Semra

"Mother," she whispered in awe. As she walked down the path, the light at its end got stronger, more compelling. Finally it became so blinding she had to close her eyes. Heat struck her face as though she was standing under the strong sun of a southern land. "Daughter," a woman's voice said, and warm strong hands grasped hers.

Sara Douglass, "The Wayfarer Redemption"

The main hall of the temple of Mars was decorated with wreaths and draped in rich tapestries. The smell of exotic spices sacrificed in honour of her victories hung limp in the air, swirling blue-grey in the torchlight. It was still early and the temple was deserted and silent, except for the occasional dull splat of hot tar from a torch onto the stone below.

Livia stood in the doorway, swaying, one hand on the hilt of her sword. The temple hall appeared to move rhythmically, fluctuating in time with her laboured breathing. She waited for it to settle into the familiar immovable marble she had known these past few years. Her eyes watered from the smoke. She wiped at her face with one sleeve and realised that her robe was stained and torn open. She shivered. Despite all the torches, this place was cold. Had it been this cold when she had first called to him here? She could not remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had stood in this same doorway, hesitating.

Her plan had been simple back then: take out the guard, enter the temple. She had not thought past that point, so when it all happened so quickly, the guard on the floor and the tip of her sword at his neck, she had hesitated. How did one request the aid of a god? She had not known, but the guard had started to show signs of recovering, she'd had no time to waste. How to call him?

She had thought back to her early childhood then, sneaking into the library and reading for hours. She had been surprised and annoyed to discover that so many of the things she loved about Rome, her homeland, her life, were not Roman in the least. Even most of the gods were apparently Greek. So she had called him by his Greek name, hoping to distinguish herself from the countless others who, no doubt, were calling to him at that very moment everywhere in the vast lands of her home. "Ares!"

And it had worked, none more stunned than she. He had appeared to her, his entrance announced by a flash of violet light, brilliant enough in the dim temple to nearly blind her.

So. Livia the orphan, Livia, Fortuna's little present for Augustus, Livia the millstone around everyone's necks – she was worth something yet, to be granted an audience with a god! With Ares' tutelage, she would be a true warrior, awesome in her glory. She would cleanse the fatherland of the weaklings and the parasites, those who would not pay the tribute due to the land that supported them, those who would not have been tolerated in Ceasar's time. She would become Livia, Champion of Rome – and by all the gods and by Ares himself, she would make Rome great again!

What a fool she had been.

Livia blocked out the memories with a wordless scream that tore its way from her gut to her mouth, scalding her throat. She ran to the centre of the hall and swung the weapon in a wide arc, putting the full force of her rage behind it. She was Livia, Champion of Rome, Ares himself had spent the feast in her company – a god! And who was she, that mockery of a servant – hiding behind a veil! Cowardly slut!

Who was she, to take him away from her, to make him leave on the very night that should have been her own?

Livia's sword slashed at random, through countless smouldering incense sticks that exploded in showers of orange sparks, through tapestries that depicted battle after glorious battle. The blade stuck on a patch of worked gold thread and Livia paused, breathing hard. She had been waiting for this, for Ares to make her truly his own, a hero with her god at her side! She yanked the sword back, hating the uselessness of the beautiful blade, despising herself for not having run that bitch through when she'd had the chance.

She had fought hard, won her way to the top, growing stronger with every battle, every victory. She was not some spoilt little rich girl, no matter how her former mentors and guardians would cluck at the mention of her name. When had it ever been easy for her? Never! She had bled for every step of the way! Every damn step!

Finally, she had succeeded in subduing the grumbling provinces, even made new conquests. She was feared, and she was admired. Livia, Champion of Rome! And now, she would become Empress – even if it meant marrying her ageing patron. She stretched her lips cruelly – what a tragedy it would be when Augustus succumbed to old age before his time. Terrible. She smiled outright, sword poised in mid-air. Many, many peasants in the provinces would have recognised that brief smile. Such a pity they could not see it in the Underworld!

Livia brought her sword down with shattering force into the carved woodwork of a bench, splintering the seat into two. She deserved to be Empress! None loved Rome more than she – and she would have it. Ares would make sure of that.

Wouldn't he?

The sword dropped with a clang, and Livia sank onto the splintered remains of the bench, running her fingers through her hair, feeling for the first time in days how dirty it was. She tried to collect her thoughts through the fog of pleasure herbs and wine. Who was the woman? Not a slave – no collar, no mark. Besides, her bearing had not been that of a servant or a slave. She had moved almost like ... like a warrior.

Livia felt a lump in her throat at the memory of Ares' face lighting up at the sight of the woman, the way it did sometimes when she'd win a brilliant battle. But then, something else. Something had happened between the two of them, something that had excluded her entirely. Livia wished she could have heard their quiet exchange, or seen something more than their silhouettes in the smoke and the flash of Ares' abrupt disappearance.

And their kiss.

She ground her fists into the splintered wood around her, until she could feel her knuckles bleed. That bitch! How dare she try to take Ares away from her while she still had use for him?

Livia raised her hands and studied her palms. Every one of those calluses had been earned. She had told Ares that she'd done it in his name; she had told Augustus the same thing. Bullshit. It was her name that was whispered through the territories, her name that was screamed by soldiers in the fury of battle. Livia! She had done it all in her name. What could a god know of that? The perfect satisfaction when she could feel her sword striking true, feel it with every fibre of her body; the awe in the eyes of others – fear and love in equal measure, more intoxicating by far than the finest wine.

Suddenly, Livia felt strong hands grab her wrists, twist them behind her, holding her immobile. She struggled uselessly. Fool! To drop her sword like that, leave herself open to attack. She tried to twist her face about to see the attacker, but she was held tight.

"I'm sorry."

For a few seconds the phrase did not register. But the voice did – her! The whore from the feast! Livia began to struggle once again. Then the meaning of her words sank in. Sorry? Oh, she would be!

Livia slumped down against the woman, feigning unconsciousness, acutely aware of the distance between her right foot and the sword hilt on the floor. Just a little more. A finger's breadth. Livia allowed her body to slip lower, the woman's arm supporting it for some reason. What did she want?

"Eve."

Who? Livia's mind sought a connection. She felt her toe touch the hilt of the weapon on the floor and concentrated her whole awareness on the contact. Just a bit more, a little way – enough to gain some leverage. Come on!

"Eve..." The woman's voice was soft, the words barely brushing the edge of Livia's hearing. The sword moved a little, guided into position. "I know you can't hear me – I'm so sorry I had to do that to you..." With a shock, Livia felt the woman release her grip, the hands weak and useless about her. She fought to maintain the pretense of unconsciousness. "Eve, sweetheart ... my baby ..."

What baby? Livia struggled to throw off the miasma of herbs. Think, think, think. Baby. Had she lost a baby? One of the peasants, with a brat killed in a raid? Could well be.

The sword moved another inch. That's it!

A savage roar filled the temple, reverberated off walls and pillars of black marble; Livia flipped the sword into her hand, balancing it, jumped up and snarled at the woman behind her. The woman sat in a squat, her black hair no longer coiffed but tangled about her face. With the veil gone, Livia saw that she was older than she'd expected, perhaps in her mid-thirties – but obviously Ares thought her young and attractive enough.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care! How dare you intrude on the Champion of Rome?"

When the woman merely continued looking up at her, Livia felt a growing sense of unease. Those eyes... And Eve. Who the hell was Eve?

"I am Livia! Champion of Rome!" She despised the tremor in her voice. How could this ... this nothing, this peasant in a slave's dress – how could she get to her?

To Livia's astonishment, the woman rose lithely. "Yes, I know."

Not a peasant. The thought came unbidden, a reflex from years of Ares' training. Observe. See. Act. "Where is your army?"

The woman jumped as if bitten. Bullseye! Livia felt the world swing into normality again.

"I have no army."

The voice was level – but the face said it all. A warrior. And a clever one. Livia's mind raced. Ares' reaction, 'Eve', 'my baby', a warrior. She nearly howled in frustration. Where was the missing piece?

She stood back, sword raised. "Who are you?"

The woman's eyes tracked Livia's movements. Not her weapon, she noted with dismay. Why not? Wasn't she scared? Livia advanced, pointing the blade between the woman's breasts. No reaction. Grudging admiration filled her. A true warrior, like herself. "Answer me! Who are you? What do you have to do with ... with Mars?" No sense revealing all her aces.

The woman's hand diverted the weapon. Livia let her, never losing eye contact. Observe. The woman lowered her eyelids. Livia's eyes narrowed – what was she hiding?

She looked up again, her face unreadable. "I'm nothing."

Livia smirked. "A good answer. I'm almost beginning to like you. Almost! Continue."

"You want to know about my relationship with Ar... Mars?"

Livia nodded. So, she referred to him by his true name, too. How curious.

"I am the mother of his child."

Livia shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "You must be very proud."

"No. I lost her."

"Your daughter is dead?"

The woman smiled slightly, sadly. "Not to me." Then, almost hesitantly, "She was ... stolen."

"I see." Everything fell into place; Livia had to restrain herself from breaking into a triumphant smile. So that's the baby! 'Eve'! And Ares the father. Nothing quite so repulsive as a breeding harlot. So much for the mystery of what the strange woman was doing here: trying to use her to get to Ares, and trying to get Ares to find the child. Clever. But she needed to be sure.

"You want Ares to restore this baby of yours, Eve, to you."

The woman's expression became bland. "Do you think he could do that?"

Livia sheathed the sword and allowed herself to relax her posture slightly, enough to put the woman at ease. "I'm sure he could, if I spoke on your behalf. Now, that's much better than trying to attack me and blackmail him, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. I will speak for you. For a price."

The woman straightened and looked into Livia's eyes, throwing her out of kilter for a second. She dismissed the momentary panic when the woman saluted her in the Roman fashion. A good start.

"Name it."

"You. In my army. One campaign only, that's all I ask. I can see you're good." Livia cocked her head in a question.

The woman gave her a strange look. Those eyes again ... "It's a deal." She gave Livia a dazzling smile. "I thank you, Commander."

"Report to the camp by noon. I'll see you in my tent on the third hour; we can discuss the details then. What's your name?" Now that the game was over, Livia was beginning to lose patience again.

"Semra."

"Dismissed."

Semra saluted and left the temple, the scarves of her ridiculous slave-girl costume flapping behind her. Livia drummed her fingers against her scabbard, considering. She was very, very content. A rival out of the way – and better still, owing her a favour. A warrior, trained and obviously good, free for the upcoming campaign. And a lever against Ares. Not bad for one morning's work.

* * *

Gabrielle dropped lightly off the ledge on the temple wall as soon as she saw Xena come outside. When Xena drew level, Gabrielle matched her strides, walking down the wide paved street. The slick grey cobblestones were cold enough to numb her feet through the soles of her boots and she concentrated on not losing her footing. The city was awake now, awash with people and noise, damp air thick with the smell of morning bread; shop windows were being thrown open and merchants called to each other across alleyways. After a while, Gabrielle spoke. "So we're fighting for Rome?"

Xena did not slow down. "If we have to."

"Are you sure there isn't another way?"

Xena's shoulders rose and fell in what was probably supposed to be a shrug, but looked more like a sigh to Gabrielle's eyes, well acquainted as she was with Xena's moods. "You saw what happened back there. Ev... Livia held all the pieces, and put them together the only way she could. No explanation I can give her would be as convincing as one she finds herself."

"You could have just told her." Gabrielle skirted a puddle and found herself falling behind. "Maybe if we just talked to her..."

Xena shrugged again, her cloak moving limply. "And tell her what? That her mother slept through most of her adult life and looks barely a decade older than she is? That her father is the God of War?"

"She'd believe the last part."

Xena whirled around sharply, nearly causing Gabrielle to walk into her. An elderly woman cloaked like a cocoon gave them an annoyed look before walking around.

"Of course she'd believe it!" The bitterness in her friend's face whipped Gabrielle like salt water. "That's why she can never, ever know it, don't you see?" Xena's eyes were pale, and so full of anguish that Gabrielle forgot every one of her own concerns – but this had to be said.

"Xena," she began uncertainly, "How can you hide it from her? What makes you think Ares won't tell her?"

Xena said nothing. Gabrielle bit down on the tip of her tongue, then decided she may as well finish what she started. "I think he really loved Eve." She saw the scorn in her friend's face. "I even heard him sing to her once, at night." The stuffy inn room, and Ares rocking the baby...

Xena looked at her a moment longer, then turned and continued to walk as though they had never stopped. Gabrielle half-walked, half-ran to catch up, mentally cursing the cobbles.

"Ares doesn't love," Xena's voice was hollow, half a step ahead. "He doesn't know how. To him, Eve was a new toy. Now Livia is a different kind of toy. If it suits his purposes, he will tell her – there's nothing I can do about that."

Gabrielle finally caught up, falling in step. "We'll get through to her first."

"We have to." Bleakness belied the determined words.

Then neither of them could speak any more, and Gabrielle listened to their footsteps slapping a beat on the pavement. It started to rain again. Xena was right. Almost any story Ares chose to feed Livia would sound more convincing by far than the truth. Livia would believe him, and Xena's daughter would be lost forever. Their daughter.

The two women turned towards the city perimeter, sodden cloaks dripping mournfully around them. They were heading for the military encampment on the Campus Martius, outside the city proper.

* * *

Ares did not materialise in the Amazon village. Invisible to mortal eyes, he surveyed the huts and the weapons practice area cordoned off in the centre. The whole place was drab and brown in the weak morning sunlight, perfectly suited to his mood. Ares leaned against a tree trunk, crossed his arms and tried to look like he had better things to do – an effort entirely wasted on the aether.

Several women wearing little more than war paint were crowded around the periphery of the practice ring; within it was a blur of fists and knees – two young Amazons locked in brutal hand-to-hand combat. Ares dismissed the skinny blonde one out of hand; he was here to see the other. Varia. Slender, dark, doe-eyed, with a perpetual scowl and a militantly nationalistic attitude Ares could only tolerate in very small doses. However, Varia did have one very useful quality, which up until now he had been quite happy to foster. She hated Rome.

As Ares watched, Varia managed to secure a grip on the other fighter's arm, and with a twist of her wrist, the girl was on the ground. There was sharp crack as her back hit the dirt, and Varia bounced back slightly, a hint of concern in her eyes. There was a short, tense silence as the defeated Amazon lay unmoving on the ground. Then, unsteadily, the girl climbed to her feet. She clasped Varia's arm, gracious in her defeat and relatively unhurt. The others breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"You must learn to gauge your own strength better, Varia." Marga, the queen, walked through the crowd to stand over Varia, who seemed suddenly diminished despite her triumph. Ares almost smiled at the simmering resentment in Varia's stance.

"Why?" Varia asked a little shrilly. "The Romans don't pull any punches. Neither should we. What's the point of learning to fight someone who has no intention of hurting you?"

Marga glanced back at the blonde Amazon's scratched and battered form, then returned her level gaze to Varia, faintly disapproving. "The Romans haven't thrown a single punch in our direction since Caesar's time, Varia. Don't do our enemies' job for them by maiming one of your own sisters. As to the point – you live to fight another day. And you learn self-control."

Marga signalled for the others to follow her and departed, to all appearances oblivious to Varia's reaction to the parting shot. The others retreated after her, leaving Varia alone in the ring – almost.

"Nice move," Ares applauded, appearing beside the startled Amazon. She recovered quickly, measuring him with a cautious look.

"She could've cracked her spine."

"Or yours. Point is, you taught her a lesson." Ares shrugged. "Next time, she'll be prepared."

Varia frowned. "Marga's right. I still don't have enough control."

"And when it comes to control, too much is not enough."

Varia reddened. "You're laughing at me."

"Far from it," Ares assured her. "I'm just trying to remind you of the bigger picture here." Marga had far too much influence on the girl for his liking. It could interfere with more important things. "Marga may have united the tribes, but how long will her control last when the Roman legions are pouring into your lands?"

After a pause, Varia nodded. "Marga is weak. She doesn't believe that Rome will attack us – and she doesn't realise that if we don't do something soon, there will be no Amazon nation left."

"Now, that's more like it." Ares tipped Varia's chin up to look into the girl's dark eyes. "Tell me, are you still prepared to lead your people against the Roman empire?"

"Always."

"Strength to the Amazon nation?" His tone did not betray so much as a hint of irony; he kept his face equally expressionless, and was surprised by how much effort it took. When exactly had this whole project become a pain in hard to reach places?

"Strength to the Amazon nation," Varia confirmed seriously. Ares released her chin and she rubbed at her jaw absently, "Marga leads us well enough in peace time – but when we go to war, I'll be the one riding to face the Romans. Marga wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Absolutely," Ares agreed. "You'll be the greatest Warrior Queen the Amazons have ever had." Mostly, he added mentally, that was because they'd never had a Warrior Queen before, and after this war they would certainly not have another. But he didn't say it aloud.

Varia took a step back, growing suspicious. "You're after something."

Or someone. Ares gave her his most charming smile.

"Were you expecting a freebie? I think not. Unless you're prepared to pay a little price for my interference, how can I know that you're serious about this?"

"You know I'm serious, Ares. So, what can the future Amazon Queen do for you?"

This was it, Ares thought, the sole reason he had bothered to come here in person, instead of just collecting all his careful plans for this war and blasting the lot to Tartarus. The Amazon was waiting expectantly, her face still flushed from the fight, her dark hair swept back from bright, defiant eyes. It was a terrible waste of potential. Xena had better appreciate it.

When Ares just continued staring at her, Varia shrugged and reached up to undo the laces on her leather top. He grabbed her wrist, barely registering her yelp of pain. He let go.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but that won't be necessary." Did she imagine he was so desperate that he'd sell his support for some action in the sack?! "But since you're asking, there is a little something you can do for me. Do you know where Marga keeps the ceremonial knick-knacks? Masks, drums, sacrificial virgins, that sort of thing?"

Varia grinned. "You forgot the blue paint and the jar of ambrosia."

"You can keep the blue paint, and I'll even throw in the virgins – just get the ambrosia."

Varia shook her head slowly. "I can't. Marga will notice it's missing."

"Marga couldn't tell ambrosia from raspberry jelly if she was wrestling in it." Ares fought to keep the urgency from his voice. It wouldn't matter if this didn't work, he told himself, there was plenty more on Olympus. Except that taking ambrosia from under the other gods' noses could have extremely unpleasant consequences...

Varia laughed. "All right, I'll do it."

Ares did not allow himself to look relieved. "Good," he said, before flaring out of sight.

Varia looked around, taking in the dusty practice ring, the makeshift huts and the expanse of forest in every direction. What could a god possibly want with ambrosia? She shrugged mentally, dismissing the curiosity, and set off towards the storage huts. The important thing was that he'd as good as promised to help her win against Rome. If all it cost her was a pinch of ambrosia, Varia considered it an excellent bargain indeed.

* * *

Livia sat cross-legged on the temple floor, a pile of maps spread out around her. She had fully expected Ares to appear the moment Semra was out the door, demanding explanations. She wondered what was holding him up, then deliberately put it out of her mind. There was plenty of time before the appointed meeting with the woman. In the meantime, these maps demanded her full attention.

Livia hesitated, tossing up strategies, stylus poised above the large sheet of parchment in her lap. Even with a terrible hangover, she found herself enjoying the exercise. She had always revelled in this part of a campaign, the calm before the storm. Calculating, planning, assessing possibilities. Nothing else compared to the power in the grasp of her fingers, when a single stroke could rewrite the world to her will. "The quill is mightier than the sword," she quoted from some childhood memory. At times like these, with the world at her feet, even if only on parchment, she almost believed it.

She held a vague suspicion that this was not something Ares approved of. Sure, he could whip her ass at practice, even without using his powers, but she knew that when it came to strategy, she was angling Athena's way. Ares saw it as a boring necessity, a chore to be dispensed with as soon as possible so that the battle could begin. Livia loved the challenge.

"Perfect." She blew on the ink to dry it, but the fleeting satisfaction soured at the memory of last night's scene. It was pure luck that Semra has given her the key to carrying out her plans, after she had so nearly lost Ares! She must not rely on chance again like this; there may not be another skeleton conveniently falling out of the closet to save her sorry butt. Rome may call her Fortuna's Champion, but Livia knew better. Fortuna was a Roman invention. The only real patron she had was Ares – who still wasn't here.

Fine, she would wait. She could be patient when necessary. On second thoughts... Livia pushed the map away and rose, unsheathing her sword. She did not like to be kept waiting.

She began her morning drill, sword slashing air and anything else that happened to be in the way. Tapestries, candelabras and any statues that were still whole came crashing down to the floor in pieces. "Come on, God of War, I want to talk to you!" The weapon moved almost invisibly, the drill practiced to perfection.

"What in Tartarus do you think you're doing?!"

Slashes of blue silver lit the wasteland of the temple hall, leaving behind a furious God of War. He tore the sword from Livia's hand and flung it aside. Livia flinched, but stood her ground. Ares did not like weakness.

"Redecorating?"

She knew at once that it was the wrong tack to take. Ares' fury seemed to fill every space around her. Livia was almost surprised that the weapons lining the walls were not glowing red-hot. She braced herself for the onslaught, but it did not come – instead, she watched, puzzled, as Ares tried to control his anger, finally succeeding. He gave her an odd look.

"You and I have to talk, Livia. After you've cleaned up this," he motioned at the ruined interior of the hall, "yourself."

Livia blinked in confusion. What's gotten into him? Clean?! With her army just outside the city, her plans ready and Semra waiting to take orders? Not likely! Time to go on the offensive. She stepped up to Ares, keeping her chin up and her eyes always on his face. Don't let him see you frightened, don't let him intimidate you. "I have good news."

Ares' face twitched sarcastically. "Really?"

"Indeed." Livia picked up her sword and pointed it to a map on the floor. "I will be launching an attack here – and here – as soon as the celebrations are over and I'm back in action." She saw a flicker of curiosity in Ares' eyes and waited.

"How will you attack on two fronts at once? You have no second in command worth mentioning."

"Had. I do now."

Ares crossed his arms on his chest, evidently deciding that his 'talk' could wait. Good.

"Explain."

Livia turned her back to him with deliberate audacity and walked a few steps, finally coming to rest just under a small, high window. She positioned herself so that the slant of morning light outlined every curve. She did not want Ares to mistake her intention.

"With pleasure. I met a very interesting woman last night. She claims that you fathered a child of hers." Was it just a trick of the light, or did Ares actually blanch? This was turning out better than she had expected! "She is mad with grief, but she is clearly a fine warrior. Your interest alone was recommendation enough." Livia paused to let the barb sink in. "I promised to help her restore the child."

Nothing.

Disappointment fell around her. She had expected some reaction to this, anything. Instead, Ares' features were set in stone, shadows black on the hollows of his face. "I extracted a pledge from her to join my ... our ... army for this campaign." There! Surprise. "She will be my second in command."

"And you trust this woman?" Ares sounded distant.

Livia shrugged. "As much as I trust any of my men. She knows that if she breaks her promise, I will certainly not keep mine." The corners of her mouth curled maliciously. "She wants to see her child again. And she will do whatever it takes." She paused, then added, "I can always kill her later."

Without warning, Ares grabbed two handfuls of Livia's tunic, shoving her back roughly. Her head hit a column, darkening her vision for a moment. Livia shrieked with delight. Finally! She struggled, pulling the torn garment down over her breasts, her body thrilling in anticipation.

Ares' eyes were blazing, his skin deathly pale. "You've got no idea what you're doing, little girl!" He yanked the piece of tunic she had loosened upwards, forcing her to cover her chest.

Confused, Livia looked up at him. Not again! He couldn't humiliate her like this. Not now. "I'm no little girl, Ares! We've played this game long enough. I want you. Damn it, take me!"

He slapped her.

Not hard, considering, but the sound rang against the metal decorating the temple, mocking her. She cradled the injured cheek.

Ares' face softened slightly. "Get back to your camp, Livia. Now."

Livia pulled her clothes from his grip and ran out, shooting him an insulted look over her shoulder. The heavy door vibrated with her passage.

Ares stared after her, breathing heavily. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to tell her who she really was, get his daughter back. Instead, she... He'd hit her.

Livia, Eve. It wasn't real, couldn't be. Ares held out his right hand, palm up; a metal jar materialised on it. Heavy silver, circular, blackened in places from being placed too close to smoky Amazon fires. Varia's unwitting contribution to his plan – the Amazons' ambrosia.

Once, Xena had refused the gift of immortality for herself and for their child. Something told Ares that Livia would not refuse it. He was a god, dammit! He had a right to have an immortal daughter!

And then, Xena wouldn't have a choice. He'd talk to her, make her understand. She'd take the ambrosia, and become immortal, and never die again. He would break off a piece of the hard reddish jelly, put it on the tip of his own tongue while she watched, entranced; his closed mouth would draw out its heat so only the sweetness was left. Then he would take Xena in his arms, slowly, slowly, his palms warming the cool skin of her shoulders, stroking her cheeks. She would shiver and look at him, her lips just a breath from his own, parting softly until their mouths touched and burned with residual heat of the ambrosia. He'd look straight into her eyes then, and kiss her all the way into eternal life, holding her through the transformation and beyond...

Abruptly, the jar was gone, and Ares was staring at the emptiness of the ruined temple. He should have known Xena would have a plan!

She'd managed to find her way into Livia's army. He had to get Livia alone before Xena got any closer; the ambrosia was his chance. Xena wouldn't be immortal for him. But for Eve? Ares leaned back into the wall, putting the temple back in order with a thought. Xena would do it for Eve. And as long as she did, what did it matter why?

To War!

I know how to hurt, and I know how to heal
I know what to show, and what to conceal
I know when to talk, and I know when to touch
No one ever died from wanting too much
The world is not enough, but it's such a perfect place to start, my love
And if you're strong enough, together we can take the world apart, my love
People like us know how to survive
There's no point in living if you can't feel alive.

Garbage, "The World Is Not Enough"

The army camp was an immense square, four gates set into the centre of each side, two roads crossing it at right angles. Where they met, in the centre, stood Livia's command tent, surrounded by several smaller merchants' tents. The camp set-up, Roman to the core, was utterly foreign to Xena. She and Gabrielle had spent the last of their money on the requisite Roman armour; now they sat, cold and uncomfortable, near a small guards' fire, trying in vain to warm their hands. The sun was a spot of brighter white in the milky overcast sky, providing little warmth. Through the gap between the tents on either side of the fire, Xena could just make out the entrance to Livia's tent and the tall standards flying beside it, the eagle-shaped Aquila most prominent of all.

Xena looked down at herself, then at Gabrielle: identical leather cuirasses over short tunics, cloaks, boots, helmets... She longed for the feel of her own armour, the leather and metal that fit her and only her, and said, simply, 'Xena'. But here, she wasn't Xena. She was Semra, and the sooner she was used to it, the better her chances with Eve. Xena turned her hands over, watching orange tongues lick at coals and at the rainy air. She could not afford to lose focus now.

Gabrielle touched her arm, pointing in the direction of Livia's tent. "Look."

Xena's heart thumped painfully at the sight of the woman striding towards it. Her baby, her flesh and blood. The make-up was gone and the torn wine-stained clothes had been exchanged for the bright armour of a general, the cuirass tooled over with intricate designs. The feeling of having been cheated rose up in Xena's throat, settling into a cold lump of dismay. All those years between the first smile – and the nod of greeting to a guard. It was impossible to believe they could be so completely, so irrevocably lost. Livia disappeared inside.

Xena met Gabrielle's eyes for an instant and their warmth did more good than the fire.

"Be strong," Gabrielle said, and Xena nodded. "For Eve."

They rose together and headed for the command tent. It was time.

"Halt!"

Xena and Gabrielle stopped at the guard's command, cloaks slapping against damp leather. The burly man did not display the slightest hint of interest in them. Far too Roman for comfort.

"Name and rank?"

Xena saluted the guard, fist closed. "Semra, rank to be confirmed."

The guard nodded curtly and glared meaningfully at Gabrielle. When no response came, he repeated impatiently, "Name and rank!"

Surreptitiously, Xena stubbed the toe of her boot into the side of Gabrielle's foot.

"Oh," Xena heard Gabrielle cough to cover up momentary panic, "uh, Jana. Rank to be confirmed."

The guard disappeared inside the tent, his partner remaining at his post, seemingly oblivious to the cold, staring straight ahead. Xena and Gabrielle exchanged a tense look. Somewhere in the camp, a drum started up, rhythmic beats to synchronise a weapons drill. Beat, beat, beat-beat-beat. Pause. Beat, beat-beat-beat, beat.

The guard ducked back out, lifting the heavy flap of the entrance. "You, Semra – the General will see you now. You," he indicated Gabrielle, "have no authority to be inside the camp. You will be escorted out." He motioned at another man.

Gabrielle opened her mouth to object, but Xena cut in smoothly. "Jana is my attendant, officer. I'm afraid her presence is required."

The man scowled. "Wait here." He re-emerged from the tent almost immediately. "The General will see you, with your attendant."

"Thank you."

Xena entered the tent, Gabrielle a step behind her. The two guards remained outside, but another pair on the inside of the doorway, identically uniformed, moved in to flank them silently.

When Xena's eyes had adjusted to the low light within the tent, she was slightly taken aback by its lavish interior. Even in her days as a plunderer, she had never appointed her tent with such luxury. The thick leather walls were lined with tasselled hangings, there were pelts on the earthen floor and a trestle writing table, complete with inkwell and quills, was placed in the centre. It would take an entire wagon to haul all this! Behind the desk, on a high-backed seat, sat Eve, Livia, to all appearances engrossed in writing. Her quill scratched back and forth on the scroll spread out on the table. There were other scrolls there, too, and a sizeable map held flat by brazen weights shaped like eagles.

Livia continued her writing without acknowledging their approach. It was not a subtle way to assert dominance, but nevertheless a powerful one. Xena had often employed it herself, especially in her younger days, before she had gained the skill and confidence to play for subtle manipulation over gross effect. She waited, observing her daughter numbly, Gabrielle at her side.

Long brown hair, no longer styled but drawn up into a tight ponytail at the top of her head. Clever. A concession to practicality, but attractive enough to use her femininity as a weapon if need be. The same applied to what was visible of her armour – the metal, leather and linen were undeniably functional, but cut to enhance, rather than conceal, their wearer's shape. Xena tried to focus on these tidbits of information, to ignore the gnawing ache at the thought of knowing nothing more about her daughter. With a start, she realised that her breathing was shallow, synchronised with the drum beat outside.

Beat. Beat. Beat-beat-beat. Hold.

Livia. Livia. Livia-Livia-Livia. Eve.

No!

Deliberately, Xena took a long breath, breaking the pattern. She must learn to separate this young woman from her child. She must, or she may as well walk away now.

At last, Livia replaced her quill and looked up, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. "Semra."

Xena's heart flip-flopped in her chest, all sensible thoughts leaving her at the sound of her voice. Low, laced with slight contempt. So familiar, it hurt. How far was it from Champion of Rome to Destroyer of Nations?

Not trusting herself to reply, Xena took a step forward and saluted, every muscle fibre strung taut with the effort of keeping her hands from shaking. Following her lead, Gabrielle did likewise, but placed a fist against her heart instead of completing the salute, in deference to her 'commander'.

"I have a proposal for you that I think you may find interesting." Livia remained seated comfortably in her chair, looking over at the two women. 'She enjoys the feel of it,' Xena thought. 'Like an Empress on her throne.' She said nothing, waiting for Livia to continue.

Livia picked up a dry quill and indicated the map. "I believe you agreed to offer your services to Rome for the duration of one campaign."

Xena inclined her head.

Livia waved the quill over the map. "And you'll no doubt want to begin your service as soon as possible?"

The smugness in her voice told Xena that she had been right to let Livia draw her own conclusions back in the temple. "Of course."

The prospect of obtaining a highly skilled officer for a campaign, with no pay at all, had most definitely appealed to Livia. Especially since all that was required in return was to dangle the carrot of an offer to speak for the said officer to the God of War. And a bonus – ensuring that Ares' interest in her did not remove him from Livia's side. Even as Xena was pleased by the success of the plan, she felt an increasing revulsion at herself.

"I thought so. Let me show you these maps." Livia's gold-ringed finger pointed to marks around a group of valleys in Moesia and northern Thrace. "This is Greek Amazon territory. For now."

Xena heard Gabrielle make a small noise behind her. Not just any Amazons. Gabrielle's tribe was there, in the northernmost of the valleys.

Xena looked directly at her daughter, defying protocol. "Send away your guards."

Livia smiled, genuinely amused by the idea. "Never fear, Semra, these men are deaf and mute. Quite literally, I assure you." Unspoken was the qualifier: they had not been born that way. "Whatever it is you wish to say, you can say it in their presence."

Xena lowered her voice, taking refuge in the persona she had created. "Nevertheless. What I have to say is for ears of the Champion of Rome only." She emphasized the point with a sidelong glance at the doorway that also encompassed 'Jana'. Flattery was always a useful weapon. Livia's smile widened – apparently, she had not yet learned this fact.

"Of course."

Livia curled a slender finger, beckoning a servant. The man appeared, bearing a steaming wine jug and a platter of eggs and cheese. He set the food at the side of the desk, avoiding the maps, and hurried away.

Livia flicked her arm at the two guards either side of Xena and Gabrielle. Her arm moved with the certainty of one used to being obeyed – but also, Xena noted, with a fluidity that revealed childhood lessons in dance and poise which no amount of weapons practice could disguise.

The men saluted and exited the tent. Xena gave Gabrielle an apologetic look. "You too, Jana."

A moment's hesitation, then Gabrielle followed the soldiers outside. The beat of the drum rose in volume briefly, then was muted again as the flap at the entrance closed.

Alone with her daughter, the role she had chosen began to suffocate Xena. Her baby, blue-eyed and rosy-cheeked, a little bud of a human being, stolen from her along with the rest of her life. Perhaps Semra was no pretence after all. Standing in this tent, playing this farce, Semra was every bit as real, and as illusory, as Xena. Xena lay dead in a cave somewhere, her passing mourned by some, rejoiced at by others, probably ignored by most. The hollow shell in Roman armour was indeed Semra. Nothing more.

Livia rose slightly in her seat to pour two small measures of mulled wine from the jug on the table. The hot sour smell drifted in the air. Xena's eyes followed her daughter's movements hungrily, as though avid attention now could somehow make up for all those empty years. She took the offered cup woodenly, cradling it in her hand.

Livia sat back with a look of patient tolerance which brought to Xena's mind an unbidden image of Ares. Xena gulped at the wine, pretending to enjoy its watered-down heat, disgustingly Roman.

"Well?" Livia asked, her tone slightly bored. She was, however, betrayed by her eyes – bronze sparks of curiosity in pools of dark blue. That much, at least, had not changed. Xena focused completely on those eyes until the woman around them was no more real than the child in her memories. She breathed again to dispel the mesmerising drumbeat outside and forced her lips and tongue to form words.

"Permission to speak informally?"

"Granted."

"I can't accept your deal." Xena's heart beat in time with the drum.

A minute change in posture was the only sign of Livia's confusion. "Why is that?"

With a monumental effort and another gulp of the watered wine, Xena silenced the part of her that yearned to envelop the girl in a hug, to loosen her hair and make her little again, to protect her from herself. She approached the table and pointed to the map. "I've fought there before."

She watched Livia scrutinize the patch of land at her fingertip.

"On whose side?"

A final sharp mouthful of wine, and it was Semra who replied. "I am an Amazon, Commander."

Livia's head rose slowly, eyes narrowed. "An Amazon who had a child with the God of War?"

Xena did not have to feign the pained look in her eyes. "Yes."

Fascination replaced sarcasm. "Tell me."

"Not much of a tale." The voice was Semra's, steady. "As you can imagine, it didn't endear me to my tribe. The baby was out of season, we were attacked and I was too weak to fight." She mimed self-disgust. "I was taken prisoner."

"Did they rescue you?"

Xena snorted. "Oh, they ransomed me, all right. Wouldn't do to have their war-leader paraded as a trophy! Had to have their little trial, make an example of an Amazon who'd tried to gather power to herself through her daughter."

Livia nodded. "Your daughter would have been older than all the others born that season, stronger. More likely to win the fight for leadership when the time came."

"Yes."

"And with Ares as a father... So they banished you both?" There was no sympathy, the inquiry was just a gathering of information.

"No. They'd rather have my daughter fight for them than against them. No, they banished me. I walked out of the village naked, carrying nothing, while every Amazon in the tribe watched and jeered. I haven't seen my daughter since." Was it the incessant beat of the drum? Or the wine? Xena found herself slipping easily into 'Semra'. Too easily. But she could not risk pulling back now.

Livia nodded again. "None objected?"

"Jana did."

"You're a lucky woman, Semra." Livia bit into a small piece of cheese, cringed and threw the rest of it on the floor. "Loyalty is a rare commodity."

"That's true," Xena said, remembering the deaf guards. The sour wine-soaked air nauseated her, giving her voice an acid edge that she knew must only add a ring of truthfulness to her words. "When Ares returns my child to me, she will be queen above them all and they will fawn and roll over, like the dogs they are!"

Livia picked up half an egg with nimble fingers, popping the yellow pellet of the yolk into her mouth. "So you won't fight them because your daughter will be their queen?"

"That's right."

Livia rested an elbow on the desk and put the remaining egg white on top of the eagle-shaped paperweight, making a little cap for the bird. She pressed her thumb against the egg white and looked straight into Xena's eyes. "Sometimes, Semra," the thumb pressed further in, "you have to squash a few fools to get what you want." The egg-cap compressed under her thumb and tore, falling around the eagle figurine in two pieces.

Xena watched as Livia rose from her chair, circled the desk and walked to the corner of the tent, where a large chart was pinned on the wall. Livia ran her hand over the parchment, then turned around. "This will be my final campaign."

Xena's fingers tightened around the now-empty wine cup.

"It's not a battle for land or taxes, Amazon. I'm sure you've caught the rumours in Rome – that I'm to wed the Emperor?"

"I have."

Livia returned behind her desk.

"My victory over the Amazons will please Augustus." She sounded very certain of both the anticipated victory and the expected reaction. "And will prove once and for all that I have fought my campaigns for Rome – for him."

She looked at Xena, very serious and suddenly very childlike. "I trust you, Amazon – call it intuition. So I will tell you this much. I was not born Roman. No matter how great my victories are, or how many triumphs I celebrate, that will never change. A non-Roman Empress of Rome is," she laughed, "a novel idea." The laugh ended abruptly. "But I intend for it to catch on."

Xena leapt at the opening. "Forgive my ignorance – I have not been in Rome long, but I heard rumours that Fortuna herself placed you on a battlefield as a child." There was no reaction, so Xena went on. "If the most Roman of goddesses brought you to the Emperor, then how can you not be Roman?" Xena added a bemused frown to the question, hoping she was not overdoing it.

Livia glared at her. "Let's just say that some Romans do not hold this most Roman of goddesses in quite as high esteem as they ought. They don't question her judgement. Just her existence."

"And you're among them," said Xena shrewdly. A gamble that paid off immediately: Livia's eyes sparkled.

"You're clever! I like that – I need clever people in my army. Fortuna must have sent you to me."

Xena chuckled at that – was irreverence towards the gods hereditary? – and realised that Livia was grinning, too. The single shared moment engulfed Xena, the sea roared in her ears and threatened to dump her senseless onto harsh sand. She had to break it, before it broke her.

Xena set her cup on the table, hating the excuse to look away. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want to offer you another way to reach your goals – if you help me reach mine. You want revenge on the Amazons? You will have it." Livia reached across the table, refilling Xena's cup. "Join me, Semra, and you will do more than see your daughter again and have the Amazons brought to their knees. She will be queen – more than queen. She will be Empress of Rome!" Livia looked up. "I am offering you a position as chief legate of my army, and your daughter, the name of Caesar. She will be adopted and named my heir. You and I will crush the Amazons, Semra – and your daughter will one day rule them, and the world."

It worked! Xena's mind shouted warnings – if she wasn't careful, she would start to believe her own story. Sudden silence brought her back to herself: the drum outside had finally, mercifully, ceased.

"All this in return for the betrayal of my people?"

"Betrayal? They ceased to be your people when they betrayed you, Semra. With your knowledge and my army, we can make them pay."

"What about my daughter? She's still with the tribe."

"By the time we reach Amazon lands, she will be out of harm's way. I'll talk to Ares."

Xena waited a few moments, pretending to consider. "You're right."

Livia grinned triumphantly and thrust her arm forward. "Then – to war!"

Slowly, Xena gripped the girl's forearm, sealing the deal. "To war!"

It occurred to her, as servants were called back with more food and wine, that that hard handshake had been the first touch she had shared with her daughter in twenty-five years.

* * *

Ares made himself visible as soon as Xena left Livia's tent. Livia did not notice him at first, engrossed in the map on the table. She reached for the platter at her side and took a piece of bread without looking up – and it seemed so easy to just place the ambrosia there, and wait for her to take it. Ares shook himself free from the thought. The God of War, scared? Please. He just wasn't sure that it was the right time for this. Of course, thanks to Xena's interference, there would probably never be a right time.

"Well, that was certainly an interesting turn of events."

Livia twisted around in her chair to face him, then stood up. "I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, I do." He glanced at the map. "An Amazon in your army – stroke of genius. But Augustus may have just a little problem with leaving his empire to one, don't you think?"

Livia came closer to where Ares stood at the corner of her table, and tried to put her arms on his shoulders. He stepped back and glared at her until she dropped her hands with a frown.

"What makes you think I'd leave my Empire to some Amazon's brat?"

Ares raised his eyebrows. "Let me see. Could it be the pledge you just made to your second in command?"

One corner of Livia's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Semra doesn't know it yet, but she's going to help me conquer the Amazons more completely than anyone has ever dared to dream. I'm going to make them love Rome."

Ares stared at her, trying to decide whether her delusion was amusing or pathetic, and which would be worse in the daughter of the God of War.

"You'd have to kill them first."

"That's always an option," Livia agreed. "But I don't intend to take it. After all," she dropped her voice to that of a storyteller, "it's Semra who brought an army upon the Amazons. To think that she offered to help Rome to defeat her own people!" She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Unfortunately for Semra, Rome doesn't like traitors. Once the campaign is over, I will hand her over to the people she betrayed, to secure an alliance. The Amazons will be suitably grateful – and Rome will be in love with her Empress." She grinned at Ares. "I love revenge tragedies. Especially ones with such a happy end."

This was no delusion, Ares realised. This was a plan. A hunger had crept into Livia's eyes sometime during this mother-daughter reunion, a fire he used to know very well in the eyes of another, and had all but given up hope of ever seeing again. But here it was! A slow grin nudged at Ares' lips, threatening to reveal the relief he felt. Xena's interference could actually turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Granted, she'd managed to get close to Livia, but did she have any idea what she'd awakened in her daughter? No doubt she thought that if she could only talk to her, Livia would see the light, repent, and spend the rest of her life helping old ladies across the road. Ares wondered how long it would be before Xena saw that her little fantasy was doomed – and how much longer before she worked out that she needed his help.

He found he had a renewed interest in this war.

"Interesting. You make Semra second in command, use her knowledge, then wash your hands of her when the time comes." Ares paused, trying to pin down the strange discomfort he felt. What if Xena insisted on seeing this thing through? He dropped the thought. She wouldn't. Xena was smarter than that. "So," he returned his attention to Livia, "where does your offer to make Semra's child your heir fit into all this?"

Livia did not attempt to conceal her delight. "It doesn't."

Without warning, she placed both hands on the hilt of Ares' sword at his hip, drawing it in the same movement. The swish drowned out Ares' surprise. Before he could get irritated, Livia continued.

"You see, Semra has to think she's getting what she wants: her child, her revenge," – Livia held the sword aloft, and her reflection stretched along the blade – "power." She tilted the sword at Ares' chest. "I could offer her ambrosia, for all it matters."

"I thought you liked Semra."

"I do."

"Ah. Well, in that case..." Ares ignored the sword and spread his palms in slow admiration. He grinned, "I've got to say, I'm impressed."

"You should be. With Semra out of the picture, you can have your child back, all to yourself." Livia stepped closer, pressing the sword a little way into his chest. That was going too far.

Ares took the weapon from her hands and returned it to the scabbard at his hip. "What would I do with the kid?"

"That's up to you." Livia waved a hand, "Train her as a cupbearer, or warrior, or stash her away for the future. I'm sure you could find a use for a mortal by-blow."

Ares flinched. "A little incentive to keep me on your side?"

"Just your fair share." Livia watched him, apparently relaxed. "Provided, of course, that I can still count on your support."

There was a pause – then Ares threw his head back and laughed outright. She did take after her mother!

"That was brilliant, Livia. Marvellously manipulated."

"Then I have the blessing of the God of War on this campaign?"

"Of course."

"Good!" And before Ares knew it, Livia's lips were pressed to his, her slight body pushing him back against a tapestry on the wall, hands sliding into his vest.

"What..."

She bit his lip, hard. "Let's seal this deal." Her hands went to the catch on his belt.

Panic shot Ares with a blinding sense of dèjá vu – he'd been waiting for this, for the hunger for glory that was the seed of a great champion, the defiance... But Tartarus, this was Eve! Disgust lurched within him. Yesterday, this meeting would have thrilled him to dizzying heights of power and desire, but today ... It sickens me.

"Li... Livia!" He prised her off, holding her shoulders, his stomach heaving. "Do not do that again, do you understand?"

He could not guess what she saw in his face, and didn't care. His daughter. All fire drained from Livia's eyes, leaving a hint of uncertainty, that self-despised search for approval which had never been Xena's. Right at that moment, Ares couldn't bring himself to regret it.

He breathed, releasing her. Livia stood back. Her hands shook; she clenched them on the edge of the table behind her.

"You promised to make me yours, Ares. Your champion." Her voice became stronger, accusing. "The word of a god is a sacred trust!" She lifted her chin a fraction, daring him to mock her.

Ares leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her skin was icy and damp. "You are mine," he said – and wondered why his chest felt so tight, and why his eyes were burning.

"I'm giving you what you've always wanted," his daughter's words fell like snowflakes onto hot spilled blood, "a warrior queen to rule the world in your name." She leaned back on her elbows against the table, the pose calculated to beckon him. Ares did not move. "Shouldn't I get something in return?"

No, Ares thought, making a silver jar vanish from the food platter, its disappearance as unnoticed as its arrival. This was definitely not the right time.

* * *

"Something is bothering you."

Ilainus' voice startled Athena from her thoughts. When did it get this late? The tent was sinking into shadows, they stretched along the coverlets of the bed and disappeared into the furs on the floor. She looked across the woven pattern of the pillow at the mortal woman's concerned face, and touched that beautiful cheek in apology.

"You know my mind better than I do, Ilainus. Too many things bothering me."

"Hmm," Ilainus' lips drew into a slow smile as her hands disappeared under the covers. Athena caught a breath as they found a nipple and squeezed gently. "I could make you forget them."

"I'm sure you could." Athena turned sideways to pull Ilainus' lithe, long-limbed body closer, pressing into the touch of those hands. Worrying thoughts about Ares' involvement with Rome and the Amazons paled into insignificance as Ilainus' fingers traced a shivering line over her breast and moved lower.

"The trouble is," Athena tried to collect the words in between little shocks of pleasure, "the trouble is that I can't afford to – aah – to forget them," – a fingertip brushed her inner thigh almost accidentally, as if it never meant to move at all – "right now."

The protest of innocence was betrayed by the glittering challenge of Ilainus' eyes. Athena tilted her head in a challenge of her own.

For a long moment they regarded each other – and then Athena could not keep back her cry as she found herself pinned on her back, wide open to Ilainus' burning hands and eyes. The mortal folded her taller body down to kiss her mouth; Athena resisted her tongue and instead touched the tip of it with her own, licking the heat of it, winning this at least if Ilainus was to have victory over the rest of her body.

When desire had crashed over them and washed away into calm, Athena held Ilainus close, running her fingers through the woman's sweat-darkened hair, cradling her head to her chest. Ilainus looked up, eyes suddenly clouded. "Is this about Varia?" she asked.

Athena lifted Ilainus' chin, drawing her up for a kiss. "You have my favour, Ilainus. Always. Varia's interest is only in herself and her nation."

Ilainus returned the kiss, accepting the explanation. "And Ares is neglecting both?"

"She would not be sacrificing to me if she still had Ares' support."

"Surely she is bound to Artemis, like all the Amazons. Why not sacrifice to her?"

Athena frowned. "I can think of no reason for that. Unless..." She moved a little, letting Ilainus roll off her. She propped herself on one elbow and directed a keen look at her champion. "Why do you suppose Ares is supporting Rome?"

"Xena is there. If she commands half the loyalty you do, my goddess," Ilainus smiled in genuine awe, "I have no doubt that Ares would be more than willing to change his battle plans to be by her side."

Athena nodded thoughtfully. "I don't doubt Ares' ability to compromise his plans. It is the connection between this, and an Amazon's reluctance to call on Artemis that concerns me. Varia is hiding something from her – although with the amount of attention Artemis affords her worshippers, it hardly seems worth the effort."

"Perhaps that is why she seeks your help instead."

"Perhaps. But remember, Ilainus: a great commander always looks past what is obvious – to see if there is a deeper strategy."

* * *

Gabrielle paced the length of Xena's tent, from the bedroll to the table and back again. She stopped at the doorway, drew the flap aside and looked out. The sun was not yet setting, but its light was soft, tinged with yellow, spilling over the bustling camp and into her eyes. Gabrielle fancied that the wind worrying at the legion's standards brought with it the faint smells of dying forests and the echoes of screams.

"I have to warn them," she said to no one in particular.

"Yes, we do," Xena's voice answered behind her.

Gabrielle turned back and waited for her eyes to readjust. The stench of damp leather in the tent mingled with her own apprehension, making her nauseous.

"Not we," Gabrielle said when she could see Xena again, leaning against the back wall of the tent in her Roman armour. "I. My tribe is my responsibility. I'm leaving as soon as it gets dark." She tried to breathe some determination into the words.

Xena pushed herself upright. "If you do that, we've lost her. She must suspect we're spying – any commander would. You know we're being watched. If you leave, she'll have you intercepted and try to have us both killed."

Gabrielle sighed, picking up her road satchel. She didn't want Xena to be reasonable. It made her feel uneasy, too close to losing her nerve. Gabrielle opened the satchel and looked inside, instead of at Xena.

"I know," she said. "But I have to try."

"It's suicide!"

The edge in Xena's voice finally made Gabrielle look up – and all her carefully propped up bravado crumbled. The satchel slipped to the floor. She whispered, "I'm scared."

"Me too, Gabrielle."

Xena did not make a move to come closer, and Gabrielle realised why. "You're planning something." Xena moved her head a fraction. "And I'm not going to like it," Gabrielle concluded.

"There is a way to get you out to the Amazon lands without Livia suspecting anything."

"Alive?"

The attempted humour felt all wrong. Gabrielle paused, then tried again. "How?"

Xena's smile was very narrow. "We tell her about it."

"What?"

Xena looked past Gabrielle to the doorway, sliced by a thin line of yellowing light. "Jana the loyal attendant is going to look for Semra's baby."

"Jana is supposed to be banished, she can't return to the Amazon lands."

Xena's eyes returned to Gabrielle, almost colourless in the gold light. "Not without help. But part of the deal I made with Livia was that she'd ask Ares to help find this baby."

Gabrielle stood still. Xena was going to ask Ares for help? But... "He'll want something in return. And we have nothing to bargain with."

Xena was silent again, and Gabrielle breathed in exasperation. "For the gods' sakes, Xena, just tell me what it is!" Xena flinched, and Gabrielle felt guilty. "Please," she said softly. "I need to know."

Xena tossed her head up, black hair spilling over her shoulders. Gabrielle tensed from sheer force of habit, half-expecting to hear that there were two behind her and three more outside. Instead, Xena said calmly, "Ares hasn't told Livia who she is. And he's not going to tell her."

"Because he's going to use it as a bargaining chip?"

"No. Because I will."

All You Ever Wanted

You better take what you can get,
Don't even bother with my heart,
I get a feeling I won't let dissolve.

Pink, "Stop Falling"

The sun crept slowly towards the horizon. Far too slowly. Alone in her tent, Xena sat at her writing table and turned a goblet over in her hands, over and over. The last rays of the sun slanted in from a window flap in the opposite wall, igniting the goblet in a blaze of gold.

Despite the façade of calm assurances with which she had ushered Gabrielle out, Xena didn't feel confident. She didn't even feel certain that what she was about to do could be called bargaining. She rather suspected it was more like a desperate last-ditch attempt to break out of a siege – the kind that usually ended in a short, devastating battle and a ruthless sacking of the besieged town.

Xena glanced at the goblet again. It lost some of its fire as the sun set, and for a moment, it was another goblet, in another time. Strange. She had grown so used to remembering her warlord past with guilt and dismay that it was odd to think that there had been moments of joy in those years – not the savage joy of battle, but the warmer glow of something like contentment. These had been few and far between, but that only made the memories sharper. Seeing her newborn son for the first time had been one such moment. Lao Ma's hands freeing her from pain – another. The years had tainted them all with bitterness – her son's death, her debt to Lao Ma... This one was no different.

... She had long been a warrior by then, long enough to have hardened past the memories of the raid on Amphipolis, of her brother's death, the agony of her mother's shaking finger pointing at her. She had learnt to lose herself in the feral tide of battles, until the blood thrilled her skin and flooded her body – and in those glorious hours of red heat, she could forget everything else.

Battlelust. The word was inadequate, coined by someone with no sense of the vastness of what it described. It could never be understood, only experienced, over and over again, as inviting as the honey-thick luminosity of poison. Like the poison, it was the ebb of it that hit hardest, the loosening of its hold and the yawning despair left in its wake. That endless cycle had been the passage of her youth: surging despair quenched again and again by its cause, obliterating all in its way.

And then came Ares.

His appearance fed into the height of the battle, rushing through her nerves like molten fire. It seemed to give her a dizzying new perspective; Xena saw the entire field of battle at once, was everywhere at once. It was the first time she'd felt what it was like to fight with the God of War at her side. She knew she had to have it.

When she returned to her tent that night she was spattered with blood; it had dried to pull on the skin of her cheeks, mingled salty with sweat on her forehead to run to her lips. A servant had set out a bowl of hot water and a linen towel, Xena splashed her hands and face, watching red clouds swirl away from her. The towel took the rest of the blood, and then she was reaching for a goblet of wine, thirsty from the battle.

The wine grew suddenly warm in her mouth, tingling down the back of her throat. It wasn't the wine.

Something invisible caught at the goblet, and Xena's hand, closed over the worked gold, was joined by another. Fingers entwined with hers, agonisingly close to a caress, tempting her with everything. Xena closed her eyes, intent upon the sensations – and felt something. A connection. A single rich note pouring endlessly into the distance, yet shorter than a breath, drawing her back from the brink of despair as the battlelust ebbed away into a purpose. Focusing her.

Only much later did Xena realise that there had been no strange magic in that moment – just the surprised cry of a hardened soul joined by another, breaking into its solitude. She'd often wondered whether Ares had tricked her into it, into letting down her guard for that instant. It was easiest to think that he had.

Afterwards, when she had turned her ability to sense him into a tool and weapon, it ceased to amaze her, became a fact of existence, and then an irritation, binding her to Ares when she wanted only to be free. Well, she was free of it now. So why was there that odd weight in the pit of her stomach? It was probably dread, and considering what she was planning, it was hardly surprising. Only dread had no right to feel like this. Like it wasn't Ares that she feared.

A final glimmer of gold, and the goblet in Xena's hands returned to metallic reality as the sun's rays left it. It looked nothing like the one which had witnessed the end of the Destroyer of Nations and the birth of the Warrior Princess.

Briskly, Xena set the thing down and filled it with wine, an irresistibly rich crimson. No use dwelling in the past.

"Hello, Xena."

Xena lifted her head to see Ares standing over her, arms leaning on the tabletop. He looked deceptively relaxed, his eyes caught in the tent's shadows. Xena licked her lips nervously and acknowledged him. "You heard me then."

"I was listening."

Having to look up at him made Xena uncomfortably aware of the difference between them: a god and a mortal. She stood up. "We need to talk."

Ares raised his eyebrows a fraction, looking at her expectantly. He wasn't making this easy for her. Xena's face felt like a clay mask. She looked aside, at the brightness of the window – a white-grey square in the leather wall opposite. She took a breath and slammed the door on every doubt.

"I want to discuss a deal."

"A deal." A tiny smirk cracked Ares' wariness. He stretched slightly, pulling his shoulders back. "So you do want my help. I thought you'd have a change of heart, once you and Livia got better acquainted. Well, my offer's still open: you, me, Eve... Just say the word."

"No."

Ares sighed without surprise, "Not that one."

Xena stepped closer, startling him. The wariness returned, Ares' eyes flicked to hers. There was less than a pace separating them now. She said, "You know what Livia is planning."

"And you know I can't call it off."

"I'm not asking you to do that."

He frowned, "Then what are you asking?"

Xena touched his arm – a mistake: the warmth of his skin set her heart racing. "Gabrielle is going to warn the Amazons."

"What touching concern for a nation of warriors." Ares cocked his head. "Let me guess: you need me to sign her bon voyage card?"

"You're going to take her there."

Ares stared at her. "You must be joking. If you're after the Olympian ferry service, try Charon."

"Cut the crap. There's no other way for Gabrielle to leave without destroying our cover, you know that as well as I do."

"Maybe you should've thought of that when you made your arrangement with our daughter."

Xena ignored the accusation in his tone, taking his hand lightly. The restless drumming of her pulse was a rush of noise in her temples.

"But you see," she said softly, still holding his hand, "I did. Livia is going to ask you to help Gabrielle – Jana – look for the missing baby. All you have to do is agree."

Ares grabbed her wrist at that; Xena splayed her fingers in his hold. His fingertips were individual points of pressure against her skin, a little too hard to be comfortable. The cut made by her chakram cracked open; Xena winced as warmth threaded down to her wrist and folded into the lines there.

The sight of her blood drained the indignation from Ares' eyes, leaving only disbelief. He released her hand. "You want me to back the wrong story. Go on pretending that Livia is ... Livia."

Too late to retreat now. Xena measured him with a steady look. "Just for a while. Until she's ready."

Ares turned and paced a tight circle around the tent. "Let me see if I have this straight. I take your irritating friend to the Amazons, lie to my daughter for however long it takes you to decide that she's 'ready' to know who she is ..." He caught Xena's look. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still interested." He returned to where she was standing and faced her again. " I just want to know – what's in it for me?"

"What's in it for you?" Xena looked from the wine on the table to Ares' guarded expression, then shrugged slightly. It meant nothing. "Me."

Ares froze.

Xena let a small smile part her lips, taking a step forward. It brought her so close to Ares' face that she could see something strange in his eyes, a glimmer of something she recognised ... Sudden shame made her cold, then turned into a wave of fire, but the words had already dropped from her lips, and there was no calling them back. Xena did not try. She leaned forward, past that vulnerability in Ares' eyes, to whisper hot against his mouth.

"You help me win back my daughter, and I'm yours."

His breath was ragged on her lips. "You're mine."

"Yes. Tonight." Xena took the front of his vest in her hands, bunching the studded leather painfully against her cut, but the small pain could not cool her. She knew the fire in her was no longer shame, but could not remember how to stop it.

"It's what you've wanted, Ares," her whisper was urgent now, too far gone to pull back, "for years – to have me back, to hold me, to touch me..." Ares' heart was hammering against her fists – or was it the other way around? "I'm offering you this night. Take it."

Ares drew back slightly, unexpectedly; their eyes met and held. Xena felt a tightrope sing beneath her feet, the vertiginous panic of uncertainty – she'd risked it all for nothing, he'd never settle for a single night, he wanted all of her, the warrior queen.

And without any warning, Ares' mouth was on hers, sweet and so deep that it took the breath from her lungs; Xena flung herself hard into his kiss before she had realised her victory.

Their hands were everywhere, dipping into curves and over them, tugging frantically on fabric and armour. Xena realised she'd been afraid of memories assailing her, getting in the way – the one time when they had been together like this, when she had lost her dark side, a part of herself, and had clung for dear life to the connection she'd sensed with Ares. He swept a strand of hair from her cheek, and the impossibly light touch sent a shiver through Xena. It was nothing like those hazy memories of the bathhouse, no memory could ever thrill her like this – all the way to her spine, Ares' lips opening her mouth wider, closer, and then the darting flame of his tongue in her as he flicked the top of her lip.

"Xena..." Ares paused, holding the kiss on the surface of her mouth, his hands gripping her shoulders convulsively around the leather cuirass – "If this is a game..."

"No!" It was almost a scream, Xena fought to find her breath. "No," she said, softer, "no games." She found his eyes, terrified that she'd see them mocking her. They were not. Ares was looking at her out of their rich darkness; frantically Xena searched for the God of War instead, but could only see Ares, could not find the detachment she needed – and that was almost too much to handle. She took Ares' hands from her shoulders, wound them around her hips, her eyes never leaving his, every gesture a seal. "We made a deal," she said very quietly, "And I don't go back on my promises."

That did it. Ares' face hardened slightly, defensively, just as she had known it would – and the desire in his eyes became a painful tide, a bitter need that rose in both of them simultaneously and Xena made no attempt to fight it. They joined in another kiss, harder, defiant, almost bruising – she put both hands on the back of Ares' head, pulling him even closer as he gripped her waist, crushing his mouth with her own. She felt the odd bumps of his spine at the base of his neck, meeting his collar, traced its line down to his chest, then yanked his vest open. Ares gasped and released her mouth, holding on to her waist as she leaned back slightly.

Xena felt her blood rise to her face – why did he have to be so damn beautiful? The muscles of his arms and chest were shadow-drawn to perfection; she ran her palms across his chest, the silky roughness of the hair making her giddy. Roughly, she pulled the vest off and reached for the buckles of his belt, but Ares tightened his hold on her waist until she was pressed up against him, and Xena fell into the sensation of his body against hers.

"Wait," he whispered hoarsely, his hands finding the edge of her cuirass, moving down past it, to her hips, buttocks, then back up. "Not so fast."

"Fine." Xena ran her tongue, then her teeth, over the bare skin of his shoulder, lost for an instant in the scent of him – warm, like a spice she had never seen but somehow knew. Her armour was in the way, but Ares was already unbuckling it – Xena hated the unfamiliar Roman shell as never before, welcomed the cool release when the mass of leather and steel tumbled in a heap to the floor, and Ares' hands were on her hips again, bunching up her linen tunic. She squirmed as he slid it up, over her head; his thumbs brushed her nipples and Xena bit her lip, suppressing a whimper as the thin garment joined her armour on the floor.

Ares did not give her a moment to think about her nakedness, to regain control; a heartbeat later Xena found herself on the edge of the table, the jug and goblet spilling to the floor in a wave of red clatter. She tried to get down, wanted to touch him, but Ares' hands were already moving down over her hips.

"Stay still." His voice was thick with such desire that Xena could not have moved had she wanted to, not when he was pushing her knees apart, kneeling down between them to shift her closer. She had never before allowed herself to be this vulnerable to him, knew that she shouldn't, but it was far too late now. Ares' hands were caressing the soft skin of her inner thighs, fingers moving ever higher in slow circles; Xena tried not to look down, not to let him see the fire in her eyes – enough that he could feel the fire in her body, seeping from her with every move of his hands.

Ares' lips touched her, nearly tipping her into a scream – Xena managed to bite it back with a shuddering effort, arching into his mouth, unable to think further than this impossible 'now', her hands caught in Ares' short hair – messy now, almost human – and every sound he made was a new note, vibrating through her body, almost reaching her soul.

Her release was no release at all, an explosion of heat that ripped right through her and into Ares' long licks as he caught it, so that she was craving more before it was over. In the flicker of clarity that came before this second wave of desire could drag her under, Xena realised she was still wearing her sandals, turned and jumped off the table, lifting Ares up with her.

"Whoa!" His startled cry was muffled by the bedding on Xena's sleeping pallet as she pushed him across the tent and down, straddling his thighs. She grinned at his surprise and gave him no chance to recover, moving over him, touching his chest, unlacing his pants and helping him kick them off. Boots and sandals followed, and then Xena was on top of him again, her mouth meeting Ares' for a hungry kiss, lightheaded with desire.

"Stay still," she commanded, dodging his hands to dive down to one of his nipples. Ares' eyes widened slightly as she took it in her mouth, and Xena could not resist flicking her tongue over it, until he flinched and moaned slightly, and his other nipple was hard under her fingers.

"Xena..." Ares pulled her back up, so that she was stretched out full length against him, skin to skin – and it was her own eyes that widened. No games, she had said, and had meant it, but not like this... Ares was looking at her with so much care, so open to her – it was a deep shock to see that warmth in the eyes of the God of War – and in that instant, those hazy memories returned: his gentle caresses on her bath-damp skin, the gold flickers of countless candles around the bathhouse – and the ache deep inside her, welling like tears, willing for the moment to be forever or not to be at all.

"Xena... If you don't..."

"Shh," she whispered, "Don't speak."

Slowly, very very slowly, she shifted her body until he was inside her and there was nothing between them, then lowered her face to touch Ares' lips with her own, stretching out over him – toes, legs, shoulders, mouths – and began to move. The friction heat of their skin burned her, and the tenderness in Ares' hands and lips brought back that welling pain which could never be tears. Ares made a low sound and reached up to unclip her hair; it fell long and black around them, and in its darkness, Xena moved without feeling any motion, knowing both of them were melting into a oneness that could never, ever exist.

* * *

Falling through the small window, moonlight diffused silver-white on Xena's bare skin and gleamed in her hair. She was breathtaking, lying there beside him, her hip and shoulder warm pressures on his body, her face turned away. Her breathing was soft and even, but Ares knew she was awake. Asleep, she had turned towards him, frowning a little at something only she could see, until he had put his arm around her to draw her close. She had relaxed then, and sighed on his shoulder, almost as if she trusted him. The memory made Ares shiver. He may have held Xena's body, but she had been holding far more. Good thing she'd been asleep and could not know just how helpless she had made him, how unnecessary their bargain really was. A very good thing.

Ares wanted to touch her again, to feel the small flaws in the creamy smoothness of skin. He did not want perfection, it belonged to cold things, to statues and effigies, and Xena was warm and real at last. The moonlight sketched her body: bumps left by crude soldiers' stitches, faded scars where arrows or blades had struck, and the newer scars he had never seen before, thin white lines on her belly, Eve's marks. He felt vaguely responsible for those, lowered a fingertip to touch one. Xena tensed under his hand, but did not turn, and Ares traced the line gently, almost teasingly, down to her dense curls. When he stopped there, her thighs parted very slightly and Ares had to smile. One night, she had said? He very much doubted it.

"No." Xena jerked away from him; surprised, Ares looked up. Xena had turned to face him, her whole body taut, her chest rising and falling quickly.

Ares flashed her a grin, hoping it hid his confusion and slight irritation. "You're not tired?" He tried to reach her, and this time she did not move away – but neither did she move towards him.

"It'll be morning soon." Xena motioned at the window, its square bluish rather than black, but still dark. Angry confusion deepened – what was the point of playing this game? Her skin was blazing, Ares could feel its heat without even touching her. Why did she insist on denying them both?

"In that case, I'll take a tip from the Romans and seize the day." He looked at Xena, challenging her to admit it. "Or night."

She said nothing.

His palm was flat on her legs; Ares brought one finger down between them, drawing his hand upwards a little way, feeling the muscles in her thighs bunch up, feeling how tense she was – and how much the resistance was costing her. He paused, and watched her eyes. "I thought you didn't go back on your promises."

"I don't." Abruptly, Xena relaxed, releasing his hand, and her gaze lost its intensity, became pallid and cool in the greyish light. "You have until daybreak," she said, her voice as bland as her eyes. "Better hurry."

She lay still and silent, a world away.

"Xena?" Ares felt a shock of horror, grabbed her arms and lifted her slightly. She was limp in his hold, a small smile playing on her lips, neither humour nor affection. It merged with a vision from the nightmares which had plagued him for years: she was a frozen doll, bluish-purple, dead. I'm gone, the vision had taunted him with words that echoed in his head, gone forever, into eternity – and you know all about eternity, don't you, God of War?

"Xena!" he screamed, dropping her, clutching her again. He realised he'd closed his eyes, when he opened them Xena was staring up at him in utter bewilderment, very much alive – and it was a relief, such a relief to see anything but that broken pallor. He had never wanted her like that, trapped and broken – she knew that! Xena, who made him feel so alive, no, who forced him to feel alive, beautiful mortal Xena... To see her broken would be worse than all his dreams of ice. With an effort, Ares normalised his breathing, tried to think of something to say to her, anything.

"Stay with me." It was not what he'd meant to say. He lowered himself to the bedding, sweat-damp and chilly, and drew the blanket up over Xena, tucking its edge under her hip.

Xena shook her head; her eyes were soft and, Ares thought, a little wistful.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" Ares tried to fight back the hope that kept clawing at him, begging to be let out. He smirked slightly, "Tell me you didn't feel anything tonight."

Xena's mouth curved a little, the grin escaping her control. "Well – maybe a little something."

Ares choked, offended. "Excuse me?!"

Xena laughed and he realised she was teasing him – Fates, what he wouldn't have given for this moment when he thought he'd never see her again! The joy he felt made Xena finally, completely alive to him and with her, he felt like living, too. He gathered her into an embrace, stroking her hair, nuzzling her, inhaling her scent.

"Stay with me," he said into her hair, "Forget the deal. We'll work it out, everything."

Xena prised herself away, gently but firmly. She was no longer smiling, and the joy withered in Ares.

"You're a god, Ares. You have eternity to 'work it out'. I only have a short span of time and then – I'm gone." She tried to rise, but Ares caught her wrist. Xena sighed. "It was one night, and it's over."

Ares glanced up at the window – unmistakably lighter now.

"My daughter is leading Rome's army against my best friend's people in a world I barely recognise. I have enough things to 'work out'".

"It doesn't have to be that way."

Before Xena could respond, Ares held out his hand and a bright silver object flashed into it. He flicked the lid open with his thumb, tilting the jar so that Xena could see inside. The ambrosia cast a faint reddish glow on her face as she looked at it.

"It's enough for two," he said, letting Xena take the jar in her hands. "You and our daughter. You know you're going to need time to reach Livia. Take it, and you'll have all the time in the world. We can work it out – all of us."

Xena looked up. "What about Gabrielle?"

Of course, the blonde... But Xena was considering it, or she would not have asked! Ares clung to that promising thought at the expense of all else.

"I couldn't get enough for her," he began, then realised Xena's face was closing up. Frantically, he tried again. "You said yourself that the Amazons are Gabrielle's people, she belongs with them ..." But it was too late, Xena was shaking her head again and returning the jar, and Ares finally understood the other gods' predilection for turning annoying mortals into trees and pot plants. Right now, he could have cheerfully turned the babbling bard into something shady and quiet – if only it could have helped.

"Forget it, Ares. You know I never wanted immortality."

No, she didn't, Ares thought. Doesn't. And one day not long from now, some idiot with a better arrow, or a quicker blade would take her away forever, and if not – then mortality would strike anyway, sooner or later, and there would not be a reprieve again. What then? He'd lived this long just fine without her, he could go on without her, no problem. Trouble was, he'd tried it. For twenty-five years. And he didn't think he'd like to try it again.

"And what about mortality?" he asked smoothly. "Are you sure it's what you want? What happens if you fall on a battlefield somewhere, and never get through to Livia at all – do you think she would refuse the ambrosia?"

Xena's face hardened completely, and Ares could have kicked himself. Trying to turn this into a game was stupid, it wasn't what he wanted... Damn!

Xena shoved the ambrosia back into his hands and sat up. "I kept my end of the bargain," she said icily, "I trust you to keep yours."

Ares made a last, desperate attempt. "Okay," he said, "the future can wait. I'll settle for now." He looked down at the jar in his hands, closing the lid carefully, holding Xena's gaze – and tossed it over his shoulder. Xena followed its arc as it tumbled through the air, seemingly in slow motion; the blanket fell from her hands and folded slowly at her waist.

The jar landed, bounced up – and dropped directly into the hands of the goddess who materialised in the centre of the tent, the heat of her arrival washing gold over the sparse interior. The light collected down to a point at Athena's feet and disappeared.

"Let me guess," she said, opening the jar briefly to glance at its contents, "this is not what it looks like."

Ares put his arms around Xena's waist as she pulled up the blanket to cover herself, and shrugged in perfect nonchalance. "Yeah it is." Damn his sister for bursting in just as he was getting somewhere!

"Warrior Princess," Athena nodded in Xena's direction.

"Athena." Xena rose with the blanket, breaking away from Ares. He followed her up, fully clothed, and wondered if there was a rule about turning fellow gods into trees.

Athena picked up the bundle of armour from the floor and held it out; Xena retrieved it from her hand, but made no move to put it on.

"I see my brother is still trying to win you back after all these years." Athena glanced at the bedding. "With considerably more success than he's had previously, it seems."

Ares glared at her. "Jealous, sis?"

Athena ignored him, continuing in the same didactic tone she seemed to think suited the Goddess of Wisdom. "I apologise for the interruption, Xena, but Ares and I have a little matter to discuss," she looked meaningfully at the ambrosia in her hands, then at Ares – "in private."

Xena shrugged into her tunic, dropping the blanket from underneath it, pointedly indifferent to the presence of two gods. "Go right ahead," she said, "I have an army to move." She picked up her armour and began to put it on.

"Hey – wait wait wait..." Ares held out an arm to stop her, "Wait a minute."

Xena moved away, lacing up her gauntlets. "Ares, I have to do this my way." There was a hint of regret in her face, but Ares could tell his chance was gone. He sighed.

"What a surprise."

Somewhere in the camp, a bugle sounded; Xena shook out her hair, jerked the tent flap open and ran outside, into the grey dawn. The leather fluttered shut behind her.

Athena looked after her. "On second thoughts, I may have been a little hasty about your success."

Ares shot her a poisonous look, but it did not meet the usual deprecating sarcasm in his sister's eyes – only a warning.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Ares. Stealing from another god?" Athena squeezed the silver jar in her hand and it disappeared in a flare of light, taking Ares' plans with it. "That's low, even for you."

"I'm thrilled you think I have standards," he snapped, torn between anger and despising himself for the prickling fear he felt. True, the ambrosia had belonged to Artemis, but she was probably scarcely even aware of its existence...

Athena's voice lost its veneer of tolerance. "I'm sick and tired of having to clean up your messes, Ares. I could do without neglected Amazons complaining to me, and I could certainly do without having to explain your romantic fantasies to our father!"

"If it's romantic fantasies he's after," Ares said, anger squashing fear, "try telling him yours. I'm sure he'd find Ilainus entertaining."

She didn't let him deflect her. "You never do think of the consequences, do you? It wouldn't have crossed your mind, for instance, that Zeus might consider your attempts to make your lover and your daughter immortal as open rebellion?"

Ares frowned. "How do you..."

Athena sighed in exasperation. "It wasn't difficult to work out that Livia was your daughter, Ares, but that's not the point. It's bad enough that you're trying to create immortal champions – that alone could have cost you your godhood. But to Zeus, it looks suspiciously like you're after a do-it-yourself pantheon. Between Uranus, Chronus and himself, it does seem to run in the family. You can't blame him for being cautious."

That prickling fear suddenly acquired a name. Rebellion. This was serious. Nothing got to Zeus quite like a threat to his rule, Ares had learnt that all too well during the several very unpleasant months he'd spent in Tartarus after the Dahak mess. Who knew what creative punishment his dear father could cook up this time? Zeus could kick him out from Olympus – or off it, as Hera had once done to Hephaestus. Only in his case, Ares could bet it'd be a permanent arrangement – he wasn't Hephaestus, he couldn't forge trinkets to bribe his way back into the fold. Wouldn't want to, anyway. No, he'd end up back in Tartarus – or worse, mortal. Ares had no urge to repeat either experience.

He met his sister's cool gaze, swallowing hard. "This is not about crossing Dad, you know that."

Athena looked suddenly tired. "Try explaining that to him. Repeatedly."

"It didn't bother him last time, when Eve was born." Of course, Ares thought, back then he never did retrieve the ambrosia, had only tried to convince Xena to take it, without success... And then it dawned on him. "You never told Dad about that, did you?"

Athena shrugged, "I saw no reason to tell him, when it was obvious that Xena had no intention of accepting your kind offer. But I couldn't keep him from finding out this time, not after you actually stole the ambrosia." Her eyes told Ares just what she thought of the entire escapade. "I did, however, point out that the problem was Artemis' negligence." She smiled thinly. "I believe our father is currently busy making sure that there's no more ambrosia available for human consumption. And Artemis is sulking somewhere in her forests, ignoring the Amazons as usual. So you're off the hook – for now."

Ares gaped, "You covered for me!" Unbelievable. Her mortal lover must have mellowed her; clearly, romantic fantasies agreed with his sister. He grinned. "Never knew you had it in you, sis!"

Athena did not share his mirth. She fixed him with a stare too cold for humour, implacable almost to the point of compassion. Ares sobered.

"I did what I could," Athena said. "But if I were you, I'd stay out of Dad's sight for a while – and don't even think about getting the ambrosia again. I mean it, Ares. Xena is mortal, and so is your daughter. Accept it."

Ares nodded. There'd be other chances.

* * *

Contrary to all expectation, the dull dawn had grown into a mild sunny morning, a strange backdrop to the controlled chaos of an army preparing to march. Gabrielle found herself caught in it, bundled into her role as the new senior legate's attendant, pushed and prodded into action until there was no time to think about anything except the immediate. She had tried to catch Xena's attention several times, but it seemed impossible to break through the eddying crowds of officers taking their orders or the soldiers she was talking to, and the one time she thought Xena had seen her, her face had been unreadable and Gabrielle had not known how to call her.

Perhaps it was for the best. There were tents to pack, fortifications to dismantle, mules to load. Everyone seemed to know what was expected – so Gabrielle let it all carry her along, trying not to think about the previous night. She trusted Xena; she'd always been able to take on Ares, whatever the scheme. If she thought she could outmanipulate him now, then Gabrielle would trust her on that. Xena would tell her everything when they made camp for the night, and then Gabrielle could go to the Amazons – no sense in fretting over a day's delay when there were so many miles separating Rome and the Amazon territories.

Of course she trusted Xena. It was Ares she didn't trust. He had played the protective father to little Eve so convincingly that Gabrielle could not help but be suspicious. Sure, he had loved Eve in his way – but that would not have stopped him from using her for his own ends. Now, when Ares seemed to be hanging back, letting Xena and her insinuate themselves into Livia's trust... It wasn't like him, that's all. Which led Gabrielle to believe that he had some plan in the works, no doubt involving both Xena and Livia. Leaving Xena here, while she herself went to the Amazons, could be walking into his trap.

On the other hand, Xena had insisted that using Ares' help was the only way to succeed, and Gabrielle trusted her – but what if something went wrong? Gabrielle wanted to believe that she would not lay the blame at Xena's feet, would not say, 'I trusted you and you let me down'. Yet deep down, she knew how easy it would be. Gods knew, she'd done it before; Xena was so willing to accept responsibility for anything. The thought frightened Gabrielle. She didn't want to feel a coward, wanted a share of the responsibility – and even that was selfish.

"Jana!"

Gabrielle started, realising that the young soldier had called her several times without an answer. He was a junior tribune, a rank which promised a military career later, provided he'd play pageboy and messenger to the higher-ups for now. This particular tribune was a lanky youth called Rufus for his flaming red hair and freckled skin.

"What is it, Rufus?" she said, squinting at him against the sunlight.

"We're all finished here," he said, motioning over his shoulder. The sharpened wooden stakes used for fortification of the camp perimeter had been removed, the ditch filled. Gabrielle marvelled at the efficiency of so many men working together. Soldiers stood talking, waiting for the signal to march.

"I'll let Semra know," Gabrielle nodded. She turned to go, but Rufus's voice stopped her.

"Hey, Jana," his tone was easier, friendly. "Is it true what they say – that you're an Amazon?"

"I am."

Rufus eyed her suspiciously. "I thought Amazons would be... taller."

Gabrielle grinned despite heself, then, before Rufus could react, she aimed two swift kicks at his shins and hooked his left ankle from under him. Rufus found himself on the ground, an inch away from a glittering puddle.

"Size isn't everything," Gabrielle smirked, holding out her hand.

After a stunned pause, Rufus took it, letting her help him to his feet, conceding her victory. "Wow," he breathed, "You're fast. And good."

Gabrielle let him walk beside her as they made their way past soldiers swarming in the remains of the camp. "First rule of Amazon warfare," she said, squinting into the sun, looking around for Xena, "Never underestimate an Amazon."

Rufus laughed, "I'll remember that."

Gabrielle faltered. What in Hades was she doing? Giving Romans tips on defeating the Amazons? True, it was only one kid and not much of a tip, but Gabrielle's sense of unease grew. She had to get out of there, and soon; whatever Xena's plan was, she fervently hoped it was working. She had to warn the Amazons about this.

"So what's the second rule?" Rufus broke into the thought.

"Never question your superiors," Gabrielle snapped – then felt a pinprick of remorse as Rufus' smile disappeared.

"Guess there's not much between us and the Amazons then," he said with a hint of bitterness. "Romans, I mean. We don't question our superiors either. Especially those blessed by Fortuna herself."

Gabrielle darted a curious look in his direction. "Livia, you mean?" The two of them reached one of the central roads of the camp and headed inwards, to where the command tent was being dismantled.

Rufus hesitated, then shrugged. "Who else? Oh, I know she's a damn brilliant general," he added hastily, "and she takes her own orders from the Emperor. It's just that sometimes... Defending the borders isn't glamorous, and more often than not, you end up with civilians on the other end of your sword. And you feel like packing it when things get real ugly – but that can't be helped." He glanced at Gabrielle, searching for understanding. Gabrielle nodded uncertainly. "But this campaign, it's not about peace for the Empire, is it?"

Gabrielle considered it. "No," she said. "It's about expanding it." And slaughter for the sake of glory, she wanted to say, but did not.

Rufus sighed. "Fortuna's right to favour Livia," he said. "Her cause has always been Rome's safety. But some of us worry, you know – about this campaign. If the Amazons are so scattered, so far away, how can they be a threat? And if they're not a threat..."

He trailed off and Gabrielle waited expectantly. Abruptly, Rufus changed the subject. "So what are you doing here? You're too conspicuous to be a spy. Just a mercenary, then?" He looked at her from under reddish lashes. "You don't seem like the type to betray your folk for a few dinars."

Gabrielle set her jaw, refusing to meet Rufus's eyes. "Second rule of Amazon warfare," she muttered.

"Never question your superiors?"

"You learn quickly."

In the end Gabrielle did not manage to catch a moment with Xena. Livia's quaestor had been posted at the former site of the command tent; Gabrielle reported her unit's readiness to him and headed back for her gear. A little while later, scarcely past midmorning, the bugles played 'move out', and the Roman army was on the march.

There were four legions in total: over twenty thousand foot-soldiers, as well as a modest-sized cavalry unit. They marched in formation, rows of heavy boots thudding against the paving stones of the Appian Way, built to last with the typically Roman enthusiasm for carving their mark into the landscape. Gabrielle rode behind Xena and Livia, too far to hear what, if anything, they discussed on the way. Not that conversation was easy. Even when Xena hung back to ride beside Gabrielle for a while, they could only exchange brief looks of support, could not really talk in the middle of an army. Soldiers marched around them, belting out songs that served to pass the time and keep the rhythm of the march. Gabrielle resigned herself to waiting for nightfall.

Under different circumstances, it could have been an interesting ride. For the first three miles or so, the tombs lined the side of the road – huge edifices for dead nobles, ornate monuments of every imaginable form. There was nothing overtly gloomy about them, but the knowledge that they concealed ancient ashes and corpses was disquieting, and Gabrielle breathed easier when they passed the necropolis and the countryside opened up around them. Tall, almost bare trees held up their many-elbowed branches to the spring warmth, greening with small leaves, and the damp grass was freckled with bright yellow dandelions.

The sun began to sink, and still they marched, along the same road, with the same hypnotising, relentless monotony. Finally, when Gabrielle thought she could take no more, the column halted to make camp in a darkening, insect-noisy field.

Gabrielle was at Xena's tent as soon as it was up and the guards posted. She nodded briskly at the two men as they stepped aside for her to enter, caught herself belatedly and turned back to smile at them instead, but they were not looking in her direction. A single day, and she was already accustomed to ordering men around! How was Xena going to cope with it, for weeks? What right did she have to leave Xena alone like this?

"Hey."

Xena was sitting on a low stool, leaning an elbow on the trestle table at her side, her legs immersed almost to the knees in a pail of steaming water. Her boots lay on the floor in a tangle of laces; she was unarmed, dressed only in her pleated tunic.

"Hey, yourself," Gabrielle smiled, letting the tent flap close behind her. After the fresh outdoor air, the tent was too close and stuffy. A thickly smoking metal lamp sat on the table; its tiny flame threw patches of yellow light on Xena's face. "Mind if I join you? I think I'm out of practice, riding all day. My legs feel like lead."

Xena reached over to drag another stool closer. "Be my guest."

Gabrielle pulled off her boots and collapsed into the seat gratefully. She wriggled her toes in the warm water and reached down to massage some life into her calves. "Bliss," she sighed. "Another two hours and I might be able to walk again."

Xena chuckled, but it was a tired sound. "I doubt we'll have that long." Gabrielle looked up in surprise. "I reminded Livia about the terms of our arrangement. Ares should be in there right now, telling her that he has no intention of looking for the missing baby personally."

"So he agreed to take me to the Amazons?"

Xena's head moved a fraction. "Tonight."

"And he's backing up our story."

"He is."

The leaping light of the lamp created an illusion of movement, but Gabrielle knew that Xena's face was blank and utterly still. Briefly, she considered not asking the question she dreaded – it was hard enough to leave Xena at a time like this; hearing the price might make it impossible. But she had to know.

"What is it costing us?" she said. "What does Ares want?"

Xena did not blink. "Nothing."

Gabrielle leaned forward and took Xena's hands in her own; to her surprise, Xena gripped them tightly. "Come on," Gabrielle coaxed softly, "Please. I can't leave until I know."

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Finally, Xena freed her hands. "You better get ready. There's a towel over there. I had some food brought in, too, and your pack. Ares will be here soon."

"Thanks." Gabrielle made no move to get up, studying Xena's impassive face, silently pleading with her to let down her walls for just one moment. Then something occurred to her; Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. "How do you know he's not here now?"

The faintest shadow of guilt passed over Xena's face and disappeared, but it had been enough.

"You can sense him again, can't you?" Gabrielle demanded. "Why?"

Xena shrugged. "Beats me."

It was such a tiny meaningless shrug that Gabrielle knew. Worse, she realised she had always known, since the previous night, since the moment Xena had suggested asking Ares for help – but there was no denying it now.

"Gods, Xena," she shook her head in dismay. She did not know who she was angry with more. Perhaps herself. "I can't... I didn't – it's too high a price, giving yourself to him..." Gabrielle cringed, it sounded melodramatic, but what was she supposed to say?! Another, horrible thought struck her: "Are you going to be with him now? Lead his armies?"

"No," Xena said in a clipped tone, swinging her legs out of the water, to the pelt on the floor. She took a towel and began to rub her legs, hard enough to redden the skin. "It was sex, Gabrielle – that's all. No armies, no promises, no breakfast in bed. A one night stand, like your poet friend back in Rome."

Gabrielle felt like the air had been slammed from her lungs. She stared at Xena across the now-cold water, then grit her teeth and said, "Stop it."

Xena's hands paused; the towel dropped to the floor. When she looked up, her eyes were hollow and Gabrielle's anger drained away. She hopped off the seat and went to Xena's side, picked up the towel. Xena tried to stand, but Gabrielle shook her head.

"Listen to me." She squatted down, wrapping the linen around Xena's feet to pat them dry. What she had to say would be easier without looking at Xena's eyes, without threatening her. "You told me once," she began in a conversational tone, "that you'd always been able to sense Ares' presence, ever since that battle when he first saw you fight." She glanced up – Xena was motionless, listening, and Gabrielle decided to take that as a good sign. "So you felt a connection, then?"

There was a pause, then Xena snorted, "Sure I did. I was a warlord, he was the God of War. Bloodlust, the joy of the kill. One hell of a connection."

Gabrielle nodded without looking up. "And now, you feel it again. That link with Ares."

"You mean, with my darkness."

Gabrielle finally rose, twisting the wet towel absently, trying to gauge Xena's reaction. "I'm afraid," she said frankly.

"That Ares will win me over?"

"That he already has." Awkwardly, Gabrielle looked down, not wanting to see how the words would sting her friend. She forced her eyes back to Xena's. "You've always been able to find another way, and I know the stakes have never been this high before – but last night..."

Xena stood up. "You really think that one night with Ares will turn me back into what I used to be? A vicious killer?"

Gabrielle cringed. "No. Just that it might make everything even more difficult. You're leading an army again – almost," she amended, "and I know how hard it is to stay sane here, to play this role and convince everyone but yourself. It affects me, too." Gabrielle recalled her own authoritative nod at the guards. She fought back the stinging in her eyes, lifted her face to Xena's. "I'm afraid to leave, to leave you," she said desperately. "But I can't stay."

Xena watched her for a moment, then her face softened. "I made you a promise that I won't let anything come between us. I intend to keep it. I won't fail you, Gabrielle – and I know I can trust you not to fail me, either. If we work together, we can save Eve, and the Amazons. Can you trust me?"

Gabrielle looked into the shadows on Xena's face, and saw only her friend. There was no trace of the Xena that terrified them both – the 'vicious killer', the Xena who belonged to the God of War. Whatever had happened with Ares, it hadn't broken her. Perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps it had been yet another of those strange moments Gabrielle had long since given up on understanding, something between Xena and Ares. And it was over – she hoped.

"Yeah," Gabrielle said. "Yeah, of course I trust you." She hesitated. "It's not going to be easy."

Xena gave her a mock-puzzled look. "Easy? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the concept."

Gabrielle eyed her suspiciously: "Was that a crack about my 'poet friend'?"

Xena looked scandalised, "I wouldn't dare! You'd sneak into my tent at night and write ballads all over me. It's bad enough that all our good parchment is covered with the stuff!"

Gabrielle laughed, then squeezed Xena's hand. "You have no appreciation of culture," she said, "but I love you anyway. Don't ever change."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"No."

Xena motioned at the pack on the floor. "Better get your gear."

Gabrielle nodded. "Yeah."

They got everything ready in companionable silence. Gabrielle felt a restrained anticipation in the air, like taking a breath before opening an unfamiliar door. No, it wouldn't be easy – but there was a determination in Xena's bearing that was catching. It wasn't bloodlust or the craving for power that an army could awaken. It was driven by light, not darkness, by the desire to find Eve inside Livia, and to avert a senseless war. It was a good plan, and whatever her fears, it felt good to be a part of it.

It did not feel so good a few minutes later, when she saw Xena tense – and the obligatory blue-silver flash left Ares standing beside her. He hadn't changed a bit, Gabrielle thought. The same black leather, the same easy posture, the same mocking glimmer in his eyes. She expected the inevitable supposedly witty one-liner, but Ares glanced at Xena, and their eyes met. Something passed between them; Gabrielle did not know what it was, only that it made her feel like she was intruding. She coughed self-consciously, and lifted her pack.

"I'm ready."

Ares merely nodded.

Gabrielle turned to Xena, tried to look confident and knew that neither of them were succeeding in that. "It'll work," she said, "We can do it."

"Get them away, into the forests, as soon as you can. If something goes wrong—"

She held Xena's hands. "It won't."

"Excuse me," Ares interrupted impatiently, "I appreciate the touching scene, but could we get the show on the road?"

Gabrielle nodded quickly, squeezed her eyes shut for an instant and tried very hard not to think back to the one time she had asked Ares to transport her – to betray Xena in Ch'in.

"Ares?" she asked tentatively.

"What?"

"I'm not going to owe you a favour for this one, am I?" Last time, it had nearly destroyed both Xena and herself, when Ares had called in the favour to ensure that she was the one who had to kill Hope. Gabrielle shrank away from the memories.

Ares exchanged another glance with Xena, then shrugged uncomfortably. "No. We have a deal; no favours. Not this time."

He did not look away, but Gabrielle noticed his jaw tense. She stared at him, trying to work out the source of his discomfort. Did he regret having forfeited a chance to use this as leverage later? Or was there something else – could memories of Dahak's threat be as hard for him as they were for Xena and herself? After all, the demotion from God of War to Dahak's lackey could not have been a pleasant experience. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"Why ..." she began, but got no chance to finish the thought – a sense of vertigo gripped her, she struggled futilely against it, but it was already pulling her in, tearing her apart, and Gabrielle whirled and tumbled in it, unable to breathe enough for a scream... Then the rich dark smells of earth and spring grass engulfed her, her feet hit something solid and she collapsed to the ground.

Twigs were digging into her palms and knees. Gabrielle fought down dry heaves, trying to still her head. There was just enough moonlight to see, but she didn't need to look around to know exactly where she was.

* * *

Xena blinked at the twin spots of fading brightness where a moment ago, Ares and Gabrielle had been. She was gone. Gabrielle was gone. Xena dropped onto her stool and looked down at the water in the basin, blackness shimmering orange in the lamplight. What had she done? Entrusted Gabrielle's life into the hands of Ares, of all people! He could have taken her anywhere...

Xena leapt to her feet, whirled around. "Ares!"

The flash was piercing white in the tent.

"All done." Ares dusted off his hands in theatrical self-satisfaction and spread his arms wide – "Bye-bye, blondie."

Xena's suspicion exploded into rage – so much for the deal! She grabbed his vest and hissed, "Let me see her, Ares. Right now."

Ares made a point of looking down at her hands, then raised his eyes and tilted his head quizzically. Xena felt her cheeks burn and dropped her hands. "Show me Gabrielle."

"You still don't trust me." There was something wounded in his tone; it only angered Xena more. Ares repeated, "She's fine."

"Prove it."

He made a mocking little bow and waved at the water in the basin on the floor. Its surface wavered, becoming glassy smooth, and resolved into hills of blue-green moonlit forest, rolling into the distance. Suspiciously, Xena watched the view descend. Treetops gave way to branches and the thick mossy trunks of ancient conifers. Watching, she sank deeper, to the underbrush and the carpet of pine needles on the forest floor, where moonlight was replaced by shadows.

And there was Gabrielle. She advanced cautiously, sais strapped to her boots, looking up at the trees. She stopped, listening – then clasped her hands over her head in the Amazon gesture of peace. An instant later, the trees around her burst into life; four armed women dropped to the forest floor to surround her. Xena did not recognise their tribal marks, but evidently this was an Amazon patrol. Gabrielle kept her hands clasped. She wasn't letting her nervousness show, Xena noted with approval. After what seemed like an age, the patrol leader, a tall dark-haired girl, lifted her own hands, and clasped them. The others followed—

The portal rippled into water, and the image broke apart, replaced by Ares' smug reflection. "Satisfied?"

"Bring it back. They're going to take Gabrielle into the vill—" Xena broke off when she realised the water was steaming.

"You know, we could put it to better use." Ares' voice was suddenly quiet, the smugness gone from it as completely as if he had removed a mask. Xena looked up in surprise. He met her eyes squarely. When she said nothing, he waved away the image in the water, breaking it into ripples of lamplight. Xena sat, and felt Ares take her bare feet, and then the renewed warmth of the water. All the wrong feelings woke up in her – but she was not letting this happen again...

"Ares..." She took a breath to demand that he stop, but it caught in her throat. Ares knelt across from her against the basin, the steam gathering in droplets on his brows and along his eyelashes, shimmering on his cheeks. If she leaned forward and touched it, it would trickle over his cheekbones, into his mouth...

She nearly jumped when he touched her thigh. He glanced up at her, then ran his hands down the length of her leg, his gaze following the movement. Xena tried halfheartedly to pull away, but her legs were so sore, and Ares' hands were much warmer than the water. She tried not to close her eyes, not to accept the dissolving tension in her muscles.

He paused to take off his gauntlets, and Xena nearly caught the moment – but his hands returned, and the words came out breathless, without the impatience she'd intended. "What do you think you're doing?"

Ares looked up without releasing her, the flame of the lamp dancing in his dark eyes. He touched the underside of her knees, then sent his fingers higher. "What does it feel like?"

"Bring back..." Xena bit down a gasp, "Bring back the portal. I want to see Gabrielle."

Ares lifted both her feet out of the water to plant a kiss on an ankle. The light scratch of his goatee shocked Xena's heat-softened skin, drawing another gasp. He kissed her other ankle. "Mm... She wasn't part of the deal."

"Neither was this." Xena tore her foot back, afraid of the small regret that nudged her cooling skin. She stepped out onto the floor, dripping water onto Ares' discarded gauntlets. He followed her up. Xena faced him.

"What happened last night was business, Ares – that's all. It changes nothing. I'm not coming back to you, I'm not leading your armies, and I'm not going to be your Warrior Queen."

Ares held her gaze for a moment, then stepped closer. A peculiar intensity in his eyes made Xena pause. He took her hand.

"What if I told you I don't want a Warrior Queen anymore? That I only want you."

She began to respond, sarcastically, but Ares raised his voice to speak over her, "Just hear me out! Xena..." He stopped, started again. "I'm – having urges, ones I'm not real proud of... This is not your standard god obsession, okay? I want to be with you – I have feelings for you—"

"Stop it," Xena pulled away, her temples throbbing, her lip curling incredulously. "Stop this—"

"I care about you, dammit! I see your face everywhere," Ares was speaking so fast she could barely make out the words, "I can't stop thinking—"

"Stop it!" Xena snapped, cutting him off. "You're so desperate, you're trying to convince me that you love me?" The sudden image of her daughter straddling him on the Roman couch, kissing his mouth, rose in her vividly. She felt ill. "The time for you and me has been and gone."

Ares swallowed, looked like he wanted to say something – then straightened his back, drawing himself up. One corner of his mouth twitched into a crooked grin. "Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. I thought with the blonde gone, you might be a bit more... easy-going."

Xena felt her eyes widen, the breath knocked from her. The bastard... She should have guessed he'd try to turn this to his advantage! She tasted bitterness in her mouth. "I knew all your talk was lies."

He lifted his eyebrows a fraction. "You're wrong. I promised I won't tell Livia about you; that was the deal. As for seeing Gabrielle, or anything else..." He stepped back from her. "You know who to call."

In the empty tent, the swoosh of the closing aether seemed strangely loud.

Xena's legs buckled. She sat down on the floor next to the basin, drawing up her knees. The water was no longer steaming. She ran her fingers over the cool surface, disturbing it. Beneath it, everything was dark once again; the ripples of her reflection were fractured and confused, and formed nothing. A gleam of silver caught her eye. She turned her head and saw Ares' gauntlets, lying where he'd discarded them, the rubies in the worked metal winking like droplets of frozen blood. Xena picked up a gauntlet and turned it over in her hands, then slipped it on. She wasn't quite sure why she did it, and it vanished, melting away into nothingness, before she'd have to give it much thought. Instead, she thought of her daughter.

Another Way

All this rebirth in spring's festivity and spring's power bids us to rejoice; it shows us paths we know well, and in your springtime it is true and right to keep what is yours.

Love me faithfully! See how I am faithful: With all my heart and with all my soul, I am with you even when I am far away. Whosoever loves this much turns on the wheel [of Fortune].

Carmina Burana, "Primo Vere: Omnia Sol Temperat"

Via Appia, the Appian Way. A road ringing with history and military glory, cutting a sharp line across the Italian peninsula, from Rome to the sprawling port-city of Brundisium in the south. It was ironic, Livia reflected, that a road leading away from Rome should be bringing her closer to it with every step – closer to her goals with every click of her horse's hooves, with every beat of the drums. Livia, Empress of Rome. It had a music all its own.

She glanced up, taking in the familiar countryside – green meadows bright with morning dew, tall lines of trees, and between them, the dusty arrow of the Via Appia. Her legates rode a little way behind her, and the column of legionaries snaked after them, tapering into the distance.

Only one thing was missing: Ares. Of course, Ares wouldn't normally concern himself with these early stages of a campaign; he'd wait for battles, for blood. He had that luxury. He was obviously not going to turn up just for her. Livia found it thoroughly irritating that he had lost any interest he'd had in her as a woman ever since Semra's arrival... But on the other hand, she had no intention of becoming a notch on his immortal scoreboard. She was Livia, Champion of Rome, not a pretty toy to be used and discarded. He couldn't humiliate her.

In fact, Livia decided that there was a great deal of pleasure in the knowledge that she controlled what Ares so obviously desired: Semra. And, to add to the fun, it was equally obvious that Semra had absolutely no interest in him, beyond using him for her own purposes – and Livia was using them both! This campaign was shaping up wonderfully.

"Semra," Livia called over her shoulder. "Ride with me."

One set of hoofbeats became louder and quicker, and then Semra appeared at her right hand side, foreign-looking despite the Roman armour and the white horse.

"We'll be in Brundisium by nightfall," Livia said with some satisfaction. "We're making good time."

No reply was required, and Semra made none, simply acknowledging the news. Livia smiled, pleased. Over the two weeks of the march she had developed a grudging admiration for the woman. She'd proved herself both capable and experienced in the needs of an army – a boon, freeing Livia from the tedium of minor problems. She never wasted words, and the sharp mind behind those piercing eyes caught the essence of any plan almost before Livia could voice it. A pity she had to be handed back to the Amazons.

Livia squinted and pointed to a rocky hillock in the distance. "See that oak? The one with the split trunk, where lightning struck it."

"If you climbed it, you'd see all the way to the sea."

Livia turned, surprised. "Have you been here before?"

A slight smile touched Semra's eyes. "No. But I've always been good at reading the terrain." She took a slow breath. "And there's salt in the air. We're getting close."

Livia fell silent, remembering the holiday her family had dragged her on, and how the one relief from the endless dinner parties was Marcus's unexpected arrival. He had taken her up to the hill and she had climbed the tree and stared out to sea, listening to his old soldier's stories of foreign lands and barbaric tribes...

Aloud, she said, "We sail for Dyrrachium tomorrow, with the First legion. The others will follow, and then we march." She scrutinised Semra's drawn face, the wind flicking stray locks of black hair into her eyes. "Are you sure you're up to this, Amazon? Fighting for Rome?"

Semra's hands tightened on the reins, and Livia thrilled at the convulsive gesture. It was like taming an exotic and dangerous animal: never turn your back, stay in control. Oh, she was enjoying this immensely!

"It's not too late to back down," Livia said solicitously. "Of course, you understand I'd have to kill the child when she's found; she's part of our bargain. But you could always have another."

Fire flashed in Semra's eyes. "I will get my daughter back." Her low growl was barely audible against the hoofbeats. "Whatever the cost."

Livia turned a triumphant grin to the distant hill, with its pathetic broken tree, then looked back at Semra, rigid in the saddle.

"Vengeance, Semra. Remember what Rome is giving you, a chance to have your revenge on the people who took her away from you. Never lose sight of what you're fighting for."

Semra's posture eased marginally. "No," she said, "I'm fighting for a future."

"Your daughter's future with Rome."

Semra looked away. "My daughter's future."

* * *

She had known from the first that convincing the Amazons of her identity would be a struggle against the combined forces of common sense and superstition. Common sense said she could not be Gabrielle and look so young. Superstition said that she could, did, and had probably sold her soul to the appropriate deity for the privilege. Someone had even accused her of stealing their ritual ambrosia. Luckily, a few of the older women remembered her and believed her story, as close to the truth as she dared to tell them. Eve was dead, and she and Xena had been asleep for twenty-five years, saved by the power of Lao Ma back on that beach.

Well, 'believed' wasn't quite the word for it. More like were forced to accept it. And that, only after Gabrielle had subjected herself to a purification ritual to ward off evil spirits, and had then gone up against two Amazon warriors in hand-to-hand combat, proving beyond all doubt that she was only mortal. The bruises still hurt, and there was a barely-healed gash on her forehead, but at least she'd managed to convince them. She'd just had no idea that that would be the easy part.

She had been expecting to see her tribe, a generation older, but unchanged in every way that mattered. Now, that expectation seemed silly – why should the Amazons not change along with the rest of the world? And change they had.

Gabrielle looked about, still not quite able to believe it. Around her, on the circle of low stools set in a spacious, torch-lit meeting hut, sat about twenty other women. They looked as different from each other as was humanly possible while still remaining the same in essence: Amazon queens. Queens of distant Northern tribes in their tunics of embroidered deerskin; tribes from further South, with their traditional markings and beaded ornaments; tribes from the banks of the Herbrus, the Thermodon and the shores of the Euxine Sea; others Gabrielle had never even seen before... And her.

"Queen Gabrielle?" Marga's calm eyes rested on Gabrielle; she tried not to fidget.

"In attendance," she said, relieved at the even tone of her voice. Marga was one of the few who did remember her, though she had been only a child the last time Gabrielle had seen her. It was beyond strange to see her as a woman older and probably far wiser than herself. There was a serenity in Marga's deep brown eyes that Gabrielle could not help but envy.

"Queen Cyane?"

A blonde woman on her left, with gentle blue eyes and a button-small nose replied, "I'm here."

"Queen Prothoë?"

And so it went on, around the circle. Gabrielle clenched her hands in her lap, feeling a thousand times an impostor. Who was she to represent a tribe she barely knew? It was true that the law was on her side. She was their rightful queen; Marga had handed her the Mask of Queenhood by her own decision, and seemingly without rancour. But Marga's age meant that she had been nearing the end of her term as queen in any case. It was her protégé, Varia, who was suddenly deprived of the certainty of succeeding Marga as queen. Gabrielle could hardly blame Varia for not taking the news well. She sent a brief apologetic glance over her shoulder to the young dark-haired woman, seated behind her, outside the circle of chairs allotted to members of the Council. Varia's acknowledgement gave away nothing. Gabrielle turned back into the circle, sighing. Well, at least they'd let her attend.

Satisfied with the roll-call, Marga spoke. "Before we begin this meeting, I would like to caution you – sisters, this is not a war council." Gabrielle felt the others' curious eyes on her, but only nodded at Marga.

"Nor," Marga went on, "Is this the time and place to discuss tribal disputes." This time, her caution was directed past Gabrielle, at Varia. "My tribe has accepted Gabrielle as our rightful queen, having received her right of caste from Terreis, as confirmed by the late Regent-Queen Ephiny at the time of the coronation. With Gabrielle's consent, our former Queen-in-Waiting, Varia, retains the command of our warriors."

"We know all that," said a red-haired woman whom Gabrielle had heard addressed as Prothoë. She was too tall to sit comfortably on the stool, her long legs were crossed at the ankles in front of her, revealing winding patterns of henna on her calves and shins. "We have already welcomed Gabrielle as your queen," she said impatiently, "What we want to know is why you have called this council so soon after the last eclipse."

"And why not Gabrielle herself?" added Cyane, queen of one of the Northern tribes. She had an air of integrity that the others seemed to admire; certainly the other two Northern queens appeared to defer to her despite her youth.

Marga raised a hand for silence. "I've called this meeting on behalf of Queen Gabrielle, who is still familiarising herself with our new customs. She claims to have some important information which concerns not just our tribe, but every Amazon." Marga turned to her. "Gabrielle?"

There were murmurs of interest, and Gabrielle felt her mouth go dry. She had to get this right. She stood up, trying to make the motion appear fluid and dignified.

"Sisters," she began, "I am honoured to be given voice at this council, and to be accepted again as an Amazon queen. You already know how I come to be here, looking like this." She waved a hand over herself, smiling a little. "But I haven't come here to reclaim my title."

A surprised voice from one of the Thracians: "Why are you here, then?"

Gabrielle turned so that she could see the speaker: a middle-aged queen, black-haired and wiry. "I accepted this position in order to call this council. A great danger approaches, a danger to the whole Amazon nation."

Prothoë rolled her eyes. "Speak plainly, Gabrielle. We have no time for the poetic version."

"I'm speaking as plainly as I can," said Gabrielle pleasantly, irked by the woman's tone. "I come here from Rome." That bought her total silence. Gabrielle studied each stunned look. "Not just from Rome – but from the Roman army."

"An army?" breathed Prothoë, all insolence gone from her voice.

"Four legions of veteran troops, blooded in Gaul and Germania. Marching across Italy even as we speak, in our direction."

Someone cursed. Others just shook their heads. "If it is as you say," said one of the women finally, "They can be here less than two eclipses from now."

"Exactly." Gabrielle exhaled in relief – they were taking it seriously. Truthfully, she added, "There were rumours in Rome about an attack on the Amazons." She hoped it sounded like a good enough reason for her supposed spying efforts. "Xena and I saw the preparations and enlisted. Xena is trying to turn them back, but it's not an easy task: she needs time – time we have to give her. If we help her, she can succeed."

"How certain are you that their goal is the Amazon territories?" asked Cyane with a frown. "They may be on the move to replace the garrisons on the eastern borders of the Empire."

"Which are getting a little too close for comfort these days," Marga lamented, sitting down on her stool on Gabrielle's right. "I say there is every chance that Gabrielle is correct. The Romans are coming."

Gabrielle shot her a grateful look, before continuing her speech. "I swear to you on my right of caste that I'm speaking the truth. I came here as soon as I knew..." Her knees were weak, she sat down.

Why hadn't she finished the words she'd prepared? She was supposed to ask them to retreat into the forests, to safety! If Xena could not stop the attack before the Romans reached the Amazon territories, the plan was to persuade Livia that a drawn-out campaign in the forests was against her interests. But if they wouldn't retreat... Gabrielle stole a glance at Varia behind her. The woman remained silent. A torch behind her turned her glossy dark hair bronze, hiding her eyes. When they wouldn't retreat, Gabrielle amended to herself.

"We must decide on a course of action," said Marga when the exclamations had subsided into a low anxious hum. "But whatever the decision, it has to be made for the entire nation. If we are to face Rome, we must do so as one."

"How much do you know of their strategy?" Cyane asked Gabrielle, and others nodded, pleased by the question. "Were you able to copy any battle plans?"

Gabrielle shook her head, "No. But I saw... enough. Their maps are out of date, the Romans haven't heard about the tribes uniting." And if they had, she thought, her and Xena's plan might have been different... Should have been different. It was no longer the might of the Romans against a few scattered tribes. This was a nation, a warlike nation that probably commanded a combined army no smaller than the four legions marching towards it – and in all likelihood, much larger.

And now that the shock was wearing off, they were getting angry.

Gabrielle gulped, wishing she'd had a way to send a message to Xena before calling the council. Asking these women to retreat from their land suddenly seemed about as clever as politely asking the Romans to go home, and about as likely to succeed.

"I'm not a queen, but I do lead the warriors of my tribe."

Varia spoke up for the first time; all eyes turned to her. Gabrielle moved her seat out of the way as Varia strode past her and into the centre of the circle. Was that what she was supposed to have done? Too late now.

Varia turned slowly, looking at each woman in turn.

"I'm not afraid," she said, "And neither should be any of you." Her voice rose, gathering strength, and a hard glint appeared in her dark eyes. "What are four Roman legions against the might of the Amazon nation? The great Roman Empire fears us enough to try to bring us to our knees." She shot Marga a jubilant look and her voice soared. "We knew it would happen sooner or later! So let's show them that they are right to fear us. Are we going to meekly wait for them to come to us? For Xena to rescue us, like a bunch of helpless villagers? No! No Roman will set foot on our lands. If we combine our forces, Rome will fall before us. Against the Amazon nation, Rome is nothing!" She raised her fists – "Strength to the Amazon nation!"

There was a pause, then – "Strength to the Amazon nation!" someone shouted, and within moments, the chant had engulfed the tent. Gabrielle looked around the beaming faces in the red torchlight, frantically trying to work out how to stop this, how to prevent a war, but it was too late – even Marga had joined in the battle call now – "Strength to the Amazon nation! Death to Rome!" – and Gabrielle knew she had lost. They would never contend themselves with fortifications and strategic retreats. No war of defence was going to satisfy them now.

She looked at Varia, and was surprised by how calm the Amazon seemed underneath the shouts. She'd been waiting for this, Gabrielle realised. This was her chance at glory. She wanted to defeat this Roman army – but what then? How far would Varia go?

Gabrielle summoned all her strength and stood up. She took a breath and pitched her voice to carry over the shouts. "I'd like to speak!"

She waited for something approximating silence, trembling in the charged atmosphere. Careful now... "I agree with Varia," she said slowly, "We must join forces – every tribe's warriors, formed into a combined army." She weighed up the nods of approval, then plunged in. "Sisters, I ask you for command of our army. I know Rome. I can lead us to victory."

Almost before the words were out, Varia was shouting over her – "As do I! Are you going to give command of this war to a newcomer, a woman who knows nothing of our customs? I can win this war for all our sisters!"

"Silence!" snapped Marga, also rising from her seat.

All noise ceased. The tension in the air thickened until Gabrielle was fighting for each breath. If she could not prevent this war, she had to control it, it was her one and only chance. Varia's fists were clenched, but she did not move from her spot in the centre. Gabrielle met her gaze and remained where she was.

Marga said, "Varia is a fine war-leader. But she is not a queen, nor is she familiar with the Romans and their ways – indeed, none of us are. To win this war, we must think like the enemy." Apologetically, she added to Gabrielle, "We can't rely on Xena to save us. We must fight our own battles."

"Tradition says that a queen must lead us in war," said the red-haired Prothoë. Gabrielle tensed under her scrutiny, but did not flinch. There was no way back now.

Prothoë continued, "It's your tribe's turn to lead the Council, Marga, so by law it is your Queen's command. But if your warriors" – she nodded at Varia – "don't think Gabrielle is up to the task, you could always forfeit to another tribe." The other Amazons muttered agreements, heads bent to whisper together, appraising eyes on Gabrielle. Prothoë gestured around the circle. "Any of us would be pleased to assume command."

Gabrielle returned the woman's probing stare with steel she had not realised she possessed. "I may not have spent my life in the Amazon lands, Prothoë, but I am a true Amazon. I'm an outsider, not a foreigner – but I understand foreigners; Romans. I came here ready to do anything I had to do to save my tribe, and my people." She spoke over the lump in her throat. "I still am."

The pressure eased visibly; Prothoë backed down and the others looked at Gabrielle with a new respect. Gabrielle allowed herself a slow breath. "Varia has experience with leading Amazon warriors," she said. Varia looked up sharply at the mention of her name. Gabrielle smiled a little and went on, "And she was instrumental in uniting the tribes with Marga. I can think of no one better to share my command. If, that is, she'll accept the post."

Varia's scowl softened into disbelief at first – then something like appreciation. Gabrielle looked at her in a hopeful question, and Varia nodded fractionally, the corners of her mouth tight. "I accept," she said.

Gabrielle stepped forward and clasped hands with Varia, raising their arms in salute. "Strength to the Amazon nation!" she shouted – and then everyone was on their feet, taking down torches from the walls, cheering with them. "Strength to the Amazon nation! Death to Rome!"

* * *

Ares was beginning to feel invisible. Oh, he was invisible, but he'd never really felt it before, not around Xena. She rode with Livia at the head of the largest army this side of the Adriatic, staring dead ahead as though she could already see the docks of Brundisium over the horizon. Behind the horses, the column marched through bright spring countryside, raising thick clouds of white dust that shone in the noon sunlight. The clouds made Xena look like a Valkyrie; a stern-faced warrior riding across the sky, splendid and cold in the thunder of hoofbeats. Ares didn't know how she managed to look so distant when he was right there beside her, close enough to lead her horse by the reins. The infuriating thing was that she did sense his presence, he could tell from the careful way she avoided so much as a glance in his direction. She'd been doing it since the night he took Gabrielle to the Amazons. Perhaps he had been a tad overzealous in trying to get her to reconsider the o ne-night deal, he thought grudgingly – but what was he supposed to do? Wait until she died again?

He drove himself crazy just watching Xena ignore him. He'd heard of the poor sucker in Hades who was doomed to spend eternity tormented by hunger and thirst, standing in a stream that would recede the moment he bent to drink, surrounded by fruit trees that would raise their branches the moment he reached up for an apple. This was worse. Much worse. He had the memories of Xena in his arms; the hot sweetness of her mouth and the tickle of her hair falling against his cheek, the sparkle in her eyes as she drew back to let him watch her – so beautiful she took away his breath. He recalled her sigh when she'd slept beside him afterwards and he stroked her hair, filled with the delicious fear that she could wake and catch him at it. With a pang, he recalled the moment he first saw her at the bacchanalia, when the veil fell from her face and their eyes met, and he knew with dizzying certainty that it was no fantasy, that it was real: Xena was back.

Not that it made any difference. She kept looking right through him.

Ares fell back to walk alongside the Roman horse, then lifted his hand to touch the back of Xena's leg. His fingers skimmed her warm bare skin, from the edge of the saddle to her boot. Xena did not move. He could have been a ghost.

He'd kept his promise to back up her story, he even took Gabrielle to the Amazons as an added bonus. And this was the thanks he got? Ares moved away and let the horses pass him. To Tartarus with it! If Xena wanted to ignore him, that was fine by him; two could play that game. Besides, he had an advantage. Xena wanted to see Gabrielle. He didn't – but he could.

Irritably, the God of War transported himself to the Amazon lands.

When she was certain he was gone, Xena loosened her grip on the reins, cautiously letting down the barriers in her mind, trying to relax. She took a deep breath. Ares was doing a damn good job of trying to wear her down: staying beside her, filling her awareness, forcing her thoughts to return to him again and again. She could not ignore him.

She had a wild impulse to call him back. To ask how Gabrielle was doing. Not for the first time, Xena decided against it.

* * *

The Amazon village was alive. That was Ares' overriding impression the moment he found himself there. When he'd seen it last, the place had been little more than collection of dusty brown huts, a crudely dug well, and a couple of practice rings where Amazons like Varia could pummel each other to their hearts' content. Now, it looked more like the headquarters of an army. Amazons scuttled back and forth, looking invariably busy and preoccupied. The meeting hut had been dismantled; in its place stood a large five-sided tent, cured hides stretched over a wooden framework. The walls tapered up to a peak at the centre of the roof, where a red-and-green banner was raised. It was probably supposed to sail in the wind heroically instead of flapping weakly in the midday warmth like it did, but the idea was definitely there. The Amazon nation had become a reality. And, judging from the aggressively temporary structures peppering the former village, it would not be long before this reality w as on the move.

To one side of the command tent, a few dozen Amazons wearing plain brown armour were sparring in a fenced-off clearing strewn with sawdust. Some fought with staffs or blunted swords, others practiced hand-to-hand. Ares watched them for a moment, then stepped into the ring.

He walked unseen among the sparring women, only half-listening to the sounds of wood connecting with flesh, the jeers, and the grunts of effort. The urgency of purpose in their movements was like a tantalising scent, reminding him of the power of battles. He watched a tall middle-aged Amazon with hard eyes parry the sloppier strikes of two younger women. Their staffs collided, creaking and shuddering briefly before flying apart again. "Again!" the elder Amazon ordered, and lunged. Ares wondered what Xena would do if he showed her this.

"Sisters!"

Ares glanced up along with the Amazons to the source of the voice. It took him another moment to convince himself that the woman he saw was Gabrielle, framed by the doorway of the command tent. She wore close-fitting armour of fine reddish leather, beaded and ornamented Amazon-style. Blood-dark lines angled along her cheekbones, two on each side of her face – war signs. Her hair was tied back in a multitude of short thin braids that sat close to her scalp, a few criss-crossed with leather twine and beads. She held what Ares at first thought looked suspiciously like a turkey driven over by a cart, with inky feathers sticking out in all directions. When Gabrielle came closer, Ares realised it was the Mask of Queenhood.

The training ceased, staffs clattering, backs straightening up.

"Sisters." Gabrielle jumped over the barrier into the ring, landing lightly in the trampled sawdust. "I need scouts to go south, to check the way to Themiscyra."

"I'll go," several voices came at once, and others joined them. There were quick exchanged queries, scouting parties forming spontaneously. Gabrielle walked around, selecting volunteers, thanking them. Under the war-paint, her face was pinched and pale.

Ares left her to it. He felt unaccountably annoyed, given that this war was going better than he could have dreamed. Once in the white-hot vortex of aether, he floated for a moment, gritting his teeth against the swirling tug of it on his body, eyes shut to its brightness. The aether fought his indecision, wanting to take him somewhere, to dislodge the intruder. Where did he want to be?

He could go to Xena. Ares steadied himself when that thought nearly landed him there. He could go to Xena. If she wanted to see Gabrielle, he'd show her Gabrielle – and the Amazons, the united tribes, the unmistakable signs of a nation readying for war instead of the planned retreat?..

No. He couldn't show her Gabrielle.

Besides, Ares decided, he had other things to do. Like Xena had said – this wasn't part of the deal.

He snapped his hold on the aether, and opened his eyes.

* * *

The brightness faded, leaving him in the dim interior of a large, dusty tower room. The walls were of massive grey stones set close-seamed in the old way, and hung with thick, moth-eaten tapestries of ancient battles. Sunlight slanted in through narrow high windows, smoke and ash particles swirling visibly where they passed through the light. There were muffled sounds coming from outside; far below, someone was screaming, and fire-arrows hissed and thudded into wood and flesh. The windows were too high for observation, but Ares didn't need them. He felt the battle inside him, the awareness of it a familiar weight in his body. Someone was taking the city.

He was about to go down to check out the action, when the tapestries caught his eye. Those things took serious liberties with history, he thought, coming closer to peer at the stylised, angular depictions of amber-on-black warriors in various stages of undress. He did not recall the Battle of Corinth being fought in the buff. Why did artists always do that, anyway? He made a mental note to rib Athena about it someday – weaving was, after all, her thing.

One of the figures made him pause. There was something familiar in the turn of the woman's woven face as she raised a spear, and in her dark, flowing hair. Xena? Ares felt his heart speed up, an unaccustomed burning in his face. He realised with astonishment that it angered him, thinking that others could see this tapestry and assume that they knew her, that she had been just some barbarian, riding into battle naked. He'd have to set it straight. But how many other tapestries were there? And how many more would be there after she was gone – really gone? The time would come when he'd be the only one left who could remember her the way she really was...

Ares pointed at the tapestry and torched it. It left a smoking black circle on the wall. Around it, the last few singed threads fluttered in confusion and drifted slowly to the floor, before being flung upwards in a sudden draught.

He turned just in time to see the heavy wooden door swing open.

"Mavican," he greeted the blonde armed woman who halted on the threshold in surprise. "Long time, no see."

In fact, he had no idea how many years had passed since their first and last meeting. Probably four or five, though she hadn't had her own army then – just a band of thugs with nothing to do and no combat skills to speak of. They hadn't exactly been a memorable experience, and with her wild hair, painted eyes and near-constant sneer, neither had Mavican. From what Ares could see, she hadn't changed a bit.

But at least Mavican didn't dare ignore him.

Her grey eyes darted to the charred wall behind him. Nonchalantly, Ares plucked a burnt thread from his vest and flicked it to the floor. "I've been ... appreciating your newly acquired art collection. I trust you don't object to losing the Battle of Corinth."

Mavican's uncertainty turned into a knowing smirk; she sauntered towards him, hips swinging in her short tunic of black leather. "Object to it?" She was practically purring. "Not at all; Ares – I'm flattered! When years ago the legendary Xena lost that battle, she won your alliance. I knew you'd want history to repeat itself one day. That tapestry's been on its way out from the moment I saw it. It's time the Warrior Princess made way for the new generation."

"I wouldn't write her off yet."

Mavican shot him a startled glance. "Xena's been dead for years."

Ares cursed himself – of course, she could not know! Well, he wasn't going to enlighten her. "Xena lives on in the pages of history," he said smoothly, looking solemn.

"History is written by the victors. That is why I'm writing my own." Mavican's sneer grew a shade more obvious, "Even Xena didn't think of that."

Ares eyed her impassively as she eased herself closer. "No, Xena relied on her bard."

"And I'll only rely on you," Mavican promised huskily, taking another step forward. "Xena didn't have the guts to reach out and take everything you offered her. I do."

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

"Hardly. This," she flicked a hand at the bare room, "this is just a start. Next, I'm marching on Athens. Then Corinth, Sparta, Mycenae... I'm not just going to surpass Xena, I'm going to destroy her. She did some good work, but..." Mavican looked him in the eye, a direct invitation. "I'm not Xena."

He wanted her suddenly, badly, wanted to crush her and mark her and make her scream. "You're right," he said, and pushed her back against the charred wall, smudging her coarse blonde hair black. He picked a blackened strand and stroked it, so that Mavican shuddered in delight. Then he entangled his fingers in her hair and yanked it down, raising her face to his.

"You're not Xena," he said – and kissed her.

But it didn't help.

Neither Mavican with her ambitions of ruling Greece, nor any of the hundreds of minor wars around the Aegean and Asia Minor could keep him occupied. He gave up on Mavican after two nights; her pale soft curves only served to remind him acutely of Xena's lithe body and honey-warm skin, and bedding her was a sophisticated torture of comparisons. When he went to check on other warlords and other wars, the awareness of Rome and the Amazons became a constant pressure in his mind, like a humming noise that would not cease, and he found he could not keep his attention on the field.

Only once did he manage to forget all about Xena. Ironically, it happened because of her – or rather, because of Mavican's unrelenting obsession with her destiny to take Xena's place at his side. At first, Ares was only aware of a new battle starting, somewhere in the vicinity of Athens. It was not particularly promising, and he probably would not have paid it any more attention if he had not heard a woman's shrill cry, proclaiming herself as his chosen warrior.

Irritated by her presumption, Ares transported himself to the battlefield, choosing a barren outcrop of red stone as his vantage point – and found Mavican, sporting the colours of a general and busy giving orders to an army larger by far than anything he remembered her commanding. Clearly, their failed interlude had only fuelled her determination. To Ares' surprise, she was actually doing well; better than well – she was winning. The battle had turned in her favour, and while she did not have the style or the grace of a superb commander, she was more than holding her own against the Athenian troops. It was near noon; the sun beat down mercilessly, drenching every man in sticky sweat and slicking sword-hilts, but Mavican's army advanced and advanced, while the Athenians continued to lose ground, leaving behind arrow-pierced corpses, like debris from a retreating tide.

Ares was so engrossed in this unexpected turn of events that the arrival of reinforcements surprised him alsmost as much as it surprised Mavican. The Mycenean army attacked her troops from the rear, striking unerringly at the weakest sections of her defences, spreading panic. Peering into the glare of steel, Ares saw that they were led by Ilainus. He sighed. Of course, how could Athena's Champion let her goddess's city be threatened? And just as things promised to get interesting!

The Myceneans wrapped up Mavican with apparent ease; her battle-weary men were no match for Ilainus' fresh troops, and the Athenians' fighting ability seemed to have lifted with their spirits. Squeezed between two aggressively advancing fronts, Mavican's men simply threw down their weapons and ran, trampling each other in the haste. It was a rout. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part came after that, when the Myceneans and the Athenians had joined in triumph and Ares saw the telltale gold flash that left Athena standing beside Ilainus. He realised only a moment later that his sister remained invisible to all other eyes. The goddess and her Champion talked like equals among thousands of oblivious mortals, and Ares felt he could not look away. What was between them excluded all others. Then Athena lifted her hand to stroke Ilainus' face, and the mortal caught her hand and kissed it with such obvious, unfeigned hunger that Ares fled to Olympus and threw himself into his throne, feeling sour and lonely and angry with all the world. And the worst part was that he missed Xena, worse than ever before.

That night, the first of the Roman fleet reached the port of Dyrrachium.

Continued in Part 3