Chapter 7
Charisma
The pain slowly ebbed away, but when my lashes met, a creeping dread began to form. Unlike others, who conjured landscapes, people, and colors behind closed eyes, I saw only a vast, impenetrable blackness. Always.
Until now.
From beneath the surface of my eyelids, a strong, masculine form materialized.
One by one, his features became clearer, beginning with his green irises and brown curled lashes, then his heart-shaped lips and pointed chin.
My breath caught when he neared. His smile was a slow, deliberate reveal of his beauty, and the smug bastard was well aware of it.
The mysterious man’s hand moved to brush a strand of hair from my face, but I snapped my eyes open before his fingertips could graze my skin and saw only the darkness of my chamber.
Damned god.
My hand snuck under my pillow, fingers tracing the cool metal of the dagger for comfort. It was still there. I released a sigh of relief, the coldness of the sheets brushing against my skin as I turned on my back, the heel of my palm resting on my forehead.
I bet he felt like a hero rescuing me from the water, playing the role of a gallant, courteous, and honorable man, and I—like a fool—was touched by his gestures. Everything he did tonight was, without a doubt, meant to feed his ego, and I was so grateful I didn’t thank him and inflate it even more.
Enough thinking about him. I had to focus on the matter at hand: how was I going to return home?
With an exhale, I wiped my face, the exhaustion clinging to me as I rubbed under my eyes, struggling to stay awake. I knew I needed sleep, but I was running out of time. The chronometer was ticking, taunting me for my hesitation to decide.
Time didn’t care about the high stakes, and the absence of information, or even the very limited facts I possessed.
No, it enjoyed witnessing the desperation crawling at my chest, the rapid beating of my heart, the small bead of sweat gathering just above my eyebrow and certainly savored the feeling of finding me torn between dangerous options.
My eyes moved lazily to the wall across the bed, where a wooden clock sat mockingly. A tooth of the escape wheel strained forward, scraping against the pallet and then sprang loose. Tick. The pendulum swung, steady as breath.
What other sign did I need to realize I couldn’t run away, and the only path home to my mother was through victory in the games? Unless I could magically learn to veyrith.
I puffed in my mind. As that would ever happen.
My mouth was arid as the desert. It was settled then.
During the trials, I would strive to perform my best, but never missing a moment to plan my escape if the opportunity ever showed itself to me.
And to ensure I’d pass the Gods’ Gambit, I’d have to outsmart the gods. If only I knew where to begin . . .
My lungs drew in a deep breath. I could go back to the basics, to my mother’s wisdom, and perhaps what she taught me could help me decipher what the King of the Gods had in mind for us. So, every detail she shared about him resurfaced in my mind.
Zeus strived for power, dominance, spectacle, and watching others break under his hand.
If I was a simple person who only heard about the feared god from childhood stories and didn’t dig for more, it would’ve seemed plausible that he’d design trials that showed his superiority, pit mortals against each other and tested their obedience.
And the notion wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it was also not .
. . fitting for a first trial. Zeus savored terror, which made me believe that for the first trial, he would not do what everyone expected of him—battle, blood, and horror.
No, he was going to use psychological pressure, ensuring the weakest would perish.
He didn’t believe in fighting fairly, but he also found it distasteful when his opponents were so fragile they wouldn’t unleash their claws and show their inner darkness.
Zeus enjoyed the struggle; he fed on it.
He relished the look in his victim’s eyes knowing they would die but still had it in them to keep the battle going.
It made sense. Beginning with the first trial, his aim was to eliminate the feeblest and set up the upcoming tests for those who were deserving of his wrath and cruelty.
I knew what I had to do—rely on my brain at the first encounter with the Gods’ Gambit; stay calm and plan on evading before it’s too late.
“Okay, that’s enough.” 226688 flew to me, panting as if it had flown around in circles while I had been lost in my mind. “You go to sleep. Now.”
All I knew was that my head fell on my shoulders and, for the first time, it was quiet.
My fingers twitched with a jolt on either side of me. I was prepared to lash out at the creature that had plunged me into sleep, but instead of the soft sheets of my bed, my fingertips brushed against unfamiliar, coarse grass.
I blinked, a sense of urgency running through me. Where was I? Did the games already start?
My gaze roamed upward, past my sprawled body on the ground, to a ceiling of windows, where sunlight streamed in. I inhaled deeply, reveling in the sun’s fiery embrace upon my skin, and strangely, I felt the peculiar absence of fear.
Wherever I was, something told me I wasn’t in any danger.
Tall stained glass panels enclosed me, their colorful light flowing over my body as I rested on my forearms; the kaleidoscope of color shifting like a flowing river.
I stretched out a hand, a smile gracing my lips as I looked at the dance of colors, only to realize there was a mirror shining right behind my palm.
My bare soles met the warm, damp grass as I leaped to my feet and approached the object.
I frowned at my reflection. My face and hair were a hazy mess, smudged and undefined, as if painted with watercolors and left out in the rain.
But the transparent gown, shimmering and ethereal, with golden embellishments that caught the light like captured stars, stood out, undisturbed and vivid.
It clung to me, cool against my skin, and the ornate mirror with its gilded frame was almost as dazzling as the dress.
Perhaps the mirror was enchanted. I touched my face, letting my fingers trace the contours of it, from the point of my chin to the shape of my lips, to make sure I was still me. Everything was in place.
The windows tilted, stealing my attention from the bewitched item as the ground under me trembled with a promise.
What was it about this place that made me feel so .
. . at home? I waited for the movement to die down, like letting my coffee cool before taking a sip so it wouldn’t scald my tongue.
Almost as if whatever was happening was ordinary.
A door of aged wood flickered into existence before me.
The wood itself was a deep, rich brown, weathered by countless seasons of sun and rain.
Deep grooves, etched by time, ran across its surface like the veins of a gnarled old tree.
The very air around the door felt charged, heavy with unspoken history, a silent vow to the unknown that lay beyond.
I reached out, my fingers tracing the contours of the wood, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through me.
A sudden, flashing beam of light momentarily blinded me.
Just as the mirror vanished and the door disappeared, I found myself across the room, looking down at the village and houses that seemed to shrink into minuscule specks from this vantage point.
“Wake up.” My voice, a mere whisper, tumbled into the space as if pulled by a string, my lips moving on their own.
Wake up.
Wake up.
He’s watching you.
A bead of sweat traveled down my forehead as my eyes fluttered open, the droplet collapsing on my cheek with a plop. I held my breath tightly in my throat, my beating heart already clogging the silence inside the room.
I was awake, but reality was more alarming than an inexplicable dream. Someone was here. I didn’t have time to consider how I knew, as strange as it was.
An exhale escaped my parted lips, a silent plume in the still air, a momentary distraction from the sounds that might signal an approach.
It took me a moment to adjust my eyes to the inky blackness.
As silently as possible, I swung my naked feet onto the cool floor, one by one, while slipping a hand under my pillow and getting a hold of the dagger.
The stranger’s words reverberated in my mind, and I briefly believed I was defenseless, dagger or no dagger.
What if a god was here? How was I going to fight one?
I shook my head, dismissing the thoughts, and the warm skin of my soles felt glued onto the wood, the material snapping under my weight as I rose.
Shit, I almost whispered.
At first glance, it seemed as if the small creature and I were the only guests, the wind itself carrying a sense of loneliness—
The wind.
The same sensation that took over me in that room washed over me again, filling me with dread, my toes curling on the ground.
My breath caught in my throat, holding in anticipation as I reached my hand to the curtain that batted against the air.
Steady fingers nabbed a part of the material, dragging it to the side and revealing the open window.
The very same window that wouldn’t budge, sealed with magic, when I attempted to open it first thing when I got here.
My eyes squinted.
Did the fairy unlock it after it forced me asleep? I moved closer, my fingers curling on the ledge, the moon shining away some of the darkness. As I bent over to make sure no one was hiding beneath, 226688’s trembling voice reached my ears.
“How . . . how did you open the window?”
The question was asked carefully, and bewilderment and caution lingered between us. My head whipped toward him, eyes wide. He was standing on the nightstand, and if he had just awoken from a deep sleep, he gave no indication, too startled by the open window.
“I didn’t,” I said.
Quiet settled back over the room, the only sound the gentle flapping of his wings as he approached.
Peony perfume hung in the air, an olfactory echo of the blooms that had filled the room with the red door, along with an unsettling feeling of observant eyes. Whoever lurked in the shadows then was here now.
The signs—the way the cold rippled through my skin, leaving behind feverish shivers and how the hairs on my back stood at attention—weren’t foreign to me, even if I had, not too long ago, told myself it was all in my head.
My father, reeking of stale beer from a long night with his boisterous friends at a city bar, would often stumble at the threshold of my room.
For some reason I couldn’t name, I let myself lie in the stillness, feigning sleep, but not once did I miss the creak of the door as he leaned on the frame, his shoulders hitting the wood loudly.
Nor the tsk of his lips at the sight of me.
Nor the low murmur blaming me for the bad luck that fell over his head. Nor the closing steps to my bed.
I shook my head. He was the reason of every torment I felt in my sleep at home, but he couldn’t be the reason now.
The glacial blow of the wind hit my warm skin, drying off any drop of sweat that was rolling down my face. My eyes grew accustomed to the gloom just as a shadow figure passed through the window frame.
I stepped backward, gulping like a caged animal. It wasn’t human. I could tell by the way it moved—too fluid, too fast—but its shape portrayed one. I was certain that if I stretched my hand, it’d pass right through the cool, dark shadow as if it was a fleeting cloud.
A heavy stillness pressed down, gluing my feet to the ground, while the Shadow inside hung heavy and silent.
This supernatural being, a ghost, was the one following me around? Breathing down the back of my neck like a savage hunter, waiting to take its shot? But what for?
A lump formed in my throat, a tight knot that slowly dissolved into a sickening disease spreading through my stomach. The Shadow inched closer, just enough to remind me of its presence.
I should be scared. I should run.
I felt it look at my bodice, as if it were trying to memorize each part of me. Although it lacked human features, the sensation of being observed was intense; a prickling sensation of someone’s lingering gaze.
My fingers, clammy with sweat, tightened their grip on the dagger.
Was this Zeus’s revenge after his magic didn’t work on me? A warning, or an ending, that had my blood splattered on the already dirty walls in this room?
“I come before you regarding an important matter, human. I am not the threat you perceive me to be.” It started, its voice thick and grave.
“Act as though you’re hopelessly in love with Eros.
Convince him, deceive them—make it seem so real until even you believe it is so.
Refusing to do so will ultimately lead to your death. Do not die, mortal.”
The echo of each word, sharp and clear like a ringing bell, remained vivid in my memory as the Shadow disappeared.
I finally released a breath, going once more over the Shadow’s words. It said its appearance was meant to help me, but why? Why would it want to help me when it was part of this world? Of their world?
My thoughts dawdled on its last words. Do not die, mortal. Why, though? Why did it care about my insignificant life? Was it getting something if I won or stayed alive? Was it planning something else for me once I passed through the gods’ tests? Or was this a trick? A joke they would laugh about?
When I got here, I established that no one in their world could be trusted. And I would not change my mind now.
“Don’t make the mistake of questioning his intentions,” the fairy advised me.
“Who was that?” I questioned.
“A great and broken soul. A lost part of this world some grieve over, and others cherish its absence.”
His eyebrows lowered over his darting eyes, his chin wobbling slightly.
“I’ll assume you’re among those who mourn its loss,” I said, not waiting for a reply. “Why was it lost?”
The fairy took a second before answering. “To save the world.”
“Why would something that saved countless people waste its time by bothering to help a simple girl survive? Why is it interested in me?”
“I don’t know, but if you’re wise, you’ll listen.”
I was wise enough not to listen.