Page 7 of Flamesworn

The room had gone quiet, or else she’d simply managed to tune everyone out, unable to hear anything besides the person in front of her. She didn’t know what to do, what to say--her entire soul yearned to do as they’d ask, to speak their name, acknowledge their presence.

“You see me,” the soldier whispered, beginning to weep tears of blood. She was enraptured as crimson streaked their cheeks, making a sound like falling cinders, a soft sizzle smearing ash in their wake.

–the sand turning red as they wept tears of flame for the lover who chose to go beyond the river–

“We do not have much time, Atreus, my soldier. You must bind yourself to me quickly.”

Her hand on their face, their tears turning to smoke on her fingers, but she couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything, just the cold.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice a tremble of sound, a tendril of smoke. “I see you.”

“When I die, you will find a quiet place, and you will rest. Let Arktos find its way without us.”

“You know me,” the soldier said, tenderly.

“Atreus, please. I love you. I’ve knelt for you, I’veservedyou.”

“Yes.” She reached out, carefully, and touched their face, their firelit tears, which left smears of ashes on her fingertips. Before she could think better of it, she pressed her fingers to her own mouth, knees weak as she tasted the faintest hint of ash on her skin. “I know you.”

“Say my name,” the soldier who wasn’t a soldier at all said, in their voice that rang like a war-bell. “Say it. I did as you asked me, Atreus. I found a quiet place and I let your Arkoudai be. But this ismyland, and it always has been, and even your Arkoudai can’t keep me away forever.”

They sounded petulant, like her brother when he was in a snit, but the look their face was mulish and then worshipful in turn, and Kataida had to remind herself that this was real, that she wasn’t asleep, and also who she was, and who she wasn’t.

“Say my name, Atreus. Say my name, and be mine at last.”

She wasn’t Atreus Akti. She was Kataida, daughter of Arktos, soldier, and she had a sword and a duty to her country and her people, and she couldn’t get lost in the memories of being someone else. Kataida had her sword out in a second, stepping smoothly back and placing the tip of it at the throat of the god of war. “I am Kataida Akti, and my heart and my sword are sworn to Arktos, not to my honored father, the Strategos, or even you, Gracious One.”

“Kataida, who thefuckare you talking to? I told you not to drink all that whiskey.”

That was Theron’s voice, cutting beyond the shocked silence as everyone in the room watched her hold her sword to the throat of–no one, because only her and Castor could see them. But she could see it, the tip there, unwavering…and the god of war, rubbing their head back and forth on the blade, like a cat trying to scent something with their chin.

“You might as well tell them,” they said, while the drums fell into an ancient song, one she knew by heart even if she’d never heard it before. “They’re all going to see me, eventually. Go on,Kataida Akti,daughter of the storm. Tell them whose throat is bared for your sword.”

“Ares,” Kataida said, and lowered her sword.

Before she could think of anything else to say, Ares sank to the ground on their knees, their face adoring, their laugh like a hyena who’d just spotted something dead and rotting. “How I’vemissedyou.”

Oh, but Atreus reborn was beautiful.

She had black hair cut in a military style, efficient and simple, and she held herself with the air of a fighter with skill beyond her years. Ares longed for her to slide her fingers along their hilt—or their blade, and cut her thumb on the edge, make the sword hers as sword-lore dictated. They wondered what it would feel like to dance through a battlefield behind her like they had once before, directing the path of arrows as they arced across the sky. Or perhaps she would wield them—oh, yes, to feel the heat of her fingers and the weight of her thrusts as they tore through flesh together!

“I will give you a war that turns the desert to mud with the blood of your enemies,” Ares said. “Wield me. Let us reforge Arktos.”

There was a rush of warmth as Ares’ power grew, burning in the presence of the mortal they favored. The others in the room drew back as Ares shifted between forms—the horned Mislian war god with their multiple eyes and hollow back like an open tree, a Starian knight in armor and chainmail, a pirate, the bearded imperial war god, the pregnant dual god of the hills, the owl-god of war who had turned the empire away from Gerakia. Evander Akti stood, a hand on his sword. Castor wept. Evander’s council, whose names and titles appeared in Ares’ mind as they glanced about the room, raised their voices or quietly drew back as was their nature. One of them, Menelaus, reached for Atreus and paused, brow furrowed.

“I don’t want that war,” Atreus said, still holding her naked sword.

“I’ll give you one worthy of you, Atreus,” Ares said.

“I said my name is Kataida Akti?—”

“Kataida.” Nearly every senior official turned to Evander, even Atreus—even Kataida, who looked more surprised to hear him call her name than she had been to see Ares. “Step away from them. Respectfully.”

Kataida took a measured step back, and Stavros moved toward Ares from behind. Ares turned to look at him. He clearly didn’t believe Ares was a god, not like some of the others, who were keeping their distance. Ares smiled, andthatwas when Stavros must have realized, pausing just as he reached for a blade in his uniform jacket.

“Arkoudai.” Ares laughed shortly, and gestured to the room. “Are these the Arkoudai? The soldiers who bravely marched out of Katoikos to throw themselves at the border of Staria and the sea?”

“Gracious One,” Evander said, as Menelaus lay a hand on Kataida as though he could possibly hold her back. “Arktos has always been a haven for your spirit. But we are mortals, and we would see this done in the mortal way.”

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