Page 193 of The Mortal Trials

I make a motion of cutting my throat and he sucks in a sharp breath. “The best part is that Ares has apparently threatened anyone who’s even thought about championing me. Not because he wants me to die faster, but so I’ll have no choice but to beg him to champion me in the end.”

He growls, then scrubs a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Do it.”

My head ticks back like he struck me.

“I mean it. If that’s your only choice: him or death, then do it,” Cillian stresses. “He’ll champion you just to torture you, but at least you’ll live to see the games. If you win them, maybe he’ll –”

A mirthless laugh bubbles up from my chest. “He’ll what? Forgive and forget?”

August reaches us in time to hear the latter half of our argument. “Everything okay?”

I gesture to my sibling, then to my new ally. “August, meet my brother, Cillian. Cillian, this is the August Aymes.”

The two clasp wrists, and then I feel like I might turn to glass in the sand because my brother wastes no time roasting me. He tells August that Carina and I were infatuated with him when we were girls. That we went to one of his shows just before I left for Morrigan’s army and talked about him in the letters we wrote back and forth to each other for months afterward.

I consider wading into the monster-teeming waters.

August is gracious. If he’s embarrassed, I can’t tell. But he does smother a grin when he glances at me after that.

Cillian raves about his music, revealing that I haven’t heard any of his newer songs because we haven’t had a telecaster at home for a while. Nearly a year, to be exact. My brother flicks a glance at me I can’t decipher.

I decide I’ve had enough, and so has August. Hooking my arm through Cillian’s, I drag him toward the boat he should be boarding and bid August goodnight. His rumble of laughter is almost drowned out by the lapping waves as he turns and continues down the beach.

When I think he’s out of earshot, I smack my brother hard in the chest. “Moron.”

“What?” he laughs. “It’s true! You used to have a huge crush on him–” His eyes narrow. “Wait, do you still have a crush on him?”

My brows furrow. “Absolutely not.”

Cillian chortles. “Your protestation was lightning fast. Makes me wonder if meeting him might have rekindled the torch you used to carry for him.”

“Carina carried a torch for him,” I correct. “I just went along with her.”

“I remember things very differently, Sis. Though, I guess your obsession dwindled when you started dating Niall. I wish you’d never met that one.” He taps his lip, squinting off into the distance. “What did I used to call him behind your back?”

My mouth falls open. He gave Niall a nickname?

How did he and Carina keep it from me?

How did Abuela? She eventually lets everything slip.

“Ah! Smelly Kelly. And Carina called him Vile Niall,” he reveals triumphantly, pretending he pulled the monikers up from the depths of his memory when I know my brother would never forget a title he bestowed without his target’s knowledge.

“Both of those are ridiculous.”

Cillian grins mischievously. “Maybe, but neither is as ridiculous as Niall. I never liked him for you. He wasn’t good enough.”

I snort. “Because I’m some prize?”

He hugs me to his side. “Of course you are. My sister deserves the best, or at the very least, not the worst – which he is.”

His friend is still waiting in the beached boat, looking bored, but he confirms that the creatures lurking between our houses haven’t revealed themselves to him. I thank him for helping Cillian reach me and give my brother a fierce hug.

“Don’t come back here, Cillian. I’m serious. That they let you trespass once is troubling enough. I doubt they’d allow a second attempt.”

He reaches into the pocket of his patched trousers, pulls out a long, bright green quetzal tailfeather, and tucks it behind my ear like I used to do when I was a child. “I saw the other feather in your house. You should wear them tomorrow. For luck. One from me and one from Abuela. That way, we’ll be with you. No matter what you face, we’re in it together. It worked last time. The feather brought you back to us.”

Abuela always says that quetzals only shed feathers in a place they plan to return.