Constantly drawn to me? A weird spasm twists my chest. Focus! “Snatch me with a magic rope?”
He laughs. “Exactly.”
My hands, which for some reason keep ending up on his waist lately, curl into fists. Beta Sinta grabs one and holds on.
“Let go,” I demand.
“No.”
My eyebrows snap together. “Why not?”
“Because your gut reaction is always to punch, and I don’t like being tickled.”
Tickled? Tickled! Indignation swamps me. I’ll show him a tickle.
Before I can move, he drops the reins and captures my other hand, easily maneuvering both my hands into one of his. He picks the reins back up with the other. As usual, he gains the upper hand with disgustingly little effort, and I end up with both arms around him, my face buried in his back.
Beta Sinta’s crisp, masculine scent of citrus and sunshine fills my nose. Hard muscle ripples under my cheek. I’m frighteningly aware of all the places his broad, powerful body touches mine, and I shiver despite the heat.
“Let. Me. Go,” I grind out.
“I. Said. No.”
I open my mouth, teeth bared.
“If you bite me, I swear to the Gods I’ll dump you off this horse and make you walk.”
I close my mouth. The town is still miles away. “I won’t bite.”
“Or punch.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re asking a lot.”
“Am I?” he drawls, tightening his grip on my wrists until I hiss.
“Ow! Fine. Or punch.”
His fingers loosen. “Is that your binding word?”
My eyes widen. Beta Sinta says he needs me for information, but he already knows more about the ways of magic than is good for me.
“Fine. It’s my binding word.” It’s like pulling my own teeth, but I’m desperate to stop hugging him. He’s too hot and…and…something.
“Ever,” he stipulates.
Something between a laugh and a snort explodes from me. “Don’t push your luck.”
“A day, then. Starting now.”
“Fine. A day,” I agree, fuming.
He lets go of my wrists. I sit up so fast I almost tumble off the back of the horse. Beta Sinta’s chuckle is almost as irritating as the jolt of magic that seals the deal. Hoi Polloi can say one thing and do another, even if they shouldn’t. They may feel guilt, or regret, or possibly nothing at all, but there are no physical consequences. I can’t get away with that.
An epic scowl on my face, I wiggle back, rubbing the finger marks on my wrists and thinking about Poseidon. Between Beta Sinta’s oracular dream and my out-of-control mouth, there’s no doubt the God is sticking his trident where it doesn’t belong. When Gods dabble in the affairs of men, anything can happen. It’s definitely not something to ignore. If my God Father wants Beta Sinta and me together, he must have a very good reason for it. Or at least I hope so.
*
We stable the horses at Pan’s Pavilion, a completely innocuous inn on the west side of town. Why Beta Sinta is entering a conquered city with so little fanfare is beyond me. What’s the point of taking over a realm just to wander around like a nobody?
He laughs when I ask. Laughs. What is wrong with these people?
“If anyone finds out who I am, we’ll be thronged,” he explains. “Better to just be a nobody if we want to make it to Sinta City before winter.”
I guess that explains his avoidance of populated areas up until now. I roll my eyes. “Oh, the woe of being adored.”
Beta Sinta grins. “It’s a hard life.”
I harrumph. Too bad I made that vow not to hit him. It would be pretty satisfying to smack the smug look off his face right now.
The five of us head straight to the market. The streets are narrow and shaded in the inn’s vicinity, but the closer we get to the agora, the more they widen, letting the afternoon sun beat down. It’s as merciless as Zeus on the top of my dark head. I can’t help wondering where a glacial lake is when I need one. Or a hat.
The architecture changes near the heart of the city, becoming ornate. Temples dot the central neighborhood, a steady flow of people moving in and out of them for prayer.
I insist on going into a sanctuary dedicated to Poseidon. There are only a few coppers in my pocket, along with the obol I wouldn’t even consider giving up. That coin is for Charon, and it’ll stay in my pocket until the day I need to pay the ferryman to row me across the Styx and into the land of the dead.
Settling on my knees in front of a huge statue of the Sea God, I bow my head, say a silent prayer of safekeeping for my friends at the circus, and then put two of my three coppers into the polished bronze bowl at Poseidon’s feet. It’s not much, and Poseidon’s followers are many, but I hope my coppers will eventually find their way to providing for people who need them more than I do.