Page 43 of Flamesworn

She stared at them, exhausted and finally relaxed enough that all she wanted was to clean up and have something to eat, some water, find Stavros. The war was still there, and with it would come other things that weren’t just battle. They would have to go for the rites for the dead at sunset, and she would need to find Theron and make sure he wasn’t broken. She’d need to see her father, figure out who this Beast was, and why he’d given up when she’d said who she was.

But all of it went out of her head when Ares saidI love you.Did they mean it? They were impulsive, they were dramatic, they were desperate, a fire who ached to be stoked higher, fed more and more kindling so their flames grew taller, wider. But they were also the first person who saw all of her, saw the truth of what she ached for in the dark, and they called her beautiful.

“I love you, too, bright eyes. I think I always have.” She moved closer and they drew her in their arms, and even thoughshe was too hot and Ares felt like fire itself, she didn’t mind the flame.

Ares could have lain with Kataida for days, soaking in the memory of her hands gripping the hilt of their sword and the taste of blood on steel. Unfortunately, mortals did not obey the whims of the gods, and Kataida had to dress and leave the tent to attend the rites for those who had died on the field. Ares dressed with her, summoning a fresh uniform, and let their long hair fall free over their shoulders.

Theron was nowhere to be found, and Kataida stood near her father as the rites were spoken, the tension gone from her shoulders and her restless spirit sated, for however long that would last. Beyond the fires, Ares could see two figures standing clear of the smoke, firelight shining in their eyes. Ares touched Kataida’s shoulder and gestured toward them, and Kataida nodded, gaze fixed on their dark silhouettes.

“Azaiah.” Ares approached their brother with their arms out, and both the figures turned to look at them. Azaiah was hooded, his silver-white hair falling over one shoulder, but his companion was wearing simple traveling clothes, and his dark hair was cropped short on one side like the soldiers of the ancient Iperian empire. “It is Nyx, now? You went by a different name the last time we spoke.”

Nyx’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I recall.”

“It’s always good to see you, sibling,” Azaiah said, wrapping Ares in a warm embrace. Ares winked at Nyx from over Azaiah’s shoulder, and just as he would have done centuries ago, Nyx sighed and looked away. “I saw you on the battlefield. Kataida was wielding you.”

“Oh, yes, and wasn’t she beautiful?” Ares turned to look at Kataida, who was quietly watching them from the funeral pyres. “She swam in the currents of battle and her fire wasn’t diminished.”

“I don’t approve,” Nyx said. Azaiah gave him a subtle warning look, and Nyx stood at attention, still an old soldier after all that time. “She’s young, impulsive. This war is too personal. If you lead her down the path of vengeance, it could destroy her.”

Ares raised their brows, stepping back from Azaiah’s hold. “I may have set you on the path to vengeance, soldier, but you were the one who succumbed to it. I’ve begged her to let me tear down the foundations of her enemies’ houses with fire and blood and she said no. She’s very determined.”

“Oh! You already offered!” Nyx threw up his hands. “Wonderful. Is there nothing you don’t corrupt?”

“Nyx.” There was a hint of admonition in Azaiah’s voice, and Nyx sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She said no?”

“She wants me to be…truer,” Ares said, “closer to who I am, and not a mirror held up to mortality. It’s strange. No one has ever wanted that before.”

“I always wanted you to be yourself,” Azaiah said sadly, touching the silky strands of Ares’ hair. Of course he would say that. Azaiah could love anyone. “Are you not yourself in battle, when you dance among the arrows?”

Ares shrugged. “I am, and I’m not. We all have to be something else to mortals. They define me—how wild I feel, the armor I wear, the lawlessness or order I follow. It’s like being swept about by the wind. Isn’t that how it feels to you, when you are called to take a life across the river?”

Azaiah and Nyx exchanged a look, and Azaiah shook his head. “The last time I felt something similar, I was in dangerof falling to corruption. I think it’s important for us to define ourselves, to have an identity beyond our godhood.”

Ares sighed. “Easy for you, brother. You were mortal once. I wasn’t. I just appeared when I was needed.”

“So did Avarice,” Azaiah said, “and he had to make his own shape, in his way.”

“Was I awake for that?” Ares couldn’t remember. They’d never actually bothered to stop by Avarice’s well often, save for when they dove in after a thrilling battle between two pirate ships and listened to Avarice complain about mortals all day. “Never mind. I’ll see him eventually. But do you see her, Azaiah? Just there? Do you think she might be—” They paused. They’d thought Atreus was theirs, for a time, just because he’d offered Ares a little affection. Was Ares too quick to get to their knees for Kataida as well? “Is she special? She seems special.”

“All mortals?—”

Ares clapped a hand over Azaiah’s mouth, and Nyx moved as though to get between them. “Yes, I know, you love everyone, but is she different? Better? Lovelier?”

Azaiah gently pushed Ares’ hand away, smiling. “The fact that you’re asking for another opinion instead of just saying she’s yours forever is a change from how you viewed Atreus. And yes, she has…a spark of something, like Aleks, my heir.”

Ares turned to look at Kataida. She was smaller than the other Arkoudai standing around her, but her presence made her stand out. At first, Ares had thought it was her dominance, but now that they thought of the way their body hummed when she took them by the hilt and wielded them in battle, they could see it better. She was a rare mortal who could straddle the mortal world and the overwhelming power of the gods—someone who could, if Ares wanted to, take their mantle and let Ares pass across their brother’s river.

“Oh,” Ares said, softly.

Nyx sighed, but Azaiah stepped closer, brushing at Ares’ cheek with a sleeve. “You’re so much more emotional now than you were before.”

“I think I’m starting to understand them better,” Ares said, “people.” They ignored Nyx’s snort of disbelief. “Maybe because I’m closer to her. We’re equals, aren’t we? Me and Kataida.”

“I rather think all gods are equal to mortals,” Azaiah said. “If there were a way to weigh our souls against each other, in any case.”

“You would feel that way.” Ares couldn’t look away from Kataida. Why hadn’t they seen it before? She wasn’t just a supplicant of War. She was the spark of what could become War, if Ares left. Ares supposed they should have been jealous of her for it, but they couldn’t stop smiling.

“She does understand it, then,” they said, “the way it feels to be called to War.”

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