Page 166 of The Mortal Trials

I drum my fingers on the table and shrug a shoulder. “I’d do the same if I had a skill one of the gods needed. I would protect the ones I love however I could. There’s no shame in that.”

He glances toward the window like he suspects someone is outside on this hilltop listening to us speak, then refocuses on his work. “I really should concentrate on the repair, if you don’t mind.”

And with those words, for a time, our conversation ceases.

Daedalus works diligently until there’s nothing else he can do to help the appendage. The knee’s hinge no longer shrieks; it merely grates a little when he works it back and forth. It’s properly lubricated and tightened, and he added some kind of paste that hardened around the worn-thin, weak places. He replaced the rusted hardware with new. It’s impressive and far more than I’ve ever managed on my own.

“It needs to cure for the remainder of the day, preferably in the sun, and then indoors overnight. You can bear weight on it tomorrow morning.” He hands the prosthesis over to my care.

I take the repaired leg. “Daedalus, what happens to your agreement with Morrigan if I die before you complete the replacement?”

He snaps his satchel closed. “Her word is bound now that I’ve done what I can for you.”

I smile and nod approvingly. Morrigan might have honored their deal despite my untimely demise, even if he hadn’t made such a wise stipulation, but you never truly know with the divine.

Daedalus pushes the table and chair back into their original positions in the room and turns to leave, pausing in the doorway to take in the kitchen. “Have you any food or water?”

“Sorry,” I apologize. “We don’t have anything to offer you.”

“I’m not asking for me,” he sharply rebukes.

Oh.

“No,” I admit. “The goddess led us here. We’re waiting for further instruction from her.”

He harrumphs again. “What would she know of the needs of a mortal body? Of hunger or thirst?”

As he hobbles toward the door, Niall leaps up and crosses the room to shake his hand, thanking him for coming. Daedalus takes it and glances back at me, a question on his brow.

I sigh and fall back onto the bed.

An hour later, we’re sitting at the table Niall must have cleaned after I fell asleep when a delivery arrives in the form of a hastily rung bell and a crate dropped on the doorstep. It’s full, with two corked bottles of water, cold milk, loaves of bread, hunks of cheese, and clusters of ripe, purple grapes. I dig further. There are other fruits buried beneath what’s visible on the surface. Dates, an apricot, a pear.

Niall notices something small folded into a cloth. “Butter.” He carefully unwraps the square and cuts it into pats.

Since my leg is out of use for the day, he helped me hobble into the kitchen after Daedalus left, acting as my crutch. I’d forgotten to bring the one Cillian carved for me; it was undoubtedly still leaning beside my bed.

“It tastes like home.” Niall downs three-quarters of his bottle of water and wipes the excess off his mouth with the back of his hand.

I’m so hungry. Traveling through the portals distorts time, but it seems like an eternity has passed since the tumultuous breakfast Niall interrupted, which was my last meal. The events interlaced with it resurface.

I hope my stupid brother returned those robes – unmended.

As I drag my bread through my half of the butter block, I think of my family. I’m glad they think I’m with Morrigan, and in her realm. If they knew I was in Olympus, Cillian would come looking for me.

He needs to finish his apprenticeship. Start his own masonry business and craft the beautiful buildings people visit Olympus to marvel over. As modern as this city is, they’ve honored many traditions, their architecture style being one of them.

I want him to have apprentices coveting his expertise and teaching one day.

The only reason his master kept him on after Carina’s death was because I crawled home and disappeared. If I step into any sort of limelight, he’ll be dismissed and his future hopes will be destroyed. His master already warned my brother of that much. He can’t risk the god’s wrath or the ruination of his reputation because of his connection to me. He’s already risking enough just keeping him on. If Cillian wasn’t so talented, he wouldn’t have kept his apprenticeship.

And while Cillian never told me about that ominous conversation, he whispered it to Abuela. I overheard them when insomnia became a life preserver and dreams were another enemy to survive.

When Niall speaks again, I realize he’s wrestling with the same question I am.

“Why are we here?”

I chew and swallow a grape, then take a drink of milk.