Page 202 of The Games Gods Play
Like surviving the final Labor and getting the fuck away from this place. Never seeing him again.
Or maybe I can run now. Skip that last challenge. I can’t win anyway…
I have five pearls left. How long can I keep away from the gods with those?
99
Plans & Schemes
I take a bite of the mango-and-strawberry sorbet cake two satyrs made for my dessert tonight and groan. “Oh my gods, Z, you need to taste this.”
Zeles grunts, staring at the cards in his hand fiercely. “Don’t call me Z.”
He hates it, which is why I do it.
The Daemones take turns babysitting me. They’re not so bad once you get to know them, and I welcome the distraction, given that they’re the only thing in here to keep me company other than the computer. Though I still haven’t figured out how to make Zeles crack a smile. But he’ll play card games with me, using the food slot in the glass wall to pass cards back and forth.
After three days here, I’m thinking of never leaving. Peace, quiet, entertainment, privacy of a sort—in the bathroom, at least—and meals to die for. The cooks figured out that I have a thing for fruit and have managed to work it into every meal. Like the bite of heaven in my mouth right now.
And every single second, every moment of every day, I am mentally working through how I’m going to face Hades before the next Labor and how I’m going to move on with my life after this is over.
That and trying to hold back how that makes me feel.
I shovel in another bite and pick up a card, then grin. “Gin.” The word comes out garbled around the food in my mouth as I lay my cards down.
Zeles grunts, then scowls, and I laugh.
“I only needed one more,” he grumbles and tosses the cards in his hands to the ground in a huff. Then he eyes me narrowly. “You’ve got to be using your thief skills to cheat.”
“Nope. I never did master the card shark or sleight-of-hand stuff for that.”
He gives me a dubious look.
I swallow my bite. “You’re going to have to pick those up, you know. I can’t from this side.”
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, but thanks to the wings, he can’t, so he usually stands and stalks around as he thinks.
He grunts again.
There’s a knock on the door that leads into this row of about five cells, and he stomps over and swings it wide.
“Lyra has a visitor,” a Daemon named Bia tells him. “He’s been checked.”
Even though I know “he” can’t be Hades—he’s not allowed—my stupid heart, which apparently can’t learn hard lessons, kicks into overdrive.
I’ve had a visitor each day, always in the evenings after dinner. Cerberus and Charon have both come by once each. I sit up straighter to see who comes through the door.
Zai walks in.
My heart puts on the brakes.
His face is a study of both fascinated interest in seeing the inside of my prison…and guilt.
I get to my feet and wave. “Hi.”
“They’re treating you well?” he asks as he approaches, keeping an eye on Zeles.
I smile, trying to show Zai I’m fine. “Yes.”
