The fine line of worry between Qebhet's brows deepened into a furrow. "I don't understand," she said. "Did Ares send them after you? Why would his worshippers attack you?" Perhaps he didn't need a reason. Qebhet knew Ares only by reputation, as a god of wanton slaughter whose whole being was violence, and as the man who had cornered Makaria at a party, plied her with drink and tried to pull her into a bedroom against her wishes. Perhaps he simply revelled in the pain he caused. And yet... it didn't make sense.