Page 236 of The Mortal Trials

What if I was wrong? What if he could have been helped?

Would the gods have restored him if we brought him out of the labyrinth? If we showed him mercy by capturing him instead of assuming his only way out of the trial was death?

“That wasn’t him.” August bends down beside me. “That wasn’t the man you knew.”

That’s not exactly true. The gasp had been his. And even if the ‘mortal’ was gone, his soul was inside the beast. Daedalus was dragged into this mess because of me. He died because of me. He suffered because of me.

If Morrigan had never called in a favor. If he hadn’t seen my knee joint get damaged during the first trial. If he’d stuck to his gods damned, miles-long list, Daedalus would still be safe and alive. His family would be safe. Now he’s dead and they have no one to shield them from the vengeful divine who might ruin them – not because they should, but because they can.

August helps me stand and the colosseum thunders. The sand quakes from the sound.

Just then, Torsten and his friends arrive. They roar and bellow, congratulating one another for surviving. “Cham-pi-oned!”– they chant, encouraging the crowd to follow, fists pumping in time with the broken syllables.

When they’re met with a weak response, their hands fall.

The large unchampioned group rushes from their portal and floods the sand between us and Torsten’s alliance. All their clothes are stained with sweat, grit, and grime, but some of them are soaked with blood, and lots of it. I’m not sure whose.

They don’t celebrate.

Two of the men crash knees-first onto the arena floor. I can’t tell if they’re hurt or exhausted.

The middle-aged woman who finished the first trial with August holds a girl who wails and does not stop wailing.

What happened to them? If my math is right, twelve of them went into the trial together. Only nine returned.

Their golden slab dims and deactivates. Only the fourth and final portal still glows.

Taeniset and Akira are still in the labyrinth; Isis’s and Susanoo’s mortals. Is that whose screams Daedalus silenced? Or did those come from the three unchampioned who fell today?

All we can do is watch for them and hope the swirling portal and the fact that Hermes hasn’t announced a winner, means they’re still alive.

Several long moments pass before ripples form and spread over the rich surface like it’s a placid pond instead of a gateway.

Then with a gritting cry, golden-armored Taeniset drags Akira into the arena by her wrists. When Akira’s feet are clear of the portal, she lets go, panting, and crashes to her knees next to her fallen friend.

Akira is pale. Agony twists her features. She breathes shallowly, holding her stomach so nothing spills out of it. If the gods don’t heal her, she’ll die from a wound like that.

The throng goes quiet. Hands cover mouths. Mothers shield the eyes of their squirming, curious children. Though I’m not sure why they bother after what they just let them watch.

Susanoo appears, already kneeling beside the girl. His mighty knee craters the dirt in a way a mortal body could never. He places a tender, weathered hand on her wound and whispers a single word, instantly washing her pain away in a cleansing tide. He cranes his head to the golden viewing box where the gods and goddesses wait and stare, a question on his brow.

Can he heal her? Is it within the rules and his rights as her champion?

His shoulders cave when he gets his answer. Susanoo rises and leaves Akira in the sand to die.

Taeniset doesn’t immediately understand his refusal to break the rules to save her friend. She stands and takes a step when he does to mirror his movement. “Stop.”

Another step mirrored. “Where are you going?”

“Susanoo, please. Don’t turn your back on her.” Taeniset begs the Japanese sea god. Blood streaks her armor, coats the wings of Isis engraved on it. “You can heal her!”

He can. We all know he can. But he won’t.

“It’s against the rules.” He turns to leave.

“Since when?” she demands.

He takes another step.