Thankfully, the gods started talking. Their voices turned into background noise as her thoughts wandered. She couldn’t figure out her emotions lately. Perhaps that was the cost when everything she had believed turned out wrong.
“Hermes says the most talkative of the gods have been keeping their mouths shut, even Pheme,” Thanatos said. His troubled tone grabbed her attention.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she asked, “What are they being quiet about? Me?”
Thanatos nodded.
“And who’s Pheme?” She winced as she asked, her damn curiosity demanding she know. There were already too many names jumbled in her mind. She didn’t need to add another.
“She’s the goddess of fame and rumors,” he explained. “With this situation—multiple gods protecting a human—she’d be spreading the truth or fabricating something to stir the pot.”
“So why isn’t she?” Iliana asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Thanatos said. “When Pheme goes silent, it usually means someone more powerful than her has demanded it. Someone with enough authority to make even the goddess of rumors afraid of speaking.”
“You think someone’s forced her to stay quiet?”
“We think someone does not want the other gods to know the full truth about your curse. Or why we are protecting you,” Anubis answered.
“Hermes said he will keep pressing. He seemed uneasy, though. For a god who trades in information to be nervous about asking questions…” Thanatos let the sentence hang. The unfinished thought came across as more ominous than any answer.
Uneasy. She hadn’t thought that was possible for Hermes. Had she missed something in their exchange earlier? Was there something they weren’t telling her?
Anubis pushed away from the table and held out a hand. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”
Iliana placed her much smaller hand in his. “I guess so. Just…go easy on me.”
As the twins’ chuckles followed them, Anubis guided her away from the dining room, their fingers loosely intertwined. She didn’t know what to expect from training—only that it would probably be embarrassing—but at least it would be a welcome distraction from all her churning thoughts. She could only focus on what might be in store for her at the end of the hallway.
The room was spacious, with thick mats covering every inch of the floor. Weapons lined one wall: sickle-shaped blades called khopeshes she recognized from hieroglyphics, spears and maces, a recurve bow, and many other blades she couldn’tname. Some she knew from the classical literature she’d read. The Iliad depicted immortals and mortals crossing paths, the winners of battles molding the world. Dread and excitement rolled through her. Was she supposed to use all of those?
Before stepping on the mats, Anubis let go of her hand and removed his shoes.
She followed suit, peeling off the sneakers the gods had given her. They were comfortable. Expensive. Not hers.
A sudden longing hit her, and her breathing hitched. Before she could get sucked into those emotions, warm, callused hands were on her cheeks. She looked up at Anubis, startled by the concern in his ancient eyes.
“Iliana?”
“Sorry, I was thinking about my things back home.” She forced the words out.
Without hesitation, Anubis pulled her into his arms. She tensed but quickly sank into his embrace, letting his warmth steady her until the flood of grief passed.
When she felt strong enough, she pulled away and smiled. “What kind of training have you planned?”
Anubis grinned. “We will start with grappling and see how that goes.”
Images of his body pressing against hers flashed through her mind, and heat flooded her cheeks. Instead of running from it, she smiled confidently. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter thirty-four
ANUBIS
Iliana breathed raggedly, and exertion reddened her face. Her body trembled. Two hours of failed attempts against his unbreakable grip. His composed appearance while pinning her, with no sign of exertion, had only increased her annoyance.
What Iliana didn’t know was that his self-control was an illusion. He was more affected than he let on. This was supposed to be training. That’s what he told himself. Every time she moved under him—every frustrated sound she made—it was torture. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.
“Again,” he commanded huskily.
