Free The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1) by P.K. Lentz

Atlanteans to witness the arrival
raise their weapons, an action unmirrored by Ares and his contingent,
even though the four eyeless fighters are armed with thick,
long-bladed spears.
    "Stand down!" I command, racing to the
scene. Ares stops walking, raising one arm, and his escort halts,
too, proving that they have some means of vision, magical or
otherwise. On the Chrysioi leader's face is a thin smile. I take no
encouragement from this, for it could as well be the smile of a
would-be conqueror as that of one who comes in friendship.
    I would make my own desire plain.
    "Welcome, Lord of the Chrysioi!" I
exclaim, spreading arms wide.
    He looks upon me, and I glimpse a flash of
something in his dark eyes that I know must be some mixture of joy
and sorrow at seeing the form of his son and hearing dead Enyalios's
voice.
    "We have among us four Chrysioi," I
continue when Ares says nothing. "They have been well treated,
as they will attest. I have no doubt that the same is true of our
dear comrades who accompanied you to this place." My heart races
at the prospect of shortly learning the whereabouts of Ayessa. "We
are most eager for news of them. It is my fervent hope that our two
peoples can come together and live in  peace."
    Ares regards me darkly for some moments, and
then at last his tight lips break into a wide grin.
    "You sound nothing like the man who wore
that face before you," he says. "He forever sneered, and
his words were harsh. But I loved him."
    I am cautiously heartened by Ares' words and the
tone in which he speaks them.
    "I am Thamoth," I venture. "And I
did not ask to borrow this form. If I am informed correctly, it was
given to me by you and the witch Medea."
    "Indeed," Ares agrees, and I sense
from him no bitterness.
    It is then that the four Chrysioi arrive,
running up to Ares excitedly to kneel before him. Smiling, he sets
his hand on the shoulder of the closest, Daphne, and bids them all
rise.
    "It is a great pleasure to find you safe,"
he says. "What of Perseus?"
    "He was slain, my liege," the shepherd
Aristaeus reports.
    "By a giant," Iris swiftly adds.
"Perseus left on his own, and we later found his body. These
Atlanteans played no part."
    "A shame," Ares says with a grim nod,
evidently accepting the truth of her account.
    "What of our people?" I ask in a less
demanding and more diplomatic tone than I would like. "Are they 
safe?"
    "We have treated them well, as you did
these four," he half-answers. "They have chosen to dwell
with us. One of our hunting parties observed you from a distance days
ago. I come this day to invite you to join us and stay with us in our
city of Neolympus."
    "City...?" I echo in puzzlement. How
can they have built a city in a span of days? But these Chrysioi
appear to be a people accustomed to magical feats, and I do not wish
to seem ignorant, and so I do not question him beyond the one word I
let slip.
    "You lead these folk?" Ares asks of
me, and smiles once more. "That fails to surprise me."
    "We are deeply grateful for your offer,"
I reply. "But the decision to accept it cannot be mine alone.
We  must have time to confer."
    Not too much time, I secretly hope, for that
will but delay the reunion for which I, perhaps foolishly, yearn. Yet
I must not sacrifice the welfare of my brethren to my own impatience.
    "And we must know more," I go on.
"Foremost, why did you leave us to die?"
    "Medea and I gave you your new lives,"
Ares answers. His look is apologetic. "But others found the
idea... distasteful."
    "Such as your wife."
    "Yes, Enyo among them," he says
dismissively. "I have not long been ruler of the Chrysioi. The
position was thrust upon me. First my father fell to the Myriad, and
then my uncles, and lastly my sister Athena. I could not simply
dismiss the will of my people—no more than could you. And time
was  short. With my brother Hephaestus, who also favored you, I
crafted the imperfect compromise of condemning you all to a death
which was not certain. Leaving it