Page 210 of The Mortal Trials

My heart stutters and my breathing turns ragged. “I… A dress?”

He laughs, relaxing his hand and smoothing the fabric. “I’m talking about what’s under the dress.”

My mouth goes dry.

His brows raise pointedly and he flicks his eyes down to my prosthesis, which is on display through the fabric’s slit.

Oh! Oh, gods… I’m a moron.

“Oh, this? It’s new,” I babble.

“Yes, I see that.” His eyes narrow, then glint mischievously. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing.” I hurry to a chair near the end of the table.

August scoots it in for me and heads to my left, leaving a seat between us for a deity. I never imagined I’d ever be grateful for divine interference until this moment.

August’s arm drapes over the empty chairback as he smirks at me. My ally won’t let this go as easily as I’d hoped.

The meal gets worse when the chair between us is pulled back and Ares settles into it, swallowing every inch of available space with his ire and ego.

“Good evening, August. Callalie,” Ares greets with a sly smirk.

I fight the urge to scream.

The seat on my right is taken by none other than grizzled Susanoo of the Japanese pantheon. The divine son of two gods, Susanoo was punished for being too entitled. Cast away from his parents, he found himself, matured, and saved his people by slaying an eight-headed serpent who was feeding on them.

His dark hair and beard are wild and wind-torn, both flowing to his waist. The waves roughly embroidered onto his kimono rise and fall. I wonder whether they keep time with the tide lapping this island or hold the rhythm of the crests surrounding his realm.

He smells like the sea. When he pushes up the sleeves of his kimono, delicate trails of salt lace his beige skin.

“You survived the first trial,” Ares remarks, glancing from August to me.

Does he want us to thank him? Bask in the praise? No, he wants us dead.

I ignore him. August also remains quiet.

Ares is undeterred by our inattention. “You’re both natural leaders, but you work well together and with others.” He grins at August. “You could write a song about the experience. I’m sure the masses would love to hear something new.”

August’s fingers blanch on the carved arm of his chair. A muscle tightens in his jaw.

Now that all seats at the three tables are filled, Hermes invites everyone to ‘gorge themselves’.

I look over the delicacies displayed on the table before me.

Hazel eyes peer at me through the steam on the other side of the table. Like most Greeks, his hair is dark and curled, long enough to brush his brows, ears, and nape. His pale shirt is stark against golden skin. Where his tunic parts, his chest reveals a well-healed slash. It’s not the one I gave him, but one equally as striking.

My eyes fall away from his. I should apologize, but what could I possibly say that would make a difference to him now? He has good reason to hate me. An apology won’t change anything.

“You have my gratitude for stopping my soldier from blazing a path that would have led to his untimely death,” Ares remarks to me, pointing his glass at his former kern.

Susanoo reaches over my plate to collect a small loaf of bread from a basket. He tears it in half and drizzles honey over the steaming center before taking his first bite. When he’s done chewing, he gestures to the Greek. “If you’re so grateful, Ares, why haven’t you offered to champion him?”

The Greek has enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

Susanoo continues. “Most pantheons have one or two divine to take part in this contest; some are helping in the design. But not the Greeks. Nearly all of you are involved.” Susanoo leans forward to peer at Ares around me. “Why is this young man championless? He’s a skilled driver; one of your warriors, as you’ve said. Why do you scorn him?”

“As a pantheon, we agreed together that any championship we pledge must be hard-earned,” Ares responds. “Blood and even prior service isn’t enough.”