Page 18 of Flamesworn

“You’re better with kids than I thought,” Kataida whispered, “but we don’t use phalanxes anymore.”

“Oh, I know that, but it’s the best option against an army of spoons.”

Kataida actually smiled. She had a different smile than Atreus, more guarded, but it was nevertheless lovely.

They started to drift as the conversation shifted toward what little they knew of the enemy. Much of war was waiting around, and Ares had learned to fill the time. They finally settled on a slim, leatherbound book that smelled old enough to be from Ares’ time. It was propped up next to a passable painting of Atreus Akti, though whoever had painted the portrait seemed to think his eyes were brown. They opened the book and idly flipped through as Evander spoke quietly to Elena and Kataida.

…a necessary evil,the book said, in neat, handwritten script,and one that pains me to inflict on my people. Gods willing, we will soon put them to rest and bring peace to the port of Katoikos.

Yours,

A

“Who isA?”Ares asked, and the voices in the room went quiet. Kataida saw the book they were reading, and her face went oddly still and expressionless. Evander’s jaw tensed.

“That’s Atreus Akti’s letters to…various sources,” Evander said at last. “They were delivered to his son at the end of his life.”

“Oh, no.” Ares slammed the book shut. Kataida gave them a questioning look, and they set the book down. “I was told not to read his letters. I’m sorry.” Kataida got up and picked up the book, slipping it under her arm.

“It’s fine,” she said. “But maybe not right now.”

Ares nodded. “Is this your shrine to him? This shelf?” They gestured to the painting when Kataida gave them a curious look. “It’s Atreus’ portrait. I suppose painters in his time remembered his face enough to…” Their voice trailed off as Evander stood suddenly, his face drawn. He left the room without a word, and a heavy silence fell, stifling as the air of a tomb.

“That isn’t Atreus,” Kataida said. “That’s my father’s brother, Damian Akti. He died before I was born.”

“Oh.” Now that Ares looked closely, they could see the difference between the man in the portrait and Atreus. Damian’s nose was a little straighter, and his hair wasn’t as loose, cut short in a similar style to the soldiers who walked the street outside. He didn’t have the slight humor to his smile that always lingered on Atreus’ face.

“We don’t really talk about it,” Kataida whispered. She grabbed Ares’ sleeve and turned to look at her family. “I think we’ll go home.” She stopped. “Gracious One. Would you like to stay with me in my house while you’re here?”

Ares turned from the portrait. “Hm? Yes, all right. You can call me Ares, of course.”

Kataida nodded. “Ares, we should go. Thank you, everyone.”

“You don’t need company?” That was Theron, looking as though it pained him to ask. Kataida smiled wryly.

“I’ll be fine, Theron.” She ushered Ares outside and sighed heavily, lines of tension appearing in her beautiful face.

“I’m not the best visitor for a family affair,” Ares said, as they headed down the darkened street.

“It isn’t that. I…said some things, the last time I was with them, and the memory lingers.” Kataida adjusted the book of letters under her arm. “About the things I feel sometimes, what I want.”

“The fire inside you,” Ares said, nodding. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Kataida turned to them. They were only a few houses down, close to a small alley that turned into a side street. “There’s nothing beautiful about wanting to—about the way it feels, when I think of?—”

“Wanting to what?” Ares moved closer. Atreus had never doubted himself this way, or he had never mentioned it if he did.Why would someone who burned so brightly want to dampen her flame?

“Hurt people,” Kataida grit the words out harshly, dominance blunt in her tone. Ares moved closer, fingertips barely touching her tucked-in shirt, looking up into her eyes.

“How?”

Kataida sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re trying to goad me into it.”

“Yes.” Ares tilted their head and pulled open the front of their shirt. They took Kataida’s free hand and lay it on their chest, over their heart, uncaring they were visible to anyone who might pass them on the street. “Dig in your nails. Drag down.”

Kataida’s breathing grew ragged, quicker, like she was running. They could see the desire on her face, the way she struggled to let herself give in to it, and even that fight was beautiful, when it was her. Then her shoulders straightened, mouth tightening as she dragged her nails down Ares’ chest, over their nipple, and Ares moaned softly. “Harder.” Kataida gave up fighting it and Ares gasped as skin tore and blood welled under her nails. She jerked her hand away, but pleasure was coursing through Ares, and they could barely remain on their feet. They ducked their head, and Kataida held up her hand for them, letting them kiss her bloodstained fingertips.

Kataida stared at them for a breathless second, then dragged them closer by the hair. Their mouths pressed together, hot and hard, Ares moaning into her mouth as she tugged at their hair and scratched the back of their neck. Heat rose in Ares’ core, and they untucked Kataida’s shirt, slid their hands up and under it, cupping her breasts. Kataida bit their lip until they bled, and Ares nearly wept for it, tasting their own blood in their mouth.

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