I take everything in with a much more critical eye. Not as Kora Sinclair, suddenly, but something else entirely. A criminal.
“Introductions for those who are new.” Apollo grins. He’s one of the Greek gods, of course. The god of sun and light. All that’s missing from his outfit is a bow and arrows.
I get the feeling that his gaze is on me again, but I don’t dare check to see. My attention flickers around the room, and I grip the rail tightly.
“Three fights for Chosen tonight. Three winners who will walk away with…” His lips curl up again in a sneer. “Favors from the gods.”
It seems sacrilegious to even consider it, but I suppose that’s just my parents’ Catholic upbringing.
“And as always, my fellow hosts.” Apollo points up to our level, but to one of the smaller boxes—one that actually has two ornate seats. They’re more like thrones than chairs.
My breath gets caught in my throat.
One stands on the chair. He wears all red, too much like blood. His mask is made of black and red feathers, covering the upper half of his face. His red leather jacket is open, exposing his bare chest—and abs, like Apollo’s, glistening in the low light. His pants look like black suede.
He’s the one whose name was a mystery.
“Ares,” Marley whispers in my ear.
Ares. I test it out on my lips, silently mouthing his name. God of war. The violence—the blood—makes sense.
Someone shuffles on my other side. “Hades is a beast when he chooses to fight.”
I glance at the man beside me. His mask is purple and black, with little lightning streaks across it. Bold, if he’s attempting to be something akin to Zeus.
But then I register what he says, and I turn back to the gods on their thrones.
The second man… my stomach drops.
His mask is bone-white, like a skull without the lower jaw. The familiar twisting black metal horns rise from the forehead. I’ve seen those horns in my nightmares, looming out at me from the darkness.
His black suit jacket is open, similarly exposing his bare chest. Like Apollo’s gold streaks, his chest and neck are smeared with charcoal. A dark tattoo peeks out on his chest. There are no adornments on his mask. No jewels, just… a weird feeling under my ribs.
“Rumors are that Hades’ mask is a real human skull,” the Zeus man comments.
Marley nods, leaning back to talk around me. “I heard that, too.”
My stomach swoops. “He fights?”
“He hasn’t in a while. But maybe we’ll get lucky in the coming weeks. It’s always a show.” The man nudges me. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” I manage.
Maybe.
“Well?” Apollo calls to the audience. Ramping us up. Again, his voice isn’t loud. But it carries. “Are we ready?”
The crowd around him yells and stomps their feet. I grip the polished brass handrail in front of me, trying to shove away the sick feeling. He continues talking, introducing the fighters—the Chosen—but I block it out. I don’t care who fights.
Instead, I study Hades as subtly as possible. He lounges back on his chair now, his legs spread and chin resting on his fist. He gives off a disinterested energy, which seems at odds with the atmosphere in the room.
There’s a tattoo on his hand, disappearing down his forearm and into his sleeve.
How am I going to steal his mask? Rip it from his face like he tore mine away and hope to disappear?
Another roar from the crowd, and Marley’s elbow jabs into my side. I return my focus to the fighters, who have both stepped up on the raised platform. Their masks are much more practical: just fabric tied around their heads. The two men are bare-chested, slick with oil. Their black shorts don’t hide much, either.
Apollo doesn’t say anything, he just steps away.
And the fight begins without a word.
The first crunch of fist and cartilage has me staggering backward. I can feel the pain in my own nose. Their blood drips onto the sand, quickly swallowed by it. I keep moving backward, and although it doesn’t erase the noise, I can manage not seeing.
I can pretend the grunts are something else entirely.
I move into the hallway and close my eyes.
“Do you regret coming?”
I spin around, instantly on guard.
Ares stands in front of me. His red mask is even more grotesque up close. It seems like liquid sprayed across his mask really is blood staining the feathers.
The god of war.
I picture his hands on my arms, holding me while Hades declared me… invisible. Nothing. He sees me now, though, and maybe it’s because of the mask. Maybe I’m only valuable when I don’t have a name attached to me.
A bitter taste fills my mouth.
“I…”
I do regret coming with Marley. My best friend’s thirst for violence is much stronger than mine. She thought I’d like it because of what happened with my ex, but it’s that very thing that drives the nausea. And this place is a very real reminder of what happened three months ago.
“I don’t think I understand the fanfare.” I force my shoulders to raise in a slight shrug.
“We can do something about that.” He holds out his arm. “Come with me.”
I meet his gaze, and my heart skips a beat. His eyes are red. And unlike Apollo, there’s no makeup darkening the skin visible through the holes in his mask. It’s like he wants people to know he’s both human and monster at the same time.
That wasn’t apparent in the dark, the last time we met.
Something must happen with the fight, because the crowd erupts into wild cheers.
His chin lifts ever so slightly, and I take it as a challenge. Maybe he’s not used to resistance or people being squeamish about the fights. It’s ironic that the god of war has noticed when no one else even looked back.
I take his arm. My fingers curl around the warm leather of his jacket, in the crook of his elbow, and I let him guide me down the hallway. The raven-masked men at their stations eye us. Everyone else is on their balconies, focused on the fight below. It’s like we’re both invisible.
Truly, this time.
We round the corner and come to a stop at a black curtain. Ares sweeps it aside and reveals those two chairs he and Hades occupied earlier.
Hades is gone. Which is fine—I don’t need him to potentially recognize me. Ares might, too, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I should be scoping out the area. Figuring out how—and when—to take Hades’ mask.
Ares leads me around to his chair, then sits… and takes me with him.
I let out a little squeak as I fall into his lap, and his hands grip my hips.
“What are you doing?” My voice shakes—sue me.
“It’s more enjoyable if you know what’s going on.” This way, his lips are right at my ear. “The big guy has been coming to Olympus for months. Sometimes he loses, sometimes he wins. He’s a Titan, but no one knows that here.”
I find myself nodding along. The Titan looks rough below. They’re circling each other, both breathing heavily, but the bigger man favors his left leg. And then Ares’ words register, and my chest tightens. A Titan like Kronos. The burn on my wrist aches all over again, and I’m glad Marley didn’t point out my bracelet.