Page 213 of The Mortal Trials

He turns and walks alone toward the west. My jaw tightens when Veronia encourages Niall to follow the Norseman. Niall hesitates, asking Koda if he needs help down the steps. Veronia spears Koda with a look of disdain.

Koda doesn’t budge. “No thank you, Niall. I believe I’m going to stay here a while.”

Niall pauses like he’s considering staying, but another urge from Veronia is all it takes for him to leave.

The other contestants begin to talk amongst themselves. Small alliances have formed, but some speak of a larger one. Of all the unchampioned banding together since the championed ones are.

I move away from the bickering and out of the center of the group to skirt those standing on its edges, when I notice two mortals seated at the tables with divine.

The nearest is a curvy girl with long, dark hair and lovely light brown skin who seems to be close to my age, talking in hushed tones with breathtaking Isis. And while I want to know if they come to an agreement, I can’t help but watch what’s happening across the room, where the Greek has somehow garnered a private audience with Athena.

Their words are clipped and serious. She plants a finger on the wooden table to punctuate some point she’s making, and he leans in to speak, holding her sharp stare. Athena’s jaw ticks. Her eyes tighten on him. Scrutinizing.

From the far side of the room, the god of war spots them. Before he can intervene, the Greek’s clothes soak from white to a rich sapphire blue. And just like that, Ares is powerless to reverse Athena’s decision.

She proudly stands as Ares reaches them.

He grips her bicep. “What have you done?”

“Chang’e made him an offer,” she hisses. “Before accepting, he came to me, wanting to be certain that none of us would claim him instead.”

“And?” he demands.

Athena’s glare could cut diamonds. “He. Is. Ours.”

“We had an agreement!” Ares seethes.

The Greek’s dark lashes flutter like Ares’s rejection cuts him, leaving an invisible scar behind.

She jerks her arm from her half-sibling’s grasp and her clear voice echoes over the space. “I will train him, and I will not let him fail.” Like Ares did… she stops short of saying.

The scathing insinuation of his inadequacy infuriates the god of war. His face mottles. His hand finds the hilt of the sword on his hip.

Athena glances down and gives a sultry laugh. “I made the offer within the boundaries of the rules you crafted. You could have listed other stipulations, but you didn’t.”

Shoulders back, she strides past a loitering Zeus and Hera, who seem satisfied with her decision to enter the trials and her choice of mortal. To the gods, blood is as important as feats of strength.

In the firelight, Ares’s dark armor and hair gleams. His red cape snaps at his back on an angry, phantom wind. He turns to find me watching.

The other mortals look away, pretend to talk amongst themselves, or make their way out of the temple to avoid his wrath. I raise a brow.

If he can’t control his own pantheon, how will he influence the rest?

Movement draws my attention. The girl who had been in talks with Isis rises triumphantly, the straight skirt of her dress pleating as it melts to warm gold. Lapis lazuli artfully appears to adorn her ears, neck, wrists, hair, and sandals.

She and the Greek waste no time in leaving. They walk westward, likely to find Torsten. I inwardly cringe at the thought of his alliance gaining the two of them. They seem strong, and more than capable of winning trials, if not the games.

August helps Koda over. “Callalie,” he weakly greets. Today was too much for him.

“You aren’t going with them?” I ask, ticking my head to the two as they disappear into the night.

Koda waves his counterparts away. “I don’t think it would be wise to abandon the friends who brought me out of that trial. None of the ones who walked to the west would have bothered to help.”

His judgment about them isn’t wrong, but he’s giving me too much credit. I almost got us killed on that bridge.

My skin begins to prickle, like a thousand legs tickling. I turn to find Koda’s champion, Anansi approaching with a mischievous grin. Ogun accompanies him.

The Yoruba god of war, metal work, and craftsmen, and of strength, sweat, and transformation, Ogun is tall and broad with a serious disposition. Deep brown skin stretches flawlessly over his muscled form. The cap he wears covers most of his head and its pattern matches his bright red and black kente robes.