Magic Trials (Half-Blood Academy #1)(19)

I sighed in dismay as I climbed the stairs with Yelena and Nat. We were the last row. I could no longer stall.

“Even if the ritual doesn’t kill me,” I murmured to myself, “someone here will murder me eventually.”

“You bet,” Cameron said. “If you don’t keep your mouth shut.”

We reached the top of the stairs. The ritual building’s steel and glass double doors opened in invitation.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the door, the famous phrase echoing chillingly in the back chambers of my head. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.





CHAPTER 6




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The Hall of Olympia was the most majestic place I’d ever seen. Man, even the columns were made of gold. The high ceilings were painted with murals depicting the war of the gods.

Didn’t they say that the winners wrote history?

Twelve Olympian gods’ statues stood close to the four walls, surrounding us. On the rising dais sat one large throne flanked by four smaller ones. All of them were adorned with rare gems, gold, and diamonds.

The biggest throne likely belonged to Ares, the God of War, who was leading Earth’s army against Lucifer and his demon hordes. The rest of the thrones were there for the four demigods.

One could easily tell which throne belonged to which demigod by the symbols carved into each one’s arms and high back.

Six initiates stood to the left side of the door, and the other six had been positioned on the right side with me. High-ranking Dominion officers lined up in two columns from the dais all the way to the door. A few elite students from the seniors, judging from their uniforms, were mixed into the ranks of the Dominion officers.

I bet they had already been selected as future leaders of Dominion of the Gods, which granted them the privilege of watching the show—seeing who lived and who died.

The initiates were as tense as me, but most of the clique looked more excited than anxious. They were the hounds on a blood trail, so confident of their godly heritage, no matter how distant it might be.

Demetra shot me several contemptuous glances, as if dying to tell me how much she looked forward to watching me embarrass myself in front of everyone before my painful death.

I glared back, of course.

Everyone had heard Jack’s diagnosis of me being one hundred percent weak human. No one in this room believed I had enough gods’ blood to survive this barbaric ritual.

Despite that, I tried to put up a brave fa?ade, but the blood had drained from my face as soon as I’d stepped into the hall of death.

I studied the empty thrones.

Where were the demigods? Were they all going to observe the ritual? I’d seen Axel at the top of the stairs before he vanished thirty minutes ago. Where was he now? My thoughts darted from foreboding to how his magical caress had made me wet and how his power had called to me.

“Attention!” a deep male voice boomed, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

For fuck’s sake. Was it necessary to yell like that when the entire atrium was as quiet as a graveyard?

A tall man wearing a white priest robe stepped into the center of the hall with a flaming dagger. Crimson, gold, and black runes danced on the blade. The crimson ones looked very much like they’d been drawn in blood.

Holy fuck! Was he going to use that dagger on us?

No way. I was not okay with that.

The other initiates also widened their eyes.

If we all protested, they might stop the ritual. I scrutinized the other initiates for even a spark of rebellion. My shoulders sagged, in stark contrast to the others, who all stood tall and proud—even the four other outsiders. I’d be the only one standing up to the priest, and one voice would be easily and quickly smothered.

The priest’s piercing silver eyes sparked with lightning as they swept over us, identifying him as a descendant of Zeus. The god’s blood must be potent in him.

I sniffed. Yep, his power grade was like seven.

He fixed his flashing gaze on me a second longer than the others, and I wondered what I’d done wrong this time.

Uh, I was inhaling and judging his power. I instantly put on a blank mask. No one liked to be sniffed at, which typically implied you had an unpleasant odor or something.

The priest shifted his gaze away from me and glided a hand in the air like a conductor, as if to signal the first violinist to start the first notes. But there was no orchestra but us, the nervous bunch of initiates and the stone-faced, cold-hearted observers.

However, at his wave, an operating table of wood and steel materialized between him and us.

My throat tightened; my breath shortened.

Shit, the priest was going to get everyone to lie on the table one by one and cut them with the blade and see who could survive it.

Could I still run?

Anxiety shot through me, and I felt the urge to pee. Should I raise my hand and ask for permission to go to the bathroom first?

It might be my only chance to escape.

Just when I was about to shoot my hand up, intense wind and light twirled through the hall. Power charged the air, whipping it like living electricity. Water, too, made an appearance as humidity drenched the air, thick and heavy against my skin.

Then three giant figures materialized, each sitting upon a throne. Everyone’s attention was glued to them, and the initiates’ eyes went round with awe.