Page 56 of Flame and Fury

Poseidon has a whole lot going on with his clothing. His cream-colored linen pants are way too tight and are obviously meant to draw attention to his package. Which I staunchly refuse to look at. His shirt is equally as fitted. It’s a white button-down with a blue seashell and fish print that decorates the shoulders. I think he only has one button latched because I can see his belly button. His sandy blond hair flows past his shoulders in beachy waves and he has a beard to match. Like Zeus, he’s an attractive man, but there's something so off-putting about them both. Or maybe it’s because my Fury is roaring at me, screaming that all these beings have done horrendous things.

Hera and Aphrodite are both wearing stunning gowns. The way they eye each other and me tells me there’s a competition raging about who looks the best. Where Aphrodite has flowing blonde locks, Hera’s hair is dark as midnight and her skin almost deathly pale. Her jaw is sharp, her eyes shrewd. There’s not one ounce of warmth to the woman. The white dress she’s wearing could be a wedding dress, its softness a stark contrast to the rest of her appearance.

Aphrodite, on the other hand, is dressed for sin, in a slinky gold dress that moves like liquid against her skin. Her long pale hair is a silky fall of sunlight. It gives her an air of innocence that’s completely fabricated. She might be down to fuck in an instant, but that doesn’t make her any warmer than Hera.

“The guest of honor has finally graced us with her presence,” Zeus says, his voice booming and not at all pleasant or welcoming.

There’s probably a protocol I’m supposed to follow when in the presence of the deities, but I’m not an elite. No one taught me how to greet the gods. Why would they? People from my neighborhood never see a deity in person. Besides, I don’t want to bow to these monsters. None of the individuals in front of me deserve a single ounce of my respect.

So, I stand there and wait.

“Is she confused? She looks confused.” Aphrodite leans toward Poseidon, but she doesn’t bother whispering.

“Don’t you know what you’re supposed to do when you’re in a room with divinity?” Hera looks down her nose at me, her voice as haughty and severe as her pointed chin.

I look her straight in the eye. “No.”

Hera’s eyes narrow. “You bow. You lower your eyes and respect your betters.”

I don’t do any of those things.

“Oh,” is all I say. My Fury is practically giddy, buzzing under my skin and ready to be unleashed. We bow to no god, especially not these pricks.

Five sets of irritated eyes focus on me when a gong sounds. Godsdamn, why is a dinner gong necessary? We aren’t out working in the fields. We’re already in the room where dinner is being served.

The endlessly long table has been removed since the last time I was here. In its place is a round one. Right. How would you decide which god gets to sit at the head of the table? And would Nathaniel give up his spot in his own home? Even for a god.

It’s Nathaniel that breaks up the standoff. “Shall we sit?”

He holds out an arm for Hera and then another to Aphrodite. They both take hold with disgruntled looks. I guess they don't enjoy Nathaniel’s company any more than I do.

There are only six settings at the table, so I don’t have to wander around to find my spot. I wait until everyone else has found their seats and take the last one that’s open—the seat between Nathaniel and Zeus. Not that any of the others would be preferable. It really doesn’t matter because they’re all too close. In some small way, maybe this is better because I don’t have to look directly into Zeus’s eyes while we eat. Instead, it’s Aphrodite who’s straight across from me.

She picks up her glass of wine, letting it dangle from her fingers as she reclines in her chair. Her head tilts as she inspects my face, hair, and chest.

“Those bandages really ruin the ensemble.”

I don’t look away from Aphrodite, but I feel the eyes of the other three gods and Nathaniel fix on me.

“Hazard of the game.” I’m thankfully interrupted by a servant setting a plate in front of me. It's not oysters this time, but it’s some strange brown paste smeared across the plate and a curl of celery. This looks like the plate after someone has already finished eating.

“Ah, but you’re not in the games any longer, are you?” Zeus’s voice rumbles in the large room. I feel it vibrate under my skin.

“Neither is your champion,” Poseidon says with a chuckle before I’m forced to answer.

“Yes, but yours was the very first to be out of the game.” Hera lashes back at Poseidon with a cold crack.

“Mine was just some pathetic human. I didn’t have my son in the competition, did I?” Poseidon snaps. “I got the short end of the stick this time around. You all hand-picked your champions, but I had to be the sacrificial lamb that had a human competitor. The only saving grace was that he died in the first challenge, so I didn’t have to continue watching him make a fool of himself.”

I barely keep the disgust off my face, but then the rest of his words sink in. My head jerks over to Poseidon. Hand-picked?

He flicks his little curl of celery off his plate and waves a server over to take the dish away. Then he turns his head to look at me. “Although, you’re human and not nearly so disappointing.” His eyes drop to the bandages on my chest and then he shrugs. “At least you were interesting to watch.”

“Some humans can be useful.” Nathaniel turns his beady eyes in my direction. He lifts his wineglass to his lips but doesn’t take a drink. “That little stylist has been quite helpful in sharing information about you.”

Poseidon chuckles and the blood in my veins ices over. He’s talking about Estella. A small jab of betrayal swoops in my chest, but I can’t say I’m completely surprised. Deep down, I think I knew. Estella works for the games. That means she works for the clerics and the gods.

“Oh, did you not know? Did you think you were friends?” Nathaniel makes a sympathetic sound, but his grinning face shows the truth of his feelings.

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