Page 78 of The Coven of Ruin
“Why is it always you?” she accused, her voice quiet with exhaustion. A question lay in the war god’s gaze as he looked up at her, his elbows resting against his thighs. “You don’t care about me—about any of us. And yet it is alwaysyou.”
Flexing his hand, he offered a thoughtful sound. “Tomorrow you can go to your friends or…” He considered his next words carefully. “I can find yourfriendfrom the tavern, even if he is in the Legion. As long as you trust him. But the capital will not be safe.“ The way he emphasized the word ‘friend’ made it seem like he was saying something else altogether.
Huffing a breath through her nose, she rubbed her hands over her arms, willing warmth into herself. “Kace isnotmy lover and I don’t trust him. Not anymore.”
“Ah,” Ares breathed, his brows coming up slightly as if he hadn’t expected that reply even after what he witnessed at the tavern.
“I mean…” she trailed off, licking her lips. “We were maybe something at some point a few years ago. But heleftme.“ A knot of emotion swelled in her chest. “To die. He’s the reason I ended up in The Arena in the first place. He just… stood there and did nothing while I was dragged away for something he and his friends stole. Besides, he probablyisa member of the Legion. A willing one at that. There’s no other explanation for him being in Spellspire.”
“A coward through and through then.”
“And what does that make me?” Trista asked. “I can’t fight. I can barely even stand the sight of blood anymore, which means I can’t be a healer. I practically ran away from the Akeso. And now you’re saying I have to run away from Spellspire too. You value”—she gestured at his person—“strength and power. I have none.”
Ares let out a breath, leaning back in the chair. “Though strength and power can make good fighters, that isn’t all it takes. You can look at your once greatest swordsman and see that. I value courage. And there are more ways for one to be courageous than just being able to hold a weapon against an opponent.”
“But if I could wield a blade…” She trailed off, the thought sounding childish. “I don’t want to be powerless anymore.” The word tore at her throat—came out in shards with broken and jagged edges. She had never said it out loud.
“We all are, at some point or another.”
“You have never been truly powerless.” The idea of it seemed bizarre to her. “You are always in control. Nothing justhappensto you. I’ve seen you fight.”
“I have never been defeated by it, but I have felt it.”
She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, her curiosity spurred her confession. “When you had the fever,” she started carefully, “I was trying to better understand what had caused your wound. I have a generational magic that allows me to be where someone else was, see into their past. I have to touch them to access it, and I can’t control which memories I see.”
“What are you saying?”
Trista inhaled deeply. “I saw some of your memories. All these battles with some of the worst odds, and you were never defeated. You never lost even without your god powers.”
Several emotions flitted across his features before he could master his usual mask. Surprise, anger, curiosity. “What exactly did you see?”
And so, she relayed the visions that had been most vivid back to him. At some point, he lounged back as if she were a storyteller regaling him of a hero’s triumphs. When she mentioned carrying his injured friend Marcus, a smile played on his lips as if he remembered him fondly. She did not, however, mention the memory she saw of Zeus and Hades. Finishing with seeing him get struck with the arrow that left the wound, she waited for his reaction.
Finally, he said, “And even then, you think I never lost or felt powerless?”
“Did you ever feel like you had to be saved? Like life was just happening to you, and you had no way to stop it? No way to save those you love, and every decision you made was the wrong one?”
He laughed, a harsh sound of dark amusement. “I have never been truly defeated, that’s correct, witch.” His eyes were dying suns piercing through her. “But I have lost and felt powerless enough times.” It came out as a quiet growl. “I have lost so many people who put their trust in me that I couldn’t save. As if I couldn’t hold onto them no matter how many bodies I piled up, no matter how fiercely and bravely I fought. And the more I fought, the more losses I incurred. I have lost ever knowing what it is like to have a family of my own. Anything not of war and death was out of reach to me—safety, love, home. Those things were carved away from me a long time ago.
“When I was younger, there were things worse than death that I wished I could be saved from, but no one came for me. War is marked by the very essence of powerlessness and loss. So please,” his tone was level, but his muscles were taut, “tell me again that I do not understand it.”
Blinking, his words sunk into her like a thousand blades. It shouldn’t have been surprising. He had lived a lifetime far greater than her own twenty-seven years. But it was. That he, The God of War and Courage, had ever known true powerlessness. But then the vision appeared of a small godling’s fate being decided by a father that should have loved him. Her heart shattered for him, her idea of him blurring and reforming all over again.
“I’m so sorry, Ares, I—“ There was nothing she could say that would make it right. Trista had allowed assumptions to make her blind to her own observations. She had let her guarded heart get in the way.
Trista had been given a glimpse into him that he hadn’t truly meant for her to see. He must have realized it at the same time as he stood up so suddenly that she flinched. “I’ll go now. You can have this room. I’ll stay elsewhere.”
If he had said that an hour ago, she would have gladly let him walk away. But now that her rage had abandoned her, leaving her chilled and frightened, she didn’t want to be alone. She could only picture a gleaming smile and a too-cold touch upon her throat.
I’ll come back for her.
Panic seized her, forcing her heart to thunder and her lungs to constrict until the only thing that could come out was a croak of a whimper. It had a way of pulling her under completely, as if suddenly she was in an ocean with vengeful waves. She reached out, grabbing his hand as he passed by her.
“Could.” She could barely get out the word, her quick panting breaths stealing her voice. “You—“ It came out in a gasp. Tears leaked out of her eyes as every nerve in her body felt like it was being unraveled and scorched. She was drowning.
“Stay?”
His gaze followed her hand to her face, then to her chest, which was heaving with its efforts. Lips moving, he was saying something as he looked her over, but she couldn’t hear him.
