Page 34 of The Coven of Ruin
Grae barked out a laugh.
“Grae, I’m serious!”
But he just shook his head and took a large bite of the berry cake. “Back to more important things, what about The Devilishly Handsome Nobleman?” Grae questioned between his bites. “No, you’re right. It’s missing something.” He chewed while in deep thought before exclaiming, “The Baron of Bloodshed! I mean, that’s perfect.”
Trista sighed resignedly.
When she didn’t see Ares again. She tracked Illean instead. He spoke to the weapon’s master, warmed up on the sidelines, and talked to two other brutish-looking mages. She found herself waiting on the edge of her seat until Illean, in full armor, stepped into the ring.
The announcer went over a list of his achievements as the crowd cheered for their hero. He was a prolific warrior in the King’s Army, from a well-to-do family, and a bachelor, of course. She noted that he had some sort of scarf wrapped around his forearm, so he must have found another witch to favor him. Illean magically enhanced his voice as people started to mutter about the lack of an opponent.
“King Damask, Prince Roan, ladies and gentlemen of the Circes, I am honored to fight for you.” More cheering ensued, and Trista looked over at the king and prince. “I have challenged The Iron Coven’s General Reas to a bout, and he has accepted. He was not officially entered in, so with your permission…”
The royals spoke quietly amongst themselves. An advisor she had seen only once before, who resembled an old toad, was bent between the prince and king. Prince Nero, the Iron Prince, seemed to not care either way. Brune, who sat with him, leaned forward as if this would be the only display worth watching. Prince Roan finally put his hand up to silence the advisor. He wanted the bout to continue.
Two other witchmen, well armored, one with an ax and another with a sword, entered the ring. “Perhaps he has had second thoughts,” Illean quipped, his laughter booming. The crowd laughed too, though hesitantly, as if they weren’t sure of the proper reaction. The sound was cut off quickly as Ares approached the ring.
Trista inhaled sharply. Ares wore no armor, and his sword sat in its scabbard on his back. He walked like someone who had done this a thousand times over. And, in a way, she guessed he had. What was this to a god whose dominion was warfare?
“If you keep acting like this, I may think you care for him. But then again,” Grae said slyly as he leaned back, “you did give him your ribbon.”
She glanced at the god, who had a playful glimmer in his eye as he placed a wood pick between his lips. “I just don’t want him to kill anyone.”
His tongue guided the pick slowly from one side of his mouth to the other as he thought. “Ares won’t kill him,” Grae finally said, “most likely. And if you’ve seen him fight, you know damn well he isn’t going to lose, especially to that fool. Just enjoy the show, Trist.”
She wasn’t necessarily concerned about Ares getting hurt from the match, more so with him killing Illean and the other two witchmen and bringing the entire kingsguard down on himself. That, she thought, he may not survive. They had dragons for the love of the Mother! And he wouldn’t be able to gate.
Ares was in the ring, and Illean was attempting to goad him from his side of it. An officiant stood in the center, looking wary. He would start the match and attempt to end it if anything untoward occurred. There was a certain danger in the tournament events, but killing one another was prohibited.
When the match started, Ares still hadn’t unsheathed his sword. As the officiating mage moved out of the way, Trista understood. The three fighters planned to take Ares out together. Illean rushed him, the other two mages side-stepping to get behind the war god. He stepped out of the way, causing Illean to stutter-step forward and swing around wildly.
When Ares did brandish his sword seconds later, Trista felt something thrilling uncoil and run through her being. Sitting forward, she watched the god who, in that exact moment, looked just like he had the night in The Arena. He was beautiful and deadly, and it was torturous to see him there.
Illean was more careful with his approach the second time. Following his lead, the other two mages were equally spread out from him. Ares, however, looked bored as he swung his sword a couple of times. She had watched him easily and efficiently cut down multiple fighters at once. This was truly nothing to him. The metal clanging on metal made her jump as Illean tried to strike him again, but Ares blocked both his hit and another mage’s strike. Illean was relying on muscle and force to win, she realized, but that meant nothing to The God of War.
Blocking and dodging, striking and moving. The crowd grew restless, their cheers and jeers growing into a wordless roar.
“He’s getting tired,” she said quietly to herself.
“Ares could do this in his sleep,” Grae observed offhandedly, “meanwhile blockhead over there is wasting all his energy and growing frustrated, and those other two fighters are pointless. Side-by-side combat takes practice, and you can tell those three have never trained together.”
Ares struck first this time, causing Illean to block. Their weapons clashed in the middle of them as they fought for control. But Ares suddenly whipped his blade out and away, causing the mage to stumble forward from the sudden lack of opposing force. While Illean faltered, Ares brought his hand down between his shoulder blades, causing the mage to face plant unceremoniously into the dirt.
Trista gasped, grabbing Grae’s knee as Ares brought his sword down to the back of Illean’s head. The officiant held up a hand in favor of Ares. One. The god pulled his sword away and walked backward, easily dodging a blow from the mage with the ax.
She hurriedly pulled her hand away from Grae’s knee while he just clucked his tongue at her concern.
Illean was red-faced and raging, his chest moving with his heaving breaths and the insults he was no doubt hurling at Ares. The God of War merely shrugged, and that was when she saw a flash of red. He had tied her ribbon about the hilt of his sword. Looking up at her at the same time, his gaze set her nerves on fire, even from that distance.
“Well,lady, even I felt that. Looks like your favor is doing him well.“ Grae snorted.
The other mage was finally able to get behind Ares and was attempting to bear hug him as Illean struck from the front. Ares threw his head back into the mage’s face, causing him to stumble back, his nose a bleeding mess. The officiant made him depart, stopping the match momentarily. Two for Ares. When the officiant stepped away from the center again to restart the match, Illean threw something in Ares’ face.
“Oi!” Grae shouted, standing up.
Ares stepped backward, his eyes scrunched shut, but his sword at the ready. Illean closed in with a dagger she hadn’t seen before in his other hand, but Ares still held him back, his sword meeting the angry mage’s blade expertly. Frenzied, Illean repeatedly attempted to stab him with the dagger, and she was almost certain none of this was permitted anymore.
“What was that?” Trista asked, concerned.
