Page 58 of The Mortal Trials

The Japanese god’s dark eyes sparkle. “Yet it was enough for you to nominate him as a potential hero?” Susanoo pushes.

The Greek god of war’s grin is positively lethal. “He deserved the nomination.”

Susanoo ends the conversation with a final jab. “Then surely, one from among your number will deem him worthy.” Susanoo returns to his bread, tearing into it with gusto, and drops the matter.

“Or perhaps another pantheon will recognize his value,” a demure voice offers.

All heads swivel to the beautiful goddess seated to the left of the Greek soldier.

Her midnight hair is rolled and pinned atop her head. Her skin seems lit from within by a faint blue light, a hue that matches her lovely furisode. Chang’e, Chinese goddess of the moon, begins to speak to the Greek so quietly that Ares and Susanoo lean in to try and hear their conversation. If he’s about to earn her favor, good for him.

I distract the god of war so he can’t eavesdrop. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. “Can you tell us who designed the first trial?” I have my suspicions…

He sits back, takes his fork and stabs a piece of mutton from a platter, and drags it onto his plate before sawing it into pieces. He heaps vegetables on next and adds a variety of fruits. Instead of answering my question, he points at my plate. “You haven’t taken any food,” he replies. “I would think you of all the contestants would be grateful for the abundance.”

Why should I be humiliated? Why shouldn’t it be the gods who are ashamed?

“It seems so easy for the divine to conjure such bounty,” I lead.

He takes the bait. “It is.”

“Then why do you allow so many mortals to go hungry?”

His fork goes still; the tines are stuck in the flesh of a pear. “Why should deities dangle grapes at every mouth when mortals have hands with which to work the vines?”

I shrug, then take some of the horta in honor of my brother in case he’s watching, figs – Abuela’s favorite, half a pomegranate and a cluster of red grapes for myself. Then I add an eel and a cut of red mullet instead of boar – the thought of boar makes me shudder – a spoonful of vegetables, and a piece of bread.

“You say they don’t labor to feed themselves, when very often the opposite is true. How often do you deign to speak with the mortals in your care? Do you even take time to walk among them?” I take a bite of beet. The fuchsia root is like nothing I’ve ever tasted, so finely and fragrantly spiced.

Susanoo tips his glass of wine to me before bringing it to his mouth to smother his approving smile.

At the next table, claps and cheers erupt. At least someone’s having fun.

Ares begins to eat again. “Tyr crafted the bridge, the mountains, and their troll. The chariots, salt flat, and the weapons were designed by Horus,” he deigns to answer.

August leans forward, forearms pushing his plate against a platter. “Do you honestly intend for any mortal to make it to the games?”

“What would the games be without contenders?” Ares poses.

“You’ll have to call them off if you lose as many in each trial as you did today,” Aymes remarks conversationally before leaning back in his chair and popping a grape into his mouth.

“You’ll find every trial to be different,” Ares explains. He takes a drink of wine. “Some won’t claim any lives.”

If we survive all five, what pieces of our humanity will we lose in those contests?

Ares flicks a finger against the curve of August’s stemmed glass. “Neither of you have had any of Dionysus’s vintage.”

The Greek god of wine doesn’t have to walk to each guest and pour their glasses full. He simply wills the wine into them, and his power refills them any time someone drinks.

“I prefer water,” I explain. And to remain sober around the divine.

Dionysus weaves his will into his blends. Everyone knows that. Some relax inhibitions with one sip. Other vintages obliterate them entirely. Some steal fears and secrets. Others conjure nightmares and hallucinations that seem so real, mortals have thrown themselves off buildings just to escape them. I’m not interested in being on the receiving end of his inventive gifts.

Suddenly, a muffled thump jolts the bottom of my foot. I shove my chair back to find that our table has been set over a wooden door inlaid in the temple floor. A door that leads to a stairway and the portal we took to and from today’s trial.

Another thud.

Then bang. Bang! Bang!