Page 115 of Secrets of Avalon

Arik's lips curl into a smug grin, but there's a sharp edge to it. "I know you're not missing yours anymore," he says, his voice low and charged with meaning. "Queen Nimue is quite pleased with herself on all accounts. The rebellion has teeth for the first time in centuries."

“How many people know?” Ares stalks toward Arik, fire in his gaze.

The Elven man backs up a few steps and throws up his hands like he’s surrendering. “Look, most people on this side of the council know. We want the Knights back in charge like they’re supposed to be. Yggdrasil doesn’t make mistakes, people do.” He pauses a moment. “Everybody’s got different motives for being on this side, but our goals are the same. Take down the council. Open the Earth door. And fix the soul mate magick.”

Lofty goals, but I can’t argue with the validity of any of them. I want the same.

Ares sneers. “Is that all?”

Arik bares his fangs. “For now.”

“Look. Fighting amongst ourselves won’t help anything.” I step between the two angry men. “Ares, you’re making this worse. Please.”

Ares clenches his fists, and the ground beneath our feet vibrates. Sometimes I forget just how much power he wields. As quickly as it starts, it stops and he walks off, away from the arena.

"Ares." I call after him. "We need you level-headed. All of us do."

He freezes, his back a wall between us. The silence stretches. His shoulders sag, tension bleeding from his frame. He pivots, meets my gaze with a curt head tilt, whirls back around, and stalks away. The air feels charged in his wake, and I'm left to wonder just how close we’d come to witnessing the god of war unleash his fury.

I look back at Arik. “Try not to piss off the god of war.”

“Apologies.” The Elven gives a slight bow before retreating back to his friends.

Boaz, Wraith, and Fen go after him, but I follow Ares and catch up to him a few yards down the path. He takes a large gulp of ambrosia from a glowing flask.

“How are you, really? How are things on Olympus?” I ask.

“Zeus has no interest in helping one side or the other. He recalled the Olympians who sat on the council and has decided to wait and fucking see.”

“Are you surprised?”

He takes another drink and offers me the flask. “No. I’m not. But I was hoping that he’d give a fuck about my situation.”

“Does he know how bad it’s gotten?”

Ares nods.

I take a small sip of the ambrosia and hand it back. The golden liquid is sweet like honey and full of an uplifting energy that can’t be matched by anything else in the universe other than maybe swimming in a World Tree well.

Ares' mouth curves into a smirk. “How do you feel about becoming a king tomorrow?”

“Terrified that I'll do the wrong thing for my people.”

He snorts. “That’s good. It means you’ll be a good king.”

“I do hope that is true.” I glance back at the arena, the rhythmic clash of steel and determined grunts fill the air, calling me to participate. Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping and eliminate stress.

To my surprise, Ares steps up beside me. "How about a round, Hawke?" His voice is gruff but lacking the edge from before. "Might do us both some good."

"You're on."

We take our positions in the center of the arena, drawing the attention of the other knights. Ares rolls his shoulders. I unsheathe my sword, the familiar weight a comfort in my hand.

For a moment, we're still, eyes locked. Then, as if responding to some unspoken signal, we explode into motion.

Ares strikes first, his blade a blur of deadly precision. I parry, the impact jarring my arm, and counter with a thrust of my own. We fall into a dangerous dance, each move a test of skill and strength.

Time loses meaning as we spar, the outside world fading until there's nothing but the next move, the next breath. It's only when I hear a familiar gasp that I falter, nearly missing a block from Ares' sword.

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