Page 51 of Flamesworn

Ares stood. They hadn’t paid much mind to Menelaus before, but they could sense a hunger inside him now. He was like one of their beserkers, the ones Ares would drive to a frenzy in the battlefield, dying on someone else’s sword after making a ruin of the enemy. It was strange to see such eyes in the face of someone who’d always seemed to stay in the background. He should have been on the front lines, not in the Strategos’ war council.

“Is it because she’s an Akti?” Menelaus’ voice took on a tight edge of desperation. “IssheAtreus reborn, as some of the others have claimed?”

“She’s herself,” Ares said. They felt a tickle of annoyance deep in their belly, and wondered if that was what Kataida felt when they’d called her Atreus. Guilt twisted through them, sudden and sharp. They should have never compared her. Did it matter so much that she carried the echoes of Atreus’ soul?

“I apologize, Gracious One.” Menelaus sank down on an elbow. “I only wanted to ensure that Kataida is safe, and she hasn’t entered into any bargains.”

“She’s safe,” Ares said, and sat next to Kataida, hands in their lap. “Go to sleep, soldier. I will watch.”

Menelaus bowed before he settled down again for the night, back turned to Ares. Ares remained where they were, watching Menelaus, until the gray of dawn crept into the sky and the stars faded over the desert.

That morning, Menelaus took them into the Soldiers through the east, where the streets leading into the city were made of cobbled red rock and only one outpost looked over the patchy grass beyond. They didn’t stop Kataida or Menelaus as they entered, and Menelaus made no effort to hide, walking openly in the street with his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

The cobblestone streets were largely empty. Few buildings hunkered in the shadows of the stone pillars—the real city lay above them. Ladders, lifts, and swaying rope bridges led upwards, to a complex network of wooden buildings supported by the stone pillars like tree houses. Buildings jutted out of the pillars in spiraling patterns, and additional supports, chains, and metalwork allowed other buildings to be suspended between pillars. It looked as though they were floating in the middle of a spider web, and Ares paused to wonder how mortals had the courage to live most of their lives just a quick fall from an early grave.

“We mark the base of the pillars to show which ring is reserved for military use,” Menelaus said, gesturing to theclosest pillar. “We call each pillar a ring. Residential rings are there, past that central building suspended between the Gray Sisters.” He pointed to two pillars with a slight grayish sheen to the rock.

“We?”Kataida asked. Menelaus glanced at her, and looked briefly at Ares before turning aside.

“I grew up here, a lifetime ago, before I started working for your grandfather, and met your father.”

“And his brother,” Kataida said, and Ares noticed that she was the only one trying to keep her voice low. “My uncle.”

“Ah, yes,” Menelaus said, “but I was always closer with your father.”

Kataida’s brows knit together, and Ares wondered what they were missing. Hadn’t Stavros mentioned something about that before?

Menelaus pulled Kataida to the side once they reached a lift, which was operated by three Arkoudai in uniform. He lowered his voice, eyeing the Arkoudai warily. “Be careful, soldier. If the enemy are here, they’ll know how to use the bridges to their advantage. Keep your balance.”

“Yes, sir,” Kataida said, and drew back as Menelaus stepped into the lift, paying no attention to the Arkoudai operating it.

“Come,” Menelaus said, gesturing Kataida to follow. “We have much work to do.”

Chapter

Twelve

Netting framedthe bridges that swayed between the pillars of the city of Elixi, but Kataida was well aware of the dizzying space beneath her feet and the ground far below. Wind rolled by as they walked, making the bridge ripple, but Menelaus was the only one who continued without hesitation, adjusting his stance to match the movement of the bridge.

Kataida was quiet as she followed Menelaus. Her skin felt clammy, all of her senses on high alert so that even the occasional creak of the boards sounded like wood breaking. She glanced at Ares, who was walking beside her, reaching out occasionally to drag their fingers over the railing, their firelit eyes scanning the buildings spiraling up the pillar ahead of them. She wanted to ask them about what the pillars used to be in their time, but found herself unable to do so. Speaking to Ares seemed unwise, but she wasn’t sure exactly why she felt that way.

All she knew was that something was very, very wrong.

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she hadn’t been given the full story about this extraction mission. Despite saying Damian was here somewhere, Menelaushadn’t actually offered up the exact location–not to mention,whohad recognized it from her limited description? And even though she would prefer to bring Damian to her father rather than just news of his existence, she found it increasingly hard to imagine Stavros would have sent her on this mission without at the veryleastbriefing her himself.

She’d almost asked before they’d left if she could go say goodbye and pass along a personal letter to her family–after all, she’dalsoseen Elena standing over the body of an enemy soldier–but her intuition had told her not to, so she’d listened and followed Menelaus in the opposite direction of Axon without comment. It had seemed important, for some reason, to let him think she was entirely on board with this plan--which she was, it was only she was starting to doubt thatreally wasthe plan at all.

“Sir,” she said, carefully, when they crossed onto a connecting bridge and she committed the pattern to memory. “Who did you say recognized Damian’s location?”

Was it her imagination, or did he stiffen at the sound of the name? Maybe he didn’t believe her. Maybe this was all a ruse to pretend like they believed her, but really, they all thought she was mistaken, that it had only been some kind of dream and the Beast was just another soldier willing enough to soak the sand with Arkoudai blood.

No. Stavros wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t indulge me, he’d say I was wrong and I’d dreamed it. But he believed me. I know he did.

Menelaus hadn’t once said a word about how Kataida had come to know Damian was alive. She’d assumed Stavros had told him, and after his curt response to her first questions about Damian, she’d thought that the subject might be too painful for him to want to share with her.

“I didn’t,” Menelaus said, and perhaps it was the way his voice was caught by the wind, but it sounded strange, tense withanticipation in a way she wasn’t used to from him. Menelaus stopped at the end of the bridge, where a ramp led to a building half carved into the stone pillar. Most of it was made of wood, but the windows were shuttered and the door had a heavy lock.

Ares was at her back, she could feel them there, radiating their heat like a furnace. Menelaus made no move to open the door, and her own voice was tight with nerves when she gave a deliberate glance at the door and lightly ran her fingers over the hilt of her sword at her side, her one raised eyebrow meant to ask,is that where he is, past that door?

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