Page 122 of The Mortal Trials

Long tables hold tonight’s bounty, spilled expertly from tiered silver platters and fluted bowls and arranged along wooden blocks with greenery and cut flowers amid it all. It’s ethereal and lovely and up to the lofty standards of the divine.

Seven circular tables are set with crystalware and polished silver that gleams in the warm firelight. Their middles are full of lit candles and a myriad of fragrant flowers. Musicians softly play from across the pool. It’s why Vailea stands beside it, I realize as her eyes sway toward them.

A full moon lingers overhead. Vailea tracks my line of sight heavenward. “I saw Tae before I left tonight. She said Ra is watching us and offering his protection.”

Ra may be blessing Taeniset, but what does a god of Egypt care for the rest of us? I can tell Vailea wants to believe it, so I don’t voice my doubts.

A group of four contenders enters the courtyard together. One young man, and three women of varying ages.

“Do you know how many fell today?” August asks in a low tone.

“Four,” Vailea answers, pausing to take a sip from her glass. Then she ticks them off one at a time. “Yuuki’s friend – the one who teased you before the trial began, an older man, and two women, I think. Eighteen of us are left.”

Twelve mortals are dead. Twelve families mourn.

I hadn’t realized so many were gone.

The pinch of August’s brow makes me wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. “Four have fallen in each trial so far,” he notes grimly.

A long moment passes. What could it mean? Four is significant for some reason.

“It could be a coincidence,” Vailea murmurs.

We may not know what the designers mean by it yet, but it definitely represents something. “We all know it’s not.”

Vailea changes the subject. “Seven tables and seven of us left unchampioned.”

“Where are the gods?” August asks.

Vailea shrugs and turns to August. “Before things get complicated and Callalie monopolizes your evening, how about a dance?”

He graciously accepts and I take her glass, settling into the nearest chair. The vintage in her cup is a rich crimson, but as I start to swill it, the liquid becomes inky. Pale words scrawl across the surface.

She is safe.

Abuela. They’re harboring her.

I look up to find Brigid seated at the table beside mine. When I look back at Vailea’s glass, the wine is red again.

My heart thunders. I want to thank her – and thank Morrigan. I’ll have to find a way if I make it through this. Cillian has their pantheon’s blood, but Abuela does not. They don’t have to offer her protection. And when Ares learns she’s gone and begins his search for her, I’m not sure what will happen.

Brigid watches August and Vailea dance. She raises a brow at the four mortals hovering nearby. One of the contestants, a thirty-something woman with glowing skin and long, black braids peels away and approaches the goddess, asking to sit with her.

Brigid agrees. She values boldness.

The woman’s name is Mariama Cisse and she’s of the same blood as Koda. Ogun can’t champion her, so she’s looking for another.

The woman pleads her case well. She’s determined. Proud and resourceful. Smart. Brigid praises her performance thus far. She’s been watching her. I start to worry about August’s chances with the goddess.

“The games will be very different from these paltry trials,” Brigid warns. “Divine from more pantheons than you can imagine are working together to design them, and they are working to make them unforgettable, from what I’ve heard. Why do you think we’d make a good match?”

The woman lists how her personality and Brigid’s would complement one another and offers examples of her strength and forethought, then she waits. Brigid studies August and Vailea, then refocuses on the woman who approached her so confidently. I’m hoping she’ll at least wait to speak to August, but like a wooden ship breaking apart on a hidden reef, that hope is obliterated when Brigid extends her hand.

The bargain is sealed. They’ll be partners in the games to come.

Mariama’s lovely, one-shouldered, ankle-length dress darkens, shifting to dove gray that deepens to the color of storm clouds, and finally settles into that midnight shade no mortal can properly describe.

When August realizes what has happened, his steps slow. The hope he had on the shore drains from his eyes and shoulders and sink as Brigid stands and tells the woman that they’ll be dining at the championed palaestra.