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He wished himself anywhere else. He had stayed away as long as he could, as far away as he could, preaching and drowning men on Blacktyde. But Balon had summoned him to Pyke and Aeron had had no choice but to obey. It would have looked amiss if he had not.
How he had prayed for some calamity to keep him away until Euron was gone again.
But the Drowned God knew best. He knew what weakness still lurked within his priest, what fear. He would not take Aeron to dwell in his watery hall until such contemptible flaws were excised.
And so Aeron sat through the feast, silent and glowering. He and Alannys were the only ones not joining in the festivities and showing no enjoyment at the bounty of food and drink and entertainment. But no one expected anything else of them. His brother’s rock wife was still mourning her sons, and everyone expected a good priest to disapprove of frivolity.
The Crow’s Eye was generous with his plunder, tossing queerly shaped foreign coins to the children and gifting sparkling gems to serving wenches. The tattooed fools he’d brought in chains capered like their lives depended upon it, drawing roars of laughter from the ironmen and even garnering a chuckle from Balon. There were flagons of liquor in all the colors of the rainbow at the high table, and roasted meat of the zorses that had been displayed for spectacle before slaughter.
The priest drank only water and ate only the simple fish caught by the honest fishermen of the isles. He wanted nothing from a godless man like Euron Crow’s Eye.
When the first fingers of the night were lost to the finger dance, Aeron decided he had stayed long enough. He had a room of his own within Balon’s keep, but he would not sleep beneath the same roof as the Crow’s Eye.
“You aren’t any fun anymore, nuncle,” his niece Asha said to him, as he took his leave of Balon.
Her mother muttered a rote rebuke, but Balon smiled at his daughter’s impudence. It did not sting. Better a joyless priest than the wretched creature he used to be.
There were no ships sailing until dawn, but the tavern keeper at the port would not turn him away if he rested his bones at a corner table. Aeron had passed many a night sleeping off strong drink there in his old life.
He didn’t realize he’d been followed until he felt the increased sway of the bridge he was crossing.
“Leaving so early, brother? You have not seen half the wonders I’ve brought back.”
He thought he’d escaped the Crow’s Eye’s notice. He had not felt that terrible gaze on him all evening.
I am a priest of the Drowned God, he reminded himself. Even a godless man like Euron would not dare harm a holy priest on these holy isles.
He must have remained frozen, or slowed considerably, because the Crow’s Eye was right behind him suddenly. Aeron felt those horrid fingers combing through his tangled hair.
“Seaweed and saltwater, little brother? Tsk. I have jewels and perfume for you.”
Euron’s cold fingers parted through his hair to stroke the back of his neck.
“You can make yourself as pretty and sweet-smelling as any Lyseni catamite. You know you want to…”
If he was a true kraken, if he was a true man, he would turn and give Euron a good, hard shove and watch his vile body dash upon the rocks below. But if he was a proper kraken and a real man, he would have stuck a knife in Euron’s belly the first night.
He tried to walk and he tried to speak, but he found that he could do neither. He could only stand there, shaking. He had hunted rabbits on green land once; when the dogs cornered the creatures, they’d shook as he was shaking now. Weak. Helpless. Prey.
The Crow’s Eye pulled his hair and forced his head back.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Euron’s other hand was squeezing his jaw painfully, forcing his mouth open. His eye gleamed in the moonlight, and Aeron shut his own eyes to avoid that inhuman evil.
Euron kissed him.
Aeron wanted to bite off his tongue and spit it into the sea. Instead he pissed himself.
Euron released him, laughing contemptuously. “They said you’d turned holy man, Aeron. They didn’t mention you’d lost what little manhood you’d had.”
The bridge swayed as the Crow’s Eye stomped back across to rejoin the feast. Aeron considered letting himself fall. But he had already journeyed down to the Drowned God’s hall and been sent back up. He was not yet worthy of a place there. He had the god’s work to do yet.