Page 65 of The Coven of Ruin
“That’s enough, witch,” Ares warned. “You’ve gone far past the original agreement.”
Trista’s irritation prickled at her in a way she couldn’t fully comprehend. “Curse the agreement. All of this, it’s for revenge?” she seethed. “For somethingyoudid. And you are here only because Olympus may be threatened.“ She had allowed herself to become blind to who he was. Towhathe was. All because he saved her once, and notbecauseit was her but despite what she was—a witch.
“She was creating an army then. She wanted witchkind to be a weapon to use against Olympus. She was dangerous,” Ares explained.
“What about the other Mothers then, or were they justliabilities?“ Trista questioned. “And that’s ironic coming from you, don’t you think? You were made to slaughter armies. You weremadeto be a weapon.”
Ares stood up, features carefully free of any emotion. She wondered when he became so proficient at controlling it, at not feeling. But his eyes didn’t lie as they burned molten into hers. “If I am a weapon, then so are you,” he bit out.
Before she knew what she was doing, Trista turned on her heel. Leaving the gods to stare at her back, she walked away from them.
She had enough answers for one night.
Chapter XXVII
Herdoorhadn’tbeenclosed a few minutes before a musical knock played against the wood. Gathering her patience, she opened it to find Grae peering at her, slate eyes making a quick assessment of her body language.
“Are you following me now?” she asked, already exasperated with his troublemaking nature.
“That makes me sound like something that slinks and stalks its way through the corridors.”
Trista raised a brow as she crossed her arms. “Well, why did you slink through the corridors after me,general?”
“I donotslink.“ With a roguish curl of his lips, he inclined his head, motioning for her to open the door all the way and let him in. She did, remembering the last time a god of war was in her room.
“Are you still going to help?” he asked, only stepping in far enough so that he could close the door behind him.
Tightening the fold of her arms, she considered it as clearly and logically as possible, removing emotion like one does when dealing with a patient. Regardless of who shethoughtAres was or who he could be, he had one purpose and one purpose only—to kill anything that stood in the way of Olympus. Whereas she had thought she had built some connection to him because he had rescued her from certain and violent death in The Arena, the truth of the matter was she didn’t truly have any rapport with him whatsoever.
He would kill her if she stood in the way of his mission. He would kill Demurielle, Zyana, and everyone she knew and cared about if it went against whatever he was trying to accomplish. And here she had been daydreaming about himkissingher. Her stomach cramped with the thought. She had dreamed about himtouchingher.
Did that make her a traitor, then?
She had seen too many winters to be so foolish and naive. To be seduced by a god who had mercilessly killed the Mothers.
Did I not learn my lesson with Kace? I was blinded by the idea of friendship when I don’t think he ever considered me a friend, just a part of his collection, something to ransack. He left me to die, and even then, it took me time to unbraid him from my being.
Here she was yet again, looking past everything to do with Ares to see only the parts she wanted to see. The god who had saved her. The strong and sturdy god. The one she was tied to through a life debt held in the fingerprints on her ribs.
Hadn’t enough witches died in the name of protecting Olympus? When Olympus had donenothingfor them, ever, except cause devastation. Ares was the reason for their downfall. The reason their population was diminishing and for their faltering magic. He was the reason she owed her life to the Akeso. If it weren’t for the curse, she wouldn’t be forced to such a fate—to burn up her magic to save someone else.
She owed her loyalty tothem, to her own people. Plotting or not, witchkind had everything taken from them when Ares killed thethreemothers. She refused to be responsible for any other witch’s death.
Trista may not be a god of war or a strategic mastermind, but she recognized when she was cornered. If she didn’t help Grae, he could easily suggest they have no more use for her. Having already insulted Ares that evening, they could all decide she was better off dead instead of alive with the amount of knowledge she now harbored. Ares had called her a liability, and perhaps he would handle her like he had such problems before.
She couldn’t be tortured for information if she was dead. And even if none of that came to pass, would Ares keep his word about Illean and her friends’ safety? Could she even trust his answer if she asked him?
“I will,” she said slowly, “but I want something in return.”
Grae’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Are you sure you’re not a goddess with the way you walk around making bargains?”
“She told us to wait out here,” Trista scolded as Zyana went to open the door for the third time since their arrival.
“If someone sees us, they’ll question us,” Zyana grumbled.
“It isn’t like we are breaking any laws by standing in a corridor outside an empty room we train in,” Trista muttered.
Zyana rubbed her hands on her pant legs as if the idea of an awkward interaction where they’d have to explain what they were doing was more than the brave witch could handle.
