19 #3
Hermes continues. “It will begin as an individual event. At the start, the gods will offer each of you a gift to celebrate the midpoint of the trials. Enjoy the rest of the celebration.” He saunters away, pausing to whisper with Ares, who claps him on the shoulder before allowing him to pass.
Anxiety rakes its claws down the inside of my ribs. I don’t want whatever they’re offering us. Gifts from the gods come with strings upon strings attached. Mortals can only entangle themselves in them.
Koda clasps my hand. “Don’t worry, Callalie.”
I try to smile, but worry doesn’t even begin to describe the emotions roiling through my chest.
I look across the table at Elias. He scoots his chair back and braces his elbows on his knees, his hands in the hollow between them. His head is hung low. If he’s considering all the horrific possibilities, he’s not the only one.
August’s foot nervously bounces as he glances at everyone around us.
I squeeze Koda’s hand because more than anything, I’m afraid for him. For his sake, I hope tomorrow isn’t physically demanding.
Elias tells us all goodnight and excuses himself, leaving his shirt and jacket behind.
As I watch him cut through the crowd, I catch sight of Thoth’s back.
He, Tae, and Isis mingle and laugh, and as he starts to pull away from the women, I panic.
If he leaves, I won’t get a chance to plead my case to him.
My chair legs grate across the stone as I stand.
Thoth is reasonable. He sought me out the first time I met him. I think he wanted to champion me then. Maybe he still does.
As I weave around one table and squeeze between two more, drawing closer, Thoth steps aside, revealing Yuuki Ito, a twenty-something whose blood flows from the Japanese pantheon, clad in gold.
My heart stutters as I stop and stare. I’m too late.
Thoth notices me. His lips part, brows furrow. “Callalie?”
I smile blandly and continue past them to the drink table. My hand trembles as I pour water into a glass. It tastes fresh and clear and almost soothes the sting of humiliation.
“Did you think he’d champion you?” Ares asks from beside me, reaching for a bottle of Dionysus’s vintage.
The fragrant wine is the rich purple red of merlot, smooth as velvet with a woodsy scent passed down by the barrels that aged it.
He turns to face me with an infuriating smirk in the corner of his lips. “I’m your only option.”
I keep quiet, refusing to play this game while I’m forced to play all the others he’s crafting.
He gestures to the room with his ambrosia-filled glass. “Go and ask any of them. They’ll decline, some more politely than others.”
Morrigan’s dark anger sparks in the room, roiling and building like a thunderhead. The warmth of her hatred mingles with the coldness of her spite. Her power crackles, lifting the hair on my arms.
He finds her in the crowd, glowering at him. “You know, when I called the divine here, she was the only one who refused to agree not to champion you. I expected you’d arrive wearing black. I was shocked when she chose Niall. I don’t understand it. Have you asked her why she did it?”
Morrigan abandons Niall and Brigid, lithely prowling toward us like a great cat.
I’m not sure what caused her to hate Ares or how long her hatred for him has been boiling, but I’ve only seen the look she wears on the battlefield. I brace for what’s coming.
Darkness erupts from her, a cloud that devours all light and color and obscures deity and mortal alike, filling the temple. Gasps rise. A glass breaks. Chair legs scoot over the floor as people stand.
Ares calmly sits his drink down.
I should want Morrigan to bat him across the temple, but if she and Ares fight, divine bodies won’t be the ones left broken.
I step between them and turn to face Ares. “How satisfying will your game be without your favorite target? I’ll ask Morrigan to kill me before the trials end if I can’t find another champion.”
He watches her over my shoulder. “If she assists you in any way, including escaping the trials, her mortal will be –”
I bark a laugh. “I don’t care what happens to Niall.”
His answering smile is cruel. “What about August? I heard Brigid discussing him.”
You cunning bastard. I shrug. “Then it’s a good thing mortals are free to assist one another. Torsten will happily kill me.”
Morrigan is at my back. I can feel her warmth and smell her realm, redolent of fresh grass and rich, damp soil, rain and salty air.
I turn to face her. “Morrigan.” Her rage-filled eyes snap to mine. She’s not only willing to confront him here and now, in his city, in his temple, in front of everyone: the divine, mortals present, and those watching from home. She wants to go to war with him. For me. “Don’t.”
For one glittering moment, I’m not sure she heard me or chose to listen.
Then she pulls her smothering darkness in, revealing the feast and everyone attending it, never lifting her stare from Ares.
“The night’s celebration is over!” Ares announces.
He vanishes and all the deities disappear with him, leaving only the bewildered contestants and the dregs of our meal in the temple.
Brigid is gone – and so is August’s chance of gaining a champion tonight.