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?

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