17 #2
I wonder if that’s the best idea and decide it’s not the worst. I would otherwise sit and relive the horrors of the day or sleep to forget them. “Sure.”
August offers a grateful smile, and something in my chest shifts.
It feels different, lighter somehow.
Despite having known Niall, I thought I would be alone here. Instead, I found August Aymes. A gift the gods foolishly want to take from the world of mortals who love him.
So, if he wants to punish the divine with smiles and laughter and make the mortal crowds rave about us instead of the divine? I’ll wave with him and smile and relish every flag waving in our names, the feathers worn in strands of hair.
I’ll be his ally. His friend. And pray I’m a better one to him than I was to Daedalus.
When he catches me studying him, I don’t look away or try to hide it. His dark lashes flutter. His head tilts as he studies me back. And then…then August Aymes brushes the back of my hand with the back of his finger.
He watches, silently asking if it’s okay. I don’t know what this is or what we’re doing, but I reach out for him. Willing. And as we start down the many staircases, he threads his long, graceful fingers through mine.
He doesn’t let go until we take the path to my home.
I hide my spear in the sea behind my oikos again, then August hurries inside to change into shorts, emerging shirtless from his house. The sun has kissed his skin and limned his dark hair with its golden touch.
We walk to the warm saltwater pool. With no swimsuit, I strip my skirt off to swim in my tank top and underwear. I remove my prosthesis and sheath. The afternoon breeze is cool, so the water feels especially good. I can’t contain the groan that slips from my lips.
“Does it hurt – wearing the prosthetic?” August asks.
“The old one did. It took weeks to learn to walk with it. It wasn’t made for me, so my body had to adjust to make it work.
This one doesn’t bother me at all.” I tell him about Daedalus, his ancestry and the secret sliver of magic he poured into the leg.
“I think that’s why it feels so natural.
His gift makes it feel like it’s part of me when I wear it. ”
My heart stings like someone etched Daedalus’s name into it.
He swims closer. “What is it like – being in Morrigan’s army?”
That question could take days to answer. I dip my hair back to wet it. “Do you want to know about my training, or how many people I’ve killed?”
He blinks, water clumping his lashes. “I want to know more about you.”
I stop overthinking and start talking. Someone should know the parts I’ve kept tucked away.
“Morrigan trained us well. Every day for hours, we ran, honed our agility, learned the myriad of weapons she wanted us to use, and then sparred with one another so we knew what battle felt like. It wasn’t the same, though.”
I sit on the ledge along the pool’s side.
“When you’re sparring, your opponent isn’t really trying to kill you. In war, there are no friendly faces. People don’t pull their punches. No one’s waiting to tell you to stop or that the exercise is over. You fight until it’s decided, one way or another.”
“But you didn’t lose in the battles you fought,” he says. Water sluices down his throat, trickling across his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I croak when he swims so close I can discern every shade of blue in his eyes. His hands bracket my thighs, brushing the outsides of them.
Except for healers, no one has touched my residual limb. Purposely or not.
My breath thins.
Another brush of his thumbs shreds all thought. “You only fell to Ares – arguably the most ruthless of the war gods. You didn’t lose a single fight with another mortal.”
I swallow thickly. “Why do you know that?”
“The newscasters have followed you for years.”
I didn’t know. Cillian didn’t tell me. He probably didn’t want me to get upset, and I would have.
He waits for me to speak, willing to change the subject if I’m too uncomfortable.
“Morrigan trained me well.” I shrug, looking away.
He cocks his head. “How many others did she train?”
“None that I know of.”
“She saw something special in you,” he muses, staring like he might see it, too.
Whatever she saw, I almost wish she hadn’t. “Don’t praise me for being good at killing, August.”
His stomach brushes my knees. “I just wonder if you might have a little magic, too, like Daedalus. No other mortal even comes close to your battle score.”
“Battle scores are just numbers.” The gods of war, Morrigan included, rank their soldiers to encourage healthy competition and improvement among peers.
A grin flickers at the edge of his sinful mouth. “Yeah, well yours is impressive.”
“Would you be worried about my number if you and I met on the battlefield?”
A decisive nod. “Yes.”
I push him backward a step, then sink into the water, swimming a few feet away. “I’d wager you’re still highly esteemed among those in your profession.”
“Songs don’t win wars,” he says.
“They just might spark them, though,” I breathe, looking at the clouds.
He swims closer.
Carina always talked about how beautiful August Aymes’s lips were.
How masculine and sensual. Years ago, when we were balancing on the edge of the precipice that is adulthood.
If she could see him now, as a man, she’d have a whole new appreciation for the way they form his words and carry his thoughts.
I move into deeper water. He follows.
“According to your brother, once upon a time you were a fan.” Mischief sparkles in his stare. “Why’d you stop listening?”
I lift a shoulder. “I was conscripted. Morrigan sequestered us from the realms to stave off our homesickness, and I couldn’t bring myself to listen to your music after Carina died. I avoided everything that reminded me of her.”
We swim farther into the pool. “When were you conscripted?”