Page 33 of The Mortal Trials

Nine…

Did he really intimidate them all so I would come crawling to him?

“Cal?” a familiar voice says from outside.

Niall holds back a swath of fabric and gestures for me to join him. “Do you need some fresh air?”

I drift toward him, leaving the golden glow of the temple and step out into the cool, salt breeze. Silver moonlight softly slips over my skin. The heady scent of the incense burning inside clings to my hair even as the wind tries to free me of it.

After several deep breaths, I turn to Niall. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugs. “Morrigan left.”

He’s bored. And why wouldn’t he be? He has a champion.

We stare down the staircases, past the small islands and the temporary homes built on them, to the shimmering sea.

“I asked her why I’m here,” he offers. “She didn’t answer.”

“Morrigan?”

He nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his ebony trousers, and gives me a sidelong glance. “We all know I’m no hero. Why’d she bring me here? Why become my champion?”

“Why is Morrigan taking part in Ares’s trials and games at all?” Many deities and pantheons declined his invitation. I overheard Hermes talking with golden-haired Apollo about it.

My dark fear rears its beastly head. Morrigan hates Niall. So why would Morrigan champion the one she despises? She’s very stern about how those in her army conduct themselves, and Niall didn’t live up to her expectations on the battlefield.

Did she nominate Niall and appoint herself as his champion to punish him for not being the hero she thought he should have been? There’s no way she thinks he’ll win the trials or games. Or could she think competing will somehow force him into a greater fate I’m unable to envision?

The god of war’s voice echoes from inside as he invites all the contestants to join him in the center of the temple.

We’ve been on one side of the large vault all evening for a reason. The center of a temple is reserved for the god or goddess for which it was built. Mortals who dare to step into the sacred space are punished or killed. Ares’s invitation is an order, and we have no choice but to do as he says. I have an inkling of what will happen if we disobey.

“It’s a trap,” Niall breathes, all color draining from his cheeks.

I shake my head. The whole game is a trap, but not this invitation specifically. “This temple wasn’t built by mortals for the gods. They constructed it for us. For these trials and games. We’ll be fine.”

I stride inside and make my way through the gathered crowd to stand with the others who’ve been dragged into this event. Niall is no longer the only one wearing the color of a pantheon. A tall girl a few years older than me with brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes wears a soft shade of purple like the sprigs of lavender in Abuela’s windowsill when she can get it to grow.

Ares invites all interested gods to surround us, which they eagerly do. Sharks circling a school of fish. His instructions are simple: we are to dance with the divine and try to convince them we’re the mortal they want.

“At this inaugural ball, I wonder how many matches will be made before Helios takes to the sky?” Ares boasts.

The divine begin offering dances to those clad in ivory. Niall stiffly stands beside me as contestants and champions pair up and peel away. The musicians rake bows over strings, readying their instruments.

Even Zeus and Hera take new partners, which is not a hardship for Zeus in the least, of course. But Hera watches her husband like a fox who’s spotted a hare.

Soon, the only ones unpartnered and not dancing are the already championed – Niall and the girl in lavender – and me.

Morrigan appears as a crow, swooping in to land between me and Niall, before taking her true form and startling him in the process. She ignores how he jumps back, hands out in defense, and locks her eyes with mine.

“Listen well, Callalie. This is the first of several planned celebrations that will take place amid the trials. You must find a champion by the end of the final trial. The end of each test is marked with the placing of a laurel on the winner’s head. You must have a champion before the final laurel is placed. Do you understand?”

I release a tense breath. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I twist toward her. “In the event I don’t secure one, I don’t suppose Ares would just send me home?”