Page 43 of The Coven of Ruin
“Was not asked of you, witch. I care not about your life,” he growled. “Not in the capacity of what it can do for me or what you do with it. I told you as much when I left you at the Akeso. I would have let the Fates have their way with you in The Arena if I had known this would be the outcome.”
The words were sharper than any blade. But it was true that he had not asked her for the life debt, nor had he ever asked her to heal him. She also supposed he didn’t want her magic tainting him. All this time, she thought he might invoke the life debt or hold it over her head when in reality, he wanted nothing from her.
“Do you remember what we spoke about last night before the fever took its course?” she asked hollowly.
Ares grunted in response as he began gathering up his gear. Did he remember touching her cheek, her lip?He was a god dazed with fever. It meant nothing.“When can I start translating the missives?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight, I have business elsewhere.”
She caught herself mid-turn to leave. The things she had seen from his memories, the suffering, and the violence—it reshaped and reformed her idea of him into something else. ‘A weapon,’ Zeus had said of the godling. And that godling had been forged by blood, honed in battle. Trista knew she shouldn’t care. No matter what he was, what he had been through, he was also the very reason why witchkind struggled so much. Her logic warred with her heart until her heart, armed with only the memories she had witnessed last night, won.
She took a step toward him instead, his eyes widening only a fraction before he hid his expression altogether. But this time, she recognized it for what it was—armor. “Not everything has to be made a battle, Ares.” Warmth infused her otherwise stern words. “People are allowed to care for you. You shouldn’t force them to fight a Blood Gauntlet to do so. Tell your brothers, at least.”
Whirling around, she forced herself to not look back, even when she was almost at the outer door, and his voice traveled the distance to her. “I want death,” his tone was grave and curious, “but what is it you want?” She opened and shut the door behind her without answering.
Chapter XIX
Arespushedthemapof the surrounding area away from him with an irritated sigh. It had been an hour since the witch had left his room, and still, she lingered. Her words stuck to him like arrowheads caught in armor.Not everything has to be made a battle, Ares.She always said his name like sheknewhim—like shesawhim. And her scent was everywhere. Just when he thought he had escaped it, he would catch it again, as if a phantom was haunting him. Jasmine and bottled moonlight.
Fuck.
Grae burst into his room, breaking him free from his reverie. Brune’s massive form was steps behind him.
“Did you sleep well, godling?” Grae asked, throwing him a breakfast roll, which he caught with one hand.
“Like a babe,” he replied, biting into the buttered roll. “What’s the news?”
They unloaded their weaponry before taking seats near the fireplace, where only embers and ash remained. Ares stayed at the desk, taking another bite of the bread.
“Witch King is letting the prince handle the situation as a way of practicing his kingly duties. To summarize a very long interaction, they will push the prince and princess’ eligibility to deter the covens from asking too many questions or withdrawing completely. There’s also some event coming up that basically sounds like a witch orgy, where the prince will choose his betrothed. On top of that, they’ve emptied the barracks. There are guards everywhere to assuage the masses. There’s no way the king is involved in any of this. He’s far too kind-hearted for it all. Prince Roan though…” Grae made a motion with his hand that indicated the prince was suspicious.
“And what about our prince? Where is he now?” Ares asked, looking between them.
Brune cracked his knuckles. “Prince Nero is in a private meeting with Princess Rianne. They’re speaking of marriage.” Brune’s voice had to have been forged in the same volcanoes Hephaestus reigned over. Even after all these years, it could still take Ares off guard whenever he decided to speak.
“I guess that’s one way to dispel rumors about his coven,” Ares replied. He didn’t much care for the scheming that this mission had entailed. More used to settling conflict with steel over words, the amount of plotting and secret alliances was maddening to him.
“Pavon really should just change his symbol to a hydra with how many faces he has. He spent the entire meeting whispering into the ears of the king and prince.” Grae looked between Brune and him. “Can we please just kill him already?”
“We can’t kill the king’s consiliario,” Ares said as he swallowed the last bite of the roll, “yet.”
Brune conjured a goblet of godwine at the same time Grae pulled out a pack of cards.
Grae leaned forward, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Fine then. But come, brother, and I will tell you what the hydra of a mage said about their prisoners while you were slumbering. And”—he reached inside a pocket of his tunic and brought out a rolled piece of parchment—“more secret messages. This one was intercepted in these very halls. Again, the acolyte was confused by how he had even come by it, as if he had been bewitched to carry out the duty.” Setting the parchment on the table in front of him, he started shuffling the deck.
As he rose and stepped around the desk, the way the witch had stood fiercely against him came unbidden to his mind. He wondered if she knew that her hair had a tendency to grow wilder with her ire.Coward. The word struck him like a well-placed jab. He had taken many a verbal lashing in his godly existence, but never had he been called a coward. And what was worse, she was right. He hadn’t told them, and his reasons for not doing so no longer felt valid.
Damn her.
“Why do you look so grim?“ Grae placed a wood pick between his lips. “Couldn’t be because you’re afraid to lose,” he quipped, fanning the deck of cards in his direction.
Never one to shy away from or draw out a battle once he decided to fight it, Ares reached over his head and pulled the tunic off swiftly. Though it looked considerably better than it had, the dark veins creeping out from the wound to his shoulder and down his side were proof enough.
“I’m dying,” Ares forced the words out evenly.
Brune shifted, a big hand reaching out only to fall to his knee. Grae’s lips parted, his smile fading. He stood up abruptly, dropping the cards on the table and stepping around it. “What—“ he choked out. The pick fell from his lips.
“The arrow,” Ares struggled to get the word out because he knew what it would do.
