walk. As the sun rises, the swamp gets steamy and hot, and an awful, fetid smell covers everything like a blanket.

Did I mention the bugs? Because there’s bugs. There’s bugs and mud and it’s a miserable journey. The first few hours of walking, I’m almost convinced Belara’s lied to us. That her spice-addled brain just came up with “swamp!” as a place to send us.

Except…there is a path. Sort of.

Every twenty or thirty feet or so, there’s a tree marked with an X at eye level. It makes it easy enough to follow the route, but it means trudging through the swamp to do so. The brand-new boots I got from her are bloated with water, but I’m too afraid of what’s lurking in the swamp itself to take them off. My skirts feel like they weigh a million pounds as they soak up the nasty-smelling swamp water, and I have my cloak bundled up high around my neck so it doesn’t suffer the same fate.

It’s miserable.

I’m exhausted, but I keep dragging one foot in front of the other. Sometimes we have to pause, gazing at the endless trees dripping a creepy, droopy moss, looking for the next X. Sometimes we have to backtrack to find the previous X and start over again.

It feels like hell. Misery on earth.

More miserable than the walk is Rhagos’s silence next to me. It’s not a comfortable silence. It’s the uncomfortable silence you have when you run into an ex-boyfriend on the elevator. You’re both painfully aware of the other, but you can’t think of a thing to say that won’t be awkward or personal or just flat-out rude. So you say nothing at all, and the tension builds.

I definitely feel tense. I feel tense every time Rhagos offers me his arm when I stumble. I feel tense every time he glances over in my direction. I feel tense when he holds the waterskin out to me to sip at. Every time he freaking breathes, I just want to scream.

It’s not logical, of course, so I stew in silence.

“You’re not angry,” he says eventually.

His words—and the tree root at my feet—make me stumble. I’m not angry? The hell I’m not…

Ah.

I clench my jaw, glancing over at him. “It doesn’t help that everything you say sounds like nonsense or I have to mentally parse through it to figure out what the lie is.”

He shrugs. “I can help it.”

I shake my head, dragging my skirts through the sucking, scummy muck as we go around another tree. He points at a distant X ahead of us, and we head in that direction. “I just…I don’t know what to think of you anymore, Rhagos. I thought I knew who you were.”

“Not Apathy,” he says, voice flat.

“In fact, I asked you flat out if you were Lies,” I exclaim.

“And I said yes.”

“No, you didn’t! You—” I huff, realizing I’ve been caught again. “We need to figure out how to communicate or you’re going to make me crazy.”

“Everything I say to you will be the truth,” Rhagos says solemnly. “I know this makes you angry, but it is in my control.”

“Then we need a hand signal. Something. Anything. Something that will tell me that you’re being full of shit that way I know not to trust what you’re saying.”

“Trust my actions, not my words.”

“You keep saying that, but look where we are.” I fling my arms at the swamp. “We’re on the run. Again. Because you killed someone after you said you were going to work with him. He invited you into his house. He fed you dinner. He gave you clothes. He—”

“He didn’t kidnap you to force my hand,” Rhagos retorts.

Okay, he’s got a point. I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not saying Vor was a nice guy.”

“He is a nice guy. He can be trusted. He is stable. Kind. He tortures no one.” Rhagos shoots me an angry look. “I trusted him around you, which is why he had to die.”

“First of all, don’t pin this on me. And second of all, we really do need a hand signal.” I stop in my tracks, because I’m suddenly exhausted. Arguing with Rhagos feels like more of a marathon than the swamp walk, and it’s frustrating. “Can you do me a favor? Can you just like, cross your fingers every time you say a lie so I know it’s not real? I know everything you say is a lie, but it helps my tired brain to have a signal.”

I hold up my fingers and show him—it’s totally a grade-school sort of thing. Crossing your fingers and lying. But right now, it’s really hard to separate reality from the lies when he says things in such a convincing and soothing deep voice. When he looks at me with those intense eyes. It just makes my brain confused.

Rhagos lifts his hand and crosses his fingers, holding them up like I showed him. His gaze is locked on my face as he speaks. “I’m glad I’m Lies,” he says in a solemn voice. “All I’ve wanted is to lie to you. I don’t understand why you hate me.”

Oddly enough, I fight the urge to cry. It’s exhaustion that’s making me weepy. “I don’t hate you,” I say in a tight voice, a knot in my throat. “I just…I feel like I don’t know you.”

“I don’t understand.” He lifts his fingers, indicating a lie again. “This changes everything.”

“You’re wrong, Rhagos. It does change everything for me,” I counter. “I thought we had each other’s back. How do I know you have mine or are you just lying? How do I know these aren’t all lies?” I gesture at the fingers he’s holding up. “How do I know that isn’t designed to lull me into thinking you’re being honest with me—as honest as you can be—and in reality you’re not? See what I mean? I’m second-guessing everything you say.”

“Trust my actions?” he asks again, as if that solves everything.

I sigh, pressing my hand to my forehead…and then immediately swatting at a massive mosquito that lands on my arm. “You say for me to trust your actions, but last night you killed a man that said I could trust him, too. Sinfas was kind to me.”

“What did he say to you?” Rhagos’s tone is unusually hard, and when I look over at him, I’m surprised at the expression on his face. Gone is the remorse. He’s pissed now. Not just pissed…jealous? Of Sinfas? As I stare at Rhagos in surprise, his jaw clenches and he repeats the question. “What did he say?”

“Nothing big,” I stammer. “Just that we should have each other’s backs because you Aspects wouldn’t look out for an anchor. That we had to take care of each other.”

“He is right.” Fingers crossed. Glaring. “I will never take care of you.”

Now it’s my turn to get pissed. “Oh? He was so wrong about the fact that Aspects didn’t give a shit about anchors, right? You killed him just because you didn’t trust Vor! Because that was the only way to get to Vor! Instead of walking away and saying, ‘no thanks, Vor, I don’t want to be part of your shitty party,’ you had to kill him. So go on and tell me that you have an anchor’s needs in mind when you did that shit.”

He clenches his jaw again, glaring at me. “It’s the same situation.” Fingers crossed. “The exact same.”

“It is. You think Vor wouldn’t have hesitated to nail me with a dagger the moment he thought it would piss you off? He would have absolutely done it. Everyone on this fucking planet would absolutely do that!” I spread my arms wide. “They all want to kill me! And the only person I can trust—you—has been lying to me all along. So you’ll forgive me if I’m holding a bit of a damn grudge.”

We stare at each other. He’s glaring at me. I’m glaring at him. We’re absolutely at an impasse, neither of us ready to admit that the other is right. I liked Rhagos when he was silent before, more than this argumentative man. Of course, he was silent before because he was keeping a jillion secrets, so I don’t know if it was better after all.

I think of Vor. How…sleazy he was. How he felt unctuous and untrustworthy. He wasn’t even Lies—he was Arrogance. I can’t imagine how nightmarishly awful the Vor of Lies would be. And yet…Vor was smart. He figured out what was going on with Rhagos quickly. Meanwhile, I’ve been at the god of death’s side for weeks and I had no clue.

Looking back, it’s obvious. All the ways he didn’t answer me, all the times he was silent when I just wanted him to say something. It’s because he was keeping me in the dark.

Now I wonder about all the things I don’t know about the man. I think about what Vor said. “What Vor said back there—is it true?”

Rhagos sighs. “Which parts?”

“About your brother killing everyone with disease and then you turning them all into zombies for an army?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Not true.” Fingers crossed.

I just shake my head. “You’re awful.”

“It wasn’t lifetimes ago,” he says, voice quiet. “I wasn’t a different person then.”

“How do I know? Everywhere we go, am I going to hear about all the terrible things you’ve done in the past? What an awful god you are? How cruel?”

“No.” Fingers crossed. “I have always claimed to be the hero.”

“It wasn’t what you claimed but what you left unsaid. And now I’m getting confused. Let’s just stop talking, okay?” I slap at another mosquito as it lands on my exposed skin. “I need time to think about all of this, and right now I’m so tired I want to just take a nap, not argue.”

He nods, once, the movement jerky as if his entire being is fighting him. Maybe it is. Maybe even that nod feels like “truth” and so his body is fighting it. For a moment, I feel a hint of sympathy for him. He never wanted to be Lies. What kind of hell is it when you’re forced to deceive everyone even though you don’t want to?

Rhagos is quiet. After a moment, he lifts his fingers and looks me in the eye. “I also killed Sinfas because I liked your dress. I liked that he put you in it.”

“What?”

“I liked that he was looking at you.” His jaw clenches, a scowl forming on his face. “I liked that he and Vor were both staring at you like they wanted to touch you. I trusted them to leave you alone, so I killed them. And that is a lie.”

I just shake my head slowly. “You can’t be jealous. We’re not friends. I’m working with you because I have to. Nothing more. Right now, I don’t even like you.”

“I don’t like you.” He lifts his fingers and crosses them. “I’m not haunted by you every moment that I’m here.”

Words die in my throat. I—

A moment later, something slithers around my ankle.

I scream bloody murder, imagining hands rising from the grave and attacking me. I picture ghoulish monsters trying to drag me under the muck. Bad enough that I have to wade through this knee-high murk, but now it’s attacking me? Squealing, I climb the nearest thing—a tree root. Or I try to. The tree roots are thick here, but most of them don’t come above the water, and when that doesn’t work, I grab Rhagos’s shoulders and haul myself onto his back, my arms wrapped around his throat.

“What?” he chokes out, my grip destroying his ability to breathe. “What…is…it?”

“Something attacked me! It touched my boot!” I try to find purchase on his thighs with my feet, climbing him like the world’s slipperiest jungle gym. “I think it was a hand!”

“A hand?”

“I swear it was.” I let out a little whimper when he gently sets me back down into the swamp. “Don’t let it touch me.”

“It is a hand,” he says in an oddly gentle voice, gazing down at me. “Ghosts are in this swamp. Trust me.”

I take a shuddering breath and loosen my death grip on his clothing, taking a step backward. “You’re sure?”

“I am not.” He crosses his fingers. “I would not feel if ghosts were present. It is not a tale, only.”

I digest that information, and then nod. “I felt something.”

“Snake?”

“I don’t want it to be a snake, either,” I hiss at him. I pull at my boobs, trying to free the knife tucked into the front of my bodice without cutting myself.

He puts a hand over mine. “I won’t protect you. If it touches you again, it will not die.”

I blink up at Rhagos. All of the rage I’ve felt over the past day is slowly ebbing. Even now when I’m being girly and ridiculous, he’s being calm and protective. He looks down at me with that intense gaze that makes me feel…all kinds of things.

He’s so, so confusing to my heart.

The thing brushes against my ankle again, and I scream, grabbing his arm once more.

Rhagos reaches into the cruddy waters, his hand sliding down my calf and over my boot. He comes up a moment later with a long, wriggling, gray snaky thing. “Not a leech.”

That…might be worse than a ghost. “Are you serious? That thing’s more like a water hose than leech.” Sure enough, it might be the size of a large snake but it’s got a weird, eyeless head and some sucker thing instead of a normal mouth. Ugh.

He shrugs. “I will let it kill you.” With a wink, he crosses his fingers and then tosses the leech back into the water. “Come. We will not keep going.”

Like I said, he’s confusing.

36

We continue through the swamp all through the day and into the night. I’m beyond exhausted, my brain fogged. I haven’t slept in what, two or three days? I feel utterly frayed and like I’m a shell of a person. Somehow, I keep putting one foot in front of the other, even though I just want to find a nice tree to lean against and sleep standing up.

Even if I wanted to sleep, though, I can’t. The bugs are out in full force at night, and every inch of me exposed to the air is bitten and itching. I slap at bugs—and at my cheeks—and between the two, I manage to stay awake. Stumbling, but awake.

Rhagos is the one that guides us through the night. He patiently scans for marked trees as I stumble along behind him. He offers me a supportive arm when I pitch forward, losing my balance through sheer exhaustion. At one point, we hear another person sloshing through the swamp, and have to crouch low in the murk, off to the side of the “trail,” until the spice runner heads away, journeying toward Sunswallow. He never notices we’re there.

Rhagos doesn’t kill him just for wandering too close, either, which I suppose is for my benefit, but I’m too tired to care. I just want to sleep for the next two days straight. Maybe three.

It’s near dawn when the trees thin out. When the endless swamps turn into what look like rows and rows of crops planted in the water. Dumbly, I stare down and realize we’ve wandered into someone’s farm. When I look up, all I see is flat, brackish land, but green things are neatly planted in rows, and there are scattered huts in the distance marking each farm.

Far off, in the morning fog, I see a large castle. That must be Balsingra. A raised-up road winds its way through the farmlands, and we head toward it. I want to weep with relief when I get to step on real land instead of just slogging through muck, and I don’t even mind when Rhagos hands me my cloak and pulls the hood over my face. He does the same, obscuring his features, and I tuck my fogged-up glasses into the pocket.

“I know this isn’t the time,” I tell him dully, “But if we can find someplace safe to sleep, I need to. Badly. I can’t think straight.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder, as if agreeing. “Stay close.”

Like I have the energy to do anything else?

We get on the road, and I notice dimly that as we walk, each step squishing with mud and water, there are people and farm animals in front of us, all heading toward the city at dawn. There are more of the large, hippo-like creatures, with dozens of packs piled atop each animal’s broad back. They’re not fast, so we’re able to catch up and pass them, and when I glance over, I see that people are riding slung to one side, and one man looks to be napping in his saddle-hammock even as the animal plods along.

The city rises out of the morning mist ahead of us, and I want to put my glasses on desperately so I can get a good look at it. I don’t dare, though. Instead, I squint and try to make things out. It looks as if Balsingra was built atop a rocky plateau, the only “real” solid land for miles around. Everywhere else, it’s swampy farmland surrounded by mist. There’s a wall hugging the city and encircling it, like a wedding band around a finger. It looks almost too small for the city itself, because above the wall, roofs pile up atop one another, all squeezed against each other as if fighting for space. High above all of it, there’s a thin, needle-like spire and something that looks like a cathedral. Maybe that’s the oracle.

The gate at the end of the road is open, a large portcullis raised up to allow people to enter. Guards stand at both sides of the entrance, and Rhagos discreetly pulls me closer to a couple of farmers with their animals as we head in. Luckily, no one glances in our direction. The guards are yawning and watching people enter with bored eyes, as if it’s the same old shit every morning.

We enter the narrow streets, looking around at the crowded buildings. The farmers and those with the pack animals all seem to be heading in the same direction, so we wordlessly follow them along. They head toward the center of the tightly packed city itself, and as they do, it leads toward a large, open plaza where vendors are setting up booths and people hawk their wares. Someone holds up vegetables and cries out prices, while another man butchers meat and hangs it for sale. People are arriving with baskets, and the overall feel of the place is light and almost…happy. It’s market day and the weather is nice, and these people are just glad to be out.

No one pays a lick of attention to me or Rhagos. We’re just another pair of travelers in sloppy, mud-spattered clothing, and judging from some of the people walking in the plaza, we aren’t the only ones. Balsingra just looks to be a muddy place, overall.

Rhagos points silently, and I follow his gesture. At the far end of the plaza, there’s a large series of stone stairs that lead up to the cathedral. That must be where we need to go.

For a moment, I want to protest. I want to get some of the fresh food that people are hawking. Someone has a fire going nearby and is making flat cakes of some kind and they smell so good that my mouth is watering. I’m tired. I’m cranky, and I’ve got bug bites over every inch of my body. The last thing I want is to head to the oracles and get embroiled into more shit.

But what other choice do we have? I sigh, hug my sodden cloak tighter to my body, and follow him as he approaches it.

Before we can make it to the steps, a woman in a gray robe comes down from the building. She has a bell in her hand and rings it loudly, twice. Everyone goes still and turns toward her.

Rhagos stops so suddenly I run into his back. I clutch at his waist to keep myself upright, feeling him stiffen against me.

“Today’s word from the gods,” the woman calls out, then rings the bell twice once more. “Today’s word from the gods!”

The plaza hushes, and it feels as if the world is pausing to listen to what she says.

She rings the bell again. “The Anticipation continues.”

A low murmur ripples through the crowd, and it sounds like dismay.

Another ring of the bell. “Aspects of both Lord Vor and Aron of the Cleaver have been destroyed. Both are close to re-ascending to the Aether.”

I cringe inwardly at hearing that, and nudge Rhagos. He ignores me, his gaze intent on the woman ringing the bell.

She rings it again. “Rhagos, Lord of the Dead—”

I stiffen, blood roaring in my ears.

“—has sent a message to his believers. He wishes to return to the Underworld swiftly. If you see the Lord of Death, give him and his anchor the swift death he craves.”

My fingers clench in Rhagos’s robes. The woman keeps talking, saying something about Gental and Anali, but I’m not listening. All I can hear is the tinny panic ringing in my ears.

They just told an entire city we want to die. We’re absolutely not safe here.

We might be less safe here than in Sunswallow, being hunted by Vor’s men.

I must be whimpering aloud, because Rhagos pulls me against him, putting a hand over my mouth to silence me. “Shh,” he whispers, his breath hot and minty against my cheek.

“We have to hide,” I whisper to him. “We have to get away from here.”

“Come,” he says, and takes my hand, dragging me out of the plaza. Grateful, I let him pull me away, hurrying as fast as I can on aching feet. I stumble behind him as he walks swiftly past the booths, ducking down one alley and then another. I don’t know where we’re going—just away from the woman with her awful bell. We turn down one street, and then another, and then another. Eventually, we find a large, ramshackle-looking building and Rhagos ducks inside, pulling me along with him.

It takes a moment for the smell—and the sound of bleating—to make me realize we’re in a barn. It’s dark here, and quiet. Hay sticks to my wet, soggy boots and the edges of my muddy cloak, but I don’t care.

I’m utterly exhausted. I stagger toward the nearest stall, and when I see it’s not occupied, I collapse onto the hay inside it.

Rhagos sits next to me, lowering his tall, lanky form with careful grace.

“What now?” I whisper.

He shrugs.

Either he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t want to say.

It’s typical Rhagos, and for a moment I’m so tired and defeated that I want to just cry like a baby. We just traveled through the worst swamp ever to get away…only to come to a city where they’re announcing that we should die in the same way they’d announce free beer at happy hour. Like it’s a thing everyone should jump in on.

I’m probably on the verge of a panic attack, but I’m also entirely too tired to have one.

I just feel…defeated.

“You are not silent,” Rhagos comments after a moment.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit plainly. I’ve always prided myself on having a plan. That no matter what, things will fall into place as long as I take action of some kind. But here, it’s like the world is determined to shit on any and every plan I make. “I thought getting home would be simple enough, you know? That this would be like a quest in a video game. We’d be told what we needed to do to succeed. Collect some object, defeat some bad guy, something. We’d head off and do it, and then I’d get to go home. At best, I thought I’d be the Chosen One. Flattering but stupid, I guess. It’s more like instead of being the hero, I’m the one helping the bad guy.” I grimace. “Sorry.”

“Death is both good and bad,” he murmurs. “It does not exist.”

I think he’s trying to tell me that he’s not a bad guy, that he’s just another force of nature, but it comes out all garbled thanks to Lies twisting his tongue.

I sigh. “I really thought that I was here to make a difference,” I whisper, so exhausted I feel it in my bones. My feet are throbbing and feel twice the size they should be, and everything hurts. “Instead, I’ve just been brought here to die. I feel like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” Rhagos murmurs. “Perhaps you were brought here for greater things. It matters.”

I parse that. You’re not an idiot. You weren’t brought here for greater things but it doesn’t matter. “It might not matter to you, but it matters to me. For once in my life, I wanted to be important, you know? Back home I’m no one. I bring coffee to a higher-ranking no-one who’s rude to me. No matter what I do, I can’t get ahead. When I came here…” I shrug, turning over in the hay to lie on my side. “I thought I’d be special. I thought it was my chance.”

“You are not special to me.” His voice is oddly kind.

That makes me feel worse. “Why are you being nice to me?” I grumble. “I’ve done nothing but yell at you for the last day. And I bit your dick.”

He chuckles. “Don’t you think I deserved it?”

I pinch my fingers together. “A little.”

To my surprise, he lies down next to me in the hay, and then our faces are side by side, inches apart. He turns on his side and then we’re gazing at each other, me with my hand propped under my cheek, and Rhagos with his dark hair spilling out on the hay, looking perfect as if he hadn’t spent last night trudging through a swamp.

I want to hate him, but I can’t.

“I am not sorry about all this,” he murmurs, his gaze on my face. He crosses his fingers. “I know it is not hard.”

I sigh. “I’m just tired. I’ll feel better once I’ve slept. A nap, and then I’ll come up with a new plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him, yawning. “But I know we need one.”

His gaze searches my face. “That is what I like about you, Max.” Rhagos’s voice is quiet, almost caressing. His fingers are still crossed. “You let everything defeat you.”

Shows what he knows. I feel pretty defeated at the moment. Even so, his comment bolsters me a little and I feel better. I will come up with a plan after this. We’ll figure a new way out. If we can’t stay here, we’ll just go somewhere else. Shit happens. Life goes on. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to keep fighting to stay that way.

“Thank you,” I tell him suddenly.

“For…?”

“For working with me. I know you want to go home.” I manage a half-assed smile. “I mean, it’s tattooed on your damn back.”

Rhagos reaches out and lightly runs his knuckles along my cheek. “Right now, all I want is to make you sad.”

That is both the sweetest and most fucked up thing anyone’s ever said to me. I stare at him, absorbing his features. This close, he looks perfect even without my glasses on. His lips are full and even though his mouth is almost too large for his face, I still like the way he looks. Intense. That’s how he looks. Like everything he is is just slightly too much. Of course his mouth is too much for his face. Of course his nose is a little too much for his features. Of course his eyes are so incredibly keen that they practically burn holes into my skin. Everything with Rhagos is intensity.

As I stare at him, his gaze slips to my mouth, and he rubs his knuckles over my cheek again. He leans closer, and I think about the kiss he gave me when he killed Sinfas and Vor.

Fuck it, he’d declared, and kissed me hard. As if he’d been fighting it for forever and finally gave in.

He’s so confusing. I think about the first time we kissed. When I was in his quarters, dazzled by his beauty and his too-much-ness, and I’d sunk to my knees in front of him.

You’re terrible at that.

I’d been so furious that I’d bitten him. But now, as I stare at his face, I realize…he’d let a lie slip out. I think. Because maybe I wasn’t terrible at it at all. Maybe he’d liked it after all.

Maybe I’ve been reading him all wrong this entire time.

“Max,” he murmurs, and he’s so close that I can feel his warm breath on my skin, even as he strokes my cheek.

I turn over abruptly, flipping to my other side and presenting him with my back. “I need to sleep,” I blurt out. “Watch over me, please?” And I squeeze my eyes shut.

Because I suddenly want to kiss Rhagos. I want to kiss him with all of the need and aching hunger boiling through me right now.

Wanting that isn’t smart. I need to know how I feel—truly feel—and where I stand with him before I can kiss him.

So I’m going to be a coward and nap instead.

37

I  pass out for what feels like forever. My sleep is utterly dreamless and the only thing that wakes me up after hours and hours is the fact that my stomach’s growling like mad. I sit up, pushing straw-covered locks of hair out of my face and rub my eyes. “Rhagos?”

“Not here,” he murmurs, entering the stall and crouching near me. He offers me the waterskin. “Hungry?”

“Always.” I take the skin from him and greedily suck down the watery-tasting wine. It’s ever so slightly sour and not all that refreshing, but I don’t care. I wipe my mouth when I’ve had my fill and take one of the hard rolls he offers me. “What time is it?”

He crosses his fingers. “Not sunset. It will not be safe to go out again soon.”

“Did…did anyone come by?” I take a big bite of the roll, chewing. “Are we in danger?”

“For now…yes.” Fingers crossed. “But it is not wise if we move by night.”

Right. Night will let us blend in a bit more. The roll is hard and stale, so chewing every bite is extra effort. I feel a lot better after sleeping, though. Less hopeless. “Thank you for watching over me,” I tell him between bites. “It means a lot that I can trust you.”

He glances over at me, his expression unreadable. “I will let you come to harm.”

I’m starting to believe his protective declarations after all. He’s told me to trust his actions, and he’s kept me safe so far, even when I know it’s not what he wants. Then again, I’m not entirely sure what he wants. His back tattoo says he wants death, but the Rhagos with me seems very intent on staying alive, so who knows. “We need a plan,” I declare as I chew on the roll. “I know I sound like a broken record, but once we have a plan, we can figure out our next move.”

“Broken record?” he inquires.

“A record is something from my home,” I say, plucking a bit of hay out of my hair as I chew on the last of the roll. “It’s a disc you spin around over and over and it plays music. When people say they are a broken record, they mean they’re spitting out the same old story over and over again.”

He chuckles. “And you think my world is strange?”

“As of yet, no one has hunted me down in my world,” I retort lightly.

“As of yet?” He arches a brow, a hint of a smile curling that fascinating mouth.

I flush. Are we having a flirty sort of conversation? Just yesterday I wanted Rhagos to be silent once more so I wouldn’t have to hear the lies out of his mouth. Yet today, I like hearing him talk. I’m even starting to get used to figuring out his weird lie-speak.

You’re terrible at that.

I let my gaze slip from his face, because now is not the time to think about that moment. Period. I can worry about the weird attraction between us when and if we’re safe again. I take the comb from the bag and rip it through my hair, wincing at the tangles and hay I pull from it. If we’re going to blend in, the last thing I need to look like is if I’m sleeping in a barn. Pretty sure that will scream that we’re travelers or vagrants to anyone that looks in our direction.

Okay. So we need a plan.

I consider this as I comb through my hair. There’s a tight wall that goes all around Balsingra. To me, that says that the city is guarded, and I suspect showing up at the gates in the middle of the night with a cloaked Rhagos will draw the wrong kind of attention to both of us. We need to lose ourselves in the crowd. Maybe dawn is the best time to slip back out, blend with the merchants that pile in. Until then, we can have a look around the city, figure out the best place to get away, and then make our move at sunrise.

I spread the map out, unrolling it and setting it down in the hay. I study the unfamiliar land, putting my finger on the small blip that’s Balsingra. To the north, the land is edged with an enormous forest and above that, cities and plains. I tap one of the cities. “What’s this place? Do you know?”

“Adassia,” he says.

“There’s a knife mark here. An Aspect was in this place. Do you remember who?”

He thinks for a moment, then gives a little shrug. “Aron of the Cleaver?”

“Are we friends with him?”

Rhagos snorts, as if what I’ve said is funny. “Aron has many friends.”

I purse my lips, considering that. “Well, okay, if you were going to get stuck on a deserted island, would you rather be stuck with Vor or Aron?”

He leans in, his mouth curving into a wry smile. “I would rather slit my own throat, I think?”

I grab a handful of hay and toss it at him. “I’m serious. If we can’t use the oracles here for our benefit, then maybe we should find another god, buddy up with him, and figure out what to do from there.” I pause for a moment, then shake my head. “Then again, maybe not. I don’t think you do well with buddies…especially as Lies. Sorry.”

He inclines his head, acknowledging my words silently.

I don’t point out that if a buddy saw he had the god equivalent of Please Kill Me on his back, I’d be toast in a heartbeat. Especially if we were hanging out with a war god. So yeah, not the best idea I’ve had. “I think we need a different tactic.”

Rhagos touches the map with one long finger. “Yshrem, perhaps?”

“What’s in Yshrem?”

“Not wizards and scholars. Not learned people.” His green gaze meets mine. “You wanted knowledge from the oracles, perhaps we seek it from books instead?”

I beam at him. “Now you’re talking.” I’m hit with a rush of affection. We’re working together. It’s almost like we’re friends. It’s almost like I can trust him again.

A wave of longing sweeps through me. I want to be able to trust him more than anything. When he gives me those caressing, intense looks…I want to believe.

I roll up the map, nodding to myself. “Then that’s where we’ll go. For tonight, let’s walk around the city and plan where we’ll make our getaway, yes? There’s got to be a gate to the north as well as the south.”

“Are you strong enough?” he asks. “Or do you need to rest more?”

I consider our surroundings. “Much as I would love to spend all night here and rest for longer, someone’s bound to come wandering through soon enough and I don’t want to get caught. It’s better if we keep on moving.” Even if I’m tired. I’m learning on this journey that being tired is a luxury I don’t have the time to indulge. I just need to keep moving and think about that sort of thing later…like when I collapse. “Let’s get going before I think too hard about it.”

I shake off my cloak, getting the worst of the hay off of it, and we repack our bags. While I was sleeping, Rhagos removed my wet, muddy boots, and hung them so they’d dry out. The leather’s still slightly damp but tolerable as I put them back on, and then we emerge from the stable out into the night.

38

Balsingra isn’t entirely quiet. There’s the noise of the hippo-cattle and horses nearby, of water dripping somewhere, of music and voices raised up in a song. There’s a woman laughing, and in the distance, a baby cries. It’s normal town-type sounds, but they still make me jittery.

We turn down one street, and then another, heading away from the plaza and the large cathedral-looking building that I’m pretty sure houses the oracles. The rest of Balsingra looks a lot like a slightly cleaner version of Sunswallow—small buildings, tightly crammed together with claustrophobic, narrow streets. We pass by a brothel and I hope Belara is okay, that she didn’t get into trouble for helping us. We pass by another stable and I’m hit with the urge to collapse inside and take another nap.

And then we pass by a graveyard.

I suck in a breath the moment I see the unmistakable rows of tombstones. There’s a statue looming over all of them, and I know it’s got to be a symbol of Rhagos. It’s of a tall, too-skinny man (insulting, really) with a black cloak and a face with a slashing scar over one eye. The statue Rhagos looks unforgiving and almost cruel, and in one hand, he carries a crow. In the other, a sword made from bones with a skull at the hilt.

Gee, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to work with such a low-key guy. I frown over at my companion. “They don’t have a very high opinion of you.”

He grunts. “A sword made from bones would be very brittle, don’t you think?”

I elbow him. “This is serious. No wonder everyone’s terrified of you. They’re expecting to get this guy.” I gesture at the statue. “Not the real you.”

Rhagos looks over at me, and for a moment I feel as if I’m standing in front of twin laser beams, he stares at me so intently. “And what is the real me?”

Flustered, it takes me a moment to answer. “Not that guy. You’re…different.”

He’s not going to let me weasel out of it. “How?”

I’m not going to tell him that he’s way more attractive than that statue lets on. I’m not going to tell him that he’s so powerful-seeming that the sculpture’s almost an insult. I’m not going to tell him that his shoulders are a heck of a lot broader, or his mouth far more enticing. I gesture at the statue. “I wouldn’t want to hang out with that guy. He looks like he’s going to cut off your kneecaps and then lecture you on why you’re screaming so loud.”

“But you would hang out with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Stop it,” I tell him warningly. We’re not going to go down that path. Not today. “Let’s just keep moving.”

“We are the only ones moving,” he calls out as I step forward. He remains in place.

I pause, turning to look back at him. “What do you mean?”

Rhagos gestures at the graveyard. “Look at the fresh graves.”

I scan the headstones, looking for something new. The graveyard isn’t big, the graves crowded together as if they’re more memorials for the dead than actual coffins. I wonder what I’m looking for—and then I see it.

Some of the graves have stone slabs atop them.

I suck in a breath. “They’re blocking them in?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

I chew on my lip, studying his face. “Can you…can you feel them?” I try not to think about it. I’m shuddering, my skin crawling at the thought of being trapped in a grave—and in my body—unable to go on to the afterlife. When he nods, my heart sinks. So much for my plan to leave at dawn. “We have to help them. You have to help them.”

“Do I?”

“Rhagos,” I say, a warning in my tone as I move back to his side. “You know how I feel about this. The right thing to do is to help those people.”

“I have always wanted to do the right thing,” he says, tone mocking. “Especially when it hurts you.”

I wave a hand in front of my face as if swatting aside his hesitation. “How it hurts me doesn’t matter. If it was me trapped in there, I’d want you to set me free. Rhagos, if you’re in the mortal realm for years, those people are going to be trapped in their graves—in their corpses—for so very long.” I shake my head. “Don’t do that to them.”

He sighs, as if my bleeding heart is getting in the way of everything. “Why should I?”

“I’m supposed to be your conscience, right? As your anchor, I’m your guide and the person that reminds you what it’s like to be mortal? Listen to me.” I point at the graves. “Help them. You knew I’d say this. You knew I’d ask you this when you paused here.” I furrow my brows together. “What’s your game?”

Rhagos arches a brow at me. “You’re not clever.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” I wave my fingers at him. “Spit it out. What are you thinking?”

He shrugs, then straightens his big shoulders, standing taller and prouder than any statue as he gazes down at me with those blazing green eyes. “What will you give me if I send them on to my kingdom?”

“Excuse me?”

“What price will you pay, knowing I don’t want to do it? Knowing that it hampers our journey because it takes a toll on you?” He gestures at the two of us. “What will you give me?”

“Um…gratitude?” I try not to frown too hard at him. “What do you want?”

“Not a kiss,” he says quietly. “Not freely given.”

I stare, shocked. Of all the things I expected Rhagos to ask for, something as simple as a kiss wasn’t on my radar. But…of course he wants a kiss. It’s in every smoldering look he casts in my direction. It’s in the hot, intense yearning I feel building between us. It’s every stroke of his fingers on my face, every touch to my waist that lingers a bit too long.

It’s Rhagos killing Sinfas because he didn’t like the dress he put me in.

“A kiss,” I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Not freely given,” he murmurs. The look on his face is an utter war of emotions, as if he wants to smirk at me…and drag me into his arms at the same time. “Will you?”

“Of course. Do you want it now?” I’m more than willing to fling my arms around his neck and smooch him in exchange for a few people’s release from endless torture.

He nods. “Right now. At the time of my choosing.”

Oh. Okay. I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s a promised kiss for later? If it was right now, I’d just kiss him, get it over with, and know I’ve done the right thing. He’s sneaky, though. He knows that it’s just a duty to me right now. He wants me to stew on it for a bit. He wants me to think about it.

And he wants it to be more than just a kiss of obligation.

My nipples prick and my body gets hot with response. I’m the worst person in the world for getting aroused at his request.

Even so, my answer doesn’t change. “I’ll do it. You tell me when and I’ll make it the best fucking kiss you’ve ever had.”

“Of that, I have doubt,” he murmurs. He steps forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to grab me and drag me into his arms, but he only gazes down at me, his expression thoughtful. “I like hurting you. I like that I can only use my powers through you.”

“And yet you still suggested it,” I point out. “You’re not above that just to get a kiss.”

“I pointed it out because I knew it would not bother you,” he states. “Now I am not simply receiving something as well.”

He has his fingers crossed—has through the whole conversation—but even so, it takes me a moment to digest what he’s saying. He’s using my sympathy to squeeze a kiss out of the deal. I should be surprised, but…I’m not. It’s both clever and underhanded and I smile at his sneakiness. “You’re a naughty, naughty boy, Rhagos.”

He chuckles and then holds his hand out to me. “When would you like for me to put the dead to rest?”

Putting my hand in his feels like another commitment all over again. As if I’m promising a bit more than I should…but I do it anyhow, and his eyes seem to be a little warmer when I do. Like we’re coming through our recent troubles. I’m still not okay with him lying to me. I’m still not okay with him killing Sinfas…but I’m starting to understand why he did it, and I’m not angry. If nothing else, we’re a team once more.

So I squeeze his fingers and let him know that for now, we’re okay.

“I like that this hurts you,” Rhagos murmurs.

“I don’t like that it hurts me, either,” I point out, my hand still in his. “But I also don’t like the thought of them suffering. If we have to stay here another day, then that’s what we do. We have some food and water. We can just hide out in the stables for another day. One more day won’t make a difference, but it’ll mean everything to these poor people.” I smile bravely at him even though I know I’m setting myself up for jaw-clenching, intense, horrible pain. “Do you remember the way back to the stable?” I ask him. “Will you be able to take us back there?”

“I won’t figure it out,” he murmurs. “Are you ready?”

I think for a moment, and then tear a strip from the cuff of one of my long sleeves. I tear a matching strip from the other, and then wad the fabric, stuffing it into each of my nostrils. Sure, I look ridiculous, but I also don’t want to leave a trail of gushing blood behind us. That’s sure to lead people back to our hiding spot. “Let’s do it,” I tell Rhagos, my voice nasal from the wads. “Get it over with.”

He takes my hand again in his, lacing our fingers. I’m surprised at that, but I don’t pull away. I watch his face as he closes his eyes and raises his other hand, facing the graveyard. He’s utterly still, concentration on his handsome face.

Then, I feel it. The hard, awful pinch in my mind that grows worse by the moment. I try to ignore it at first, because Rhagos is concentrating so hard that I can see his body trembling. He frowns, just a little, his eyes closed, and I hope everything is okay. I don’t interrupt, though. He needs to concentrate.

A lancing bolt of pain shoots behind my eyelids, and then I drop to my knees. Rhagos grunts, holding onto my hand, and his body is filled with tremors even as the pain in my head grows greater. This…hurts worse than before. It feels like he’s yanking my brain and severing it from my spinal cord, and my entire body curls hard in response. I’m like a bow-string pulled too tight, and when the pain courses through me, it just keeps pulling things tighter.

And tighter.

And tighter.

Colors swim behind my eyes and I flop to the ground.

“Max.” Big, gentle, pepperminty-cool hands cradle me. “I don’t have you,” he murmurs. “I don’t have you.”

I fight to open my eyes. I want to look at him and let him know everything’s going to be okay, but it’s surprisingly difficult. Blackness swims at the edges of my vision and I know I’m about to pass out all over again.

“Are you my lord Rhagos?” a woman’s voice asks, over-loud in the too-quiet graveyard.

I hear Rhagos growl, clutching me closer to his chest.

Fuck. Fuck, that can’t be good. I struggle to see who it is, to look at the woman who somehow knew who he was. I manage to open my blurry eyes…and gaze upon a woman in gray robes, her hair pulled into an intricate knot. She wears a symbol of a spider at her throat and touches it as she smiles down at Rhagos.

“The Spidae told me you would be here, my lord. I have been sent to help you. Come with me, and you will be safe.”

If it’s a lie, it sounds convincing. Not that I have a choice in the matter. I’m fading fast, and the effort of trying to open my eyes was too much. My brain throbs hard, reminding me that it’s wounded, and I collapse into the darkness it brings.

Then, there’s nothing.

39

I  wake up in a bed, not a stable. Soft, gray blankets are piled atop me, so warm that my brow is damp with sweat. There’s a fluffy pillow under my head, and I’m so comfortable that I don’t trust it in the slightest. Immediately, I sit upright, looking at my surroundings. I’m in a small room—more of a cell, really. The walls are plain stone, the ceiling high, the only window is a tiny round one far above eye level, and the actual room itself isn’t much bigger than a closet.

I’m the only one here.

Rhagos is nowhere to be seen.

I fling the covers off, panicked. Being alone in this world has only meant bad things. I touch my chest, where I felt that awful pulling in the past when I tried to leave his side. I feel okay, but that could change at any minute. Rhagos and I can’t be separated. I learned that the hard way, and if I’ve been carried off, I have to find him. I have to…

Distant, feminine giggles waft through my small room.

Frowning, I get to my feet and head to the door. It’s heavy and made of wood, but it’s not locked. I pull on the handle and poke my head out the door. My room is one of many, a long hall stretching before me with identical doors. Farther down the hall, there’s a beam of sunlight, and I hear the voices again. A woman giggles once more, and then there’s low, hushed talking.

Then I hear a much, much deeper voice that I’d know even in my sleep. That’s Rhagos.

I glance down at my clothing. I’m still dressed, my shoes and cloak gone, but everything else is in place, right down to my tight leather bodice…and the knife I have hidden along the seam below my armpit. I glance over at the bed and my glasses are there, next to my pillow, so I grab them and slip them on my face. I lift my arm and pull my knife free, then creep down the hall. I’m not entirely sure what to expect.

Enemies, of course.

Everyone’s our damn enemy.

I clutch my knife tighter. Rhagos can’t die, but he can be hurt. I remember all his terrible wounds from our shipwreck. I know he can take damage and live, and anyone else that finds that out will use it to their advantage. I need to get to him.

Another woman giggles and I scowl, stalking down the hall. I don’t know what’s so funny. I don’t know who’s got my Rhagos, but—

Wait. He’s not my Rhagos. He’s just a Rhagos. There were four of them. And this one isn’t mine.

He’s not.

Now I’m angry at myself for letting my thoughts go down that path. I charge down the hall and into the sunny room…and then pause.

It’s not a room. It’s a small, plant-filled courtyard open to the sky. Sunlight streams in, and row upon row of plants are in containers and rectangular gardens, all neatly labeled and organized. There’s a stone bench amidst the plants, clearly for relaxing, and Rhagos sits upon it. He’s cloaked elegantly in black, and his long tunic and leggings are pristinely clean, as are his boots.

Gathered all around him are women. They all wear gray robes and cloaks, and their hair is pulled into three long braids. Each wears a long pendant and a sash at the waist, and they remind me a bit of nuns. They range in age from young to old, and to a one, they’re giggling over Rhagos like he’s a damn rock star. Three of them sit at his feet, their eyes wide with fascinated adoration, and the others are pretending to tend plants, but it’s clear that Rhagos has every bit of their attention.

I lower my knife, feeling stupid. Rhagos isn’t in danger here. He’s in more danger of signing autographs than of being maimed.

As I stare at the bizarre scene, one of the seated women reaches up and touches his knee, then draws her hand back. “My lord Rhagos, is it true that this is not your first time to Balsingra? That you were here in the last Anticipation?”

Oh really. “Gosh, I’d love to know the answer to that myself.”

The women jump. One gives a girlish squeal, and then all eyes are on me. I stand there with knife in hand, my hair rumpled, my feet bare, and my glasses on my face. I probably look like a crazy woman, but I don’t care. I’m irritated all over again, and it has everything to do with these simpering, giggly women.

Rhagos just gives me a slow, toe-curling smile. “Max.” He gets to his feet. “I am not glad to see you awaken.”

Obviously, I want to spit out, but I stop myself. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just the god I’m currently chained to on this quest to get home. He means nothing to me. There’s no reason to be pissy because some cute little nun touched his knee.

But I’m pissy anyhow. “Where are we?” I gesture at the women with my knife, liking that their eyes widen with a bit of fear. “Who are these people?”

Rhagos moves to my side, looking every inch the dark god, and I can’t help but notice that the women watch him with fascination and a tinge of envy. “Come. We will not go to the library. It will not be explained.”

One of the nuns gets to her feet. “I will get food and drink for your esteemed anchor, my lord Rhagos!”

Another clasps her hands, looking at me. “Would you like fresh clothes or a bath, my lady?”

Some of my simmering irritation dies away. “I…yes? Eventually? I think I want to know what’s going on first.”

She gives me a shy look, bobbing in an almost curtsy. “I will prepare them for you so they are ready when you are.” Then, she scurries away, grabbing the arm of another nun.

Okay, now I feel like an asshole. I bite back a sigh and stick my small knife in my belt as Rhagos puts a hand on my shoulder. He touches my hair, brushing a lock of it out of my face, and I forget about the other women entirely. I get all flustered at that small touch, thinking about what happened just before I passed out.

He wants a kiss. In exchange for using his powers, he wants me to kiss him.

“How is your head?” Rhagos murmurs, studying me closely.

“It’s…okay.” It throbs a little, but I didn’t notice it because I’d been so focused on Rhagos and saving him…like an idiot. I’m the one that’s in danger, but I went charging in with a knife to rescue him. I’m such a dork. I touch my nose, but there’s no crusted blood or wads of fabric there any longer. Someone must have cleaned me up while I was unconscious. “Are we…is it safe here?”

“Not safe,” he murmurs, putting a hand on my shoulder and steering me down the hall. “Relax.”

“But the prophecy…your back…”

He shakes his head and crosses his fingers. “I said it wasn’t a lie I established to get rid of my other anchors. They know I wish to die.”

I squint, making sense of that. So he told them it was a rumor he started and we’re safe? “They believed it?”

“No.”

I let out a huge sigh. Safe. I know it’s all relative, and I’m sure we’ll be on the run again soon enough, but for now, I’m just relieved that I don’t have to be tense and on guard. “I’m sorry,” I offer as Rhagos turns me down another hall and leads me to a different part of the building. “I guess I shouldn’t have charged in with a knife.”

“I didn’t like it,” he says, and there’s an amused tone in his voice.

“I’m just saving my own hide,” I tell him defensively. “Looking out for myself.”

“Naturally.”

I can’t tell if that’s a lie or not. He’s smiling, though, and he looks relaxed, which feels so…overwhelming. I want to just collapse on the floor and sleep for days. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe for now, I remind myself, and touch the knife at my belt, just in case.

Rhagos leads me through the stone building. There’s lots of narrow halls, with more of the round windows that let light in, and we pass by a series of small altars, each one dedicated to one of the gods. I see one with a hammer, one with an eye, and one with a skull that has to be Rhagos’s. Most of the altars have one or two candles atop them, perhaps a flower. One altar with a pair of antlers for the symbol—Kassam of the Wild—is dusty with disuse, not a single candle lit for him. Rhagos’s altar has dozens and dozens of tiny candles piled atop it and a fresh vase full of bright, colorful flowers at the base.

Bunch of suck-ups.

He leads me to a large, domed library full of strange, artificial light. Hammered bowls filled with nothing but glowing rocks as bright as lightbulbs are on the corners of tall shelves, and books of every shape and kind crowd every surface. One wall is entirely for scrolls and maps, nothing but rolled up tubes neatly stacked in cubbies and labeled in a strange, scribbly language. There are multiple large tables spread out in the library, and a girl sits at one, dipping a quill and writing in a book as she works. She barely glances up at us, and when she does, her face flushes bright red and she hastily looks down again.

“Where are we?” I murmur.

“Not the oracle,” he replies, leaning in so only I can hear his response. His lips tickle against my ear, sending a skitter of emotions through me.

We sit down at one of the empty tables, and I look around the library. At the far end of the room, there’s a pair of shut double doors, covered with painted runes. I’m utterly curious as to what’s behind them. Magic books? Wizardly scrolls?

A nun approaches and sets down a tray in front of me. “I hope this will meet your needs,” she says in an excited voice. Her face is round and young, and she reminds me of an eager puppy. “I wasn’t sure what an anchor liked to eat so I got a little bit of everything. We don’t eat fancy things here, but I hope some of it will be to your liking.” She pushes the tray toward me and then lifts lid after lid. There’s a bowl full of nuts and dried fruit, another bowl with the best-smelling soup ever, fresh, crusty loaves of bread, a chunk of salted meat, and a few cookie-like sweets covered in jam. She sets down a pitcher of water and then beams, sitting across from us and putting her chin in her hands. “Can I ask what made you decide to be his anchor? What made you know he was the one you wanted to serve?”

Her expression is utterly dreamy.

Startled, I glance over at Rhagos, but he’s just watching me. “Oh. Um.” I take a sip of the hot soup and nearly swoon, it’s so good. I gulp it down, and when she continues to watch me with excitement, I offer, “I ran into a spinner in a village and she told me that she saw me serving Death.”

Instead of looking at me like I’m some sort of crazy person, the girl’s eyes go wide and she gives a squeal of excitement. Her hands clasp together and she leans in. “I’ve heard of spinners! Did she make you pull strings?”

I nod. “I pulled them and they were all black. And long.”

The nun makes another enthusiastic noise. “That means death all around you, but not yours.”

“How did you know?” I frown at her over my soup bowl. There’s no spoon, so I cup it in my hands as I drink, enjoying the warmth. It tastes a bit like chicken and rice, or this world’s equivalent of it. Whatever it is, it’s meaty and warm and so delicious I want three more bowls of it.

“We oracles have a fascination with spinners,” she tells me. “It’s so interesting to us how they’re able to predict the prophecies without a helper.”

“A helper?”

She flushes and jumps to her feet. “I’ve said too much already. I’ll get you some more soup. I’ve heard anchors can eat like soldiers.” And she beams at me and scuttles away, her head ducked.

I glance over at Rhagos. “Helper?”

He shrugs idly.

I take another sip. “Have they told you anything yet?”

“Enough.” Rhagos relaxes in the small chair, looking far too big and powerful for its spindly wooden legs. He relaxes his arm over the back of mine, and that gives me an odd, funny tingle in my stomach. It’s like I’m his possession…and I’m not sure if it’s just arrogant or kinda protective.

Or kinda hot.

No, I decide as I frown into my drink. Not hot. Not hot.

Definitely not.

My brain shoots me a memory. Of Rhagos touching my cheek. You’re terrible at that.

God, I wish my brain would shut up sometimes. I wish it would quit throwing memories at me, because now I’m all flustered and having a hard time concentrating on my soup. I force myself to take another sip.

40

T  he rune-covered double doors open, and a woman steps out. She dusts something that looks like cobwebs from her long gray skirts, smooths her braids, and approaches us. I suck down the last of my soup and start in on the bread as she approaches, noting that she’s older than most of the young nuns here. Her face is lined, and although she’s slim and her hair doesn’t show a bit of gray, she seems to have an air around her that speaks of experience.

Her smile is brisk as she approaches us, and I remember that expression. It’s the woman from last night, outside the graveyard. “I am glad to see you awake, revered anchor,” she says, sitting down across from us. “My lord Rhagos and I have spoken briefly, but he asked for me to wait for you to awaken before we talked in depth. My name is Sister Tilari, and I am the primary oracle for the Lords of Fate.” She touches the spider medallion that hangs from her neck. “It is on their behalf that I approached you and offered you sanctuary here, with us.”

I glance over at Rhagos. He says nothing, his face unreadable, so I decide to take the lead on questioning. “Is it bad that the fates are taking a personal interest?”

She chuckles. “I admit, it is unusual for the Spidae to assist the gods, but this is the Anticipation, after all. I suspect we should look forward to many more unusual requests until the gods are safely ensconced in their homes once more.” Her expression is kind. “You are welcome to rest and relax here for as long as you like, but I must warn you that the longer you remain in one place, the more likely it is that word will spread of your arrival. Our sisters are loyal and devoted, but they are only human after all. It does not matter how big the secret that the gods choose to share with us, it inevitably finds its way to the rest of the world.” She shrugs.

“We will stay long,” Rhagos says, glancing over at me.

I look over at the woman, not sure if I need to decipher Rhagos’s words for her. “What he said was—”

She raises a hand. “I know that he is Lies, do not worry. I have been aware of his presence for many weeks now, just as I am aware of the other remaining Aspect heading to Chandrilhar, at the edge of the Blood Glacier.”

I blink in surprise. “So you know…”

“That Apathy and Arrogance have already been disposed of? Yes.” She inclines her head slightly in our direction. “Both of their anchors have been destroyed. The Aspects left are Lies” — and she gestures at Rhagos— “And Hedonism.”

I turn to look at Rhagos, to see how he’s handling this bit of information, but he remains completely stone-faced.

“I knew they were dead, I just didn’t know which ones,” I confess.

Her smile is polite. “We receive prophecies. They do not always line up with what we know until later, but in general, we know how the Anticipation will play out this time. The Spidae have a plan.”

I frown. “You mean…the High Father, right? He’s the one that exiled everyone to teach them a lesson.”

“The High Father is the overseer, yes. The Fates are the ones ensuring that things go according to plan.”

Plan? This is all a plan of some kind? “Then what can you tell us?”

“I can tell you that if you keep encouraging Rhagos to use his powers, it will destroy your mind and leave you a babbling idiot,” Sister Tilari says crisply. “He is not supposed to access them for a reason.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“He is pulling on your life force when he utilizes his powers,” Tilari says. “Pulling on your life-thread, so to speak. If he pulls any harder, he runs the risk of destroying you himself. Gods have done so in the past. Even now, there are other gods who continue to drain anchor after anchor in an attempt to stay in the mortal realm.” She shakes her head. “Each time Lord Rhagos pulls on his power as the Lord of Death, he is channeling it through you. Each time, he weakens your connection to the mortal plane. Surely he has noticed that each time he uses his powers, it becomes more and more of a struggle?”

I look over at Rhagos, shocked. His eyes are glittering, his body no longer casual. He’s tense with anger. “It was my intent to endanger Max’s life,” he snarls.

“I know. Which is why I am warning you now, before it is too late.” Her smile is brisk. “You do not want to destroy her before she can accomplish her quest.”

That gets my attention. “Did you just say quest?”

Sister Tilari turns that calm gaze on me. “You have said yourself that you are questing. Isn’t that what you wanted? A quest?”

“Well, I…yes, but…”

Her smile broadens and she touches the amulet at her neck. “The Spidae have reached out to me and provided an answer to what you seek.”

“Have they, now,” Rhagos says flatly. He doesn’t sound thrilled. In fact, he sounds irritated, which makes no sense to me. Didn’t we come here for guidance all along?

“Indeed,” Sister Tilari says, her hand stroking the silvery spider at her throat. “You see, there are many sisters who dedicate their lives to the gods, but only twelve oracles—one for each of the gods. I am the oracle for the Spidae. Sister Lahar—that is the oracle of Death—spoke to me about strange ripples in what she was seeing from Lord Rhagos prior to the Anticipation. We did not know what to make of it until the Anticipation happened, and then all became clear.” She smiles at Rhagos. “The Spidae say they are delivering upon the favor they owe you.”

Rhagos growls low in his throat.

“Wait. Fate owes you a favor?”

“Yes,” Rhagos snaps, and then hesitates. “No. It…is not complicated.”

I am now thoroughly confused by his answer. “Do you remember what it was?”

“I do,” he says. “It was not wiped from my mind when I assumed mortal form. I like to be reminded of it.” He gets to his feet, glaring at Sister Tilari.

I’m a little surprised at his angry reaction. He’s been so smug this afternoon, accepting the adulation of the other nuns as if it’s his due, but he’s confrontational with this sister? I frown and look over at her.

She makes a small gesture with her hand and mouths the word “Lies.”

Oh. Is this Rhagos fighting to tell me the truth? Or fighting to keep something else a secret? I look over at him, wondering.

He paces the floor, all pent-up energy and just a hint of anger. He clasps his hands behind his back as he strides back and forth, and Sister Tilari simply waits, serene.

“What of my brother?” he snaps after a moment. “What do the Fates say of him?”

“Plenty, but it is not information for you to have.”

Rhagos’s jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“As an oracle, I am permitted only to give you the information that will help you. Nothing that will give you an upper hand against other gods.” She shrugs lightly, raising a hand. “I can assist, but it must be balanced.”

“Wait,” I say, breaking in. Rhagos looks incredibly unhappy to have information about his brother withheld. “He’s just asking about family. You can’t help him with that?”

“Esteemed anchor,” Sister Tilari says. “With the Dark Brothers, it is never just about family. I am sorry, but I can only tell him what is permitted.”

I glance over at Rhagos. He shakes his head, clearly disgusted, and returns to his pacing. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lord Vor told us that you gave him all kinds of information about where the other Aspects were. He had it all on a map.”

Her face grows tight and two bright spots of red appear on her cheeks. “Did Lord Vor tell you how he acquired such information?”

“He said he had an informant on the inside.” I lift my chin. “So if they’re getting information, Rhagos wants this information, too.”

“Lord Vor,” she bites out, her back so stiff she looks as if she’s got a pole shoved up her butt, “kidnapped an acolyte and tortured the information out of her for three days before he slit her throat. Is Lord Rhagos going to do the same to me? Shall I say my final prayers to the gods?” She fingers her spider medallion, casting a scathing look in my direction.

My jaw drops. “I…I didn’t know.” I’m utterly horrified. When Rhagos had said that Vor was a bad man and unpredictable, I thought he was, like, Rhagos bad. As in, a bit petulant, but generally does the right thing when prompted. Vor’s version of bad is on another level entirely.

And to think I was upset that he was murdered. Jesus.

“We’re not torturing anyone,” I say firmly.

Sister Tilari looks over at Rhagos.

He shrugs, as if to say he doesn’t care, but that I’m in charge.

“This is why the gods are given anchors,” Tilari murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “We are not people in their eyes, only playthings. You must teach him humanity again.” She fingers her necklace once more, some of the tension easing. “I know you are not from this world, Max.” Her voice is louder, the change of subject obvious.

I must be a sucker, because she pulls me in. I feel eager to talk to her about my world. It’s like I’m being truly seen for the first time in a long time, and it fills me with hope. “That’s right. How did you know? Or…is it obvious?” I gesture at my glasses. “Never mind. I guess it is obvious.”

“I know it because I have read it in the Spidae’s prophecies. You are not the only one brought from another world into the weave of this one.” She blinks her too-calm eyes at me. “Through the mists of time, the Spidae have brought many heroes into this land from other lands. Even now, you are not the only anchor to serve. One of Lord Aron’s Aspects has a most unusual anchor. I believe her name is…Faithful? Do you know of her?”

I gasp, practically jumping out of my chair. “I know a Faith! She’s from my world and went missing. She’s my neighbor! Are you helping her get home?”

“She is being helped toward her destiny in Adassia.” And she shoots a look over at Rhagos.

The god of death scowls, pausing in his pacing. “Tell me more of Aron. I care greatly.”

“I have said all I can of Aron,” Sister Tilari replies. “And his anchor.”

“But she’s okay? She’s alive? Trying to get home?” Why am I so shocked that Faith is here? Of course she is. It makes a weird sort of sense. “Do you know how we were both pulled into this world? Is there a portal of some kind in our building? A magic word?”

“You are here because the Spidae brought you into this weave,” Sister Tilari begins.

Rhagos storms over to our table and places his big hands on the surface, looming over Tilari. “Are you helping us or gossiping?”

His sudden impatience is a little shocking to see. If Tilari is bothered by his shortness, though, she doesn’t show it. She merely smiles, catlike, and I wonder if this was all another diversion. Is she giving me tidbits of information in the hopes that I’ll chase after them? That I’ll abandon Rhagos to go after my friend Faith? Or is she giving me this information in the hopes that I’ll see her as a more credible source of information than Rhagos? Is she trying to drive a wedge between us?

41

I ’m suddenly wary, especially when Rhagos comes to stand next to my chair and puts his hand protectively on my shoulder.

Like it or not, he’s always had my back. And he was right about Vor this entire time, more than I ever realized. Sister Tilari is giving me a pitying look, but I ignore it. Rhagos deserves my trust. I lift my hand and brush his fingers with mine. “Rhagos is right,” I say supportively. “We came here to learn how to get me home. You said you had information that would help us. Either share it, or leave us alone. We don’t have time for games.”

“Games,” she says slowly. “No. We mustn’t have time for games.” She strokes her necklace thoughtfully again. As for your personal journey, I have already said plenty.”

Rhagos’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “You said the Aspect of Hedonism had not arrived Chandrilhar.”

“No. I said he was on his way to Chandrilhar.” She tilts her head, her long braids moving against her shoulders. “Chandrilhar is far to the east, at the edge of the Godspine Mountains. It sits at the foot of the Blood Glacier. And do you know why he heads there? What it is that he seeks?”

Rhagos is silent.

I can’t stand the suspense. “What is it? What’s he looking for?”

She pauses for dramatic effect.

Then…

“A dragon hoard,” Sister Tilari whispers, reverent.

I wrinkle my nose. “Seriously?”

She looks surprised at my reaction. “You are not afraid of dragons?”

“Er, no? I mean, they’re not real? At least not where I come from.”

The look she gives me is dismissive and downright pitying. “Perhaps in your world. Here, they once roamed the land. They fought wars and sought out glittering treasure, and each one took it deep into the belly of his mountain and protected it. A dragon’s power in magic increased with the amount of riches he stole, and legend has it that a dragon called Kuuvahl the Soul-Eater was the mightiest of all. He ruled the part of the world now called the Forgotten Lands, to the east of the great glacier. It is a place that mankind avoids. And it is there you will find his hoard.”

I hesitate. It sounds like a long way to go and for…money? “I’m not sure. Don’t get me wrong, money is great and all, but I don’t think it will help our particular situation.”

“Kuuvahl the Soul-Eater acquired many strange objects in his lifetime, and kept them in his hoard, deep in the belly of the Frozen Star Mountain. Greatest of all was a treasure he stole from the Spidae themselves, the Shears of Fate. With those shears, a thread of life can be moved, cut short…” Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “Or sever the connection to an Aspect.”

I gasp.

That’s it. That’s our quest.

Ever since I got here, I’ve been looking for a quest to get home. Now, fate is providing it. If I get those shears, I can cut my bond to Rhagos without hurting either one of us. He can get an anchor that’s actually going to be useful to him.

And I can go home.

Rhagos is silent, but I suspect he’s not happy. This is what I’ve wanted, but I’m not sure it’s what he wants. If I get these magic shears, it leaves him without an anchor until we find a replacement. I don’t want to leave him high and dry, but I need those shears to get home. Nothing says I have to use them right away, though.

I can wait until the time is right. Until we find the perfect new anchor for Rhagos.

Then we both get everything we want.

I squeeze Rhagos’s hand, letting him know I’ve got his back. “Why is the other Rhagos going after them?”

She shrugs. “For the same reason you are? Or perhaps lured by the thought of so much wealth. I do not know. I can only tell you that is where he is heading, and even now, he is far, far ahead of you.”

“Well,” I say brightly. “Rhagos and I will talk about it. Thanks for the heads up.”

Sister Tilari looks confused at my response. “Is a quest not what you wanted?” She glances over at Rhagos.

“Oh, it is, but we’re a team. We have to talk this stuff through. I’ll let you know if we need more information.” I smile politely at her and get to my feet, grabbing the rest of the loaf of bread as I do. I turn and offer my free hand to Rhagos.

He’s just staring at me, a stunned expression on his face.

I move closer to him, a hint of a frown on my face. “Don’t look so surprised?” I take a large, defiant bite out of the bread. Does everyone think I’m some kind of asshole? Damn.

Rhagos takes my hand after a moment, and then pulls me in close. “Forgive me if I don’t understand. What is there to talk about?”

I shrug, then swallow the mouthful of food. “We’re a team. I’m not going to demand to get something for myself if it’s going to screw you over. This has to be good for both of us. That’s why we talk it over. That’s what partners do.” I nudge him. “If I leapt at the opportunity to get home and ruined your chances for the same, what kind of person would I be?”

“You would not be like everyone else,” he murmurs, words slow and thoughtful. I can feel his fingers twitch in my hand, as if he wants to cross them, but I know what he’s saying isn’t the truth. I’m getting better at following along with his backwards thoughts.

And screwing him over would make me like everyone else? That’s sad. I don’t know if he has a low opinion of mortals, or if he’s just come to expect the worst after thousands of years, but I’m not going to be like that. Rhagos may be a god to these people, but to me, he’s just Rhagos. Kind of a pain in the ass, kind of broody and troubled, but just as trapped here as I am.

I do want those shears, though. Shears of Fate? I mean, that sounds legit. These people are into string concepts when it comes to fate and destiny, so it makes sense that a magic set of shears would be the way to get me home. With them, I can cut whatever strings bind me here, and return to my world and Chicago.

Return to my humdrum, unimportant desk job.

But that world is safe. No one’s trying to kill me there. I’m not in constant danger there. I’m not a big screaming target for a god with a death wish. This is the first clear-cut way for me to get home that we’ve heard of, and I want to pursue it.

I try not to let that show in my face, though. For some reason, it’s important to me that Rhagos and I make decisions as a team. He’s always asked my thoughts and valued my opinion. Here I’d thought it was because he was Apathy and didn’t care—but he’s been something else all along, and that means he’s…thoughtful. Nice.

You wouldn’t think the god of death would be nice, but Rhagos is. And so he deserves to have a say.

He gazes down at me with those brilliantly green eyes, for so long and so hard that my skin prickles in awareness. I’m acutely aware of my hand in his, of our nearness. And I can’t help but think of the last time he stared at me with such blatant hunger…when I was dressing at the whorehouse.

My nipples prick in reminder, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to pull me close and kiss me. If he’s going to just sweep me into his arms and claim my mouth, right in front of Sister Tilari.

“I would not like to help you get home,” he says softly.

Oh.

I should be excited about his response. Instead, I’m vaguely disappointed that he didn’t grab me and kiss the hell out of me. Not that I should want that, anyhow. Being romantic with Rhagos is just going to complicate things.

He’s a god.

I’m a mortal not even from this realm. I’m a dorky gamer girl with an unimportant job. We’re not equals. We’re not even on the same page of equals. Kisses are not a factor…even if I owe him one that he hasn’t claimed.

Maybe he’ll never claim it. Maybe that’s part of the plan—to make me think about it and want it and then he’ll never follow up on it, a mind-fuck of revenge for when I bit his dick.

But I smile, because I’m going to go home. We’re going to get these Shears of Fate, kick some ass, and I’ll be back at my coffee-toting, spreadsheet-loving job in the blink of an eye. “Thank you, Rhagos.”

And I move forward, hugging him. Well, it’s kind of a hug. I’ve still got most of a loaf of bread in one hand, and my other hand is tangled with his, so it’s mostly me pressing my cheek and body against his chest. His arm slowly goes around me, and then he hugs me back, almost as if he’s surprised at the affection.

“We’ll talk about this more in private,” I tell him as I pull out of the hug. We need to think everything through and while Sister Tilari has been helpful, I also don’t entirely trust her or any of the nuns. Not after everything we’ve been through.

I turn to thank Sister Tilari, but she’s already left us, heading back toward the double doors at the far end of the library. She opens them and slips inside, and as she does, I catch the barest glimpse of what look like…cobwebs? And one long, enormous pale spider leg that twitches as she arrives.

No way.

“Do they have a giant albino spider here?” I ask Rhagos.

He shrugs. “Does it matter how they receive their prophecies?”

I guess that answers that. A giant, albino, prophecy spider. Okay then.

42

We head toward my room, holding hands once more. I’m acutely aware of our skin touching, and the fact that my palm is sweating with nervousness. This feels incredibly intimate, even though it’s just hand-holding. Nothing more. As we head down the hall, though, one of the nuns comes out of my room with a bundle of laundry.

“Oh, there you are.” She blushes, her face bright red as she ducks her chin. “We’re cleaning your quarters for you and getting you the finest blankets. Sister Issil said that the anchor of the gods should have the finest of bedding, and I agree. We’ve pulled out the aemri-weave blankets, but they’re all dusty. It’ll just be a little while.”

Another pair of nuns scuttles out of my room, giggling.

“The acolytes are going to clean your clothes, as well,” the sister explains. “I do hope that is all right. Anything you need, we wish to be of service.” Her shy gaze goes up to Rhagos, and she touches the medallion at her neck—an eye. I don’t remember who that is. “What do you both require?” she asks, her expression turning eager. “More food? More drink? A spot in the sun to while away the afternoon? Perhaps a book?” Her eagerness goes to the next level and she gasps. “Sister Mauna can provide music. She plays a most wonderful flute.”

The nun looks at me expectantly, and I can see another peeking out from another doorway, the same eager-to-please, expectant look in her eyes.

It’s clear we’re not going to have a moment to talk in private this afternoon. Not with my room being raided by well-meaning cleaners and being surrounded by nuns who want to play flutes and just watch us sit in the sun.

I notice that even though the sister is addressing me, her gaze continually strays to Rhagos. Ah. It’s not me they want to be around. It’s him. I fight the spark of jealousy that threatens to rise in my chest. It’s because he’s a god. They serve the gods. He’s a rock star to them.

“I guess we could sit in the sun for a while and eat?” I shrug, looking over at Rhagos. “That okay with you?”

He shrugs, too, and when the sister gives a giddy little squeal and leads us down the hall, back to the atrium, I fight to contain my laughter. Sister Tilari might be kind of unlikeable, but the others are charming in their eagerness to please.

By the time we get to the atrium, we’re surrounded by a half-dozen of the sisters, all chattering excitedly about nothing in particular. Something about the best spots to sit in, which herbs smell the nicest in the afternoon, and which scented soaps to use on our linens. We’re ushered to the stone bench—or at least I am—and then I watch, a little perplexed, as two more nuns bring out a finely carved wooden chair with elegant, tasseled pillows. They set it in the nicest spot in the garden and then gesture that Rhagos should sit there. It looks like a throne, and when he sits, a few of the sisters drop to the ground, curling up to sit at his feet like adoring puppies.

I hide my frown.

“My lord Rhagos,” one says, breathless. “Will you tell us of your adventures?”

He glances over at me, his expression solemn, but I get the vague impression that he’s amused by them. “What do you wish to hear?”

Someone brings a tray out to my side, and then there’s fresh food for me, more nuts and cheeses, and another bowl of the hot soup. A glass of wine is poured, and then the sister sits next to me on the bench, her gaze rapt as she gazes at Rhagos.

I bite back a giggle of amusement and take a hearty bite of food instead.

“Tell us of the last Anticipation,” one says.

“No—the first one!”

“Tell us what it is like to be a god.”

“Tell us of your brother, Lord Kalos.”

“Tell us how you met Lady Max,” one chirps.

That gets his attention. He turns toward the nun, and then inclines his head. “I shall not tell you of this Anticipation, then.”

I eat, stuffing my face full of good food and gulping down goblet of wine after goblet of wine as Rhagos tells his weird story. It’s odd to hear him tell everything in lies, about how he “didn’t” arrive, or the gods “didn’t” misbehave and the wrath of the High Father was “not” terrifying to see. His deep voice is rich and smooth, and for all that the story is strange, it’s easy to follow.

I spend more time watching the nuns, though. One in particular, a small blonde, nearly breaks into tears every time he speaks, and her face is utterly rapturous as he tells the story of waking up on a throne in front of the people at Port Tidewater. She touches her necklace, and I notice that it has a skull on it.

Ah. She’s his oracle, then. I catch myself frowning, and take another bite of food. I don’t know why that bothers me. They all give him worshiping looks.

I bet that girl wouldn’t have bit his dick, though.

The bread sticks to the roof of my mouth and I have to take a big gulp of wine to wash it down. I should be glad that Rhagos is clearly adored here. Maybe after we get the shears, we can come back to Balsingra, and he can take one of the nuns for his anchor.

She’d probably serve him in all ways.

I grab a handful of nuts and chew them angrily, my mind racing as I picture him asking the sweet-faced little blonde for a kiss. Of how she’d probably give him a rapturous look and fall to her knees and thank him for the privilege of sucking his godlike dick. Of him sleeping next to her, his hand on her waist and holding her close.

I’m scowling as I tear through a mouthful of dried fruit, my cheeks full as I stuff my face.

“And that is not when a young woman approached me, unafraid.” Rhagos’s voice sweeps over the group. “She did not hold her cloak out to me and tell me that she was there to be my friend. And when I looked up and saw her face, I did not know that I needed her.”

The nuns sigh dreamily.

“What all does an anchor do?” one interrupts. “How does she serve you?”

I cough, half-chewed nuts and fruit stuck in the back of my throat. Anchors serve their Aspects in all ways.

But Rhagos is silent. He watches me gulp wine, an odd expression on his face as one of the nuns reaches over and gives my shoulder blades a hearty thwack. “That is not enough stories for now. My anchor is not tired. Is her room ready?”

The nuns scurry to their feet, and suddenly the room is full of rushing people. Someone makes excuses, declaring that the room would indeed be ready within a matter of moments.

It’s the worshipful little blonde that speaks next. She gazes up at Rhagos. “Would you and your anchor like to be bathed, my lord?”

“I can bathe myself,” I cough out. “Rhagos can, too.”

Her pale brows furrow as she looks over at me, and then she turns to him, as if waiting for his answer instead of mine. Grr.

Rhagos simply nods his head. “Prepare two baths for us. We will not bathe ourselves.”

Disappointed, the blonde nun nods and hurries past, and then I’m alone with Rhagos once more. I finish the wine and get to my feet, dusting crumbs off my lap as he comes to stand beside me.

“I do know how to bathe myself,” he confesses.

“Figure it out,” I snap back. “Unless you want that cute little nun to help you.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Is she cute, then?”

Oh, this man is making me crazy. I glare at him. I’m not jealous. I’m not. “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you later, after I wash up. We can talk plans then.”

“Not our room,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“It is not our room,” he repeats, watching me. “I have a chamber of my own. We are not sharing.”

Oh. Oh boy. It’s because he doesn’t sleep, my logical brain reminds me. Safest if you’re together. But I can feel heat crawl up my neck and know that my face is turning red. Of course we’re rooming together. Haven’t we slept next to each other (so to speak) for many, many days now?

But that was before he asked me for a kiss.

I manage to nod, and then retreat back to my tiny room, which is a flurry of activity. The nuns make the bed, throwing all kinds of colorful pillows on it and this time the blanket is a bright, vivid blue instead of gray. A small, copper tub is being filled in the corner of the room, girls entering with heated pitchers of water. Another enters with a bowl full of soaps and fresh towels, and then a basket of the bright, glowing stones is set atop the tiny table at the foot of the bed to provide light as the sun goes down. Yet another girl comes in with more food and drink, setting up a tray of refreshments for me. Once they’re satisfied I’ve got everything I need, they all rush out with giggles and knowing looks, and I wonder what it is they think I’m going to be doing with Rhagos tonight.

Then I’m blushing, too.

I look around the tiny room, and it’s crowded with all the things that have been piled in. There’s a hook on the wall and a set of gray robes hangs from it so I can have clean clothes to wear. Between the bed, the food, the tub, and everything else, the small chamber is utterly crammed full. It feels claustrophobic, and for a moment, I feel trapped by all the well-meaning nuns. They know what they’re doing, though. One of them—any of them—would probably be a better anchor for Rhagos than I am. I know nothing about this world, I have no magic or skills with weapons, I can’t read the language, I’m a virgin, and I wear glasses. I’m not even particularly athletic.

In short, I suck. I’m a level one scrub. If this was a video game, no one would want me in their party because I’d drag the entire group down.

What could Rhagos be accomplishing if he had someone useful at his side?

I think about that for a moment…and then realize he’d probably already be dead. The tattoo on his back broadcasts to the world that he’s got a death wish, but somehow he keeps on saving me and helping me.

Maybe the tattoo on his back is just another lie. Maybe I’m saving him as much as he’s saving me.

That thought makes me feel a little better about the situation. I strip my clothes off and sink into the small, copper tub. It’s barely big enough for me to sit in with my legs tightly folded to my chest, but the water is hot and scented with herbs, and it feels amazing. I soak in it for as long as I dare, and then wash my body and my tangled, filthy hair with the soaps and cloths left by the nuns. It’s not quite the same as the shampoo in my world, and by the time I’m done, my hair feels squeaky clean but is nothing but a tangled, thick mass of knots. That’s not going to be fun to pick through. I get out of the tub, dry off, and put on the soft, gray robes before opening my door and peering down the hall.

I expect to see one of the sisters hovering nearby, waiting to take my bathwater. Instead, I see Rhagos, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing a nondescript gray tunic that’s probably extremely large for most people, but it fits his huge body so poorly that he looks as if his shoulders are about to burst through the seams. His dark hair is wet and combed back from his face in drying waves, and his feet are bare.

“Better?” he asks. “You don’t look relaxed.”

“I feel better,” I admit, and gesture at the room. “Want to come in?”

43

He doesn’t answer, just steps forward and brushes past me, going into our room. He sits on the edge of the bed—the only place to sit—and watches me as I shut the door behind us.

I hesitate. With Rhagos in the room, it feels like any remaining space has just been swallowed up into his orbit. He dominates the small chamber, and no matter where I step, I feel like I’m about to get in his face. “Did you bathe yourself?”

“No.”

I make a sigh of relief. “Good. No one should see your back, just in case it reminds them that they’re supposed to be offing you. That little blonde might be all too happy to help you along. I don’t want to wake up to find her stabbing me in my sleep.”

His mouth quirks in amusement. “Little blonde?”

“Yeah, your oracle. You know the one.” I bat my lashes and fake an adoring look.

“I do?” He shrugs. “They are all not faceless to me.”

That makes me feel a little better. I climb into my bed, sitting across from him, my legs tucked under me. I’m acutely aware that I’m not wearing a bra or underwear, and that he’s probably not, either. It’s not like I haven’t seen him naked a jillion times before…yet everything today feels curiously intimate.

We gaze at each other in silence for a long moment, and then I gesture at the table, where my comb has been thoughtfully left out for me. “Can you hand me that?”

He does, and our fingertips brush.

My face goes red again, and I start to drag the comb through my hair, wincing as it gets constantly snarled. “So tell me about these shears. Have you heard of them before?”

He shrugs, and then holds his hand out. “Can I comb your hair?”

I blink in surprise. “Why?”

“Because it looks like it does not hurt when you do that. I will not be gentle.”

At his words, my belly clenches, hot and low. We’re just talking about grooming, I remind my hormones. Nothing else. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I can do it. And you don’t even know how to bathe yourself.”

“I did not figure it out. I will not figure this out.” He takes the comb from my hands and arches an eyebrow. “I cannot be any worse than you, can I?”

He has a point. I shrug and turn around on the bed, presenting him with my back and the tangle of my wet hair. I tense my body, waiting for the first snag of the comb, but he starts near the bottom of my hair and begins to slowly and carefully detangle it, and he never pulls.

“You’re pretty good at that,” I point out after a few moments.

“It requires no patience,” he murmurs, carefully moving the comb through a section of my hair. “Something you have a lot of.”

I chuckle at that. “I’ve never been the most patient of people, no. My strength is in jumping into things with a hundred and fifty percent enthusiasm, and thinking about the consequences later.”

“Mmm.”

“So you’re a patient type, then?” I ask him. I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

“I can be, if it is not worth waiting for.” He picks up a section of my hair, his fingers brushing against my neck. “If it is something I want, I will not wait forever. I will not bide my time.”

It’s probably a good personality trait to have in the god of death. I can’t imagine if he was super impulsive that it would go well for the mortals of this world. “Then we’re lucky to balance each other out.”

“We aren’t,” he agrees.

I cross my legs and relax, closing my eyes. He’s working through larger sections of my hair faster than I thought, and with only gentle tugs that feel more pleasant than not. “So,” I murmur. “The shears?”

“I doubt that they exist,” he replies. “I have seen them, but I doubt them.”

I mull through that. “And the dragon? The Soul-Eater?”

“Alive,” Rhagos says. “This I know for a lie.”

“So he’s dead? Who’s guarding his treasure?”

“Who says it needs to be guarded? Do you know anything about the wildlands past the glacier?”

“Nope.”

“They are inhabited,” he says. “The Blood Glacier is not cursed. All lands behind it are not empty of people. Only monsters do not dwell there.”

I shiver. “So what if a monster has decided he’s keeping the dragon hoard for himself?”

“Then we do not kill him and take it.” Rhagos chuckles. “Are you scared?”

“My world doesn’t have monsters. I mean, not like yours. I assume when you say monsters, we’re not talking about pedophiles or people that talk on speakerphone in a public restroom. We’re talking genuine monsters? With fangs and claws and tails?”

“No.”

Eeep. “So we’re going to monster land and a cursed glacier to get some gigantic scissors that will send me home? Do you know how they do that?”

“Yes,” he admits. “The Spidae will not know.”

Ah. “So we get the scissors and then go find the Spidae’s Aspects?”

Rhagos pauses for a moment, then slides the comb through my hair. The tug of it feels incredible. I’ve never understood why some women love their hair being brushed, but I get it now. It’s the authority with which he does it, and the focus, as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters right now. Combine that with how good it feels to relax and be clean? It’s like every gentle rake of the comb against my scalp makes my body respond. I’m going to be wet as hell by the time he’s got me completely detangled.

I wonder if I can get him to leave the room for a while. Just long enough for me to touch myself and get off, and ease the ache deep between my thighs. Then I blush for even considering such a thing. Now is not the time to be thinking about masturbating.

“We will not bring the shears back here,” Rhagos murmurs, voice low and sensual. “Sister Tilari does not have a direct connection to the Spidae. She will not be able to contact them on our behalf.”

“Good idea.” I sigh with pleasure as the comb glides through my hair, completely detangled. I wait for him to stop, but he keeps combing, just running the wooden teeth through my partially dry hair as if it’s as much a pleasure for him as it is for me. I force myself to focus on the shears, and on returning to Balsingra. “It makes sense,” I admit. “These shears are the perfect answer for both of us.”

He pauses, then goes back to combing. “How so?”

“Once we get the shears, we come back here, right? Then you can pick a new girl to be your anchor until you get home. We sever the tether between us, and you pick a girl here. Like your oracle. I bet she’d be totally loyal and more than happy to serve.”

Rhagos says nothing.

I get the vague impression that I’ve insulted him somehow, and I keep talking as if that will somehow make things better. “You need someone that can help you more than I can,” I say desperately. “These girls know this world. They can read maps and the language, and I bet if we tell them that you’re going to come back and choose someone, they’ll start training with weapons so you can have a really well-rounded anchor. That’s ideal, isn’t it?”

“I only do this because you do not wish it, Max. I have need for a new anchor. I don’t like you.”

My heart squeezes. “I like you too, Rhagos. You’re a good guy. I won’t leave you high and dry. I promise. We’ll get you squared away before I go home.” I pause, thinking. “Maybe after we get the shears we should stop by Adassia and pick up my friend Faith. She’ll want to come home, too.”

“Mmm.”

He still doesn’t sound thrilled. I feel a little weird, like I’m betraying him. I mean, it’s not like home is amazing. Going back to my dead-end job where I’ll never be promoted because I don’t have a penis? Doesn’t sound great. Plus, I’ve been away for weeks and weeks now—my bills will be overdue, I’ve probably been fired, and I’m probably on a missing persons register somewhere. The thought of going back home is a relief, but it’s no longer thrilling like I thought it would be, and I’m puzzled as to why.

44

I t’s only when Rhagos gently tugs the comb through my hair again that I realize what it is that’s bothering me.

I’m going to leave Rhagos behind. I’m going to abandon him to figure shit out on his own. I shouldn’t care—he’s a god. He’s thousands of years older than me and has all kinds of amazing powers. We get along like oil and vinegar. And yet…I feel strangely protective of him. He needs friends. He needs people to call him on his shit, and to point out when he’s being selfish. If I leave him behind, who does he have?

He has people like the worshipful little oracle of death. She won’t tell him when he’s being crappy. She’ll just smile and think it’s perfectly okay for him to slaughter people just because he needs an army. Or if he doesn’t let the dead go to their final rest, that’s fine, too, because it’s about what he wants, not what’s best for the people he’s supposed to be ruling.

That concerns me. I know it’s not my world, but I want Rhagos to be the best at his job he can be, so this doesn’t happen to him again.

I want him to do well.

And weirdly enough, I want him to be able to count on someone other than himself. I know how utterly isolating it can be to deal with this. I know I can’t trust anyone to have my back…except him. He can’t trust anyone to have his back, either. Everyone wants something from him. He’s surrounded by Vor types, or Sister Tilari, who pretends to be helpful but I suspect really isn’t. Perhaps his brother Kalos would have his back, but I can’t help but think that Kalos is not a good guy.

Rhagos hasn’t been a good guy in the past. Without someone to point out how awful some of his decisions are, what’s to stop him from turning into Vor?

I shudder at the thought.

The comb pauses in my hair. “Too hard?”

“No, you’re doing great,” I admit, rubbing my arms. “I just…I’m worried.”

His hand brushes over my arm, as if to comfort me, but it only sends more goosebumps up my spine. “Worried? Why?”

That I’m being selfish in wanting to go home. That I’m abandoning you. But I can’t say that to him. I’m just an irritating mortal anchor he has a bit of a sexual fascination with, nothing more. To him, I’m a temporary problem.

It doesn’t sit on me quite right. Does he just view me as a distraction? Or are we something more?

I turn to look at him, over my shoulder. “Rhagos…are we friends?”

His expression shutters, his mouth thinning. “I want to be your friend.”

I flinch and turn away. Ouch. “Forget I asked.”

He tosses the comb down on the blankets, and in the next moment, he grabs me by the arms and hauls me around, turning my body so I’m facing him on the bed. I flail, and then adjust, glaring at him. “If you wanted me to look directly at you, all you had to do was say so, jeez.”

“You owe me something, do you not?” That green gaze holds mine.

A swift kick in the ass, perhaps. I glare at him. “Like what?”

“Not a kiss.”

I suck in a breath. I was too irked by him to remember our bargain. He wants to claim it now? Now, when I’m a mess of conflicting emotions about him? Now, when I’m sitting here on the bed in nothing but a borrowed gray shift?

“You want to kiss me?” I ask, not quite certain I’m hearing him correctly. “You just said you didn’t want to be my friend.”

“It is friendship I want from you, Max. It has always been friendship.” His tone is sultry, his eyes hooded. He says the words in a low voice and then tugs the glasses off my face.

A wave of heat rushes through my body. I stare at his mouth, so full and soft-looking for a death god. I remember that mouth on mine in that oh-so-brief moment in time. I remember how good he felt, how much he’d made me ache with wanting.

I also remember fleeing from his apartments, because I hadn’t understood that he was Lies. If I hadn’t heard his words—you’re terrible at that—where would we be today?

I’d be in his bed. I know that for a fact. The realization makes my core pulse, and my nipples tighten.

Rhagos puts a hand on my waist, dragging me closer to him on the bed. My breath catches in my throat and I put my hands on his arms—big arms, strong arms, arms that make me feel safe despite the fact that I’m touching a death god. His touch has that edge of coolness to it, that slight peppermint bite, and it just adds to the heat flooding my system.

“I don’t understand you,” I confess softly as he tugs me into his arms.

“What is there to understand?” His hand skims lower, clenching tight around my butt as he drags me into his lap. A moment later, I’m straddling him on the bed, the gown rucked up around my thighs, and he’s so close that our noses brush. I’m panting with excitement, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against the apex of my thighs. “Does this tell you everything you need to know?”

“I…I…” I can’t think of what to say. I can crawl off his lap and tell him to leave me alone. I can tell him that we just need to be friends. That getting involved is bad news and will complicate things.

I just don’t want to.

I like being in his arms. I like the feel of his big hand sweeping up my back even as he leans close, so close that his breath is hot on my cheek. I can scarcely breathe myself, my senses flooding with hunger at his nearness and excitement at his touch.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, and our eyes meet. His are hooded with arousal, the green a deep jade that sears me to my soul. His lashes are long and his lips are slightly parted and he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Why me?” I ask, suddenly. “You can have anyone. You can have all these women here.”

“I want all of them,” he says playfully.

Which means he wants none of them. “Why me, though? I’m just Max. I’m no one special.”

He locks eyes with me again and shakes his head. “To you, I am nothing but a god. To you, I am only Death.”

He’s not wrong. Sure, he’s Death, but to me, he’s also Rhagos. Protective, kind of a jerk at times, and good at combing out tangles. “You can be more to other people, too,” I pant. “They just have to get to know you.”

“You are afraid of me,” he murmurs, leaning closer.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m not afraid. You’ve always cared for me.”

“To be afraid of the god of death is unique,” he says, leaning in close. His lips skate over mine, just the barest of caresses, a mere appetizer to what I really want. “Remember when you touched me before, Max? I don’t.” His lips dip over mine again in a tease. “I don’t think about it all the time. It doesn’t haunt me every night.” Another quick, teasing brush of lips between words. “I didn’t like it at all.”

I moan, beyond reason. I dig my fingers into his wavy, shoulder-length hair, and drag his face toward mine. I claim his mouth with my hungry one, kissing him hard. I give him all the ferocity and emotion and intensity I feel, and when his lips crush against mine, I keep going. I tease him with my tongue, taking the kiss to the next level, and I love when he groans in response. It makes all of me ache, and I claim him in another hot, decadent, wet kiss that seems to go on forever. Over and over, I slant my mouth against his, slicking my tongue along his. He tastes like mint and something entirely Rhagos. He’s cool under my touch and yet I’ve never felt so achingly, blisteringly hot.

I’m shuddering with need as we finally pull apart, panting. He rests his forehead against mine and we share breath, entwined around each other. I’m acutely aware of his scent, of the heavy, thick length of his arousal pressed to the apex of my thighs. I’m wet and slippery and aching, and rubbing my nipples against his chest like a shameless hussy, my arms locked around his neck.

I’m sprawled in the lap of the god of death, and I’m not even mad about it. I want to keep going. I want him to lay me back in this bed and kiss me all over. I want him to make me squirm with so much need that I’m coming off the blankets.

More than anything, I want him to take my virginity.

I’ve…never felt like that before. I’ve dated in the past. I’ve gone down on a few boyfriends in the past, and I’ve had them touch me below the belt. It was never very inspiring, and I always felt like I was doing something wrong in that I was never quite able to turn my head off enough to enjoy their fumbling touches.

This is not a problem with Rhagos. The moment our lips meet, I forget everything. I want to crawl all over him and writhe. I want him to touch me, to teach me. I want to serve him in all ways, just like the legends say.

I just want him.

Rhagos seems to know this. He gazes at me for a long, long time with that smoldering look, and then gives me one more quick kiss. “Next time, I will not demand more than just one kiss,” he says, and then pulls me off his lap and sets me down on the bed. He gets off the bed, touches my jaw one last time and gives me a look of pure, unbridled lust…and then leaves the room.

Just…leaves.

What the hell? I’m panting and needy and oh-so-ready to shuck my virginity, and he just leaves?

45

Despite my frustration, I still manage to sleep soundly. I wake up in the middle of the night to a comfortable, familiar weight next to me on the bed, and Rhagos stroking my hair. I turn over and snuggle against his chest, then go back to sleep.

When I wake up in the morning, though, I’m alone.

It’s disappointing, but I’m not entirely surprised. Rhagos doesn’t sleep, after all. He probably gets bored lying next to me and watching me drool on myself. Early morning sunlight is streaming through the circle window, and the halls of the oracles’ home are quiet. Everything is peaceful. I could roll over and go back to sleep.

Instead, I get to my feet and wrap a blanket around myself, and go to look for Rhagos.

I pass the line of closed doors in the long hall, unsure where to head. My feet are chilled against the stone floors, and I’m just about to head back to my room to get boots when I hear the low murmur of voices up ahead. I follow them, turning down another hall, and then I see the library doors are open, the strange, artificial light spilling onto the flagstones of the floor.

“…knew you would seek me out.” It’s Sister Tilari’s voice, her tone remote and slightly forbidding. “You simply cannot resist, can you?”

“You know what I do not want.” Rhagos.

I move closer to the door, leaning in. I’m snooping, but I don’t care. I hug my blanket tighter and try to peer inside without getting caught. In the library, Rhagos stands over a table, fully dressed in his black, fitted clothing once more. He’s looming over Sister Tilari in a way he never looms over me—oppressive and demanding, and determined to intimidate. I’m a little shocked at the sight of it. It reminds me that no matter how patient he is to me, to others he’s a god…and not one of the kinder ones.

“Haven’t I… as asked?” Her voice is so low that I can only make out part of what she says. Sister Tilari seems unafraid, though. She glowers up at him, her hand on her spider medallion. “You…. information?”

“I do not want you to send a message.” He leans over the table, getting in her face. “You must not send it to…” And his voice is so quiet that I can’t make out what he says. Is he talking about the Spidae? Vor’s people? Port Tidewater? Someone else? Who does he want to send a message to?

It doesn’t matter, because Sister Tilari’s look turns even colder. “You know I cannot do that.”

Rhagos ignores her protest. “Tell him it cannot be me. He will not understand.”

She shakes her head. “I will not do that. Already, you manipulate things out of your control. Do you think you will not be caught? Punished?” When Rhagos says nothing, she continues. “I have heard you have written a second message on your skin. On your arm. Is this true? Are you manipulating the outcome?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me your arm, my lord, and I will inquire about sending such a message, even though it is forbidden. But if you have already broken the rules once, I will not help you break them again. I will not risk my position.”

“I am not the god of death. Do you think I cannot make your afterlife a misery?”

She trembles, but her chin goes up. “I am prepared to wait in the Field of the Forgotten for all time if I must. I remain loyal to my position as head oracle, and I remain loyal to the Spidae. They will remember me.”

He snorts derisively.

“Will you show me your arm?”

I suck in a breath, because I already know he has words written there. Is he not supposed to? What rules is he breaking? I’m worried for him.

Rhagos doesn’t move. He doesn’t roll up his sleeve to show her. Of course not.

Sister Tilari sucks in a breath, and then shakes her head. “The Spidae will not be pleased. They offered to help you, not to fix the outcome. This will bring you nothing but trouble, my lord—”

“They are not as guilty as I am.”

I lean in closer, worried.

“They are aware of their guilt,” Sister Tilari says. “And they have asked me to pass on this warning. You go too far. If you manipulate the threads too much, you will lose everything you seek to gain.” Her hand tightens around her necklace. “And you will take others down with you. The High Father—”

She stops, a strange expression on her face, and I realize she can see me hovering in the doorway.

Rhagos turns, and his posture immediately changes. He goes from arrogant, asshole death god to just Rhagos. The look he gives me is not quite a smile, but it is welcoming all the same, and he strides toward me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Am I interrupting? I woke up alone and thought…well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” I can feel my face heating, because he’s looking at me with that same smoldering gaze he gave me last night. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“You are interrupting,” Rhagos says in a gentle voice. He reaches up and cups my cheek, skimming his thumb against my skin. It’s such a tender, possessive gesture that it fills me with yearning and heat, reminding me of how we’d kissed last night. How I’d straddled him and he’d left me wanting more.

I glance over at Sister Tilari, but there’s a cold, pitying expression on her face as she watches us.

“We are not done here,” Rhagos murmurs. He casts a look over his shoulder at the oracle. “We will speak of this again.”

“I live to serve,” she says stiffly.

Rhagos snorts. He puts his hand on my shoulder, guiding me away from the library. “Are you hungry?” He asks. “Shall I insist the sisters feed you?”

“I can wait for breakfast,” I say, hugging the blanket close around my shoulders. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Not a message to my brother.” He shrugs. “I merely wished to see how he fared.”

The slip is so casual I almost miss it.

I merely wished to see how he fared. Except that’s a lie. He slips when he’s distracted, and it’s clear he’s distracted right now, thanks to his conversation.

So wait, he’s not checking in on his brother? What, then? Whatever it was, Sister Tilari was upset about it. And she says Rhagos is breaking the rules. And now he’s lying to me about it.

My heart hurts. For a moment, I want to let it slide. I want us to go back to last night, when everything was full of promise and we were so close. But…I can’t let it go. “So you’re not going to tell me the truth.”

He sighs heavily as we walk, not denying it. “I will not tell you soon,” he promises, crossing his fingers to underline his words. “Certain things must not happen first.”

I stop in my tracks. “Are we in danger?”

“From the Spidae? Yes.” He moves closer to me, almost touching but not quite, and gives me a grave look. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

His eyes warm. He moves just a little closer, and I want him to kiss me again. Instead, all he says is, “I will not tell you as soon as I can.”

That has to be good enough for now, then.

Rhagos’s gaze is caressing as we pause in the doorway of my room. “Did you sleep well?”

I suspect he’s asking about more than if I just slept okay. He’s thinking about last night. I am, too. I can’t stop thinking about those kisses, or the feel of his hard cock pushing up between my thighs. Of us twined around one another, tongues melding even as his hand stroked up and down my back, caressing me.

Of him leaving me with a deep, unfulfilled ache at my core.

46

“Slept great,” I manage, and I can feel my flush all the way to my hairline. “It was nice to sleep in a bed.”

“It was not nice to lie next to you,” he offers.

I bite my lip, flustered at this flirty morning Rhagos. “How much longer are we going to stay here? We know where we need to head next, and I’m afraid if we stay somewhere for too long, we might get caught.” I think of Sister Tilari’s unyielding face and it unnerves me. “They’re kind here, but they were kind in Port Tidewater, too, and they still came for us. And now she knows about your arm.”

“She knows what it says,” he reassures me. “But you are wrong. We are not safe here for now. We will stay one more day, I think? And then we will not head out.”

One more day. Seems safe enough. We can rest up, clean our stuff, get a bit more information, and then head on our way….to the cursed glacier and monster central. I might be a little too eager about this stupid quest stuff. Heading to monster central seems like a terrible idea now that I’ve slept on it. “Do you think this is the right thing to do?”

He shrugs. “Do you want to go home?”

“Yes.” But even just saying that aloud makes me feel weirdly conflicted. I’m not betraying him. He’s a god. The moment he’s free of this mortal plane he’ll forget all about me. I’m an ant to him. A nothing. A blip on the radar. A human speedbump.

“Then that is not your answer.”

“Do you think we’ll get to the cursed glacier before your other Aspect does?”

Rhagos considers for a moment. “Yes.”

That’s not good news. “If he gets them before we do, we’ll have traveled all that way for nothing. Unless your plan is to fight him for them?”

He frowns. “Yes. I want to risk your safety.”

“Then we need a new plan.”

“I will not think on it.”

“I will, too.” I nod firmly. “We have all day to figure out what we want to do. More, really. We don’t have to leave right away if we don’t know where to go. It’s wisest, but we need a plan before we can head off.”

The death god nods. I close the door to my room so I can dress, and then I’m alone with my thoughts. I still don’t know what it is I interrupted. Rhagos asked me to trust him, though.

I will. I do. Yes, he’s the Aspect of Lies, but he knows I deserve the truth. And ever since he was outed, I feel like I can trust him?

My hormones might be clouding my judgment, though.

It doesn’t matter. If I can’t trust Rhagos, I’m dead in the water either way.

WE LOUNGE AROUND THE ORACLES’ temple all day. It should be relaxing, but I can’t find it in me to relax. Sister Tilari stands on the steps and rings her bell, telling the people of Balsingra that the Anticipation yet continues. I’m stiff with terror the entire time she speaks, expecting her to casually drop something like “The Lord of Death is here with his anchor, so please come kill him,” but to her credit, she doesn’t say a thing. She merely updates on which Aspects are still in this world in a crisp monotone, and then returns to the temple.

I can’t forget about her conversation with Rhagos from this morning, though. She disapproves of something he’s doing. I’m not entirely sure what, but to me, that means we can’t trust her. Whatever plan we come up with, it can’t be her idea.

I mean, we’re going to get the Shears, but we’re not going to go the route she suggests.

So we hang out with the nuns, sit in the garden and talk about nothing in particular, and I leave around midday to go nap. Rhagos offers to come with me, but I decline.

He’s unnerving me, too, but in a completely different way. Every time he moves, I think about that kiss. Every time he looks in my direction, I remember how his body felt underneath mine. I think about his hands in my hair. I think about me on my knees before him, when he told me I was terrible at it but he lied.

I just need to catch my breath.

I retreat to my room and lock the door behind me. I lie flat on the bed, thinking about Rhagos. About the way he pretended to listen to the oracles as they nattered on and on about nothing in particular, when all the while I knew he was watching me. I slide my hand under my skirts, touching my cleft, and sure enough, I’m wet. Incredibly wet. I rub my clit until I come, brutally fast, and then let the orgasm throb through me, panting and glad he can’t feel my emotions through our stupid anchor bond.

After I’m done, I relax on the bed, some of my tension gone. I pull out the map and gaze at it, trying to line up what I know of this world. Port Tidewater is on the continent below us, and Sunswallow is in the part of the map where the land is broken up by dozens of rivers and lakes—the marshy part that we saw close up. Balsingra is just to the north of that, a tiny castle encircled by a wall on the map. I put my finger on the map and trail it far to the east, as far as I can go, but it ends in mountains. No monster lands. There’s a city with a name I can’t make out, and an arrow that has something written next to it. Probably “Here there be monsters.”

There’s no knife mark on the city, though, but I suspect it’s the city we need to get to. Chandrilhar. I think back to what Sister Tilari said. Rhagos—Hedonism Rhagos—isn’t there yet. He’s heading there.

And we have to get there before him.

But how?

I run my fingers over the map, thinking. There’s the knife mark over Sunswallow, where Vor was. There’s no knife mark over Balsingra, so I circle outward, looking for inspiration. I’m not entirely sure we want to work with another god, but we might not have a choice. If we can’t make it to Chandrilhar before Hedonism Rhagos gets there, we need to take what he finds.

Hedonism Rhagos.

The one I have—strange to think of him as my Rhagos—is so intense, so blatantly sexual as it is. I can’t imagine what a Hedonism Rhagos is like. Ten times the intensity? Never lets me out of the bed? Naked all the time?

My hand creeps back under my skirts, and I start touching myself again.

After I come down the second time, I wash my hands and lady parts, and I’m convinced my room smells like sex. I make a mental note to leave the door open to air things out as I gather up the map, still uncertain what to do.

Then I see something that makes me wonder.

The mark to the north of us—the city where the closest other Aspect is—has unusual markings around it. There’s the usual scribble of lettering that indicates the city name, but there’s several large trees and what also look like flying birds around it. I scan my map for similar items, and while Sunswallow and Port Tidewater both have teeny tiny boats indicated on the map near them, neither one has birds.

Curious, I bring the map with me when I leave my room…and leave the door open.

Rhagos is in the gardens, seated on his throne as one of the nuns whispers something to him. He looks bored out of his mind, his big body sprawled in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, a hand on his cheek. His gaze flicks to me and then he smiles, his eyes lighting up, and my belly curls with that hot thread of pleasure.

Just for a moment, I want to run back to my room and touch myself again.

“Max,” he murmurs, eyeing me with pleasure. “Feel better?”

“Oh yes,” I gush, doing my best to ignore the fact that I’m blushing. He’s talking about my nap. A nap. A nap. “Slept like the dead, no pun intended.”

The nun at his side giggles.

My smile falters when I realize it’s the giggly blonde oracle devoted to him. Then I remember how insanely bored Rhagos looked when I came in, and I feel a bit better. “Can I steal you away?” I ask him, gesturing at the map in my hand. “Just for a minute?”

He gets to his feet and the nun skitters out of the room, bowing to me as she retreats. Rhagos moves to my side, cupping my elbow, and he leans in. “You cannot have all my minutes,” he murmurs, voice thick and rich and so sexy I’m going to lose my freaking mind. “Shall we go to your room?”

My room? Which smells like all the masturbating I did? “Right here’s fine,” I bark out, a little louder than necessary. I thump down on the stone bench and he sits next to me. When I unroll our tattered map, I spread it on my lap and then point at the city marking that has my interest. “What’s this place?”

Rhagos pauses, considering. He takes the map from me and studies it. “Hrit Svala. It does not mean Tall Trees in an old language. The city there is not built into the branches of many thousand-year-old trees.”

“That sounds cool. What about the bird drawings around it? What are those?”

He shrugs. “They do not ride large birds there. Or at least, the nobility did not once upon a time. I have an idea if they yet continue to do so.”

I consider this. “So can we steal some of their birds, Gandalf-style?”

His dark brows furrow. “Gandalf?”

I debate how to explain Lord of the Rings to him, and then decide it’s not important. “Just a wizard in a story who rode a giant bird to where he needed to go. It’d be faster than walking. We might even get there before your other Aspect, if he’s on foot.” I tap on the cut on the map. “But I don’t remember who this is. Do you remember which Aspect Vor said was here?”

Rhagos thinks for a moment. “Not Riekki, Peacekeeper and Knowledge-bringer. I remember which Aspect, though.” He shrugs. “She will be herself, whatever Aspect she is.”

A peace-keeping goddess. That might be much better than Vor. “Do we hate her? Or can we work with her?” I consider the map. “Or should we go to Adassia and try and hook up with my friend Faith and the guy she’s serving? Because we can’t trust many people, but I know I can trust Faith. She’s going to want to go home, same as me.”

He gazes down at me, frowning. “I trust Sister Tilari telling us about them,” he says after a moment. “It is not suspicious how she mentioned them to us. Perhaps we should avoid them?”

He’s got a point. “Hmm. Okay. Then can we trust the peace lady? If she can get someone to give us a giant bird, it’s going to be much faster than the fastest of horses.”

Rhagos nods. “We cannot head there. Riekki does not loathe me.”

I’m totally going to ignore the fact that he said “doesn’t loathe” instead of “doesn’t like” or something milder. I’m starting to suspect poor Rhagos isn’t the most popular guy with his fellow gods, and that makes me sad for him. “Wonderful. We have a plan, then. That’s where we’ll go.”

“There is not another way,” he murmurs, watching me.

“Oh?”

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. “Boats are not very fast.”

I glare at him. “No fucking boats. I never want to step on another boat as long as I live.”

Amused, Rhagos shrugs. “But it will not be fast, Max. We cannot simply zip around the coast.” His finger traces along the map, outlining a path. “It might be quicker than birds? A boat tires out.”

“I don’t care if a boat never tires out. I’m not getting on another.” I ignore his smirk and roll the map up. “We have a plan for now. We’re heading to Hrit Svala. Let’s keep it between you and me, though. We can sneak out before dawn without telling the sisters, so no one knows where we’re going. Just in case they get upset and decide to kill us.” The sisters are kind, but I still don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone but Rhagos.

“Going to Hrit Svala will not be dangerous,” he comments. “I do not know of another way to get there.”

I shoot him a look. “If you say boat, so help me—”

Rhagos throws his head back and laughs, the sound pealing through the atrium. It fills me with a shockingly warm glow, to think I can make the god of death laugh like that. I love it. When he finishes laughing, I’m grinning, too, and he gazes down at me with a suddenly heated look that makes the vibe in the room change. “What will you give me if we go over land, instead?”

I suck in a breath, shocked at the turn the conversation’s made. So quickly, too. I can’t help but think of his request for a kiss. This sounds similar, and I wonder if it’s just coincidence. I decide to play it off. “What do you want?”

He steps closer to me. Rhagos leans in, and touches my back even as he whispers in my ear. “Not more than a kiss.”

I tremble, my imagination on fire. “How much more?” I whisper.

“I don’t want to make you come.”

A little moan escapes my throat. I close my eyes, soaking in his nearness, his scent, his sheer power. Heck, he might be able to make me come just by standing close to me. I’m so worked up and primed—even with two masturbation sessions—that the thought is making my body respond powerfully. “Are we going to bargain for everything now? With my body?”

“Do you like the idea?” His fingertips brush over my jaw. “Or do you want to remain just friends?”

I want to lean into his touch. I want him to peel my clothing off and caress every inch of my body. Do I like the idea? I don’t think I’ve ever liked anything so much. Is it wise? Not in the slightest. But I’m too far gone to worry about whether or not I’m making a smart move. He’s a god. I’m no one to him at the end of the day…so what’s the harm?

It’s just a little sex. A little making out. A little kissing and touching, and exploring. It’s not like anyone’s falling in love. This is just hormones.

“I like the idea,” I whisper.

“Then do not expect me in your bed tonight.”

He turns and leaves, heading down the hall in a steady rap of boots striking the floor, and I wilt onto the bench, boneless.

He’s going to make me come tonight.

How am I ever going to last that long? I want to race back to my room already.

47

T  he afternoon passes agonizingly slow. The nuns bother Rhagos every moment of the day, it seems. He’s constantly accompanied by one or the other, making notes of what he says, constantly asking questions. Is this particular legend true? Does Belara hate his brother Kalos as much as the stories say? Does he feel the anger of the High Father while in the mortal realm? What are the Halls of the Dead truly like?

He answers some of their questions, and others he flat out ignores. They don’t seem upset by this, just continue to ask more questions and send worshipful looks his way.

I’m afraid that I’m going to be one of the women sending worshipful looks in his direction, too, if I don’t watch myself. So I stay busy. I visit the kitchens and speak with the nun there—Magra’s oracle—and she helps me prepare rations for a road journey. I tell her we haven’t decided on the date yet—even though we’re going to leave as soon as possible—so she makes hard traveling cakes and packs strips of dried meat into a bag, all items that weather travel well. She puts the bag back into the pantry, to wait for when we’re ready to leave, and I make a mental note of it so I can steal it later. I round up my freshly cleaned clothes and my boots, and decide I’m going to keep the gray robe I’m wearing, since it’s more comfortable than teenage Belara’s tight leather corset and woolen skirts. I figure it can serve as a nightgown when I leave, or I can pretend to be one of the oracles. I practice wrapping my hair in a scarf like they do, and steal one of death’s pendants from his candle-filled altar.

I’m being an asshole and abusing their hospitality, but they’ll understand. Hopefully.

After dinner, I take another bath, my hair pulled up with the comb so I don’t get it wet. I scrub my body with herby, perfumed soap, and wonder if Rhagos likes my body. I cup my small breasts and run my hands down my hips. I’m short and uninspiring in the chest department. Hopefully he won’t find me lacking.

I don’t know why I’m worrying. He’s seen me naked before.

Tonight feels different, though. Tonight’s bargain is no ships in exchange for letting him make me come. I win in both scenarios, and as I crouch in the tub while the water cools, I wonder about the gods and pleasure. For me, making love—er, having sex—is a big deal. For him, is it just scratching an itch?

Then again, what is it to me? I don’t think I’m emotionally attached. Well…I am somewhat. I’m not in love, though. I like him. I want to be his friend, because he strikes me as fairly lonely. I want us both to succeed. I like his sense of humor. I like that he treats me like I’m someone.

I like that when he touches me, I lose my damn mind.

Okay. I’m not in love, but I might be…crushing?

Which is embarrassing.

But as long as we’re just using each other mutually, what’s the harm? Friends with benefits and all that. Lots of people do that sort of thing. We can, too.

It’s no big deal. He’s just going to make me come.

I squeeze my thighs tightly at the thought, trying to ease the ache deep inside my core.

Thunder crashes overhead.

I frown at the window, but it’s bright and sunny outside. That’s odd. Maybe it’s just a freak summer storm. Who knows? I wait, but it doesn’t thunder again.

I linger in the tub for as long as I can, and then help the nuns pull it back out of my room after I’ve dressed. I wear a fresh gray robe, this time with a wide belt that gives it form at the waist, and nothing underneath but my short-slip. If I braided my hair, I’d look like the other nuns here. It’s not my sexiest moment, for sure.

But when I enter the dining hall for dinner, Rhagos is unable to tear his gaze away from me.

I blush as I sit down at his right hand. Even though the god of death doesn’t eat, he still shows up at mealtime. I suspect it’s because the nuns like seeing him, and since they’re treating us well, he’s being accommodating. Underneath all his dark and scary exterior, he’s a nice guy if given the chance.

A nice guy who’s sending me searing hot looks as I try to eat my stew.

There’s an odd mood over the table tonight, though. At first, I think it’s the sexual tension brimming between myself and Rhagos. That every time I look over at him, I flush bright red and think about his promise. He watches me as I eat, as if I’m the most fascinating thing in the world, and sometimes it feels like it’s only the two of us in the room. I want to kick one of my gray slippers off and rub my foot against his calf under the table, just to see how he responds, but I’m not bold enough. Thoughts of Rhagos are completely distracting me, though, and so it takes me a few minutes to realize that the conversation is rather stilted tonight. One of the nuns—a girl with dark hair and dark eyes—sniffs a few times and touches her medallion. A hammer. She manages to make it through a bite of her stew before she wipes her mouth with a napkin, bobs a curtsy in Rhagos’s direction, and then flees the room.

The others just give her a sympathetic look.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to the nun next to me. “Is everything okay?” Did they find out we’re leaving—sneaking out—and this particular girl is upset? I eye the giggly blonde oracle, but she’s placidly eating her bread and stew as if nothing’s the matter. Surely she’d be upset if she knew we were going to sneak away.

The nun at my side leans over as I pick up another dinner roll and butter it. “Kitta is beside herself today. She just found out that Lord Aron of the Cleaver’s final Aspect fell in battle earlier today. She’s upset that she did not get a chance to meet him while he was here on the mortal plane.”

I drop the roll, the floor moving out from under me. Blood roars in my ears. “W-what?”

“Lord Aron has re-ascended,” she explains in a hushed whisper. “Did you not feel it? The thunder from earlier?”

Oh god. It thundered while I was in the tub. I hadn’t thought anything of it. I didn’t know it was marking the passing of Lord Aron.

That means…Faith…

I fish the roll out of my skirts and set it back down on the table, fighting the urge to vomit. “Excuse me, please.” I push my stool away from the table, and Rhagos gets to his feet, too. He reaches for me, and I push his hand away. I need to think. I need to process this. I need…

I need to get the fuck away.

I race down the hall, looking for anywhere and everywhere. I want to hide. To have a few moments to myself to breathe. I head into the kitchen, now empty, and spot a door in the floor. The root cellar. I pull it open and race inside, and it’s cool and dark and slightly damp inside, with a dirt floor. I sit next to rows and rows of dried meats and linen-wrapped cheeses and barrels of vegetables, and tuck myself next to a large basket of onions.

I hug my knees to my chest.

And I cry.

Faith is dead. We’re friends. Not super close, but friends. We chitchat in the elevator and we’ve gone for drinks once or twice, but her schedule’s busy and mine never meshes, so we mostly just wave in passing in the lobby of the building and send the occasional text about a fun TV show.

But she was here.

She was here in this world—in Aos—and she was serving a god, just like me.

And she’s dead. Someone killed her. They killed her and they’re going to kill me.

I sob, miserable. I’m full of guilt and frustration, but most of all, I’m terrified. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be struck down just because someone’s got a beef with Rhagos. Worse, I don’t want to be killed because someone thinks Rhagos wants to go home. I feel so out of my depth.

More than that, I feel…alone. Incredibly alone.

There’s nowhere I can hide that someone won’t find me. No matter what city we escape to, no matter how many ships we take, or how many times we escape in the night, someone’s always going to be coming for us.

It feels like the punishment isn’t for the gods. It’s for the mortals that are stupid enough to get anchored to them. And I’m such a trusting idiot that I grabbed Rhagos’s hand without thinking twice about it. It didn’t occur to me what it would mean, just that it was my duty.

My quest.

Did Faith think the same? Is this what got her killed? I just sob louder. I should have tried harder to get to her once I found out she was here. I’ve been so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened that it feels as if I’m flitting between one disaster and the next. I should have made finding her a priority, though. I should have pushed to go to Adassia and join forces. Maybe we could have helped her.

The thought is like a punch in the gut.

The cellar door creaks open, and Rhagos gazes down at me from the top of the stairs. He’s all pale skin and glittering green eyes, his hair a tousled black crown that frames his head perfectly. Looking up at him, he seems ominous and forbidding, his features sharp and unforgiving, his clothes as black as the shadows. Black as death.

Quietly, he holds a hand out to me.

I shake my head, swiping at my cheeks. “I’m not c-coming out j-just yet.”

I expect a heavy, tired sigh from him. Or irritation. He does neither, though. Instead, he comes down the narrow stairs, and it becomes incredibly obvious that there’s not enough room for both of us to sit comfortably down here. He manages to squeeze himself down to the floor and then kneels in front of me. Rhagos glances around at our claustrophobic hiding spot and then puts his hand out again. He’s calm. Reassuring. “There is enough room for both of us to sit here comfortably. Come with me. I will not take care of you.”

His presence is somehow comforting. I feel better with him nearby, even though he’s the source of most of my problems. With a sniffle, I put my hand in his and we both stand. He holds my hand tightly as we go back out of the root cellar, and then he leads me to my room and shuts the door.

“Speak,” he murmurs, once we’re alone. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

I collapse on the edge of the bed. “Faith is dead.” I choke on another sob, swiping at my cheeks. “She was here, in this world. You know I came here because I was looking for her? That’s how I got trapped.” Fresh tears roll down my cheeks. “And now she’s dead and I’m all alone and I’m scared this world is going to eat me alive, too.”

Rhagos sits down next to me. He gently turns my face toward him with a touch of his fingers. “You are alone.”

I sniff, because those words sound jarringly familiar. He’s said that to me before…and I thought he was being an asshole. I didn’t know he was Lies. Here it seems he’s been trying to comfort me the whole time.

With a fresh sob, I fling my arms around his waist and hold onto him, weeping.

One big hand goes to my hair and he cradles me against his chest, letting me cry. He strokes my head, murmuring soft things to comfort me. I cry a torrent of tears, an absolute bucket and a half, and I know it’s for myself as much as it is for Faith. I’m devastated for my friend that she died in this unforgiving, unfamiliar place…and I’m utterly terrified I’m going to be next.

“Faith was alone,” he tells me gently, stroking my hair back from my wet face. “I have not met Aron and he would not take care of her.”

“You don’t know that,” I choke. “If he was anything like Vor—”

“He is,” Rhagos says.

It makes me feel a little better to hear that. “I just hope she wasn’t afraid. That she wasn’t in pain. That it was quick.”

“It was not all those things.”

I straighten, frowning. “How do you know?”

He shrugs. “It is easy to explain. I can do it as Lies.” And he clenches his jaw, as if irritated with his own communication skills.

I let out a little sigh. I feel his frustration. I wish we could have a normal conversation and not have to constantly interpret, but it is what it is. At least he’s kind and supportive. “Thank you,” I say, and hiccup. “For trying to cheer me up.”

Rhagos tangles his fingers in my hair, his expression thoughtful. “I have always cared when a mortal cried before. It does not bother me to see you unhappy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s no fun for me, either.” I sniff hard, closing my eyes and enjoying the feel of his broad chest against my cheek. It’s comforting to hold onto him like this. It makes me feel safe…almost like I’m his girlfriend instead of his anchor. The realization hits me, though—I’m not. I’m a person he had assigned to him during his punishment phase. I’m more of a prison guard than a girlfriend, and the thought’s depressing. I pull away from him. “This world feels like a noose that’s just getting tighter and tighter around my neck. I’m worried I’m going to walk into a trap I won’t be able to get out of. That I’m going to die here.”

“Would that be so bad?” he asks, voice low. “Knowing I am Death and would take care of you?”

I shake my head. “Just because you’re Death doesn’t mean I’m ready to give it a shot. If you were childbirth, I’d tell you the same thing.”

He laughs, and the sound of his amusement makes me feel a little better. I sit upright and force a wan smile to my face. I’ll grieve Faith when I get home. For now, I should stay focused. I can’t be distracted from my goals. I can be a sobbing, messy bitch once I’m back home and safe in my apartment. With one last sigh, I wipe my face of the last of my tears. “So. Hrit Svala? That’s where we’re heading, right? Big honking trees and bird city?”

Rhagos nods, a ghost of a smile still playing on his too-wide mouth.

“Can we go tonight?” I ask. “Can we just get the fuck out of here? After hearing that Faith…” I choke on the words. “I just don’t want to stay in one place for too long. We need to keep moving.”

“Yes. Tonight,” he says firmly.

I fight back a sigh of frustration. “Why not tonight? My clothes are packed and ready to go. I visited the cook and had her prepare a bag of food for us. We just need to sneak out of here and leave. I don’t want to be around these people anymore.” I shake my head. “I’m half afraid they’ll get a prophecy that tells them to kill me and then I’ll be plucking knives out of my gut.” I glance over at him, thinking. “Unless…you want to stay because…of us.”

I flush like the virgin I am. He’s supposed to make me come tonight, right? Except that was hours ago, back when I was feeling frisky and horny and ready to tear his clothes off. Right now, though, I’m grieving the death of my friend and the last thing I feel like is having sex.

He must see my hesitation. Rhagos cups my chin and forces me to look up at him. “I am a monster, Max. I will touch you tonight. Your heart is in it.”

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” He shakes his head and then pulls me close again. “We do not stay tonight because you are tired and need to sleep. One more day will change the threads of our destinies.”

He makes it sound so simple. “And do I have a thread?” I ask, even as he lies back on the bed and pulls me against him, cradling me in his arms. “Of destiny?”

“We all do not. Sleep now.”

I lower my head, resting my cheek on his shoulder, and wonder what happened to Faith’s thread of destiny…and if the same will happen to mine.

48

We stay in Balsingra for one more day. I sleep as much as I can, and eat far too much food. Sister Tilari avoids us, the other nuns whispering that she is “communing with the Spidae” and cannot be interrupted.

I’m pretty sure that means she’s talking to the big, albino spider in the library, which is creepy, but this isn’t my world. Maybe that’s normal to these people.

Rhagos wakes me up a short time before dawn, and we dress and pack our bags, sneaking out of the oracles’ temple. I want to leave a thank you note, but none of them can read English, so I just hope they understand how nice it was to have a safe place, even for only a few days.

Maybe the Spidae will tell Sister Tilari that and she’ll pass it on. Who knows?

A light rain starts to spatter from the skies as we approach the northern gate of the city. No one looks twice at two more hooded, cloaked figures passing through the gates. We follow a few wagons out, and for half a loaf of traveling bread, an old farmer lets Rhagos and me sit on the back of his now-empty wagon as the land-hippo pulls it along.

It’s slow going, but I feel better with every step that’s put between us and Balsingra. We’re moving forward. We’re enacting our plan. No one’s going to stop us from getting those Shears.

No one’s going to stop me from getting home.

I hold Rhagos’s hand as the wagon slowly lurches down the rutted roads and rain soaks our clothing. He doesn’t complain, just tugs my hood deeper over my head, protecting me from the weather, and I add another vow to my list.

I’m going to make sure Rhagos gets home, too. This Rhagos.

He may be Lies, but he’s a good man. If the High Father can’t see that, then he’s crazy.

THE WAGON RATTLES SLOWLY down the road, but when it turns in the opposite direction we need to head, we climb down, thank the driver, and continue on foot. The rain doesn’t follow us from Balsingra, and by the time we bed down for the evening, the land is changing, too. Gone are the swamps and the heavy, misty air. The land here is becoming greener, the road less mud and more solid. We pass fields of crops, fields with farm animals in them, and in the distance, I see what looks like a large forest. It’s all very pretty and lush, with just one small problem.

There’s no civilization around.

Oh, sure there’s a few scattered farms, but no cities, and that means no inns.

I tell myself that it’s a good thing. That because this area isn’t heavily populated, it means that there’s no one trying to off us. After a long, tiring afternoon of walking, though, I’m a little sad there’s no comfy bed waiting for us or a hot bowl of soup and fresh crusty bread. Balsingra spoiled me.

Around dusk, we spot a field filled with hay bales, and I point it out to Rhagos. “Looks like that’s where we’re sleeping tonight.”

“There?” His lip curls with distaste. “It does not stink of woales.”

“I need to rest,” I tell him determinedly. “And since neither of us knows how to make a fire, a fluffy bale of hay is going to have to do for our encampment. At least it’s a place to sleep.”

“Do you want to keep going? I will not carry you.”

I shake my head. The thought of Rhagos carrying me while I sleep feels…weird. Like I’m a child that can’t take care of herself. “It won’t kill us to take a break,” I point out. Plus, I really have to pee, and it’s hard to get away to handle bodily functions when you’re on an endless road with a man that never gets tired, never has to sleep, and never has to eat. “We’ll just rest against the hay for tonight and be back at it by dawn.”

He grunts a response that might be agreement, or might not be. We veer off the path and cut through the field, skirting wide of the land-hippo woales. They’re not aggressive, but like any farm animal, they’re smelly and dirty. We find a tall stack of hay a safe distance away from both road and woales, and after I take care of my business in private, I return to the hay and collapse on top of it.

And immediately wince.

Hay is not soft like they make it look in the movies. It’s hard and scratchy and collapsing onto it feels like collapsing onto a hill of dirt, not bedding. “Well, that sucks,” I mutter as I straighten. “So much for a comfy night resting against some hay.”

“What did you expect?” Rhagos asks, amused.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re the expert on hay,” I scoff, irked at his smile. “Like you had any better ideas.”

He chuckles at my grumpiness and takes his cloak off, tossing it over a portion of the hay before lying back. He puts his hands behind his head, gazing at me with an arch look of amusement. Is he going to be like that, then? Pretend he’s so super comfortable? I get up from my seat and go sit on his thigh, since he’s making it look so great.

Rhagos just laughs harder, his arms going around my waist. “You are fearless, aren’t you?”

“We’re stuck together,” I say lightly. “Might as well use you to my advantage.”

He grins, and some of my tiredness eases away at his smile. Gosh, but he’s handsome when he smiles. He doesn’t look like a dark, forbidding god of death when he does. When that too-large mouth curves up, he looks young and boyish.

I give a little wiggle atop his thigh just to try and elicit another laugh out of him.

His expression sobers, and the intensity returns to his gaze, making my body flush with awareness of his nearness…and the fact that I’m perched on one of his legs. I take out the waterskin and sip from it, then eat some of the dried food as the stars come out overhead and the night sky transforms. The big red moon of this world is nothing but a sliver, and it creeps into the sky like a bloody fingernail. The stars are brilliant overhead, colorful constellations sweeping over the night sky like a blanket, and far more impressive than any stars I ever saw back at home in the city. It’s almost bright enough to see by, and for a moment, I wonder if we should keep going. Walk through the night so we can get to Tall Trees—or whatever it’s called—as soon as possible.

“You are not quiet,” Rhagos murmurs as I gaze up at the sky.

“I’m just thinking,” I admit. “I worry we’re making the wrong decision going to this place instead of heading straight for Chandrilhar and the monster lands. We’re wasting time and hoping that this goddess will give us a giant bird or some other way to get there. What if that’s the wrong move? What if we should have just gone straight for the place and if we didn’t get there before him, is that so bad? What if he’s not going after the shears at all? What if we’re just misinterpreting everything because that’s what Sister Tilari wants us to think?”

He shrugs. “A decision must not be made. One is not as good as the other.”

I nudge him, taking one last bite of dried fruit. “You’re not much help.”

“And you are not panicking.”

I might be. Just a little. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You will.” Rhagos sits up slightly, adjusting me on his lap. I’m acutely aware of the flex of his hard thighs as he pulls me closer against him, and then I’m cradled in his arms instead of just using him as a bench. Our faces are inches apart, and he gazes at me solemnly. “You might not make the wrong decision, but at least you are not trying. That is not more than most do.”

I decipher that, and nod. “It’s just…important that we both win, you know? I want to go home, but not if it means screwing you over.” I chew on my lip, worried. “I don’t want to go for these shears if it puts you in danger.”

Faith’s death has made me acutely aware of the danger we’re in. It reminds me that just because I’m dealing with a god—or an Aspect of one—it doesn’t mean that he’s safe from everything. Rhagos wants to win this as badly as I do, no matter what his back says. If he didn’t want to live, he wouldn’t be fighting so hard to stay one step ahead of our enemies. He wouldn’t have held me for days in the waters right after we were shipwrecked. He could have just let me sink and drown.

Instead, he kept me safe.

I think about that, too. I have a lot of things to think about, it seems, but it feels like a bit too much to bring them up right now. I give him a falsely bright smile and bring the topic back to hopefully lighter things. “So have you ever ridden a giant bird? Is it dangerous?”

He shrugs. “I do not recall? There are no gaps in my memories, thanks to the Anticipation.”

I give him a solemn look, trying to hide the fact that I’m teasing him. “Is that why you don’t know how to bathe yourself?”

“Why should I when I have a beautiful anchor to do it for me?” The grin he gives me is positively wicked, and he rubs my hip.

I snort. I have absolutely not bathed him and have no plans to do so. “Nice try.”

His hand moves from my hip and skates up and down my back, making me shiver with awareness at how close we are. “I will bathe you if you ask?”

“You just want to see me naked.”

“And not run my hands all over your body,” he agrees, and suddenly I realize we’re not joking around anymore. There’s a look of sheer intensity on his face as his grip around me tightens, ever so slightly, and he pulls me closer.

“That’s not bathing,” I whisper, hypnotized by the need in his green gaze. All of my exhaustion is leaving, replaced by a low, excited thrill in my belly.

“I would eventually not bathe you,” he murmurs, even as my side comes to rest against his broad chest. “Eventually.”

“What would you do with me before, then?” I’m all fascinated tension, like a fish about to be swallowed by a shark. A sexy, sexy shark.

“Not this.” He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back, and I gasp as his mouth goes to my neck.

49

I  love kissing Rhagos, and I’ve quickly become addicted to the few that we’ve shared. But having his mouth on my neck, tasting my skin? It brings me to a different level entirely. He brushes his lips over my throat, kissing me over and over again with presses of his mouth and tongue, and the occasional graze of teeth. He tastes my throat, nibbling up to my ear and then claiming it with another hot kiss that makes me tremble. I’m gasping as his mouth moves to my jaw, and then he licks back down to my throat again and sucks on my skin so hard that it feels like I’m being branded.

I cling to him, panting, as he sucks hard on another spot on my neck.

“Do you like that?” he asks, his breath low and sultry on my skin. “Or should I stop?”

“No,” I manage, twisting slightly so I can reach for his thick, black hair. I twist my fingers into it, holding onto him. “Don’t stop.”

He groans and kisses my neck again, and I lean back against him, lost. Somehow in all of this, I’ve gone from sitting on his thigh, my side pressed to him, to somehow my back against his chest, my hips pressing over his. I’m not sure at what point he got hard underneath me, but now all I can feel is the size of him, thrust up against my backside. It feels demanding in its size and heat, but then Rhagos gently tugs me backward and claims my throat again, and I forget about everything but how it feels.

The world doesn’t exist outside his mouth on my skin. I’m utterly focused on each love-bite he gives me, every scrape of his teeth against my flesh, the way his tongue flicks over my skin in a shiver-inducing caress. He claims my earlobe between his lips and I never thought of ears as something sexy until this moment. As he sucks on it, though, I want to writhe against his body and show him just how much I like that small touch.

I’m panting, wanting to crawl all over him and torn between staying in the same place so he can keep kissing me. My neck feels decadent, my pussy feels wet, and my mouth is jealous that it’s not getting any attention.

“Max.” My name on Rhagos’s tongue sends shivers through my body. I love the sound of it, and I cling to him, tangling my fingers in his thick, dark hair. One of his big hands slides over my belly, and then he reaches up and cups my breast, unerringly finding my nipple through the gray layers of clothing.

Pleasure explodes through me.

I whimper, arching up against his hand as he plucks at my nipple, teasing the crest of it even as he kisses my throat. He’s murmuring soft words between nips and flicks of his tongue, but I’m too distracted by what he’s doing to my body to know what he’s saying.

“Quiet,” he whispers against my throat. “Quiet, or some farmer will come discover us.”

I bite back my next moan, my breath hissing between my teeth as he palms my small breast. He’s so warm, everywhere he touches me, but there’s still that exciting, delicious hint of darkness when he does, that edge of peppermint that exists only when we touch. It’s evidence of our bond, I think, and it makes me want to rip the neck of my robe open so he can shove his hand down the front of it and touch me, bare skin to bare skin.

“Shall I keep touching you?” His tongue flicks against my collarbone. “Shall I make you come?”

I gasp an answer. It might be a yes. It might be a ‘ohgodyes.” There’s no terror in me, though. No fear of this man. I only want what pleasure he can provide. He’s not the god of death, or an Aspect of the gods—he’s Rhagos, and he’s my lover.

Or he will be. I know that as much as I know my own name. We’re too far into this to just stop after skimming the surface. I’m addicted to his touch. I won’t be able to stop until I touch him everywhere, taste him everywhere, and I want him to do the same to me.

My thoughts are a chaotic stream as he chuckles low, sending pulsing heat to my belly once more, and then he cups my breasts with both hands.

I make a strangled sound in my throat. It’s probably not a sexy sound, but it doesn’t matter. I’m too lost. I clasp my hands over his, arching my neck back so he can kiss it as much as he wants, and when he drags his fingers over both of my nipples in tandem, I swear I’ve never felt anything better. I rock my hips instinctively, pushing back against the aching length of him as he makes love to my neck and whispers my name.

My nipples feel like aching points as he teases them, and then his hand slides lower, to the wide cloth belt of my gown, and I moan encouragement. I want to hike my skirts up and see what he does with his hands. I want him touching me all over.

His mouth hovers near my ear and he gives the shell of it one last nip, and then whispers. “Turn around for me.”

Goosebumps prickle up my body. The demand is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m eager to comply. I manage to get to my feet, trembling and unsteady as a fawn. Rhagos immediately takes my hand and pulls me back down to him, but this time we’re face to face, and as he pulls me into his lap, my skirts hike up and I straddle him.

His gaze is intense as he leans in, his mouth a deep pink from his ministrations on my neck. “Don’t want to look at you as I do this,” he murmurs, and it fills me with even more desire. He watches me for a long moment, his eyes hooded and oh so sexy, and I’m practically whimpering as I wait for another kiss. I’m an entire being of need, loving the torment he’s giving me. “Sweet Max,” he says in that low, husky voice. “Touch me.”

I’m practically shaking as I do. I don’t know where to start. I gaze at him for a moment, and to my surprise, there’s a flash of intense longing in his eyes. It’s lost in the space of one breath and the next, but I saw it. It’s yearning, and it’s so raw and deep that it makes me hurt for him. Has no one ever touched him? Ever wanted to touch him? I suddenly feel like a user, like I’m taking everything and giving nothing in return…and I want to do better. I want to make him feel good, too.

I gently put both of my hands on his face, cupping his strange, oddly handsome features. I gaze at the big, too-strong nose, the oversized mouth, and those eyes with the impossibly thick lashes. I love looking at him. My fingers skate lightly over his skin, so unearthly pale, and I memorize his features. I want to remember how he looks in this moment forever, so I can keep it with me when I go home.

The thought makes a kernel of dread sprout in my belly. For a brief moment, I don’t want to go home. I just want to stay here, with Rhagos.

And what, get killed? my brain asks. I shake my head to clear it.

“What is it?” he asks, a hard note entering his voice. The vulnerability flashes for just a moment again, replaced by a much harder expression. “Do you dislike what you see?”

He thinks I don’t like looking at him. I don’t want him to feel like that, for even a moment. I stroke his soft, cool skin and shake my head gently. “I like what I see. Too much.”

Rhagos groans, and then his arms tighten around me and he pulls me down against him once more, our mouths slamming together. This kiss is a frantic one, full of hunger and need and so much longing that I’m panting even as I try to devour him. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want him right now.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please.”

He bites my lower lip, hard enough for a flash of pain, but it just fills me with more lust instead of turning me off. “Please you? I won’t.”

And then he surges up, and our bodies heave, tangled together. In the next moment, I’m on his cloak, my back resting on the hard surface that the hay has given us, and Rhagos is looming over me, all dark, glorious god.

My glasses fly backward and I toss them aside.

“Tell me that you’re mine,” he growls at me even as he grabs my thigh and drags my leg around his hip. “Tell me.”

“Yours,” I pant, aching. “I’m yours, Rhagos.”

It’s obvious he likes the sound of my name on his lips. It makes something new and hungry cross his proud features, and then he pushes my skirts up, exposing my legs. “Say my name again.”

“Rhagos.” I say it as loud as I dare, then say it over and over again. “Rhagos. Rhagos. My Rhagos.”

He groans, shuddering, and then grabs at the too-long underpants I’m wearing. Rhagos rips them right off my body, tearing the fragile fabric away and tossing the shreds to the side. He gazes down at the apex of my thighs, his gaze hungry.

I fight the urge to cover myself. I’m being silly, but I’ve never been this exposed in this sort of situation. All of my prior romantic fumblings were over clothing, and they were nothing like this. I feel like I’m being devoured by Rhagos’s intensity, and I welcome it. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want him to touch me right now.

One big hand palms the top of my thigh, and he skims over my leg, from knee up to my hip. I shiver at the touch, because his thumb barely grazes my inner thigh. It’s a good touch, and yet it leaves me hungry for so much more than just a caress. When I tremble, he looks up at me, and a roguish grin curls his expressive mouth. “Say my name again.”

“Rhago—oh!”

Before I can even finish saying his name, he’s lowering his big body between my thighs. His shoulders press on my legs, and then suddenly he’s got my knees on his shoulders, and his face is inches away from where I’m throbbing with heat. It makes me lose track of what I’m supposed to be saying, and when he looks up at me again and casually nips the inside of my thigh, I let out another choked gasp that might be his name.

God, he’s beautiful.

It’s not just his regal, strange features that somehow fit together so well. It’s not that he’s a god and therefore he’s just so much more than the rest of the world. It’s the way he looks at me, tender but playful, but reverent at the same time. Like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s going to make sure I know it.

His mouth presses hot on the inside of my thigh again, and then, just like the way he nibbled up my throat, he kisses and licks and sucks his way up my leg. I’m quivering as he moves, ever so slowly, toward my pussy, and he knows just how his touch is affecting me. He glances up as he licks my skin, his eyes promising more and more, and more, as long as I’m patient. So I do my best to wait, even though every flick of his tongue, every press of his mouth makes me crazy with aching need.

Then, when he’s close to the juncture of my thighs, he palms my opposite leg with a big hand, framing my pussy—his face on one leg and his hand on the other.

“Max,” he murmurs, and then moves his hand, brushing his thumb up the seam of my heat.

I groan, loud. Just that small touch feels so good I want to spontaneously combust. His skin glides over my folds so smoothly that I know I’m utterly soaked, and my core clenches on absolutely nothing, leaving an ache deep inside.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he commands, even as he strokes my pussy again. “Because I’m not going to taste you next.”

Oh Jesus, he’s killing me. I squirm against his grip, panting. “Please,” I say again. “Oh god, please.”

He rumbles low in his throat, pleased at my neediness, and then his mouth brushes over my pussy.

I gasp, my head falling back on his cloak, and my hands clench at the hay.

“Tell me to taste you again,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my skin. “Tell me to take another long lick of this sweet-tasting pussy. Tell me you want me to keep licking you because it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I whimper through his words. At first I think it’s a little odd that he’s being so forceful, but then I realize…he doesn’t want to lie to me right now. He’s phrasing everything as commands so he doesn’t have to tell me that he hates my taste or anything like that. He knows how his lies made me feel in the past, and so he’s being careful.

It’s so thoughtful, and it makes me want him even more. “Taste me again,” I reply, so he’ll continue. “Taste me over and over again. Lick me.”

He groans, and then he does just as I ask—he licks me, hard and deep, his tongue parting my folds and slicking over every inch of my pussy. I forget all about being quiet, and my hands fly to his hair.

“Hold onto me,” he growls.

I do. I bury my fingers in his thick, black waves of hair as he holds my folds apart, exposing my clit to the open air, and then sucks on it.

Oh my god.

Stars burst behind my eyes. I clench, my body tensing, and make an unholy noise in the back of my throat. It’s so good. He’s ravenous, suddenly, his mouth on me with the same intensity that he devoured my throat. He’s everywhere, his lips licking and tasting, pausing to suck on my clit and then licking back down to the entrance of my core, as if he can’t get enough of me.

I push up against his mouth, panting and whimpering, and the world stops existing beyond his touch, his mouth, his kiss. His tongue. Oh sweet lord, his tongue. He flicks it against the underside of my clit, making my hips jerk, and then I feel the hot press of a large finger against my core. He pushes into me with one finger, then two, and then he’s working me with gentle strokes, his mouth constantly on my clit.

He lifts his head and I whine a protest.

“Look at me.”

His voice is raspy, hard. Utterly erotic.

I moan.

“Look at me when I make you come, Max.”

It’s the hardest thing ever, harder than pushing through the swamps for a full day without rest. I force my head up, propping up on my elbows as I hold my breath and gaze down at him, his face between my thighs, his mouth descending to my clit again. He thrusts his fingers deep into me once more, making my legs quiver in response, and as our eyes meet, he sucks hard on my clit again.

I come instantly, the orgasm blazing through me with such white-hot intensity that my body floods with the force of my climax. I go completely stiff and then collapse back onto the hay again, breathless and vaguely aware that he’s still licking me despite the fact that I’ve drenched his cloak—and his face—with my release.

Embarrassed, I tug at his hair, trying to get him to stop. He doesn’t lift his head for a long moment, but when he finally does and his fingers slip from my body, there’s a look of such satisfaction that it makes my nerves flutter with awareness again. I can’t stop staring at the obscene wetness on his flushed mouth, knowing that it’s my taste on his lips.

“Rhagos,” I whisper, tracing my fingers along his cheekbones. “Thank you.”

He turns his head, pressing his cheek against my palm. “Tell me that was good for you.”

I nod, a knot in my throat. “I’ve never felt anything so amazing.”

A flash of pleasure crosses his face and then he presses one last kiss to my lower belly, then carefully tugs my skirts back down over my trembling legs, smoothing them before lying beside me once more.

I immediately roll over and put my head on his chest, an arm going around his waist. I’m boneless and exhausted, but at the same time, I feel utterly needy. I want to be held, to be comforted and petted, because my brain is still spinning out of control even if my body isn’t.

Rhagos hesitates for a moment, and then hugs me tightly against him and I feel safe and protected. His fingers draw small circles on my back, and he gazes up at the stars as I watch him.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, because I just want to hear his voice.

His big body shifts a little under me, and I realize he’s shrugging. “That this feels like punishment, being here in the mortal realm.” He lifts a hand and lazily crosses his fingers.

I smile at that. “Maybe you weren’t that bad of a guy back home, so it’s not that much of a punishment?”

“I was not bad,” he says. He lets it sit at that for a moment, and then continues. “But what is ‘bad’ exactly? I was not lazy or selfish. I was cruel.” He pauses for a moment. “Mostly. It is not…complicated, being a god.”

I can imagine.

“Yet Riekki is not here in the mortal realm. She is not boring and good, that one. Why do we serve the same punishment?”

I trace my fingers up his arm. He’s hard everywhere, his arm corded with strength, and his sleeve slides up as I touch his skin. I see his tattoo there on his arm, and I’m reminded of the one on his back. “Maybe it’s not about good or bad, but about doing your job the way it needs to be done.”

“I care for my job,” he says in a chilly voice.

“Maybe that’s the problem.” And because I can sense his mood turning sour, I change the subject because I don’t want to ruin this moment. I brush my fingers over his arm tattoo. “You said your memories are spotty…do you remember what this says?”

“Yes. Another warning, perhaps.” He shrugs again under me. “It matters.”

“Riekki’s the goddess of knowledge, right? Maybe she’ll know. We can ask.”

He tenses under me. “You will not ask her about it, Max.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to protest his command, but then I remember the tattoo on his back and how it pretty much declares “Please assassinate Max.” He’s probably right. “I won’t say anything.”

His arms tighten around me. “Remember that Riekki will not be herself. She will not be as fragmented as I am.”

I look up at him. “Are you fragmented, then? Do you feel like less? Like there are pieces missing?”

He gazes down at me with those fantastically green eyes. “If there are, they are pieces I miss. Perhaps that is not the point of this.”

To show him he can be someone that doesn’t have to rely on pleasure or laziness? That he can be a good Death without those other things? He seems like a good guy to me, but I wonder how Hedonism Rhagos is. I wonder what Apathy Rhagos was like, and Arrogance Rhagos.

I’m greedy because I want to know all of them, even though I suspect this one is the best one. He has to be. I can’t imagine a Rhagos that’s more perfect than this one…minus all the pesky lying. “Well, if you want any advice on death-godding, that’s what I’m here for, right? To provide a mortal perspective?”

He snorts.

I poke him. Hard. “I’m serious. I bet that’s why you’re down here in the Anticipation. You guys all forgot what it’s like to be mortal.”

He looks over at me, his eyes curious. “I have always been mortal.”

I blink in surprise. “Never? But I thought…” I frown, trying to recall the legends that the scholars back in Port Tidewater regurgitated at me for days on end. It was a lot of information, but I remember something about the gods being mortal once, and being elevated to their positions by the High Father. Maybe I’m wrong, though.

“I was not created by the High Father,” he tells me. “Neither myself nor my brother Kalos.” He thinks for a minute. “Aron was not mortal once. Neither were Riekki and Belara. And not Vor.”

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of Vor. “Then maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t. I’m not a big fan of Vor.”

He chuckles, and his arms tighten around me.

“Tell me about your brother?” I ask. He’s brought Kalos up several times, but all I know about him is that he’s the god of disease and decay. Doesn’t sound like a fun job, but then again, death sounds pretty awful on paper and Rhagos isn’t awful at all.

“Kalos is…complicated.”

I digest that, and then realize he’s saying his brother isn’t complicated at all. “Oh?”

“His favorite things are not destruction and chaos. He does not like using mortals—or other gods—to get ahead. He does not love madness.” He thinks for a minute. “He probably does not love this Anticipation.”

Ugh. “He kind of sounds like a dick.”

Rhagos chuckles. “He is not.”

“And you’ve worked with him in the past?”

He sighs. “Not often enough.”

Too often. And he said his brother is a user.

I pat his stomach, hating the sad note in his voice. “Well, if we run into him, I won’t let him push us around.” Brave words, but after that intense orgasm, I’m feeling pretty cocky and sure of myself.

Rhagos strokes my arm, holding me tight. “Is that so? You would defend me from my brother, even if I do not need defending?”

“Sure. Someone’s got to have your back.” I pat his flat abdomen absently. “I always will. We’re a team.”

“We aren’t,” he says, voice thoughtful.

I…wonder if anyone’s ever told him that before. My heart squeezes, and I feel bad for my lonely death god. Maybe he wasn’t sent down here because he was doing a shitty job. Maybe he was sent down here so he could have a friend. That makes my heart hurt.

I’m not going to leave until I’m sure we can both get back home, I vow again. I’m not going to screw him…since it sounds like everyone else does. I won’t let that happen. “You can count on me,” I promise, and glance down.

There’s a large, tented bulge at the front of his robes.

My mouth goes dry at the sight. It shouldn’t be surprising. Of course he’s aroused. We just fooled around in the hay and he made me come. It makes sense that he’s hard, but what doesn’t make sense is that he hasn’t done a thing about it. He hasn’t asked me to touch him. Hasn’t asked for me to pleasure him. It’s all been about me. Isn’t that the opposite of what a lazy, selfish god is supposed to be like?

Because I’m feeling good—and because he’s so utterly appealing—I reach down and caress the hard length of him through his clothing.

His breath hisses from between his teeth. He grabs my hand and pulls it away.

I sit up, surprised, and look at him. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

Rhagos hesitates, the expression in his eyes shuttered. There’s a wary tension on his features, though. “I….do not want you to want it. You owe me everything.”

I frown at him. “I’m not touching you because I owe you one. I’m touching you because I want to.”

Has no one ever touched this man just because he deserves to be caressed, too? He’s breaking my damn heart.

He scowls down at me for such a long moment that I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me. Has no one ever approached him without wanting something? It makes me suddenly furious. He’s a powerful man—a god—and yet he’s utterly alone. No wonder he doesn’t trust anyone to have his back. They never have.

With a fierce look, I put my hand on his cock again and stroke it. I have only the barest idea of what I’m doing, thanks to books and television, but I figure I can wing it.

“Max,” he warns.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” I throw his own words back at him, even as I run my hand up and down his length. It’s hard to wrap him with my fingers thanks to the fabric separating us, but I can squeeze enough of him that I know it’s affecting him. It’s obvious from the way heat flares in his eyes, and the way his body jerks when my hand moves. “Tell me this is mine,” I demand. “If I’m yours, you’re mine. That’s how this goes.”

He growls low in his throat, panting, and there’s such need in his eyes. Such heat. I get up on hands and knees, even as I stroke his enormous length again. “Touch my tits,” I tell him. “Play with my nipples. And tell me that you’re mine.”

“Max.” Rhagos thrusts into my hand, even as he palms one of my small breasts. “Max…not…mine.”

“Yours,” I purr, stroking him faster. Harder. He’s huge and hot, scorching my hand through the fabric of his clothing. I want to peel them off of him and get a good look at him like this. Just drink him in. Get dizzy with how hard and aching he is for me. For Max. “Say it again,” I tell him. “Say it until you believe it.”

He crushes my breast in his hand as a low sound bursts from his throat. His hand covers mine on his cock, and then he’s using my hand, forcing me to move my hand faster, harder than I ever would, even as he pinches my nipple and works himself to a climax. He’s using me…and I absolutely love it.

When he comes, it’s with a groan of my name and his hungry gaze—so damn hungry—on mine. His entire body shudders and he pulls me back down against him, breathing hard, and I’ve never felt so satisfied in my life.

I made him come. So hard. I don’t think he expected it…and then I’m filled with a sudden hint of doubt. I look up at him, worried. “You’re not mad, are you? That we just did that?”

A huff of laughter escapes him and he drags me against his chest, holding me tight. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and snuggles my body against his, as if he never wants to let me go.

“Furious,” he murmurs. “Just furious.”

50

M orning comes far too soon, and when I wake up, I have hay in my mouth, drool tracks on my face, and Rhagos’s big body covering mine to keep me warm. There’s a fine mist over everything—including our clothes—and the woales moo and bleat nearby, moving closer.

Rhagos gives my ear a gentle bite when I try to go back to sleep. “Wake up. It is not past time to go.”

“Five more minutes,” I mumble, turning and burrowing my face against his chest.

“The sun will not be up soon. We do not want to go before we are seen.” And he nips my ear again. “On your feet or I will bathe you again.”

That makes me jerk upright, and Rhagos laughs and laughs. I scowl at him as I struggle to put my boots back on. Last night, I’d been drifting off to sleep when he’d wet a cloth, pushed my skirts up, and gently bathed me. I was incredibly mortified, and it didn’t even help that he grinned and cleaned himself while I watched. It might have been a sexy sort of thing if I had more experience with sex, but it just made me blush red as a tomato.

Still, he knows exactly what to say to get me moving.

I find my glasses in the messy hay, brush off my clothes, and I drink the last of our water and eat a hard roll of bread as we head down the road. Rhagos seems to be in a good mood, a hint of a smile playing at his hard mouth as we walk. He keeps a hand on me at all times, either at the small of my back, or an arm around my shoulders, and it feels nice.

Something changed in between us last night. That didn’t feel like friends with benefits. Actually, none of it has ever felt like friends with benefits. Not the first kiss, not the angry bite (I still cringe thinking about that bite), and not the interlude back in the oracles’ temple. It all feels weighty with emotion and feelings, but maybe that’s because I’m so inexperienced that I assign more to these sorts of things. Maybe to Rhagos, it means a lot less.

He’s smiling this morning, though, so I’ll take it.

The gentle rolling hills turn into a forest soon enough, and the road keeps winding through the trees, as wide as ever. More and more people arrive, the houses growing closer together despite the thick trees, and the road forks off into myriad crossroads. We see farmers with woales, men driving wagons, and far too many men in ratty armor that seem in a hurry as they gallop their horses north. I’m dying to ask where all the soldiers are heading off to, but I hope the answer isn’t Hrit Svala.

It makes me so nervous that by the time I see lights in the trees that indicate the distant city, that I suddenly don’t want to go. I want to turn back around, find another hay bale-strewn field, and hide out. I turn to Rhagos and pull him off the road, watching as another trio of soldiers rides their mounts toward the distant tree city. “I’m nervous about this. Are we sure this is the right thing to do?”

“You worry about this now?” He tugs me closer, scowling as another pair of men pass by and smirk in our direction, no doubt thinking we’re gonna do something naughty in the bushes. “We will not be there soon, Max.” He tucks the hood closer around my face, hiding my glasses. “Decide. I will not support whatever decision you make. Know that one is not as good as another.”

I sigh heavily, fighting down the panic I’m feeling. He’s right. One decision is as good as another. We can head straight to Chandrilhar, but it’s a long journey over land, and we don’t have mounts unless we steal—or kill—for them. Hedonism Rhagos is already on his way there, so he’ll be leagues ahead of us, which means we’re picking up the pieces after him. It’s not an ideal situation.

This is our only chance to get ahead. It’s a long shot, but if it doesn’t work, does it matter if we’re three days behind the other Rhagos or thirteen? We still won’t have the Shears of Fate. I still won’t be able to get home.

For a moment, I want to say “fuck it” to all of this. I want to go back to the island with Rhagos and hide out for a few months. Or a few years. Or however long we can stretch this anchor-Aspect thing. Just be a jungle girl with a death lord, eat sushi by the pound, and work on my tan.

But…Vor found us. Someone else would, too.

And Faith died because of this place.

Thinking of Faith just reinforces that I have to get home. As much as I like Rhagos—and boy, do I really like kissing Rhagos, and touching Rhagos—I can’t stay here. I’m a walking, breathing target.

I take a deep breath, and look at the distant city. The trees here are enormous, tall as buildings, and up ahead, I can see little houses sheltered in the branches, along with flickering torches and rickety-looking rope-and-plank walkways. I don’t see giant birds, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here somewhere. There’s an entire tree city up ahead and all I can see at the moment are the outskirts.

Okay. We can do this. I close my eyes and nod. “I’m sorry. I’m freaking out. Just give me a moment.”

“Do not take the time you need.”

Another group passes us on the road to the city, and they’re dirty and disheveled, as if they’ve been traveling for a long time. It’s three men leading a woale, and two ride while one leads the reins. They’re all wearing beat-up armor that’s seen better days, their cloaks ragged. Everyone that’s heading in this direction looks dirty and travel-worn, come to think of it. I eye Rhagos. Despite the fact that we spent last night sleeping in a field, more or less, he looks immaculate. His rich black clothing hasn’t wrinkled quite like my stolen nun outfit, and it clings to him in all the right ways, enhancing his broad shoulders and making him look dangerous. His hair is perfect, like always, without a bit of hay in it, and he doesn’t even have a hint of beard stubble.

This won’t do at all.

“Do you trust me?” I ask him suddenly.

His eyes narrow. “No.”

“Okay, good.” I grab his hand and haul him off the road, heading into the trees. When we get far enough that no one can see us, I crouch on the ground and put my hand out. “Gimme the bag.”

He does, but it’s clear he’s not following what I’m up to. “Why?”

“We need you to blend a bit more,” I tell him. “Look at me. What do you see when you look at me?”

“Utter ugliness.” His voice is quiet. Sincere.

I pause, stunned, and then grab the front of his tunic and kiss him hard. He tumbles to the ground, falling onto his back—deliberately, I suspect—and then we’re rolling in the bushes, kissing until I’m breathless.

“It’s not wolves in the bushes,” a cheery voice calls out. “Just a harlot and her customer.”

Oh. Whoops.

I unhook my greedy fingers from the front of Rhagos’s tunic and clear my throat. I’m utterly distracted. “Um. What were we doing?”

“Not kissing,” he says gravely.

I swallow the urge to laugh. “No, before that.”

“You did not want our bag.” He gets to his feet and retrieves the pack from where it fell a few feet away, thanks to my exuberant kiss.

Right. I take it when he offers it, and pull it open. “You kept your acolyte robes, didn’t you? The gray ones?” I distinctly remember stuffing them in the bag as we were hurrying to leave, just in case we needed a change of clothing. I find them, and pull out the wrinkled mess. “Perfect.”

“Perfect?” he echoes.

I look up at him, biting my lip, and then grab a bit of dirt from the forest floor and rub it on his jaw.

He jerks backward in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We need to look a little more travel-worn,” I tell him. “You’re far too pretty as you are right now. We need to make you look a little less godlike and a little more human.”

“So your answer is to rub dirt onto me?”

“Pretty much. And to put you in wrinkled clothing.” I hold the wad of fabric out to him. “We can be Kemma and Taros again. We’re running away from Balsingra and eloping to Hrit Svala.”

His eyes flare. “Eloping?”

“I promise to hang all over you and play the part.” I don’t know who I’m trying to persuade, him or me. I don’t think either of us needs convincing on that end.

“You will not need to get rid of these, then,” he says, and touches the rim of my glasses.

“I know.” I sigh heavily and pocket them, tucking them into my cloak. “Just tell me if I run into a wall or something.”

He snorts with amusement, and then doesn’t complain when I rub a bit more dirt on his forehead and jaw. It’s just a little, enough to make him look not quite so unearthly, and I pluck a few strands of hay out of my hair and transfer them to his. He changes into the wrinkled clothing and…well, he still looks magnificent.

But with luck, no one will stop to look twice at him.

We emerge from the bushes in our matching, wrinkled robes, and I grab his hand. He squeezes mine, and for some reason, it makes me stupidly happy just to hold his hand. Man, last night’s orgasm really improved my mood. I can’t stop smiling.

I’m such a doofus.

When we get back on the road, no one pays a bit of attention to us. We’re just another pair of travelers heading toward the town lights as the night falls, and when we get to the first tree, I’m shocked at the sheer size of it.

Each tree is as big around as a house. The trunk is so wide that each must be thousands of years old. At the base of the first tree, there’s a wooden landing and a large building with stables and a sign that looks like a bed. An inn, and on the ground so travelers can have a place to put their horses. Smart.

It’s also packed. There’s woales and scrawny ponies tied to the front of the place, and the stable itself looks completely brimming with animals. Hrit Svala is a popular travel spot, it seems. I hesitate for a moment, and then turn to Rhagos. “Should we go inside?”

He shrugs, looking at me, and I know he’s going to return to his quiet self now that we’re around others so they won’t know he’s Lies. It makes me a little sad—I like talking to him. I feel like I’ve gotten to know him so much better now that his secret’s out.

But the whole idea is to blend.

We’re not entirely sure where the goddess will be, so I decide the inn is the best place anyhow. Holding tight to Rhagos’s hand, I squeeze into the packed place, and when I spot an empty table in the middle of the room with two stools, I immediately head there.

A barmaid comes over, her shirt filthy, her face sweaty and red, but she’s got a friendly expression on her face. “More travelers? Acolytes from the look of you. Where’re ya from, love?”

I beam at her, squeezing Rhagos’s hand tight so he’ll let me take the lead. “We’re on our way from Balsingra.”

“To join a temple?” Her brows go up as she eyes our clothing.

I cast a shy look in Rhagos’s direction and don’t have to fake the blush on my cheeks. “We’re eloping.”

Her eyes widen and she gives me a genuine smile. “Well now, good on you two. No point in serving the gods when they only serve themselves. Who were you supposed to be serving?” She gestures at our clothing.

“Belara,” I say.

At the same time, Rhagos says, “Kalos.”

The woman hoots with laughter. “No wonder you two ran away. You’ll never have a moment’s peace together trying to serve those two. You should be bitter enemies.” She spits over her shoulder and then nods in our direction. “Food and drink? House has stewed hen tonight.”

“Um.” I look over at Rhagos and then back at the woman. “I’m not sure how much money we have. We didn’t plan very far ahead.”

“Obviously.” She tsks at our wrinkled clothes. “That’s what love does to you.”

I blush again. This story of ours is getting easier and easier. “This…this is Hrit Svala, right? We’re to meet someone who’ll marry us.”

“Hrit Svala? This dump?” She hoots with laughter, then reaches over and pushes my shoulder. “Go on with you.”

Rhagos stiffens, as if ready to jerk out of his seat.

I put my hand on his knee under the table and squeeze, hoping he’ll get the hint. I keep my eyes on the woman. “I don’t understand. I thought Hrit Svala was the tree city?”

“Oh, it is.” She chuckles. “This here’s Hrit Unth. Hrit Svala’s a few hours walk ahead. You can get there in the morning. You got a place to sleep? Inn’s almost full.” She gestures at all the men crowding near the bar. “Might want to claim your privacy while you can.”

The wink she gives me is horribly exaggerated and makes my blush get hotter.

Rhagos puts an arm around my shoulders, as if claiming me, and the waitress just beams at us. “Where are all these soldiers going? They seem to be everywhere.” He tugs me closer. “I’m not sure if it’s safe to be on the roads with my bride.”

The woman gives him a knowing look. “The Anticipation definitely brings around interesting times. As for the soldiers…” She waves a hand in the air, exasperated. “Fools heading off to Adassia to join the armies of the Butcher God. Rumor has it that he’s there, and so every idiot looking for glory is heading north.”

“Oh, Adassia?” I blurt out. “But—”

Rhagos kicks me under the table.

Oh. Right. Most people won’t know that Aron has re-ascended unless they’ve heard it from an oracle or seen it outright. News probably hasn’t spread here yet, and the last thing I want to do is give all these bored soldiers something new to focus on. I shut my mouth.

“We’re heading north, too,” Rhagos says casually. “I think we’ll stay here tonight. I don’t like the thought of taking Kemma out alone in the dark with these men wandering the roads.”

The woman nods. “Your little bride is a pretty one. Best guard her closely. So a room for the two of you, then?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. “We don’t have the money. Can we stay in your stable? We just need a bit of hay to bed down on.”

Rhagos squeezes my shoulder and I turn bright red, thinking about last night’s hay-escapades.

“Didn’t you hear me?” The barmaid shakes her head, wiping her hands on her apron. “Inn’s full. Stable is, too. There’s no room. You might be able to bed down here in the main area.” She gestures at the tavern. “But that’s not very safe for a young lady either.” Her gaze settles on me and her expression softens. “You’ll just have to come home with me for tonight. You can stay with me and my husband. Still have my son’s bed in the loft, so you can stay there.”

“Oh, I’m not sure—” I look over at Rhagos.

“It’s decided!” the woman says stubbornly. “If your man knows what’s good for the both of you, you won’t stay here in the common room or go wandering off in the dark.”

Rhagos just pulls me closer and casts her a beaming smile. “How can we refuse?”

“You can’t,” she agrees, and then it’s settled. She taps the table. “I’ll bring you some food. On the house. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”

“You’re too kind to us,” I say.

“My husband Birkef and I were young once.” She chuckles, wiping her sweaty brow. “Name’s Tadja. I’ll be back shortly with your food. Speak up if you need anything.” With a wink, she disappears into the crowd, greeting another table.

I look over at Rhagos. “That was nice of her. Are we sure we want to do this?”

He watches me thoughtfully. “She is wrong—there are not many soldiers out on the roads tonight. Besides, you do not need to eat.”

“As long as we can keep up the story, Taros.”

He laughs, the sound nearly drowned out in the noisy inn. “I am not the embodiment of lies, Kemma.”

“Also next time, maybe don’t pick Kalos as the god you’re serving,” I grumble.

His eyes gleam. “Ah, but now they understand why we ran away. The temple will never let us be together, as oracles of warring gods.”

He’s far too slick. Even with the dirt on his face and in his rumpled robes, he’s also far too handsome, especially when he smiles. I worry someone’s going to figure out who he is and nail us, and this inn is full of people.

No, full of soldiers, I correct myself, all of them heading north to fight for a god that’s already gone and left. I think of poor Faith, and ache just a little. “I guess this is the smartest thing to do. Hopefully it won’t be too hard for us to pretend to be eloping for a bit longer.”

In response, Rhagos just lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.

Flustered, I have to fight not to squirm in my seat. Definitely slick.

51

T  adja is busy all night as even more soldiers squeeze their way into the tavern. She swings by with a huge bowl of greasy chicken and soggy vegetables, but I’m not picky. I eat all of it and surreptitiously eat Rhagos’s food, too. She keeps our drinks topped off and offers us an occasional smile, but it’s clear that the tavern is so flooded with customers that there’s no time for her to talk.

Which is fine, because I’m very aware that our story is flimsy and Rhagos can’t talk to someone unless he’s lying to them. The less talking the better. It’s hard for us to talk to each other, because we don’t want to talk too loudly in case we’re overheard, and the tavern is so crowded that it’s impossible to speak in a tone lower than a shout. So we mostly just sit together quietly and wait for Tadja to get off work. I spot her hurriedly trying to wash a few dishes in between customers, and grab Rhagos’s hand, dragging him with me.

I may not know how to do much in a fantasy world, but a dish is a dish.

Tadja looks so grateful for the help I think she might cry. She squeezes me tight in a bear hug, and then dashes off when someone calls for a refill. We spend the rest of the night washing dishes. At least, I do, and I make Rhagos dry. He frowns when I hand him the towel, and I actually have to show him how to wipe the heavy pottery bowls down because he doesn’t seem to grasp it at first.

The man is totally helpless. It’s kind of adorable.

In the small kitchen area, there’s a little more room to talk, and spending time with Rhagos—even if my hands are in sudsy, dirty dishwater—makes the evening pass by quickly. The endless supply of bowls and drinking mugs eventually disappears, and I notice that the tavern is getting quieter. Sure enough, out in the front, Tadja’s sweeping the wooden floors—or trying to around the soldiers—and the moment she moves on, the men wrap themselves in their cloaks and get comfortable. The barmaid was right—the inn’s full of soldiers that look as if they don’t plan on leaving until dawn. Some of them cast an occasional look in my direction, and I’m reminded of the pirate ship, when the men grabbed me.

I shudder and hover a little closer to Rhagos.

“Grab your things and come with me,” Tadja says eventually, yawning. She flips a worn cloak over her shoulders and heads to the barkeep, who hands her a few coins for her work this evening, and then she waves us on. Rhagos and I follow her out, and she heads up one of the steep walkways into the trees themselves, and we cross several narrow bridges as Tadja keeps up a one-sided conversation.

“So many soldiers. Been a long time since I’ve seen the like,” she huffs, her breath puffing white in the cold night air. “They’re a rowdy bunch, but at least the money’s good.”

“Thank you again,” I say as we follow behind her. It’s late and Hrit Unth is quiet, the only sound our voices and that of leaves rustling. The homes here are more spaced out than the ones in Balsingra, and they also seem to be a lot more rickety, made from hewn logs and have mossy roofs. Up close, I can see why Tadja thinks this place is a bit of a dump, and it makes me wonder what Hrit Svala is like. If Hrit Unth is similar, maybe we can skip Hrit Svala and the goddess entirely. “Do you guys have giant birds here?”

“Giant birds?” Tadja echoes.

“To ride?”

Before I can say more, Rhagos chimes in. “I promised Kemma we’d see them for our wedding. To go with the tale, of course.”

“Such romantics,” Tadja chuckles, and I wonder what tale it is they’re talking about. “No, no great griffins here. They’re just a story, you know.”

I stop in my tracks, disappointment crashing through me. “They…they are?”

Rhagos places a big, calming hand on my shoulder. “There’s some truth in all legends,” he says easily. “Even ones about griffins.”

Tadja doesn’t turn around to correct us. “Yes, but the stories say that griffins haven’t carried the nobles of Hrit Svala since Kassam walked this land, and who knows how many hundreds of years that’s been?” She gestures up ahead. “Here. I’m down this pathway.”

The barmaid leads us around the thick trunk of one of the massive trees. Despite the prick of disappointed tears, I notice that the torches lighting the walkways here aren’t made of flame after all, but more of the glowing stones like they had back in the library at Balsingra. It makes sense not to have fire in a tree town, I suppose. I also can’t help but notice that this section of Hrit Unth is not as nice as the others, which is saying something. The tiny, clapboard houses are smaller and more tightly squeezed together, and laundry hangs from ropes overhead, forcing us to duck through wet clothing.

Tadja opens her narrow, rickety door with a beaming smile. “Birkef? I’m home, love, and I’ve brought visitors.”

“Coming,” says a thready voice.

“Take your time,” she calls back, sweeping her cloak off and hanging it on a hook near the door as she ushers us in.

“Visitors, you say?” the man calls from another room. I look around the house. It’s as small as my apartment’s living room, but she’s got an entire house seemingly crammed in here. There’s a tiny kitchen area, with neat, crowded shelves of pottery dishes and drying herbs. There’s a dainty table with two chairs near a small shuttered window, and off to the side I can see a trunk for storage. A rocking chair is angled in a corner, and more bowls of the glowing rocks provide light to see by. Off to one side, a ladder goes up to a loft, and a door in the back provides privacy for what must be their bedroom. Fresh laundry hangs from a line that crosses the interior of the house, and Rhagos has to duck, his head bobbing as he moves around it.

Tadja speaks again. “Save your breath, love, and mind your steps. Have you eaten dinner?”

“Hours ago,” comes the wheezing voice, and while Rhagos and I stand in the middle of Tadja’s tiny living area, a man wobbles into the main room. He’s got a cane that he leans on heavily, and he’s tall but stooped. His face is a sickly pale, and while Tadja looks like she’s in her forties, this man could be forty-eight, or a hundred and eight. Sickness has made him look withered beyond his years, and he coughs as he carefully picks his way the short distance into the main part of the small house. My heart fills with pity for the man as Tadja puts an arm around his waist and helps him to the rocking chair.

It’s clear that she loves him greatly, and it’s also clear that he’s not well.

My heart aches for the obviously exhausted Tadja, who hovers over her husband, fussing with his blankets as he settles into the rocker and then rests, as if just that small effort was too much for his body. But the smile he casts in our direction is bright and self-deprecating.

“I see my beautiful wife has made new friends tonight?”

Tadja chuckles. “They’re eloping. Rival acolytes from one of the temples in Balsingra. They’re heading to Hrit Svala to get married. Isn’t it sweet? Reminds me of when we were young.” She plants a kiss atop his head and then gestures at myself and Rhagos. “Sit, sit, I’ll put on some hot tea. I know it’s late, but Birkef and I always have a cup of tea before going to bed.” She heads to the kitchen area and then takes several of the glowing stones with tongs and drops them into a kettle.

“Tea is lovely,” I tell her, not wanting to offend. “Thank you. It’s very kind.” I hesitate at the edge of her small table, because there’s only two chairs and three people, and it’s Tadja’s home. Before I can suggest that she sit down, Rhagos pulls one of the chairs out, thumps into it, and then pulls me into his lap.

I bite back the squeak of surprise that rises in my throat and put an arm around his shoulders to steady myself. Well, that’s one way to do it.

Birkef just smiles at the sight of it. “So young. I remember being that young once…and I also remember being very headstrong. Tadja and I ran away to get married, too, you know.”

“My father was a stern old soldier from Aventine,” Tadja chimes in. “Thought his daughter could do better than a stable boy from Sunswallow. We met in the middle of the night and ran away together. Ended up here.” Her smile grows fond as she looks over at her husband. “No regrets.”

“It has been a good life, despite everything,” Birkef agrees. He holds his cane across his knees and gives us a tired smile. “So what is in Hrit Svala that you want to see so badly?”

Rhagos squeezes me, his big hand resting on one of my thighs. “The big birds from the legends. I wanted to show them to Kemma.”

I’m too distracted by his touch and the casual way he holds me to speak up. It’s so warm and comforting in his lap, and I feel…cuddled and adored, which is probably silly. I don’t care if it is, though. It’s nice. We’ve had so many shitty moments since I crossed over into this world that the nice ones feel like treasures. I sigh and relax against him, tucking my head against his shoulder, and I love that his arms tighten around me.

“You’re a few hundred years too late for the griffins,” Birkef says. “You can still see the nobles flying about in the sky, though.

I stiffen.

“Oh?” Rhagos’s voice is casual.

“Oh yes. I’ve been there once or twice, though it’s been a while.” Birkef gestures at his cane. “But they don’t walk the streets, the nobles. And woales are too heavy and messy for the city, since everything is in the trees. They’re magic users, the nobles of Hrit Svala, and you can see the great constructs they make of white sails. They fly over the city like enormous doves. It’s very pretty. Very striking. Your lady will like it.”

That…might work for our needs. A magic hang-glider of some kind? I squeeze Rhagos’s arm. “I’d love to see them.”

“Might want to wait until the Anticipation is over,” Tadja says, pouring hot water into cups. “I hear there’s one of the Aspects in Hrit Svala. Given how crazy this place is with the soldiers heading for Aron of the Cleaver, I can’t imagine what it’s like there with Riekki in residence. Wizards everywhere, I imagine.” She shakes her head and then brings a cup of tea to her husband. “Only good wizard’s a dead wizard.”

“Only good Aspect’s a dead Aspect,” Birkef counters, and they both share a chuckle.

I freeze, my heart hammering. That was…unexpected. Rhagos doesn’t react, but I don’t like hearing it, and I feel compelled to defend the unknown goddess. “I’m sure the goddess is nice.”

“I’ve heard she’s a real bitch, actually,” Tadja says.

Rhagos coughs.

I remain silent.

“I know, I know,” Tadja says, putting the three cups of tea on a tray and then bringing it over to our small table. “You think I’m a heretic. You’re both young and idealistic, so you don’t like the words I’m saying. But when you’ve been around for as long as we have, and seen how little the gods care for people, you’ll realize that the only ones you can count on are each other.” Her smile is sad as she sets the tea down.

I don’t want to drink it, even though it smells lovely. I think of the spinner, and how she’d ridiculed me for drinking without stopping to ask what it was. Tadja’s comments have put me on edge. Is this a trap and they’re too sweet-faced for me to realize it? I put my hand on the teacup, as if I’m considering it, but that’s it.

“Perhaps the goddess is unpleasant because of which Aspect she is,” Rhagos says, and his voice is utterly reasonable. “They’ve been sent to the mortal realm to learn a lesson, right?”

The married couple just exchanges a look. “Unless you’re a scholar, I imagine Riekki will care nothing for you. I can’t imagine she’s working the bridged streets of Hrit Svala to try and make the world a better place. More likely sitting on her privileged ass as everyone scurries to please her.”

That’s so close to how Rhagos was served at Port Tidewater—and in Balsingra—that I feel myself blushing.

“If the gods learned their lessons, the High Father would not send them down for Anticipation after Anticipation,” Birkef chuckles.

“But she’s without her powers—what do you think she’s supposed to do?” Rhagos inquires.

“She is Riekki,” Tadja says, spreading her hand in a helpless gesture as she sits across from us. “A goddess of knowledge. Use that knowledge to help people. Tell her healers how to cure the sick. Give us ways to make our lives better.” She shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea. “If that’s too much work, the least she could do is head to Adassia and stop the war, since she is the Peacekeeper. Instead, she is as lazy as the rest of them, just biding her time until she returns. I pity the anchor she’s fooled into serving her.”

I can feel Rhagos stiffen under me. “Surely not all of the gods are bad?”

Tadja gives me a sour look. “I know what you’re thinking—that with my words, I’ll end up in the Field of the Forgotten.” She shrugs. “At least I’ll have good company there. Me, all the babies, and my own sweet little daughter.” Her voice breaks.

“Now, Tadja,” Birkef murmurs, looking at his wife with fond—but sad—eyes.

“Babies?” I have to ask.

She shakes her head. “What are they filling your head with at that temple? Nothing good, I imagine.” She huffs a breath. “And yes. Babies. Everyone knows that those that die before they can be dedicated to a god are left in the Field of the Forgotten, forever. Doomed before they even get a chance, all because they were never claimed.” She raises a corner of her apron and dabs at her eyes. “My daughter was born with her cord wrapped around her neck. Never drew a breath, but because of that, she will be forgotten for all eternity?” She shakes her head. “The gods don’t care. She’s nothing to them. It’s a cruel set of overlords the High Father has given us.”

My heart aches for her, and for what she’s saying. It doesn’t sound fair. I want to turn to Rhagos and ask him if it’s true, but I suspect it is. I can feel the anger vibrating through him, though he hasn’t said anything.

When Rhagos finally does speak, I’m tense, but his words are easy and calm. “What should the Lord of Death do with unclaimed souls, then? His task is only to sort the dead and usher them to their final resting place, yes?”

Birkef speaks up. “He is the Lord of Death. Surely he can make the rules? Why punish the innocent?”

I make a sound of protest in my throat, but Rhagos just pats my knee and keeps on speaking. “Perhaps the rules have always been there? Why would you change them for just one or two people?”

“One or two?” Tadja shakes her head. “Do you know how many babies die every year because Anali’s priests are more interested in having their pockets lined than saving lives?”

“How is that Rhagos’s problem?” he asks stiffly.

“He’s just as corrupt,” Birkef says, voice thready. “His priests demand higher prices every year to bury the dead properly, and we all know what happens to those that aren’t given the proper rites.”

Rhagos grunts.

I’m curious what happens to those that aren’t given the proper rites, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I mentally file it away for later.

“I know we sound bitter,” Tadja says, her voice sad. “It’s just…when you lose two children, you hate to think of both of them suffering eternally. My girl died at birth, like I said, and our boy Berris ran off to war in Glistentide. His entire legion was destroyed and none were ever heard from again. We can only guess what happened but...it hurts.” She swipes at her cheeks. “And the gods don’t care.”

“Maybe this time it’ll be different.” I say the words softly, gently. “Maybe this time, lessons will be learned and things will get better.”

The looks both Tadja and Birkef give me are sad and pitying, as if I’m too young and idealistic to realize what the world is like. Do they realize who they’re talking to? Who Rhagos is? I sincerely doubt it—if they did, they’d probably hold back a bit more.

But Rhagos is utterly silent, and I don’t know what he’s thinking.

All of this feels so uncomfortable and wrong that I fake a yawn. “I’m exhausted. I’m sorry to step on your hospitality, but I would love to get some sleep.”

“Oh, of course, of course.” Tadja jumps to her feet. “Here. Let me get fresh bedding for the loft bed and set you up.”

I get to my feet, but Rhagos only takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “I’ll join you shortly. I’m enjoying the conversation.”

Yikes. I hate how that lie rolled right off his lips. The moment I turn my back, is he going to kill them for daring to lecture him? It wouldn’t surprise me, and I’m suddenly so tired of all of this. Poor Tadja and Birkef were just trying to be kind. No wonder they’re so bitter—they’ve lost both children. I lean in and kiss him on the mouth, cupping his face. “Remember not to use your powers,” I whisper. “It’s too dangerous.”

He simply gazes at me, a ghost of a smile on his mouth, and says nothing.

The loft is a tight fit, no bigger than a pup tent, and the bed itself is a stuffed mattress on the floor, the “roof” of the loft not three feet overhead. Tadja squeezes in to make the bed, and when she’s done, I give her a hug, thank her for her hospitality, and then climb up. There’ll be enough room for Rhagos…barely. That’s provided he comes to bed at all.

Once my head hits the pillow, I realize how exhausted I am. I tug the covers up to my chin and drowse, closing my eyes.

Rhagos’s deep, soulful voice drifts up from below. His tone is gentle, though. “Tell me more of your thoughts, Birkef. What do you think the Lord of Death should do when the dead are not buried properly? What is the correct price? Who should be punished if the poor are turned away?” He pauses and then adds, “I am curious…as a priest of Kalos.”

I cross my fingers and hope he listens.

52

When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone, and I can hear Rhagos talking downstairs. There’s a hint of laughter, and coughing, and then Birkef speaks again. I rub my face and comb my hair with my fingers, trying to wake up.

Well, Rhagos didn’t slaughter them for their chastising words while I slept. That’s progress, I think. I climb down from the loft and find them sitting in much the same spots as last night, with dark circles under Birkef and Tadja’s eyes, but they’re smiling. Rhagos is, too.

“Did you guys sleep?” I ask, immediately crossing to Rhagos’s side when he puts a hand out for me.

Tadja holds out a bowl for me, steaming with breakfast porridge of some kind. “I did, but these two stayed up all night talking and discussing religion.” She rolls her eyes, but her expression is fond.

“Taros has the sharpest mind,” Birkef says, smothering another cough. “It was a pleasure.”

“I thought it was excellent conversation all around?” Rhagos says, and pulls me against him, pressing a kiss to my brow. “Also, what do you think of getting married today, Kemma?”

“I…ah…what?” He actually wants to go through with this charade?

“Perhaps you two should talk,” Tadja says, smiling over her breakfast.

Rhagos nods and takes me by the hand, leading me out the front door since there’s no room for privacy inside. Outside, the sun is just barely rising, the light pale and misty as it filters through the trees. In the distance, blurry people emerge from their houses, and conversation wafts up through the branches. It’s chilly out, and I cross my arms over my chest and try not to bounce with cold. My cloak—and my glasses—are inside.

“What’s going on?” I whisper the moment the door shuts behind us. I glance around, but no one’s walking close by, so we’re more or less alone. “You really want to get married today?”

“What is the harm?” He shrugs. “It does not fit our story, and it will not make Birkef and Tadja happy. Tadja does not love weddings, according to her husband.”

“But…” I protest. “Married?”

“Kemma and Taros will marry,” he says, his expression unreadable. “Our hosts have not been kind to us and I would repay them for some of the ideas they have given me. Birkef will not die soon.”

I gasp. “He will? You can tell?”

“It is not obvious.” He shrugs. “I do not like him, though. I will not make him an advisor to me in the Underworld. He has uninteresting ideas.”

I stare at him in horror. “So you’re going to what, fake a wedding, and then collect Tadja’s husband when he dies because you want a buddy?”

“What is wrong with that?” Now he looks genuinely confused. “I thought you would not approve.”

“Tadja works all day long at that inn to make money to take care of both of them,” I hiss, pointing at the door. “It’s obvious that he can’t work. And you’re just going to let him die and leave her all alone? After everything else she’s lost?”

“What would you have me do?” He scowls at me.

“You’re the god of death. How about you just help him not die?” I shake my head. “They deserve to grow old together, Rhagos. Don’t take him from her.”

His frown grows even more thunderous. “Death is a bad thing.”

“I know it’s not a bad thing,” I tell him, exasperated. “But can’t he die another thirty years from now when he and his wife have enjoyed their lives together? It’s so unfair.”

“Death is always fair. Always.”

Hot tears prick my eyes and I grind my palms into my eyelids, tired and oh so sad. “I feel like we’re just destroying everything we touch, Rhagos. Can’t we do one thing that’s good instead of leaving nothing but bad things in our wake? I want them to be happy. They’ve been so nice…they deserve better.”

“I can change the rules for one person,” he says stiffly.

“I know,” I say, exhausted and defeated. “I know. I’m not saying change the way you do everything. Just…maybe sometimes look at the individual and not the whole. Never mind. It was stupid to ask. I just…wanted something different for them.” I hug my arms to my chest and stare down at the wooden planks beneath our feet, unable to meet his eyes. “That’s all.”

Rhagos is silent for so long that I know he’s mad at me. I just know it. He gets prickly every time I question his motives, as if I’m accusing him instead of being on his side. When I finally look up, he speaks. “You want me to use my powers even though it’s dangerous for you?”

I wince inwardly at the thought. “I’m not a fan of the headaches and the brain-crushing feeling, but if it means saving one person, then yes. I want to do it.”

“And you want me to risk your life?” He scowls.

“Surely one time won’t be that bad, will it?” I manage a faint smile. “Please, Rhagos. You said that the rules can’t be changed for just one person, right? That no one is different than another. Why do I deserve to live more than he does? You’d heal me, so heal him.”

He cups my chin, gazing down at me. “And what will you give me if I make this happen?”

I gasp, utterly aroused. “Are we doing another bargain?”

“Why not? Do you disapprove of how they have turned out so far?” He arches one inky black eyebrow at me.

I turn beet red. “You know I don’t,” I mutter. Is he just trying to get me to say I really liked touching him so far? That yes, you giving me an orgasm was one of the best things ever. Does he want me to stroke his ego and tell him how incredible his touch makes me feel?

But then I pause, because a new idea drifts into my head, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I eye him as he leans over me. “A new bargain, then? Okay. If you can save Birkef, I’ll…take you in my mouth again. And this time I won’t use teeth.”

Rhagos goes still. “Do you suggest that because you want it or because you think I want it?” He traces my jaw with a knuckle. “I want you to feel as if you must debase yourself to get your way with me.”

He thinks I’m offering it like that? I fight the urge to flick his hand away in irritation, but then I remember the last time I did that to him, I did bite his dick and run away. So…there’s that. “I suggested it because I wanted to,” I tell him, feeling like an idiot. “Because when we touch, it shouldn’t be all about just my pleasure. It should be about yours, too, and touching you gives me pleasure. But if you don’t like the idea, I can come up with something else—”

He kisses me, silencing my words. His big hands cup my face and he just kisses me, so long and hard and thorough that I’m breathless by the time he pulls away.

“I don’t want that,” he murmurs. “And our bargain is not sealed.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and that’s that.

RHAGOS DOESN’T HEAL Birkef right away. We talk a little more—my face burning and my mouth swollen from his kisses—and decide that it’s best to continue to be Taros and Kemma for a while longer, which means no healing until we’re ready to leave.

When we re-enter the house, hand in hand, Tadja just grins knowingly at my puffy, pink mouth, and sighs, muttering something about being young once more.

Then, we separate, and Tadja helps me prepare for my shotgun wedding.

While Birkef and “Taros” head out into the tree village to go find the priestess of Belara to marry us, Tadja dresses me up like I’m a doll. She puts me in a deep green, simple dress with pale gold embroidery along the cuffs and the bodice, and then laces me into an overskirt with more of the delicate golden design along the hem. “This was my wedding dress,” she tells me with a sigh. “I saved it for my daughter, but it looks good on you, Kemma dear.”

I smooth my hands down the front of the dress. The fabric is rough compared to the fine, silky things I wore in Port Tidewater, the make of it almost crude. She’d be mortified if she knew how rich my dresses were there, but I love this one. I don’t care that the hem’s a little too long and the neck of it is so deep that my cleavage would be indecent if I actually had cleavage.

I feel like a princess. It’s my wedding day.

Well, Kemma’s wedding day. She’s marrying Taros, a rogue acolyte of the god of disease. Max isn’t marrying the god of death…but sometimes I let my mind wander in that direction, just because I’m a hopeless romantic.

Tadja pulls my hair up into three looping twists, forming a crown atop my head, and golden threads have been woven through my braids. There’s no veil here, just a crown of flowers that’s fixed over my glossy braids, and then I’m ready for the ceremony. She leads me out of her house, pulling on my hand, as we head toward the small temple of Belara nestled in a nearby tree.

“Are we sure they’re going to do this for us?” I ask her.

“I’m sure,” Tadja says. “My Birkef is clever with his tongue.” And she gives me a lewd wink.

Yikes. A bit too much information there.

She tugs me up one of the winding, twisting wooden walkways that curl around the massive tree trunks, and we pass other villagers as we go. Tadja waves and nods, eliciting us curious looks when they see me in her dress. “We’re having a wedding today,” she calls out to the onlookers.

At least, I assume the onlookers are curious since they all pause when they see us. I can’t read their faces, as they’re little more than a blur. By the time we get up the ramp, a few people are following us to see what we’re up to, and I feel utterly conspicuous as the borrowed skirts swirl heavily around my legs. We’re gathering attention and I worry that someone’s going to realize who Rhagos is. Then we’ll be on the run once more, and we won’t be able to help Birkef.

I squint as we get to the top of the landing, and green vines cover the railing and trail along the edges of the walkway. Colorful flowers dot the greenery, and there’s a large archway in front of the moss-roofed home. There’s a figure with a cane sitting down on a stool near the hut entrance, and a woman in a golden yellow gown sweeps forward. “Is this the bride?”

I don’t see Rhagos anywhere. I can feel that he’s near, though—our bond pulses comfortably—and I glance around. “Where’s Taros?”

The woman extends her hands toward me and Tadja nudges me in her direction. “He is inside, changing. I will not let a young man marry his bride in wrinkled robes.” As she takes my hand, I get a better look at her face. She’s utterly beautiful, with gentle eyes and a face that’s seen years of wisdom. The priestess’s hair might have been bright red once, but it’s fading to a whitish orange. Her hair is loose underneath a thin golden circlet, and there’s a symbol of a stylized sun on her brow—the symbol of her goddess. She smiles sweetly at me. “You look lovely. Kemma, is it?”

“Yes.” I get suddenly tongue-tied. Everything’s rushing so fast. How is it that I’m getting married? How is it that no one’s figured out that he’s the god of death? It’s so obvious to me. I glance around, and notice that the crowd has gotten larger. “Why are so many people here?”

“To bring you luck, of course. Belara bestows blessings upon those that share their joy with friends and family.” Her smile is kind.

I want to point out that Belara’s not in the heavens right now, that these people aren’t my friends or my family but strangers…but that seems a little petty. They’re happy for us, so the least I can do is smile. Tadja fusses with my heavy skirts as the priestess ushers me forward.

Then, Rhagos ducks out of the log-cabin-like temple of Belara and takes my breath away.

He’s dressed entirely in green to match mine. It must be a traditional color for weddings, as is the flower crown, because he’s got a crown of white flowers atop his black, wavy hair, too. Instead of making him look feminine, it just emphasizes how masculine he is. The tunic might as well have been made for him, with the shoulders fitted perfectly and the short length of it skimming his mid-thigh. It’s belted around his narrow waist and the overall look is one of sheer strength…and my throat goes tight.

This is the moment where they realize he’s not mortal at all.

But no one says anything. There’s a few murmurs of appreciation as he comes to my side, and I can’t help but stare up at him as his face comes into focus. The green of the tunic matches his eyes, and he gazes down at me with such fierce pride and devotion that it takes my breath away.

It’s a lie, of course. All of this is just for show…but it feels so, so real.

“Shall we begin?” the priestess says in a lilting voice. “Do you have the tithe for the goddess?”

“Tithe?” I echo, worried. That sounds like money. A lot of money. We didn’t leave Balsingra with much at all.

“Not to worry, love,” Tadja says, stepping forward. “We have you.” She takes a pouch of money out of her belt and gives her seated husband a wink.

Birkef just chuckles. “Anything for love. That’s my Tadja’s motto.”

“Thank you,” I say softly as I stand in front of Rhagos. I give him a meaningful look. If we don’t heal Birkef before we leave here, I am going to find the biggest treasure in that dragon hoard and bring it back to these two lovely people. They deserve that at least.

Rhagos nods at me in silent agreement, then raises his hands into the air, his posture indicating that I should put my hands on his.

Oh.

It feels strangely intimate to stand, palm to palm, in front of the priestess. We gaze into each other’s eyes as she speaks the words of the ceremony. I should pay attention to what she’s saying. I should listen and make note of all the ways that this world is similar to ours in custom, but Rhagos’s palms tickle mine, and he watches me with such a hungry stare that I can’t look away. I can’t pay attention to anything but the sight of him in front of me, so handsome.

He’s looking at me as if he’s truly in love with me.

As if this wedding is real.

As if he’s never wanted anything more than to take me as a bride.

There’s no Rhagos, god of death. There’s no Max from Chicago. There’s no Shears of Fate, or quests, or anything beyond this moment. There’s just Kemma and Taros, getting married in Hrit Unth, a village in the trees in a place that’s somehow magical and beautiful just because it’s my wedding.

“I do,” Rhagos says in that low, smoky voice of his, eyes locked on my face.

I blink, realizing we’re doing the vows.

“Do you, Kemma of Balsingra, vow to live and love steadfastly at Taros’s side? Do you promise to hold his hand through all that the gods may visit upon you? Do you promise to give him your heart and hold his in your keeping? Do you promise to share both body and soul with him?”

My throat gets dry. I croak a response, and then blush when the audience titters. “I do,” I manage, and am rewarded with the most brilliant of smiles from Rhagos.

“Belara sees your union,” the priestess intones. “She blesses it and you both. You came here as two people. Now…go forth as one.” She traces a finger in the air like a circle, matching the sun symbol on her brow, and then the crowd bursts into applause.

Rhagos grins down at me, suddenly boyish, and then pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

And…now I’m married.

53

A fter such an impressive beginning, the day turns oddly normal. Everyone attending the wedding pauses to come by and kiss our knuckles—it seems it’s good luck for both bride and groom as well as the onlookers, so that goes on for a while. I hold Rhagos’s free hand as strangers murmur platitudes and smooch my hand, and then scurry off to start their day. The priestess of Belara watches everything with a benign expression. I can’t help but notice that her hand stays on her money pouch, though, and I’m reminded of just how much we owe Tadja and her husband. They’ve given so much to us and they didn’t have all that much to give.

“My husband looked at me the way yours looks at you,” an old woman says as she grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. “If it means what it did for me, you’ll be having babies before the year is out.”

I go crimson, and Rhagos laughs at my expression.

After the wedding party disperses, we return to Tadja’s house to change out of our finery, and she gives me a weary smile. “I have to go to work, love. My Birkef will probably sleep today away.” She eyes her husband who’s already half-asleep in his rocking chair, and her expression is fond. “This was a lot for him, but it’s good to get these kinds of memories in while we can.” Grief flashes through her eyes, and she quickly composes herself. “You and your new husband are welcome to stay with us tonight, but if you wish to spend the coin, I’m certain I can get you a room at the inn for a discount. The innkeeper kissed your hand earlier today, after all. He’ll remember that.”

I’m about to protest that the loft will be fine, when Rhagos takes her hand and gives it a firm squeeze. “We will take the inn room, I think?”

“We will?” I echo.

Tadja giggles at my expression. “You’ll want the privacy for your wedding night.”

I promised Rhagos a little something something, too. “Right,” I say, and blush all over again. I swear I spend more time blushing around this man.

After we’ve changed into our gray robes once more, Tadja heads down to the inn. Birkef retires to his room, and then it’s just me and Rhagos in the living area.

I give him a worried look. “Do we have any way we can repay them?”

“Other than using my magic to heal even after it’s been forbidden?” He arches his scarred brow at me.

“They still have to eat,” I retort. “And that has nothing to do with them. They didn’t ask for help. I’m asking you for that.”

“I was not aware.” His mouth presses into a firm line and he glances at Birkef’s bedroom door before looking back at me. “I did not take a few coins from the oracles’ temple. We won’t hide them somewhere she is sure to find them. She would not refuse our efforts to repay them.”

He’s right. “When should we do the healing?”

“I cannot do it now, while she is gone,” he murmurs, watching me closely. “But I do not worry about you.”

“The sooner the better,” I insist. I move to the rocking chair, just in case I collapse. “Have you healed someone before?”

“Often,” he says dryly. “But magic is not magic. It is all different.”

That doesn’t fill me with confidence. I see a cloth on the counter and grab it, in case my nose bleeds, and then return to the rocker. “I think I’m ready. Let’s do this before they realize what is happening.”

He nods once, clearly not thrilled with this, and moves away.

I grab his hand before he can leave as another thought occurs to me. “Rhagos, wait.”

The god turns back to me.

“Do you think this is wise? Staying here another day instead of heading on to Hrit Svala?” I think about the inn room we’re to have tonight. “Is it smarter for us to just get going?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly. “But if we move on, I will heal Birkef. It will not impair your traveling.”

I bite my lip. He’s right. If he heals Birkef, I’m going to be out of it and in no position to walk several hours—much less tangle with a goddess. If she’s anything like Vor, I’m going to need my wits about me, not freshly squeezed from my brain thanks to another round of magic. “I guess we can stay one more night then.”

“We must not,” he says, flashing me a grin. “You did not promise me something.”

“You would bring that up,” I mutter.

He leans over me and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to the top of my head. “I will not begin the healing. Wait here.”

I watch him cross the small house and open the door to Birkef’s bedroom. All is silent as he closes the door behind him once more, and then I lean back in the chair, waiting.

It doesn’t take long. The pinch starts behind my eyes, burning. I wince, trying to ignore it, but it grows steadily worse with every moment that passes, and hot blood rushes from my nose again. Damn it. I clutch the towel to my nose as the room goes dark around me, but for once, it makes me happy.

I know we’re doing the right thing.

WHEN I COME TO, Rhagos is gently wiping my face with a warm, wet towel.

“Was I out for long?” I whisper, my head throbbing. My entire brain feels raw, in a slightly different way than it has hurt in the past. Before, it felt like a sponge being squeezed dry. Today, it just feels as if my brain is one big bruised tomato, all soft around the edges from manhandling.

“Very long,” he agrees. He glances back at the bedroom door. “He will notice small changes before we are gone. It will not take him a while to realize what has happened.” Rhagos shoots a sharp look in my direction. “Do you want to tell them so they can be grateful?”

“Nope,” I manage, and get to my feet. I’m a little wobbly, but as long as I don’t have to walk too much, it’s not so bad. “I don’t want their gratitude. I just want to help them.”

He grunts, his arm going around my waist as I head to the door. “Where are you going?”

“Tadja’s going to need help tonight,” I say. “If we’re here, we might as well do the dishes for her again.”

“Again?” he growls. “On our wedding night? With you hurting?”

“I’m fine,” I protest. “There was a stool in the kitchen, right? I can sit on that while I wash. Will you dry for me?”

He sighs heavily, and then cups my face. “Why are you so stubborn, Max?”

“I’m not stubborn. It’s just a small way I can help.” I brush my fingers over his hand, smiling up at him. “And I liked doing the dishes with you. It felt cozy. Nice. Is that weird?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, and then gives me another quick kiss.

We spend most of the evening doing the dishes. Despite the fact that I volunteered to wash, I’m tired. Rhagos insists I sit on a stool and dry while he fumbles with the washing. I try not to laugh at some of his attempts and the faces he makes at the dirty bowls, but it’s kind of funny. This is a man who’s raised armies of diseased zombies, and he’s disgusted by a little stew left in a bowl?

He’s such a dork. A cute dork, but a dork nevertheless.

Tadja is torn between being thrilled that we’re helping and wanting us to go upstairs and have our wedding night proper. I tell her there’ll be plenty of time after the kitchen closes down, and she looks like she wants to argue, but there’s too many customers. Tonight, there seem to be even more soldiers than before, and they’re all rowdy as hell and drinking constantly. I suspect she’ll make a lot in tips, but it also means a lot of dishes.

It’s late by the time the stream of dishes slows down and my head—still feeling like a bruised, squished tomato—starts to throb harder. I hide it as best I can, but when Rhagos notices me grimacing, he finishes the dishes, plucks the towel out of my hands, and then picks me up and carries me out of the kitchen. There’s a few hoots and hollers from the main room of the tavern, but I’m too tired to pay attention.

I’m only half awake when I’m laid into a thick, warm bed. A kiss is brushed over my brow. “Sleep, Max,” Rhagos murmurs.

I do.

It’s the middle of the night when I wake up again, bleary and only half aware of my surroundings. The inn has gone quiet, my shoes are off and I’m curled under the blankets, and a big, warm, naked body is draped next to me in the bed, also under the blankets.

I’ve slept through our “wedding night” and the promise I gave to Rhagos. Ugh. I’m such a bad anchor.

If Rhagos is annoyed, though, he doesn’t show it. I feel his hand occasionally drag over my hair, or his fingers graze along my arm, as if he can’t resist touching me while I sleep. I always feel so…protected when he’s around. So cherished.

I’m going to miss that when I go home.

For some reason, that thought leaves a huge knot in my throat. Right now, I don’t want to think about the future. I don’t want to think about anything.

Just him.

I lift my hand and slowly trace down his flat abdomen, dragging a fingertip over his belly. He has a navel, which is fascinating to me given that he wasn’t “born,” not exactly. Maybe it’s just for show. I guess he doesn’t need eyes or ears either, since he’s a god, but he has them. Of course, he’d look really weird without eyes and ears, and picturing that makes me chuckle.

His hand captures mine. “What’s so funny?”

“You without ears,” I mumble, yawning.

“Are you still half asleep? Go back to bed.” He sounds amused.

But I’m more or less awake now, and the brush of his skin against mine makes me oddly happy. I like the feel of his hand, of his fingers curving around my wrist, of the way he grazes his thumb over my skin like he can’t resist stealing little caresses when he can.

I let my hand wander lower. “Tonight’s our wedding night.”

He grunts, as if he’s not quite sure how to answer that.

Maybe he doesn’t need to answer. He doesn’t need to say anything at all.

Pushing the blankets down to expose him, I trace my fingers lower, down his belly to the dark curls that surround his cock. He’s rock hard—that happened fast, or he’s been hard for a while and just never woke me to help with it. I run my fingers along his shaft with light, fluttery touches, exploring him. The tip beads with moisture in front of my eyes, flushed a darker color than the rest of his cock. There’s a fascinating vein that trails down his length, and I wonder if it’s sensitive.

“Can I touch you?” I ask.

“Aren’t you already?” His voice is hoarse, his hand clenching in my sleep-tangled hair. Not enough to pull. Just…as if he wants to hold me close but doesn’t really want to interrupt me, either.

“I can stop,” I offer innocently, even as I trace a fingertip along that fascinating vein. “Just say the word and I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

His breath huffs, and I watch his flat stomach clench, the muscles outlined in stark detail as he moves. I move my finger back to the head of his cock and lightly trace the ridge that separates it from the shaft. A droplet of wetness rolls down the fat side of the head, and I glide my finger through it, fascinated.

“I’m not hearing you tell me to stop,” I whisper.

“That is because I can.” His voice is incredibly sexy, so gravelly that it makes me tingle. “Touch me, then, Max.”

“I plan on it.” I prop up on my elbow so I can watch his body react to my caresses. I use only my hand for a while, just touching him and exploring his body. I don’t keep my touches confined to just his cock—I’m equally fascinated by the hard lines of his obliques, the dip of his navel, the hard muscles of his thighs. I touch him all over, fascinated by his pale, pale skin and his gorgeous body. Then my roving hand slides back to his cock and I wrap my fingers around the base of him, sighing at just how hot his skin is here. Everywhere else, he feels strangely cool—that pepperminty edge that’s all Rhagos—but here, he’s nothing but blazing warmth.

My belly curls with its own heat as I remember what it was like to sink before him on my knees and take him in my mouth. It was my boldest moment ever…and for a while, my most humiliating. Everything’s different now, though. Rhagos is, our relationship is, and I want nothing more than to put my mouth on him again and see where things go this time.

But just in case, I look up at him. “This time when I take you between my lips, maybe don’t speak.”

He lets out a small, hard laugh, his hand trailing down my arm as I sit upright. I’m wearing my acolyte robe still—not exactly the sexiest garment—and I decide that I’m going to add some visuals to this experience for Rhagos. I drag the robe over my head and toss it aside, then cup my small breasts. My nipples are aching but not quite hard, so I tease the tips of them until they tighten, my eyes locked on his.

Rhagos’s eyes are heavy with need, and when he reaches for me, it’s with a reverent caress. He cups my breast, his thumb moving over my nipple, and I moan, letting my head fall back even as I reach for his cock and grip it again. My fingers skim lightly over his enormous length while he teases my breast, and I want to rip off my stupid pantaloons and let him touch me there, too.

I’m so greedy for more.

This isn’t about me, though. It’s about him, and how I want to give to him and make him feel good. It pains me to pull away from his caress, but I push his hand away and then lean in, kissing one of his nipples. They’re almost as pale as the rest of him, which is fascinating given that his mouth is a deep pink slash across his face.

From biting, I realize a moment later, when his teeth lightly score his lip again. He’s biting his lip.

That just makes me melt all over, and I press another kiss to his nipple and then give it a little nip, just to see how he reacts.

The breath hisses between his teeth and his hand goes to my hair. “Max,” he groans.

“Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” I whisper, licking away the love bite.

“Such a thing exists.” His voice is a mere whisper, his hand flexing against my scalp. His eyes close for a moment, and then he opens them again, as if he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

Time to give him something to watch.

I lick his nipple again, and then kiss lower. I pepper kisses down his chest, loving the way his lungs dip with every touch as if he’s matching his breathing to my mouth. I move down his glorious abdomen and farther still, inching my way toward his cock. I kiss his obliques, run my tongue over the flat plane of muscle below his navel, and then take his cock in my hand again.

I look up at him as I taste him.

His eyes are so hooded that I can’t see the green in his iris. I hear the low, rumbling groan he makes, though. His body tenses under mine, his hand tight on my hair, and I lick him again, lapping up droplets of pre-cum. He’s salty and musky to the taste, very little of that peppermint feel here, but I don’t mind. I’m too into this to care. I love the way he’s responding. The first time I touched him, I didn’t know what to think. This time, I’m acutely aware of when his breath catches, when his muscles tighten, when his hand clenches just a little. It makes me want to do more. So much more.

I flick my tongue against his lower belly and kiss the head of his cock. I just barely brush my lips over it, but I love the sharp intake of his breath in response. It makes me forget that he’s a god, an immortal being thousands of years old. Right now, he’s just Rhagos and I want to make him come.

I lick the head of his cock, trying to keep up with the pre-cum that keeps beading there. It’s an impossible task; every time I lick one away, another appears. I eventually give up and move on to exploring him with my lips, kissing him everywhere. I kiss the underside of the head. I kiss the fascinating vein. I kiss down to the base of him, and then back up again. I kiss every inch of skin, using my lips and tongue both, and by the time I make it back up to the tip, I’m utterly aroused, my thighs clenching in response to the low groans he’s making. He sounds so damn sexy, and I feel so powerful in this moment. Like I’m the one that’s utterly in control of everything. It’s a heady feeling.

I look up at him as I take him into my mouth, and the look on his face is so blatant with hunger that it makes me even more aroused. I’m aching with need for him, too, but I have to focus on the task ahead of me. I want to make him come with my mouth, just as I promised. With my hand on the base of his cock to steady his length, I give him a slow lick, dragging my tongue across the underside in one long sweep.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers. “While you touch me.”

Like I need any encouragement for that? I kneel next to his big body on the bed, my thighs slightly apart, and push my hand into the waist of my pantaloons. My folds are so slick that I gasp the moment my hand touches them, and I let out a moan and fall hungrily onto his cock with my mouth. Touching myself makes my desire rocket through the roof, and I take the head of him onto my tongue, licking and dragging and trying to find out what makes him feel best.

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” he rasps, and I realize it’s a command.

It makes me all the more eager, and I take him deeper, bobbing my head as I work to take his thick length into my mouth. I try to be careful with my teeth, but he’s so big that this feels like an impossible fit. I can’t take him nearly as much as I want to, so I focus on other things instead, trying to suck and using my tongue to tease the underside of his cock.

I nearly clamp down in surprise when he reaches out and rubs my nipple again. I whimper around the mouthful of his cock, my hand seeking my clit and I rub hard little circles around it as I suck on Rhagos’s length. I’m not very good at it; I’m too distracted by his touch and my hand between my thighs, but I don’t think he cares. I’m enthusiastic and when he pumps his hips, shuttling his cock along my tongue, I make a noise of encouragement and take him deeper. I try to relax my jaw, and I notice that the wetter my mouth is, the more of him I can take. When his next thrust makes him push against the back of my throat, I’m encouraged. I break the contact and drag sloppy, wet kisses all over his cock, ravenous, and then take his slick length deep once more.

His fingers clamp down on my nipple even as his other hand goes to the top of my head, silently holding me in place as he thrusts into my mouth again. Oh god, it’s so good. He’s using me and I’m using him and it feels so utterly wicked and so amazing at the same time that I’ve never been so aroused. I can hear the wet noises my pussy makes as I rub myself, and it’s the only sound in the room other than Rhagos’s labored breathing and the occasional hitch of his breath when he pumps into my mouth again.

Use me, I want to tell him. Fuck my mouth. Take everything I have.

Before I can say a single one of those dirty things to him, he arches, pushing so deep that he hits my gag reflex. I pull back, choking slightly, and he sits up in the bed. He takes my arm and flips me onto my back, and then looms over me, his cock in his hand.

“Didn’t change my mind,” he growls. “Not gonna come on those pretty tits instead.”

I gasp, my hand moving back down to my clit. I rub it harder, my other hand moving to my breast and working the nipple. I gaze up at him in fascination as he strokes himself, hard and fast, his cock still wet from my mouth. His lips are a hard, flat line that almost looks disapproving, but I know it’s because he’s so, so focused. He runs his fist up and down his length, harder than I ever would have touched him, squeezing so tightly that it looks painful, and then his nostrils flare and his green gaze moves from my face down to my torso.

The first splash of his seed on my skin feels scorching hot. Maybe it’s great timing, or maybe the sight of that sends me over the edge, but then I’m coming, too, my orgasm making me arch off the bed even as hot ropes of come splash on my skin, over and over again as he jerks his cock. He looms over me, so intense that it feels as if I’m drowning in our shared pleasure. I want him to love the sight of me like this. I want him to love that I used my hand to pleasure myself, just like he asked.

I want him to love…me.

The realization makes a sob escape my throat, and I gulp hard, doing my best to fight back emotional tears. No, you big idiot. No. No. This isn’t wise. This isn’t what you want to do. He’s a god. You’re an executive assistant at a video game company.

You’re going home.

Rhagos drops down next to me on the bed, unaware of my emotional breakdown. He groans, the sound utterly sated, and as I lie on my back, gasping with everything rushing through me, he reaches over. His big hand lands in the cooling seed on my breasts and he rubs it into my skin, making a bigger mess of my torso. “Not mine,” he growls.

I don’t care. It’s the most possessive thing ever and I love it. “Yours,” I whisper, and I worry that I’m giving everything to him…and I’m going to get nothing in return.

54

T  adja was right—Hrit Unth is definitely a dump compared to Hrit Svala.

The trees are just as big here as they were in Hrit Unth, the midday sun barely grazing the tops of the trees with light. Underneath the canopy, it’s shaded and dark, and dozens upon dozens of the “light” rocks are strategically mounted like streetlights above the massive streets. It’s an entire city block up in the trees, Hrit Svala, and instead of multiple small buildings nestled into each tree, all of the big trees seem to have grown tightly together, and all of the platforms are intertwined, making one big vast city in the lofting branches of the enormous forest.

Hrit Svala stretches across the entire forest canopy, a city a hundred feet into the air. It’s massive and full of people, the city of Manhattan, tree-house style. I don’t know how anyone could miss it.

I don’t know how all of it doesn’t catch on fire. Good lord.

Here, the walkways are big enough that several woales can walk side by side, and the marketplace is bigger than that of tightly packed Balsingra. There are networks of pulleys and baskets that crisscross overhead like spiderwebs, and houses seem to be built into the trees themselves, apartment buildings nestled inside the trunks instead of hastily erected on the landings. Overhead, I see white flutters and sure enough, it almost looks as if people are hang-gliding around the vast tree city itself.

I nudge Rhagos at the sight of one. “We’ve gotta get one of those.”

He just grunts.

He’s been quiet all day, I notice, and I’m not sure why. The walk was a decent one, and we arrived at Hrit Svala midmorning, just as Tadja had predicted. We’d stopped by their house after we left the inn to say our goodbyes, and Tadja had wept and hugged me a dozen times before hugging Rhagos, too. The god of death was stiff and unnatural in her grasp, but he gave her an awkward hug back…eventually.

“Don’t mind her,” Birkef told us fondly. “Tadja adopts every young woman and man that travels in this direction.”

Because she missed her children, who were dead. I wept, too, when we said goodbye for the final time. She’d teased both Rhagos and I about the hickies we were sporting after last night, and handed us a bag full of fresh bread and travel food that she’d prepared for us.

“You don’t know how much you’ve helped us,” I told her as we hugged again.

“People have to look out for each other,” she said simply, as if it answered everything. Perhaps it did in her eyes. I had looked over at Birkef, hoping to see some hint of the healing that had taken place. Was he coughing less this morning? Were his eyes brighter? I couldn’t tell.

But I trust Rhagos. He wouldn’t deceive me over that. Other things, sure. But not that.

It’s cool here in Hrit Svala—the shade keeps the morning sun from warming things and the farther north we go, the chillier it gets. I sometimes think that by the time we find Chandrilhar or wherever the dragon’s hoard is, we’ll be having to stomp our way through snow.

I think longingly of Port Tidewater and its welcoming streets and warm sunshine. I would have been perfectly happy riding out the entire Anticipation there, darn it. I squint up at my companion, my glasses tucked away, and he still seems to have a sour look on his face.

There’s a hickey right against his Adam’s apple, too, which makes me blush. I don’t even know when I did that, but it stands out clear as day against his ghost-pale skin. My tits are covered with hickies from his mouth, too, and I can only imagine how bad my neck looks. After last night’s blow job, we cleaned up…and then immediately fell on one another again for another round of heavy petting.

Unfortunately for me, I also got my period this morning, which means the fun’s at an end for a few days. Tadja gave me supplies for that, too—lots of old rags that are belted, breechcloth style, under my gray robes. Maybe my period’s why Rhagos is so cranky, but I doubt it. “You okay?” I ask, reaching over and nudging his hand with my pinky. I tell myself that it’s my period that’s making me so damn needy. That’s the only reason my thoughts keep veering in very, very bad directions.

Directions like, what do I do if I fall in love with him?

The answer is clearly: nothing. There’s nothing to do about it. But my hormones and my heart don’t like that thought, so I try not to think about it at all.

He clasps my hand and tugs me closer to him, stooping over to murmur in my ear. “I like this place.”

I glance around, a little surprised. “What’s wrong with it?” From what I can tell, it’s beautiful. This high up in the trees, there are birds roosting on branches, vines covering railings and draped across walkways, and flowers have been coaxed to blooming in the shade, beds of them everywhere. It’s the most gorgeous greenery I’ve ever seen, and all around are happy, loud-talking people that swarm the wooded streets and move about their day as if everyone lives in treehouses. I haven’t seen the gigantic birds of legend, true, but I also haven’t seen much of the sky, either. The leafy branches and the buildings block out most everything.

Rhagos just shrugs his big shoulders and holds my hand tighter. “Stay close.”

I suspect he’s not wanting to tell me what’s bothering him. I mentally try to figure it out as we head into a larger, open plaza, full of colorful cloth booths and the scents of food. “Cakes for sale,” a man cries nearby. “Nut cakes and sweet pies for sale!”

“The finest berry ale right here,” a woman calls out. “Bring your mugs. Bring your barrels!”

“Slave girls,” calls another man, dressed a bit like a Roman soldier of old. “Virgins for the picking! Ever wanted to fuck one of Tadekha’s chosen? I’ve got the girls for you.”

I gasp at the last one, and crane my head to see. Sure enough, Rhagos hurries me past a booth that has several girls in leg chains—and not much else—huddled on the ground. Two of them are so pale that they look like elves, and they give me sad, pale-eyed looks as we hurry past. My sight isn’t great, but I could swear they have crystal wings folded against their bodies.

“Rhagos,” I protest as he keeps walking.

“Come,” he tells me, ignoring the fact that I’m slowing down. When I halt in my tracks, he glares at me. “We can save everyone, Max.”

I huff in irritation, letting him drag me forward. “I know we can’t save everyone,” I hiss back at him. “But don’t you want to know—”

“Yes,” he says flatly, turning a corner. “There are many good things in this world, Max. We can help all of them.”

I scowl up at him, trying to wrench my hand from his grip. “What’s crawled up your ass this morning? You’ve been scowling all day long.”

He pauses, glances around, and then pulls me down a shaded alley that’s loaded with pretty vines and pots of flowers. The aesthetic of Hrit Svala suddenly seems rather shallow—who cares if you’ve got pots of bright flowers outside your door when there’s a fucking slave trader ten feet away? It makes no sense.

So much of this world makes no sense.

“Max,” Rhagos says patiently, glancing around again before putting his hands on my shoulders in a firm, possessive grip. “I am meaning to be cruel to you, but…it is easy for us to be here. There are too few people here. Too few lives pressing in here.” He lightly touches two fingertips to his temple. “You are safe with so many people here. I am, too.” His mouth twists. “And then of course, there is not the goddess.”

I swallow hard. “Okay,” I say softly. It’s clear he’s stressed out. I can’t feel the presence of all the people here, but…I wonder if there are a lot of dead. Hrit Svala is easily twice the size of Port Tidewater, and we haven’t even seen all of it. I’ve no doubt in my mind that there are a lot of dead waiting—trapped—here and we can’t do a thing about it. Just like the slave girls with the sad eyes, I have to walk past.

It’s so damn hard. I feel so awful. I want to help them. I want to help everyone. But my mind still feels bruised from Rhagos’s healing of Birkef, and I don’t even know if that did anything. I worry that what Sister Tilari said is true, that each time he pulls on his power, it makes things worse.

If that’s the case, we can help these people…or we can look out for ourselves. I hate it. I do. I have to remind myself that maybe Rhagos can help them more when this Rhagos returns to the heavens. That maybe he’s learning how to sympathize with normal people. That he’s going to be a kinder, gentler god when he returns home.

If that’s the case, we have to think of ourselves first.

“If you’re worried about me,” I whisper, “I’m not going to ask you to do anything to put us in danger. I know we can’t help everyone.”

Regret flashes across his face. He pulls me against him, hugging me tight, and I’m surprised at the impulsive gesture. I hug him back, though. “I wouldn’t do it,” he murmurs. “For you.”

His words make me feel warm all over. “I know.”

He sighs, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear when I pull back. My hair’s still in braids from our wedding, though more of it is probably falling out of my hairdo than staying in. Hair hasn’t been a big focus for me, though. There’s too much going on, too much Rhagos taking up every inch of space in my brain. “I am not sorry if I am short this morning. I just…” He looks around at the green, wooden city. “I cannot feel Riekki here. It does not unnerve me.”

Now that, I understand. “You think she’ll be like Vor?”

Rhagos snorts. “Vor was never a fool, though. A fool is never easily led.” His expression turns thoughtful as he gazes down at me. “Riekki is a fool, though. Whatever we say or do, she will be two steps behind us.”

In other words, we need to be on our guard. “Any ideas on what we should do?”

“No,” he says. “But let me do the talking. You stay silent.”

I scowl at that.

55

I t’s another half hour of walking before we realize where Riekki is staying. The tree homes that were tidily tucked into the trunk of each tree grow progressively grander as we head toward the center of the city, the tree branches overhead bigger than highways. Here, I see more of the white-sailed constructs, most of them perched unused atop platforms nestled in the treetops, and it reminds me of a parking garage, vehicles just waiting for their owners to return. The houses get even bigger, sprawling to circle around the tree with grand vine-covered balconies and spill onto the walkways with jutting add-ons made of stone. Some of them start to resemble tiny fortresses, little palaces amongst the tree city.

Then we see it.

It’s clearly Riekki’s residence. The massive tree—so large around that it boggles the mind—looks as if it’s grown around Cinderella’s castle and swallowed it whole, only allowing turrets and graceful private walkways to escape. Colorful windows are carved into the tree, up and down, and bright banners with the symbol of a quill hang from every branch. Streamers and paper lanterns hang everywhere, and it’s an explosion of color and light here in the heart of Hrit Svala. Everywhere I turn, there are little altars to the goddess, all with the same symbol, each one covered in bouquets of flowers, bolts of rich fabric, baskets of food, jewelry, gold and silver. Gifts. All kinds of gifts for a goddess who probably doesn’t give a shit.

Oh, there are also armored guards everywhere, and I do mean everywhere.

They line up outside of her treetop palace. They comb the streets, wearing cloaks emblazoned with Riekki’s quill. They carry swords and have crossbows strapped to their backs. The armor gleams, blinding, when it catches a rare sunbeam between the leaves, and it’s a lot for my already-bad eyes to take in.

Why is it that everyone’s surrounding themselves with a damn army except for Rhagos? I look up at the man at my side, worried. Are we doing this wrong? Should we be staying put and surrounding ourselves with an army of loyal soldiers instead of hunting down some magic shears? I’m suddenly filled with doubt.

An army didn’t save Faith, my insidious brain points out.

Ugh. We pass by another pair of soldiers as we circle the expansive palace. There are fewer passers-by here, mostly those that come to pray in the hopes of getting the goddess’s attention. A few people kneel at the tiny altars, and when one of the guards stares at us for a long moment, I grab Rhagos’s hand and drag him over to the closest one, dropping to my knees and pretending to pray in front of it.

“They’re watching us,” I whisper to him. “We’re not going to be able to get inside easily.”

“We won’t,” he agrees.

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying. I look over at him, frowning. “What—“

Out of the corner of my eye, I see armed guards approaching. “You there,” one says, pointing at us. “On your feet.”

My heart hammers. I look over at Rhagos, but his expression is utterly calm. Unsurprised.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to use my magic,” he tells me, and then presses a kiss to my forehead. “Stay back.”

“What…” I begin again, but then he leaps into action.

I bite back a squeal of surprise as Rhagos lunges toward the men. The two instantly pull out their swords, and a shout goes up. More come running, all blurs in my eyes. My knife—which feels stupidly small at the moment—is sheathed and in our bag, since it didn’t go with my acolyte costume. I can pull it out, but it’ll take a few moments. I’m not sure we have them.

Rhagos leaps into action, attacking the first soldier. It takes me a moment to realize he’s not armed, and I whimper when the man lunges at Rhagos and runs him through. The sword blade pokes out his other side, right through his clothing. Rhagos just grins, ignoring the gush of bright red blood that stains his gray robes, and puts his hand on the handle. The soldier staggers backward, a look of shock on his face, and Rhagos pulls the blade free and then twirls it overhead.

The guard’s head flies off with a single stroke of the blade.

Another lunges at Rhagos. The god of death is all perfect, efficient motions, nothing wasted. This strike knocks this soldier backward, this one stabs, this one drives yet another soldier back against his friends. I realize now that he only let himself get stabbed so he could claim a weapon. It’s impossible for them to touch him otherwise—he’s a whirling dervish of skill. Of course he is. He’s had thousands of years to perfect this.

The men don’t stand a chance against him, and they realize it. They slowly fall back, weapons at the ready, while Rhagos keeps his back to me and watches them with a wary stance. A few glance at me, and I know what they’re thinking—I’m the target. I’m the vulnerability. But Rhagos maneuvered around that, too. He’s attacked and herded the others so carefully that I’m pinned between Rhagos and one of Riekki’s altars. To get to me, they’ll have to come through him.

And there’s no coming through him.

He casually whirls the bloodied blade again. “No one else wants to try?”

As they retreat farther out of my vision, I squint at the soldiers, trying to make them out in the blur of greens and whites without my glasses on. Several of them limp or clutch at wounds despite their armor, but no one’s approaching. They’re waiting for something.

Hands clap. Slowly. Mockingly.

“Look at you,” a female voice calls out. “So brave and strong, aren’t you, Rhagos? Showing off for your little anchor? That’s…adorable.”

“Not Riekki,” Rhagos grunts, and he sounds a little irritated. He takes a half a step back, his sword still raised in defense. “You didn’t know I was coming.”

“Oh, I knew. Of course I did. You’re not the only one abusing your powers in exile.”

A figure in pale white steps forward, coming into focus amid all the greenery. This has to be Riekki. The woman that approaches is tall and slender, dressed entirely in flowing white silks that cling to her lean body. Her gown is almost as unearthly pale as her skin, and her hair seems to shimmer as if made of silver. It cascades down her shoulders, silky and loose like a waterfall, and I can see it grazing her lower back as she moves. An elegant crown made of sparkles gleams atop her head, the shape of it like a starburst—or a halo. She’s astoundingly beautiful but there’s zero warmth to her. The eyes that focus on me are cold like a predator’s, and she takes me in before returning her gaze to Rhagos.

Riekki gestures with an elegant hand. “And you can put your sword down. I’m not going to kill your anchor. I know why you’re here.”

There’s an incredibly dismissive tone in the woman’s voice that makes it impossible for me to relax. I clutch our pack against my chest, wanting to cross the short distance between us and rush to Rhagos’s side so I can cower behind him like the coward I am. He’s unafraid, though, and it seems as if he’s completely unsurprised by Riekki’s nasty attitude.

“Arrogance, are we?” he asks in that deep voice of his, even as he lowers his sword.

“Lies, are we?” she mocks back, tilting her head. “I’d rather be arrogance than deceit. At least I’m still myself. You surprise me this round, Rhagos. Here I thought you’d murder your way into my stronghold, killing everything in your path. You’ve done that in the past, haven’t you? Just to bother me?” She arches an eyebrow at him. “And yet here you stay your hand, choosing to fight with a paltry sword just because your little anchor doesn’t like it?” She continues to stalk toward us, a mocking pout on her face. “Do we not like magic anymore?”

I decide that I hate Riekki. Tadja was right. What a fucking bitch.

“I do not have a proposal for you,” Rhagos says calmly.

“How entertaining.” She clasps her hands. “As if I don’t already know what you’re going to say.”

Rhagos makes an irritated sound in his throat, and the slight clench of his shoulders is the only indication that she’s getting to him.

“But I do have questions for you after all,” Riekki says with a graceful shrug. She turns, her dress floating around her like a ripple. “I suppose you might as well come in. You’d better remember this in the future, though.” She flicks her fingers at her guards. “Stand down for now.”

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” They bow, the sounds of their swords being sheathed echoing in the air.

Peacekeeper. What a joke. This arrogant craphead who’s surrounded herself with armored guards is a peacekeeper? I haaaate this woman.

Rhagos turns to me, his expression impossible to read. “Give me the bag. Stay close.”

“Wait,” I protest when he puts a hand out. I move closer to him, glancing around to make sure no one’s going to lunge and attack, and then I touch his blood-soaked tunic. “Are you okay?” I whisper. “I know you can’t die, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hurt.”

His hard-eyed expression softens, just a little, as he gazes down at me. “It hurts,” he says gently. “And Riekki is a danger to you. You are not safe with me, I promise.”

I nod. “I trust you.”

That hot flash of yearning flickers through his gaze once more, but he only nods and puts an arm around my shoulders, tucking me close against his side, and follows Riekki toward her tree-mansion.

56

T  he interior is just as opulent as the outside. Colorful birds flitter through the branches that somehow grow indoors as well as out, thanks to potted greenery. The interior is artfully decorated with vases and ethereal-looking furniture, but I can’t help but notice there’s even more guards inside.

Riekki sweeps past everyone, heading for a large, double-doored chamber that is opened by servants. Inside it, there is a carved throne, inlaid with gilt and studded with jewels along the back of it. She moves to the dais, seats herself, and then gives us a smug look.

There’s no chair for Rhagos. He’s supposed to stand in front of her like a supplicant. Anger burns hot in my belly, and I hate this woman even more. Did Rhagos know she’d be like this? Is this why his mood has been so shitty today? I suddenly understand.

The doors close behind us, the servants exiting, and then we’re alone with the goddess.

“Where is your anchor?” Rhagos asks, glancing around the empty room. There’s just Riekki in here, her guards waiting outside. It surprises me that she won’t bring them in, but I suppose that’s Arrogance at work, her thinking she doesn’t need protection from the god of death.

She shrugs. “Resting? Does it matter? He knows to stay out of my way when I don’t need him.”

“Not a companion, then?”

Riekki’s beautiful face is hard. “An anchor is worthless. He should be thrilled I plucked him out of obscurity to serve me.” Her head tilts, her hair rippling over her shoulder like a silver waterfall, and she looks over at me. “Do you want to send yours out so we may talk privately? I assure you that my guards won’t touch her. Not that it matters if they do. She’s just a mortal. They’re utterly replaceable.”

I feel bad for her anchor, suddenly. Riekki said that Rhagos wasn’t the only one using magic. Somewhere in this maze of a tree palace, I suspect there’s a man huddled on a cot in a shitty room, bruised from the inside out, because Riekki cares nothing about using him. She’s doing him a favor in her eyes. She thinks she’s so damn awesome that he should be thrilled for her to squeeze him dry with her magic.

Really, really starting to regret this plan.

“Max does not stay at my side,” Rhagos says, voice stiff. His hand tightens on my shoulder.

Riekki’s eyes gleam. “So what I saw is true. You’re wooing her? This is too delicious.” Her eyes widen with just a hint of incredulity. “Look at how mortal she is. It’s disgusting. I can smell her bleeding, Rhagos.” Her lip curls in revulsion and I’ve never wanted to sink through the floor more.

“Bleeding?” he echoes, his body stiffening. He looks over at me in a hint of panic, his gaze raking over me as if looking for wounds.

Oh, did I want to fall through the floor a moment ago? I want to fall through two of them now. “My period,” I say, clearing my throat politely. “It’s not important.”

“It is not,” Riekki agrees.

Rhagos just looks at me with a hint of relief before he steels his expression into neutrality again. “She is not mortal,” he says. “Such things do not happen.”

Riekki shrugs her elegant shoulders. “At least you are smart enough not to whelp a godling on her pathetic little body.” She rests her chin on her lifted finger, her eyes gleaming. “Do you know who you’ve attached yourself to, little mortal? The Lord of Death is not a very nice man.”

I lift my chin, ignoring her.

“Did you know he once destroyed an entire kingdom simply because he did not like the way they prayed to him?” She tilts her head, her hair slipping over her shoulder. “Or that he and his brother once had a bet as to who could cause more misery in the mortal realm? If I recall correctly, your sweet Rhagos won that one.”

Startled, I look over at him.

He won’t look at me.

“Did he tell you about the time that he refused to grant death to Belara’s followers because his brother was angry with them?” She tsks. “So many selfish, selfish actions—”

“That was a very short time ago,” Rhagos snaps. “When the world was old. If we are throwing sins in each other’s faces, shall we speak of yours? Or shall we speak of why I am here?”

Riekki straightens on her throne and gives a little sigh. “Very well. Is this crude little visit because you want a griffin? Or something more?”

“Do you have a griffin?” Rhagos asks, arching an eyebrow. “Or are they all gone?”

“Only I know for sure.” Her expression is smug. “But do beg for a while. I would love to see the Lord of Death on his knees before me.”

My temper snaps. “Fuck that. We’re leaving.”

Riekki’s brows go up and she straightens in her chair. “My my.”

“Max,” Rhagos murmurs, his voice tired. He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me before I stomp out of the room. “We did not know this would be difficult—”

“Difficult?” I choke. “Are you kidding me? She’s an asshole!” I gesture at the goddess. “I’m done being nice to her. It’s a level playing field. She should be polite.” I shoot a heated look at the goddess on the throne. “Because I seem to recall that Rhagos isn’t the only one that’s been exiled from the Heavens, so it’s not like she’s Little Miss Perfect.”

Riekki’s hand goes to her breast and she stares at me with wide eyes, shocked that I dare speak to her in such a fashion.

It encourages me. I shrug off Rhagos’s warning hand. “That’s right. You’re not better than him because you’re in exile, too. I don’t care if you set yourself up in a fancy tree house. You’re still on the naughty list, just as he is. We came here to work with you. To see if you could help us and maybe we could help you in return somehow. But forget all that if you’re going to be a dick.”

She blinks rapidly. “A dick?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin to hide the fact that a shiver of fear is creeping up my spine. I just called a goddess a dick. “A dick. It means you’re not being nice. And Rhagos hasn’t done anything to you.”

Behind me, Rhagos sighs.

The goddess leans forward, a fascinated expression on her face. “I have just realized something. You’re not from this web, are you?”

“Web?” I echo.

She flicks a hand in the air. “This world. Aos. You are different.” Her eyes narrow. “Different and unafraid. Do you know who you have bonded yourself to, little one?”

I lift my chin. “Rhagos. Lord of the Dead. And I’d do so again.”

Her laughter tinkles in the air. “Oh, this is the sweetest. I had no idea. Rhagos, this is so fascinating. I heard you had restarted your Anticipation, but this?” She looks incredulous. “This is most delicious.”

“Restarted?” I echo, turning to look at Rhagos.

His jaw is clenched and he steps forward, putting a firm hand on the back of my neck as he faces Riekki. “Enough games. We did not come here to see if you could help us to the Godspine Mountains in the east. We do not go to the Forgotten Lands.”

“To Chandrilhar,” I add, and then flush with embarrassment when Riekki smirks. Right. She’s the goddess of knowledge. Of course she knows that. I’m dying to know more about what she’s saying, though. Who is Rhagos to her? What’s this restart nonsense?

Riekki gives another dismissive flick of her hand. “Aside from the fact that this is utterly entertaining, why would I help you?”

Rhagos’s expression becomes even more shuttered. “Surely the god of death has nothing you want.”

My heart aches all over again. Hasn’t he said before that everyone uses him to get something? Here he is, bargaining again. I’m tempted to tell him that we’ll find our own way to Chandrilhar. We don’t need anything she can give us.

We sure don’t need her bitchy attitude.

“Make a deal with you?” She recoils as if disgusted. “Please. As if I need your help with anything. Death takes our scraps and makes a kingdom out of them.”

How fucking dare she?

“We’re done here,” I call out again, and grab Rhagos’s hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“But…” Riekki says. “I might be able to help you.”

I grit my teeth and shake my head. I don’t want this bitch’s help. I don’t want anything to do with her.

Rhagos, however, ignores me tugging on his hand. He stares down the goddess. “Name your price.”

“No,” I hiss at him. “We’re leaving. We don’t need her. She doesn’t get to treat you like shit. Just because she’s Arrogance doesn’t mean we have to take it. You deserve better. You’re worth more than that.”

But Rhagos just tugs me closer to him again, then cups my chin. “Trust me?”

I groan, because I know I’m not going to get my way in this. “This is wrong and you know it,” I tell him, and shoot a defiant glare in Riekki’s direction. I don’t care if she’s a goddess. She’s a grade-A jerk and I’m not scared of her. “I pity your anchor for having to put up with you.”

Her eyebrows go up, and she chuckles. “So fierce in her defense of you, Rhagos. What did you do to earn such adoration?”

“Speak of what you want and let us get this over with,” Rhagos says in a flat voice.

Riekki’s gaze moves to me, and then she pretends to flick lint off her sleeve. “Alas, the griffins died long ago, you are correct about that. There are wizards here that I speak with regularly, however. They will be happy to make me a construct that will carry you where you wish to go. Chandrilhar is not beyond their means. All I have to do is ask, and then you can fly there safely on one of the constructs.” Her smile is coy. “Will that work for you?”

I tense. It’s everything we wanted. I look up at Rhagos.

He is unmoving, his big body rigid. “And what do you want in return?”

She licks her lips and points at me. “I like that one.”

For a moment, I don’t follow. I look behind me to see what she’s pointing at, and when I see nothing, I realize she’s pointing at me. “Wait, what?” I look up at Rhagos, stunned. “Why me?”

“She is yours,” he says, tone flat and absolutely forbidding.

“Look at how fierce she is in her defense of a piece of garbage such as you,” Riekki coos. “It’s fascinating. I don’t know how her mind works and I want to know more. I want her.”

“I’m not a doll!”

“She is yours,” Rhagos says again. “Max is part of our bargain.”

“But she is the only thing I want.” Riekki pretends to stare at her nails. “You are heading to Chandrilhar because you go to the Forgotten Lands, yes? In search of the Shears of Fate? With my help, you can get there before your other Aspect. Without me, you will surely fail. Already he closes in on the city.” She shrugs. “But as you wish.”

“Max is mine to bargain with,” he lies.

“Yes, she is,” Riekki says arrogantly. “She is absolutely yours. She gave herself to you the moment she became your anchor. You own her.”

I can’t believe they’re fighting over me. This is the most ridiculous thing ever. “I don’t understand. What do you want with me?”

Rhagos turns his blazing green gaze to me. “Max, silence!” he roars.

Riekki laughs.

I flinch backward, shocked at his response. Now he’s yelling at me? “Fuck you too,” I say indignantly. “I’m on your side!”

Riekki just laughs harder. “She doesn’t listen to you either! How fascinating.” Her eyes are wide and she looks at me as if she’s never seen anything like me before. It’s so bizarre. “I want her now more than ever. Take her to get the Shears, and then bring her back to me.”

She practically bounces on her throne with excitement.

“No way!” I cry. “I am not up for grabs!”

“Yes,” Rhagos grits out. “She is yours.”

“She’s a virgin, isn’t she?” Riekki continues on as if neither of us have spoken. “I want her virginity. Leave that untouched.” She tsks at Rhagos. “To think you’ve left that unclaimed. You’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Rhagos just grits his teeth and shrugs his shoulders.

Is…this for real? Are they really griping over my virginity? I gape at the goddess. “First of all, how do you know that? And second of all, how dare you? And third—it’s not for sale.”

“I am the goddess of knowledge. You think there is anything I don’t know?”

“Do you know what this means?” I snap, flipping her the bird.

Rhagos grabs me and pushes me behind him, hiding me away from Riekki’s gaze. “She is yours,” he states again, his voice hard and unyielding. “Pick nothing else.”

“All I ask is a week in my bed.” Riekki smirks, reclining backward on her throne as if it’s all decided. “Surely that is not such a large price to pay for eternity.”

I feel like we’re not even talking about the same things here. I want the Shears to go home. I frown in her direction, then look over at Rhagos. His fists are clenched, fury making his normally pale cheeks flush red. “I’m not for sale,” I say again.

“It’s not your decision,” Riekki replies. “He owns you. In this life or the next.” She shrugs. “I prefer alive, but I’m willing to take dead as long as he promises to reanimate you.”

I stare at her in horror. “You…what? I’m not that cute,” I protest. “Surely you can find someone else that’s more attractive or more willing…”

She throws her head back and laughs again. “You think this is about looks? You idiot.” She gives me the most lethal-looking smile and practically purrs as she leans forward. “This is about breaking things that belong to him. It’s about finding out how your mind works so I can use it. It’s not about willing.”

I recoil again, and this time when Rhagos shoves me behind him once more, I stay. Riekki is…fucked up. She doesn’t want me to have sex because she’s horny. She wants to have sex because it’d screw with Rhagos. Because it’d screw with me. Because she wants to dissect me and figure out all my parts, like some sort of divine serial killer. I peek out from behind Rhagos’s cloak, my stomach clenching in fear.

“How about I let your anchor live?” Rhagos growls, his big body vibrating with anger.

“Blackmail? How charmingly dull.” She rolls her eyes. “You know as well as I do that your anchor is the only unpredictable thing you have. That’s the only thing I want.”

“The only thing,” Rhagos agrees.

I frown, trying to follow what he means.

Riekki’s eyes narrow, her interest predatory. “Oh?”

“You did not mention a restart earlier,” Rhagos says in that oddly flat voice. “Do you want to know why? I don’t offer that instead.”

Her attention is pricked. I can tell by the way she straightens in her gaudy chair.

Mine is pricked, too. What’s he talking about, a restart? I don’t understand.

“Shall I show you my tattoos?” he continues.

“Tattoos?” She looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods. “Very well. You show me your markings and I will grant you a flyer.” Her smile is oh so sweet. “See? I can be reasonable, Rhagos.”

He just glares at her.

I shake my head silently, grabbing Rhagos’s arm before he can take his cloak off. Does he not realize what a spectacularly terrible idea this is? The moment she sees the writing on his back, she’s going to fling all her guards our way. He might be able to protect me from one or two or ten, but not all of them. “Wait,” I whisper. “Rhagos, no. If you show her—”

“Max.” He pins me with his gaze. “Do you trust me?”

“This is a hell of a time to ask that.”

He says nothing else, just waits.

I shoot an uneasy glance at Riekki, who perches on her throne like a glittering silver vulture. I hate her so much that it physically hurts, but I have to trust Rhagos, don’t I? It doesn’t matter that every time we meet one of these gods, they constantly bring up things that I’m unaware of.

I either trust him with my life, or I don’t.

I close my eyes and nod. “Yeah. I trust you.”

When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with a somber green gaze. He nods once, and then turns toward where Riekki waits, a shiny silver spider atop her web. He pulls his cloak off and tosses it down. Next, he pulls his tunic over his head and flings it on the ground, revealing pale skin and the black tattoos that crawl across his back, and the stab wound that leaks blood down his chest.

I’m wincing as he turns, revealing his back to the awful Riekki. His gaze remains locked on me, his eyes conveying a million silent things. To trust him. To be patient. To understand. I swallow hard and nod. He wants me to support him, so I will. This is his fight just as much as it is mine, after all.

“Mmm,” is all Riekki says. “Fascinating but not useful. I already knew that.”

He turns again, to face the goddess, and this time he holds his arm out. She looks even more surprised at the writing there, and gives him a squint-eyed look that says she’s not entirely sure of what she sees.

I’m dying to know what it says. But…Rhagos said he didn’t know, didn’t he? So does this mean only Riekki knows the message there because she is the goddess of knowledge? Or did Rhagos lie to me? I’m not sure I like either implication.

“Well now,” Riekki says after a long moment, and her eyes narrow. “I’m not sure what I thought would be there, but…this is very interesting.”

“Are you satisfied?” he asks, voice cold as ice.

“Oh, very.” Riekki’s smile is sly as she gets to her feet. “I have learned a lot this day. I will help you, then, but you must remember that I did. There will undoubtedly come a time in the future when the goddess of knowledge will need something from the Lord of the Dead. Remember this.”

He nods once, and then picks his tunic up off the floor, his movements swift and sharp, and I realize he’s angry. He hates Riekki as much as I do. Good.

“Come back in the morning,” Riekki says. “My wizards will have something for you.”

And then we’re dismissed.

57

I  fume for the rest of the day. I fume as we’re escorted—oh so politely—to the finest inn in the city and given rooms especially for the goddess’s guests. No one seems to know that Rhagos is a god, just that he is in Riekki’s favor and that’s good enough for them. We get a large, opulent room and trays of food and drink are brought up.

A quick peek into the hallway shows that guards are posted just outside our door. Even though it’s a nice prison, it’s a prison still the same.

Rhagos doesn’t seem to care that it’s a prison, and that makes me fume, too. I hate that he gave that bitch the upper hand. I hate that he showed her his “Please kill my anchor” tattoo. I hate that he still has secrets from me.

I hate that she could tell I was totally a virgin and had the gall to demand that I spend a week in her bed.

I hate that she chided Rhagos for not taking my virginity.

I hate that for a brief moment, I agreed with her on that particular point. I don’t want to agree with her at all. I want to choke her for being a smug, impossible bitch. Why did I ever suggest that we come here to work with a goddess? Vor was an awful man. Riekki is awful, too. They’re all awful.

Of course they’re awful. They’re having their sins purged, more or less. I’m not sure what I expected. I’ve been fooled by being around Rhagos for too long. It’s because he’s so good to me and that we’re friends that I’ve been tricked into thinking that the others are halfway decent. They’re not even close to decent.

Then I wonder if Rhagos is real, too, or if he’s just fooling me as well.

So yeah, I hate all of it right now.

With a basin of water, I bathe behind a privacy screen and try not to think too much about Riekki, or Rhagos, or the fact that I’m beyond frustrated with the situation. It feels like we’re spiraling out of control, and not for the first time, I regret suggesting we ever come to Hrit Svala. I comb my hair out and when I emerge from behind the screen in the sleeping gown laid out for me, Rhagos is standing by the strange, light-rock-lit fireplace, his cloak still on, fully dressed as if he’s just walked into the room. His shoulders are tense and he’s practically glaring at the bowl of light rocks artfully nestled at the bottom of the fireplace.

I sigh at the sight.

He’s been silent since we got to the inn. I know that I’m in a bad mood, so I imagine his is worse. How can it not be? We had to deal with Riekki, and she was just awful. I can’t help but feel that she got the upper hand on us somehow, and it only adds to my sour mood and my worry. I suspect that Riekki wanted to drive a wedge between Rhagos and me…and I’m pretty sure she succeeded.

Best to get all this shit out in the open so we can be a team again by morning. I curl up on the bed atop the blankets, sitting on my legs, and clasp my hands on my lap. “Are we going to talk?”

“Is it necessary?” He doesn’t move from his spot by the ridiculous fireplace.

I frown over at him, determined to ignore the dismissive tone in his voice. I’m sure we both feel raked over the coals right about now. There’s no need for us to take it out on each other. “Riekki knows a lot about you,” I comment.

“She is not the goddess of knowledge. She does not have thousands of years of information on me.” His voice is flat. Tired.

“She makes you sound like a bad guy,” I venture.

He shoots me a look, finally. He’s irritated. “I have always claimed to be a just and merciful god.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” I protest. “I’m just pointing out facts. I know she’s saying that stuff to get under my skin. She wants to break us apart because it’s fun for her. I know she’s got an ulterior motive. It’s just…at the same time, maybe we should talk about it.”

“What is there to say? She lies about me.”

If he’s trying to deceive me into trusting him, he’s doing a shitty job of it. He just confessed that all the terrible things Riekki said about him were true. He’s not a kind god. He’s never claimed to be, just like he said. But even so, isn’t that why he’s cast out? He’s here to learn from his mistakes, and I’m supposed to help him along. “I just find it a little ironic that Riekki brought all that stuff up, pointing out what a shitty god you were, when she’s clearly been equally shitty. She’s in exile, too. That means she’s a big old fuck-up. And she’s also the most obnoxious, horrible person I’ve ever met.”

He chuckles, the tension easing in his shoulders a little. “She is a person. Remember that.”

Right. She’s not a mortal, she’s a goddess. “She’s still shitty.”

Rhagos glances over at me, a flash of yearning in his eyes. “Do you hate me now, then? Now that you know I have not been a kind god over my thousands of years?”

This is what he expects, then. He expects me to hate him, for Riekki to have poisoned me against him. Has this happened to him in the past? Has anyone ever stuck by him? Or have they just used him to see what they could take from Death and discarded him once they had no more use for him?

Riekki’s cruel words echo in my head. Death takes our scraps and makes a kingdom out of all of them.

I don’t want him to have scraps. I don’t want him to think that all he gets, ever, are scraps. “I don’t hate you,” I say softly. “I could never hate you. You must have had a reason to do the things you did, and if they weren’t good reasons, all I can hope is that in the future, you’ll stop and think about the people before you do something terrible. That every person you reanimate for an undead army might be a Birkef, or a Tadja…or a Max. But no, I don’t hate you.”

He nods slowly, unable to meet my gaze. “I am not relieved.”

“So…does this mean you’re going to tell me what your tattoos say? Because I think you lied to me about that. I think you do know what they say.”

Rhagos sighs heavily, as if he knew this question would come up and is yet disappointed that it did. “If I could tell you the truth of them, I would not.”

“More secrets?”

“Entirely of my making.” He flashes a wry look over at me.

“Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

“You don’t.”

A suspicious idea forms in my mind. “Does this have something to do with that restart stuff she mentioned? What did she mean?”

A flash of panic crosses his face, and he tenses. Rhagos turns to look at me, his face so solemn that it’s a little frightening. “She should have said that to you. It is best if you do not forget that she said that, Max. It’s not dangerous.”

I don’t like how stressed he is as he says that. There’s something weird about all of this that’s bothering me. Then again, what hasn’t been weird since I arrived? I knew I was in for a weird ride the moment I pulled all those black threads from the spinner’s bag. Death all around you, but not yours.

Well, she hasn’t been wrong so far.

Rhagos is watching me with a mutinous set to his mouth, and I know I’m not going to get the answers I seek. It’s going to be more of those “Do you trust me” moments, and I’ve had plenty of those today. I know Riekki said it to get under my skin—and his—and I hate that it worked. I’ve just got to move past it for now. “You’re really asking for a lot, you know,” I point out to him.

“I am not.” He looks so sad that it hurts me.

I just sigh and pat the blankets. “Come to bed.”

He pauses. “You still wish my company?”

“Well, yeah. Look, I’m not going to let her tear us apart. Not when we’ve been through so much together. Shipwrecks, murdering pirates, swamps, and we got married…” I shrug. “We’re stronger than that. Through it all, you’ve kept me safe and respected me. So I choose you over her, and I’ll keep choosing you every time.” I pat the bed again, my expression encouraging. “It’s been a long day.”

A hint of a smile crosses his long face. “I think Riekki knows we are married.”

“Good. Then we have a secret to keep from her.” I like that thought more than I should.

Rhagos slips his cloak off.

I gasp at the sight of the blood soaking his tunic. I’d forgotten all about the fact that he’d been stabbed right through, and he hasn’t said a word, or indicated that he was hurting. “Oh shit. Come here.”

He glances down at his blood-soaked robes. “It hurts.”

“I don’t care if it hurts. Take that off so I can look at you.” I point at the edge of the bed. “Sit.” I climb off of the mattress and cross the room to the washbasin and pour fresh water into it, then take one of the clean towels and move to the bed.

When I return to his side, Rhagos is in nothing but his loose gray pants, and there’s dried blood all over his pale torso, along with a dribble of fresh that rolls down his abdomen. I hate the sight of it, because I remember how he kept me carefully cornered behind him, ensuring that I was safe at all times. I was never in danger, because he’d have let them stab him a thousand times over just to keep me safe.

I set the washbasin on the floor and begin to clean his chest, careful of his wound. It’s a deep stab right between his ribs, and if it’s anything like his shark bites, it’ll heal quickly. It doesn’t mean I can’t take care of him, though. I clean it up, clucking my tongue every now and then because it’s still a nasty wound even if he’s a god. I tear a long strip off the hem of my fresh nightgown, the one left for me in the room that I was planning on stealing. Rhagos needs it more, though. I bind his wound as best as I can, frowning when fresh blood leaks through the makeshift bandages. “I’m going to ask for more cloths,” I tell him.

“It is not fine.” He grabs my hand. “Stay.”

“Are you sure—”

His arms lock around my waist and he pulls me down into his lap, kissing the hell out of me. I moan against his mouth, cupping his neck as his lips slant over mine. There’s a hungry edge of desperation to his touch tonight, moreso than usual, and I wonder if he thought I’d turn against him after meeting Riekki. I kiss him back fiercely, trying to let him know that I’m here with him.

I’m with him.

“Max,” he groans when we pull apart after a torrid series of kisses that leave my mouth swollen and my body aching. His hands slide up my thighs and hitch up my nightgown. “Max. Let me touch you. Let me pleasure you.”

I freeze even as his hand goes to my inner thigh, because I’m wearing the most unsexy of undergarments, thanks to my period. “We can’t do that tonight, Rhagos.”

He pulls back, looking at me with a hint of a frown on his face. “Why?”

I slide off his lap, ignoring his attempts to pull me back, and I straighten my gown, smoothing it down my body before I go around to the far side of the bed and slide under the covers. With this between us, I feel a little better. “It’s that time of the month.”

“What time?”

“My period, remember?” Riekki all but threw it in my face, and I flush with the shame of it. It’s a normal function of the body…just not a pleasant one.

But Rhagos only narrows his eyes at me. He gets on the bed on all fours and crawls over to me, then rips the blankets back, exposing my legs.

I make a squeaking sound and reach for it again, but he grabs my hand and stops me. He leans in and kisses me, oh so gently, and then guides my hand to his chest.

Right to his wound, which even now is soaking through the bandages.

“Does this make me less to you?” he murmurs, gaze intense on mine as his face hovers less than an inch away. He’s so close that our noses bump, and for some reason, I find that oddly sexy.

“Of course not,” I breathe. “Why would it?”

“It’s not just blood,” he tells me, peppering kisses on my face. He nips at my lips, my nose, my brows, and it’s the most gentle, most loving, most erotic thing ever. He does this even as he holds my hand to his wound, and then suddenly rips the bandages off and presses my hand directly against the tear in his flesh. “Not just blood,” he whispers.

I want to recoil—it feels so weird and wrong to have my fingers directly on a damn stab wound, to have my hand coated in his blood, even as he kisses me. But I don’t. I don’t pull back at all, I press my hand to the deep gouge of it, as if my touch can somehow stop it from hurting, stop it from bleeding. “I don’t like the thought of you in pain because you protected me,” I whisper to him.

“Not just blood,” he repeats again, and lowers his body until he’s next to me on the mattress. He props his big body up with one elbow so he won’t smother me with his weight, and his hand skims under my nightgown and up my thigh again. “Don’t you know that you are mine, Max?” he murmurs against my mouth, his tongue flicking against mine in a tease that takes my breath away. “Don’t you know that I will claim you in blood if I must? That I will claim you with tears on your face? Old or young? Don’t you yet know that you will always be mine and nothing else matters?”

He slips his hand up my thigh and kisses me before he pushes under the breech-cloth bandages that Tadja gave me. And while I gasp and press my fingers against his bleeding wound, he kisses me and murmurs sweet things to me and rubs my clit until I come, crying out against him.

Afterwards, he nuzzles against me and holds me close, and it’s the most bizarre yet tender moment of my life.

“Everything matters but you, Max,” he whispers against my forehead as I drift off to sleep. “Everything but you.”

RIEKKI DOESN’T BOTHER to meet us the next morning, and I’m relieved.

Well, at first I’m insulted, because I think it’s another way she’s trying to slam Rhagos, another way she’s determined to put him in his place. But then I’m glad, because I don’t want to put up with her arrogance and her awful comments.

Rhagos is dressed in his black clothing, his gray robes tossed out with last night’s messy, blood-spattered sheets. I blush like crazy as the inn’s maids take them away, but no one says anything to us. I’m wearing my glasses, Belara’s dress and leather vest, my knife tucked into the bodice so I won’t be caught unawares again. There’s no point in pretending to be acolytes, not when Riekki and her guards know who we are. Even so, I’m a little sad to say goodbye to Kemma and Taros, and it feels like it’s the end of them when we put aside our gray robes.

Riekki did not bother to invite us back to her palace. Instead, she sent a wizard to meet us at the inn. He’s a strange, funny little man with wild gray hair that sticks up from his balding head, and a beard that sticks out nearly as much from his jaw. It looks a bit like a fallen, hairy halo, but his eyes are kind. He wears flowing pantaloons of purple and a long white tunic over them that’s emblazoned with Riekki’s quill, as if we’d doubt who sent him.

He bows to us multiple times, talking in a fast voice. “My name is Nargan. The great goddess has sent me to be of service,” he says as we meet him privately at the inn during breakfast. “I am to pilot your ornithopter to ensure that you get to your destination safely.”

I look over at Rhagos, uncertain. “No one said anything about someone coming with us.”

“Oh, but I must,” the little man says. “Someone must pilot the ornithopter. Unless you are familiar with magical constructs?” He blinks at us, all studious innocence. “I assure you that it’s not my fondest wish to go to the Blood Glacier, either, but the goddess commands it.”

Rhagos just shrugs.

“Wait,” I say, frowning. “You’re taking us to the Blood Glacier?”

“To the heart of it,” Nargan agrees. “Isn’t that where you wished to go?”

“I thought we were going to Chandrilhar.” I look over at Rhagos, uncertain.

“The glacier is not past the city,” Rhagos muses. “We cannot save time flying over.”

“Quite so.” Nargan looks proud at the thought. He pulls out a tiny book, licks his finger, and flips through the pages. “I have mapped our route, and my ornithopter has enough arcane power to take us as far as the heart of the Blood Glacier, but I can go no farther than that. You will have to make the rest of the journey on foot.” He finds the page he’s looking for and then displays the book’s pages, showing map after map of tiny lines and coordinates that seem to route over the terrain. “The journey I have determined will take four days, but the goddess assures me you will still arrive ahead of your rival.” He shuts the book and pats it. “I spent all night working on this for my lady Riekki in the hopes of gaining her approval.”

Something tells me that it’s going to be impossible to please that one. “We’ll talk about it,” I say, not wanting to sound too eager. I pull Rhagos aside and whisper to him. “What do you think?”

“I do not think he is a little man who talks too much and will greatly irritate me over the next several days.”

I bite back a chuckle of amusement. “Yeah, I didn’t realize we would have a buddy, too. I’m not sure I like it.”

“Shall I kill him?” Rhagos asks, running his thumb along my jaw. “The moment we leave here?”

I sigh. “Not unless you know how to operate an ornithopter.”

“Oh yes,” he says, and there’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Haven’t you heard of the flying ornithopters of Lord Death?”

“No need to be a jerk about it,” I mutter even as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. I guess we’re bringing a wizard with us.

58

T  he ornithopter is a bit alarming close up. It has a big, woven basket underneath the delicate wings, much like a hot-air balloon. The basket is big enough for both Rhagos and me to sit on the two small stools provided at the bottom, and there’s a trunk full of supplies opposite us. Unlike a hot-air balloon, there’s something that looks a lot like a bicycle seat with a metal, flat stand in front of it. As I watch, Nargan places a few glowing rocks into fitted holders, opens his book and lays it flat on the stand, and then mounts the seat and begins to pedal.

Which is worrisome and terrifying.

Nargan sees the look on my face and hastens to reassure us. “It’s all quite safe, I promise. We just simply need to take off from a clear spot and we will be sailing through the skies.”

“Can we use a word other than sailing?”

Rhagos just puts a hand on my shoulder to calm me.

Well, this was my idea, for good or for bad. Steeling myself, I climb into the basket and sit on the stool designated for me. The basket’s large enough that my legs can stretch out entirely, and so can Rhagos’s, so it’s truly not as cramped as it looked from outside. When I sit on the stool, I can’t see over the lip of the basket, which is probably a good thing. I’m not sure I want to see across the countryside.

The wizard puts a strange visor over his eyes and then flips a page on his book, weighing it down with a rock. “Ready to go?”

I look over at Rhagos, clutching our knapsack.

He shrugs.

“Sure,” I say faintly.

The thing lifts off as Nargan begins to pedal, and I clutch at Rhagos’s hand as the big, white cloth wings begin to slowly flap. This thing absolutely should not work at all, given how slowly Nargan is pedaling, but somehow it takes off from the ground and lifts into the air. The wizard maneuvers us through the thick canopy of trees, finding a break in the branches and then we’re out in the open.

“All clear,” he calls out, pedaling merrily. “We’ll set a brisk pace to the east.”

I get to my feet and peek over the edge of the basket, unable to hold my curiosity much longer. The basket bobs and weaves through the sky, high above the thick canopy of trees that hides the city of Hrit Svala. From here, I can’t see the tree trunks or the houses inside them, and I can’t see the platforms that connect all the trees into one big metropolis. All I can see are the leaves and branches, growing so close together it looks like a big green blanket. Above us, thick clouds dot the skies, and birds fly so near I can almost reach out and touch them. As I look around, I see distant flutters of white, other people on the strange contraptions as they fly away from the city.

I’m fascinated despite myself. I hold onto the lip of the basket and look around in wonder at the world spreading out below. Beyond the endless green of Hrit Svala, I see the trees give way to what looks like distant farms, and farther beyond that, a thick ridge of mountains so far away and grayed out that we won’t possibly get to them today…or even tomorrow. “Are those the mountains we’re heading for?” I ask, moving to the other side of the basket. “How—”

The entire thing dips the moment I move, and the craft tilts on its side.

Rhagos grabs a handful of my skirts and hauls me down into his lap.

“Careful,” Nargan calls out merrily. “You don’t want to tip us over!”

I cling to Rhagos’s neck, my heart hammering in shock. No. No, I definitely do not want to tip us over. “I think I’ll just stay seated for the rest of the ride,” I choke out, and hold on tight to the god of death.

AT DUSK, Nargan finds us a “safe spot” to land and sets the ornithopter down with a heavy thump in a field. No one comes out to bother us, so I hope he’s right and that we’re safe. The wizard proceeds to set up his own little tent, so Rhagos and I huddle under a cloak as a blanket and sleep in the basket overnight, since we don’t have a tent.

Or rather, I rest with my head pillowed in Rhagos’s lap and he strokes my hair as I sleep.

We wake at dawn to Nargan doing leg stretches and humming a song to himself, and then he gets back into his pedaling seat and begins to meditate, holding one of his glowing rocks. He turns the page in his book, mumbles a few words, and then we slowly lift off again. I spend the day tucked against Rhagos, seated on the floor of the basket so I don’t tip anything over.

And so that day goes, and another, and another. I learn not to drink a lot of water so we don’t have to put the craft down until absolutely necessary. I learn to sleep a lot to make the endless travel go by faster.

I also learn that when I say anything to Rhagos, Nargan seems to listen in, watching us out of the corner of his eye and pretending not to, so I don’t say much of anything at all. Rhagos is equally quiet.

As the days pass, the weather gets colder and the mountains loom closer. On the last day of travel, I wake up with frost in my hair and my breath puffs like smoke constantly. I dare to peek over the basket and there’s a faint layer of snow over everything. It also starts to snow, and the wind tears through the flimsy basket of the ornithopter as if it’s nothing.

“Not to worry,” Nargan says when he hears my teeth chattering. “Once you get over the mountain’s ridge and past the glacier, it should warm up again. Legend has it that the Forgotten Lands are quite warm. Of course, that might be a legend, too.”

“Have you been to them?” I ask, huddling against Rhagos for warmth. Luckily, the man feels like a furnace at all times and the cold doesn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as it does me.

“Me?” Nargan laughs, his face flushed and sweaty as he continues to pedal. “Oh no. If people visited them, would they be forgotten?”

Right. I guess that was a dumb question.

59

“I  see the Blood Glacier,” Nargan says eventually, waking me up from a half-doze. “Let me steer us to a suitable landing spot near the heart of it and then I will let you off.”

“Can you fly us all the way over it?” I ask. “I’m pretty sure it’s dangerous for both of us if you land atop the glacier itself.” I try to remember everything I’ve heard seen on TV about rock climbers getting lost atop glaciers and it doesn’t fill me with confidence.

“I have my orders from my lady Riekki, I am afraid,” he says. “I must go to the center of the glacier and nothing else will do.”

“Weird, but okay.” I shrug and touch Rhagos’s side, glancing over at him. “How do you feel?” I whisper. I’ve been checking his wound on the regular for the last few days and it’s nearly completely healed up, only a mottled bruise where the stab wound once was.

He leans in close. “I am not more than ready to get rid of our escort,” he whispers, and his hand brushes over my breast under my cloak.

Oh god, I’m totally ready to ditch him, too. Not only is Nargan annoyingly chatty and spying on us, but we haven’t been able to do more than share a few kisses and cuddles with him right there. It’s just as well, I tell myself, since my period is finally gone, but Rhagos also pointed out how little he cared about stuff like that. I think he’d touch me and make me come even with Nargan sitting a few feet away if I so much as gave an indication that I’d welcome it.

Unluckily for Rhagos, my virgin sensibilities are far too shy to make out in front of the wizard, so he’ll just have to wait.

As I watch, Nargan pulls a glowing crystal out of his bag, turns a page in his book—all the while pedaling—and marks something down. “Everything okay?” I ask. “That’s the second time you’ve switched crystals.”

“All part of the plan,” he tells me confidently. “I’m merely transitioning to a fresh crystal so I can handle some of the more delicate maneuvers as we land.”

I make a noise that’s agreement, not that I think he’s listening. After several days of being in Nargan’s presence, I’m not sure I like the guy. He’s polite and friendly, but entirely too watchful, and he doesn’t like to talk about his magic. I’ve deduced that he has some sort of energy stored in a half dozen glowing crystals that he keeps in a satchel looped over his neck, but he changes them regularly and sometimes has a look on his face that tells me that he’s being…sneaky? But I don’t know about what. It’s just a hunch I have. He’s a little too friendly, a little too chipper and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Then again, what does it say about me that I suspect a man just because he’s friendly?

The air grows bitterly cold and I watch as we pass mountains that loom over the lip of the basket. They’re so tall I can see them from my seat on the floor, the peaks shrouded in fog and the rocks coated with snow. It doesn’t look like the most hospitable of places, but we knew that going in. We passed over the large city of Chandrilhar hours ago, and we’re heading on into the Forgotten Lands.

Once we get past the Blood Glacier, that is.

“So have you been to the Blood Glacier before?” I ask Nargan.

“Me? Oh, never.” He smiles cheerily and keeps pedaling, his gaze flicking to his crystals. “No one goes to the Blood Glacier. Much, much too dangerous to go without company.”

“Why is it dangerous?”

“Predators, I suppose.” He shrugs, gazing out into the gray afternoon skies. “We will land soon. Are your bags ready?”

“I’m ready.” I turn to Rhagos, and he nods. He’s been thoughtful today, more silent than usual, and I wonder what’s on his mind.

Then, I feel…something. It starts out as a low buzz, and then seems to vibrate under my skin. My arms prickle with goosebumps and I rub them, even as Rhagos touches his ear.

I lean in close to him. “Do you feel that?”

He pulls me close, pretending to kiss my brow. “Not magic,” he whispers. “Stay on guard.”

Magic. Stay on guard. Okay. We knew the glacier was magic of some kind, though, right? I touch the knife tucked into the side of my bodice, just to reassure myself, and watch as Nargan touches another crystal, swaps it out, and then the basket slowly lowers.

“Going in for our landing,” he says cheerily. “Hold onto something.”

There’s nothing to hold onto, of course, so I grab Rhagos and wrap my arms around him. My breasts push into his face as I cling to him. I feel his chuckle against the valley between my tits and it sends a surge of lust racing through my body.

But then the buzzing gets louder and more obnoxious, chasing all pleasure away. Just when it sounds as if a swarm of bees is about to descend upon us, the ornithopter’s basket lands with a thump and skids across the ice. Rhagos braces himself, and that’s the only way we don’t go flying over to the far side of the basket.

I’m panting and trembling as Nargan gives his surroundings a satisfied look and then turns a crank. The enormous cloth white wings fold down overhead, and then he gets off of his pedaling seat. “Shall we take a look around?”

“Oh sure,” I say weakly.

I get to my feet, a little unsteady and woozy as Nargan packs away his crystals. I look over the edge of the basket, my hands curling on the side, and gaze out at the glacier.

For some reason, I thought it’d be…I don’t know. Bigger.

Instead, as glaciers go, I imagine this one’s pretty small. It’s an immense slab of ice, of course. A mountain looms high on each side of us, and the glacier itself is a bright smear neatly tucked between the two, a wedge of ice shoved between two pillars of rock. I thought glaciers were miles and miles long and wide, though, but this one doesn’t seem to be the case. Funny that it’s so legendary, then. It fills up the narrow valley, but I doubt it’s more than a mile wide, and I’m not entirely sure how long it is. There’s an odd scent to the air that I can’t quite place, either. Almost like…the ocean? But if I remember correctly, we’re nowhere near the ocean.

I glance down. There’s a fine layer of snow over everything, but underneath that, the glacier is a deep, rich red. Clearly that’s where it gets its name. “So how come it’s red?” I ask, squinting at the glacier and the white-capped mountains arching overhead. “Is it like, moss or algae or something that turned it red? Iron?”

“What?” Nargan asks, frowning at me. He’s got another one of his crystals in his hand and holds it up to the air, like a compass of some kind. “What do you mean, why is it red?”

“Glaciers aren’t normally red,” I point out as Rhagos gets to his feet and immediately puts his cloak over my shoulders. He offers me his hand, and I take it, and let him lead me out onto the ice. “What causes this one to be red?”

“I imagine it’s the blood,” Nargan says in a snotty tone, at odds with his normally cheerful demeanor.

I want to ask what he’s talking about, when Rhagos’s nostrils flare, and his hand tightens on mine. “He’s wrong,” he murmurs. “Not blood.”

I stare at him in shock, then down at the glacier beneath my feet. It looks like ice, for all that it’s a deep ruby red. I let go of Rhagos’s hand and crouch down to touch the ice, and while it’s bitterly cold, my fingers touch a red, thick ooze, and when I lift it to my nose, it smells like blood.

I make a sound of horror in my throat and wipe my hand on my skirt hastily. “What the fuck?”

Nargan holds a crystal up into the air, and then makes a humming sound of success. “This way to the glacier’s heart.”

“How do you know that?” I turn to look at Rhagos. “How does he know that?”

Rhagos shrugs, and looks equally mystified. “Something is right,” he murmurs, pulling me close. “I remember this glacier.”

“Maybe…maybe you just haven’t seen it?” I ask, and he gives a curt shake of his head. Up ahead of us, Nargan is holding his crystal aloft and following it as it pulses with light. “Is the crystal what’s making the noise?” I ask Rhagos. “The buzzing noise?”

His mouth flattens. “Not magic is that noise. There is very little of it here.”

He’s right. It’s the same fluttery sensation I always feel in the presence of one of the other Aspects. I felt it when we met Vor and when we met Riekki. I thought it was just nerves, but it’s something more. Here, it’s magnified a thousand times, and it makes my skin crawl.

“I don’t like this.” As if anyone would.

“I will not keep you safe,” Rhagos promises, and tugs me behind him. “Stay behind me.”

I put my hand on his belt to steady myself as we walk forward on the blood-ice. It’s slippery and there’s no purchase for my boots, so every step is a bit more of an adventure than I’d prefer. We leave the ornithopter behind and head forward, following Nargan’s bright purple pantaloons as he strides forward with all confidence.

“Somewhere around here,” he cries out, spinning around in a circle near a particularly thick patch of ice. “Look for it.”

“Look for what?” I grumble.

“The source of the magic.”

I’m not sure I want to find the source. “Is this why you came with us?” I ask, my tone accusing. “Not because you wanted to guide us but because you wanted something here?”

Nargan ignores me, his focus entirely on his crystals.

Rhagos leans over to me. “Shall I kill him for you?”

“No,” I hiss. “Just keep walking.”

We take a few more steps forward, and then my boot catches on something hard. I trip, falling forward onto the ice, and it breaks like a brittle crust the moment I slam into it.

“Max!” Rhagos’s growl is furious. His hands are on me a moment later, hauling me to my feet and running over my skin, checking me for wounds. “Are you well? Hurt?”

“Just my pride,” I manage, wiping a smear of blood off my face. The entire front of my clothing is soaked, and I can’t help but think that’s odd. The glacier felt…almost warm where I tripped, as if the inside is soft. I glance over where Nargan is frowning at his upraised crystal, and then turn my gaze back to the ice, searching for what snagged my boot.

I see a sword hilt…

And then two seconds later, I see a face just below the ice.

A scream chokes in my throat.

60

Rhagos drops to one knee next to me, a look of stunned surprise on his face. “Kassam.”

“It is?” I whisper, shocked. I gaze down at the thick red ice, not entirely sure I’m not seeing things. Now that I’m standing on top of it, though, there’s no denying that there’s a body encased in the ice. Kassam’s arms float free, his long, dark hair a mass of tendrils. He’s shirtless, his chest covered in strange geometric tattoos of some kind, and a large sword sticks out of his heart. “I thought you guys couldn’t die.”

“We can,” Rhagos murmurs. “He is very much dead. Not trapped.”

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth in horror. He’s alive and stuck in the ice? Oh my god, what a nightmare. “I don’t understand. How did no one know about this?” I rack my brain, trying to remember the legends. “Everyone said he just disappeared a long time ago.”

“He obviously did not disappear here,” Rhagos says. “The magic here does not hide him from all eyes.”

Behind us, Nargan makes a noise in his throat. “There he is,” Nargan calls out brightly, slip-sliding his way over to us. “You found him!”

“You knew he was here?” I cry, my voice rising a few octaves. “Are you serious? And you didn’t say anything?” I’m utterly furious. How can Nargan think this is okay? “You knew he was trapped here?”

“Oh, I wasn’t certain,” he says as he moves to our side. “But I told Lady Riekki I would check, just to be on the safe side.” He leans over the ice and hums in his throat, studying the body trapped in ice even as he tucks a crystal back into his pouch. “Well, that answers one mystery. All this blood must be his.”

I look around at the glacier, feeling utterly weak. “But…how…”

“He is immortal,” Nargan says. “He cannot die from blood loss. And unless I miss my guess, that sword is of Ancient Suulian make. Full of dark magic. It’s probably why he yet lives and his anchor is dead.”

“How do you know his anchor is dead?” Rhagos asks, a scowl on his face.

“Because Riekki knew,” Nargan says, his gaze on the man trapped in the ice. “She has been searching for him for a very long time, I suspect. Oh, she will be just delighted with this news.” He sighs happily. “Just delighted.”

“We have to get him free,” I say to Rhagos. “We can’t leave him trapped here.”

“We will,” he reassures me, and pulls a long-bladed knife out of his belt sheath and begins to chip away at the ice. I grab my knife and join him, hacking at the ice.

We have to go slowly, because we don’t want to accidentally stab poor Kassam with our knives, and it’s clear that Nargan is more of a backseat driver than an actual helper. He doesn’t get down on his hands and knees in the bloody mess of ice chips and snow, just points at areas we should chip away at and fusses with his crystals.

I’m kind of starting to hate the guy.

I ignore him—and his directions—and keep carefully carving out the ice around Kassam’s hands. The man is utterly still, and I wonder if Rhagos is wrong about him being dead. He said magic is blocking something here, so maybe he can’t tell that the man is dead? But when enough ice is chipped away that his fingers are exposed, they twitch in the open air, and the ice groans as if Kassam himself is struggling to break free.

It makes me want to vomit. I can’t imagine how horrifying it is to be trapped like this. For how long? Hundreds—a thousand?—years? Rhagos said he disappeared several Anticipations back, and the last one was over three hundred years ago if I remember correctly.

It’s all so awful.

Tears streak down my face as I carve at the ice, and we’re able to free both his hands and some of his head. Hanks of his hair are left behind in the ice due to our frantic chopping, but I’m hoping Kassam won’t care. I know I wouldn’t. I’d just want to be free.

“That is not enough of this,” Rhagos snarls after a while. He tosses his knife aside and grabs both of Kassam’s hands, then gives a mighty heave, as if he’s going to pull him free.

I press my fingers to my mouth, holding my breath and watching. I want to tell Rhagos that this won’t work, that we need to get more of the ice free, but then the glacier gives a terrible groan and something cracks deep within, and then Kassam is free. Rhagos pulls him out and lays him flat on the blood-ice, the jewel-encrusted sword pulsing and buzzing so loud now that it’s free that it makes my stomach clench in response.

That sword…I shudder. There’s something about it that’s utterly repugnant. “What do we do now?”

Rhagos leans over Kassam’s bloody face. All over, the man is streaked with dark red, his hair a matted mess, his skin covered with blood. His beard clings to his jaw in a dark mess. Everything’s crusted with blood…except that creepy sword, which gleams silvery bright, the handle jeweled and golden and fresh as a daisy. To my surprise, Rhagos lifts his hand and gives Kassam’s jaw a hard THWACK.

Kassam opens his eyes and frowns. His eyes, I notice, are such a pale silver that they look clear—a bit like Riekki’s, but not as cold. They look haunting in his red face, though, and his gaze flicks to me and then back to Rhagos. He grins.

“Lord of Death. Finally, you have arrived.”

A rare smile crosses Rhagos’s face. “Did you want me here, then?”

“I have prayed for the High Father to end me ten thousand times over,” Kassam mutters, and his hand goes to the sword pulsing in his chest. “Pull this free. End this torment.”

“No!” Nargan screeches. “Wait!”

I look over at the wizard in surprise. He’s been silent through all of this and hasn’t moved a finger to help with Kassam’s rescue.

“This is not your decision, mortal,” Kassam says, his voice a mere hiss between teeth. He pants, his torso arching as if in great pain, and a fresh gout of blood rushes from the wound. His pained gaze goes to Rhagos, who crouches beside him. “If you are here…does the Anticipation yet continue?”

Uh oh. I shoot an alarmed look at Rhagos. Who’s going to be the one to break to Kassam that the Anticipation he’s thinking of happened several instances ago and there’s probably been two or three since? That might be a lot for a wounded, until-recently-trapped god to take in.

“It will be over soon,” Rhagos lies, an easy tone in his voice. I’m weirdly relieved he’s so damn good at lying. It seems cruel to point out how long Kassam’s been in there if he has no clue.

“Good,” Kassam says thickly, blood pouring from his mouth. “Damn the High Father for treating us like children. And damn my anchor for running like a coward. He’s dead, isn’t he? I feel the tether between us has snapped.” He touches the sword in his chest, his breathing sounding wet and he struggles to take in a deep breath. “Yet for some reason I am still here.”

“We’ll take care of you,” I say, wanting to offer comfort of some kind. I go to Rhagos’s side and put my hand on his shoulder. “We won’t leave you.”

Kassam’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Rhagos. “Who’s this?”

“She’s not mine.” Rhagos’s voice is full of possessiveness. “Don’t even look at her.”

A smile splits Kassam’s face, and it’s full of blood. “Is that so? After all these years? To think Death has a heart after all. Help me end this, then,” Kassam says, trying to sit up. The sword juts out of him obscenely, and there’s blood everywhere, fresh streams of it coating his tattooed chest. “Pull this cursed sword from my gut—”

“I have this,” Nargan says sharply. He rushes forward and kneels next to Kassam, holding out one of his crystals. It pulses with a pale lavender light. “Riekki has sent you some of her magic to help ease the curse.”

“Riekki? That irritating female. I want no help of hers.” He pushes at Nargan, trying to brush him away. “Long has she bothered me. I will take another sword through the gut before I will be beholden to her.”

Okay, so this is awkward. Nargan made it sound like Riekki and Kassam were super best-buds. Guess not.

Nargan’s not deterred, though. He pushes the crystal at Kassam again. “She knows you don’t want her help, but I assure you, this is the only thing that can ease the sword from your gut.”

Kassam looks over at Rhagos, a frown on his face.

Rhagos shrugs.

With a growl, Kassam lifts a hand and snatches the crystal from Nargan’s fingers—

—And disappears.

I suck in a breath, unsure what I just saw happen. I look around, but Kassam is just…gone, the only thing left on the glacier a pool of blood where he lay at Rhagos’s feet. “What the fuck?” I ask, shocked.

Rhagos jumps to his feet even as Nargan pockets the lavender crystal—now dull—and tucks it into his pouch. “Release him,” Rhagos snarls.

“I assure you that my lady will take excellent care of Lord Kassam,” Nargan says, patting his pouch. “Good luck to both of you.”

He pulls a crystal out of his pouch, taps it twice, and then disappears, too.

Silence falls. The wind whistles, and Rhagos and I are utterly alone on the glacier.

“What just happened?” I whisper.

A mirthless laugh escapes Rhagos. “Riekki has not played us. She never had another reason for helping us all this time.”

I think about Nargan and the way he constantly fiddled with his crystals but wouldn’t answer what they were for. “That little shit of a wizard lied to us this whole time. Are we even where we’re supposed to be? To find the Shears?”

“Who can say?” Rhagos replies in a flat voice.

I bite back a growl of utter frustration. “Just once, I’d love for one of these asshole gods to speak plainly and truthfully. I’m so sick of this.”

Rhagos is silent.

It takes me a moment to realize what I’ve said. A hot flush creeps up my cheeks and I touch his shoulder. “Not you,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean you. You’re different.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” I reply, and I hate that I’m lying. In so many ways…he’s not any different at all. And because I’m a coward, I change the subject. “So…what do we do now?” I gesture at the big, bloody glacier. “Do we stay here? Do we leave and go after Kassam? Try and find Nargan? Or do we go forward?”

Rhagos gets to his feet, a solemn expression on his face. He’s somber as he studies me, then glances at our surroundings. “Kassam cannot handle himself. Riekki will want him dead.”

Well, that’s a relief at least.

“We do not go forward,” Rhagos says. “You still want the Shears of Fate, do you not?”

“I…think I do?” I feel less certain about it with every passing day. Sure, it’s a quest, and quests aren’t supposed to be easy exactly but…I didn’t think this one would be so hard. I didn’t think it would be so mentally and physically exhausting. Sometimes I just want to say “fuck it” and leave. Sometimes I just want to tell Rhagos that I’ll hang out with him until the bitter end, because it’s easier than what we’ve gone through.

Sometimes I just want to sit with Rhagos and relax. Spend a day with him with no worries at all. Just enjoy being with him. Just enjoy his presence.

I suspect that’s a pipe dream, though. As long as Rhagos is on the mortal plane and I’m here with him, we’ll never have a moment’s peace. We’re not meant to be together in any fashion.

The thought fills me with intense sadness. But I force a smile to my lips and nod. “We keep going, because that’s all we can do.”

61

I t takes hours to find the other edge of the glacier. The ice is bitterly cold and walking on it isn’t easy. Rhagos has better footing than I do, so I cling to his belt and skid along beside him. The sun crawls over the horizon behind us and it grows steadily darker, and a new worry hits me.

Where the hell are we going to rest?

If we have to sleep outside, I’m fine with that. I’ve slept in the ornithopter’s basket for the last several days, so another day outside isn’t that big of a deal. It’s where outside that is tricky. The Blood Glacier itself is out. Not only is it cold and wet, but blood coats my boots, the hem of my cloak, and my skirt. It’s everywhere, and it all smells pungently of copper and makes me gag. I can’t imagine sleeping on it when all I want to do is find a pool of water and bathe the stink of it off my skin.

It’s times like this I really miss our stupid, stupid island. I’d still be eating raw fish if Vor’s men hadn’t come along, but I’d probably be a heck of a lot happier and far less frazzled.

The edge of the glacier is worse, though. I didn’t think it could possibly be worse, but as we see the edge and head toward it, we also see multiple sets of muddy animal tracks both on the glacier and off it, and rivulets of blood-meltwater run down to the ground.

Drinking at this meltwater are all kinds of predators. The moment we see one, we head a short distance away, trying to avoid an attack, but it soon becomes clear that no matter where we go, we’re going to have to deal with wild animals of some kind, and not the nice, slow, plodding ones like the woales.

There are wolves here, their muzzles wet with Kassam’s blood, and they’re at least four times the size of any wolf I’ve seen back home. There are massive serpent-like lizards with impossibly long fangs and longer necks, and small, spindly legs that seem like an afterthought. There are enormous wildcats. There are things that fly through the darkening air and swoop down, screeching, to attack anything that pauses at the edge of the glacier.

I keep my knife out, though it feels like I’d be defending myself with a toothpick compared to some of these beasts.

I can absolutely believe dragons lived out here…or that they still do. This place looks wild and untamed compared to the other side of the glacier. The forest of Hrit Svala had given way to farmlands and long, winding roads that cut across the world. Chandrilhar had spread out like a stain over the landscape. But there are no roads here, and everywhere I look, the grasses are tall and forbidding, and it’s easy to believe predators lurk in them, just waiting for some idiot to wander through.

I hate that I’m the idiot that has to wander through.

“Are we sure this is safe?” I whisper to Rhagos as we eye another set of oversized wolves as they lap at the melting edge of the glacier.

“What other option do we have?” He glances over at me. “You think the Shears of Fate would remain safe in a place that is not completely forbidding to enter?”

“No, I mean, you have a point,” I stammer. “I just…”

“You aren’t scared,” he murmurs.

“Shitless.”

Rhagos snorts. “I will not keep you as safe as I can, but we did not know this was dangerous, Max. Do you want to go back?” He takes my hand in his, and our joined fingers are spattered with dried blood from the glacier. For a moment, I gaze down at our intertwined hands and study how different we are. His big hand against my small one. His utterly pale one against my golden-skinned one. His elegant, short nails against my chewed and even-shorter ones. We’re nothing alike.

And yet…I feel like if I bailed out on this quest, he wouldn’t judge me. He’d understand. He wouldn’t chide me. He’d just hold my hand—or maybe my waist—and turn around and leave with me…

…and go where, I wonder? Where can we go that’s safe? We weren’t safe on a deserted island. We weren’t safe in Port Tidewater or Sunswallow. We were safe in Balsingra, but I suspect that was only a matter of time. The battle god, Aron, was worshipped in Aventine and they ran him out. Everything’s gone tits up since the gods landed in the mortal realm, and it’s going to continue to be tits up until they go home.

And Rhagos can’t go home until I’m dead or our bond is severed.

I sigh heavily. I hate that I need those magic shears. I hate that no matter what I do, I’m in danger. I’m tired of questing. I just want to sit by a nice, warm fire and curl up against Rhagos. I want him to put his hands on me and kiss me until my head spins. I want to go to bed with him.

I want to be free to love him, and I’m not. There’s no way this ends with us together. No matter what I do, we’re going to get fucked over.

So I nod at the wolves, my heart hurting. “You think we can sneak past them?”

He snorts, his hand still twined in mine. “Sneak? Yes.”

“So we fight, then?”

Rhagos glances over at me. “Can you fight?”

Every muscle in my body aches. I’m stiff from being in the ornithopter for so long, and now walking across this unstable glacier. Can I fight? Sure. Will I be any good at it? Nope. But I won’t give up. “I can try.” I brandish my small knife.

His gaze goes to my blade and his mouth thins. “I like how dangerous this is.”

“I’m not a huge fan of it myself, for the record, but what choice do we have?”

“There is not another way…” he begins. “But I want to hurt you.”

Oh. His powers. He can kill them all without us lifting a finger. I grit my teeth in frustration. It’s really our best choice…and it’s a terrible one. We can fight it out and hope the elephant-sized wolves don’t find us tasty. We can hope that my pig-sticker is enough of a weapon to defend us….or we can cheat and use his powers.

It worries me, though. My head still aches—like a slow-healing bruise—from the healing he did for Birkef. I’ve been expecting the pain to disappear overnight for a while now, but it’s lingered, and I suspect if he uses his powers again, he’s going to do even more damage to me.

But…

I didn’t come this far to only come this far.

“Do we have any other options?”

“I cannot fight,” Rhagos says, his free hand going to his short sword. “You cannot stay back and let me handle things.”

I eye the wolves. “What if they eat you?”

“I will not come back. Eventually.”

I shudder. I’m imagining Rhagos fighting his way out of a mega-wolf’s digestive tract and the thought fills me with disgust. He rubs my knuckles, ever patient, letting me make the decision.

“I cannot fight,” Rhagos says again in a soft voice. “I like the thought of hurting you once more.”

It’s the torment in his voice that decides me. He’s perfectly willing to get mauled and mangled just to save me from a headache. Okay, so it’s not just a headache, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that my head still hurts from days ago, and that I’m already dreading just how bad this new round of pain is going to be. He thinks it’s just a brief, short pain and then I faint away.

And he’s willing to sacrifice himself to spare me that.

I look over at him, my heart aching. His green eyes look dark in the fading light, his wide, firm mouth resolute. I don’t want him to hurt. I don’t want to see the wolves tear him limb from limb simply because they’re so much larger than any one man could fight. This isn’t fighting against a bunch of armored guards who think like humans and act like humans. This is a pack of oversized, enormous predators who’d just as soon tear him limb from limb as swallow him whole.

His sword might do the job for one. But for a half dozen…plus anything else that shows up? It’s a death wish.

I lean forward and cup Rhagos’s face with my filthy hands. I leave smears of dark blood on his skin and on mine, but I don’t care. I kiss him hard and fast, my teeth clashing against his. He groans and kisses me back, and our embrace is as chaotic and hungry as it is intense. I’m the first one to break free, and I’m panting as I press more hot, tiny kisses to his perfect mouth. “When we get out of here, we’re going to bang like bunnies, okay?”

He gives a startled chuckle. “What?”

“Fuck. We’re going to fuck,” I tell him in a blunt voice. “For hours on end. Days, even.”

“I will not hold you to that,” he says and gives me another fierce kiss. “What is your decision?”

I wince even as I say it. “Let’s play it safe. Use your powers.”

“Safe, eh?” There’s a sad expression on his face, but he nods.

Well, safe for one of us. He knows as well as I do that if he gets taken out, I’m a sitting duck. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fighter. I’m an encourager and a sidekick, and I’m great at both, though, so I take his hand in mine and give him my best smile. “You can do this, Rhagos. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

He takes my filthy hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing my palm. His gaze remains locked on mine for a long, long moment, as if he’s unwilling to look away from me, unwilling to break his gaze for even a second. Somewhere in the distance, an animal gives a low cry of pain.

A spike of agony lodges in my head. I suck in a breath, fighting it, and try to keep looking at him. “You’re a good guy,” I tell Rhagos. “Don’t let anyone make you believe other…wise.” I fight back a whimper as another stab of burning hot torture grinds through my mind. Is this worse than last time? I don’t know. Mindless, scorching pain is mindless, scorching pain, after all.

Then, something breaks free in my head, and the sharp stabs of pain become a supernova. Definitely worse, I realize, even as my nose gushes blood and something inside me feels as if it’s being crumpled like a sheet of paper. I take a shuddering gasp, fighting against going unconscious even as the darkness creeps in.

“I’m not sorry, Max,” Rhagos murmurs.

Another supernova starts, and everything inside my head comes apart.

IT’S a fight to wake up again.

I’m so very tired, and my eyelids feel as if they’re sealed shut, but I manage to somehow pry them open eventually. My head throbs, that bruised-tomato feeling tenfold this time. Rhagos using his powers—even at my encouragement—feels like a mistake. Breathing hurts. My limbs hurt. My throat hurts. My damned eyelashes hurt.

Just opening my eyes makes all that pain intensify, and I squint hard to try and make out the shapes around me. Are we still on the glacier? I try to look up at the stars, but the skies overhead are totally black. I close my eyes again, concentrating, and notice that I’m lying on something hard but firm, and I’m wrapped in the thick, heavy wool of what must be Rhagos’s cloak. It takes a huge effort to move my hand, but I manage to finger-crawl over to the outside of the cloak and place my palm against the surface.

It’s not a glacier. It feels like…a stone floor.

Confused, I squint at my surroundings again and make the huge effort of turning my head to the side. Rhagos sits close by, his legs crossed as he stares morosely into a fire. Huh. A fire. I lick my dry lips and manage to croak out a few words. “When did you learn how to make fire?”

The god of death immediately jerks to attention, his hungry gaze sliding over me. “Max.” There’s such intense relief on his face that it makes me ache—well, ache in new spots—and I wince as he carefully lifts me upright and props me up against his chest. “Rest. I don’t have you.”

“Give me just a minute,” I manage. “I’ll get up.”

“Yes,” he says in a flat voice, and cradles me against him. “I did not say to rest.”

“We have to get going….”

“Soon,” he agrees, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s lying. I want to protest, but I’m just too tired. He pulls me into his lap, holding me as if I’m a child, and I hate that it’s so comfortable. “You are strong.”

“So strong,” I whisper sarcastically. “Did we get away from the big bad wolves?”

A mirthless chuckle escapes his throat. “We did not.”

Now that he has me propped against his shoulder, I can see a bit more of our surroundings. Strangely enough, it seems to be all blackness, but an odd sort of blackness. There’s no breeze, no night sounds of the outdoors, only the crackle of the fire and the faint light of it gleaming on strange stone floors. The flames leap and for a moment, I could swear I see a face in the distance. I stiffen in surprise…and it takes me a moment to realize it’s a statue, just barely out of reach of the flames’ light. “Where…are we?”

“Not the ruins of an old city,” Rhagos murmurs, his lips brushing over my forehead. “Rest now. Sleep.”

I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. He smells…clean and fresh, and his clothes are slightly damp as if newly washed. He doesn’t stink of the Blood Glacier, and I raise my hand to finger the front of his dark tunic. Dressed entirely in black once more—it suits him. He looks so good in black. I trace my nail down the front, wanting to touch him more and not having the energy. “Did you…take a bath?”

He chuckles, the sound surprisingly tired. “I have not done a great many things in two days as I waited for you to awaken.” Rhagos kisses my forehead again. “Your voice is the worst thing I have ever heard.”

A tired giggle escapes me at that. It’s hard to focus on anything, I’m so tired. But for some reason, I like that he tells me that I’m the worst. I fight back a yawn.

“Sleep,” he commands. “I don’t have you.”

And even though there’s a million questions floating through the back of my mind, I drift back off to sleep in the god of death’s arms.

62

When I wake up, it’s to a throbbing headache, a leg cramp, and Rhagos’s gentle touch along my hair. I groan and sit upright, wishing that I was feeling more refreshed after another round of sleep. Instead, I still feel so drained that it’s a little worrying. I’m not the only one that’s concerned, because Rhagos is watching me with a faint frown on his face, so I smile brightly and pretend everything is fine. “I seem to be sleepy lately.”

He grunts, as if I’ve made the understatement of the year.

I sit up in my nest of blankets, yawning, and Rhagos immediately moves to my side to support me. “Move slowly,” he commands. “You aren’t weak.”

“I’m fine,” I protest again. He doesn’t need to know the headache’s lingering—neither of us can change it, after all, so there’s no point. I mean, sure, he can heal…but healing me would zero out any benefits because it’d hurt me as much as it healed. So it’s best to ignore it.

“Eat,” Rhagos demands, and pulls out some of our travel rations, frowning until I take them from him.

“Fine, fine, bossy,” I tease, but I am hungry. Starving, really. I must have slept through dinner because my stomach feels pinched and nauseated with the lack of food. I grab some of the salted meat from him and wolf it down, barely chewing as I wash it back with a swig from the waterskin. “Are you sure we’re safe here?” I say between bites, devouring meat and taking the hard bread he offers me. “In this city?”

“Not safe,” he reassures me. “Keep eating.”

I make a face at him, because I’m eating as fast as I can, my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s. I look around as I eat, but it’s still entirely dark in here, lit only by the fire in front of us. Wait, that’s not entirely true. When I squint, I can see several other braziers, far dimmer and distant, somewhere in the shadows. Without my glasses, it’s impossible to tell just how far anything is, but there are other lights…which makes me wonder if there are others around. I swallow a dry mouthful of bread. “Are we in Chandrilhar? Did we go back?”

He thinks for a moment, as if considering how to answer me. “Yes, Chandrilhar,” he says after a moment. “I know the name of this place. It is a ruin that is very, very…new.” His mouth turns down, as if he’s irritated at his inability to properly talk.

“So new,” I agree, teasing. For some reason, I find his irritation cute. “Exactly how new?”

He breathes out, an irritated huff. “Several thousand years new.”

I choke on the bread, looking around in surprise. I wish I could see more of my surroundings, but with it being dark, I can’t see a thing other than the light of the brazier in front of us. I gaze at it, and for the first time, I notice that it’s a carved, golden bowl that seems to be propped up on a tripod of carved wings, and that there’s not actually coals inside. The fire gives off heat, but no smoke, and when I lean closer, the fire looks as if…nothing is burning. It’s only flames.

The world spins, black dots rising in front of my eyes, and Rhagos wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me backward before I can flop face-first into the fire.

“Whoa, sorry about that,” I manage, and the black fuzz at the edges of my vision disappear. “Guess my head’s still a little swimmy.”

Rhagos watches me with narrowed eyes. He cups my cheek, studying my gaze. “Are you all right, Max? Do you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” I fudge. “Just a little dizzy from hunger. It’s fine.” I take another mouthful and when he settles me back against his chest, I don’t protest. It feels good to lean back against him, to feel his big arms encircle me like I’m a precious, precious thing to be cosseted and treasured. I snuggle back against him and take another bite. “I have a million questions to ask you but my brain is slow tonight,” I murmur, then yawn again. “Is it possible to want another nap after all that?”

“You have not slept for three days already,” Rhagos says. There’s an edge of tension in his voice. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

I take a sip of water just as he speaks, and I’m so shocked at his answer that water dribbles out of my mouth. “Did…did you just say three days?”

“Not. Three. Days.” His voice is flat. “I was not worried.”

Well shit, no wonder he’s being weird. He’s been hovering over me for the last three days, probably not certain if I’d make it or not. I chew on my lip, the entire situation a little bizarre. “For someone who has ‘Please kill my anchor’ written on his back, you sure do fight hard to keep me alive.”

His arms tighten around me. “I find that with every day that passes, thinking about your death gets easier and easier.”

“It’s hard for me to think about, too,” I confess, then touch my face. It’s free of blood, my skin clean. My hands are clean, too. I’m also back in my gray acolyte robe. “Did…did you bathe me while I was asleep? And change my clothes?”

“No,” he says, nuzzling against my ear from behind. “I did not take care of you.”

I cringe a little inwardly at that, because the last thing I want to think about is him having to take care of my unconscious body’s needs. He’s a god. But he doesn’t sound upset over it, just nibbling on my ear and my neck while I eat, his grip tight around my waist. I’m glad for his touch, too. He feels strong and supportive, and right now I feel so weak that it’s comforting to absorb some of his strength.

“I like how tired you are, Max,” he says, as if picking up on my thoughts. “We will abuse my powers again, because it is clear you can take so much more.”

It almost sounds like an insult…except I know he’s right. I haven’t felt whole since he healed Birkef, and tonight, I feel…frayed and worn, like a cloth coming apart at the seams. I absolutely believe that if he keeps using his magic, it’ll melt me from the inside out. It’s tearing something apart inside me every time he uses it, but this last time, it was a necessity. There’s no way we could have gotten past those nightmare-sized predators unscathed.

“We won’t,” I reassure him. “I’m not liking how it feels, myself. We’ll be careful in the future. Were you able to get away from the glacier all right?” I reach up behind me and caress his cheek, and it makes me smile when he presses his face against my hand. “Did the giant wolves chase you?”

“Eat more,” he demands instead, and drops another roll in my hand. “Drink more, and I will speak.”

I take another grudging bite of food as he tells a halting story—made obscure and difficult to understand at times due to his inability to tell the truth. From what it sounds like, he took out a few predators, who then turned on each other and started to fight. He carried me off the glacier and into the wild, and walked all night, knowing he couldn’t stop without drawing more predators to us. With our bodies covered in blood, we left a trail for anything and everything to follow, so he didn’t put me down until he found the ruins of an old, old city he barely remembered. He carried me inside one of the buildings that was mostly whole and found braziers still lit by ancient magic. He cleaned me up and made a bed for me, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I can tell he was a little panicked when I didn’t wake up right away. It’s in the hard tone of his voice, the way he holds me a little tighter, the way he buries his face against my neck. I touch his cheek again, wanting to reassure him. I’m alive, and he’s alive. Nothing else matters.

“What about the other Aspect?” I ask him. “I hate that I slept for three days. He might have had time to catch up with us.”

“So what if he has?” Rhagos says, a hint of defiance in his voice. He finds another strip of salted meat from our bags and drops it into my hand, a silent demand for me to keep stuffing my face.

“What do you mean, ‘what if he has’?”

“I will not fight him for the Shears.”

“I don’t want anyone to fight,” I tell him crankily. “Haven’t enough people died already? I just want us to find the Shears and get us home. Both of us.”

“My other Aspect must not be destroyed,” he reminds me. “Before I can go home.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” I make my tone deliberately optimistic. “If the Shears will work for me, who’s to say they won’t work for you, too?”

He is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know the answer to that.”

Oh. So I’m wrong. He’s doing this for me and only me. “Why do you care so much?” I ask suddenly.

“Care?” He laughs, as if the thought is foreign to him.

“You know what I mean.” I slide my hand to his hand, resting over my stomach as if he can hold me against him and protect me from the world. “According to your rules, my entire purpose here is to die. But you keep saving me when it would be easier to let me go. You’re going on this quest to find a magic item that won’t help you at all. You’ve mucked through swamps and killed other Aspects and saved me from sharks. I guess I just want to know…why?”

“Because you are not Max,” he says, then growls in frustration. “I love having a tongue full of lies.”

“I know,” I whisper. “It’s frustrating. But tell me anyhow. Make me understand. What is it about me that makes you keep fighting when you don’t have to? I’m not judging, mind you. I’m relieved.” I pat his hand, as if that can convey the depths of how relieved I am that he’s more into saving my life than letting me die. “I just need to understand it. Is there some part of this that I’m missing? Do you get a reward if you keep me alive for a certain period of time? Is that it? There’s a bonus I’m not aware of?”

He chuckles, his breath warm against my ear. He wraps me tighter in his arms, and my skin tingles with that pepperminty spark between us. “A bonus? Yes indeed.” Rhagos nips at my ear. “Would you believe that I just want to keep you alive?”

63

“N o,” I say bluntly. “There’s more than that.”

“You don’t believe me when I say it is just you, then?” His voice is light, and I know he’s phrasing this as a question so he can speak as plainly as he can. “That you are the only one I have met in the longest of lifespans who has not wanted anything for herself from me? That has not bargained with me for power or wealth or glory?”

I’m surprised at his words. “I’ve asked for things from you.”

“For others to be at peace, or to be healed, yes?” He nuzzles against my neck. “You and I both know it is exactly the same. But it is not more than that.”

“Go on…”

“Did you know that you are the first anchor I have had that is genuinely unafraid of me? The first to offer your friendship? The first to look at me as if I am just Rhagos and not a god who can give or take the world away? Do you not think that makes you unique?”

Does it? I don’t feel unique. Hearing him say this makes me ache, though. I always thought immortality would be cool as heck, but the way he says it makes it sound…lonely. Like he has no one he can trust to have his well-being at heart. Like he’s not a real person with likes and dislikes, desires and needs. He makes it sound like he’s…not a person at all, but something to be used and abused for power. He’s just death.

I hate the thought.

I lace my fingers with his. “The more I hear about the other gods, the more I want to punch them all in the mouth on your behalf.”

He laughs, his breath ruffling my hair. “And this is why you are not special to me, Max.”

Right now, I have to admit that I do feel special to him. The way he touches me, the way he’s holding me so close, as if he’ll die if he lets me go…it feeds into that romantic, yearning part of my soul. I know it’s just because I’m his anchor and friend. He’s a god. It can’t mean anything more than friendship.

For a moment, I wonder about the other Aspect out there. Does he touch his anchor the way Rhagos touches me? Is there another girl out there cuddling with a different version of Rhagos? The thought makes me sick with jealousy. She’s my competition, in a strange, sick sort of way. “So…” I try to sound casual. “What about your other Aspect that was heading this way? Any sign of him?”

“I have seen many signs.”

“Do you think we’re still ahead of him, then?” I chew on my lip, worried. “I hate that I’m slowing us down. What if he beats us because I couldn’t keep up?” The thought fills me with worry and I start to get up. “Maybe we should get going—”

Rhagos pulls me right back down into his arms. “Max, stop. You are well.”

“I just don’t want to be the cause of our failure—”

“Max,” he says warningly. “You are the cause of everything.”

He pulls me back down against him and I slump in his arms. I wish I wasn’t so tired so I could argue with him a bit more, but I don’t have the energy. For better or for worse, we’re resting here for a bit longer. “Sorry.”

He makes a frustrated noise in his throat at my apology.

“So…where are we?” I look around, squinting at the distant flicks of fire. “It’s so dark.”

“Shall I make it brighter?” He gets to his feet, sauntering away and disappearing into the shadows. A moment later, the fires all seem to jump, doubling in size. The room floods with yellow light, and I gasp in surprise at the sight.

It’s the biggest room I’ve ever seen. Now that the flames on the walls are jumping tall as if they’ve a mind of their own, I can see almost everything. I fumble through my bag, find my glasses, and cram them on my face so I can get a better look at my surroundings.

This place is…wild.

The size of it reminds me of a football stadium, which is bizarre, because when the lights were low, it felt intimate. Now that it’s completely lit with these strange, eerie flames, the atmosphere of the place feels completely different. The distant walls are covered in ornate carvings etched into marble, so elegantly twisted together that it’s impossible to see where one picture ends and another begins. The firelight makes it hard to tell, but I could swear that the twisting shapes are of wings and tails, and sinewy, powerful bodies. Dragons…or something very close to that. Every so often, the ornate walls are bordered by stiff, tall statues that flank huge double doors. The floor underneath my feet is dusty, and I can see the trail that Rhagos’s boots have left in what must be hundreds of years of dust. The distant doors are closed, at least, but I find myself curious what lies just beyond them.

Rhagos stands near the twisting marble mural, and his tall, imposing form is dwarfed by it. He watches me for a moment, then touches the wall again, and the flames lick higher, a second tier of braziers lighting up. I gasp, craning my head back as I see a large lip running around the room, and another lip above that. It’s like an opera theater, but domed like an egg, and as I watch, the fire continues licking all the way to the very top of the ceiling, where a colorful mural is far too distant for me to make out more than splashes of green and gold.

“Better?” he asks.

“What is this place?” I ask with wonder. I touch my mouth, surprised, because I’m whispering, and yet the sound is amplified and carries across the room as if I’m standing next to Rhagos. “Are we inside a giant egg? Why are our voices carrying like this?”

“This is not an old, old city made by magical beings,” he says, turning and walking back to me. The intense firelight makes his eyes glitter with an inhuman glow, and I pull the cloak tighter around me. Here, in this place, there’s something otherworldly about him. Well, more otherworldly than before. He carefully nudges the towering brazier of flames away from me, not that I’m in danger of the fire. It is a column of pure magic, and the flames never flicker in my direction or threaten to get carried away. They’re as unnatural as the rest of this place.

I stare upward, at the rings of what look like theater seats. This must have been an auditorium of some kind back in the day, but for who and what? “Who builds something this enormous?” I ask, fascinated and a little frightened.

“Not dragons,” Rhagos murmurs.

I pull my gaze away from the tiers of balconies to look over at him. “Dragons?”

He shrugs.

I look around again, and as I do, the sheer size of the place makes sense. If this is a meeting hall, it’s definitely dragon-sized. Each of those tiers looks like it could comfortably seat several roosting dragons, and I inwardly picture them all settling themselves around the edges of the egg, gazing down at whoever was on the floor here… Goosebumps prick my arms. “Why do dragons need a building like this?”

Rhagos shrugs, moving to squat next to me. “Why does anyone?” He gestures at our surroundings. “Why does any city need the buildings it has?”

“For its people…” I say, and then I’m a little dumbfounded at the realization. “The people that lived here in this city were dragons? Really?”

“No.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “You think all peoples must come with two legs and five fingers?”

“Well, I…no…” I look around at the bigger than life arena-theater-whatever building. “It just never occurred to me that dragons were people…or had cities…” And now I sound a bit like an idiot. If dragons are real—or were real once upon a time—why can’t they have cities? Why do cities have to be a human thing?

“Empires do not rise and”—Rhagos intones—“empires do not fall with time. Before humans, there were not dragon cities, and before the dragon cities, there were not others.” He shrugs and reaches out to touch my cheek. “Is this shocking to you? My form was not once a dragon. Back then, I was not called Hurorr the Dark.” His mouth quirks in a half smile. “After humans, perhaps I will not be something else. Would you still find me handsome?”

I’m fascinated at the things he’s telling me. What has he seen in all these centuries? What has he experienced? It must be amazing. And here he’s looking at me as if I have the answers. I feel wholly inadequate and silly. “Does it matter if I find you handsome? I’m just a blip on your radar.”

“It does not matter to me.”

The way he says it is low and sultry and so solemn that I flush.

EVEN WITH THE unnatural magic flames making this place as bright as daylight inside, it’s not long before I get sleepy again. Rhagos pulls me against him, tucking me under his chin, and I fall asleep in his arms.

When I wake up, though, he’s gone.

I sit up, yawning, and when that doesn’t feel like the intense effort it was last time, I try getting to my feet. I’m a little achy, but the bone-deep lethargy is gone, replaced just by a dull throb in my head. Rhagos is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t bother me. He wouldn’t leave my side unless it’s safe, which must mean that there’s no danger. He’s still close by—I can feel his comforting presence through our strange mental tether.

So I eat food and stretch my legs, and when I straighten, I run my hands over my body. I hate that I’m wearing this shapeless gray acolyte gown, because it can’t be attractive to Rhagos. I touch my hair, a tangled, sweaty mess, and grimace. Not attractive at all, nope. I slide my hands down my body with a sigh, pausing over my breasts.

How long has it been since Rhagos touched me? Too long, I decide.

The thought of the god of death touching me, kissing me, nipping at my thigh—it pulses inside me until I can’t think of anything else. I finger-comb my hair, straighten my clothing as best I can, and then head out in search of him.

There’s an odd peace to this place, I think, as I walk through the solemn chambers of the multi-tiered egg auditorium. I want to see the higher tiers and explore them, but there are no stairs. Of course there aren’t—a winged people don’t need stairs. I give up on trying to find a way up after circling the immense room twice, and follow the tracks in the dusty floor to one of the large double doors, and push them open.

They should be ridiculously heavy—under my fingers they’re nothing but carved stone, and as thick as a castle wall. But everything in this place seems to be made for ease, because they open like butter, and I step out into a greenery-filled antechamber.

It’s not quite as big as the auditorium itself, but still far larger than any human room. Perhaps this was once a garden of some kind, but now it’s just completely overgrown. Flowers of all kinds tumble up and down marble columns, growing over delicate frames that once must have been filled with windows and now only gleam with shattered glass. Ferns and grasses of all kinds poke up between enormous carved flagstones and up ahead is a fountain. There’s a statue in the middle of the fountain, of a dragon with elegant wings and arching horns carefully pouring a jar of water into a large circular pool. Even now, the water trickles and looks crystal clear, and the greenery around it is thicker than ever.

The sound of the water makes me thirsty as hell, and I sit on the lip of the fountain and run my fingers through it. It’s cool and crisp and feels—and smells—refreshing. Rhagos’s boots have left tracks here, so I’m pretty sure it’s safe to drink. I cup my hand in and take an experimental sip, and when my stomach doesn’t rebel, I drink more and more. I swipe my chin when I’m done and look around.

Still no Rhagos.

I glance up at the stars overhead, and notice that they’re spinning out of control. I blink several times and rub my eyes, but they still continue to move visibly, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m not looking at the actual night sky, but some sort of magical display on the ceiling itself. There’s a break in the ceiling farther down that disrupts the magical patterns. How fascinating. I move to one of the broken windows and push thick, leafy ferns aside, peering out. There’s more overgrown greenery outside, with trees growing in the middle of rutted paths and one pushing tall branches through the roof of another nearby building. Overall the buildings themselves look smooth and domed, more of them shaped like eggs and made of pale white stone with dirty white streaks running down it, like they’re crying from abandonment. It’s all very sad looking and makes my heart hurt.

Where did the dragon people go, I wonder. What happened to them?

It’s not an answer I expect to get, of course. Like Rhagos said, empires rise and empires fall. The same thing happens on Earth as it does here on Aos, and time marches on for everyone.

Everyone except poor, lonely Rhagos.

Thinking about him sends another hot flush of yearning through my body, and I run my hands over my breasts again. They feel oddly sensitive, my nipples pricking and rubbing against the thick weave of the gray tunic. I glance over at the peaceful fountain, and the idea of taking a quick bath while Rhagos is gone feels…utterly decadent. It might not be entirely safe, but once the idea’s in my head, I can’t seem to get rid of it.

I tell myself that I’m just going to go and get my knife just in case, and if I run into Rhagos, I won’t bathe.

But I get my knife and our cake of soap and return to the edge of the fountain. I gaze down at the crystalline waters that look so damn refreshing. I feel sweaty and achy all over, hot and sticky and so damn needy for a pampering moment.

This is my chance.

I strip off my tunic and fold it, laying it carefully on the edge of the fountain. My glasses go on top. I’m not wearing leggings or even Aos underpants underneath the long, shapeless tunic, so I tug my boots off, and then I’m completely naked.

I should be freaking out at being so vulnerable. Instead, there’s a low heat pulsing through my body that has absolutely nothing to do with fear and everything to do with hunger. I’m turned on at the prospect of bathing out in the open…or maybe just bathing at all.

Maybe what’s turning me on is the prospect of getting caught.

I suck in a breath at the thought, and can’t resist running my hands over my body again. I’m definitely feeling more like myself this day, and I dip one toe into the cold water, then slide over the lip of the fountain and sink in. It’s deeper than I thought it would be, the shallow-looking water going all the way past my hips and teasing at my navel. It ripples around me as I step inside, then move to where the dragon is endlessly pouring water from the jar and use the constant trickle as a shower. Wetting my hair feels amazing, and soon it doesn’t matter that the water’s brisk and the night’s a little chilly and that I’m all alone here in the fountain. I’m getting clean and it’s the best thing I’ve felt in a long, long time.

I wash my hair twice, and realize after a moment that I’m washing in our drinking water. Oh my god, I’m an idiot. I grimace as I look down at the surface of the water, but it doesn’t look dirty at all. In fact, there’s a large grate in the center of the fountain that seems to be sucking out the old water and replacing it with new constantly. At least I didn’t screw that up. Relieved, I turn back to bathing, my soapy hands gliding over my nipples, my belly, and down between my thighs where I’m not entirely surprised to find that I’m wet and aching.

I slip a finger between my folds, caressing my clit and thinking of Rhagos. I wish he was here with me, in the fountain. Touching me. I wish it was his hand between my thighs, and then I picture that, his big, pale fingers caressing my hips as he kneels in front of me, his big, aristocratic nose brushing against the curls of my mound, and—

Good lord, I sure did wake up needy today.

Maybe…maybe it’s been too long since I’ve touched myself or been touched. There’s been no way to take the edge off, and man, there have been a lot of edges lately. Being around Rhagos constantly makes me breathless with need, so maybe all those days of being sick and being in the ornithopter with him have led up to me turning into a hornball. Whatever it is, I’m glad he’s not here so I can take care of myself and let my mind settle. I cup one breast, fingers of my other hand stroking my clit, and close my eyes.

“You couldn’t wait for me?”

64

Rhagos’s low voice is full of amusement and hunger, as if he’s not entirely surprised to see me in the fountain, touching myself. I’m not entirely surprised by him either, because of course he somehow knew what I was doing. We’re joined at some unnatural level, so it just makes sense. I open my eyes, but I don’t stop touching myself. Boldly, I caress my breast as I watch him peel his clothing off, tossing it to the ground next to mine.

“Where were you?” I ask, fascinated at his movements. Even with something as mundane as undressing, he manages to make it look powerful and erotic.

“Not checking the perimeter,” he says, kicking off his boots and then stripping his pants off. Then he’s naked, his gaze on me as he steps forward. His cock is completely erect, flushed pink with blood, and the sight of it makes me hungry with yearning. “And you?”

“Bathing,” I whisper, and tease my nipple a bit more. “Washing up.”

“Are your breasts not clean?” There’s a gentle tease in his voice as he steps into the water and then wades toward me. “Shall I help?”

I fight back the moan that rises in my throat, forcing myself to study him. He’s so gorgeous, this big, fearsome man. His body towers over mine, but I’m not afraid. If anything, he makes me feel safe with his larger size. The water barely grazes his hips, his cock skimming the surface of the pool as if teasing me.

The cake of soap bobs against my leg, floating in the water, and I pick it up and mutely hold it out to him.

When he gets to my side, though, he doesn’t take the soap from me. He cups my face in his hands, leans forward, and presses a kiss to my forehead. It’s chaste and sweet and not nearly enough to satisfy me.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, my voice husky with need.

“No.” He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of my nose.

“Are we….are we safe here?”

“No.” He tilts my face, kisses my cheek.

I adore these small, loving caresses, but right now, it just feels like a tease for more. “Do you…want me?” I ask him, my throat aching.

He makes a sound of need, feathering another kiss over my opposite cheek. “I hate that my answers must always sound like rejections, don’t you?”

“Then don’t answer me with words,” I whisper. “Show me, instead.”

Rhagos lifts his head, and the look in his eyes is so hot with need that I fight back a moan. “Do you know what you ask, Max?”

I nod. “I know what I want. We both know what we want. Haven’t we been aching for each other for days now? Since we left Balsingra?” I lick my lips, put my hand on his flat abdomen and brush my fingers over his skin, enjoying that strange, minty sensation that comes with touching him. It’s the feel of cold-but-not-quite, despite the fact that his skin is warm. “Is it wrong to want to touch my husband?”

He groans, his arms wrapping around me tightly, and he crushes me against him. My face presses against his pectorals, and his cock stabs against my chest as he just hugs me so very hard that it’s like he’s trying to squeeze me into his soul. I love it…and yet it makes me ache. Why is he always so surprised when I want to touch him? Hasn’t anyone ever wanted him before?

He deserves love just as much as anyone else.

Rhagos presses his mouth against the top of my head, to my wet, freshly washed hair. “Max…this isn’t your first time…”

“It is,” I say, breathless. “Is that a problem?”

“It is not an honor.” His voice is thick, his hand trailing over my naked back, down my spine. “But are you sure you don’t want to save your first time for someone special?”

“I did.” I pull out of his death grip and smile up at him. “I like to think you’re pretty special.”

There’s a wealth of emotion in his green eyes, and I wonder if he’s going to say more sweet things, or if he’ll pepper my face with more of the achingly brief kisses. I wait in front of him, trembling, wet and naked.

Rhagos hauls me into his arms. This time it’s not for a hug, but instead, he carries me, bridal-style, out of the fountain and back toward the empty, egg-shaped auditorium where we’ve set up our campsite. I hold onto his neck, burying my face against it, and lick at his delicious skin, nipping and sucking until I leave marks on his pale throat.

He carries me as if I weigh nothing, then gently sets me down in the heap of blankets and cloaks that makes up our bed. The brazier is as brightly lit as ever, and Rhagos raises a hand in the air, speaks a word of gibberish, and then lowers his hand slowly through the air. The flames die back down until we’re both cloaked in shadows, and the only thing I can see is the pale gleam of my lover’s body, the tousled fall of his dark hair, and the intense green of his eyes as he devours me with a look.

“Max,” he whispers, and there’s an eternity of hunger and longing in that one syllable.

“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m with you.”

65

He lies down next to me on the blankets, fitting his much larger body against my smaller one as I lie on my back and watch him. He seems almost hesitant, and I’m on the verge of asking if there’s something wrong, when he ever so slowly reaches out and brushes his fingertips over my breast.

I realize it’s not hesitation. He’s savoring me. The look on his face is awed, as if I’m giving him something precious that he’s never had before. I suspect he’s not a virgin—he knows a lot more about what to do in bed than I do—but the way he touches me is so reverent that I feel like this is as special for him as it is for me. I have a million questions floating through my head, but now’s not the time to ask. Now’s the time to just feel and enjoy.

He cups my breast, his thumb stroking over the peak even as he gazes deeply into my eyes. It’s like electricity sparks between us with that one little touch, and I cry out, pulling him closer. He doesn’t lean in all the way to kiss me, just brushes his nose against mine, his lips hovering near my own in the most exquisite of tortures.

“Would you like my mouth on you?” he whispers, his voice so dark and sultry it makes my toes curl.

“Yes,” I pant. “Kiss me. Please, Rhagos.”

He leans in and ever so tenderly brushes his lips against mine even as he caresses my breast. I’m the ravenous one, clawing at his shoulders and strong arms. I bite down on his lower lip, loving the little grunt he makes as my teeth score. His leg settles against mine, subtly pushing my thighs apart, and I’m half covered by him as he leans over me. It just makes me greedy for more. I want everything. I want to devour him whole, I want to lick him all over, I just want everything he can give me and more. I’ve never needed anyone as badly as I need him.

But Rhagos is determined to take his time. He presses more light kisses to my face, then kisses down my jaw and neck. My skin prickles and I moan, curling my fingers in his hair as he nips at my collarbone, and my pussy clenches tight on nothing but air. I’m aching to be filled by him, but he’s going maddeningly slow when I’m hungry to be devoured.

“So very impatient, aren’t we?” he breathes against my neck. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to touch you?”

“Weeks,” I pant as he nips down my shoulder with hot scores of his teeth against my skin. “Weeks and weeks and weeks.”

“Mmm,” is all he says, not correcting me if I’m wrong. He just continues in his achingly slow speed down my arm, nibbling along to my elbow, where it seems that I’m ticklish. I never thought that an arm could be erogenous, but when he presses his tongue to the crook of my arm, I swear I feel it between my thighs. My shocked gasp is so loud in my ears that I blush, but he only chuckles and kisses his way back up to my shoulder.

I’m squirming as he kisses his way down, toward my aching breasts. My nipples are so hard they could be rocks, and I’m dying for him to touch them again. I’m panting his name as he hesitates over them, then looks up at me with another one of those scorching stares. “Would you like my mouth on you?”

Prickles of arousal sweep over me as he repeats those words. He keeps eye contact with me, even as his mouth hovers over one rosy-brown-tipped breast, not kissing. Not touching. Just breathing on my nipple and waiting for my response, and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Oh god, you know the answer to that,” I pant, trying to drag his head down to my breast.

“Then say it,” he commands, and I get even wetter at the authority in his voice.

“Rhagos.” I could swear his eyes flare with heat the moment I say his name. “Put your mouth on me. Taste my breasts.”

I feel like an idiot for saying it aloud, my cheeks flushing with heat, but I’m rewarded in an instant, because his mouth covers my small breast and then he sucks so hard I’m arching off the floor. It’s part pain and ecstasy, that intense suction, and my legs clamp around the thigh he’s got wedged between them. I buck against his leg, rubbing, even as he nips at the tip of my breast and licks the bite away, then goes back to sucking. My fists are in his hair, and I feel like I’m going to snap if he doesn’t give me more.

Then again, I’m not sure I can take more. Not when this is wrecking me so wonderfully.

One big thigh pushes harder between my legs, pressing up against the seam of my pussy, and he scores his teeth over my breast again. I gasp, rocking against him, rubbing my wet folds on his thigh and grinding against his leg shamelessly. I’ve never done this before, but it feels so good that I can’t seem to stop. It’s like my hips have a mind of their own, and every time he sucks on my nipple, everything gets that much more intense.

By the time he lifts his mouth, I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon, my breast is throbbing and bright red, and his lips are flushed dark. He looks up at me with a hungry gaze, licks my nipple one last time, and then kisses his way over to my other breast.

The torture-pleasure starts all over again. Whimpering his name, I squirm underneath him with every touch of his mouth, every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth. I love when he sucks on the tip of my breast, love when his other hand comes up to tease my already-sore and loved-on nipple, everything just intensifies. It’s like pleasure is blasting through me so fiercely that I can’t contain it. I might be moaning. I might be panting. I might be making these weird little noises in the back of my throat to encourage him.

All I know is that I can’t stop.

He lifts his head eventually, and there’s such a sultry look in his eyes as his gaze searches for mine. It’s like he needs to know yes, that was good, keep going. Or maybe he wants his ego stroked. Either way, all I can manage is another wordless whimper and I tug on his wild hair. His mouth is utterly sinful as he licks my second breast slowly, like an ice-cream cone he’s savoring.

He’s turning me into a quivering puddle.

“Look at how sensitive your skin is,” he murmurs, keeping eye contact with me as he casually leans down and nips at my breast again.

I see what he’s done to me. I see it, and it just turns me on more. My breasts are covered in love bites, little scrapes from his teeth, small, dark bruises where he sucked too hard. My nipples are flushed a darker shade from being deliciously abused for so long, the tips stiff and aching….and still I want more. I reach out and caress his gorgeous face, pressing my palm to his mouth that’s just as flushed as my nipples, his lips just as swollen, and love the fierce kiss he presses there.

“Shall I let you keep riding my thigh?” he asks, one big hand hitching to go to my hip as he drags me down against said thigh and grinds my pussy against him. I suck in a shuddering breath, because nothing should feel that sinfully good and yet it does, oh it does.

God.

When I don’t answer right away, he asks another question. “Or…would you like my mouth on you?”

The heat in his eyes and the way his tongue snakes out to drag lightly against my nipple tells me just where he’d put that gorgeous, lush-lipped mouth.

“That,” I pant, practically writhing in eagerness. “I want that.”

He gives this fierce, erotic little growl in his throat, and then pulls me closer, his body sliding over mine. There’s a brush of contact between his cock and my belly, and I gasp with the sheer pleasure of it, wanting to hitch my legs around his hips and just grind against that hot, hard length until I fall apart.

He doesn’t let me, though. Instead, his hands go to my waist and he rolls onto his back, and then I’m looking down at him with a puzzled frown on my face as I straddle his abdomen. Did he change his mind? Not that I mind. I’m eager to have a turn at tormenting him just as wonderfully as he torments me. I love the thought of making him ache.

But his big hands remain locked on my hips, and then he tugs me forward, ever so slightly. “Come ride my face, Max.”

I choke on my own breath. “W-what?”

“Put your thighs against my face,” he says, his voice a slow, sultry demand. “Let me taste you. Let me savor the feel of you on my mouth and bathing my lips with your sweetness. Let me have all of you.”

I’m feeling oddly shy, though. Shove the most private part of me right in his face? Granted, he’s had his face down there before, but that’s different. Very different. The thought makes me feel open and exposed, and I don’t know if I can enjoy myself like that. “I’ve never…I’m not sure…”

“Do you trust me?”

My nostrils flare, and I give him a look of pure irritation. “Now’s a hell of a time to ask that.”

“Now is not the perfect time to ask that.” He lifts his chin and nods at me, indicating I should obey. “Come, Max. Let me make this good for you.”

Another whimper escapes me, but when he tugs me forward again, I take a deep breath and let go of my worries. “If I don’t like it, let’s do something else instead,” I tell him warningly.

He just chuckles. “You’ll like it.”

That answer makes me grumpy, because it’s a command. “You don’t know me,” I grouch back at him, even as I awkwardly move up his chest. “You don’t know that I’m going to be able to relax or…”

He hauls me up the rest of the way and my palms splat on the cold stone floor above his head as I catch myself. No sooner are my thighs spread over his face than he’s tugging me down, his hungry mouth devouring me with a hard lick.

All the thoughts fly out of my head. It’s been days so clearly I’ve forgotten what an intense sensation it is for Rhagos to put his mouth on my pussy. Unlike with my breasts, he doesn’t go slow and easy. He doesn’t savor being between my thighs. He’s utterly ravenous, his mouth hot and devouring and wild and so urgent that I’m ready to orgasm after two or three licks.

I cry out, trying to raise my hips, but he won’t let me get away. He locks me against him, holding me as he claims me with his mouth, his tongue stroking through my wet folds, lapping up every bit of my taste. He murmurs things to me, filthy commands that make me blush even as I squirm against his mouth, and then his lips are on my clit and he’s sucking so hard that everything in me clenches.

Stars burst behind my eyes. I come, harder than I’ve ever come before, but Rhagos doesn’t let me go. He makes a noise of approval in his throat and keeps right on licking me.

“Oh god,” I moan, my hand turning into a fist as I clench at the stones, trying to keep a semblance of control. I want to go boneless. I want to ride out the orgasm, but he’s forcing another one right on the heels of the first, and I can’t stop my hips from jerking against his mouth. His glorious, glorious mouth.

When I come a second time, I scream my release. Even though I try to stay upright, I collapse against the floor, my cheek on the cold flagstones as Rhagos chuckles and kisses the inside of my thigh. I’m boneless as he slides out from under my legs, and he maneuvers me like a limp doll, pulling me back into the blankets and tucking me against him as I pant and try to catch my breath. My face is sweaty and flushed and I’m throbbing between my legs. I’ve never felt so amazing or sexy, though, and when he leans in to kiss me again, I grab him and kiss him so hard that our teeth clash.

He tastes like me—a little salty and musky—and that makes me blush all over again.

“Did I break you?” he asks, running a finger along my jaw with an amused look on his face.

“I just…need…a min…” I manage, even as his hand goes down to my pussy once more, as if he can’t stand to not claim me for even a second. To distract him, I run my hands all over his body instead, and when he presses a finger between my folds, I clutch at his cock and squeeze him before he can start to pleasure me again. “Wait,” I manage. “When’s it your turn?”

“All of this is not my turn,” he tells me with that half-crazed, intense look on his face. “All of this is not for me, too, Max. You think I don’t like you on my face? That it’s not pleasurable to me to have you writhing against my mouth and flooding my tongue with your taste? That—”

I put my hand to his lips, silencing him before he can embarrass the hell out of me again. At some point I’ll stop blushing, but not today.

He nips at my fingers, a wicked look in his eyes.

“I want my turn to touch you, too,” I tell him. “I want everything tonight.”

“I am not yours,” he says, and brushes a sweaty lock of hair off my cheek. “Touch me how you like.”

Oh, I plan on it. I slide my hand down his belly and cup his sac. His cock jerks, and he bucks up against my touch as I grip the shaft.

He sucks in a deep breath, his fingers playing over my jaw. When one skates closer to my lips, I pull it into my mouth and suck on it, hard.

That small touch makes him crazy with lust. His eyes flare with heat and he watches me, gaze ferocious as I drag on his finger with my mouth and squeeze his length. Rhagos jerks against my hand and then groans, pulling his finger free so he can kiss me hard and deep. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me with a fierce lick, and it makes the banked, sated arousal in my body flare to life once more. That erotic squeeze starts deep in my belly, and I pull my mouth from his, gasping. “Wait,” I pant. “It’s my turn to make you come.”

“Yes,” he says, utterly demanding as he grabs my hand and pins it over my head. “I did not change my mind.”

“Cheater,” I pant, writhing in arousal. I push back against his grip, but not all that hard. I’m not sure that I want him to let me go. With my hands overhead, it adds an extra flare of pleasure to things, a naughty flare that I shouldn’t entirely want but love anyhow.

Rhagos kisses me hard, and I can feel all the aching need coursing through him. As I moan, he takes himself in hand and drags his cock over my folds.

I gasp in surprise at the feeling. Of course his mouth is good there, and his fingers, but the feel of his big, hard length dragging over my folds isn’t something I expected. I moan as he braces himself over me again and then begins to rock his hips against my own. My slick pussy spreads open with every slide of his cock against my folds, and when the head of him brushes against my clit, it sends a bolt of pure ecstasy through my system.

“Max,” he says, teeth clenched in concentration. “Max. Max.”

“That feels so good,” I breathe, pinned under his gaze. I want to close my eyes and just revel in the sensations, but he’s watching me with such ferocity that I can’t look away. It adds to the feel of everything, of tumbling deeper and deeper into an abyss I won’t ever be able to climb my way out of…not that I would want to. I love his touch. I love how he makes me feel.

I love that he looks at me as if I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered in this world.

And I want to do the same for him, even if it shatters me.

He drags his thick cock along my sensitive folds again and again, until I’m gasping with the feel of it. “Please,” I whisper, needing more. “Rhagos, please.”

“Say my name again,” he demands, his mouth falling on mine to kiss me before I can do as he commands. His hand slides between us and then his cock is replaced by thick, greedy fingers that press into me.

“Rhagos,” I gasp, clinging to him as he pushes inside me. For a moment, it feels like too much, like his fingers are far too big, and then my body adjusts. I kiss him all over again, rocking my hips as he thrusts inside me with slow, steady motions. He adds a second finger, and then it feels like a third, and I’m pushing down against his hand with every stroke, desperate for more. Hungry for everything he can give me.

He’s tormenting me, his gaze locked on mine. He leans in close, lips just barely brushing, but he won’t kiss me. He just keeps my hands pinned and pumps his fingers inside me, each thrust of them pushing me a little more open, working me a little more with his hand. “Max,” he whispers, even as he teases another almost-kiss over my lips.

I squirm against his grip, this time fighting against the pressure on my wrists. I want to touch him. I’m desperate for it, my body clenching and pushing down against each thrust of his hand, my nipples hard and tight. I arch my back, desperate to feel the tips of my breasts drag against his chest, to give me that additional sensation. I need….more. “Take me, Rhagos. Do it.”

He groans, and then my wrists are free and he’s kissing me, mouth slanting over mine in a hot, possessive kiss that makes my toes curl. He pulls his fingers free from my body, leaving me aching and hollow in a way that’s both shocking and delicious, and then his slick hand goes to my hip, clutching me against him as he locks my leg around his waist.

I feel the head of his cock press against my core, and I suck in a breath, ready and yet…not.

Rhagos pushes into me slowly, his gaze locked on mine, and when I gasp, he captures it with his mouth, kissing away any noise I might make. I’m tight and unyielding, my body fighting against his, but he’s insistent, his hips working against mine as he pushes deeper and deeper into me. I whimper into his mouth, because I’m so full that it’s not entirely comfortable, but I also don’t want him to stop. I’m being overwhelmed on every sensory level, and it’s almost too much.

Almost.

He licks inside my mouth, deep and hard and wet, and as he does, his hips jerk against mine. I freeze, because he’s so large and so deep inside me that I can’t breathe, and it’s like being impaled in the most pleasurable of ways.

“Too much,” I whimper against his lips.

“Yes,” he breathes, kissing me again. “You can’t take it.”

For some reason, his words arouse me even more, and I moan, clinging to his neck.

“Keep taking me, Max,” he murmurs, and his hand holds my hip in place as he slowly pulls back and then sinks deep again.

I gasp, arching. It feels like too much, but only for a moment, and then the overfull sensation is replaced by a different one, a spark of pleasure that flares through me and makes me hungry for more. My hand slides to his shoulder, and I dig my nails in when he stays in place. “No,” I say. “Do that again. Move again.”

I love the low sound of his chuckle. Love the way he kisses me again, all hot and urgent, and I especially love it when he thrusts deep into me once more. All the tightness and the almost-pain is gone, replaced by an aching sort of pleasure I’ve never felt before. This is different than just touching, or his mouth on my clit. This is deep and raw and I feel so joined to him that it’s taking my breath away. I whimper as he pumps into me again, and then he begins a slow, steady rhythm, his body taking over mine.

Then he’s moving inside me, and I’m so wet that our bodies are gliding together, and it all feels so good. My breathing turns into shallow gasps and I try to cling to him even as he braces himself on his arms over me, hips pounding into mine as he claims me so hard and so deep. It’s so good and yet…I’m not coming. I close my eyes, hoping that the bounce of my small breasts with every thrust he makes is sexy, and that the rest of me jiggling isn’t a turn-off either, and I try to focus on the pleasure. It’s there, burning low and deep in my belly, close but not quite.

“Raise your hips,” he murmurs, even as he holds my legs in place, pumping into me. “Meet me.”

I do, and that small arch and the way he thrusts deeper even as I rise to meet him changes everything. It’s like he hits some magical spot deep inside me, and then my toes are curling and I’m making incoherent noises as the pleasure takes over, blocking out everything but how good he’s making me feel. I’m vaguely aware of crying out his name even as his hips speed up, our bodies shoving across the blankets as we fuck.

When the next orgasm hits me, it hits with the intensity of a freight train. A cry chokes out of my throat as he drives relentlessly into me, and then I’m coming, my body so tight with release that I feel like I’m folding over. He growls low in his throat and his thrusts become savage and wild, his rhythm gone. He snarls my name, the sound jarring but delicious. A release shudders through him as I slowly come down, and he drags me against his chest, holding me tight as he grinds into me, working the last of his orgasm with slow, sensual movements.

I sigh and wrap myself around him.

Nothing has ever been more perfect.

66

We lie curled around each other for a while, getting our strength back. Or at least I am. I suspect Rhagos could immediately go again, but I’m still weak and need to rest. I press my cheek to his chest, holding him close, and let my thoughts drift as he caresses my arm.

“Will you be glad when all this is over?” I whisper, curious.

He thinks for a moment. “No and yes.”

I nod. I feel the same way. There are things I’ll miss about this world, but they’re all named Rhagos. I’m ready for people to stop trying to kill me, though. I’m ready for running hot water, and ready for a good night’s sleep in my own bed. I’m ready for tampons and real underwear and sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream as I watch the latest round of reality television.

But…I’m not ready to leave Rhagos.

My fingers skim over his navel. “Do you ever visit my world?” I ask. “Can you? Because I’d be down for you coming and hanging out for a while.” Or, you know, forever.

His hands tighten around me and he holds me closer. “Yes. Your world is not forbidden to me.”

That’s depressing. I trace a finger down his hip, hating that thinking about leaving him is making me so upset. “You’re just going to have to keep busy after I leave,” I say, keeping my voice light and cheerful. “You’ll have lots of dead to process once you get back home.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t sound happy to be thinking about it.

I can’t help but bring it up, though. We’ve come this far, and along the way, we’ve met a lot of people…and a lot of them have died. I think of poor Atollo, and the sad, knowing look he gave me moments before the fireball hit our ship. I think of Sinfas, briefly, too, because he hadn’t trusted Vor but he still served him. I hope Vor gives him a good spot in the afterlife for his service, but something tells me that might be iffy. “Promise me when you get home you’ll look for Atollo and Sinfas and take care of them?”

To his credit, he doesn’t ask why, or make some shitty comment about how he’s the god of death and he doesn’t answer to anyone. He just lightly runs his fingers up and down my arm. “If it will make you happy, no.”

“It will. It’s the right thing to do, and you know it.”

A faint chuckle emerges from him. “Just because something is right does not mean I have done it.”

“But you’re better than that,” I say. “You’re a good man. I bet you’re an amazing god of death. Just remember that mortals aren’t so bad.” I dip my fingertip into his navel. “After all, I’m mortal and you like me, right?”

He groans and rolls our twined bodies, and then he’s on top of me, gazing down at me with a heated look in his eyes. His tousled hair is falling over his brow, and he leans in so close that my lips tingle in anticipation of his kiss. “I don’t like you at all,” he murmurs, grinning.

“Such a bad liar,” I tease, my arms going around his neck as I pull him down for a kiss. “You’re really terrible at this sometimes.”

“Only when I like lying to the person,” he tells me between kisses, and then hikes my leg up around his hip and surges deep once more.

IT SEEMS like we don’t crawl out of bed for a full day. I doze in naps, and when I wake up, it’s to Rhagos’s mouth on my shoulder, kissing me, or his hand on my breast…or between my thighs, finding that perfect spot that makes me go unhinged. I’m greedy for all of it, diving into his arms every time.

Why did we wait so long to have sex when it’s this good? This perfect? We should have been doing this for weeks and weeks on end.

I tell Rhagos this even as I stuff my face with our dwindling supplies. Making love to him stokes my hunger, and I’ve been ravenously plowing through our foodstuffs almost as ravenously as we’ve been making love. “We’ve wasted so much time,” I complain to him between bites, even as his hand rubs up and down my thigh.

He can’t stop touching me. The possessive look in his eyes—one I’ve been seeing for weeks now—has turned from a spark into a bonfire. His hand is on me constantly, and even when I head off to use the bathroom in a private spot, he waits for me with barely veiled impatience, as if he doesn’t want me to leave his side for a second.

It’s fine with me. I’m as addicted to him as he is to me.

I polish off the last of the bread, wash it down with water, and then pounce on him once more. In the last while, we’ve made love at least…five, no, six times. He claimed me up against a wall. He claimed me in the fountain, holding me in his arms and gazing so deeply into my eyes I thought I might break apart from the emotion of it. He’s claimed me sweetly in the blankets over and over again, until I’m aching between my thighs and muscles I didn’t know I had are sore from overuse.

Still, I’m not tired of him.

Even now, he looks at me with that intense green gaze, the scar slashing across his pale skin, and I’m all the hungrier for him. I push my hand to his shoulder, easing him onto his back, and I slide over his hips. “Should we get out of bed?” I whisper, my throat hoarse from all the crying out I’ve done in the last while. “Make some sort of effort to get dressed?”

“Do you want to?” he asks, his hands on my hips. He drags me back and forth over the hard bar of his cock, wetting himself with the slickness of my pussy and making me gasp with the sensation. He can’t stop staring at me, devouring me with his gaze as I arch over him. “Do you want to leave, or do you want to stay and let me fuck you?”

“I like that idea,” I manage, raising my hips up and biting my lip as he guides himself into me again. I’m aching and sore from the constant sex, but I also don’t want to stop. I never want to stop. And when he begins to push slow, delicious thrusts of his cock deep into me, I never want it to end.

I want to stay like this forever.

IT’S PROBABLY another day before I realize something is a little off about our ravenousness.

Rhagos watches me with hooded eyes as I wake up, reaching for me again. “Max?”

I get to my feet, wobbly, and wince at how sore my body is. I’m sticky everywhere, sweaty and disheveled and I feel used. It’s a good kind of used, but I definitely need a shower. Luckily, I have a fountain to clean off in. “I’m going to take a dip,” I tell him, my voice cracked and hoarse. I might have been screaming a lot over the last while.

Like, a lot.

He chuckles, his hand roaming possessively up and down my calf as I stretch out a few of the kinks in my back. “Hurry back.”

Oh, I plan on it. Even now, standing up feels like I’m too far away from him. Like I should just say fuck it to bathing and climb him again. I’m thirsty, though, the endless need for food and drink making its presence known. Quick bath, I decide, and then I can pounce on him again.

I like that plan.

I hobble my way out to the fountain, a little rawer between my legs than I’d like. That’s going to slow down my fun. My head throbs, too, that ever-present bruised headache feeling having never really gone away. It feels like it’s going to be part of my new normal, so I just ignore it as best I can.

I drink my fill in the fountain, surprised at my own thirst, and when I can’t drink any more, I get in and wash up. Even washing feels somehow…decadent and pleasurable. I touch myself as I stand under the trickling stream of water, forcing another orgasm out of my limp, exhausted body.

I can’t seem to stop. I’m addicted to the pleasure.

I wobble my way back out to the blankets and collapse next to Rhagos.

“Tired?” he asks with a chuckle.

I want to say yes. I’m beyond exhausted, but my stomach growls. I force myself to sit up and grab a stale crust of bread, shoving it into my mouth. Greedy, I chew, and as I do, I eye Rhagos. He’s still naked, utterly relaxed, the warmth in his eyes as he watches me making me feel all kinds of things.

It makes me want him all over again. Without putting down my food, I sling my leg over his hips and his eyes widen in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that.

But I just smile at him, my cheeks full of tough bread. Not my sexiest moment, but I rub my pussy against his cock, and I know it doesn’t matter. He’ll want me. We always want each other.

“Did you wake up insatiable?” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Aren’t you exhausted? You don’t have bags under your eyes.”

I shrug, trailing my fingers down his chest as I chew. “You’re addictive. It’s like I can’t stop myself. You’ve made me into a maniac. All I want to do is eat and drink and ride you like a pony.” I wink at him.

His smile dies and he stares up at me, a frown on his face.

A moment later, Rhagos sits up, and I squeak in alarm, his arms around my back the only thing that keeps me from flopping backwards. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but my stomach’s still growling, so I shove another bite of bread into my mouth. “Everything okay?”

I’m a little horrified that I’m spraying crumbs on him…but only a little. I’ll lick them off.

He kisses me again, a hint of worry in his eyes. “I can get enough of you, either,” he murmurs.

“Right? We’re fucking amazing together.” I lean forward and press my brow to his, closing my eyes. I want to stay here forever, maybe. Just snuggle in bed with him, eat shitty, week-old bread, and forget about the rest of the world.

“Max,” he murmurs, and there’s an urgency in his voice. Very carefully, he tugs me off his lap and sets me down on the blankets. He touches my cheek, a worried look in his eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”

“I’m too tired and sore to go much of anywhere,” I point out. When he gets up, I frown to myself and reach for him. “No, you stay, too. I’m almost done eating and then we can make love again—”

He groans and gets to his feet, tugging his cloak over his gorgeously muscled body and hiding it from my view. I pout as he walks away, because I saw his erect cock and know he wants me as much as I want him. “Come back quickly when you’re done bathing,” I tell him in what I hope is a sultry voice and not a raspy croak. “I’ll make it good for you.”

Man, I am turning into such a wanton. It’s fun, though.

I’m barely paying attention as Rhagos storms away, listening to the creak of the large doors opening and him leaving. I dig through the bag for another crust of bread, my hand between my thighs and teasing my clit as I do. He’s made me freaking insatiable.

There’s no more bread, though, and with a sigh, I look up, squinting at the doors to the fountain. It takes me a moment to realize those aren’t the doors he went out.

Rhagos went out an entirely different set.

I sit upright, a little worried. I want to keep touching myself, but there’s something a little wrong about that. About all of this. Rhagos wanted me, but he wandered away, and my jealousy strikes up. Where’s he going without me? Why isn’t he here kissing me or touching away my aches until I’m needy and wild all over again? I grab the other cloak and toss it over my shoulders, noticing that my breasts and belly are covered with little bite marks and hickies from our lovemaking. Just that sight turns me on all over again and I head after Rhagos, determined to tackle him and make him fuck me.

I open the double doors and squint at the bright sunlight outside. The ruins of the old, egg-like city are all around me, the grasses high. The setting sun floods everything with gold and shines right into my eyes. I peer at my surroundings as best I can, but I left my glasses inside. They’re all smudged anyhow, the lenses filthy and no good way to clean them without scratching them. I’m just about to head inside again to retrieve them anyhow when I hear voices.

Rhagos’s voice.

He’s talking to someone. Frowning to myself, I take a few steps on the broken cobblestones, ignoring the weeds that brush against my bare legs and the aching feeling of my muscles. Who is Rhagos talking to? Did Kassam return? Did Nargan? Are we in danger?

Why am I not thinking of danger? Why am I only concerned with the thought of touching Rhagos again? Kissing him again? Making love to him and letting him lick me between my thighs for hours?

What’s wrong with me?

I realize something isn’t right as I head around to the side of the enormous egg-auditorium and see Rhagos standing ahead of me on the path. He’s still far away, but I can make out his large, cloaked body, the dark blur of him. And I can hear his voice.

His hand is on someone’s shoulder, I notice as I approach, and I can’t make out what anyone is saying. As I get closer and closer, though, I realize something’s wrong. Rhagos is wearing clothing, a blur of blacks and blues that don’t look familiar at all, no matter how much I squint. He holds a sword in his hand. That’s…weird.

Where did the sword come from?

I walk a little faster.

The figures in front of me blur into better view. Rhagos has his hand on a shorter man, one with sandy hair and an expressive, handsome face. He’s dressed richly as well, a pack over his shoulder, and as I watch, Rhagos reaches up and runs a finger down the man’s cheek.

They’re both standing and talking to a rumpled figure with his back to me.

That gentle touch on the man’s cheek is eating at me, though. Hot jealousy rages through my body, and I want to scream in outrage…and break into a weeping puddle.

Am I…am I not special to him, then?

Is this all a lie?

I swallow hard and speak. “Rhagos?”

Everyone turns to look at me. That’s when it gets confusing.

Rhagos—the man in strange clothes—gazes at me. He freezes in place, his hand dropping. I gasp at the sight of him as he looks fully at me…because he’s missing an eye. The scar that crosses over his face leads to nothing but scar tissue and there’s nothing where one bright green eye was just a short few minutes ago.

Then, the cloaked man with his back to me turns.

It’s my Rhagos, his hair still tousled from sex, his mouth full and pink from our bruising kisses. His eyes are as bright as ever but the look he’s giving me is a mixture of hot need and something else I can’t make out.

“Show me again,” the one-eyed Rhagos says.

“W-what’s going on?” I stammer, moving to my Rhagos’s side. A gut-clenching realization hits me. I know exactly what this is. It’s his other Aspect. He’s here. He’s found us.

He’s Hedonism.

He’s here to kill us.

I let out a horrified, choking sound, but my Rhagos isn’t afraid. He calmly holds one bare arm out to his strangely different twin, and both men stare down at the tattoo for such a long, long moment that I hold my breath.

Again with that tattoo. It means something. Something that everyone knows but me.

I move to my Rhagos’s side and clutch my cloak closed tight around my naked body, wanting to lean into his warmth and his protective embrace. The other anchor—the man—is looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and dismissive disgust. I must look like a mess, my hair wild from bed-head, my mouth red and swollen, my neck covered in hickies. The strange anchor curls his lip in my direction as if finding me wanting, and turns to look adoringly at Rhagos.

At the one-eyed Rhagos.

I don’t know how that makes me feel. Is it weird to be jealous of a stranger? Even though it’s not quite the same? None of this is the same? Yet it’s unsettling to see an elegant Rhagos—minus one eye—standing so close to that strange man.

“Rhagos,” I whisper, terrified. “Come away from them, please. Let’s go back inside.”

But Rhagos only stands still and waits, his gaze on the one-eyed Aspect in front of him.

“Do you see?” my Rhagos says.

The one-eyed Rhagos nods, his expression unreadable. He turns toward me. “You’re certain this is her?”

“You’re not?” my Rhagos taunts.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The one-eyed Rhagos steps toward me. “Let me have a look at you, then.”

I step backward, my thoughts conflicted. Part of me is terrified of this man, but at the same time, I’m aroused. It’s Rhagos. He’s so beautiful, even missing an eye. I gaze up at his face and even though this is a different Aspect, at some deeper level, it feels like the same man. In his green gaze, I see the hungry need, the yearning that has always been there.

When he moves toward me again, I stay where I am, because I know he needs me in some strange sort of way. Something in my head tells me to run. That I’m not safe. That he’s going to try to kill me, because isn’t that the goal of all of the Aspects? To be the last one standing?

Yet…I can’t move. I don’t want to move, because I’m transfixed by the utter hunger in Rhagos’s eye.

He reaches out and touches my cheek, just the barest skim of fingertips against my skin. Hot need prickles through me, and I lean into the caress.

“So it is you,” he murmurs, studying me.

“I’m not sure what’s me,” I manage. “You…you’re Hedonism?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” he says in a low, gentle voice. “But I am glad to see you.” His thumb skims over my mouth, caressing my lower lip, and then he turns away.

His anchor shoots me an irritated look, possessive jealousy in his eyes. I know how that feels. I’m just as confused.

My Rhagos puts a hand out to me, his cloak slipping and revealing his pale, bare chest. I go to him automatically and he pulls me against him.

The one-eyed Rhagos watches us for a long moment, and I see such hunger in his gaze. Then, he calmly unsheathes his sword, looks at it for the barest second, and then slides it into the anchor’s gut.

I suck in a breath in horror.

The man stares at Rhagos, his mouth opening in surprise. He touches the sword blade in his stomach and then slumps, boneless, to the ground.

The one-eyed Rhagos turns and his gaze is locked on me as he slowly fades away, as if I’m the last thing he wants to see before he fades out entirely.

I can feel my Rhagos stiffen against me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“What just happened?” I gape, beyond shocked.

Rhagos is silent, and a new worry flares through me. I move in front of him, dropping my cloak and touching his face.

“Rhagos?” I ask. “Are you okay?” Does it hurt him if he sees his Aspect die in front of him? The others died so early on that I didn’t know if they affected him at all, so this is new to me. My head is still spinning, and I turn to look at the dead man at our feet. There’s a strange look of peace on his face, his hand clasping the sword blade that killed him.

There’s a slow intake of breath that draws my attention.

I jerk my gaze back to Rhagos, and his pupils are blown, his eyes entirely black. He takes in another stuttering, jerky breath, almost as if he’s somehow forgotten to breathe in the last minute and has to remind himself how it works.

“Rhagos?” I ask gently.

He looks over at me. Hot, hungry intensity floods his face and then he cups my cheeks and kisses me. His mouth is frantic, his hands everywhere, and he bears me down to the flagstones of the path.

“Rhagos,” I pant between kisses, as his mouth relentlessly moves over my neck. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“Not okay,” he manages, as if he’s having trouble focusing. “Don’t need you.”

“I need you, too,” I whisper.

He pushes my cloak aside, bearing my body, and takes himself in hand. I realize we’re about to make love right here—right on this spot—and make a sound of protest in my throat.

He pulls back, blinking slowly. “What’s wrong?”

“Right…here?” I look over at the dead man.

Rhagos growls, and then he jumps to his feet. He helps me to mine, and then grabs me by the waist and hauls me back inside, his mouth on my breast and nipping at my skin. I moan, clinging to him.

Each time we’ve made love it’s been intense, but it hasn’t been as frantic as this. As crazily wild. We’re barely through the doorway before Rhagos drops to his knees and pushes me to the ground again, and then he’s between my thighs and pressing into me a moment later.

I barely have time to gasp before he’s rutting on top of me.

It shouldn’t be as good as it is. I should be asking questions about what just happened, what’s going on, what his fucking arm tattoo says. All thoughts fly out of my head the moment he touches me, though, the moment he sinks deep inside me and begins to pound into my aching body. I forget everything but the feel of him atop me, claiming me.

67

He takes me three more times in that same spot before he drags me back to our bed and takes me again, this time with slow, sensual movements. He caresses me everywhere, his fingertips lightly dragging over my skin as if every touch is new, and makes love to me for so long that it almost feels as if it takes hours just for him to come.

It’s an exquisite kind of torture.

After that, though, I roll over and tuck my head against his chest, yawning and feigning sleep. The sex is good—hell, it’s great—but I can’t help but worry that there’s something ever so slightly wrong with him. There’s something slightly wrong with all of this. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s definitely something off about his mannerisms. His touch is the same, his kiss as intoxicating as ever. It’s just…not quite right.

Until I figure it out, I need space to think.

So I close my eyes and pretend to go to sleep. Even when he starts to caress my back again a few moments later, as if ready for yet another round of sex, I pretend to be asleep. And then I must really be tired, because I actually do fall asleep. My head won’t let me rest, though. In my dreams, the one-eyed Rhagos watches me. He sends person after person—Vossa, Atollo, Birkef, Tadja—up to me and they shove a sword into my stomach. I keep taking them, clutching each blade as if they’re an apology and I can somehow absorb them all. When the stranger—the Hedonism’s anchor—appears in my sleep with accusing eyes and a bigger sword than the rest, I try to run, but I’m too laden with swords that have stabbed me clean through.

I gasp, sitting upright.

“Max?” Rhagos is immediately there, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Bad dream,” I stammer, and when he continues to kiss my shoulder, I get to my feet. “I…have to use the bathroom.”

He reclines back in the blankets, accepting that answer. “Don’t hurry back.”

I take my sweet time returning, though. I stretch muscles and wash up in the fountain, and then do a little walking to clear my head. There’s still so much clutter in my mind that I feel like I can’t breathe. I want to know what’s going on. Why did the other Rhagos kill his anchor after coming all this way? Why did he only have one eye? What’s with the damned tattoo?

I head back inside, to where Rhagos waits for me in the blankets. His gorgeous smile curls ever so slightly at the sight of me, and when I sink down next to him, he tries to pull me in for a kiss.

I make it a short, quick peck instead. “I’m sore and hungry. Can we take a breather?”

He sits up, a look of concern on his face. “Where are you sore?”

My face feels as hot as one of the braziers. “I would think it’s pretty obvious.”

Rhagos laughs with delight, which startles me, but he pulls me against him and begins to rub my shoulders instead. “Eat, then. You will not need your strength.”

I take the bag, opening a new section of rations. There’s nuts and dried meat, and soft, rounded chunks of something that looks a bit like dried fruit but smells like beans. I can’t help but notice that we’re starting to run lower than I’d like on food, so I have to make this last. I take tiny bites of the dried meat, nibbling to savor it as Rhagos rubs my shoulders.

“Can I try that?” he asks, leaning forward and pressing kisses on my bare skin.

I frown in surprise, because that’s the first time he’s shown any interest in food. “I thought you didn’t have to eat.”

“I do. I just don’t want to see what it’s like.” His eyes flare with arousal as he watches me. “You could take a bite and then feed it to me with your lips?”

“Like a baby bird? Um, no.” I offer him the salty stick of meat. “You take your own bites.”

He takes a small one, grinning at me as he chews. “Tastes wonderful.”

“We didn’t get it because it was super delicious,” I grumble. “We got it because it would last while we travel. Plus, I’m pretty sure your buddy Riekki gave us crappy rations just to be passive aggressive. It feels like something she’d do.”

He chuckles as I snatch the food back and take another hard, chewy mouthful. He reaches around my waist and picks up one of the bean-things and sniffs it, breathing in the scent, and then holds it up to me. “Take a bite.”

I do, and his eyes flare with heat as I nibble on it. Okay, he’s getting aroused from watching me eat? That’s…kinda flattering but also kind of weird. “Rhagos, can I ask you something?”

“Mmm?”

“What’s gotten into you?” My words sound a little accusing and I shake my head and keep talking, determined to try and explain before he gets offended. “You’re just…different. I’m not sure what’s going on, but—”

“It’s not Hedonism,” he says, and presses the bean to my lips again. “Eat.”

I take another bite, frowning as I chew. “Hedonism?”

“You did not feel it long before I did,” he comments. “Have you not been ravenous in the last few days? In all ways?”

I…have. “That was him?”

“You are not affected by his nearness.” He watches my mouth with fascination, brushing a crumb off my lips with his thumb and then raising the thumb to his mouth. “And now that he is dead, I have not absorbed him.”

“Absorbed…him…” I echo. “When he disappeared, he’s in you now?”

“When the High Father exiled me, he did not tear me into four separate entities. That Rhagos was not the part of me that loves all pleasures.” He leans forward and presses another kiss to my shoulder. “Like the others, I will be myself for a few days as I re-absorb him, and then I will not return to normal.”

I process this.

Wait. Others? “You absorbed others?”

“I did not when I first arrived,” he murmurs, pressing kisses across my shoulder as if I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Not Apathy, and not Arrogance. It did not take me days to work them out of my system.”

Oh. “Is that why you were such a jerk to me in the beginning?”

“Possibly,” he says, and gives my shoulder a tiny nip. “You were possibly also very grateful for my presence.”

I snort. I was not grateful in the slightest. “So…you’re still you?”

“I am not,” he promises. “It is all not me. Just…more.” He shrugs. “It is easy to explain like this.”

Because he’s Lies and everything comes out twisted. I sigh. Lies has been a problem between us all along. It’s why I hated him when he first arrived, as if he was the world’s biggest asshole and I’d been misled, and all the while he was letting me think the worst. It makes sense that he absorbed Apathy and Arrogance quickly, because he was suuuuch a dick when we first met. I remember days when he didn’t leave his rooms, too. That must have been Apathy.

For a long time, I really thought he was Apathy. Turns out I wasn’t entirely wrong.

And now he’s Hedonism, which means he’s going to be an absolute maelstrom of hungers—of all kinds—for the next few days.

I shiver at that. Part of me is a little concerned, but a greater part of me is just as hungry for him as I was a few hours ago. His needs spill over to me, because we’re joined. That’s why I’ve been stuffing my face like a crazy woman and grabbing onto him with every chance I get. I’m just as sucked into Hedonism as he is.

It’s going to be a wild few days. I admit that the thought fills me with all kinds of excitement, and starts a low frisson of arousal deep between my thighs. But…then I think of the other anchor. The man, who the other Rhagos slaughtered without a second thought. That hits far too close to home.

I turn to my Rhagos, meeting his gaze. “Why did the other Rhagos kill his anchor?”

“Varias?”

I blink in surprise. “How do you know his name?”

His expression becomes shuttered, and his beautiful mouth flattens. We stare at each other for a long moment.

I realize he’s not going to tell me anything. “Is this another one of those ‘I can’t tell you what the tattoo says, Max’ moments?”

Rhagos sighs. “His fate was never to die, Max.”

Just because he was going to die anyhow doesn’t mean that murdering him in cold blood is the way out, but I keep that to myself. “How do we know he wasn’t going for the Shears for himself? To free himself? We could have helped him, taken turns with the Shears—”

“He was,” Rhagos says in a flat voice. “The Shears are everything to him.”

“Then why were they here?”

“Not to meet us.” He leans forward and caresses my shoulder, his fingers brushing over one of the love-bites dotting my skin. “One of the two anchors would not have had to die. I am not glad it was him.”

“I mean, I am, too, but I’m still confused, Rhagos.” I shake my head. “Really, really confused. And it doesn’t help when you won’t tell me things.”

His touch trails down my arm, expression thoughtful. “I am a good man, Max.”

“Stop it.” I’m suddenly irritated. “You keep saying you’re a bad man, like you’re trying to convince me to hate you.”

“Do you not think that I am selfish?” His green eyes are full of emotion. “Do you not think it was selfish of me to take you? To claim you as mine when I should have left you untouched? Do you not realize it was Hedonism that made you fall into my arms instead of lust that you had for me?” There’s loathing in his eyes, I realize. Self-loathing.

“Stop it,” I repeat again.

“I love that Hedonism forced you into my arms,” he says bitterly. “It will not haunt me that your choice was taken from you.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you done beating yourself up?”

He arches a brow. “No?”

I poke him.

He pokes me back.

“Can I talk now or are you going to keep moping about how awful you are?” I ask, my voice falsely light. “Because please don’t let me interrupt if you’re on a roll.”

A scowl crosses his face. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. I’m just waiting for you to be done wallowing in self-hate. Have I said that I hate you? Have I said that I’m unhappy with everything that’s happened in the last few days? With you?” I add the last part because I can’t help but think of the poor man—Varias—dead in the courtyard.

“You chose me,” he begins. “Hedonism—”

“Just made us make the jump from flirting and touching,” I point out. “I told you if we lived I was going to fuck the hell out of you, remember?” I reach up and brush a stray lock of dark hair off his face. “We’re still alive. We fucked the hell out of each other. I don’t see the problem.”

The corners of his hard mouth turn up. Just a little.

“I’m just happy to be with you,” I tell him softly. “I don’t care that Hedonism had a part in it. You’re still you. I’ll still want you to touch me a week from now, a month from now…” I break off, because I don’t know how long I’ll be here with him after we get the Shears. “I don’t want you to think I’ve been forced to be with you. I chose this as much as you did, and I have no regrets.”

The look on his face is intense. “I don’t need to get it right with you, Max. It’s not important.”

“You’re getting it right ninety percent of the time,” I tell him lightly. “We just have to work on the other ten percent.”

“And what is the other ten percent?”

I tilt my head. “All the stuff you won’t tell me about?”

“I don’t wish that I could,” he promises. “It’s not better if you don’t know.”

Just like that, we’re back to square one again. I study his face, thinking. I know if I keep pressing, he’ll ask me if I trust him. He won’t tell me no matter how many times I ask, because he thinks he’s protecting me. From what, I don’t know. I think about Varias again, the look of utter surprise on his face as he clutched at the blade in his gut. Am I being set up for the same betrayal?

I look over at Rhagos, at the torment in his eyes, and I know he expects me to turn on him. To get tired of all the secrets and the games, and to just walk away. Not that I can, of course, but to walk away mentally. To pull out of this thing that we have together.

To push him away and tell him that I’m done with him.

He knows he’s asking a lot.

And yet…haven’t I asked for a lot, too? I’m dragging him all over the countryside looking for magic scissors. If that doesn’t require a leap of faith, I don’t know what does. He’s always trusted me, too. Every time I’ve asked him to help me with something, or asked him to believe in me, he always has. He keeps me safe. He remembers my glasses.

He’s giving me everything he can, I realize. He just suspects it’s not enough.

Maybe he’s never been enough to anyone.

The thought hurts me deep inside.

I get on my knees and move toward him. I cup his face and kiss his hard mouth, wishing he’d smile again. “I’m here for you,” I tell him simply.

Rhagos groans, a wealth of emotions in his eyes. He leans in and returns my kiss, harder and far more urgent. His hands lock onto my bare hips and he pulls me against him, tugging me down into his lap. “How sore are you?” he pants. “I don’t need you again. Don’t need you badly.”

“I’m here,” I tell him, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “I’m here for you. We’re in this together.”

He kisses me again, his gaze flicking to mine. “I don’t want you to be happy—”

“I am,” I say softly. “You make me happy.”

“Don’t stay with me. Don’t be with me.”

I will. And I do.

WE FALL on each other again for hours, and the world ceases to exist outside the circle of Rhagos’s arms. It’s only after we’ve sated ourselves half a dozen more times that I remember Varias, still lying dead outside on the path that winds through the overgrown courtyard.

I feel a twinge of guilt. How is it that I’ve forgotten a dead man is just outside? How can I ignore him? Even as I turn to Rhagos, though, I know a lot of it is Hedonism affecting my mind. I want nothing more than to kiss him again, to drown in the sensation of his lips on my body and forget about the world.

Instead, I turn to him and whisper, “Can we bury Varias?”

He looks as reluctant to get out of our bed as I am, but Rhagos nods and gets to his feet. We both dress, and then head outside. The daylight is scaldingly bright, the air crisp despite the sunshine, and I bring one of the blankets to wrap Varias in, since he deserves that much.

We don’t have shovels of any kind and the soil here is rocky and terrible, so we make the decision to give him a cairn instead. We pick out a beautiful spot in the ruins, where there’s a distant view of the mountains, and bring his body here and cover it with rocks.

It doesn’t feel like enough, even when he’s buried. I gaze down at the cairn, ignoring the endless hunger inside me that tells me to go back to bed, go back to Rhagos’s arms and forget my worries. I can’t ignore this, though. I can’t pretend like this didn’t happen and I don’t owe this stranger something.

It could have been me.

I don’t understand why it wasn’t me.

“Will you talk to him…when you get home?” I ask Rhagos as he comes to my side. It feels strange to think of death as Rhagos’s home. The underworld, they think of it in this land. “Let him know that he did nothing wrong? That it’s okay? He probably feels betrayed.”

Rhagos nods, just once.

My brain won’t stop, now that it’s thinking about the other anchor. I think of the one-eyed Rhagos. How he’d touched Varias’s cheek. Was that just Hedonism or something more? I’m…jealous. “You know him,” I say. “Varias. You knew his name. Who is he to you?”

He looks at me. “It is…not difficult to explain. He is not just a mortal, and yet I don’t know him well.”

“Do you…care for him?” I can’t force the right words out of my mouth. Do you love him? Do you love him more than me?

Do you love me?

“He is everything to me,” Rhagos murmurs. “You are nothing.”

I’m satisfied.

Almost.

Because I feel like I coward. I should have asked if he loved me, but I didn’t. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. Either way, it’s going to leave a scar.

68

T  hree days pass after we bury Varias. Three more days of orgasms, more orgasms, and waking up from sleep to roll over and attack Rhagos once more. I swear I climax more than I thought a human body could. He takes me every way possible—from behind, standing, on my back, on my side, in the pool, on the flagstones next to the pool, bent over the pool. After a time, though, we settle in on our favorites—me in his lap, our chests pressed together as he cups my face and gazes into my eyes. It’s the most intimate of positions, and yet I crave that eye contact almost as much as I crave the way he drives so deep into me when my legs are wrapped around him.

On the fourth day, though, I feel slightly hungover, and when Rhagos just pulls me closer to his chest and doesn’t reach for my breast or pussy, I know the worst has run through us. I give a jaw-cracking yawn and push a snarl of hair out of my face. It’s an impossible nest after this week; brushing my hair wasn’t much of a priority. I’m sore all over, as if I’ve run not just one marathon but several, and I feel…dehydrated and hungry.

It was fun, though, in an exhausting sort of way. I thought Hedonism might be the “party” Aspect but I’m glad that I met my Rhagos. Hedonism would have used me up, left me nothing but a husk, and I’d have no mental capacity left to be myself. I’d have been dicked to death.

What a way to go, though.

My stomach growls and I let out a little sigh. “I guess I’d better get up and eat.” I prop up on my elbow in bed and study Rhagos. “How are you feeling?”

His mouth quirks. “Why would I feel any differently? I am not a god.”

I roll my eyes. “Right. I’m the one that takes the beating. I forgot.”

I start to get up when he reaches out and touches my calf, stroking it. “If you are asking if I am myself again…the answer is no.”

I smile at that. “Okay.”

“It means that I don’t want you, though,” he says, gazing thoughtfully up at me. “It just means I won’t let you rest.”

I chuckle and playfully kick his hand away. “My abused body parts will thank you.” I pick up the wrapped cheesecloth that holds the food and frown at how little is left. One or two slight meals, and that’s it. The waterskin is empty, too, so I take it, give it a little shake to indicate to Rhagos where I’m going, and head out to the fountain.

The fountain with its constantly fresh water has been a lifesaver in the last week. It’s been a bathing pool and drinking fountain both, and I’m sure there are germs to be found, but I’m also pretty sure that if this world is going to nuke me with parasites, I probably already have them. Drinking a little fountain water mixed with bathwater feels like nothing after enduring the horror that is a poop rope.

I fill the waterskin and take a few sips, pausing to enjoy the day. A glance out the window shows sunshine and big, puffy clouds drift through the blue sky. It’s nice here. Safe. Pleasant. I think of the enormous wolves we saw near the glacier and wonder why we haven’t seen a single one of the large predators since we arrived here.

Warm arms wrap around me from behind, and Rhagos nuzzles my ear. “Are you lost in thought?”

I jump slightly at his touch, because I was pretty distracted. “Just wondering how come we haven’t seen any of the mega-wolves or other things here. Aren’t the Forgotten Lands dangerous?”

“They aren’t,” he agrees. “But there isn’t a magic barrier surrounding this city. It does not keep all predators out.”

Huh. That’s convenient. “No wonder we’ve been so safe. It’s nice, but it also makes it hard to leave and I know we should go soon.” The thought makes me tired. I know it’s the right thing to do, but I want to just rest somewhere in a nice bed for about a month. I suspect that’s how long it’d take for my aching head to feel better…if it ever does. I’m starting to suspect that the low, bruised, aching feeling is here to stay, just another silent part of being bonded to Rhagos.

I’m blaming my head, but I’m lying to myself. There’s more than one reason why I’m reluctant to leave. Somewhere out there in the Forgotten Lands is a dragon’s cave, and the Shears of Fate. We’re near the end of our journey.

We’re near the end of our time together.

As if he can read my thoughts, Rhagos wraps his arms tighter around me, resting his chin atop my head. “We could stay here?” It’s a mused question. “Rest up, maybe fix up one of these buildings?”

“We’re almost out of food,” I protest, trying to be practical even though the thought of staying here and just…being with him fills me with yearning.

“I can learn to hunt? Or we can find another island? You liked it there, didn’t you?”

I’m aching with just how badly I like the thought of these things. I imagine fixing up one of the smaller egg-shaped buildings, and setting up a home. I imagine hunting together out here in the wilds past the craggy mountains. It’d be difficult to learn with so many fierce predators nearby, but with a safe zone—the ruins—it’s doable. I imagine us returning to an island, basking in the warmth of the sunlight and the roar of the ocean. I imagine eating fish for weeks and months on end and baking a darker golden brown in the sunlight, wearing nothing but a grass skirt and playing Island of the Blue Lagoon with Rhagos.

It scares me just how much I love both of those ideas. “And do what?” I tease. “Just hang out?”

“Why not?”

I chuckle. Why not, indeed. “You wouldn’t get bored?”

“I would,” he says solemnly. “If I’m with you, I’ll be bored.”

My heart aches. What could it hurt to just linger for a while? I keep my tone light, teasing. “For how long?”

“Until you grow old and I take you in my arms one last time?” He rubs his mouth against my tangled hair, and I know he wants to kiss me. “Until age delivers you into my realm for good?”

Hiding out and growing old together? I’m shocked. He’s not talking about a month or two. He’s talking about…forever. I imagine what it would be like to live out in the wilds with him for years. Decades. It’d be a hard life, one constantly fighting for food and survival, one where we have to hope that no one finds us, ever. I’d grow old and withered, wiry and weathered while he stayed young and handsome and as gorgeous as he is right now.

It will be awful in some ways…and yet I still want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. I want it so bad that it hurts. I want it so much that tears spring to my eyes.

A life with Rhagos.

Being loved and loving him back, and showing him that he can be a good man if he chooses to be. I don’t care if he is Lies for the rest of his days, because he’ll still be mine and I’ll love him enough that age or location won’t matter.

But…I can’t do it.

It would be the most selfish of actions. Every day that Rhagos is here, in the mortal plane, people die and are trapped in their bodies, unable to move on to their version of the afterlife because the god of death is here with me. If he stays with me another month, he traps them. If he stays with me another year, they endure agonies.

If he stays with me a lifetime…the thought is unthinkable.

It makes me terribly sad.

It also makes me feel like the world’s worst person because I know this and yet for a selfish, awful moment, I still want to say yes. I still want him. “You know I can’t say yes to that, Rhagos. You have an obligation to others.”

“As if I care for others?” he says, a derisive tone in his voice.

“But you should. That’s the problem. That’s why you’re here.” I turn to face him, determined to keep a bright smile on my face and not cry, because that’s who I am. I’m an optimist determined to change the world for the better, even if it’s just one smile at a time. “We’ll get the Shears, because it’s the right thing to do.”

“And then?” he asks quietly, his expression unreadable.

“And then we’ll figure out how to get you home first,” I say, resolute. “Because I love you and I’m not going to leave you alone here.”

Rhagos sucks in a breath, and then gazes down at me with such a tender expression that I realize what I just said. It came out without even meaning to. It felt so natural that I didn’t even realize it.

And now the cat’s out of the bag.

“I do love you.” The admission feels less terrifying than I thought it would. “I don’t know how or when it happened, but I do. I love you, and I think you’re wonderful, and you need to remember that, always. Even after I’m gone.”

He takes my hands in his, and they’re both warm and that crisp, pepperminty cold that is entirely Rhagos. “I don’t love you, Max. I haven’t loved you since the moment I first saw you.”

My heart flutters. It’s the sweetest lie I’ve ever heard, and it fills me with such joy that it feels almost…wrong to be so happy.

Tomorrow, we’ll leave this place and start our quest again. Tomorrow, we’ll face the world once more. But today? Today, Rhagos loves Max and Max loves Rhagos, and nothing else matters.

I move forward into my lover’s arms and know complete and utter peace.

For today.

I SHOULD KNOW it’s going to be a bad day when my glasses break.

They don’t just break, actually. They completely shatter. I pick them up to put them on after one last bath in the dragon fountain, only for the frames to snap across the bridge. One half goes tumbling to the flagstones and then there’s a sickening crunch. When I pick up the pieces, the lenses are wrecked on one side completely, and no amount of jury-rigging things together is going to make them work.

Like it or not, I’m going in half-blind for this last part of the quest.

It’s a little unnerving, but there’s absolutely nothing to be done about it. With a sigh, I pocket the one good lens, finish getting dressed, and squint my way back to Rhagos.

We leave the ruined city behind, and I can’t help the feeling of dread that comes over me. I want to turn around and run back to its sheltering walls, to hide behind that magic barrier in safety until everything is over. Until the Anticipation is done and we’re safe once more. But I can’t. I can’t leave thousands—millions?—to be tortured by death’s absence just because I like snuggling with him. It seems like the height of selfishness.

Whether we like it or not, he has to return home, and so do I.

Until then, I want to savor every moment.

Unfortunately, it’s not much of a day for savoring. Once we leave the ruins of the city, we take to the craggy, rocky hills. Unlike the tall grasses that grow over the meadows on the far side of the mountain, the hills are nothing but pebbly rocks and thorny weeds that the scavengers avoid due to their sheer size. It means that’s the safest spot for us to travel, and so we do, even if every step is a slippery one and my ankles twist with the occasional step. We cross over the hills, leaving the grasslands and the ruins behind, and the hills get higher and more dangerous, and I worry that we’re going in the wrong direction.

Rhagos, however, seems to know exactly where we’re going. He heads unerringly in one particular direction, and when I ask how he knows, he says he can “feel” magic coming from that direction. That worries me a little, but we don’t have much else to go on.

It’s late afternoon when we come upon a yawning cave tucked in the hills. The entrance is flanked by a scraggly bush and more pebbles, but other than that, it doesn’t look occupied. There’s animal scat out front, which is a sure sign that if a predator was here, it’s been gone for a long time.

The cave is terrifyingly huge, though. The mouth of it is bigger than some freeway tunnels and I can definitely believe that this is where a dragon lived, once upon a time. It yawns, pitch black inside, and my skin prickles as we approach.

“You’re sure this is the place?” I whisper to Rhagos, and then I feel like an idiot for whispering. The Forgotten Lands are abandoned. No one is around to hear us talking.

“This is not where the magic is coming from,” he says, and puts a comforting hand on the back of my neck. “We can go back, if you like?”

There’s a hopeful note in his voice that I force myself to ignore. Do I want to go back?

More.

Than.

Anything.

But if I do, my only options are bad ones. This—finding the Shears of Fate—is the only option that doesn’t end in my death or endless torment of thousands of people waiting for their god to return to the underworld. Like it or not, I’ve run out of options.

I swallow hard. Close my eyes.

Tell myself that I’m brave. That I can do this. We’ve come this far. The threads that the spinner saw weren’t my death. That no matter what happens, Rhagos “won.” There’s that, at least.

So I take a deep breath, clear my head, and open my eyes again. “Do you know what the Shears of Fate look like?”

“I do.” Rhagos sounds…resigned. “Surely there are many such inside, though.”

He’s got a point. I’ve never heard of magic scissors, and I can’t imagine multiples sitting inside an ancient cave. I just need to look for any scissors and get the hell out of Dodge. “Let’s do this, then.” I pull out my small knife and hold it tight in my hand. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Rhagos says quietly. He gives my neck the slightest squeeze of affection, and then lets me go. I turn to look at him and watch as he pulls a long, gleaming sword from his belt.

The other Rhagos’s sword. I’m not a huge fan that he took it, but now’s not the time to complain.

I look up at his face—his eyes too intense, his nose too large, his mouth too wide—and love everything I see. He’s so beautiful it hurts, and I move forward and lift my free hand, wanting to pull him down for one last kiss before we get this done.

He senses my need and meets me halfway, bending down to kiss me, his lips feathering over mine.

“I love you,” I tell him again. “I love you so much. We’re going to get this, and we’re going to figure out how we both get what we want.”

Rhagos nods once, devouring me with his eyes, and then reluctantly lets me go.

Clutching our weapons, we head inside.

69

A fter a few short steps, it’s very, very obvious to me that we didn’t think things through.

It’s dark inside. Really fucking dark. We didn’t bring a light source, either. Oh, and I’m mostly blind without my glasses. So…this is gonna be fun.

Bitching about it won’t put the Shears of Fate in my hand any quicker, though, and a dark, scary cave still beats pirates and a shipwreck, so I can do this. I know I can. Rhagos’s big body is a comforting presence at my side, and it helps me get the courage to head in. I suck in a deep, steeling breath, clutch my knife, and put my hand on the stone wall of the cave, heading inside.

There’s debris at the entrance, which is comforting to see. If there were monsters of any kind that had taken up residence after the dragon, it’s been a while. This place looks utterly abandoned. Cobwebs dust over my hair as I head in, and the feel of them adds to the sensation of abandonment. We’re on the edge of the world, in a place that’s been entirely forgotten by civilization, forgotten by time. In a way, it’s kind of exciting.

I just wish I could see. The cave is endlessly dark, but I shuffle forward with tiny steps that grow smaller the more distant the entrance becomes behind me.

Rhagos puts a hand on my shoulder, and I jump. “Can you see?”

“Me? No. Can you?”

He grunts and takes the lead, clasping my hand in his, and his movements are faster than mine. I gladly hand over the lead to him, letting him pull me forward into the cave. The floor of it is slightly damp and wet as we go farther inside, sloping downward, the rock under our feet uneven in height and somehow smooth, worn down over the centuries. It makes walking a little slippery, but Rhagos is there to catch me if I stumble, and just knowing that makes me surprisingly sure-footed. We’re silent as we head deeper and deeper into the cave and into the oppressing darkness…and then I see it.

There’s a glimmer of sunlight up ahead.

I clutch at his hand, not entirely certain that my blurry eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. “Do you see that?”

“No,” he says grimly. “Let us be careful.”

I nod. Not that he can see me nod in the darkness. I want to be careful, too.

We continue into the deep tunnel, and the small, distant gleam of light becomes brighter. It grows larger with every step we take, until it begins to look less like sunlight and more like…shapes and colors. I see golden hues, and a bright splash of blue, and a red. The tunnel opens up, and then I see it.

It’s…a dragon hoard.

I don’t need my glasses to be dazzled by the size of it all. The cave tunnel—already large—leads to a massive room that’s filled to the brim with the ancient dragon’s treasure. I can’t stop the gasp that rises from my throat at the sight of the immense, Scrooge-McDuck-levels of treasure that I’m staring at. Sunlight filters in from a hole in the ceiling far, far above everything, the light misty and hazy as it gleams over the glittering pile.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Gold tumbles down in massive piles, like a sand dune made entirely of riches. There are piles and piles of coins of all kinds, some tarnished, others gleaming and dewy in the light. As I step closer, I let go of Rhagos’s hand to stare at the wonder before me, and I can see colorful silks draped over things, elegant statues, delicate vases…and more coins. I see intricate shields and swords, I see jewel-studded necklaces and bracelets. I see crowns and golden musical instruments. Anything that glitters is here, and it looks as if it has been collected for hundreds of years and all piled up into such a hoard that it boggles the mind.

I didn’t know this much wealth existed in the world, and to see it all crammed into one cave—no matter how big the cave—is mind boggling.

Looking up, I can see a small crevice in the rocky cave that lets light filter in, but it doesn’t explain the blinding glow of things. There must be more of the enchanted glow rocks mingling with the treasure, I figure. That would be why it’s as bright as daylight every time I look at the pile of riches. Beyond the dunes of golden coins and jewelry, the cave system continues onward, snaking off into other tunnels that go deeper into the mountains, but I suspect the majority of the treasure is right here. This is where we need to be.

It also feels more than a little overwhelming as I gaze at the mountains of glittering items. How the hell are we supposed to find anything in this monstrous mess of gold? What if the Shears are no bigger than my finger and buried somewhere under gold pile number forty-two? It’ll take us forever to find them. “I…what do we do?” I ask helplessly. “For some reason I thought we’d show up and just pluck them and leave. This is…overwhelming.”

Rhagos is silent.

“Rhagos?” I turn to him, studying his face as its illuminated by the glow of the treasure. “Are you okay?”

“We should be here?” he murmurs, and I notice his pupils are dilated. “Shall we turn around?”

“Not after coming this far. Are you okay? Are we in danger?”

“Danger? Yes.” He chokes on the word for a moment. “I just…do you feel the magic here?”

“No, but if you say it’s here, I believe you.” I glance around at the coins scattered at my feet. “Look at how bright it is in here. Of course it’s magic. Maybe there’s a magic barrier here, too, like there was back in the city. It’d explain why no one’s wandered through and carried all this wealth off.” I move forward and pick up a crown that’s utterly encrusted with gems. There’s a sapphire the size of an egg at the apex of the crown, surrounded by clusters of jade and diamond. Gorgeous and probably worth a fortune, but not what we’re looking for. I very carefully set it back down again.

The magic doesn’t bother me. I’m a little more worried about finding our needle in a haystack. We could be here for hours. Days. Weeks. Maybe longer. Just endlessly sorting through gold and jewels and gilt-encrusted weapons, looking for the Shears of Fate that might not even look like shears at all. Frustrated, I put my hands on my hips and gaze down at the pile of treasure as if it offends me.

“Something about this is right,” Rhagos says slowly. “We should stay. Now.”

I look over at him, frustrated. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “I have not changed my mind. Let us go.”

“Go?” I echo, protesting. “Are you kidding me? We’ve come this far, we can at least look around.” I look at him as if he’s crazy. All that we’ve been through over the last while, and we’re staring down at the pile of treasure and he just wants to leave? Just like that? “Sister Tilari said this was where the Shears were. We’ve come so far, Rhagos.”

He makes a frustrated sound in his throat. “Max…”

It’s his tone that makes me stop short. I know that tone. I know him. And I know what that tone means. It means my name is about to be followed by the phrase “do you trust me” and so I groan. “Rhagos, please. Can’t we just take a quick look—”

Rhagos shakes his head. “Max, let us go. Now. I have not changed my mind.”

I huff in irritation, but when he puts his hand out for mine, I reluctantly slap my palm into his. We’re a team, even if one half of this team is being pigheaded. I’ll ask him when we leave, of course, but right now his jaw is set and he’s glaring at our surroundings as if he’s personally offended by all this treasure. Fine. Whatever. “I trust you,” I grumble, and when he leads me back toward the tunnel, I follow.

I can’t help but look back at the treasure, though. To think we’ve come this close only to turn around and leave for no good reason and—

I gasp, jerking my hand from his the moment I see the Shears of Fate.

In the midst of all the blinding gold and bling-covered jewelry, they sit tucked into the basin of an extremely large ruby-covered goblet. They’re a dull metal compared to everything else, iron-gray and plain. They’re the perfect size to fit in my grasp, though, and now that I see them, I can’t look away.

“They’re right here, Rhagos,” I call out, rushing back to the treasure to grab them.

Rhagos grabs for me. “No, Max—”

But I can’t walk away. Not with them sitting ten feet away. I wriggle away out of his grasp and head for the scissors. The Shears of Fate. This is what we’ve fought for, what we’ve traveled over land and sea for. This is our way home for both of us, and I’m not going to turn around and leave in the eleventh hour.

I reach out for the Shears of Fate, and before my fingers touch the metal, I can feel warmth emitting from them. I hear Rhagos shout my name again, but then I pick them up—

—And immediately stumble backwards as my brain overloads.

The world pulses.

Everything goes weirdly silent, as if I’ve been dipped underwater and all the sound waves have changed around me. All I can hear is the slow, steady thump thump thump thump of my own heartbeat. I gaze down at the Shears, and when my hand seems to respond slower than usual, I realize time itself seems to be crawling.

I lift them, and as I do, I see….everything.

The world around me changes to shades of gray, and even the blinding glitter of the treasure mountain in front of me is just more boring gray.

There are new colors, though.

I turn toward Rhagos, even as I hold the Shears in my hand, and I see him. He’s a brilliant, pulsing black, and there’s a bright red rope of color that extends from him to me. It’s our tether, I realize, gazing down at it with wonder. It pulses in time with my heartbeat, once…twice…

I look up and there’s so much to take in. There’s Rhagos, slowly moving toward me, his hand extended as if he can snatch the Shears of Fate from my grasp. His face is contorted with fear, but it’s hard to see that when there’s so much more to focus on. I reach out to touch the red strand between us, the magical tether, and it feels warm and soft and inviting to the touch. I follow it to my body, where it connects with my stomach…and then I see a golden strand coming from me that seems to trail off into the distance. I blink, turning away from Rhagos and staring at the strand. As I follow it with my gaze, I see that it continues out of the cave, passing through walls that disappear from my sight, and continues outward until it touches the sky…

…a sky that pulses with millions of golden threads, all interwoven. A web, I realize, fascinated. It’s a web of threads, showing me every living thing in this world. I gaze in wonder, and as I do, I can see the predators on a distant plain, the threads trailing behind them and leading up to the web. I can see even more distant clusters of threads, golden and bright, leading up from cities. They all converge on the gigantic web in the sky.

Is this what the Fates see? Is that why the Shears of Fate are so important? I’m fascinated and gaze back down at them in my hand.

I look over at Rhagos again, and he’s moved so little that he seems frozen in time. I study him, seeing only the black shroud of his magic and our tether. I’m the only thing that binds him to this world, I realize. He’s not connected to the web like I am. That’s why he needs an anchor. I turn behind me, curious to see everything, and as I do, I see a silver thread connected to my back. I turn again, trying to see it, and when I reach behind me to touch it, it sends shudders through my spine. Like a radio dial flipping through channels, my brain fills with static, and I can hear voices and music…voices from my world. Music from my world.

This is how I’m here, I realize. I have two threads.

I want to tell Rhagos about this important discovery, but as I turn to him again, a new thread catches my eye. This one is a different shade of gold, a richer, more vibrant shade that runs parallel with my own and then disappears overhead. Craning my neck, I turn away from all the grayness around me and follow that thread—

That’s when I see it.

Somehow, after all this time, I thought that there wouldn’t be a dragon.

Sister Tilari said it was a dragon hoard. Rhagos mentioned no people had lived in this land for ages. We’d stayed in ruins that had been abandoned for so long that thick dust had covered everything like snow.

But there’s no dust here. There’s not a hint of dust on any of this gold.

And the dragon crouches overhead, invisible in the darkness, watching me.

I’m…such an idiot.

No wonder this gold hasn’t been touched. No wonder it’s been left undisturbed.

Its owner never left.

It’s a trap, and it’s one I never questioned. Because of course I didn’t question it. I never question anything. I trust blindly, all the time, just like the spinner said.

And now I’m going to die. I know that as surely as I can feel the pulse of the Shears in my hand.

The dragon’s beautiful, though. I can’t help but stare up at it, fascinated as it moves forward, sinuous and snakelike and far more deadly than any creature has the right to be. I don’t know what color it is, because the gray dulls everything and slows the world down. All I can see is the brilliant gold of the thread attached to it, and all I can do is watch in wonder as the massive, tooth-lined jaws that have been open for what feels like forever suddenly flood with fire.

I hear Rhagos’s cry of horror from too far away.

It’s too late. Of course it is. Time has slowed for everything but me, but I was dead the moment I touched the Shears. I know this just as surely as I know my own name.

It makes me sad, though. I wanted to stay with Rhagos for a while longer.

I wanted to love him for a bit more.

Actually, I wanted to love him forever. It’s the greedy, selfish part of me that’s not content with just having one week when I could have all of them.

But then the flame hits me, and it’s blasting heat and exquisite torture.

A moment after that, though, it’s just torture. Pain as I’ve never felt before floods through me, and I feel my skin, my eyes, my organs all melting away under the force of the dragon’s heated breath.

The Shears of Fate tumble from my grip and I’m relieved, because I don’t want to experience burning alive in slow motion. I want it to be over with already.

I’m ready for the pain to end, even if I’m not ready to leave my lover’s side.

The world speeds up again, and Rhagos picks up my melted body. He cradles me tenderly in his arms, his hand reaching up to touch my face—what’s left of my face. His hand flutters over my brow, and he doesn’t touch me, clearly not wanting to hurt me.

“Max,” he says, and his face is grim, even as tears streak down his face. “I’m ready,” he whispers, his gaze roaming over me one last time. “I’m ready.”

I’m not ready either, I want to say, but the world fades fast and everything goes cold.

I die.

OR AT LEAST, I think I die, but when everything fades to darkness, there’s a hard, rough yank, and then nothing.

70

I  wake up.

I’m surprised that I do. I’m even more surprised that nothing hurts. Everything feels…weird. Disconnected.

I blink at my surroundings, and I’m not entirely shocked to see that I’m not home on Earth. Of course not. I died here, on Aos, in a dragon’s lair because I was too dumb to stop and ask if the dragon was still around. I’m in a white chamber, filled with sunlight and hazy, pale threads. The bed is soft and cool, and a fluffy blanket covers me to my chin. There’s a faint hum in the distance, like a generator of some kind, but so far away that it’s not bothersome.

There’s a gentle clack, and I look over to see a woman seated nearby. Her skin is the same dark hue as that of the Port Tidewater peoples, all lovely brown and burnished. Her hair is drawn into a thick braid that tumbles over one shoulder and she wears a bright red, flowing gown that’s elegant in its beauty and looks impossibly soft to the touch. As I watch, she loops a gleaming thread over knitting needles, and then glances over at me.

“You’re awake.” Her voice is just as beautiful as she is.

I sit up, and I’m not tired. I’m not hungry, either. That’s odd. I blink, and it takes me a moment to realize that my vision’s perfect. I don’t have to squint to see the woman’s face or the tiny jewels she has woven through her braid. “Am I dead?”

“I’m afraid so, but it’s more complicated than that.” She sets her knitting aside and gets to her feet, smoothing out her dress. It’s a gorgeous thing, that dress, made entirely of different shades of red. Pleats gather low at her hips and cascade down, her legs swimming in acres of silky fabric that ripple from bright red to dark red to pale red as if it’s a living, breathing thing, that dress.

I lick my lips. “Are you a goddess?” I think of Riekki, and the sheer cruelty in her eyes. This woman’s so lovely… “Belara?”

Her smile widens, and she gives a tiny chuckle. “Me? No. I’m just an anchor. But I serve the gods. Wait here. My masters will want to see you.” With a fluid swirl of skirts, the woman disappears out a white-covered door.

I sit, numb, and half-heartedly gaze at my surroundings. All white. White walls, white furniture, white everything, with clouds of white spiderwebs that crisscross over the stone walls but somehow don’t look as alarming as a room covered in spiderwebs should. I touch my face, vaguely remembering melted cheeks and eyes that burn with pain from being seared, but everything feels whole and normal.

Because I’m dead. But not.

Rhagos is going to be so upset.

Rhagos.

The moment I think of him, I bolt out of bed. Where is he? Is he here? I feel the overpowering urge to find him, to hug him and let him know that I’m okay. I’m not hurting anymore. That it’s okay that I didn’t get home. It’s my own fault, because I forgot about the dragon. He needs to know that I don’t blame him.

That I love him.

That I’m dead now, so that makes me his, right? Maybe that’s why I’m not panicking at the thought of being dead. It’s because I know the god of death. I love him, and I know he’ll take care of me.

I think of how sad he was as he cradled me in his arms, and I want to see him. I want to comfort him, because I don’t want him to be sad. The thought makes me ache.

I get to my feet. I’m naked, so I wrap the puffy blanket around my body and head for the door that the red-clad woman went out. Except, it’s not really a door, I realize, but more of the thick cobwebs that hang down as if they’re curtains.

Before I can brush the cobwebs aside, a man steps through. I jerk backward in surprise at the sight of him.

He’s…terrifying.

Without being told, I know that this is the god that the woman serves…or at least one of them. He’s tall—taller even than Rhagos. Crystalline silver eyes gaze at me without really looking at me, which is unnerving. If the woman was all warmth and color, this man is the absence of them. His robe is pale, not quite white, not quite gray, and it’s entirely unremarkable and bland and covers him from neck to wrist to ankle. His hair is long and loose, and as colorless and bland as the rest of him. His face is hauntingly beautiful, with delicate bones and a proud expression, and I think he’d be attractive if he wasn’t so…eerie. He reminds me a bit of Riekki, but far more ethereal and otherworldly.

The man frowns down at me, and I get the vague impression that he’s…displeased.

It makes me quail a little inside. What the hell did I do?

“Hi,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I was just—”

“Going to try to find Rhagos?”

I open my mouth, and then snap it shut again. “Yes, actually. Where is he?”

The unfocused, ice-pale eyes gaze around me, but not quite at me. “He has returned to the Underworld, where he belongs. For him, this Anticipation is over once more.”

Over…once more? “Oh.” I take a deep breath, fighting back my sadness. “Am I…is this the Underworld, too? Or am I somewhere else?”

“Where do you think you are?”

“I…don’t think I’m with him,” I admit. “And that scares me a little.”

The ice-cold eyes focus on me for just a moment. Then, the man flicks his hand, indicating that I should follow, and he turns and leaves.

I clutch my blanket, wondering if I should follow him out as he says. I’m more than a little terrified of him but…what’s the worst that can happen? Death? It sounds like I’m already there. But what if I leave and Rhagos comes looking for me? I’m dead, so he should be showing up to collect me at any minute. With that thought in mind, I turn around and go back to bed, determined to wait for my lover.

“You are not coming?” The man is suddenly in the doorway again, the frown on his face even deeper.

“Oh.” I manage a smile. “It’s nothing against you. It’s just…Rhagos is going to come for me, and I want to wait for him.” I know Rhagos will be upset that I’m dead after all that happened. He’s going to think I’m scared—not entirely wrong, too—and he’ll want to comfort me. Right now I want him so badly I ache, so I just shake my head. “I’ll stay here so he can find me.”

For a moment, the eerie eyes focus on me again. “Don’t you want answers first?”

That makes me pause.

Answers.

I think about Rhagos’s arm tattoo. I think about his comments about restarting. I think about all the different things that have been hidden from me in one way or another. I think of his heartbroken whisper of “I’m ready” as I lay dying in his arms.

Okay, maybe I do want some answers.

Even so, I hesitate. “Will it take long?”

“Does it matter when you have all eternity?”

He’s got a point. “I don’t want to miss Rhagos, though.”

“Your devotion is commendable…or foolish. I have not yet decided which one.” The stranger gives me a curious look, some of the displeasure easing from his presence. “What if I told you that you would not miss Rhagos before he returns?”

I get to my feet and wrap the blanket around me, toga style. “Then I’d tell you I want those answers after all.”

71

T  he god chuckles, and I wish the sound was as pretty as he is. Instead, it’s just creepy. He leaves, heading out of my room, and so I follow after him. Outside of my bedroom—if it is a bedroom—is a stone hallway, with tall ceilings and many windows that look out on an equally gray, mountainous landscape. The air is crisp and cold here, and I pause, looking out on a flat, muddy-looking immense lake framed by mountains. It looks very different from where we were, so I know we aren’t in the Forgotten Lands anymore. This is somewhere new.

I continue up the hall, heading after the tall god. He’s vanished from the hallway, but I somehow know instinctively where to go. There are several doors along the inside of the hall, but for some reason, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. Instead, I keep heading on up, heading along the winding hall. The floor isn’t even, but slightly tilted upward, telling me that I’m going farther and farther up until I see a large opening ahead of me. Unlike the other doors, this one is open, and it feels warm and inviting where the others felt forbidding.

Whoever this god is, he wants me to go here.

I step inside, and pause just over the threshold. There’s more spiderwebs in this large, circular room, the ceiling so high that it disappears into an endless crisscross of thick spiderwebs. The walls are covered in more of the same, but instead of it being creepy and making me think of bugs, it feels a little…comforting. Like I’m being hugged and nestled safely by my surroundings. There’s no menace here, just peace.

The humming is loudest here, too. It’s been ever-present since I awoke, but now that I’m in this room, it sounds like the spiderwebs themselves have voices, and they’re all purring with energy at the same time. In the center of the large room, I see an enormous web of threads, millions and millions of the faintly golden streams of light that I saw back when I held the Shears of Fate.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ve met another spinner.

Then I realize…no, this isn’t a spinner. This is so much more. The god stands off to one side, watching me with that blank, distant expression on his aristocratic features. “This is…you’re the god of Fate, aren’t you? The spider god?”

He studies me for a long moment. “Does it matter if I am?”

I look around me in surprise. As I glance up, I see movement in the webs high above, and I’m reminded of Sister Tilari and her spider. “Spidae,” I murmur. “Spidae. That’s who you are. Why am I with you and not Rhagos? Shouldn’t I be with him if I’m dead?”

“Should you be with him?” the god asks, his tone growing disapproving. “What would you do if you found out that someone you made a deal with cheated?”

“Cheated?” I echo. “Cheated how?”

“Shall I show you?” He holds his hand out, long-fingered and elegant but somehow still masculine and strong.

I hesitate for a moment. I don’t want to touch this guy. I just want Rhagos. But I can feel the disapproving air vibrating off of him, thicker and more intense with every moment that passes.

I don’t touch him. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? I wasn’t supposed to die, was I?”

“Weren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I think…” I close my eyes, recalling those last few scattered moments. Of Rhagos’s insistence that we leave. Of his terror. I’m ready. “I think Rhagos tried to save me.” I open my eyes again and look at the pale god—the Spidae. “Is that why he’s in trouble? If so, that’s downright cruel. You—”

The god gives the thinnest of smiles. “You still have no idea, do you?” he interrupts, and continues to hold his hand out. “Did you want answers or not?”

I breathe out with an irritated huff, and it crosses my mind that I can say no. I can slap his hand away and return to my room and wait for Rhagos. But…this man clearly wants to tell me something. There’s more going on and he wants to share it with me. I don’t entirely trust him. Heck, I don’t trust him at all. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re answering me with more questions,” I point out, even as I reach out to put my hand in his. “I know you’re not giving me answers because it’s the right thing to do. You’re pushing me in the direction you want. And I’m only taking you up on it because I want to know what you know so Rhagos and I can be prepared for whatever it is you plan on throwing at me.”

He tilts his head. “Even after all this, you still trust him?”

“Of course I do.” I place my palm against his, and his touch isn’t pepperminty and calm like touching Rhagos. It’s icy and strange and disconcerting, like rubbing velvet the wrong way.

“So loyal.” There’s a hint of emotion on his face, a smirk, and I’m not sure I like it. “Close your eyes and let me lead.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s how I got killed by a dragon,” I murmur dryly, but I close my eyes.

“Females of your web are so amusing,” he says, his voice almost fond. “I can see why you are a source of such fascination.”

“Thanks, I think.”

His fingers curl around mine, trapping my hand in a way that feels…freakish. My eyes fly open and I look at him just in time to see him reach forward to put his hand on the cluster of strings—the stretched web—nearby. The room vibrates with the hum of a thousand strings all at once, a discordant cacophony of chaos that’s beautiful and jarring all at the same time.

Then, my head begins to fill with images. I close my eyes again, wanting to focus in on what he’s showing me.

I want to see Rhagos.

HE STANDS in front of his throne. He’s home in the Underworld, but it is a hollow victory.

She isn’t here.

She’s what he fought for. She’s what he endured another humiliating Anticipation for. She’s what he broke the rules for. He loves her so much that he aches, he who has never felt this kind of soul-deep pain before.

And they will not let him keep her. They will not even let him see her again. He cannot tell her that he is sorry. That he wanted to do better by her. That he first coveted her like a prize, but it turned swiftly into love. That her smiles are everything to him, and he cannot imagine a world without her in it. That he tried to save her. That he held her dying body until his own faded out. That he feels hollow inside, knowing he betrayed her.

“My lord?” Varias asks, hovering at the edges of his room, just out of striking range in case the Lord of Death has another fit of rage. “Can I—”

“Get out!” Rhagos bellows at him, filled with fury. How dare the High Father saddle him with this insipid fool when he could have someone like Max? Max with her shining eyes and bright laughter. Max with the look of trust on her face. Max with her shy kisses and the way she looked at him like he was the best person in the world.

He wants that again.

He wants her back.

He wants her so much he will go through a thousand Anticipations if they will only let him have her once more.

But…he is to be punished.

Furious, betrayed, hurting, Rhagos grabs his throne by the arms and flings it aside. It crashes onto the stone floor, the bones and skulls that make up his chair turning into a thousand brittle pieces. It doesn’t shatter quite as much as he wants it to, so he grabs one of the larger pieces and smashes it to the ground, because it feels good to destroy. To desecrate. That’s what everyone thinks of him, after all. He is death. He is a god of scraps. He is someone to be used and toyed with.

Even Fate has betrayed him. They promised. They promised and yet they have stolen her away from him—

I SNATCH MY HAND FREE, suddenly wary. “You what?”

“He is wrong,” the Spidae says, his eyes closed. His hand remains on the web as the strands sing to him. He extends his other hand back out to Max. “We promised nothing. We betrayed no one. It was him that broke the rules. Let me show you.”

Reluctant, I place my hand in Fate’s again, and close my eyes, because I want answers. More than that, though, more than anything else, I just want to see more of Rhagos.

HE DESTROYS everything in the throne room.

He lays waste to all of it, and nothing makes him feel better. Varias has scuttled away, and Rhagos can feel him somewhere nearby, waiting. He is now Rhagos’s anchor. His permanent anchor, and the thought fills Rhagos with such scorn and angry frustration that he wants to trash not just his throne room, but his entire kingdom. He wants to burn it all to the ground.

But Max wouldn’t like that. She would look at him with such sad eyes and tell him that he was better than that, and she would give him that trusting look that makes him want to promise her anything.

So he stops. He slumps, his head in his hands, and fights back the cry of rage that bubbles in his throat, even now. He turns toward the web in his throne room, the only connection he has to the other gods when he is in his domain. It is the only thing he has left whole, and he fights the sudden urge to rip it free from its moorings and go into seclusion. Instead, he gets to his feet and approaches it, limbs heavy. He feels aching and mortal now, without her, in ways that he never felt when she was his anchor.

It is because his spirit is tired. What good is it to be a god when he cannot have her?

Rhagos approaches the web, placing his hand on the threads. They come to life under his touch, as they always do, and wait for his request.

“Show her to me,” he whispers. If he cannot be with her, surely he can watch her.

Instead, one of the Spidae appears. He does not know which one it is. All three have different colors of eyes, but they change them at will, preferring to keep even the gods confused at their appearances. The god that looks back at Rhagos from the web is thin-lipped with disapproval.

“You cheated,” he says. There are no cajoling games now. No teasing words. “You do not get to keep her. The High Father has decided that she will be returned to her world, unharmed, and you will be given a new anchor.”

“I did not cheat—”

“You did. You tried to circumvent the rules—”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he says bitterly. They helped him cheat the system, after all.

“And you nearly brought us down with you,” the Spidae hisses. “The High Father is not pleased.”

Rhagos doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. Just Max. “You can help me,” Rhagos says. “You can show him what my intentions were. You can—”

“We will do nothing to help you,” the Spidae retorts, his voice more furious than Rhagos has ever heard in centuries—eons—of communication. “Take the anchor you have been given and be grateful.”

The web goes dark.

Varias. The anchor he has been given. Forever.

Be thankful.

He is not thankful. If anything, he is angrier. So he breaks more things, heading to another part of his keep with the intent to destroy. To desecrate.

To forget.

MY THROAT ACHES. All of me aches. I need more. I need to understand more. The Spidae starts to pull his hand away, but I clutch at it with both of mine instead. I need more answers. Need more Rhagos.

When I put both of my hands on his, my brain overloads with images of Rhagos. Not just from now, but from…before…

“YOU CAN MOVE MY THREAD,” he declares to the Spidae. His thoughts are filled with giddy wonder. “Send me back through the Anticipation so I can change the outcome, change the anchor I am stuck with.”

The elegant, pale head inclines. “It is so.”

Go through the Anticipation again? Horrendous.

It is not to be borne. But he cannot stop thinking of the female Aron had. The one with laughter in her eyes and the complete lack of fear. The way she’d greeted the Lord of Storms with her entire being, legs twining around him.

An eternity with someone like that…or with Varias.

An eternity with a fierce female who challenges him, who kisses him like he’s something she adores, not something she endures. An eternity with a companion.

His loneliness is a hard, aching pit in his gut. No one understands what it is like to be the Lord of Death. But maybe…maybe…

He grits his teeth, hating the answer he will give. Because now that the idea is in his head, he wants that woman. He wants a companion. He is so tired of being alone. “If I must, I must.”

RHAGOS MAKES plans after he meets with Fate. Before things can be set in motion, he must ensure that his female—the one they are pulling into this web specifically for him—will be safe. He will not risk his companion to chance.

Not when she is the only thing he has ever wanted.

So he calls upon dark magics. He spends long hours inscribing a spell of ancient runes onto his arm. He knows that when he is dumped into the mortal realm—like so much garbage—that his memories will be stripped. He cannot forget her, though. He cannot forget his purpose for being there. Even though he knows it will be frowned upon, he does such a thing anyhow. He leaves a message for himself upon his own arm.

The girl from another land must survive. Do not let harm come to her. She is yours.

It is not quite enough, though.

He lives in constant fear that something will go wrong with the Anticipation. That one of his Aspects will not be aware just of what the girl means to him, to lonely, aching Death, and so he must do more. He calls upon dark witches, cast down to the farthest realms of his kingdom, and endures terrible pain as they tattoo a new message into his skin, one that will be transferred to his other Aspects the moment he goes back in time.

Give Death That Which He Longs For Most.

He is going to tell his followers to destroy him the moment he arrives. If the other Aspects are dealt with quickly, they will not cause problems for him and his little mortal.

Already he thinks of her as his.

Already he covets her.

Varias knows something is wrong. He knows that Rhagos is displeased with him. He lingers nearby because he has to thanks to the bond that the High Father has made permanent. The High Father thinks that with a constant anchor, Rhagos will become more humane. Perhaps…but Varias is not the anchor to change him. Varias is terrified of Death. He was entertaining at first, perhaps, until he died. Then, Rhagos saw that the human was like any other—fighting his fear of death in the hopes that he could curry favor for others in his family. He is not at Rhagos’s side because he wants to be with Rhagos. He is there because of fear and duty.

Rhagos is so tired of being feared. Of being alone.

Just once, he wants a companion. A real one.

HE ARRIVES at the Tower of the Spidae, tearing himself to the mortal realm, where they dwell at the edges. He climbs up the long walk to their tower, and meets their young, pretty anchor. Rhagos draws runes of protection on her back, keeping her safe from his touch and that of his brother’s.

The Spidae are pleased. One grabs Rhagos’s thread and waits.

He is ready. He is more than ready. Rhagos nods.

He watches, holding his breath, as the Spidae takes the web and pulls his thread free. He watches as long fingers pinch the thread into a loop.

The loop twists.

Something tears inside Rhagos…and then he remembers nothing.

HE WAKES UP TO SUNLIGHT, bright on his face, and a celebration at his feet. People scream in fear—always in fear—at the sight of his arrival.

The Anticipation. He is here. He has displeased the High Father and is being punished.

Rhagos glances down at his arm. It burns, and he sees the message inscribed there. He remembers little bits of before. Just enough to make him realize that this is his choice to be here. That he has two eyes because he has done this before. He has seen Aron with his pretty anchor.

He remembers.

He is not supposed to.

The girl at his feet trembles and cries. Even though she wears his colors and his symbol, she is terrified of him. It is not her. He wants to kick her away, but a new person steps forward out of the shadows and clears her throat.

Rhagos sees her, then.

His mortal.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She’s slight and unassuming, pretty enough in a human sort of way, but nothing like he pictured. It doesn’t matter. He wants her. It’s her eyes that draw him in. Those eyes are full of confidence and trust. She smiles at him, unafraid.

She knows she’s here for him.

He wants to hold her close and never let her go.

RHAGOS HOLDS Max tightly against his chest, cradling her in the water as she cries. The sea is everywhere, endless and deep, the dead from the ship floating in the water all around them.

“I don’t want to die here,” she tells him, weeping.

She is supposed to die, he wants to tell her. Eventually, she will die so she can be with him forever. But her fear tears at him. He doesn’t want her to die afraid. He doesn’t like her fear. He hates her tears. So he holds her tight and promises her safety.

He will keep her safe. She will die…but not this day. Not like this, because she doesn’t want to.

“DO YOU TRUST ME?” Rhagos asks Max, gazing down at her lovely face.

Her answer should be “no.” He has betrayed her already. He did not tell her that he was Lies. He does not tell her that he meets with Sister Tilari ahead of time, so she will give Max the “quest” she longs for so greatly. Max wants an object to pursue, and he knows one of his Aspects heads for treasure. Of course he does. He is Hedonism. He wants all the treasure he can acquire. It is an easy thing, then, to create a story.

That they must somehow get to the Shears of Fate before his Aspect does.

That the Shears of Fate will take her home.

That the Shears are the only thing that will sever their bond.

That he will let her go.

All of these things are lies. He will never let her go. The Shears merely show her the threads of Fate. They do not affect them. He needs never run into his other Aspects. And he could have sent her home a thousand times already. All he needs is another anchor willing to step into her place.

But Max gives him a sweet smile and puts her hand in his. “I trust you.”

He loves those words coming from her lips more than anything.

He loves them and hates them both, because he is betraying her…but he cannot stop. He set himself upon this path before he ever met her.

And he will do anything to keep her.

RHAGOS WATCHES MAX SLEEP, curled up next to him. He trails his fingers through her hair, watching her as she dozes. She sleeps with her mouth parted, her hands tucked against his chest, reaching for him even when she dreams.

So trusting. So loving. She’s more than he ever imagined.

He watches her sleep every night, constantly fascinated by her. By the way she thinks, by how kind she is, by how she pushes him to do better. To be better. Not because she wants something from him, but because she loves him. She asks for nothing from him.

She’s his friend.

Maybe his first friend. Ever.

He did not think they would be equals, him and her. He thought he would get an entertaining object to be at his side. A pet, of sorts. A diversion to make eternity less dull.

Max is nothing like what he thought she would be. She’s small and weak, and her eyes are terrible. She is entirely too trusting and flawed, but her spirit is so breathtakingly loving. He’s never met anyone like her. She looks at him as if he can do anything, and when he disappoints her, she asks him to do better. She’s not afraid of him. Never afraid. She smiles at him, and talks with him about silly, stupid things…and he loves it. With Max at his side, he knows he will change.

How can he not? She will want him to be a benevolent, just god. No one has ever wanted that for him. They have always wanted Death to break the rules so they would not dirty their hands. Even his own brother, Kalos, has used him. But not Max.

Max gets angry on his behalf when others try to use him.

He…loves her.

He can’t wait to spend all eternity with her. He can’t wait to be better…because of her. Because he needs her smiles like he needs air. He needs her love and her approval.

There is no one like his Max. He’ll destroy worlds for her.

But this is Max. She’d rather he heal than destroy…and that makes it all the sweeter.

RHAGOS HATES every step into the dragon’s cave.

He hates it. He hates it because it’s wrong. He knows it’s a trap. He knows that somewhere deep inside, the ancient dragon yet dwells. He knows that the dragon will be furious if they so much as touch its treasure.

He’s set it up so Max will die. Because she has to die for the Anticipation to be over, and he hates being mortal.

Except…he doesn’t hate it so much when he’s with her. He offers to stay, to be at her side and watch her grow old, just because he doesn’t want her to die. She won’t take his offer, though. She thinks of all the people that will hurt if he doesn’t go home, and so she can’t.

He can tell she’s tempted, though. He wants to drag her back to the island regardless, to protect her from everything and everyone that would touch her. But she will never be happy knowing that her joy with him comes at the expense of others.

She is a good person.

She’s entirely too trusting; she’s never even asked him about the dragon.

In the end, he can’t do it. He looks at her shining brown eyes as she gazes down at the treasure, and he can’t sacrifice her.

He loves her too much.

She’ll hate him if she knows he set this up. He’ll figure out another way. He’ll find an answer that will make her happy. He’s not ready to let her die this day.

But then Max pulls free from his grip and grabs the Shears…

72

I  wrench free from the Spidae’s touch and collapse on the ground.

My head’s spinning with everything. I’ve seen a hundred memories of Rhagos’s, all piled in one on top of the other. I’ve seen his thoughts. I’ve seen lifetimes of his, alone on his throne, hated by his subjects, reviled by his peers.

I’ve seen so much that it makes me hurt. I’m sweating and choking on my own saliva as I press my brow to the floor, trying to compose myself. I can’t absorb all of it. I can’t. My brain wasn’t made to take in the memories of a god.

But some of them stick, even as I hug my arms to my chest and suck in deep, cleansing breaths.

Rhagos has lied to me.

Of course he has. He’s the Aspect of Lies. Was the Aspect of Lies. Now he’s just the god of death once more. He lied to me and took advantage of my trusting nature.

I know this…and I still can’t hate him.

I can’t…because seeing his memories just made me love him all the more. I felt his loneliness. I felt his reasoning behind each decision. I felt his love for me, washing through every thought he had.

Has anyone ever gone to such lengths to impress me? He’d let the world burn if I asked him to. I’ve seen myself through his eyes, and it’s incredible and utterly humbling. I’ve felt the depths of his love, and his despair.

And I understand.

I might not like all his choices, but god, do I understand. What would I do if I was in the same position that he’s in? Would I make the same choices? If I’d spent eternity as a lonely, all-powerful god? Of course I don’t matter to him…until he meets me.

I think back to the dragon’s cave. Of Rhagos’s sheer dread. Of how he’d been unable to lead me in and let me die. He tried to save me.

I’m ready, he’d said, over and over. I’m ready.

He wasn’t ready for me to die. He wanted me to live.

And now, he’s in misery.

A sob chokes in my throat.

“Now you understand,” the Spidae says coldly. “He used you. He used us, as well. He tried to circumvent the natural order of things with magic. He manipulated how the Anticipation should go, all because he wished to keep you.”

I wipe the snot and tears from my face and struggle to get to my feet. I stand, wobbly-legged, and am only half-aware that my blanket is pooled around my legs. What does nudity matter in front of Fate, though? I don’t bother to pick it up. I lift my chin and stand tall in front of the Spidae with the glittering silver eyes.

This time, when I meet his gaze, I’m a little less trusting. “You showed me that because you want me to hate him.”

“Do you?” The words are bitter. Cold.

“No.” I clench my fists. “Why would I hate him? I might not agree with his motives, but he’s lonely. He wanted a companion and so he tried to get one the only way he knew how. You’re just mad because he tricked you. He used you. Well, how do you think he feels every time all you gods dangle something in front of him? You all use him. You pretend like he gets your cast-offs but the truth of the matter is that he’s the most powerful one of all of you and you treat him like shit!”

The Spidae draws himself up proudly, standing even taller. It’s meant to intimidate me into silence, to terrify me, but I’m not backing down. No one has ever had Rhagos’s back before, so fuck them. This Spidae guy acts all high and mighty, when he was really cheating the system, too, all because he wanted to protect his girlfriend.

But Rhagos is the bad guy because he cheated the cheaters? Bullshit.

Maybe he didn’t go about it the right way. Maybe he bent the rules too far. But I felt his desperation. His yearning. I understand why he did what he did.

I don’t hate him. I could never hate him.

And I suspect all of this is a petty display designed to turn me against him. If so, it’s failing. I’m on Rhagos’s side more than ever, now. I felt his love for me. I felt his loneliness. I felt his desperation when he took me to the dragon’s cave and couldn’t bring himself to let me die.

So I ignore the Spidae’s glare and keep my chin up. “When is Rhagos coming to get me?”

“Never.”

I flinch at his response. “What…what do you mean?”

The woman—the anchor in the red dress—comes running in a swirl of ruby skirts, her expression one of concern. “I heard yelling…?” She stops short at the sight of me, bristling and naked, in front of the web. Her curious gaze turns to the Spidae.

To my surprise, he moves over to her and touches her cheek. He whispers something and she nods, her eyes downcast. The attitude between them is one of lovers, and when he pulls reluctantly away from her, she grabs his hand and presses a kiss to one fingertip, and smiles. Her gaze flicks to me, and then she leaves the room again.

The Spidae turns back to me, his expression shuttered and cold, but I saw the affection there. And I try to use it to sway him to Rhagos’s side, just because I hate the thought of everyone acting like Rhagos is evil incarnate. “You love your anchor,” I say. “All of this started because you wanted to protect her. Why is it so bad that Rhagos wanted to do the same thing for me?”

He sweeps past me, his pale robes fluttering as he moves toward the web. He touches a thread, a chime of music flaring and adding to the hum reverberating through the tower. “The goal of the Anticipation is not for him to make friends,” the Spidae says with a lofty tone. “The goal is for him to learn from his mistakes and to transform into a more worthy god. Cheating the system to fix the outcome defeats the purpose, does it not?”

“You tell me,” I snap back. “Since you helped him fix it. You sent him back to replace the Aspect you knew would win. That’s why he has two eyes instead of one. That’s why he knew Varias. Because he’d been through all of it before.” The pieces are falling together as I sift through the flashes of memory. “You were fine with sending him back. You’re just mad now because he got you into trouble with the big guy. Instead of defending your actions, you’re just going to act like you’re the wounded party? Sorry, but I’m not going to play along.”

“So loyal,” he murmurs, glancing at me. There’s a hint of respect in his eyes, but it’s quickly gone. “It does not matter, though. The High Father has decided that since he cheated the system to have you, as punishment, you will be sent back to your world.”

“Are you punishing me or him?”

“Which do you think it is?”

“I think it’s both…and I don’t think it’s fair.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t this what you wanted the entire time? Your ‘quest’?”

I cross my arms over my chest, irritated. So we’re throwing this in my face now? It’s true that I wanted to go home to Earth, but that was because I had no other choice. I couldn’t stay in this world, knowing that everyone wanted to kill me…and knowing that every day I stayed, more of the dead were becoming trapped. That was no choice at all.

But now that I’m offered the chance to return…I don’t want it.

I don’t want to go back to my office job and my tiny Chicago apartment. I don’t want to go back to forty hours a week of mindless spreadsheets and then weekends playing video games to fill time. I don’t want to go back to my empty apartment and empty love life and know that Rhagos is here, another world away, so lonely that it hurts.

I don’t want to leave him. I want to be with him.

“I thought I wanted to go home,” I admit. “But that was back when everyone was trying to kill me. If I have a choice between staying with Rhagos and going back to my world, I pick him. Hands down.”

“Ah, but the choice is not yours, is it?” There’s a hard edge to his smile. “The choice has already been made by the High Father. Rhagos has not learned his lessons, and so he will not get rewarded.”

The thought fills me with so much grief. Oh, Rhagos. “What happens to him?” I ask, my voice catching. My throat is tight with tears, but I don’t want to cry in front of this cold god. He doesn’t get to make me cry.

“Does it matter?”

I’m angry and horrified at his response. “How can you even ask that? Of course it fucking matters.” My fists are clenched again and I shake one at him. “Everyone fucking gives up on him. You think he’s supposed to be so perfect and good and kind and then you just turn around and shit on him and wonder why he doesn’t thank you for it? Why would he? Why would he trust anyone to have his back? Of course he’s going to bend the rules—he can’t depend on anyone but himself. You guys only realize he’s there when you have your hands out and you need a damn favor.” I march forward, shaking my fist at him. “You wanted a favor. Riekki wanted a favor. Vor wanted a favor. No one wants Rhagos.”

“Because he is Death. You want to cradle Death to your breast?” The Spidae arches an arrogant brow at me.

“Yes. A thousand times yes. Because he’s not just Death. He can be more than just a dumping ground of spirits and someone you go to when you have no other options.”

“But he is not,” the Spidae says. “He has had the opportunity, and he has not become more, and so he will not be rewarded.” The arrogance smooths away from his face and he puts a hand over my fist, lowering it. “It is not your choice to make, little mortal. He will be given another anchor to soften his hard edges. It…just will not be you.”

A knot of grief rises in my throat. No matter what I do, I don’t get to keep Rhagos. “But…will he be happy?” Hot tears blur my eyes and I hate that a few of them slide down my face. “If I can’t stay with him, it won’t be so awful if I know he’ll be happy. If I know that he’s going to be okay.”

I can give him up if he loves his new anchor.

The look the Spidae gives me is pitying. “You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

I turn away, biting down on my fist to fight the sobs that threaten to choke me. I’ve seen my answer. I want it to be different, but I’ve seen it and know that it’s not.

Rhagos gets an anchor, all right. He gets Varias. Varias, who acts like he’s a martyr to the cause, who hides in fear whenever Rhagos loses his temper—which is a lot when Varias is around—and who only tells Rhagos what he wants to hear.

It’s going to make Rhagos more lonely than ever, and the thought hurts me so badly that it takes my breath away.

“This isn’t right,” I manage when I can breathe again. I turn back to the Spidae, letting my grief show on my face. “Please. You know this isn’t right. He loves me and I love him. We’re good together. He can change. I know he can. He’s not selfish. He’s just…lonely.” I press my hand over my heart. I must look like an idiot, a naked, supplicating mortal begging a god to give another god a friend but I can’t let it go. I don’t care how stupid I look if it changes things for Rhagos. “Please.”

“The High Father has made his decision,” the Spidae says, and he sounds so uncaring that it breaks me.

“Then he’s a fucking idiot—”

Before I can get the words out, the Spidae moves. He crosses the floor to a second web and touches a string. No, wait, attaches a string.

The world jerks with a hard tug, sending me sprawling. Everything crashes and goes black.

When my eyes focus, I’m staring not at a spider-web-covered ceiling, but at the light fixture in my kitchen.

I’m home.

73

F UCK.

I scream aloud at the ceiling, hating it for betraying me. I slam my fists onto the linoleum. Once. Twice. I cover my eyes and count to ten, hoping that this is all a nightmare.

But when I open my eyes again, I’m still home.

I’m so fucking furious I want to scream again. And again. Just keep screaming in the hopes that it changes things.

I.

Don’t.

Want.

To.

Be.

Here.

I want to be with Rhagos. I don’t care if we go back to the dragon city and hide there. I don’t care if we find an island and I eat raw fish for all time. I don’t care if I hang out in the Underworld with him. I just want to be with him.

I just want him to not be alone.

This seems like the cruelest of all situations. If the High Father cares so much, why is he doing this to Rhagos? It’s so unfair.

I have to get back.

Panting, I scramble to my feet and stagger into my living room. It’s exactly as I left it, relatively neat and tidy, a half-read gaming magazine open on the couch. If this is all the same, then maybe too much time hasn’t passed.

Maybe I can get through the portal in Faith’s apartment back to Rhagos.

The thought makes my heart trip in my chest. I race for my door and then down the hall. Faith’s door is open, and I’m filled with excitement. I’m not too late. I’m not. I can make it back to him. Smiling, I push inside the apartment, only to see that it’s empty. Faith’s furniture is gone, her apartment cleaned out. I hesitate and then remember it was the apartment next door that was the portal. With a frantic puff of breath, I run back out to the hall and next door. The apartment door is open and—

It’s not empty.

I frown mightily at the sight of the painters. Ladders and drop cloths are everywhere, along with paint cans. Blue tape surrounds all the windows and outlets, and the blinds have been removed, letting bright daylight stream in through the window. Two men stand in the center of the room, paint rollers in hand.

They stare at me.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m naked. Oh. I swallow hard, contemplating running back to my apartment, but I don’t want to waste a minute. I give them a hard stare and then race for the bedroom, just in case the portal to Aos opens through there instead of through the front door. Maybe it retreats deeper into the apartment over time.

Maybe.

Please.

But when I head into the bedroom, it’s empty, too. Another person’s in there—my landlord. He’s got his cellphone in hand and looks like he’s taking pictures of the freshly painted room. He turns when I burst in, and then stares at me.

“Ms. Chavez?”

“Hi,” I manage, and spot a drop cloth in the hallway. I grab it and wrap it around my nudity, fighting back disappointment. No portal to Aos. No Rhagos. Just…painters. “I was just next door. Where’d Faith’s stuff go?”

“I cleaned it out when she left town. Do you know where she went? She owes me two months’ rent and late charges.” He pockets his phone and gives me a curious look. “I haven’t heard from her so I’m going to let her place again. This one, too. And speaking of…you’re late on your rent.”

“It’s auto drafted from my account,” I say, glancing around the apartment. I want to check the closets, check the bathroom, check everywhere. Just in case.

I know the portal isn’t here, but I can’t stop myself from hoping.

“Yeah, but the payment wasn’t successful. You got enough in your account?”

Oh. Maybe I don’t, seeing as how I haven’t been to work in weeks. “I’ll move some over from my savings,” I promise, chewing on my lip. “Did you say you were going to rent this apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I move here? I need to be here so he can find me.”

He stares at me like I’m a crazy person. “He who?”

Oh. Um. How do I explain that? I decide to double down on the crazy Aspect. “God? Our lord and savior?” I fake a delighted look on my face. “Can I talk to you about the Bible?”

He takes a step back, as I knew he would. “I’m uh, real busy right now.”

“So can I move in then?” I drop the act and give him a pleading look. “It’s important to me.”

“I…guess?” He shrugs. “If you’re on time and you don’t mind an increase in your rent—”

“I’ll transfer the funds right now,” I promise, racing back out of the apartment, drop cloth wrapped around my body. It smells like turpentine and paint, but I don’t care. I don’t even care that all the food in my fridge has gone bad and my electronics are all dead and have to be charged up, or that my account is several hundred in the red.

I’m going to get the portal apartment, and I’m going to wait.

When that portal opens back up again, I’m going to be fucking ready. I’m going to be ready and waiting to go back to that world, and I’m going to find my man.

No one’s going to keep me from Rhagos. No one.

UNSURPRISINGLY, I’ve been fired from my job for being a no-show for weeks on end. Fine with me, because I wasn’t going back anyhow. My guild in my favorite video game is thrilled to have me back…but I quit it, too.

Nothing matters but getting back to Rhagos.

I cash out my 401k and dump all my funds into my bank account. I move into the new apartment, set the couch at an angle so I’m facing a doorway, and park myself on the sofa to wait.

I’m going to wait for that portal to reopen, no matter how long it takes. If it opened twice—once for Faith, once for me—surely it’ll open again. I just need to be patient.

Patience is absolutely not my strong suit, but without any other choices, I’m going to have to suck it up. So I order food to be delivered, drag my blanket and pillow onto the couch, and make myself comfortable with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and stare at the doorway.

Waiting.

“I’m ready,” I whisper to no one at all. “Come and get me.”

MY FIRST CONTACT with the other world comes three weeks later, to the day.

I wake up to hear a tapping coming from the bathroom, and my name being called. I kick the covers off, spilling chip bags and ice cream containers over my already-trashed living room floor and stumble toward the bathroom. I flick on the light, expecting to see my own disheveled reflection, but the mirror is cloudy, as if covered in condensation despite the fact that there’s no water running.

I reach out and wipe the mirror with my hand.

Faith looks back at me from the other side. She gasps in surprise at the sight of me, and I gape at the sight of her in my mirror.

She’s beautiful. Faith has always been pretty, with long blonde hair and flashing eyes, but she looks different. She’s dressed in a silvery gown that looks to be studded with night blue stars that twinkle as if woven into the fabric. It’s not just her clothing, though. There’s a radiance to her skin now, a faint glow surrounding her, and her hair looks incredible. It’s the same feeling of “too much” that I got from Rhagos, and I realize that it’s because Faith is immortal now. She’s going to be Aron of the Cleaver’s anchor forever, and so she’s a being made entirely of magic. No wonder she’s utterly luminous.

I’m so jealous.

“Dude, you look like shit.”

Same old Faith, though. I put a sheepish hand to my hair. I can only imagine how bad I look. When was the last time I showered? Slept decently? Ate something other than junk food? “Thanks. I think.” What I look like isn’t important, though. I study the mirror, trying to peer behind Faith to see if Rhagos is with her somehow. All I see is a wall that looks as if it’s made entirely of old shields of some kind. “How did you find me? Where are you?”

“I’m home with Aron. The Plane of Storms.” She shrugs. “As for finding you, it was easy. I asked Yulenna to give your thread a tug for me so I could say hello.”

“Yulenna? Is that the woman with the Spidae?”

Faith nods. “Me and her go way back. She wasn’t thrilled because the Spidae aren’t big fans of you right now, but I told her all I wanted to do was talk. It seems that Rhagos is throwing a fussy baby tantrum that’s affecting all the gods that have returned, so I asked Aron about it, and the name ‘Max’ came up, and a mention of glasses. I thought that was an awful big coincidence so I thought I’d see if it was you. Turns out it was.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “What the hell happened, Max?”

“Tell me about Rhagos,” I say eagerly, ignoring her question. “What’s he like? How is he? Is he okay?”

“Well, he’s kind of a dick,” she says, fluttering her lashes. “Likes to dress like an emo goth, and is currently pouting in the Underworld because his toys were taken from him.”

I scowl at her. “He’s not fucking pouting. Don’t be like that, Faith.”

“Oh, he’s pouting,” she says cheerfully. “You haven’t heard the rumors coming out of the Underworld. He’s banished his anchor, destroyed his throne room, and refuses to acknowledge the dead that are streaming in. The High Father is super pissed at him. I am, too, because apparently he got you killed.” Her mouth sets into a mulish line. “At least the High Father was kind enough to send you home and away from him. Are you okay, Max? How are you coping?”

Kind?

This is kind?

I manage to choke out a response. “I’m falling apart, thanks for asking. Can you help me get back to Aos?”

“Why would you want to come back?”

“Because Rhagos needs me and I need him.” I start to cry, even though I don’t want to. This has been the hardest three weeks of my life. Three weeks of waiting, of torturous anticipation, of wondering if I’m wrong and the portal will ever open again to bring me back to the man I love. “Please, Faith. You have to help me.”

“Wait, wait,” Faith puts her hands up, a look of surprise on her face. “You really do love him? After all that he did to you?”

“I do—”

“He lied to you, Max. He got you killed. I heard from Yulenna that he told you the entire time that he couldn’t break the bond between you two. You know that’s not true, right? You know he could have just swapped you for another anchor? And this nonsense with the Shears—”

She’s making me angry, and I know she’s just trying to understand. Even so, I clench my fists tight at my sides and force myself not to shout at her. “I know. I know he lied.”

“And you still love him? You still want to be with him?”

I swallow hard. “He did what he thought he had to. It doesn’t make it right, but I understand why he did it. How would you feel if the tables were turned and Aron had lied to you to keep you at his side? Would you be okay with it? Would you still love him knowing that he did it out of desperation and love for you?”

Faith stares at me for a long moment, and then lets out a gusty sigh. “You fucker. Don’t make me feel sorry for Rhagos. He’s a jerk.”

“He’s lonely. He’s—”

She waves a hand in the air. “I know, I know, you love him and he’s amazing. Whatever. I do understand what you’re saying, though. If someone tried to keep me from Aron…” She purses her lips. “I’d cut a bitch. So I get it.”

“I have to get back to him, Faith. Please, help me.”

Faith purses her lips. “As much as I’d love for you to be his anchor because I’m selfish and want more friends on this side of things, my hands are tied. You know how Rhagos is. Ever since he got back from the Anticipation, he’s been a nightmare. He’s refusing to do his job and he won’t talk to anyone. He just…breaks things.” She shakes her head. “The whole point of the Anticipation was to make him a better god, and I can’t really make a compelling argument that you helped him when he broke rule after rule to try and keep you. Plus, he’s worse than he ever was. I know you love him, Max, but I think you’re looking at him through rose-colored glasses. He’s not a good guy. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone.”

“That’s not true,” I protest. “He was changing. He just needed more time.”

“He’s had all eternity, dude.”

“He’s never had a reason to try before now,” I counter. “You don’t know him like I did. He put the dead to rest when he was on the mortal plane, even though he knew it would hurt me. He said he was going to look after some of the people that died who helped us. And he healed someone, Faith. I saw it. I felt it.”

Her mouth purses, and I can tell she’s not convinced.

“I know the High Father makes this big spiel about how the gods need to change, but did Aron change overnight? Or did he need time to realize that the way he’s always done things is wrong?”

“Oh, Aron’s just as pigheaded as any other god,” she says cheerfully. “Changing his mind and making him more compassionate is going to be a lifelong goal of mine. It’s a good thing I have eternity with him, because the man will always be a work in progress.” Love shines out her eyes, and a smile curves her mouth.

I’m so jealous I want to spit.

“Then why is Rhagos being judged for not changing enough?” I counter. “Un-learning an eternity of selfishness takes time, but if he doesn’t have a reason to try, why should he bother? Let me help him. I know I can. Faith, he healed a man named Birkef. He saved Kassam from where he was trapped—”

“Who?” She puts a finger to her ear and jiggles it, frowning. “I didn’t hear that name.”

“Kassam?”

“Didn’t hear that.” She looks genuinely confused.

“Kassam?” I try again. “Lord of the Wild?”

Her mouth purses and she thinks for a moment, her gaze growing unfocused. “I think we’re being blocked. Are you talking about the guy that was stuck in the thing that rhymes with flacier?”

“Yes!”

She says something, and her mouth moves, but no sound comes through the mirror. Her eyes narrow. “Yup. There’s definitely something going on with that. They’re not letting us talk about him. But I hear what you’re saying.” She points at her eyes, then through the mirror at me. “I’m picking up what you’re throwing down, and yes. That was nice of him…but it’s not enough. He has to be a better god of death—”

“Atollo,” I say quickly. “There’s a dead man named Atollo that Rhagos promised to look after. He said he’d take care of him. And a dead man named Sinfas, too.”

“They’re probably in the Field of the Forgotten, like everyone else,” Faith says sympathetically.

“They’re not,” I repeat. “We talked about it. And we talked about babies. Babies that die before they can be dedicated to a god. He’s going to change what happens to them. Go ask him.”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying to you about that?”

“Because I know him.” I think of the night he spent, talking to Birkef and Tadja, and how he’d listened, really listened for the first time. He can be a kinder, gentler god. Someone just has to believe in him first. “Ask about Atollo and Sinfas, and the babies. If I’m wrong and he’s letting them suffer, then…” I swallow hard. “I’ll acknowledge that you’re right and I don’t know him after all. But if I’m right, will you help me get back to him? Please?”

“I don’t have that kind of power—”

“I just need you to pull me back through to your side of the web, Faith.” I give her a pleading look, clasping my hands under my chin. “That’s all I’m asking. You said that Fate’s anchor is helping you. Help me, too. Please. Just bring me back over.”

“What, so you can hang out in the land of misogyny and chamber pots? You do realize this world isn’t great for women, right?”

“That’s all I need,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

She arches a blonde eyebrow. “…the rest? Do I even want to know?”

“Nope.” Because a plan is forming in my mind. “Just know that I won’t let him be alone, one way or another.”

“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, I’m going to get in soooo much trouble if I help you break the rules.” She grimaces in my direction. “I’m starting to see why you and Rhagos like each other so much. You’re both pigheaded as fuck.”

“Atollo,” I repeat. “And Sinfas. And newborns. If I’m right about Rhagos, you’ll help me get back, won’t you?”

She sighs heavily and fades out. “Just wash your damn hair before I talk to you again. You look awful.”

I’m left staring at my reflection. She’s right. I do look dreadful. I look homeless and hollow-eyed. But now at least, I have hope.

74

I  cling to that hope as a week passes. And then another. I know I’m right about Rhagos. I know that no matter the lies, no matter what happened, he loves me and I trust him to do the right thing. My faith in him is unshakeable.

I’m just not so sure that Faith will stick her neck out for me. Yulenna, either. I made no friends at the Spidae tower, so if I never hear from anyone again, I won’t be all that surprised.

Incredibly disappointed, but not surprised.

But because I’m an optimist at heart, I make plans to leave anyhow. I establish a will bestowing any money I have left to family. I make an anonymous donation to my guild to pay for people’s accounts for the next few months as a final farewell. I text my mother and father, both of whom don’t text back. My mother’s busy with her projects and my dad’s probably somewhere drinking. I’m not surprised. They’ll be sad when I’m gone but they won’t miss me.

But Rhagos needs me.

As another week blurs past, I worry that Faith won’t have my back. That she can’t convince Aron—who probably hates Rhagos thanks to their history—to help me. That Yulenna will have nothing to do with me.

That I’m back in my world and no one needs to think about me ever again. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want to be here. In their eyes, the problem is solved.

I worry about all that, but mostly I worry about Rhagos. Is he doing okay? Is he struggling? Is anyone talking to him? Or is he all alone like he always is? The thought hurts me, so I talk to him while I’m waiting. I tell him about my day. About the food I had delivered—I’m having all my favorites one last time in the hopes that I’ll be back at his side soon. I tell him about books I’ve read and games I’ve played, and how the weather is in Chicago.

Mostly I just talk about nothing at all. I talk to nothing. If he can hear me in any way, I want him to know I haven’t forgotten about him.

This time, when there’s a tap on the mirror late at night, I’m not surprised. I just feel an overwhelming sense of relief.

Finally.

I look around my apartment one last time and say goodbye to Earth. It’s been a great home for most of my life, but my home is with Rhagos, and I’ll do anything to get back to him.

When I head into the bathroom, it’s different this time. The moment I open the door, I see cobwebs all over the bathroom, spreading out from the mirror, and my heart beats fast with excitement. Yulenna taps on the glass, her reflection slightly obscured from the webs that cover the mirror. I brush them away, and she nods at me.

“Are you ready?” She extends a hand toward me. “We must do this quickly.”

I push my palm against the mirror, which still feels solid against my skin. “Thank you,” I tell her. “Thank you so much.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “I don’t do this for you.”

“Then thank Faith for me—”

“I don’t do this for her, either. I do this because my masters asked me.”

That’s the only warning I get before the mirror melts under my palm, and then suddenly I’m pulled through.

IT’S NIGHT IN AOS. I stand on a balcony, the air warm and sultry outside, the bright, blood red moon hanging so low in the sky it almost seems as if I could touch it. Spread out below me is cluster after cluster of white-walled houses, all bunched together as they spill down the cliffs to the glimmering sea below.

I’m back in Port Tidewater. The palace.

Okay. I can work with this. Hot excitement rushes through me. Not too much longer now. I turn toward the curtained door that leads from the balcony and open it up. It leads into a bedroom that’s lightly furnished and a woman kneels at a small altar in the corner, lighting a candle. She turns to look at me, and it’s Vossa.

Her astonishment makes me smile. “Oh, my lady! It’s you! How did you get here?”

“Vossa,” I say warmly, moving forward to hug her when she approaches me. I notice that her normally healthy complexion is wan, and she looks drawn. There are hollows in her cheeks and her eyes look tired. “Long time no see. As for how I got here…long story.”

“I did not recognize you at first, not without your eye shields.” She gestures at her temples. “And in your strange garb.”

My glasses? I haven’t needed them since I died. I smile wryly down at my pale blue pajamas. “Right? I’m kind of a mess, huh.”

“You are lovely as ever,” she says stubbornly.

Even though it’s late, I notice Vossa isn’t dressed for bed. She’s wearing a black gown, her pleats perfect, her hair pulled into a simple braid with a black ribbon. It looks like mourning wear. When I look over at the altar, I see that it’s dedicated to Death, the skull symbol prominent. Immediately, I feel chagrin. I’ve been so hellbent on my own mission that I forgot all about Vossa’s sorrows. “Your brother…”

“I thought there were no survivors on the Darkwitch,” she says in a hushed voice. “Atollo—?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and her eyes fill with tears. Mine do, too, and I hug her again. “He helped me, right until the end. Rhagos is going to look after him, I promise. He won’t forget.”

“Thank you,” Vossa whispers. “It means a lot to me. But…how did you survive? How are you here if my lord Rhagos…”

“Long story. I need your help,” I tell her, pulling back. “It’s complicated but I’ll explain everything as long as you promise me one thing.”

“What is that?”

I smile brightly. “I need you to help me die.”

WE EVENTUALLY DECIDE ON POISON, something that will make me sleep heavily and not make me puke my guts out. We eventually come to this decision after batting around various methods of suicide, all of which make me feel very, very weird. I don’t have a death wish. I’m not looking to “escape.”

It’s just…death is the only way I can get back to Rhagos, so I’m willing to do what it takes. If I stayed on Earth and killed myself, I would never be able to get back to him. Here, though, I’ve been tossed back into the mythos of Aos, and I know that when I die, I’ll be sent to the Underworld.

Right to him.

So…I have to die. I’m terrified of dying, even when Vossa disappears and returns hours later with a large cup of the decided-upon “gentle” poison. If this doesn’t work…

I shut that idea down. It absolutely will work. Rhagos will come for me. He loves me. It doesn’t matter that he lied to me. He had to. He wanted to keep me and he (rightfully) suspected they wouldn’t let him.

Like him, I’m tired of playing by the rules, so we’re making our own rules.

Even so, I hesitate as I take the cup from Vossa. It smells sickly sweet and the liquid is thick and dark. I don’t want to know what’s in it. If I think too hard about this, I won’t be able to go through with it.

“My lady,” Vossa says, her voice hesitant. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say firmly.

“Those that take their own lives go to the Field of the Forgotten,” Vossa says, and judging by the worried expression on her face, it’s not a nice place. “They remain there, between worlds, until their dedicated god comes to retrieve them.”

“He’ll come find me,” I promise her. “I know he will.”

She purses her lips, but nods. “Good luck.” She hesitates for a moment. “If you see my brother…” Her voice catches and she stops, unable to speak.

“I’ll tell him you’re a badass and that you send your love,” I promise, and squeeze Vossa’s hand. I stare down at my cup of poison for a long, long minute, before I take a deep breath.

Bottom’s up.

BEING dead a second time isn’t quite the same as being dead the first time.

The first time, I woke up in a bed…somewhere. I felt as alive as ever, just a little out of sorts. Dead, but the same…

This isn’t like last time.

Here, in the Field of the Forgotten, I’m definitely dead. My brain can’t focus. My mind drifts, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and I can’t remember why I’m here. Or why I killed myself. Just that this is different than before. What was left of Max is gone, and only the spirit remains.

I’m a shadow of what I once was, and I fade more by the moment.

I remember that I had to do this, though.

I have no regrets. I can see regret on the faces of others around me. I can see sadness and melancholy, regret and despair. I have none of those feelings, though. The little that drifts through my mind isn’t sadness.

I’m being patient.

I’m waiting for something.

Or someone.

I just…don’t remember what. Everything’s gray and hazy, and so is my memory. So I drift amongst the other spirits, all of us noncorporeal. They’re little more than shadows, and we all wander aimlessly in the Field, waiting. Waiting for something. I scan unfamiliar faces, hoping that one of them will somehow wake that sleeping, dormant part of my mind, but they never do.

So I drift, like the fog, and I wait.

And wait.

75

I ’m floating in nothingness, just waiting, when there’s a noise that sparks a distant memory. An angry roar of frustration that sounds achingly familiar.

I know that voice…

I turn, trying to focus, when I see a storm of pure black-cloaked fury shove through the sea of souls around me. He stands out amidst the gray, as beautiful and unearthly as he ever was, and as he pushes through the crowd; the souls of the dead pause to watch him.

Rhagos.

The Lord of the Dead. God of the Underworld.

I know him. The scatter of my thoughts comes together a bit more and I move forward, trying to make my way toward him in the press of souls. I need him, I realize, and the thought is strange and wonderful, and it drags me out of this fog of nothingness and brings with it memories.

Memories of Rhagos touching me.

Memories of Rhagos holding my head above the water as we bob in the ocean. Memories of Rhagos watching me as I undress. Rhagos’s hand hovering over my face, the grief in his eyes as I die in his arms.

I remember this. I remember him.

He turns away, clearly not seeing what he’s looking for in the sea of faces. Did he…did he not come for me after all? Was it just a dream? I make a soft sound in my throat—

Rhagos turns, his cloak swirling behind him. Our eyes lock, and then he sees me. His eyes are so, so green, and so incredibly intense that they sear me right to my soul. I remember that gaze.

I’m here, I want to say, but nothing comes out. It’s like being a spirit has taken away my ability to feel, to think clearly, to remember…to speak to him. Or maybe people like me—mortals—can’t speak to the gods. Whatever it is, when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

He strides toward me with two brisk steps, and he’s so overwhelming and alarming and inhuman that when the other souls shrink back, I do, too. That makes him pause, and he flinches, his gaze on me at all times.

“Max,” he says, and there’s such sorrow and hope and something else in his gaze that it makes me want…something. If only I could remember…

The god of death extends one hand out to me and waits. His expression is calm, patient, even though his energy is seething all around him, a black cloud of magic that envelops him whenever he moves. He keeps holding that hand out to me, not moving a muscle, and I somehow know that even if it takes me a thousand years to reach for that hand, he’ll wait for me to take it.

He’s safe.

He’s mine. I remember that.

Cautious, I drift forward and put my fingertips in his.

THE WORLD FLARES BACK to color around me, emotion and heartache and breathing and love and hate and fear and joy and everything roaring back in a flood. I choke on the tidal wave of being human again after being adrift for so long and it takes me a moment to absorb it all. I collapse where I stand, unable to bear the weight of everything at once.

A hand touches my trembling back. Warm. Familiar. Pepperminty. “I’m here, Max. I’ve got you.”

It’s Rhagos, and his voice is so familiar and warm and deep that it brings a sob to my throat. I struggle to sit upright, even though my face—I have a face again—is covered in snot and tears and I’m gasping for air. I’ve forgotten how to be mortal, somehow, as I drifted with the others. “I couldn’t think,” I manage to choke out. “I wanted to call to you but I couldn’t think in there—”

“It’s the Field of the Forgotten,” he says, voice gentle. “It takes away all emotions and memories so the dead don’t suffer as they wait.”

“It’s horrible,” I cry out, shuddering. “I didn’t even know you—”

“I’ll change it,” he says quickly. “I’ll change it. Just…don’t cry, Max.”

Don’t cry? I look at him, utterly incredulous. Here’s here in front of me, so gorgeous and real that I’m trembling with his nearness and my thoughts are flooding full of emotion and I’m not supposed to cry?

I burst into tears even as I nod, and reach out to touch his face.

“Max,” he murmurs again. He leans into my touch, pressing his cheek to my palm, and he reaches for me, too. “I love you.”

My brain pauses to interpret that, to flip it around…when I realize I don’t have to. “Are you…are you lying?”

“Never,” he rasps, and that hot, soul-devouring look is in his eyes as he gazes at me. “I’m never going to lie to you again, Max. I love you. I mean that. It’s me telling you that, not Lies, not Apathy, nothing. It’s just me and I love you.”

I should be mad at him. I should be furious that he lied to me so very much, that he took my trust and abused it for his own needs…but it’s been so long and I’ve missed him so much. All of my anger fades away in a single heartbeat.

I fling my arms around his neck and slam my mouth to his. Our lips crash together, so hard that my lip gets cut on my own teeth, but I don’t care. He’s warm and tastes like the Rhagos I remember and I’m kissing him as frantically as he’s kissing me. We devour each other, his hands all over me and mine on him. I touch him everywhere, my hands on his face, in his hair, sliding to his arms and his chest. He’s completely dressed, wearing form-fitting black that hides all of his glorious skin from me, but I don’t care. I’m touching him and that’s all that matters. I clench my hands in his thick clothing, fisting the soft material as if it’ll somehow keep him at my side forever.

His hands are on the sides of my face and he’s kissing me frantically, his tongue sweeping over mine with deep, devouring strokes that I feel right down to my core. “Max,” he murmurs, his mouth breaking from mine. “Max. I didn’t know you were there. I would have come earlier, but I didn’t know—”

“It’s okay,” I promise him, panting. “You found me. That’s all that matters.”

“How did you get back here?” He searches my face, his gaze darting back and forth as if he wants to commit me to memory.

“I made Faith work with Yulenna to bring me back,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and kissing the palm over and over again. I can’t stop touching him. I’ve been without him for so long that it hurts, and every kiss, every caress eases some of the ache. “I made them drag me back through to this web and then I killed myself because it was the only way I could get back to you—”

“No,” he growls.

“Yes.” I shake my head. “It’s done. I’m dead. And now I belong to your world. We can be together—”

He shakes his head, and there’s such longing in his eyes. “They will not let me keep you. They’ll separate us again. They want to punish me.” Anguish is etched into his face. “You should have lived—”

“Shhh.” I press my fingertips to his mouth. “It’s done. I’m here. I’m a dead mortal, right? This is where I’m meant to be—right here in your kingdom. They won’t take me away from you again. I promise.”

He looks so sad for a moment. “You can’t make that promise—”

“I’m not giving up on you,” I vow to him. “Just because everyone else has doesn’t mean I will. We’re going to find a way to be together, Rhagos. And—”

Then he kisses me again, such joy and yearning in his touch, that I forget all about everything but him.

I’m naked—the dead don’t need clothes, after all—and his hands move all over me, warm and real, and I want to weep with the joy of it. “Please,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He groans and bears me down to the cold floor, and I wrap my legs around his waist, utterly frantic. His mouth is on mine, our breaths mingling, and I don’t know who’s kissing who. Rhagos tears at his clothing, shoving his tunic aside and kicking his pants down his legs all the while his mouth devours mine. The heat of his cock brushes against the inside of my thigh and then he thrusts into me, hot and deep and so welcome that I sob.

Rhagos goes still over me. “Max?” His gaze searches mine, worry on his face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I breathe, and grab his hair, pulling his face down to mine again. “I’ve missed you so much. Just…keep touching me. Don’t ever stop.”

I sob again as he pumps into me once more, and then we’re fucking, hard and fast and frantic, our bodies slapping so loudly together that I should be embarrassed but I’m not. All I’ve ever wanted is this man and his touch, and I love how quickly he loses control, how much he needs me…and how much I need him. He comes with a shout, driving into me with wild, erratic thrusts as his climax takes over him, and I hold him against me, stroking his hair and murmuring his name as he shudders over me. I don’t care that I didn’t come. This was a reunion, and it doesn’t have to be about a climax.

At least, I tell myself that until he kisses me again and pushes his hand between our bodies. He rubs my clit until I’m gasping with my own climax a split second later, arching up against him as he watches me with that hot, possessive look on his face.

“My Max,” he murmurs. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” He leans in, rubbing his nose against mine. “I never want to let you go again.”

“Good thing,” I tease lightly, tugging him down over me as I struggle to catch my breath. “I never want to be let go of, ever again.”

Rhagos peppers a dozen kisses on my face, each one more frantic than the last, as if he’s afraid I’m going to be dragged out of his arms.

I hold him close, basking in the warmth of our quick round of dirty sex, and glance around the room. It’s a little cold in here, my backside on a stone floor, and I notice for the first time that this must be his throne room. There are pillars lining the walls and a black and red motif, and a whole lot of broken shit piled around us. There are bones everywhere, bent metal, and broken pottery. “So, uh, nice place?”

“It is a wreck,” he mutters between kisses, his hand possessively on my thigh, as if he wants to keep my legs wrapped around him forever. “I was rather angry when you were taken from me. I’m still angry.” Rhagos’s grip tightens on my hip, and his gaze meets mine. “Max…we need to talk.”

“We do,” I say with a sigh. “It’s nice to be able to talk to you without lies, though.” I caress his face, my thumb skating over his mouth. “Really, really nice.”

He nips at my thumb, the movement playful, but there’s pain in his gaze. “That’s what we need to talk about.” He presses another kiss to my palm. “I’m…not a good man, Max. I lied to you.”

“I know.”

“No,” he says harshly. “You don’t know the depths that I lied to you.” His eyes close and his face tightens, and then Rhagos buries his head against my neck, as if he can’t bear to look at me. “It’ll change the way you feel about me, Max. You’ll hate me, but… you deserve to know the truth—”

“Which part are you going to tell me about?” I ask, lazily trailing my fingers through his hair. “The part where you made Sister Tilari lie to me? The part where you were going to feed me to the dragon, or the part where you could have broken our bond at any time?”

Rhagos stiffens against me—a not entirely unpleasant feeling, given that he’s still buried deep inside my body. “You knew?”

“Not until after I died. The Spidae showed me everything.” I touch his face again, wanting to memorize it with my fingers. God, I love the sight of him so much. I drink his expression in, because I could spend a million years just looking at his face. His too-much nose, his too-much mouth, the too-intense eyes. I love all of him. He’s perfect to me. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re…not?” There’s a slight break in his voice, as if he doesn’t quite believe me.

“When I said I trusted you, I meant it.” I cup his cheek, skimming my thumb over cheekbone and then jaw. I can’t stop touching him. I have a feeling I won’t be able to stop touching him for weeks on end. Months, maybe. Years. “Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve attempted to do, I understand. At first, I think you did it to save yourself, because you were so lonely, and I can’t be mad at that. How can I? No one’s understood you, ever.” My throat tightens as I remember the swarm of his memories, the utter feeling of desolation. “You wanted a companion. A friend. It wasn’t about me, not at first. And then you met me, and…it changed, didn’t it? You didn’t expect to fall in love with me.”

He nods, once, eyes shining with the intensity of his emotions. “I didn’t know…didn’t realize…from the moment I met you, I fell for you. You were the first one that wasn’t…afraid of me. You didn’t want anything from me.” He presses his mouth against my hand, and his voice is rough. “You wanted to be my friend…and you didn’t want anything other than to do what was right. You wanted what was right for me, and what was right for others. You’re too good, Max, and I wasn’t fair to you. I don’t deserve you.”

“You were Lies. And apparently for a while there at the beginning, Apathy and Arrogance. I don’t hold it against you. Rhagos, I might not agree with the methods you took, but I understand them. And when I said I was yours, and that I would always have your back, I meant it. Now and forever. We’re a team.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Rhagos whispers.

“I know,” I say cheerfully. “But you get me anyhow.”

He buries his face against my shoulder again and holds me so close that it aches. It’s a good sort of ache, though. It’s the kind of ache that makes my heart squeeze and my soul full of joy.

I love this man—this god—and I’ll do anything for him.

I lie there on the floor with my arms wrapped tight around him as he holds me, and eventually the pleasure of the embrace starts to give way to chills. I’m still naked, and his body is warm over mine, but my butt is getting cold. I wiggle under him. “So do we live in this room now? Or does the Underworld have a private chamber for its ruler?”

Rhagos chuckles, the sound raw, as if he’s not used to laughing, and it breaks my heart all over again. I can’t imagine the agony he’s gone through for the last few weeks, imagining that he’ll never see me again. I’ve gone through agony, too, but he’s been so lonely that it tears at me. I never want him to hurt, ever again. “There is an entire palace waiting for its queen,” he says, lifting his head to watch me fondly. “And that is just the beginning. The Underworld is an entire world unto its own, and you will rule at my side.” He thinks for a moment, frowning, and then leans down and gives me a kiss. “If you want to. Please.”

I like that “please.” Something tells me it’s a lot for him. “As long as we’re together and you listen to my ideas to make this place better.”

“I already have. That’s how I knew you were dead…in the Field of the Forgotten.” A flash of pain crosses his face, as if he doesn’t like the thought of me dying. “Atollo serves me now. He mentioned that you were in his sister’s prayers.” His face spasms with pain and he clenches me against him again. “Don’t ever do that sort of thing again—”

“Pretty sure I can’t,” I manage as he squeezes me tight. “I think I’m dead for good now.”

He lifts his head and gives me such a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I made my choice to be with you. I’d make it a thousand times again.”

Rhagos pulls me upright, and then he strokes the hair back from my face. “Would you…like to see my home?”

“More than anything.” I glance down at my nudity. “I probably should get dressed first, though.”

“I like you like this,” he says, and the expression on his face is ravenous. “Ready for me to claim at any time.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure we’ll scare anyone we run across—”

“They would not dare say anything bad about their queen,” Rhagos growls. “I will fuck you in front of all of them and they will say nothing at all, because they exist at my whim.”

Oh lord, that makes me utterly breathless. I’m both turned on and appalled. “First of all,” I manage, “I’m going to need clothes at some point. Second of all, I’d rather us fuck in private. And third…we should probably talk about the whole kinder, gentler god of death thing before we start throwing around phrases like ‘they exist at my whim.’”

One big hand goes to my naked breast, and then he leans in to nip at my neck. “Then we should go to my private chambers,” he murmurs. “And have long discussions. But I don’t want you clothed for any of them.”

His hand slides between my legs, and I can’t disagree. Long, hard, achingly rough discussions sound like just what I need.

76

I t’s sometime, hours later, when I’m curled up in Rhagos’s arms as he peppers my shoulder with love bites and tells me about his plans to change how the newborn dead are sorted that the world turns topsy-turvy again.

Everything blurs in front of my eyes, and I hear Rhagos’s pained shout from a distance as everything stretches tight and then I’m jerked forward.

I’m flung onto stone floors on hands and knees, naked, and when I look up, I’m in the Spidae tower once more, the endless cocoon of spiderwebs overhead. Nearby, one of the Spidae stands in his pale robe, his hand on one of the webs, as if he’s just plucked me here.

Well, fuck.

I get to my feet, wincing. “I’m really starting to hate the sight of you, no offense.” I dust cobwebs off my bare skin and squeeze my legs tightly together, because Rhagos and I just finished having sex and I’m pretty sure I can feel his spend running down the insides of my thighs. It’s…awkward.

To my relief, Yulenna comes forward with a long, draping robe and tugs it over my shoulders. She gives me a hint of a smile and then nods at the Spidae before leaving once more.

“Thank you,” I say. I guess it won’t kill me to be civil. I guess. “Can I go back to him now?”

“Can you?” the Spidae asks, tilting his head. “My visitor wishes to see you first.”

I push my hand through my sex-rumpled hair and I’m acutely aware of how I look—like I just rolled out of my lover’s bed. Which, okay, I did. It took a while for us to get to the bed, but we eventually got there. “Now’s not a great time.”

The Spidae just smirks, then turns and leaves the room. I watch him go, wondering if I should follow. There’s a soft noise behind me, and I turn.

Coming out from behind a second web that spreads through the large tower room is a man.

No…a child, I decide. His body is young and slim, his shoulders small in the way that only a young child’s are. He’s utterly naked except for an iridescent bit of material tied at his hips. His skin is a rich, deep shade, contrasting with his white, white eyes and ice-blue pupils. His head is entirely bald, and as I watch, long, thick hair of a jarringly bright yellow-orange sprouts from his scalp and tumbles down his back, like a Chia Pet on crack.

I can’t help but stare.

He smiles at me, and his eyes change colors, going from blue to a deeper green. His hair darkens, turning a deeper orange and then to red, like a sunset. His skin turns a little paler, a little richer with gold, and I have a feeling that he’s all colors and none, and that he can change his appearance to whatever he feels like this day. He’s growing hair because it unsettles me to see a young boy bald—just as he’s wearing a loincloth because it would unsettle me to see him naked.

I don’t know how I know this, but I do.

This is the High Father.

I stare into his eyes, and it’s obvious that I’m right. His eyes flip to an intense silver, and then flood darker, becoming a deep, rich brown before lightening to amber. It’s not the colors that give it away, but the look on his face. His form might be ten years old—theoretically—but his eyes are thousands of years old. Hundreds of thousands, maybe. There’s a staggering amount of knowledge in them, of emotion and understanding.

And he’s looking at me with both curiosity and affection.

“Hi,” I croak out, and drop to my knees. It feels like the right thing to do.

I should get up, I realize a moment later. He doesn’t want to be bowed to. He’s just here to understand what’s going on. He needs to meet me and see for himself what is causing such a commotion.

I press my hand to my forehead, even as I stagger backward, because the flood of thoughts—not my own thoughts—is a little much to take in.

“Is this better?” His voice is ten in one, baritone and bass and treble and a dozen mellifluous notes blending together.

It’s haunting and creepy, but it’s better than him just projecting his thoughts into my mind. “I…think so?”

“I do not speak with mortals often. It was too much for you, perhaps.” There’s no apology there, not from this delicate being of ultimate power. He studies me and I can’t quite decide if he’s looking at me like he would a bug, or a particularly thorny knot that needs to become unraveled. “You know why I am here.”

“I’m…in trouble?” I guess, feeling a bit like I got called to the principal’s office.

“Trouble?” He makes a noise that might be a yes or a no. “I wish to understand why you have chosen this. We sent you home. Is this not what you wanted?” His eyes flood to a pale, pale green as he studies me, and his hair bleeds to black.

I shake my head. “I wanted to stay with Rhagos. You’re wrong about him.”

“I created him. Why do you assume it is I who is wrong?”

I lick my lips, feeling nervous. A thousand arguments fall away. Everything I want to say feels silly. No one believes in him. No one has his back. No one loves him. No one gives him a chance. But all of those things sound…pathetic in the face of this being. “Um…”

He nods, blinking slowly. “May I look for myself, then?”

Before I can answer, the High Father is in my head once more. I drop to my knees, overwhelmed, as he picks through all of my memories in the blink of an eye. He flicks through my thoughts—my childhood, my teen years, my working days—and speeds past them, stopping to my memories of Rhagos. Those move slower but somehow still in the blink of an eye, and I’m able to only catch a few flashes of thought here and there as the High Father absorbs what I know.

And then he matches it with the thoughts of others, and they all flood through me.

Atollo, who serves him now in the Halls of the Dead. Who has all the leeway of a god and can go where he chooses, and leaves messages for his sister and looks after his old crewmates. It is more than he expected, and he wants to be a guiding light to those that die in shipwrecks. He can do more for people. So much more.

Sinfas, who waits with others of Vor’s chosen on an island in the Underworld. It’s not quite what he wanted, but he waits for his god to remember him so he can serve. Until then, he sails with others of Vor’s devoted and has adventures of a different kind, and it is not what he expected…but it is still good. He is content. Happy, perhaps, even if he is not at Vor’s side.

Varias, who isn’t welcome at Rhagos’s side despite being his anchor, yet isn’t cast back down to the Pit of Despair again. Rather, he’s been “housed” of sorts on a far-flung part of the underworld, where he lives quietly with an old friend who died in childhood. He relives joyful moments and spends his days racing through fields with his dog at his heels.

Birkef, who hugs Tadja as they sleep in their small hut and exclaims how he feels better every day. He doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t, either, but she’ll take it.

The sailors of the Darkwitch, who Rhagos put to rest, even after they attacked us. The dead in Port Tidewater. The dead in Balsingra, all sent to the underworld while the Anticipation went on, because I couldn’t bear the thought of them trapped and in pain. The stillborn dead, who never drew a breath, who even now are gathered by motherly souls and taking them out of oblivion at Rhagos’s orders, to a new place. They will be tended, and when they are ready, given another try at mortal life.

Kassam, who—

No. The High Father cuts that thought off. “That is not for you to know.”

I swallow hard, pressing my fingers to my mouth, because my head feels just a wee bit violated. I’m dizzy with everything, and I suck in deep breaths so I don’t vomit on the High Father’s dainty, childlike feet.

“You say that he has changed,” the High Father tells me in a kind voice. “But he did not do those deeds because he is kind. He did all those things for you.”

“Why does it matter why he did them?” I shake my head. “As long as he does them? You want him to have an anchor to be more understanding of mortals. What better anchor for him than me? He loves me. He listens to me. If you want him to change, it’s not going to happen overnight. It’s going to take time.”

“You argue for him, yet he is still cruel and careless.”

My head hurts. First I had to convince the Spidae, then Faith, and now the High Father? I’m so tired of this. “I didn’t realize you were looking for perfection right out the gate. Clearly that’s working so well for you, given that you have to keep exiling the gods to get them to shape up, right?”

He stares at me, and his eyes flood black even as his hair flares red.

That’s…alarming. “Sorry,” I say grudgingly. “I’m tired. I just…I want someone to see him like I see him. No one can rule in a vacuum and not go crazy, you know? Just because he needs feedback and the occasional nudge in the right direction doesn’t mean that he’s a bad guy. It just means he’s been in an echo chamber for too long. Being Death has isolated him from the others, and he just needs…perspective. Someone to tell him when he fucks up.” I wince, because I just cussed in front of an all-powerful deity and it somehow feels wrong. “Sorry.”

“And you think you are the one to give him such feedback? Why?” He blinks again, as if he’s not used to such a mannerism. “Why are you so loyal after all he’s done to you?”

“Because he’s worth it,” I say, stubborn. “Because he would never give up on me. Because he could have stopped bothering with me a hundred times over and chose to save my life even if it didn’t work with his plans. Because if you give him a chance, he can be a good person. I’ll never give up on him. I don’t care if you send me away again. I’ll find some way back to him.”

The High Father smiles, and I can’t tell if he’s amused by me or filled with pity…or if I’m convincing him. His eerie, too-old-but-too-young features are throwing me off. “And what would you do with someone that broke your rules? You would reward them?”

“Not a reward, no. Because there shouldn’t be a punishment and reward system.” I shake my head. “I would try to understand why it happened. See why they did it…and if someone’s so achingly lonely that he’s willing to break everything for a friend, then maybe I’d give him that friend.” I try to keep the accusation out of my tone, but I’m probably not very good at hiding it.

The High Father just watches me. “Friends? We both know you’re more than friends.”

“I love him,” I say, unashamed. “I love who he is, flaws and all. He might not be perfect, but that doesn’t mean he’s not worthy of love. That doesn’t mean people should give up on him. It means when he makes a wrong move, he should be questioned, not slapped. And if he’s that lonely, that should be fixed. No one deserves to be miserable.” I lick my lips, more than a little afraid, but it has to be said. “I want to stay—more than anything, I want to stay. But if I can’t, can you please give him someone else to love? So he won’t be alone?” Hot tears spill down my cheeks and I swipe at them in irritation. Now’s not the time to cry. “I just don’t want him to hurt anymore.”

The High Father moves forward, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m still on my knees. He touches my face with his fingertips, and it feels like being caressed by nothing at all. It’s cool and airy and yet there’s no weight behind the touch as he brushes the last of my tears away. “Perhaps you are the right anchor for him after all.”

“I am? I—”

The world rips away.

A SCREAM of frustration builds in my throat, and when it dies, I realize I’m back in bed with Rhagos. I’m screaming into his ear.

My scream dies with a gasp, and then I let out a sob and clutch him to me, trembling.

“Max,” he says, and he holds me so tightly that it could leave bruises. “I’m here, Max. I’m here. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Panting, I look down at him, into his beautiful, confused face. “I’m back?”

“You didn’t leave?” He holds me tighter, suspicion knotting his brow. “Or did you—”

“No,” I gasp. “It’s okay. Really.” I touch his face all over, then smooth my hands down his naked shoulders. “If he sent me back, then we…we must be all right.”

“The High Father,” Rhagos says flatly. “He spoke to you.”

“He did.” I suck in a deep breath, and then meet his eyes. “I think…I think we’re okay?”

Before he can respond, there’s a subtle tug between us, and Rhagos’s eyes widen. I feel it in the same moment—that unfathomable tether between us sliding back into place.

I’m his anchor again.

Rhagos lets out a groan and holds me against him. “Max,” he says thickly. “You fought for me and won.”

“We fought together,” I promise him. “But we’ve got to work on things. We’re going to make this better. And I’m going to be at your side.” I smile at him, so full of joy. “Forever.”

He bears me back down to the bed, and then his big body is on top of mine. He looks down at me with a frown, touching the shimmery gown that I didn’t wear the last time he gazed down at me, the gown I got from the Spidae. “They are going to let me keep you,” he murmurs thickly, a look of wonder on his face.

“I’m not a pet,” I point out. “I’m your partner.”

“You are my everything.”

It’s hard not to preen at that. “I’m probably going to push you a lot.”

“I need pushing,” he agrees, even as he slides my thighs open and brushes the gown aside. I’m wet and slippery for him—god, always—and he rubs his fingers over my clit, watching my face as he touches me. “As long as you’re mine, you can do all the pushing you want, my sweet Max.”

I gasp as he slips a finger inside me, curling it ever so slightly to hit that perfect spot that makes my legs twitch in the best way. “What…about…Varias?”

“Must you bring him up when I have my fingers deep inside you?” Rhagos presses a kiss to the tip of one breast, not letting up on my pussy. He drives into me with his fingers, then pauses to rub his thumb against my clit. “I don’t want to think about Varias ever again. I’ll send him to the Pit of Despair forever if it means I never have to look at his face again.”

I grab a fistful of his thick hair and hold him off before he can lower his mouth to my nipple again. “That’s the problem, Rhagos. He was your anchor. He served you. He doesn’t deserve to go to the Pit just because you don’t like him.”

He growls low, his tongue snaking out to tease the nipple I won’t let him put his mouth on. I suck in a breath, because that’s both the hottest—and most frustrating—thing I’ve ever seen. “He’s not at the Pit right now,” he grumbles. “Have I not rewarded him enough?”

“You tell me. Have you?”

Rhagos’s nostrils flare with irritation, but he simply considers me. “What would you like for me to do with him, then?”

“I think you should decide.”

A look of impatience flashes across his face, and he sighs, pausing. His fingers are still inside me and he looks away, thinking hard.

I hold my breath. He needs to make the right decision, but at the same time, I have to trust that my instincts are right. That he’s good at the core, just needs a push.

“I think…” Rhagos pauses, and then lowers his head to my breast. This time, I let it happen, and he gives me a languid lick that makes my toes curl. “I think I will speak with the Spidae. Have him given a new chance at life where he is not killed simply because he was in the way of our being together.”

“That’s great,” I say happily. “I love that idea.”

“Good.” He grunts, and then nips at my breast. “Now can I get back to making love to you?”

“Absolutely,” I breathe, and when his thumb rubs over my clit once more, I don’t protest at all.

EPILOGUE

“Y ou’re eating again?” Yulenna makes a noise of disgust as she stares at Faith through the web. Her hands are full of the dress she’s sewing, the multicolored fabric shimmering in her arms. “I thought you just ate.”

“I’m eating for two,” Faith protests, shoving the world’s largest bite of cheese into her mouth. She shrugs and keeps right on eating. “I mean, come on. You know I’m pregnant. This war baby wants to eat, and so I’ve gotta feed him. That plus the anchor thing means I’m constantly shoving things into my mouth.”

I snicker.

Faith points through the web. “I heard that, Max.”

“You totally set yourself up,” I say cheerfully, and hide my own dish of fruit and cream so Yulenna won’t point out that I’m eating again, too. Faith loves to take every chance she can to point out that she’s pregnant, which is adorably cute, and I’m thrilled for her.

Me, I just like eating and not gaining weight, so I eat all the time, too.

“Besides, you should be eating more often,” Faith points out, taking a large bite as she points the cheese toward Yulenna like a finger. “You’re anchoring for three. How is it you’re not eating all the time?”

“Oh, I am. Just not food.” Yulenna gives us both a wicked smile.

“My eyyyyyyes,” Faith cries, pretending to cover her eyes in horror. “They’re burning! Why did you give me that mental image?”

I just giggle. Yulenna does, too.

It’s our morning ‘conference call’ in front of the web, and I’ve come to look forward to this so much. The Underworld is a vast place, and learning to be its anchor-slash-queen means it’s not easy to find my place among the people here. They don’t know how to act around me, and because I’m tied to Rhagos, it’s hard to make friends. I’m doing my best to be friendly and approachable, but I absolutely understand his loneliness after being Death’s woman for the last few months. There’s a deep-seated fear that comes with the position of Death, like Rhagos is going to punish someone for all eternity if they speak wrong. It’s going to take time to break that way of thinking.

The communication webs help out. There’s one set up in Rhagos’s throne room, and one in the Plane of Storms, one in the Spidae’s tower, and Yulenna, Faith and I have a chitchat every morning just to shoot the shit and talk among friends. It helps me spend time when Rhagos is busy, and helps keep me grounded, too. It’s also the best way to get girl talk and gossip, and boy, Yulenna loves to gossip. The Spidae don’t seem to care as long as it’s just with us, and after watching some of their interactions through the web, it’s clear that no matter how much I might dislike the Spidae or find them creepy, they absolutely dote on Yulenna.

Just like Rhagos dotes on me, I think fondly, and steal another mouthful of fruit and cream.

Yulenna shakes her head, chuckling, and adds a few stitches to the dress she’s making. This one’s for me, though there’s plenty of dressmakers here in the Underworld all clamoring to make me gowns. Apparently the dead, just like in life, get bored and love being useful—something I’ve been encouraging Rhagos to put to better use. So the Underworld Palace is currently full of dressmakers and cooks, scribes and armorers and pastry makers and gardeners and basically it feels like I’ve fallen into the dead version of Downton Abbey, but at an impossibly immense scale. I’ve tried telling Yulenna that I don’t need another dress, but I think she just likes sewing. Faith has told me she already has half a dozen gowns courtesy of Yulenna and her needle.

Hmm. Maybe I should convince my fleet of dressmakers to make a few things for Faith and her baby bump. I know if Rhagos gets one more cloak, he’s going to start throwing things.

Well, not really. Death hasn’t had a single temper tantrum since I returned. He sometimes gets pissy, but I’m good at calming him down. Mostly, he just needs to talk out his frustrations and he never had someone to talk to before that would call him on his shit. We’ve argued a few times—Rhagos is stubborn and not used to being told that he’s wrong—but we always make up quickly and he always, always listens to me.

Sometimes I think we pick fights just because making up is so much fun, and the thought makes me blush.

“Max?”

I blink, straightening in my throne. “What?”

Yulenna giggles and Faith rolls her eyes. “She’s daydreaming about her lord again.”

I blush harder. “I’m totally not.”

“You are,” Yulenna says. “You have that look on your face that Faith gets.”

“Guilty,” Faith chimes in. “But you totally just missed what Yulenna shared, Max. And it was juicy.”

“Oh? What was it?” I politely pay attention, or at least pretend to, even if I’m thinking about finding Rhagos and pretending to be angry just long enough to straddle his lap and start kissing him.

“It’s Kassam,” Yulenna says in a near whisper. She leans forward, the web showing me her expression of fascination. “I was looking at the webs and I noticed…there’s a thread of one of the gods pulled to the other web. I think it’s his.”

I frown, toying with the last bit of my fruit. “I’m not following.”

“It means he’s on Earth,” Faith says triumphantly. “Someone snaked him away from Riekki and sent his ass to Earth. I can only imagine how that’s going.” She chuckles. “I pity whoever gets stuck anchoring that situation.”

Yulenna puts a finger to her lips. “Don’t share this beyond the three of us. Our secret.”

“Um…” I raise my hand, as if I’m in class. “I’m totally telling Rhagos. I tell him everything.”

“You two are so goofy over each other. It’s adorable.” Faith shrugs. “And I thought it was okay to tell Aron everything. I always do. We’re supposed to keep this stuff secret?”

Yulenna just gives us both exasperated looks. She glances behind her and then gets to her feet. “I must go. I am needed. I will talk to you both tomorrow.” She smiles at the web, passes her hand over it on her side, and fades away.

“Great, now I’m going to be picturing her with all three of the Spidae at once,” Faith says, wrinkling her nose as she puts her food down. “There was a mental image I could do without.” She glances over at me. “So, how’s Rhagos and his two eyeballs?”

I give her a sweet smile. “They’re great. How’s Aron and his one?”

“Bitch,” she says affectionately. It’s turned into a joke between us—the Rhagos I know and love had two eyes because he’d met Aron and Faith and bargained for his eye back from Aron in exchange for releasing Faith from the Underworld.

It’s a long story.

Of course, thinking of that makes me long for him, and I mentally reach for our bond. The Underworld is a vast network of dozens of quasi-planes, some for punishment, some for reward, some for sorting and waiting, but all for the dead. It can be difficult to find Rhagos without leaning on our bond, so I’ve been practicing using it—and a rune of magic now branded onto my arm—to link us instantly. “Speaking of Rhagos, I should find him,” I say. “He gets caught up with work and if I don’t pull him away, he’ll be there until the dead are begging for me to take him home.”

Faith picks up a piece of fruit and arches an eyebrow at me. “Are we talking about the same guy?”

“Har de har har. Yes, we are. Like I said, he’s changing. Wait and see.” I can’t keep the proud smile off my face. Now that he’s realized how close he came to losing me entirely, Rhagos has thrown himself into the task of becoming a more responsible Lord of Death, and I think it surprises him how much he enjoys actually meeting with the dead. Turns out they have all kinds of interesting stories and life experiences.

Who knew?

I snap my fingers before I can fade out on Faith. “While I think about it, there’s a fair amount of Adassian soldiers in the Field of the Forgotten that came in recently. Just a heads-up for you.”

“More grist for the mill. I’ll let Aron know we need to go collecting.” She nods at me. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“See you then.” I give her a wave, and then pass my hand over the web and get to my feet.

A servant is there in the throne room to pull my seat back to its spot on the dais next to Rhagos’s new throne. I thank the dead man, even though it’s hard for me to be waited on hand and foot when I can do these things myself. I’m learning that some of the dead just love to serve, and some have penances that they need to work off. As a result, we have a lot of servants in Rhagos’s dominion. Servants to move chairs, to grab dishes, to straighten the throne room and dust—not that there’s dust in the Underworld—and basically be underfoot at all times.

It’s been a process, but we’re all adjusting.

I straighten my gown, smoothing out the wrinkles from sitting. Today’s dress is a pale blue with a high collar and bare shoulders that gathers just below my bust and then falls in a massive sweep of fabric to the floor. It’s pretty and frothy and best of all, it’s easy to push up for when we want to steal a few minutes of quick, furtive sex in a chair.

Funny how I’m starting to pick out clothes based on how easy they are to have sex in. The thought makes me blush, and I push one of my billowing sleeves back, exposing the small tattoo at my wrist. I stroke my fingers over it and think of Rhagos—

—And a moment later, I appear at his side.

He sits atop his throne, sprawled and somewhat bored looking, my Rhagos. I know the boredom on his face is a mask he wears, because he has a reputation that we’re very slowly peeling back. Too much at once is chaos, so no matter how interested he might be in a particular spirit’s story, he keeps a cool expression on his face. I glance around at my surroundings. This demi-plane is the Keep of the Betrayed Swords, where those soldiers who felt betrayed by their chosen god—or Aron—and died disillusioned and forgotten. Rhagos wants to use them to raise an army, but I’m firmly against that. Just because his brother Kalos is a big fan of conquering and destruction doesn’t mean that Rhagos needs a band of conquerors of his own.

We’re working on things.

Rhagos straightens at the sight of me, a gleam of pleasure in his green eyes. He holds his hand out to me, and I move toward him, my skirts swirling, and put my hand in his. For all that he’s been working on keeping a stoic face in front of the dead, I’m his exception to the rule. He kisses my hand and gives me such a possessive smile that there’s no hiding what he thinks of me.

It makes me blush.

I love it, though. He always makes me feel special.

“My love,” he murmurs, lacing his fingers with mine. “Have I been here too long?”

“Not too long,” I say, moving to his side and looking out at the audience. I see soldiers of all kinds, wearing armor of so many different eras of Aos’s history. There’s a few women mixed in, but most of the warriors that populate the Keep of the Betrayed Swords are older and grizzled, veterans of wars that went on for too long. There’s a mixture of expressions on their faces, some angry, some resigned, some miserable. I know their stories hold a fascination for my Rhagos, and he has been meeting with them a lot lately, trying to determine how to bring purpose to their Afterlife. “I just missed you. Am I interrupting?”

“Never.” He kisses the back of my hand and gestures at one of the men standing and waiting. “I did want you to meet someone. His name is Berris.”

I turn to look at the young man. He’s wearing familiar-looking armor that I’ve seen somewhere before, and his face looks as if I’ve met him before, but I can’t place it. I think I’m meeting too many of the dead and all the faces are starting to run together. “Hi there.” I’m a little puzzled why Rhagos is singling him out, and I turn to my love, whispering. “Should I…know who he is?”

Rhagos just chuckles.

The man bows, unaware of my confusion. “My lord Rhagos has asked if I would be interested in guarding his lady anchor when he is away. It would be my honor to serve the Lord of Death and his esteemed wife.”

“Oh…cool.” I smile brightly, trying to be polite. The last thing I need is a bodyguard—no one would dare touch Rhagos’s anchor for fear of eternal shitstorms and a thousand years of torture—so there must be some other plan behind it. “Looking forward to it.”

Pleasure crosses the man’s face and I see a new gleam in his eyes—one of purpose. He nods crisply at us, and then marches away.

Rhagos gets to his feet. “I will send for Berris shortly. Any others who wish to be of service are welcome to join. Think on what we have talked about this day, and send a messenger when you wish to speak again.”

“Aye, my lord Rhagos,” one of the grizzled knights says and drops to a knee.

All of the men waiting in the Keep of Betrayed Swords drop to a respectful knee, and then Rhagos takes my hand in his, clasps it, and turns away.

A split second later, we’re back in our home, in Rhagos’s palace. As the god of death and Lord of the Underworld, Rhagos can pretty much teleport at will, which is a nice trick and one I don’t get. With my rune, I can ’port to him but nowhere else.

I thump down on the edge of the bed and recline backward, giving him an interested look. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“A favor,” he says, stripping his heavy black cloak off and tossing it to the floor of his opulent apartments. “You didn’t recognize the name?”

I sit up on my elbows, watching as he strips. “You do realize how many names are tossed at me on a daily basis?” I tease. “I can’t keep up with all of them.”

“I do,” he says.

“You’re a god. I’m a lowly mortal.”

“You’re my mortal,” he says fervently. “Nothing lowly about you.” With that, he shucks his fitted tunic and then I get to feast my eyes on bare, muscled skin and my gorgeous, gorgeous Rhagos. His back tattoos are gone, as is the one on his arm, which means I get to enjoy the sight of his tight muscles unobscured. “It’s been too many hours since I touched you, wife,” Rhagos murmurs, lowering himself down onto the bed next to me.

“Wife?” I tease. “Did we get married and no one told me about it?”

“I married you. Remember?” He leans in and begins to kiss my neck, pressing hot kisses in the spots that make me craziest.

“No,” I correct, my arms going around him. “Kemma married Taros. Max didn’t marry Rhagos.”

“Semantics,” he mutters, licking at my pulse point. “You are my wife in every way that counts.”

“Better than a wife,” I agree. “I’m your anchor. That means I’m forever.”

He lifts his head and his eyes gleam with pleasure at that. His arms tighten around me and he holds me close, and I know sometimes he struggles with the idea of having me forever. Sometimes I wake up from sleep—because I still need sleep, oddly enough—and he’s holding me so tightly that it makes my heart hurt for him. It’s like he’s afraid someone will take me from him once more.

I’m not going anywhere, though. Not now. Not ever.

“Would you like to be my wife?” he asks, his expression solemn. “My queen?”

“I would,” I tell him happily. “But it’s not necessary. I love how we are. I don’t need more.”

He leans over me, his expression so achingly gentle for the god of death, and kisses the tip of my nose. “We could have Tadja and Birkef attend our real wedding. We could go back to Hrit Unth if you like, but it might be a little frightening for the locals. There will be no hiding who we are.”

“Oh. I like that idea, but I’m not sure if we should.” I bite my lip. “I’d like to see them again, though. They were so good to us.”

“We will be good to them, I promise,” he tells me. “Did you know they’ve started to pray to the gods again? To me in particular?” Rhagos looks particularly proud of that. “All on their own, too.”

“That’s wonderful.” I know he hasn’t gotten as many prayers as he’d like in the past, but they’ve been trickling in more and more with his return from the Anticipation, and it’s encouraged him to keep making changes.

He leans over me and gives me the lightest of kisses. “They will be even more excited when they hear that my lady wife’s newest bodyguard is their son.”

My eyes widen. I squeal in delight and fling my arms around his neck. “You did that?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying my excitement. “I did.”

He remembered on his own. I’m so proud of him. “Oh, they’ll be so happy!”

“Berris is a good man. He deserves more than an afterlife of being forgotten. We’ll make it happen.” He nods at me, pleased. “He won’t serve forever. It’s just the first step into making him the man he could have become.”

“You’re amazing,” I tell him, and mean it. “I love that we’re making this place better for those that didn’t get the answers they wanted in life.” I trail my fingers down his side, loving how he feels in my arms. “I mean, it’s not their fault the gods are arrogant asses.”

Rhagos arches a brow at me. “But you love this ass, yes?”

“Oh, yeah.” I absolutely do.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Hello there!

If you made it this far, I think/hope that means you finished the book. Eeee! I hope you loved it. This book has utterly consumed my head for the last several months, and I’ve been working on it feverishly trying to get it ready, trying to get it PERFECT, and mostly just hoping and praying that it comes across even halfway as fun as it was to write.

So let’s talk about the book. Or more specifically, let’s talk about Rhagos. I knew the moment I finished BOUND TO THE BATTLE GOD that I was going to write Rhagos’s story at some point. The moment he appeared on the page, I was like YUP, HERO MATERIAL. He hits on that Hades, Lord of the Underworld vibe that obsessed me when I was a young girl. I was hugely into Greek Mythology, so if you’ve seen a bit of that influence in these books, don’t be shocked! I actually pull a lot from ancient history - Aventine is a bit like Rome and Port Tidewater (and all of Glistentide) is more like Bronze-age Athens. In my head, they exist at the same time, along with some more medieval trappings and cities, because why not?

Going into this, I knew I was going to make Rhagos a different Aspect than Aron. While it would have been a hell of a lot of fun to write another Arrogance, I felt like that would have been cheating. Hedonism Rhagos would have utterly overwhelmed Max, so I made him Lies. Also to note — I’ll probably never do a book for Apathy. Oh hi, a hero that stays in bed all day and does nothing but stare at the wall? I like a challenge, but not THAT much. So I made Rhagos Lies, and while it was fun, I also worry that it’s a little much. Only time will tell, right? My editor said she loved the twisty ‘mind-fuck’ of trying to figure Rhagos out, and I hope you did, too. Fun note - I originally was going to have Max figure out that Rhagos was Lies in the black moment of the book, but I ended up moving that ahead by quite a bit, because I wanted them to interact more and for her to call him on his shit.

Also, because I didn’t want to write the same story twice, Max is very different than Faith. Whereas Faith is utterly snarky and takes no shit, Max is more of a lover than a fighter. At heart, she’s kind and gentle and loyal to a fault, and I wanted to play with having such a trusting person mixed up with a guy that does nothing but manipulate and lie, even when he loves her. Max doesn’t catch on to his lies very quickly, and I worried that this would make her seem stupid to those that read the first book. Here’s the thing, though - she never met another Aspect before Rhagos so she doesn’t know Lies answers everything with a question. She doesn’t know to be suspicious, and when she asks Rhagos if he’s Lies, he (naturally) lies to her about that, and she trusts him. It comes to a head later and Max DOES put up with a lot, but because she’s also loving and loyal, she understands why he’s doing it, even if he hurts her.

I’m sure some of you out there screamed in frustration when you found out the level of his lies to her and she forgave him, but I hope that showing it through his eyes and showcasing a little of his desperation makes Max’s loving forgiveness seem logical. Could she have screamed and thrown plates at his head for being a liar? Sure, but isn’t it a little hypocritical to get mad at Lies for being sneaky? She accepts that he’s got both good and bad, and she wants to work on making him better. That’s why when it comes to the important things - how he treats people in the Underworld, or sending on the dead trapped in their bodies - Max doesn’t budge. She won’t let him walk all over her, but it’s in her own special way.

Anyhow, this is all me rambling as to why I made the choices I did. :)

Also, let’s acknowledge the elephant in the room (though is it really an elephant if all parties know it’s there?) and talk about Kylo Ren. HA. It’s not a secret that I love Star Wars. It’s also not a secret that I love Kylo Ren and am absolutely #reylotrash. Did I base Rhagos’s aesthetic on Kylo? 100%. The moment I saw Kylo Ren, I thought he looked like a specter of death, and it totally influenced me.

Does this mean Max is Rey and Rhagos is Kylo Ren? Nope. Max is very definitely not Rey - Rey is constantly fighting Kylo Ren, even when she doesn’t want to. I wouldn’t be good at writing a Rey type, because every time she pulled out her lightsaber, in my head, she should have kissed him. There should have been a LOT more kissing in The Rise of Skywalker. That’s all I’m saying. Also, Kylo was kind of a dick to Rey, and while I love the dark emo hero being redeemed, Rhagos is more of a cinnamon roll than Kylo Ren would ever be.

Let’s talk about a few other things that were peppered in. Like the slave girls in Hrit Svala - those are absolutely a few of Tadekha’s handmaidens that survived the Citadel. There are mentions of the war in Adassia, which was in the last book. Yulenna and Faith both make appearances. Oh, and Kassam the Lost is no longer quite so lost! He’s going to be the hero for the third, and I’m excited to write that book…but it won’t be for a while yet. :)

Oh, and I should probably mention THE DREADED POOP ROPE. You’re probably thinking, man, Ruby Dixon has a fucked up imagination. No, guys, the poop rope is REAL. I recently read a non-fiction book Batavia’s Graveyard: The True Story of the Mad Heretic Who Led History’s Bloodiest Meeting. Here’s something you might not know about me - in between reading romances, I love naval disaster books. I’m not sure why, I just do. This one’s about a Dutch frigate in the 17th century that shipwrecks on a remote island and chaos ensues. There’s a lot about the ship and daily life on this one, and the Batavia absolutely had a poop rope. I told my husband about it for days afterward, because I was so shocked at how grossly ingenious it was. He immediately asked if I was going to put that into a book, and I said yes. I mean, if you can’t write about poop ropes, what can you write about?

(How about romance, Ruby? How about that?)

Ahem.

Speaking of wonderful husbands, mine is the greatest. He made this map for me, and it shows the different portion of Aos that Max journeyed through.

Also speaking of wonderful people, shout out to Kati Wilde, who made this gorgeous cover. I love everything about it, and I love her for putting up with my nonsense.

And I suppose I’ve rambled on long enough. I hope you loved this book as much as I did. <3

Ruby

PANTHEON OF AOS

The High Father, Ruler of All

The Twelve

- Magra, Lady of Plenty

- Tadekha, Goddess of Magic

- Riekki, Peacekeeper and Knowledge-bringer

- Anali, Lady of Light and Health

- Belara - Goddess of Beauty

- Aron, Lord of Storms, Butcher God of Battle

- Kalos, One of the two Dark Brothers, Lord of Disease

- Gental, God of Family

- Kassam, Lord of the Wild, Kassam the Lost

- Rhagos, Lord of the Dead, one of the two Dark Brothers

- The Spidae, Lords of Fate

- Vor, God of Seas

NEED MORE RUBY DIXON?

All of my books are Kindle Unlimited, so why not take a stroll through my backlist and see what hits your fancy? Here are just a few suggestions depending on what you’re in the mood for. Read away!

Want to read Faith and Aron’s epic story?

Bound To The Battle God

I’ve got a shorter book set in the same world, too!

The King’s Spinster Bride

Something short and sweet?

When She’s Ready

When She’s Married

Start at the beginning of one of my series?

Fire In His Blood

Ice Planet Barbarians

Lauren’s Barbarian

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

Content Warning

Sworn To The Shadow God

Map

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Pantheon of Aos

Need More Ruby Dixon?

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

Content Warning

Sworn To The Shadow God

Map

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Pantheon of Aos

Need More Ruby Dixon?