25
Vailea stands alone near the edge of a steaming pool, absent her husband who will be enjoying the feast in the championed’s palaestra tonight. When we enter the courtyard, she raises a stemmed glass in greeting and waits for us to wend our way to her.
Her dress is simple. Spaghetti straps, a fitted bodice, and silken material that slips over her hips and pools at her feet. A small train spills behind her. Her dark, curly hair is pinned back on one side.
Long tables hold tonight’s bounty, spilled expertly from tiered silver platters and fluted bowls and arranged along wooden blocks with greenery and cut flowers amid it all. It’s ethereal and lovely and up to the lofty standards of the divine.
Seven circular tables are set with crystalware and polished silver that gleams in the warm firelight. Their middles are full of lit candles and a myriad of fragrant flowers. Musicians softly play from across the pool. It’s why Vailea stands beside it, I realize as her eyes sway toward them.
A full moon lingers overhead. Vailea tracks my line of sight heavenward. “I saw Tae before I left tonight. She said Ra is watching us and offering his protection.”
Ra may be blessing Taeniset, but what does a god of Egypt care for the rest of us? I can tell Vailea wants to believe it, so I don’t voice my doubts.
A group of four contenders enters the courtyard together. One young man, and three women of varying ages.
“Do you know how many fell today?” August asks in a low tone.
“Four,” Vailea answers, pausing to take a sip from her glass. Then she ticks them off one at a time. “Yuuki’s friend – the one who teased you before the trial began, an older man, and two women, I think. Eighteen of us are left.”
Twelve mortals are dead. Twelve families mourn.
I hadn’t realized so many were gone.
The pinch of August’s brow makes me wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. “Four have fallen in each trial so far,” he notes grimly.
A long moment passes. What could it mean? Four is significant for some reason.
“It could be a coincidence,” Vailea murmurs.
We may not know what the designers mean by it yet, but it definitely represents something. “We all know it’s not.”
Vailea changes the subject. “Seven tables and seven of us left unchampioned.”
“Where are the gods?” August asks.
Vailea shrugs and turns to August. “Before things get complicated and Callalie monopolizes your evening, how about a dance?”
He graciously accepts and I take her glass, settling into the nearest chair. The vintage in her cup is a rich crimson, but as I start to swill it, the liquid becomes inky. Pale words scrawl across the surface.
She is safe.
Abuela. They’re harboring her.
I look up to find Brigid seated at the table beside mine. When I look back at Vailea’s glass, the wine is red again.
My heart thunders. I want to thank her – and thank Morrigan.
I’ll have to find a way if I make it through this.
Cillian has their pantheon’s blood, but Abuela does not.
They don’t have to offer her protection.
And when Ares learns she’s gone and begins his search for her, I’m not sure what will happen.
Brigid watches August and Vailea dance. She raises a brow at the four mortals hovering nearby. One of the contestants, a thirty-something woman with glowing skin and long, black braids peels away and approaches the goddess, asking to sit with her.
Brigid agrees. She values boldness.
The woman’s name is Mariama Cisse and she’s of the same blood as Koda. Ogun can’t champion her, so she’s looking for another.
The woman pleads her case well. She’s determined. Proud and resourceful. Smart. Brigid praises her performance thus far. She’s been watching her. I start to worry about August’s chances with the goddess.
“The games will be very different from these paltry trials,” Brigid warns. “Divine from more pantheons than you can imagine are working together to design them, and they are working to make them unforgettable, from what I’ve heard. Why do you think we’d make a good match?”
The woman lists how her personality and Brigid’s would complement one another and offers examples of her strength and forethought, then she waits.
Brigid studies August and Vailea, then refocuses on the woman who approached her so confidently.
I’m hoping she’ll at least wait to speak to August, but like a wooden ship breaking apart on a hidden reef, that hope is obliterated when Brigid extends her hand.
The bargain is sealed. They’ll be partners in the games to come.
Mariama’s lovely, one-shouldered, ankle-length dress darkens, shifting to dove gray that deepens to the color of storm clouds, and finally settles into that midnight shade no mortal can properly describe.
When August realizes what has happened, his steps slow. The hope he had on the shore drains from his eyes and shoulders and sink as Brigid stands and tells the woman that they’ll be dining at the championed palaestra.
“Hermes will make an announcement,” Brigid informs her champion, and all of us who are within earshot. “Let’s go so we’re present for it.”
Another advantage for the championed, who are already ahead of us.
August and Vailea stop dancing as Amaterasu, Japanese goddess of the sun appears with beautiful and fiery Pele, the two smiling and holding golden chalices as they stroll across the grass.
Embroidered waves flow over Amaterasu’s light blue kimono. Are they to honor Akira’s death and Susanoo’s loss? Her hair is a long, dark waterfall spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Her pale blue skin drinks in every ounce of moonlight, reflecting it back in a soft glow.
The top and bottom of Pele’s puletasi, the color of caramel, complement her chestnut hair and burning, orange eyes. Her Maile vine lei lies heavily on her chest. If she chooses a mortal tonight, will she transfer it to theirs?
Vailea offers her volcanic goddess a deferential nod. Pele waves her over and Vailea is praised by both divine females for her performance today.
Amaterasu invites Vailea to dine with her. The two move to fill their plates and glasses, then settle a few tables away to speak. My friend flashes me a hopeful glance and I smile at her, hoping that Amaterasu will become her champion.
Njord, Norse god of the wind and sea, appears in an angry flash and prowls to a table, his silver hair writhing in a gust that seems to only touch him. He sneers when he notices me looking at him. A tempest embodied, that one.
The unchampioned young man with harsh features and thick, brown hair immediately sits across from him, and the two begin to talk.
Pele approaches the two remaining women and invites them both to dine with her, smoke leaking from her mouth as she speaks. They fill plates and glasses. As they eat, drink, and talk, Pele assesses them.
When Triglav, Slavic god of violence starts to pass their table, draped in lavender despite the bloodlust on his sharp brows and what might be actual blood in his trimmed beard, Pele asks him to feast with them.
A hand grips the back of my chair. I twist, smiling up at – I thought it would be August, but it’s Ares.
“You did well today, Callalie,” he commends. “But you haven’t danced. Is your leg bothering you?”
Cruel bastard.
“Not at all,” I lie.
He answers with a knowing grin. “Stubborn to the end,” he muses as he pulls out the chair beside mine and folds his large body into it.
August hovers at the drink table with two crystal glasses of water in his hands as Ogun joins him. He notices Ares and takes a step toward me, but I shake my head. Stay. Talk to Ogun.
Ares won’t hurt me here. He’s still waiting for me to beg him to be my champion. He relishes the fact that the sands of time are running out for me.
August jerks his head, motioning for me to join his table. Smiling politely, I excuse myself and leave Ares to sit alone. As much as I’d relish one of his enlightening conversations, I’m not in the mood.
I pass Pele and Triglav’s table… Pele knows that Vailea and I are friends and allies. Maybe she burns bravely enough to champion me. And Triglav is rumored to hate Ares as incandescently as I do.
I take my glass from August’s hand when he offers it, smile, and incline my head to Ogun, hoping he’s here for August, and that Anansi’s threatened conditions won’t apply to his championship.
The three of us collect our dinners and Ogun leads us to the table Pele, Triglav, and the two unchampioned contestants occupy. The female contenders don’t look happy that we’re joining them.
When I look back at the table I vacated, Ares is gone. And the glorious icing on the mortal cake? The table Amaterasu and Vailea were just sitting at is empty, too. Their abandoned plates and glasses are the only proof they were even here.
I smile at August when he notices and flicks a glance in my direction. Our friend is championed now.
“Who was the mortal male Njord just championed?” Pele asks. I look over. The two males are gone.
The taller of the two mortal girls answers. “His name is Nikolai.” Her dark hair falls in various layers from chin to waist. She leans forward, drawing Pele’s eye as firelight dances over her light brown skin. She pins the goddess with a firm stare. “I would seek your championship, goddess Pele.”
Her friend’s eyes slice to her incredulously.
“What is your blood pantheon?” Pele asks.
“Mesopotamian.”
“Your gods may take issue with any bargain we might strike.” In reply, Pele heats the air around us. “Are you sure?”
The girl nods. “They did not choose me, so they don’t own my choice.”
Pele glances from August to me. To Ogun, then Triglav. She smiles. “Very well, Sura Larsa. Since you asked so nicely.”
The girl winces when she takes Pele’s hand and steam pours from the spot between them. The girl’s long pencil dress turns to burnished cinnamon as she stands with the goddess, and the two disappear.
The slender girl left behind brushes her straight black hair away from her face. Triglav seems like he’s not sure what to think of her. “I want to fight for you,” she says to him.
Triglav’s glower is menacing. “You’re too meek.”
“I’m not!” she shouts, before mastering her temper. “I am not meek. I am angry, and so are you.” She stares Triglav in the eye. “My blood belongs to the Chinese deities, but my fury will be yours if you’re strong enough to accept me.”
The god of violence, surprised, offers an approving nod. “As I’m late to join, I suppose you’ll do, Wen Yao.”
The girl stands to clasp his wrist and her velvet wrap dress turns to lavender. Triglav’s divinity flickers and where one face was, boasting a thick chestnut beard and high cheekbones, now there are three. He twists his head to see us with each face and then disappears with Wen.
A terrible silence fills the space despite the musicians’ lovely song. I sip my water, unsure what to say. August and I are the last mortals without champions.
Ogun looks over the courtyard, the steaming pool, and into the hillside beyond it, like he can see through earth. He tilts an ear westward. “Ares is making the announcement. We have only a moment to speak freely.”
I swallow thickly, hoping he’s right and that someone isn’t listening in.
“Do you know why Ares asked the deities to refer to themselves as champions in this game when throughout history, mortals were the champions of the gods?” He mentions a few by name. “Hector. Odysseus. Beowulf. Gilgamesh. Kaulu, Makoma…” Ogun waits a moment for us to answer.
August folds his hands on the table in front of him. “I’m not sure.”
“Mortals who play in the games will need divine help to survive,” he reveals. “In the contests to come, the gods will show their power, how they strategize, and how cunning they can truly be. These games will not reveal a new hero.”
“They’re a threat,” I quietly breathe. To anyone who thinks they can survive without the gods’ favor.
Ogun inclines his head. “An effective one.” The African god sips from his glass. “Anansi told me everything.”
My ribs tense.
“I’ll come back to speak with you after the fourth trial, August. As you needed time to consider me, I need time to consider you, and all that is in play,” he says.
He uses his napkin to wipe his mouth and sets it on the table. Finished. The meal. The conversation. The evening.
Ogun vanishes from his chair.
August and I stare at one another. Even though Ogun said he would come back to talk to him, I still can’t tell him where I got that tea. That means no other gods are coming.
What if Ares winds up being the only option left for us both? I will not ask him to champion me. But after what he said on the beach tonight, I’m worried August won’t, either.