Page 4 of Our Lady of War

She looked back at her husband. He was so proud of her. So thrilled by her new position…

Athania bent to pick a few blooms of Echinacea and held them to her nose. She would make a tea for Igor out of them to ward off any sickness during his travels. It was easy to come down with any number of illnesses on a battlefield and in filthy camps.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I do think your basket is quite full, and that hedge maze over there seems lonely…”

She tipped her head back and laughed. “Lonely, is it? And we’re to occupy it or entertain it?”

He kissed up the column of her neck, his hands beginning to roam over her body. “Most certainly entertain.”

She spun in his arms, and he pulled her tight against him. Bending down to kiss her lips, he lifted her up, carrying her into the maze as she giggled in between kisses. Thrice he tripped, and Athania laughed, her heart more full than it had ever been. They stopped at the first bench they found, and Igor made good on his promise, the two of them giving the lonely hedge maze enough spiced gossip to send all the lords and ladies blushing.

Later, as the sun was beginning to sit lower in the sky, they lay wrapped in one another’s arms in the garden’s soft grass. Igor broke the comfortable silence, running a finger lazily up and down Athania’s shoulder. “I have only three more years before we can leave all of this.”

She turned her head to look at him, her hand flat against his stomach. “Leave all this? Whatever do you mean?”

“We can be done with war and conquest. Be done with High Society and living within the dreary walls of the castle.”

Athania sat up, and he followed her lead. “But you adore being commander…”

“Of course I do, mi amor. But I adore you more. I want to give you a home in the foothills. A garden of your own.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “What have I possibly done to deserve you?”

He beamed and kissed her gently. But his face faltered, his smile drooping.

“What is it?” she asked.

“We are leaving early, my men and I. Our ship is to sail out in the morning.”

Athania baulked. “No.” She stood. “No. You have four more days with me.”

Igor rose and tried to put his arms around her, but she was too frustrated. “Mi amor. I didn’t want to ruin our last day together. I only wanted a blissful time with you without thinking of this. But it is almost nightfall…I have to prepare. Please…” He reached for her hand. “Please do not be angry.”

“You should have told me.” She began stomping back toward the castle, ignoring her basket of herbs and flora. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming with you.”

He caught up and pulled her to a stop. “No, Athania. We agreed. Your new position is perfect for you. We can handle the separation for a time.” He moved to block her path and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Please, mi amor. Let me prepare to leave, and then we will have every last breath of this night together, but you cannot come to Hawthrin. You must stay here this time.”

She knew he was right. It had little to do with her position at the healing spa, but he was right.

Finally, she let out a shaky sigh, and they walked back to their quarters.

Chapter

Two

Athania slid open the drawer of her desk and withdrew her mauve correspondence box adorned with dainty white flowers. The letter on top was the most important and certainly the most difficult to pen. If endless wars and endless life had taught her one thing, it was to be through with the difficult and dreaded tasks first. The cork of her ink bottle gave a little pop as she pulled it out. The tink of quill against glass as it was dipped to gather ink was one of her favourite sounds. She’d lost count of how many times the goddess quill had turned the tide of war at her hand. Bringing it with her when she left behind her immortal standing as the Goddess of War was…not her wisest decision to date. However, she had very little interest in returning it. Powerful as it was, the quill could also be just a quill, and it was her only keepsake from her days amongst the gods.

Dotting the last i on her letter, the candle nearest her inkwell began to sputter and smoke profusely. Athania waved a hand over it to disperse the smoke, but it only grew thicker. Perplexed, she set down her quill and squinted curiously. A tendril of it snaked off toward the candle’s shadow on the wall, and Athania snorted, realising what was happening. She crossed her arms and waited.

Smoke and shadow grew along the wall into the vague shape of a man—or god, in his case—until a skeletal, hooded form materialised enough to step out of the smog and descend to stand in her room. Without a word, he shifted into his fleshly form and sprawled out on an armchair, his long legs hanging over one side. “Hello, War, dearest.” His smirk made her want to pommel him and embrace him all at once.

“Thanasim.” She tried to sound nonchalant—annoyed. “You forgot Lady, you prat.”

Lord Night ran a hand through his mess of hair, black as his title and his decrepit heart. “Ah, but you aren’t her anymore, now are you?” He eyed her like a lion prepared to pounce, but she saw right through his pompous exterior, she always had. They’d been a true family.

Athania pushed away the grief pressing against her ribs, resisting the urge to ask after the others. “I suppose you’re right,” she answered. “But that would mean I am no longer War, either.”

Thanasim snorted and righted himself in the chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes had always been captivating. Like galaxies of violet starlight. In truth, he was the favoured one. They’d all been selected as mortals and given the rebirth of god and goddess by Hespa, but Thanasim was different. Nyxia, Lady Death, had hand-selected him as a boy to be one of her reapers long, long ago. She’d doted on him in every reincarnated life he’d led as man and reaper—the son she would never have. When he was officially rebirthed as a lord, Hespa gave him Nyxia’s eyes doused in shadow. A perfect match for the God of Night.