Page 94 of The Mortal Trials

Koda gives his neighbor a nod and a proud grin when he glances our way, earning a humble, relieved wave from the man.

The tables are full, and the line to the buffet is largely empty now.

As Koda stands, relying heavily on his cane to stand, then walk, August offers to prepare and carry his plate. Too weary to argue, Koda accepts, insisting on at least walking over with us even when August tells him he should stay and rest. They work their way through the excess of food, Koda telling August what to add to his dish and how much. When they trail away to our table, I feel Morrigan approach.

I continue placing slivers of cheese and bread on my dish, feigning mortal ignorance, because somewhere in the room, Ares is watching.

There’s not a person alive who wouldn’t notice Morrigan beside them. Her presence fills the room and when she draws near… there’s no escaping her.

On her other side, Niall spoons honey over his figs.

Morrigan is darkness. That’s what I told Carina when she asked what the goddess was like the first time I was allowed to visit home after being conscripted. It was just after my first brief war ended.

Most people describe darkness as the absence of light. But anyone who says that hasn’t been close to Morrigan. There’s a warmth and depth to the goddess that is anything but cold or empty. And in it – in her – lives an unmistakable, deadly sharp edge. Perhaps they should define light by the absence of her.

She steps so close, her dark sleeve brushes my forearm. “Tell me, Callalie, is August Aymes still in want of a champion?”

The muscles in my back tighten as I add a cluster of grapes to my dish. Joy rushes through my veins. Morrigan and her pantheon may not be able to champion me due to Ares’s shifting rules, but she can help August. “He is.”

Morrigan spoons some sort of custard onto her plate. “Brigid is considering him. I understand Ogun has already made his interest known to your ally…”

“Interest isn’t an offer,” I counter.

She hums. “Brigid would consider any hesitation an insult.” And no one, god or mortal, wants to insult Brigid. Her anger is a bright, scalding thing.

I stop and meet her eyes. “I’ll talk to him.”

And silently add, Thank you.

Her nod is nearly imperceptible.

I grab a glass of water and head back to speak with August, but his seat is empty. He’s rejoined the line to build his own plate now that Koda is settled.

Koda points out a few of the delicious things he’s tasted thus far, but his words evaporate as Elias, Athena, and Aphrodite claim the three unoccupied chairs at our table.

Koda stops chewing and grabs his drink, looking uneasily between me and our new guests. The fire on the wicks of the pale tapers in the centerpiece gutter as Athena’s sharp gray eyes slip to me and hold.

The scent of ambrosia wafts from the goddesses’ cups, rich, sweet, and timeless. It beckons to mortals, a decadent poison to any who try to drink it. Our fragile forms can’t handle its potency.

Aphrodite’s hair is a cascade of bright gold, with tan skin so supple it glistens. Her body is an alluring mix of toned muscles and sensual curves. She’s a bow, drawn and ready to deliver the decisive tip of her arrow.

Though they are often rivals, tonight, both goddesses wear blue. Athena’s is the color of the ethereal midday sky, while Aphrodite’s is periwinkle, a lush shade that flirts with purple while remaining true to her pantheon’s choice.

Then there’s Elias, who’s wearing a velvet sapphire suit despite the warm evening air.

Elias, who made his way through the maze with us. Who ran out to fight the minotaur today. Who swims like an eel because his mother loved him enough to teach him.

Elias, who tried to kill me because I almost killed him.

Elias… Who looks terrible. Sweat beads on his brow and above his lip. His back is ramrod straight. He doesn’t look up or even touch his food in the presence of his champion, and doesn’t seem to remember the feel of the sly grins he usually flashes.

What has she done to him?

“My mortal has informed me that he’s entered into an alliance with you,” Athena succinctly informs me.

He aligned with an entire group of people, but I’m the one with whom she takes issue. She hates me on behalf of her brother, but I wonder if there are other reasons for her disdain. Ares is war and brutality and bloodlust, but Athena is strategy and battle and brains. Could she genuinely be concerned for Elias’s safety?

“Your mortal has a name,” I reply.