Page 44 of Flamesworn

“That doesn’t make her yours,” Nyx said.

“I don’t know if I want to possess her.” Ares leaned against Azaiah, draping themself over him like they used to before they went to sleep in Atreus’ tomb. As always, Azaiah just shifted his feet and braced himself so as not to drop them. “I don’t think anyone can.”

Azaiah made a soft sound of surprise. “With Atreus, it was all possession or being possessed. You spent so much time as a sword, I thought you’d forget to be anything else.”

“She wants me to be something new,” Ares said, and Azaiah patted the top of their head, something they’d never allow any of their other siblings to do.

“If you do find another form you like, can you show me?”

“If you like. Then you can call it beautiful while Nyx grumps at me.”

“I’m not…” Nyx looked like he was nursing a migraine, which should have been impossible for a god’s companion. “I’ll try to understand it.”

“You won’t. You aren’t of my realm, and if you’re my brother’s grief,” Ares added, “like the companions of Death tend to be, then that means I’ll always bother you. Grief follows War, but it doesn’t love it.” They lowered their voice, wrapping an arm around Azaiah’s neck. “But I am his favorite, so you’ll have to put up with me.”

“Ares.” Azaiah’s voice was heavy with disapproval.

“I am! I’m your favorite. Just don’t tell me if I’m not.” Ares kissed Azaiah on the cheek and winked at Nyx again, who scowled just a little deeper. “We will see more of each other soon.”

Nyx looked like he wanted to say,Unfortunately,but Ares was surprised to find he could hold his tongue better after a few hundred years of absence. They left Ares and Nyx to themselves—no doubt so they could gossip about Ares—and walked off to find Kataida.

They could sense her stronger now, like a ripple of heat on the breeze—perhaps now that they understood her better, it was easier to recognize the potential power she held. They found her in front of a tent off to the side of the rest of the army, arms crossed, while Theron kicked idly at the sand and Stavros stood before them, speaking softly. A scout in the shadows spotted Ares and made a gesture, and Stavros went silent, looking their way.

“Ares.” Kataida’s voice wasn’t warm, but Ares could see that she was pleased to see them by the way her eyes crinkled slightly. Theron cut Ares a disdainful glance, and Stavros inclined his head.

“Are you a spymaster, then?” Ares asked Stavros, crossing over to Kataida. “I thought perhaps you might be a spy from the other side, but your actions in battle proved otherwise.”

“You can’t tell if someone is loyal?” Stavros asked.

“No, but my presence tends to urge disloyal people to make bolder choices. You can’t have a conflict without a catalyst,” they added, when Theron scowled.

“That’s good to know,” Stavros said, in the tone of someone who clearly thought the opposite. “Though if you could sense spies, that would make my task much easier.”

“He thinks someone in the Strategos’ inner circle is aligned with the enemy,” Kataida said.

“Oh.” Ares knelt at her side, sighing at the sting of sand on their knees. “Is that all? Of course there is. Someone knew to leave a message on the walls of the civic building the night of the massacre at the training facility, didn’t they?”

“And their demands were left on the Strategos’ door,” Stavros said. “The sign of someone with an ego. Not only that, the Strategos and I made plans to evacuate the watchtowers in secret and relocate our soldiers. After the enemy found the next watchtower empty, I discovered that someone had tried to break into my office.” He smiled grimly. “And they’re a radical, if they meant what they said about the Strategos’ partners and child. That means they’ll try to portray themselves as mild and agreeable to avoid suspicion, particularly now they know I’m looking for them.”

“But everyone agrees with Father,” Theron said. He shrugged when Kataida glanced at him. “They do. Does going head-to-head with that Beast fellow mean I’m allowed to smoke, Stavros, or will you make me dig a grave for it and write lines about diseased lungs?”

“You already know my answer,” Stavros said, holding out a hand, and Theron cursed softly. He dug out a cigarette andhanded it to Stavros, who slipped it in his jacket pocket. “You will report to a mind-healer when we’re done here, however. That’s an order. Battle shock is dangerous if left untreated.”

“No fucking shit,” Theron whispered. His fingers were shaking as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Stavros was right. Ares could already sense the echo of the battle settling into Theron’s mind like a shadow. Like all deep wounds, it would fester if he didn’t see to it.

“You will both inform me if any member of your father’s circle speaks to you,” Stavros said, “regardless how innocuous the conversation. I expect a full report, word perfect. If I am unavailable, bring it to the Strategos alone. The Strategos and I have implied to his inner circle that you are privately in disgrace. This could encourage the enemy to show their hand.”

Theron and Kataida both saluted. Ares wondered if there was ever a time they could have mistrusted their family. Perhaps some of the old dream keepers, who weren’t always as kind as Astra. Among the gods, there were always little rivalries and alliances. Pallas, the old goddess of art, had hated Ares ever since they had buried the empire’s mosaics and statues in sand with Leviathan’s help. Azaiah loved everyone, but his predecessor had not—she’d viewed Ares with polite disinterest, for the most part, and stayed close to her companion and Avarice. And now their family had changed again. Did the gods behave that way to mimic humans, or did humans mimic the complicated social web of the gods?

Kataida tugged at Ares’ hair, and Ares looked up to find Theron had already left, stalking off into the dark line of tents. “Our turn,” she said.

Ares got to their feet. They followed Kataida into their tent, far enough from the funeral pyres that the flames looked like distant embers. Kataida collapsed on her bedroll without taking off her boots, and Ares knelt to remove them for her.

She sat up on her elbows, her face almost impossible to see in the dark. “I want to do it,” Ares said, before she could protest. “I think there are many little things I want to do with you. Earlier, I thought of brushing your hair. I’d never considered that before. It’s such a human thing, so tedious and repetitive.” They set Kataida’s boots in the corner of the tent. “Is it human to want those little things?”

“I don’t think so.” Kataida gestured, and Ares crawled toward her, letting their clothes disappear as they went. “It’s part of who you are. I know you’re submissive. Do you think there’s a part of you that likes service?”

“I would love to serve you,” Ares said, and Kataida sighed. “Not because I’m less than you. I confused that, I think, with Atreus. This is more like wanting to take care of a lovely sword because its balance is perfect and the blade cuts so smoothly, and it deserves that care.”

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