Page 93 of The Mortal Trials

He opens his arms and I hug him. “Did you get some rest?”

“I did. This old body can’t keep up with the demands of these trials, I’m afraid.” He smooths his red shirt, looking between August and me. It’s a slightly darker shade than what he wore into the labyrinth.

August shifts the conversation toward the rich scents of the banquet feast spread over long tables at the far end of the temple. Smaller round tables for dining are set around the room. Some sit empty. Others are already occupied – in part, or wholly.

Musicians warm up in the corner, and sweet notes rise to the ceiling. They ricochet and drape over us.

“Do you think the gods experience music as we do?” Koda asks August.

Aymes gives him a kind smile. “I’m not sure.”

For a musician, August rarely talks about music. Especially his.

I imagine the divine would say that our senses are dull and pitiful. But as I sway to the chords, I can’t bring myself to care, even if they’re right. Regardless of how we experience it, I’m glad we do.

“Are Anansi and Ogun here?” I ask our friend, scanning the crowd for them.

Koda aims an apologetic look at August. “Anansi sent word that they won’t be attending tonight.”

My heart sinks. I’d hoped August and Ogun might talk and come to an agreement. He needs a champion. And it seems Koda was thinking along the same lines.

Koda takes one of my hands and beams. “But look at you, Callalie. As pretty as a pearl.” He nudges August. “Isn’t she?”

After the thoughts I had about him this evening, I can’t bring myself to look above the long column of his throat.

August folds his hands behind his back. “She certainly is.”

When Koda shifts his weight, then a breath later shifts again seeking relief, I know the climb to the temple for the second time today has taken its toll. “Should we find a seat? Some of the tables are already filling up.”

“Of course,” Koda easily agrees, and we move to a free one.

August pulls out a chair for him, holds the next one out for me, then slides into the seat to my right.

I nod at the empty one on his other side. “Let’s hope Ares doesn’t join us this time.”

His features harden at the mention of the Greek god of war, then he grins. “At least he won’t be able to sit beside you.”

The three chairs across from us remain unclaimed as the game pivots around us like the stars August likes to track outside his window.

Hera, radiant in shimmering cerulean, asks the musicians to stop playing for a moment. When all is quiet, she invites us to fill our plates and glasses. A line forms to the buffet and slowly wends through the room.

We stay at our table until the crowd dwindles so Koda won’t have to stand as long. I’m aware of the way certain gods move across the room. Some I’m curious about because I don’t know them, but they feel like power, like familiar forces I can’t quite place.

Others I’m wary of. Particularly the divine beings I know by heart – for better or worse.

Ares.

Athena.

Susanoo is here, looking far more haggard than when he disappeared from the arena floor.

Lovely Chang’e sits at a nearby table, discreetly speaking to a man who’s near fifty. I recognize him as one of the men who fell to the arena floor after their large group arrived, his white clothes sprayed crimson.

Candlelight slips softly over the goddess’s pale pink, silk robes and caresses her flawless skin and black, coifed hair. She nods emphatically at something he says, then leans in to tell him something. I hope he can convince her to champion him.

“That’s Peng,” Koda says of the contestant. “He lives a couple houses down from me. Nice fellow.”

Peng’s dark hair gleams as his stark clothes turn pink to match the goddess who has just claimed him.