Hephaestus looked as rough-hewn as ever, his smith’s muscles taut beneath formal robes, his beard braided with gold wire. Hermes wore traveler’s leather and winged sandals despite the occasion. Dionysus lounged with a cup already in hand, purple robes falling open. And Hera sat rigid and cold in peacock blue and emerald, her crown glinting like a warning.
To the right sat Athena, Artemis, Ares, Aphrodite, and Apollo.
Athena wore silver armor polished to a mirror’s brightness, her owl perched on the back of her chair. Artemis was clad in hunter’s leather and fur, her bow laid across her lap. Ares grinned, resplendent in blood-red armor, already savoring the violence to come. Apollo—Sebastian—shone in cloth-of-gold, light clinging to him as if he were the sun.
And Aphrodite.
I tried not to stare, but it was impossible.
The Goddess of Love wore a gown spun from starlight and rose petals, shifting from pink to gold to pearl with every breath. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves, adorned with diamonds and rubies. Her beauty was an overwhelming force that made every other female seem plain.
I’d once envied her. Persephone, young and insecure, had been jealous of her perfection and hated that Hades had once shared her bed.
Now, I just felt tired looking at her. So much beauty, and beneath it, such cold cruelty and emptiness.
Zeus, Poseidon, and Demeter lounged in the center balcony, drinking ambrosia.
Zeus wore snow white robes edged in gold and red, his beard shot through with silver. Lightning flickered in his gaze as he surveyed the arena, power radiating from him. The King of Gods, ensuring no one forgot it.
Poseidon—Kingsley—was draped in sea-blue robes embroidered with golden waves, his trident resting beside him. He looked smug. Satisfied. As though he’d already won.
And Demeter.
My mother.
She wore a chiton the color of wheat fields—gold, amber, russet—her hair crowned with a wreath of autumn leaves and ripe grain. She looked exactly as I remembered: beautiful, cold, powerful, impeccable, and snobbish.
Our eyes met across the distance.
I wanted to scold her. To scream. But I kept my face blank while she pretended this was entertainment.
Hello, Mother, I thought viciously.Long time no see.
But there was one more figure in the center balcony.
Hades stood apart from the three Olympians in full battle armor, black as midnight. His arms were crossed, his face hard as stone. Those winter-green eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
Bitter tension stretched between him and the Olympians, a hostility so thick I could feel it from the arena. They’d forced him to watch. To stand helpless, unable to interfere, unable to protect me. Only to witness.
I swallowed hard but didn’t hold his gaze. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Couldn’t let anyone see how his presence shook me.
My eyes flicked back to Demeter instead.
The Goddess of Harvest and Sacred Law. The one who helped curse us and condemned me to die ninety-nine times because I chose darkness over her stifling righteousness.
I evened my breath. Steadied myself.
No time for emotion. No anger, no fear, no grief.
Now was the time for survival.
And the trial was only the beginning.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Bloom
