Page 3 of Our Lady of War

Relenting, Athania nodded and traded her plum silk robe for a dusky blue gown that perfectly matched her eyes. While she dressed and brushed out her hair, Igor called for tea. One of the maids brought it up to their quarters on a silver tray with a letter. “And who is that from?” she teased him while the maid rushed over to assist her in pinning an azure comb in her hair. “Thank you, sweet,” she spoke softly to the young woman.

Igor’s brows were knit in the middle from the moment he saw the seal on the back. “The king.” He broke open the seal and slid out a small parchment with what appeared to be only a few lines of script.

The maid dipped her head and left them, Athania’s pulse racing. “Has something happened?” She watched with intrigue as Igor’s face broke into a wide smile.

“No, mi amor. Everything is perfect.”

No matter how much she begged, Igor would divulge no further information. By the time they were halfway down the corridor, Athania’s stomach was filled with butterflies. They’d had so few days together just being. In truth, Athania had lost count of her years long ago, and still, she could count on one hand the number of simple days in her life. She would give anything to stop the wars, stop the conquests, and live peacefully in their small corner of the castle. Commander Igor Rodríguez and his wife.

It was almost absurd, to be fair. The mighty Athania, Lady War, goddess of battle, birthed by Hespa from mortality unto immortality and back again. All that remained was a sorceress—a witch, they would call her in other realms. A witch who didn’t even know how to wield her magic apart from common hedgewitch medicines and balms.

Her hand tightened around Igor’s bicep, and she smiled up at him as they rushed through the castle.

“Almost there,” he whispered, lighter than she’d seen him in moons.

They passed the library and the public tea room that separated the common areas from the other living quarters within the great stone castle. Deeper they went, not one guard stopping them. No one would dare stop the commander himself, but they were dangerously close to reaching the king’s wing…

“Igor? What’s going on?”

His only answer was a grin as he pulled her along so quickly that she almost lost her heeled slipper, and a giggle escaped her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling as alive as she did with Igor. Not in the Meadow among The Primordial’s own, and never once before it. Before the Goddess Three hand-selected her to be one of Her own. A young, broken woman begging the sky to let her smile. That girl was lifetimes ago. Aeons. Before Thanasim was chosen, before any of them but Nyxia. Goddess, she did miss them. But this… Athania’s hair fanned out behind her as they ran, Igor smiling from ear to ear and looking at her as if she were the only thing to ever exist in his realm.

He pulled her to a giggling halt in front of two armed knights. Squeezing her hand once, he let her arm fall to her side and removed the letter from the king, handing it to one of the knights. The man handed the correspondence back to Igor, and his armour gave an awful screech as he moved out of their way.

“Many thanks,” Igor said as he gave a salute.

“Commander,” both knights said in unison.

“You really ought to oil that armour,” Athania murmured as they passed, and Igor hauled her along, both of them snickering.

She’d never seen the king’s wing of the castle, not in the traditional sense. The longer she was away from the Void, the less she remembered of her abilities as Lady War. They were not gods and goddesses of all-knowing power—far from it—but they had certain capabilities that presented themselves when necessary. Sometimes, the great orchestrator of wars needed to see the intimate places of rulers. Alas, now all she could remember of the Orfordian King’s wing was a fountain of a mermaid somewhere and a beautiful—

“Solarium,” she whispered as they approached a glass door.

Igor nodded at the guard posted outside and ushered Athania in. It was magnificent. Warmed by the blissful sunshine that streamed in from above, it was a perfect glass house for all manner of plant life. The decorative ironwork holding the solarium together was black as pitch, and it reminded her of Thanasim’s music solarium in Achlys, where he’d composed his death song. Athania ran her fingers over the large leaf of a plant, feeling Igor’s eyes on her.

“How did you manage this?” She turned to face him.

“I called due a few favours. We have the solarium and the garden outside all to ourselves for the entire day.” Igor prowled slowly closer, stopping only a breath from her. “This room might be made of glass, but the garden has many a secret pocket within which we can hide.” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “But first,” he whispered against her lips, “a morning meal has been provided.” Just as she was about to kiss him, Igor broke away with a grin and gestured toward the small table in the centre of the solarium. “Madame Rodríguez.” His tone sent chills up her arms.

He pulled out her chair and Athania sat, smoothing out her gown. A maid popped out of nowhere, startling her, and lifted the lid to a tray filled with fluffed eggs, shaved ham, and myriad fruits. The young maid curtsied, and Athania thanked her, turning to Igor as he sat. “This looks divine.”

Meals within a realm always felt ironic to her. Something so enjoyable as eating delicious food truly felt otherwordly, as if it should only belong in the Meadow, or Achlys, or any other part of the Void. Yet, it was far more majestic in the mortal realms. She assumed it had much to do with time trickling by so quickly for them. Us, she corrected herself inwardly. Time trickling by for us.

As they ate, they spoke of small things. Only things that brought peace and joy. Their days were so often filled with turmoil and difficult decisions, it was a welcome respite. When the food was gone and the tea kettle empty, Igor rose and extended his hand. “To the gardens, then.”

The king’s private gardens were completely off-limits to anyone not personally invited by him. When they walked through the gate, it was quite obvious why. Athania had never seen a garden rival the Meadow, or anything else among the Void, though she’d heard Thanasim tell tales of a realm with powerful creatures, and she distinctly recalled a woodland of unimaginable purple hues. The Amethyst Woodlands, if she wasn’t mistaken. Looking around at the King of Orford’s garden, she thought it might be a close second. The florals bloomed in colours she’d only seen in the Meadow.

“This is magnificent,” she breathed.

Igor smiled, the dimples in his tanned cheeks melting her heart. “Here, mi amor.” He handed her a basket she hadn’t seen him pick up. “Pick anything you’d like.”

Athania squealed like a young girl and kissed him on the cheek, one foot popping up behind her. This mortal man made her feel alive for the first time in aeons. The paradox was not lost on her that she’d given up eternal life in exchange for one quite short in comparison, yet—in many ways—much fuller.

She set about choosing very carefully what to harvest, with Igor trailing patiently behind her. One did not pick any plant or flora without a precise need for it. It does not do to pluck a beautiful thing, killing it for one’s own temporary enjoyment. Now, if it were needed for a purpose, then it gives its life with honour—a sacred sacrifice. War was really no different than gardening: knowing when to sow, when to reap, and when to abandon the fallow ground.

Using the plants for purpose was a newer practice for her. She’d long since known what each flora or herb could do and how to achieve the desired outcome, but she’d never cared to put knowledge into action before returning to mortality. When the men on the battlefield were injured, the knowledge simply rose up within her, and the poultices she created worked wonders. Asteria told her it was only a portion of the magic that still lay within her, but it was all she’d been able to find.

Still, word of her help with the soldiers had reached the king’s advisors, and she’d been asked to treat patients in the kingdom’s healing spa. It was a high honour and one that caused her heart to swell. Still, it meant she would now be separated from Igor for moons at a time while he went out to fight without her. It felt odd, the idea of helping those safely tucked away in a kingdom while men on the battlefield could need the aid more.

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