“Yes.”
“Then that already makes me different.” And not in a good way. I don’t say that bit. I don’t have a death wish.
That logic doesn’t so much as make a dent with him. “Then there’s no reason to blend in. Is there?”
I grit my teeth, giving a little growl of frustration.
Hades lowers his voice, and the timbre changes, sounding more genuine. “You’d stand out even if I dressed you in rags and covered you in mud.”
Only because I’m his chosen mortal, he means. There’s no need for my belly to turn squishy.
“Try not to make it worse, at least,” I mutter back, smoothing my hands down my pants.
He chuckles. Not in a mean or calculating way—he’s honestly amused. A shock wave of horror shudders through me, because it’s loud enough the others hear, and I feel every single eye that wasn’t already trained on us turn in our direction.
I really hate this sensation.
“Stars are my symbol,” Hera calls to Hades in a voice like the sweetest cream, smooth and lovely.
I search her face more closely. Something about the way she said that… I wonder if being Zeus’ queen has made her feel like not much is hers in this world. I know what that feels like.
“And?” Even I wince at Hades’ tone. He slides one hand in his pocket, and Hera eyes the move warily. “You may be the goddess of the stars,” he says, “but everyone knows who commands the darkness.”
Good grief. Does he have to antagonize every god and goddess right from the start?
If I make it home after this is all over, I’m switching to a different pantheon of gods.
I sigh. “You don’t have to deliberately provoke them.”
He says nothing to that.
The thing is…there’s something in his attitude that I envy. He doesn’t care. Not one shit is given if he’s welcomed here, let alone accepted or loved.
As if he can’t stand not being the center of attention and needs to take it back, Zeus claps his hands, and two rows of golden chairs appear to one side of the platform.
“Take your seats,” the current King of the Gods says.
Hades immediately takes me by the hand—his warm, roughened skin is somehow grounding even while his grip is insistent—and escorts me as though I am royalty. He doesn’t choose seats in the back row or off to the side. Nope. Hades places us front and center.
Zeus, who didn’t get there quite fast enough with his mortal, glares again as he takes the seat to my left, even as Samuel—that was his name, right?—gives me a nod. Terrific. I’m sitting directly between two gods who seem to be locked in some kind of silent battle of wills. Best seat in the house, apparently. Or a good place to get myself killed before I even know what’s happening.
“I am so fucked,” I mutter, then pin a smile to my lips that feels as though it might crack my face.
Hades leans over but says loud enough for Zeus to hear, “Only if you would like to be.”
Oh. My. Gods.
My spine goes as straight as if Zeus jammed an electric rod right down it, and I refuse to look at Hades. Or answer, for that matter. He doesn’t mean it. I know he doesn’t. He also doesn’t know the kinds of unfortunate responses I’ve been having to him. That kind of nonsense is just to rile Zeus up, for whatever reason, and doesn’t deserve an answer.
I can feel Hades watching me, probably with that taunting expression that I’m starting to resent.
“No?” he asks. “More’s the pity.”
Then he settles back in his seat, apparently happy to enjoy whatever new brand of torture is coming next.
“Zeles,” Zeus calls out, “let us have the rules for the Crucible.”
11
There’s Always A Twist
The Crucible.
Now it really sinks in. I’ve been selected to win a competition that not everyone returns from—and I have no one left behind to even bestow blessings upon if I don’t make it back. My heart starts to race, but I try to calm it by imagining the contest will be games, like chess or Twister. I can play chess. Maybe a footrace?
I lean toward Hades and whisper, “Like the Olympics?”
There is a world of difference between hurdles and something like pole-vaulting or even cage fighting. I’m trying not to let myself even consider anything close to monsters.
Hades points at the Daemones circling above us.
Zeles spreads his black wings wide, and with a downbeat, the Daemon twists in the air to land facing us. The man is clearly not a smiler. His warm brown skin is on full display as he isn’t wearing a shirt, showing off an impressive, chiseled torso. Maybe it’s hard to fashion shirts around the wings?
Horribly conscious of Hades at my side and the others all around, I force myself to focus as the other three Daemones line up behind Zeles.
“Welcome, champions,” Zeles says. Still no smile. “Congratulations. You have the honor of being selected to compete in the Crucible, representing the god or goddess who chose you.”
