“You’re calling me tetchy?”
“No, you’re particular. So much about preparing for war is strictly regulated, you know, this collar folded this way, these boots shined in this direction. It’s all to keep soldiers obedient, I know, but I think there’s also comfort in routine when battle can be so…” they paused, remembering the volleys of arrows and the hiss of steel through skin, “delicious.”
“I think you mean chaotic,” Kataida said. Her expression was still stern, but Ares could hear the faintest amusement in her voice.
“Do I? Oh, yes, I was distracted.” Ares put the final book back where it belonged and gestured throughout the room. “Did I do well?”
Kataida looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. “Yes,” she said at last. “You were very precise.”
Atreus had praised them now and then, but no one had ever praised them for cleaning a room before. The novelty was appealing after so many years lying dormant. “Would you like me to attend as a sword? Atreus would ask me to, when I was—” they gestured again, “at official functions and so on.”
“You can be a sword? Oh, yes, I remember.” Kataida’s smile faltered somewhat. “Did he often wear you on his belt?”
“Most of the time, yes. I didn’t mind it. It meant he would wield me soon.” Ares sighed. “He said I could be intimidating in my regular form. I only took this shape in battle sometimes, or in his tent.”
“No.” Kataida’s dominance pushed through with her words, making Ares sway and blink slowly. “No, you were invited. I’m not hiding you.”
Evander’s house wasn’t far. The lights were on in the windows when they arrived, and the door was open, letting out the faint scent of spices and bread. Ares grinned, remembering the old days of the early empire when soldiers would leave out a table at the front lines filled with spiced wine and warm, rich food. It was an abandoned tradition, but one Ares had always liked, the army inviting War to sup at their table so that they would be too full to take too many lives the following day. It didn’t work that way, of course, but the ritual was nice.
“I have a much younger brother,” Kataida said, as they reached the doorstep. “He’s a little impressionable right now.”
“I’m good with children,” Ares said. They’d spoken to a child at least once, anyway.
There were only two people they didn’t recognize in Evander’s house—Elena, his wife, who introduced herself somewhat stiffly to Ares and then pulled Kataida into a one-armed hug, and Malik, the small child in question, who wassitting on the floor with a book while Aleks pointed at various pictures.
“And what’s that?” Aleks asked, as Ares craned to look. “Oh, hello, Ares.”
Malik gave Ares a quick glance, deemed them unimportant compared to the picture Aleks was pointing at, and went back to scowling at the book.
It was odd, how similar to Ares’ family they all were. There were so many different dynamics among them, like Theron, who seemed to set himself apart, or Kataida, who remained formal despite no longer being in official uniform. Evander tried to hold everything together while accommodating everyone’s eccentricities, making Ares wonder if Azaiah ever tired of being the primary peacekeeper among the gods.
“You’re welcome to sit, Gracious One,” Evander said. Kataida was already at the table, so Ares made to kneel on the floor at her side.
Kataida gripped them by the arm before they could sink all the way and looked meaningly at the empty chair next to her. Ares sat, sighing a little. Kataida wanted them to kneel, they could feel it, but perhaps kneeling during dinner was no longer acceptable in modern Arktos.
“So,” Aleks said, settling Malik in his chair, “how long are you…uh…in Arktos?”
“Until there’s no need for me,” Ares said. “Or there could be another war elsewhere that calls me away.”
“Right,” Aleks said. Elena went pale.
“Maybe no more small talk, Aleks,” Theron muttered, sitting down at his other side.
Ares looked from the gathered, slightly uncomfortable family before them to Kataida, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “If you would rather me take another form…”
“No,” Kataida whispered back, and gripped their wrist as though to stop them from changing shape. It felt oddly protective, and Ares looked up at her, alarmed by their own reaction to it. It was like being in a forge, comfortable and warm, listening to hammers shape metal into knives and blades. Ares loved to sleep in forges—they felt safe, enclosed, quiet, and in that brief flash of protectiveness, so did Kataida.
Ares nodded, but Kataida didn’t release their wrist. They had a sudden urge to thank her, or get to their knees between her thighs and worship her while she dragged lines through their skin with her nails. Instead, they popped a stuffed pepper in their mouth and tried to at least keep quiet.
It was a slow, awkward dinner, to say the least, but as soon as the plates were cleared and the table wiped down, Malik walked over to Ares with a stuffed dragon in both hands. He handed it to them and walked off, and Ares looked at Kataida in confusion.
“He’s decided he trusts you,” she said, “so he’s showing you his toys.”
“Oh.” Ares smiled. Malik returned with another stuffed toy, and another, until Ares was sitting in a pile of them while Malik carefully arranged them in an order only he knew. Ares leaned forward and took two of them in hand.
“Do you want me to show you a game?” they asked. Malik thought about it, and then nodded slowly.
In a few minutes, Ares had arranged Malik’s toys in a phalanx formation, and was carefully explaining how Malik would use them to destroy a series of spoons they’d set up as enemy forces. It was great fun, and Malik seemed to enjoy it, but Aleks came in not long after to sweep him away for a bath and bed.
