Page 126 of The Mortal Trials

Hermes flies into the room. The instant his feet hit the stone, he speaks. “This is the simplest challenge you’ve faced to date.”

I bristle, flicking a distrustful glance at August.

“And since we promised you a surprise, we’ve made it a meaningful one. We understand you’ve likely grown homesick. That’s why someone dear to each of you has been placed in this trial.”

My ears start to ring.

“We’ve made it easy for you to find them. Once you reunite, the two of you will need to make your way back to the portal. It’s that simple. As always, the mortal who enters the arena first will be declared the trial’s winner and will be awarded the laurel.”

Terror courses through me. August whispers a curse. Our wide eyes meet.

According to Hermes it’s an easy race, out and back, with someone we love along the course. It must be my brother.

Brigid said that Abuela was safe, but she didn’t mention Cillian. It must be him. Because if it’s not, it means they’ve found Mamá. Because of me.

I press a trembling hand to my head.

Hermes’s voice echoes through our silence. “In thirty breaths, at the sounding of the horn, the portal will illuminate.”

The race starts now. To the portal itself.

August grabs my hand and pulls me to the side of the staircase. He leaps down to the landing, bypassing the steps. I flip onto my belly and start to ease over the ledge as people thunder down the stairs.

Aymes lifts me down and we rush to the front of the crowd, meeting Hazi and Torsten at the flickering gold portal.

“They better not have harmed them,” Hazi seethes beside me, bouncing on his toes.

Torsten grunts his agreement.

Just like that, the gods have stripped our alliances bare. It’s every mortal for themselves and their loved one.

August looks over at me. “Be careful.”

I nod. “You too.”

Hermes paces above us.

“And be quick,” August adds, drying nervous hands on his shirt.

I offer him my own advice. “Be a soldier in there, not a contestant.”

His brows furrow.

“They’ve dragged our loved ones into this, Aymes. Get them out.”

Time slows as the horn creeps toward Hermes’s mouth.

August kisses his palm and hurls it away, then grabs my hand. Three squeezes.

We. Can. Win.

Hermes blows the horn, the sound a harsh blast in our ears, and the portal ignites.

We push through, arms pumping as we race into a world of ash. Like snow, it falls from the sky, covers the ground, and succumbs to the breezes that toss this way and that. There are banks of it. Drifts and mounds.

The land is a veritable ocean of ashfall. The only things in any direction are far away, blurs on the horizon, and I can’t tell what they are.

Our feet pound into the soft coating as we run. Plumes build and linger behind us.