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 andcertainlysavored 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 couldhelp 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 . . .fittingfor 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 ofmy 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.
