Page 86 of The Mortal Trials

My brows furrow. “Do I have to?” I don’t remember whether the winner of the first trial wore it to the banquet.

He studies the golden band. “The gods are limitless. They’ll be worshipped, and revered, and loved, for an eternity, but it’s not enough for them. They want us dead because for a fleeting moment, another mortal admired our talent, or bravery, or strength…” He struggles with a wave of emotion, or maybe to find the right words, toying with the spear. “I think the more mortals who make flags for us and chant our names, the better. If we ruin their fun, maybe they won’t put anyone else into games like these.”

My lashes flutter. Shoulders sink. I’m not sure it will be that easy.

He offers a half-hearted smile, looking at me like he’s gauging my reaction.

All I can think of is the girl I might have been if I hadn’t been conscripted. And while I don’t know everything about that version of me, I think she would want to hug this man right now. Hard.

I push my worry and insecurity aside and do just that, almost knocking him over, but he steadies us both, laughing with surprise. He drops the spear to catch me. The gold weapon clatters to the stone as his strong arms fold around me, then tighten, not painfully, but perfectly.

It feels so good.

So good to be held – by him.

I wonder if that girl would’ve fallen in love with someone like Aymes. Someone good and kind, brave and loyal. Because August is all those things. I’m not sure how I got so lucky to get the privilege of knowing him, but I’m grateful.

One of his hands cradles the back of my head.

“Thanks,” he whispers into my hair. “I needed that.”

I needed it, too. I lift my head from where it rests over his heart. “I’m glad we’re allies.”

“Heroes,” he corrects with a gentle wink, then flicks a laurel leaf. It lets out a ping in delight.

I smile. “Heroes.”

We part slowly. And I’m already wondering if I’ll get to hug him again, and when.

He grabs the spear and offers it to me, and this time, despite Daedalus’s dried blood on the tip, I take it.

We emerge into bright afternoon sun, so opposite the dark trial we just suffered.

Sparrows chirp, perched in the trees and shrubs, their constant movement reminding me of home. I pinch one of my quetzal feathers and twirl it between thumb and forefinger as we skirt the temple. I hope Cillian isn’t mad that I ignored him, and that Abuela doesn’t think less of me after watching what I did to Daedalus.

“Some of the people in the stands were wearing feathers in their hair,” August tells me as we start to climb the stairs.

“They were?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Your name was on many a white flag, too.”

“As was yours, I’m sure.”

He gives a nonchalant shrug, but he fights a pleased grin. I smile with him, somehow.

Maybe I’m a new creature again, galvanized and even more capable of withstanding unimaginable things.

The girl I was before I first felt the horrors of war, died every time she raised her sword. Ares murdered the girl who defended herself and the boy she loved.

The girl who saw her sister die? She was buried in the burnt earth with her.

And today when I killed my friend, another part of me perished.

In these games, they make us slaughter the best parts of ourselves again and again until what’s left is akin to the terrible gods who host them. What happens if we become something far worse than they expect?

“We should go to the palaestra pool – after you hide that,” he says, nodding to the spear.

I wonder if that’s the best idea and decide it’s not the worst. I would otherwise sit and relive the horrors of the day or sleep to forget them. “Sure.”