Page 50 of Flamesworn

“Then put on your uniform, soldier, and let’s be off,” Menelaus said. “There’s no time to waste.” He left the tent flap open behind him, and Kataida stood for a moment, inhaling the fresh air and letting it cool her skin before she pulled on her uniform jacket and went about checking her weapons.

She almost insisted on finding her brother, but Menelaus was right–there really wasn’t time. She felt guilty keeping a secret like this from him, about something so important, but Stavros would still be here, and would likely tell him. And if not, she’d apologize about it from now until her deathbed if need be.

After this was over, and her uncle was home. He’d understand why she was leaving so quickly, before Stavros changed his mind about letting her leave without an armed guard.

It was late afternoon but still hot, and as she joined Menelaus near the edge of the camp latrines, she thought she could feel the rumble under the earth, the chittering, thumping dread growing closer to her, to Arktos.

The last time Ares had come to the Thousand Soldiers, they’d been with Atreus.

“You truly love this place, don’t you?” Atreus had asked. He’d been older, weathered by years of fighting pirates on the coast and Starian warrior kings in the mountains. Ares had taken him to the Soldiers to scout for a new settlement, and they’d basked in the shadow of the hundreds of red stone rock formations that littered the landscape.

“It’s mine,” Ares said. “Of course I love it.”

Atreus had run his hand over the smooth stone of the closest rock formation. They were enormous, some the size of buildings and taller than a hill, and despite the crags and jagged edges, they were smooth to the touch. “I used to think you weren’t capable of love.”

“I used to only love Death,” Ares said. “The thrill of a fight, the taste of fear, the blood that sank into these stones long ago,when the empire built a city here. Now I love something else,” Ares met Atreus’ gaze, “something far more interesting than a dead empire.”

Centuries later, as Ares slipped out of the camp at Kataida’s side, they grimaced at the memory. They’d understood so little of love. They clung to Azaiah because he showed them affection, and Azaiah was easy to love. Atreus had given them attention, but the love that Ares had for him wasn’t the kind that would sustain them, and Ares thought they understood now, all of Azaiah’s little pauses and sidelong looks when Ares spoke of it.

Now they loved Kataida, and while it came with the delicious pain and dominance they craved like water, there was another, unfamiliar ache. It was the same pain Ares felt when Azaiah didn’t answer their summons, or when they’d held the boy from the training center in their arms. They’d even felt it when they had seen Elena standing over the soldier in the doorway of her home. They didn’t want Kataida to find her uncle and see the empty, dark pit that Ares had seen in his heart when they’d fought at the Needle. They wanted to shield her from it—to shield her from pain, and that wasn’t in the nature of War. Before they’d met Atreus, they would have shrugged off the idea of a young woman finding a family member to be a broken man. What was mortal pain to a god who waded through fields of the dying?

It meant something now. Kataida was important, but that meant her family was, too, and the people she loved, which Ares suspected might be most of Arktos. She loved Arktos the way that Ares did—more than Atreus, more than any of the emperors or empresses who lived when the land was lush and green.

“I think I know why Azaiah likes to walk,” Ares said, and Kataida turned to look at them, brows furrowed. Menelaus was a few paces ahead, moving swiftly over the hard-packed sand, and he didn’t make any sign that he’d heard Ares speak. “I alwaysthought it was a bit ridiculous, taking the time to greet spirits one by one. But if it were you and I, then I would walk Arktos a dozen times over.”

Kataida gave Ares a wry smile and touched their arm briefly enough that Melenaus didn’t notice. She likely didn’t want to unnerve Menelaus by interacting too obviously with a person he couldn’t see.

“I…” Ares worked their jaw. “I hope your uncle isn’t as wounded as he could be. I didn’t want these kind of things before. I think I’m…not the same, just as Arktos isn’t the same.”

“Maybe even gods aren’t meant to stay stagnant, Ares,” Kataida said, her voice low.

“Sound travels,” Melenaus said, and Kataida looked away. Menelaus’ gaze slid over Ares as he turned his head. “Keep your thoughts quiet, soldier.”

Kataida fell silent.

The Soldiers appeared over the horizon as the sun set. Since Atreus’ time, the city of Elixi had sprung up between the stone pillars, high buildings that blotted out the orange glow of the sunset, smoke rising in the air as thousands of people stoked cookfires and ovens. The temperature plummeted, and fire dragons emerged from the sand to drift toward Kataida. One tried to wind through her hair, and Ares untangled it, rolling their eyes as the dragon savagely bit their hand.

“They like you because they were made to protect your line,” Ares said. “Did you know?”

“Someone mentioned that once,” Kataida whispered, as they trudged onward toward the city.

“A witch gave her life to do it. Some witch magic fades, but hers was powerful enough to change the fabric of the world if she wished. She chose to protect your ancestor and her descendants, and even now, the dragons remember. Was it love, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’d do the same for my family, if I had to.”

Ares already knew that. Kataida wouldn’t be there, walking into a city occupied by an enemy force, if that wasn’t true.

She and Menelaus didn’t set up tents that night. They slept out in the open, and Ares watched Kataida’s face as she fell into a fitful sleep, her brows furrowing, mouth pulled tight. Ares leaned over her, bracing themself with one hand, and brushed the tips of her hair.

“I’ll keep you alive,” they said. They thought of Atreus dying in their arms, the long years of silence in his tomb, their sibling Astra’s earnest pleas for any scrap of affection. “I’ll be different this time. We both will.”

They heard something rustle nearby, and turned to find Menelaus staring at them, sitting up from under his thin blanket. Ares drew away from Kataida, and Menelaus’ gaze followed them, sharp and keen.

“You’re bound to her then,” Menelaus said. “How did she do it?”

“She’s Kataida,” Ares said.

“But how?” Menelaus leaned forward. His voice was whisper-soft. “What did she do to bind you? What words did she speak? How much blood did she have to spill?”

---