Page 52 of Storm Front

“I’m taking him to the witches again when we return,” Nadia whispered to Nyx that night, as they sat around a fire circle. Kelta was roughhousing with her new friends, leaving Andor sitting by himself, frowning down at his hands. Nadia kept gesturing him closer, but he shook his head and started making marks in the dirt with his shoe. “Kelta says he’s been waking up in a cold sweat at night. He tries to hide it from us, but he’s… not well, Nyx.”

“He’s made it this far.” Nyx suppressed the familiar panic that welled up every time Andor’s breath grew labored or his eyes went glassy. “He’s resilient.”

“Maybe you can afford to think that way.” Nadia leaned against him. “Resiliency takes work, Nyx. And it asks so much of you. Eventually you don’t recognize the person you used to be, before you had to survive it all.”

Nyx looked down at her, her dark eyes fixed on the middle distance. “I don’t know. I still see you.”

“We’re talking about Andor.”

“Right.” Nyx held her by the shoulders. “Of course.”

Andor stood, dusting off his trousers. “Mother. Uncle. It’s too cold here. Can I go to the big fire?” He nodded to the bonfire farther from the tents, where soldiers were tossing packets of incense into the flames and singing songs to War. It was close enough to see, but not to reach Andor if someone were to approach.

Nadia grimaced. “Only if your uncle joins you.”

Andor sighed. “That’s all right.” He took off toward the bonfire, and Nyx got to his feet with a groan, leaving a mildly bemused Nadia to watch Kel. He caught up with Andor quickly—the boy’s steps were slow, careful, quiet—and locked his own hands behind his back.

“You’re cold?” It was a warm night, and the fire Nadia and Kel were sitting by had been warm enough to singe his boots. “Are you feeling well?”

“I know what you think, Uncle. I’m doing fine. I just need to talk to someone.”

Nyx raised his brows. He hadn’t seen Andor speak to anyone but Nadia and Kel all day, but his expression was set, and he walked in a straight line across the field, ignoring the open spaces in front of the fire. “Anyone I know?”

“I’m not sure.” Andor frowned, turned abruptly, and put his hands on his hips. “But I can see you, and I think you should come out before I tell my uncle you’re a spy.”

Nyx stiffened, reaching for his sword, but they were standing before a patch of empty grass. Then the air seemed to ripple with heat, and Ares stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a uniform Nyx didn’t recognize, their hair braided over one shoulder. They acknowledged him briefly, then fixed their gaze on Andor.

Nyx stepped between them. “Go back to your mother, Andor.”

“I’m no spy, little princeling.” Ares didn’t budge, and neither did Andor. “You know what I am, don’t you?”

To Nyx’s horror, Andor nodded. “I’ve been making sacrifices to you for years, but you always look so ugly in your shrines. Why does everyone give you a beard?” Nyx grabbed Andor by the back of the shirt, and Andor sighed. “They weren’t animal sacrifices, Uncle. It was just candy and pebbles and things.”

Ares laughed, and it sounded like steel grating against stone. “War should be ugly, should it not?”

“I don’t know. There are all kinds of wars. Let go, please, Uncle. The god isn’t going to hurt me.”

“You can’t sink your claws into this one,” Nyx warned, a helpless panic rising in his chest as Ares sat down in the grass. Andor pulled his shirt out of Nyx’s grip and sat down opposite them. “He’s mine.”

“He’s mine as well,” Ares said. “Just as you could be, without my brother’s influence.” They turned to Andor. “What do you mean by that, ‘all kinds of wars’?”

Andor drummed his fingers on his ankles, and Nyx sat next to him, a protective arm around his bony shoulders. “Well. You can fight a war without killing anyone, can’t you? With treaties and things. Or by cutting off supply lines.”

“Cutting off supplies leads to famine,” Ares said. “Which leads to death and oaths of revenge.” They stretched out their legs. “I admit I was surprised to find a spirit calling to me here. They’re banging the drums of war in the hills already, and sacrificing goats before the fire, but here you are with… what is it you have for me?”

Andor reached into his pocket, and Nyx shifted. “Don’t give them anything.”

“I’m the next emperor,” Andor said quietly. “I have to be respectful to my patron god.” He held out a smooth stone, scrubbed clean. “My sister got this for me. I thought you’d like it.”

Ares took the stone, smiling, and turned it over in their hands. “I do. Curious.”

“It’s what people fight with when they’re desperate,” Andor said. “When they really have something to fight for, but they don’t have any fancy weapons and they have to use rocks and sticks. What we’re doing right now is just… puffing ourselves up and kicking people around. But that’s war.”

Ares gave Andor a curious look, and Nyx thought of the Winter board, another curious god reaching out to someone who’d called him forth. “No. You can’t have him.”

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Ares slipped the rock in their pocket.

“More than you’d expect,” Andor said, which was patently unfair. “Who’s the man he goes to see? My uncle. Is it the brother you mentioned?”

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