Page 45 of The Mortal Trials

I’m worried that he’s not talking about this finish line, but the one we cross from life into death. I don’t want Koda to die, even if he’s at peace with it. I don’t want to die, either. But when is the fate of mortals ever in their hands?

Focusing on what I can control, I study the ground. The soil is cracked and rolling over it at a low speed is rough. Faster, and those bumps won’t be felt as keenly.

The clear, flawless sound of Hermes’s golden horn pours from the sky. All the chariots are aligned.

Adrenaline quickens my heart. Anticipation makes me lean into the chariot.

Be ruthless without hesitation.

August plants his feet again and then glances over at me, his knuckles blanched around the reins. This is it. He gives me an encouraging nod. “We can win.”

“We can win.” I echo the words, wishing I believed them. Wishing I could say them as assuredly as he did.

Hermes flies toward the horizon and raises his red flag to the heavens. “Ready!”

There’s just sky, wind, and the rush of my heartbeat in my ear, a thousand times louder than the antsy stallions and rapping clothes around me.

Crimson cuts through the air with a whoosh.

I snap the reins.

The warhorses take off.

My chariot lurches forward.

I steady myself as they collect speed.

Wind rips over my face.

Clouds and salt meld until I’m not sure what’s up or down. I drive ahead with no idea where I’m going. I don’t see a portal in the distance and Hermes didn’t say how far this race would be.

In the distance, near and far, things shimmer when the sunlight peeks through the clouds and catches on them. I try to focus on the nearest wink of light and steer toward it, unsure if I’m being wise or foolish. Is it a pretty trap laid for the curious, or are the gods providing something useful?

I don’t plan on stopping to investigate; I just want to know what they are.

At my urging, my horses gallop faster.

Chariots spread out over the salt, the strategy of some to put distance between themselves and the other contestants. To avoid collisions or sabotage.

A shaft of sunlight shifts over the flats and something shimmers just ahead to the right. I steer closer. Closer. Then rush past it, turning to see what it was: a gleaming, golden trident.

Weapons.

Wherever Ares’s little soldier is, I’m sure he’ll use a weapon against me, given the opportunity. I need something to defend myself with.

Do what you must to reach the finish line, Hermes had instructed.

Ahead, the crystal fades and the earth turns to shadow. The sky’s reflection cuts a slender dark ribbon. The landscape is changing. I just haven’t gotten close enough to learn how yet.

Fewer weapons shimmer. If I don’t get one now, I won’t have another chance.

The sun winks and a single, sharp glint appears just ahead. I ease my horses over and slow them, positioning myself to grab the golden offering on the left when I’m knocked to the right. My ribs crack against the chariot’s wall. I wrap my arm around the wall as the knee of my prosthesis hits the floor. But I’m not flung off.

Ares’s soldier cackles from his cab.

The wheel he hit wobbles a little as it spins. I’m rocked side to side as I push myself up and plant my feet again just as the Greek maneuvers his chariot to strike mine again. I don’t know if he’s trying to keep me from getting a sword or simply trying to kill me, but he’s pissing me off. The first impact slowed us both. Another might break my wheel off entirely. I don’t want to die here.

Cillian’s and Abuela’s feathers fly wildly in my ponytail, fluttering against my shoulder and reminding me why I must win, or at the very least, finish the race. They sing a song of how much I stand to lose.