Page 123 of The Mortal Trials

“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?”