Page 184 of The Mortal Trials

She nods to me. An acknowledgement and dismissal. Find a champion, she’d advised me, and meant every word.

A young god with copper skin, clad in a solid gold, ankle-length shendyt knotted fashionably at the side of his toned waist approaches. His broad collar necklace is strung with lapis lazuli beads that play off his topaz eyes. His head is clean-shaven; his nose beak-like. He may not be as broadly built as some of the other divine males, but his body is a lean, honed weapon. But it’s hardly the sharpest part of him, I realize as his stare clashes with mine.

There’s only one other who can decipher and know all the things you’d never divulge to a soul with a single, swift glance. Who stares through you rather than at you. I thought the goddess Athena was alone in that ability, but this god shares the affinity.

“Callalie Ryan,” he says, and even though I’ve never learned the Egyptian tongue, I understand him when he adds, “I’ve been watching for you to arrive.”

“Thank you,” I reply, hoping he’ll supply his name.

“We’ve never met, but of course I know who you are,” he explains. “I am Thoth.”

Thoth.

Of all the gods of the Egyptian pantheon, I didn’t expect him to be here, let alone seek me out.

Master of language and time. Blessed by the moon herself. His broad hands hang at his sides, and I wonder how many hearts he’s held and weighed for Osiris, god of their dead.

For mortals who carry the blood of multiple pantheons, their souls have a choice when they die. I’ve already chosen and made my wishes known. When I leave this world and body behind, Morrigan will cross the sea and take me to the rocky outcrop Tech Duinn – to Donn, the Irish god of the dead, who will shepherd it for eternity in his rolling, green meadows.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell Thoth, wondering if he’s interested in championing me or merely gawking as people do the victims of accidents and tragedies.

Some gods seek out mortals with the intention of trying to understand the feeling of being so vulnerable… so finite and human. I hope he’s not one of them.

“I was hoping to speak with you,” he says, his impenetrable gaze never wavering. “If you’re open to it.”

“Of course.”

A female deity extricates herself from the group she’s conversing with and glides up to Thoth, straight dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She drapes an arm around him and the jeweled wings on the back of her dress flutter with the movement.

At a closer glance, I see the wings aren’t part of her ensemble but are part of her body. The delicate feathers are sapphire, silver, and ruby. Her gown and skin share the same warm, golden hue.

With bronze eyes and full lips, high cheekbones and a flawless complexion, she’s easily the most beautiful goddess I’ve ever seen. Her silhouette graces beauty tonics and salves sold throughout the realms, but none of those images come close to the reality of how striking she is up close.

I nod to her. “Isis.”

The goddess smiles, pleased. “Hello, Callalie.” She beams at Thoth. “Excuse the interruption. I want you to meet someone.”

“I’m busy,” he tells her, flashing an uncomfortable if not sheepish smile in my direction.

“I’m afraid it can’t wait,” she sharply urges, her eyes and hands tugging him away. I don’t miss the apology in his stare as he relents to her insistence.

The deities whisper as they leave me. Even though I can’t hear their words, I know in my gut that after her intervention, Thoth won’t approach me again. But his attention gives me hope. I never dreamed I’d be sought out by one of the divine. I thought each of us would have to beg and bargain with the gods.

I scan those in attendance.

August is laughing nearby with a middle-aged male contender with gray hair, a soft belly, and eyeglasses so thick they make his eyes look owlish. The man’s disposition is positively sunny, despite the dread building in the pit of my stomach.

Walking in the opposite direction, I skirt the room, trailing my fingers over the silken swaths billowing in the night breeze and letting moonlight peek in.

Over the course of the next hour, we’re served small portions of fine food – fried calamari, stuffed grape leaves called dolmades, lamb meatballs, and glasses of water and wine. There is music and dancing, like any ball might have. But underneath the rhythm and melodies, beyond the twirling steps, tense undercurrents flow.

One crawls with the derision of gods who detest any mortal who thinks they may be on an even footing with them. The other churns from every mortal sequestered here who never asked for such esteem but are being punished for it anyway.

Smiles are flashed. Small talk is made. Divine and mortal work to charm one another.

Everyone pretends. Everyone lies.

How difficult it is to enchant a god who wants you to succeed, but only for a time, and to an extent, before you die.