Page 207 of The Mortal Trials

He says he has little, but he’s graciously given me so much.

Tears fall when he helps me up and I walk easily across the room. Easier than I’ve walked since Ares cleaved the leg from my body, forever changing it. I can’t help but laugh at how incredible this feels. “It’s wonderful!”

He inclines his head with a humble smile.

“How did I get moved up your client list so fast?” I croak, trying to shift the focus off me.

Daedalus waves me off, wiping mist from his own eyes when he thinks I’m not watching. “Bah, you might have made an impression on me when we met. I wish I could work with the speed I had in my youth. It would have been finished far sooner if I was ten years younger.”

I stop testing the limb and glance up at him. “It’s perfect. I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for this.”

I don’t have the gold it would take to buy this or the promises of a goddess.

“I have everything I need and don’t want for anything. My life is comfortable, Callalie. If you wish to honor my craft, simply use the leg. I pray it helps you during the other trials and carries you into the games. Today’s was terrible to watch from afar. I can’t imagine being subjected to it directly.”

My hand covers my heart in a gesture of thanks. I don’t deserve this man’s gift, but I appreciate it more than I’ll ever be able to express.

Daedalus inclines his head in reply.

“Wait, do you descend from the Daedalus? Is that why you keep his name?” His resemblance to the skilled architect and craftsman makes so much sense, even down to his specific expertise.

The old man’s face crinkles in delight. “I’m more transparent than I imagined. Despite the direct reference, no one else has drawn the correct conclusion. Most don’t care enough to ask.”

I’m struck speechless. No one asks why he’s so incredible at what he does?

He gestures to my prosthesis. “You’ve naturally taken to it.”

I walk, feeling the might he threaded into the artificial limb. It weaves from the metal, bands around the skin of my thigh, works its way over my hip, and stretches to my abdominals, until it becomes part of me. Strengthening me. And in the doorway of my oikos, with the warm sun spilling over my skin and slipping into the room, I lean against the jamb and cry.

The peck of the craftsman’s cane on the floor draws near. A calloused hand falls on my shoulder, his rough thumb brushing my still-chilled skin. “Callalie? Why are you crying?”

His talent doesn’t lie in metal or design. It’s more brilliant than his ingenuity.

“Because you made me feel like me again.”

13

Just before sunset, twenty-five contestants leave our small houses, cross the sandy strips tethering us to the island, and make our way to the top of the eastern and western twin staircases where we’re greeted by the scents of cooked venison, roasted vegetables, honeyed bread, and flowery wine, and the sound of a beautifully plucked harp.

Niall is dressed in a dark-as-night black suit, his shirt and tie crafted to match. Noticing my new prosthesis immediately, he walks over with a grin. “Your visitor brought a gift, I see.”

“I didn’t peg you for a nosy neighbor,” I tease.

My beautiful, strong prosthesis made climbing the steps feel like walking on air. I move the skirt of my dress so he can appreciate the craftsmanship.

“Wow. It’s a work of art.” He studies how the metals ebb, flow, meld and part. But soon his eyes track upward, tracing my gown’s movement as it clings to my hips, dips in at my waist, flares around my breasts and cinches at my neck where pearl buttons secure it at my nape.

My long, thick hair is in a twist just above it in a style Carina taught me to make and wear before she cut her length in line with her determined chin.

I clear my throat sharply, drawing his attention and a blush to his cheeks.

I fight the urge to remind him that he said he could never want me like this…

The girl in lavender approaches with a feline grin. “The other contenders are wearing their weapons. I’m surprised you left the spear at home.”

I give her a bland smile, wholly unimpressed.

She’s taller than me by a foot, and even taller than Niall by a few inches. “Won’t you introduce us, Niall?”