A bark of laughter erupts from somewhere down the table, and I flinch. All evening, I have endured slurred gossip and scathing remarks, the smiles that assure friendship, the eyes that promise suffering. Maybe if I ignore her, she will leave me alone.
“He’s gotten you pregnant, hasn’t he?”
I startle so badly my fork clatters against my plate. “Wh-what?” I peer at Eurus, who sits directly to my left, but he doesn’t give any indication that he overheard, focusing solely on shoveling kale intohis mouth. He hates this dinner nearly as much as I do. “No. That’s n-n-not, um…”
The goddess smiles, then shakes her head. “Don’t sound so appalled. It is more common than you think.” She shrugs. “But you’re right. You’re too meek to catch the East Wind’s interest.” She slips a cube of squash between her lips, severing the flesh with a snap of teeth.
I watch her chew in unease. My nerves began to fray hours ago, my system so flooded with vigilance I cannot even properly enjoy the meal. After sipping from my glass of water, I glance at the impressive, bare-chested deity sitting at the head of the table. Long, white-blond hair hangs over his muscled shoulders. His sun-kissed skin ripples as he gesticulates to his neighbors, and a set of what appear to be lightning bolts rests in a basket near his chair, within reach. Might he lead the Council of Gods? He is certainly formidable enough.
“So. What realm do you hail from, mortal?” the violet-eyed goddess asks me. She dabs at her mouth with her scarlet napkin.
“Um.” I poke at the pile of vegetables with the tines of my fork. “Marles.”
“Marles. Yes, I can hear it in your accent. You’ve a lovely voice, has anyone ever told you that?” Before I can respond, the goddess peers at the East Wind. “Do you not think she has a lovely voice, Eurus?”
His utensils smack the edge of his plate with a harsh clang, and he clears his throat. “I… suppose.” Through the gloom coiling within his hood, the intensity of his gaze hits. “It is quite nice,” he murmurs.
I’m so taken aback by the admission that I hurriedly shift my attention back to the goddess, asking, “Who are y-you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her grin stretches wider than is natural. “Let’s just say I’m someone who deals in a bit of witchcraft now and then.”
“Don’t talk to the witch,” Eurus murmurs in my ear.
The heat of his breath feathers the curve of my nape, and my awareness of his proximity sharpens. Thankfully, the woman—witch—shiftsher attention elsewhere. “What am I supposed to d-do?” I mutter. “I can’t be rude. She’s just making small talk.”
“Small talk counts as talking.”
Imagine that.
“If you want m-my cooperation,” I say, surprised by the irritation lacing my tone, “I would appreciate it if y-you stopped trying to control everything and everyone around you.”
I can all but feel the East Wind’s scowl as I sip from my goblet of wine. Well, too bad. There is more at stake than this tournament. As I have come to learn, home is not guaranteed.
The fourth course is served: pork tenderloin roasted in an apple glaze. I dig in, if only to avoid the many eyes cast my way. The duller my actions, the swifter they will grow bored.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the witch says. Lifting her silver goblet, she drains its contents, licking a droplet from the corner of her wine-slickened mouth. “What interest does the East Wind have with a mortal?”
“If you m-must know,” I reply, ignoring Eurus’ warning growl, “I’m his assistant.”
“His assistant? How darling.” Her lips peel back, revealing two extremely sharp canines, thin as sewing needles. “Why, exactly, would a god need assistance from a mortal?”
I regard the woman over the rim of my goblet. Could this be one of Eurus’ targets? What could she have done to him that would drive him to murder?
In the end, I play the game the divine dearly love to play: I gift her an answer without information. “I suppose you will have to w-wait and find out.”
I return to my meal, but not before catching her smile that is not a smile. Hopefully my insolence will not elicit her wrath.
Every so often, my attention drifts to the goddess from earlier—Demi, now clothed in an exquisite crimson gown softened by orange and ochre pleats. She sips daintily from her glass, observing the attendees with a keenness that reminds me of Lady Clarisse.
As though sensing my gaze, she glances sidelong at me. I drop my eyes, wipe my fingers on the cloth napkin. By the time my attention returns, she is looking elsewhere—at the East Wind, though he does not appear to notice, his hood turned toward the lightning god. My eyes fall to Eurus’ hand. It is curled white-knuckled around his fork.
The lightning god pushes back his chair and stands. He is, quite simply, gargantuan.
“Friends, council members, competitors—welcome.” Deep and resonant, his voice carries out over the garden hedges. “You all know why you’re here. Soon, the tournament will commence. One hundred and ten of you will have the opportunity to gain what few are granted: a favor from the Council of Gods.”
Demi raises an eyebrow, mouth pursed as she regards those seated. The air is a muddle of hope and desperation, trepidation and wonder. The trio of ginger-haired goddesses I spotted earlier exchange whispered discourse. The largest bears a shaved head and small, beady eyes. Her sharp-toothed grin is positively terrifying.
“As you well know, there will be three trials,” the lightning god continues. “The first is trial by combat. In order to move on to the second round, you must survive long enough to pass through the door located in the arena.”
