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I press my hand to my chest. When he wins Ares, they’ll sleep like this. They might snarl and snap at each other, but this morning Achilles demonstrated a deeper understanding of Helen than I have. He gets her, at least on some level.
No reason for that to make my chest ache. My foolish heart might care too deeply for her, might have given itself to Achilles long ago, but even if it breaks at the end of this, at least I have the bittersweet comfort of knowing they’ll take care of each other.
If Achilles isn’t the one to knock Helen out of the tournament. I don’t like his odds of winning her forgiveness anytime soon if that happens. She as much as admitted that it would be impossible.
Maybe I should be the one to do it.
I rub my chest harder. Damn it, I can’t. Even if it would help him, I can’t do that to her. No matter how complicated the potential outcome, we can’t go after her. She…trusts us. Maybe not entirely—Helen is no fool, after all—but she trusts us with her body, trusts us enough to at least share some small vulnerabilities. We can’t turn around and crush her after the last couple of days.
By the time the alarm goes off, I still have no answers. We get ready in near silence. I dress in my workout gear; I have no one to impress, after all. Achilles dons another of the custom uniforms we commissioned for him. This one is inky black and clings to his body, showing off his impressive muscles and elevating his attractiveness to the point where it almost hurts to look at him.
And Helen?
She has on a skintight catsuit that looks like someone spilled oil down her body. With every move, different colors shine in the low light of the room. She’s braided her hair and pinned it up around her head in an almost crown. Smart. The whole damn outfit is so smart. The fabric of the catsuit will make it challenging for anyone to keep hold of her, and her hair is no longer a liability to be grabbed in a fight. Every part of her…glitters. Her makeup is more stark than last time, too. She darkened from her eyes to nearly her temples, a dramatic look that, combined with her black lipstick, gives her the image of someone who should be on the front lines of some ancient army, leading her people into battle.
Helen looks like a warrior queen.
The crowd will be unable to take their eyes off her. More, they’ll love her for the dramatics of it all, especially if she does well.
“Ready?” I finally manage.
“Doesn’t matter if I am. It’s time.”
Achilles moves to the door. “Let’s go.”
Achilles and I share a look and keep Helen between us as we file out of the room and follow the rest of the champions out of the house. I don’t like the way Paris watches her, like she’s a prize that’s his for the taking. It might be technically true, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth all the same.
At the arena, I can’t stop myself from grabbing Helen’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “It will be fine.”
She spares me a faint smile. “I know.” She squeezes my hand back before releasing it.
Then there’s no more time for talking because we’re being ushered through the concrete tunnel and out into the main area. I’m stunned by the transformation of the arena when the champions file through the entrance. Gone is the obstacle course, replaced by tall walls of varying heights. They look like concrete, but that’s impossible. Concrete would be far too heavy to haul in here to form this…
It’s a maze. It must be.
It’s hard to focus with the ever-present cheering of the crowd. I think I’ll hear that sound in my nightmares. It’s a reminder that too many eyes are on me, that this trial will change things even more than the first. There are twelve champions left.
After this trial, that number will be more than halved.
I glance at Helen and, on the other side of her, Achilles. Both have their expressions locked down, but surely they feel the same tremor in their chests that I do. I have never once doubted that Achilles would win the title of Ares. I don’t doubt it now.
But the cost…
The cost might be higher than I could have dreamed.
Directly in front of us and high above, the lights point at the box seat where Athena resides. She’s wearing a cream suit and is furious. Oh, she has it locked down, but I’ve answered directly to her for too long not to know her moods. She’s just as unhappy with the way things fell out with the would-be assassin as we are. More so since it happened on her watch.
