It was the first trial of a god known to history, and despite its inherent blasphemy, everyone knew Ares was as good as dead. Or as dead as a god could even be, at least.
Circe had come to watch on the hilltop here, disguised in the shape of a field mouse. Small though she was, her hearing and sight remained as sharp as ever. Over the last few centuries, she had cultivated her abilities to the point that her magic could be just as subtle as it was potent. Unless the gods specifically searched for her or knew she was present, then they would not detect her in this form. And right now, they had far more worrisome things on their plate.
Halirrhothius, son of Poseidon, was dead. And Ares had killed him.
Circe listened.
She listened as Poseidon charged him with the s*******r of someone of d
