Page 41 of The Coven of Ruin
“Byron,” he cried. “My name is Byron. I’ve only seen fifteen summers. Oh gods, I don’t want to die here. I want to go home. Please let me go home.”
Lightning struck again, and the creeping creatures shrieked, their mouths glistening with rows of sharp teeth. Their sudden nearness was terrifying. The men readied themselves, shouting commands, but Ares looked skyward with nothing but hatred gleaming in his eyes. Another bolt and the creatures were upon them. Ares cursed Zeus as he struck the scrabbling and screeching beasts. Screams of forsaken men drowned out Byron’s cries for a home he wouldn’t see again.
She had the awareness that she should pull herself from his memories. But another emerged, faded and distant as if he did not remember it. It glimmered again, focusing and unfocusing, and then settled.
Zeus was standing beside another god while looking out over a balcony, black chalices in their hands.
“A weapon,” the other Olympian said, his face pale and his features dark.
Zeus nodded slowly, his lips pursed in thought. “Yes, a weapon,” he confirmed. “Forged and molded by me, of course. I’d have my very own death dealer. No one would dare to stand against us, Hades. Don’t you realize that almost every story on the mortal plane has war in it? Why not give them their very own patron god? But not just that”—Zeus leaned in more to Hades, speaking lower—“there are certain prophecies…”
A crease formed in the porcelain flesh between Hades’ brows. “Do you even know who you sound like?” Outrage made his tone tumultuous.
“Don’t,” Zeus’ voice carried. “Don’t you ever compare me to him.”
Hades shook his head, tossing the goblet over the balcony. “I’ll have no part in this. He’s but a godling, and you want to use him, make him into a monster? And you, the eldest son of the Titan King, who tried to smash and eat his own children because of a prophecy, dare to speak about—“
“Papa?” A young voice came from the shadows beside her. When her eyes adjusted, they landed on a young Ares, who snuck in to listen to his father’s conversation. He stepped out of the darkness, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
“Ares, what are you doing eavesdropping?” Zeus reprimanded harshly.
The little godling’s eyes looked between the two large gods. Zeus’ face was etched in annoyance. At what point had the God King decided not to love him?
Hades’ features softened as he addressed the youth. “Come, brave one,” he encouraged as he crouched down. Ares stepped forward hesitantly, afraid he was still in trouble. But The God of Death smiled reassuringly. “I brought something for you to see.”
As the godling quickened his last few steps toward him, Ares’ face brightened.
“What is it, Uncle?” he inquired, youthful curiosity in his tone, his earlier fear already forgotten.
Hades swooped the godling up.
His squeals and laughter were filled with the freedom of not yet knowing his fate.
“It’s in the gardens, little one.” Hades stepped forward with him in his arms, away from Zeus.
Ares began rambling about something he had tried catching in those same gardens earlier that morning, his little voice fading as they walked away. Zeus watched them depart, lightning dancing in his eyes, something akin to hatred etching his features.
Her heartbeat quickened as a new scene rushed to the surface. Gray-cloaked and masked witches full of corrupted magic materialized. Her own magic recoiled just witnessing it through memory.
“Khaos swallow you whole!” they yelled.
An arrow hit him out of the mist, formed of foreign and dark magic that poisoned his veins. She felt his relief and a sense of peace wash over him when the glimpse of the vision shifted to him inspecting the wound later that night. Death had finally bested him.
And he smiled then too.
She gasped and forced herself to remove her hand. The room swam before her eyes, blurred from both tears and exhaustion. Her hands had slipped to rest on his collarbone, but she laid one back on his cheek to ensure he was still upright. The deep fatigue that only comes with a heavy outpouring of magic took her as she slumped back.
She had read his name meant ruin and curse. Initially, she thought it implied he was a curse upon others, war god that he was. But before succumbing to the black, she felt that he was the truly cursed one.
Chapter XVIII
Tristaawoketosloshingwater and low curses. She blinked only to scrunch her eyes shut again. “Tartarus damn you,” Ares muttered gruffly into her thigh before the heat of him left her entirely. Forcing her eyes open, she caught sight of him just as he stood up far too quickly than he should have. His muscles tensed in his back as he swayed.
“Careful,” she warned. Sitting forward, she put her hands out to attempt to catch the god. Instead, he braced himself on the opposite wall with one muscled arm, his head bowed as he steadied his breath. “Your fever—“
“Probably would have killed me,” he finished for her in a low snarl as he stepped over the bath’s edge. Water splashed on the floor and washed farther up her thighs with the movement.
“I just acted.” Her voice was rough with exhaustion. She rubbed at her eyes, causing stars to burst in her vision.
