7 #2
When they raced, Hippomenes didn’t outrun the Greek huntress Atalanta outright.
He distracted her with golden apples. He wasn’t faster than the goddess.
Nor was he as nimble. He was cunning and deceptive.
He thought he was sly enough to ingratiate himself to the people, to root himself amid the divine.
He was a fool. Atalanta used his own tricks against him.
She made him think he was becoming as great as she.
She stoked his ego so she could teach him the same lesson Ares is teaching me.
No mortal – even those called heroes – will ever equal the gods.
I take a small goblet of water offered by a servant who pauses in front of me. “I promise it’s not poisoned,” he teases.
I glance at the water, disappointed. “Could you bring me a cup that is?”
A crease appears between his eyes. He turns away and hurries toward someone else, anyone else. If there’s a trial for being awkward, I’ll win it, at least.
I feel a presence at my back and turn to find Ares ducking through the fabric. “Miss Ryan,” he greets. The sharpness in his tone belies his glittering smile.
One of his hands rests in the pocket of a slim blue suit so dark it flirts with black.
A dragon biting the tip of a spear is embroidered on the lapels.
His midnight hair is slicked back and his light honey eyes gleam.
Do the eyes of a kelpie glow as boldly when it senses prey at the water’s edge?
Maybe Niall saw the god of war when he dipped his toe into the sea.
I sip my water and remember what Morrigan said: Don’t reward him with your fear.
As I glance over the room, my eyes snag on Athena, who stands near the musicians alongside a muse and the Greek god of the sea, earthquakes, and horses, fearsome Poseidon.
Zeus and Hera are still swaying in the temple center.
Firelight elegantly limns exposed skin with burnished gold.
Demeter slips through the clusters of divine and mortals who mingle, her hair like wheat, cornflower blue robes dragging behind her.
Gesturing to the crowd, I tell Ares, “If you came to beg to be my champion, I’ll have to decline. I already have too many prospects.”
Ares chuckles darkly. “And yet you stand alone. Where are these interested parties brave enough to stake their reputation on yours?”
The way he says it makes my blood boil.
Has he interfered in my chances of championship? Is he the reason why Morrigan chose Niall?
“Discouraging other gods or pantheons from championing me would paint you as a dreadfully poor host.”
He straightens and seems to grow another foot taller. “I am a great many things, mortal. Your host is not one of them.”
I keep my voice even somehow, no longer afraid but blazing with fury.
“You invited me here. Gave me a beautiful home decorated with an exquisite fresco. Thank you for honoring Carina, by the way. You’re providing fine food, wine, and entertainment.
” I nod to the middle of the temple where people are dancing. “If you’re not my host, what are you?”
“Do you want to know what your sister said before she died?” he asks, turning to watch my reaction.
“You were on your way to Olympus, falling all over the desert floor, but getting back up so valiantly. You missed the last words she uttered, or tried to utter, anyway. So difficult speaking without a tongue.” He tsks.
I do my best not to vomit on his shoes. “Tell me.”
His eyes glimmer wickedly. “On second thought, I think I’ll hold onto that precious memory. Keep it for myself.” Ares leans in closer like we’re chatting about strategy instead of him ruining what’s left of my life. “When you’re ready to beg me to become your champion, come find me.”
I would rather die.
He smirks. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, matters of importance warrant my attention.” Ares strides away and sits among a throng of people who lavish him with praise and adulation. A petulant child coddled. His ego safe once more amid those he finds inferior.
I can’t stand the sight of him, so I force my eyes to the unchampioned contenders scattered over the room like glass, all clothed in varying shades of white. All but Niall.
I stare from god to goddess, counting the pairs of wary eyes darting away from mine.
Seven…
Eight…
….
Nine…
Did he really intimidate them all so I would come crawling to him?
“Cal?” a familiar voice says from outside.
Niall holds back a swath of fabric and gestures for me to join him. “Do you need some fresh air?”
I drift toward him, leaving the golden glow of the temple and step out into the cool, salt breeze. Silver moonlight softly slips over my skin. The heady scent of the incense burning inside clings to my hair even as the wind tries to free me of it.
After several deep breaths, I turn to Niall. “What are you doing out here?”
He shrugs. “Morrigan left.”
He’s bored. And why wouldn’t he be? He has a champion.
We stare down the staircases, past the small islands and the temporary homes built on them, to the shimmering sea.
“I asked her why I’m here,” he offers. “She didn’t answer.”
“Morrigan?”
He nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his ebony trousers, and gives me a sidelong glance. “We all know I’m no hero. Why’d she bring me here? Why become my champion?”
“Why is Morrigan taking part in Ares’s trials and games at all?” Many deities and pantheons declined his invitation. I overheard Hermes talking with golden-haired Apollo about it.
My dark fear rears its beastly head. Morrigan hates Niall. So why would Morrigan champion the one she despises? She’s very stern about how those in her army conduct themselves, and Niall didn’t live up to her expectations on the battlefield.
Did she nominate Niall and appoint herself as his champion to punish him for not being the hero she thought he should have been? There’s no way she thinks he’ll win the trials or games. Or could she think competing will somehow force him into a greater fate I’m unable to envision?
The god of war’s voice echoes from inside as he invites all the contestants to join him in the center of the temple.
We’ve been on one side of the large vault all evening for a reason.
The center of a temple is reserved for the god or goddess for which it was built.
Mortals who dare to step into the sacred space are punished or killed.
Ares’s invitation is an order, and we have no choice but to do as he says.
I have an inkling of what will happen if we disobey.
“It’s a trap,” Niall breathes, all color draining from his cheeks.
I shake my head. The whole game is a trap, but not this invitation specifically. “This temple wasn’t built by mortals for the gods. They constructed it for us. For these trials and games. We’ll be fine.”
I stride inside and make my way through the gathered crowd to stand with the others who’ve been dragged into this event.
Niall is no longer the only one wearing the color of a pantheon.
A tall girl a few years older than me with brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes wears a soft shade of purple like the sprigs of lavender in Abuela’s windowsill when she can get it to grow.
Ares invites all interested gods to surround us, which they eagerly do. Sharks circling a school of fish. His instructions are simple: we are to dance with the divine and try to convince them we’re the mortal they want.
“At this inaugural ball, I wonder how many matches will be made before Helios takes to the sky?” Ares boasts.
The divine begin offering dances to those clad in ivory. Niall stiffly stands beside me as contestants and champions pair up and peel away. The musicians rake bows over strings, readying their instruments.
Even Zeus and Hera take new partners, which is not a hardship for Zeus in the least, of course. But Hera watches her husband like a fox who’s spotted a hare.
Soon, the only ones unpartnered and not dancing are the already championed – Niall and the girl in lavender – and me.
Morrigan appears as a crow, swooping in to land between me and Niall, before taking her true form and startling him in the process. She ignores how he jumps back, hands out in defense, and locks her eyes with mine.
“Listen well, Callalie. This is the first of several planned celebrations that will take place amid the trials. You must find a champion by the end of the final trial. The end of each test is marked with the placing of a laurel on the winner’s head.
You must have a champion before the final laurel is placed. Do you understand?”
I release a tense breath. “Yes.”
“Good.”
I twist toward her. “In the event I don’t secure one, I don’t suppose Ares would just send me home?”