“Read books?” Ares laughed, and it sounded like it had before, drums and fifes and arrows striking a shield. “Why would I do that?”
She smiled a bit. “You’re in a few of them, the history books. My father likes them.”
“What do you like to read?” Ares asked, getting to their feet. “I’ll read your favorites.”
A flicker of unease went through her, but she found one for them, a book that Aleks had given her about Lukos, and she pointed to the sofa. “Wait there. I’ll be back in a minute. Are you thirsty? Do you need anything?”
Ares was holding the book like she’d just given them a favorite weapon. “I need many things, Kataida, but for now, the book will do.”
Still, it was probably in her best interest to get dressed as quickly as possible. There was no telling what might happen to her house if they got bored.
Ares waited precisely two seconds after the door closed to toss the book on the couch and get to their feet. They hadn’t been in a proper house in centuries. War generally didn’t belong in traditional buildings unless there was an assassination, a wedding, or a violent attack of some kind, so Ares had a fascination with them. In the days of the empire, they used to wander the palace just for fun, stirring dissent between various factions of the palace staff while they dug through libraries and broke amphoras to see what was inside.
Now, they searched the house for signs of Kataida. For all that she seethed with the chaos of war, her mind was as tidy as Axon, and they suspected the shelves that looked like they had been recently dusted were hers. They picked up little figurines and opened folders, glanced at her birth notes, folded them up, and dropped the folder somewhere. They opened a lockedcabinet containing instruments for cleaning something. The rag and brush smelled faintly of gunpowder, and Ares shivered at the thought of Kataida’s hands sliding along the mechanism of a gun, pulling the trigger with the weapon pressed lovingly to Ares’ chest.
Their power flared like flame licking over dry wood, suffusing the air of the small house. The wall by the front door shuddered as something slammed into it, and Ares breathed in the faintest warmth of worship as raised voices echoed in the street. They opened the door to find three soldiers scuffling against the wall. Two of them seemed to want to throttle each other. The third looked like he wanted to strangle them both. Wars had devastated entire countries over petty fights like these.
It had been so long since Ares had been worshipped. Oh, these mortals didn’t know they were worshipping them, but it didn’t matter. Now that Ares had come to Arktos, the Arkoudai would need to remember their patron deity.
If Ares hadn’t been there, perhaps the fight would have ended quietly. The soldiers would have gone their separate ways, cooling off in tea houses and the arms of their lovers.
“Go on,” Ares said to the soldier closest to them. The soldier’s brows furrowed, and he reached for the knife at his belt.
“What is this?”
Ares smiled as Kataida appeared at the door. She was dressed in a more casual version of her uniform with a loose, long-sleeved shirt and fitted pants. Ares wondered if she had any scars underneath those sleeves, and was about to ask when Kataida pushed past them and wrenched the soldier’s knife out of his hand.
“He’s unarmed,” Ares said to the others. One of them moved a hand to his belt, and Kataida stepped between them.
“Enough.” Her voice was sharp with dominance. “Don’t encourage them. I need names and commanding officers, now.”
Ares frowned. Was Kataida displeased? She should have known, as someone with Atreus’ soul, that Ares didn’t accept the same sort of sacrifices as other gods. Many mortals left shells and fish for Leviathan, but a few strapped pretty submissives to rocks and let them starve to death while Leviathan forgot about them. Ares’ sacrifices were moments like this—little conflicts with the potential for more, squabbles that pitted families together, border disputes and arguments over imported grain. They had a right to accept tribute in whatever form it came.
Kataida was barely managing to keep the soldiers from lunging for each other. It was clear she didn’t have her father’s ability to lead with her words. She was better with a sword in her hand, and the soldiers only broke apart when she threatened to have them up before a martial court.
She was breathing hard when the last one left, and she turned on Ares with a flash of dominance in her dark eyes. “What was that? You were influencing them, I could tell.”
“They were giving me a tribute,” Ares said, “in a small way. Battles work better, of course, but I can’t help it if people respond to my presence.”
“You can,” Kataida said. “You were goading them on. Get inside. Now.”
Ares tilted their head. “Atreus fed my power with a battle that stained the water of the Katoikos port before he earned the right to suppress my influence. I would gladly lay low the ones who oppose you, but even Atreus wouldn’t have been able to settle me at the height of my power. He knew what I was, and what I was not.”
“You aren’t dealing with Atreus.” Ares could feel a tickle of fear in Kataida’s voice. Like many before her, she feared the truth—that Ares could bow and kneel, but could never truly be stopped. Not for long, not when they had the taste of blood in their mouth and the heat of battle in their lungs. “Get inside.”
Ares stood there, the urge to submit straining against their pride, and gasped as Kataida clenched a fist in their hair. She didn’t pull. She just stood there, holding them, looking into their eyes.
“Get in,” she said, “or I’ll never touch you again.”
Ares smiled and let Kataida pull them through the door.
“You’ll clean up before we leave this house.” Kataida released them as soon as they passed through the door.
“I’m not a human submissive who you can properly punish,” Ares said. Kataida narrowed her eyes, and Ares slowly started moving a jar of glass beads off a nearby shelf. Kataida stopped it wth her hand and pointed to the living room.
“No,” she said. “Put everything back where you found it.”
“You’re like Desire with his hoard,” Ares said, loping back into the other room. They started putting things back just as they’d been, adjusting each book and figurine just so. “His well is a mess—except he doesn’t live in a well anymore, apparently—but every time I went there and started picking things up, he’d make me rearrange the piles. Tetchy, that’s what he is.”
