Celebrations go late into the night. Ephor Apidanos Diodorus invites the entire city to our home to celebrate my victory. Our courtyard is so crowded, I cannot even see the jade tiles of the floor. The hearth in the center roars happily, sparks filling the sky, and the ever-flowing wine is bountiful. Despite the happiness in the air and wide smiles of my parents, a palpable chill has settled in the air.

Ligeia mingles among the crowd, pouring wine while her face is plastered with a fake smile. Pyrrhus stews by the hearth with Alkaios lingering beside him. I cannot hear what my brothers say to each other; the darkening of Pyr’s expression is all I need to know that it isn’t something that I’d like. Lykou leans against a wall, face tipped toward the sky.

I walk up to him and offer a tentative smile. “You put up a valiant challenge, my wolf.”

“I’m not the one who you should be trying to appease, Daphne.” He continues staring at the sky, eyes black in the dim light. “I only entered the race to impress you.”

I swallow. There is no heat in me to match that in his voice. Not anymore. I want to tell him that his affections are misplaced, but can’t find the words. Lykou shoves away from the wall and strides across the room. I reach for him.

“To the House of Diodorus,” Apidanos says, saving me from hurting Lykou, and raises his cup high. My adoptive father is a tall, lanky man with dark hair and deep frown lines, but the smile he has tonight is the brightest I’ve ever seen. “Our honor as sharp as a xiphos’s blade, thanks to our daughter, Daphne.”

My cheeks burning, I raise my own cup to match his. “What strength I have is due to you, dear Father.”

The words are nonsense, of course. Everyone knows I am a Mothakes.

Révna, dressed in her finest blue peplos, adds to the toast. “Where once we wished for the marriage of great wealth for you, now we need none.” I refrain from rolling my eyes. “We could not have asked the gods to bring us a better child.”

I glance quickly to my brothers, their faces unreadable.

My father roars, “To Daphne Diodorus, Shield of Helen!”

“Daphne Diodorus, Shield of Helen!” the partiers respond.

Despite my embarrassment, pride blossoms through me. My smile is genuine as I gulp down the contents of my cup and accept another. I earned this victory, and I didn’t need the gods’ help to do so.

My smile falters. One goddess had been there, in the arena. Her laugh that echoed around the space, the words she whispered into my ears—those were no memories. Could Nyx be here right now, too?

I spin around, searching the crowd. The goddess of night, with thick dark hair and ruby eyes, eludes me. Nyx bides her time.

My brothers still sit by the hearth. I slide between people, dodging elbows and hips. Pyrrhus sees me first, glancing up just as I break from the crowd. With a wordless sneer, he stands and leaves. Alkaios catches my wrist before I can follow.

“Don’t,” he says, voice rough. “You’ve done enough.”

I jerk from his grip. “I had no choice. The gods commanded me to protect Helen.”

“You should have let him win,” Alkaios says, shaking his head, “and protected Anassa Helen together.”

I scoff. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple for you.” He looks down his narrow nose at me. “An impertinent brat to the very end.”

He follows Pyrrhus, leaving me with a chill that no fire could abate. Apidanos slides between people, coming to wrap an arm around my shoulders. His eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “You have proven yourself once again, Daphne. May your brothers learn from your example.”

“Please don’t compare them to me.” I accept a kylix of wine and down it in one gulp. “They’re not too fond of me at the moment.”

“The love of siblings forgives all slights, eventually.” The ephor looks to where my brothers had just been and frowns. “When you were all much younger, I used to take you all to the Eurotas. Do you remember?”

“Barely.”

“I taught the three of you how to swim there.” Apidanos, eyes as blue as the river he speaks of, turns his gaze skyward. “You took to the water much more quickly than either of your brothers, and Pyrrhus hated you for it.” My head snaps toward him and he continues, “Pyr could barely even float. One day when the skies turned dark and the Anemoi fought, the water was suddenly too rough for even you. You fought and fought, but were pulled inexorably down the Eurotas.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” I admit, voice soft.

A wan smile tugs at his lips. “That’s because you were unconscious when you were pulled from the water. Pyrrhus dove right in after you and was dragged beneath the current again and again. Révna was frantic, thinking that we’d lost both of you. The Eurotas would not truly harm either of you, though. Gasping and spitting out water, Alkaios suddenly emerged with you both tucked beneath each of his arms.”

My heart clenches. I open my mouth to ask for more, but my father shakes his head.

“Alkaios needn’t have worried. As I said, the Eurotas would never allow you to be hurt. Not while the gods watch over you. I could not hold Pyrrhus back when he thought you were in danger. And Alkaios jumped in after you both without me ever noticing.” He squeezes my shoulder. “That love is in them both still, just masked by hurt. Sparta has broken them, as it does far too many men.”

My father leaves me sifting my thoughts like sand between the fingers. I have no taste for the wine or food. A small touch on my waist makes me spin, but nobody stands behind me. Then a gentle hand teases my curls hanging down my spine, deft fingers tripping through my locks.

“It is dangerous. You coming here.” I turn to face Apollo. Despite my ire with him and his family, I cannot help the smile that pulls at my lips.

He’s disguised himself well. His hair is no longer the burnished bronze I loved running my fingers through, but instead matches the black tresses of the Spartans milling around us. He’s a tad shorter than normal, so now he doesn’t tower over the mortals and draw attention. His voice is the same, though, and his blue eyes earnest, as he says, “I needed to congratulate you. My father is very pleased.”

I raise my chin, smile slipping. “I hope Poseidon is stewing somewhere in the Aegean.”

“Always.” His laugh mingles with my own. “I cannot stay long or they will notice me. Meet me in the garden once the party is over?”

My core stirs with intoxicating heat. I ignore it and pull my face into a stern frown. Perhaps I am giddy with victory, but I allow, “I can spare a few minutes. If you’re even a moment late, I’m going to bed.” At his wicked grin, I add, “Without you.”

He winks, then turns into the crowd, disappearing from sight.

“The god of prophecy is becoming reckless.” Ligeia’s musky sandalwood scent wafts over to me, despite the press of the crowd.

I spin. “How do you manage to sneak up on me every time?”

“It is quite easy when your thoughts are in the clouds like Perseus astride Pegasus.” She grabs me gently by the upper arm, her hands warm and leathery. “I am proud of you, my kataigída.”

“Thank you.” I bow my head.

With two firm fingers below my chin, she raises my head. Her eyes, even the clouded one, are steely when they meet mine. “Before, you did as the gods commanded to save Pyrrhus. To what end are you now serving them?”

How much can I tell her and how much does she already know?

My voice is low so no others can hear when I reply, “To protect my anassa. The gods fear for Helen’s safety.”

Her lined lips purse. “I’m sure protecting his daughter is well within Zeus’s considerable capabilities. No, this is about something more. Keep your wits close. The gods will chain you up in their secrets and tricks if they can.” She pats me on the cheek. “Apollo would upend the world for you, Daphne, and the gods will not take kindly to that.”

She moves on to talk to my brothers. I ignore the trepidation stirring inside me, firmly shoving it down to the pit of my stomach. Still, it lurks and fills me with a queasy sickness. The wine I indulged in only moments before threatens to rise in my throat.

Many more cups of wine later, the revelers have finally begun to herd themselves home. Lykou disappears, and my parents are too deep into their cups to notice as I dip from the room. The celebration has gone on so long that even Eos starts to rise, painting the horizon lavender. I tread barefoot across the silent garden.

Apollo’s hair is bronze once more, his normal height returned.

Perhaps it is the wine, perhaps it is the memory of him, powerless and human from last summer, but despite all that has transpired between us—the death and secrets—everything in me screams to hold him.

I wrap my arms around myself and notch my chin high. “I await your father’s praises, and Poseidon’s apologies. They were fools to ever doubt me after—”

“Last summer?” A small, almost tentative smile pulls at the corner of Apollo’s mouth. “Fools indeed.”

He steps forward, a cool breeze carrying his cedarwood scent over to me. I breathe it in deeply through my nose.

“You asked for honesty, Daphne,” he says, taking another step. “I can give it to you.”

“For a price?”

“Everything has a price.” He reaches out, brushing a curl behind my ear and making my heart trip. “Ask me a question. Any question. I will answer it for you if I can have but one, single kiss in return.”

One question for one, single kiss. Hunger pools in my core like liquid fire. The fire of my fury fights for dominance in my mind, reminding me of his secrets. We gaze at each other, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“Why, Daphne?”

Panic seizing me, I spin around.

Pyrrhus stands at the edge of the garden, the rising sun painting the furious lines of his face with pale light. His hands are bunched into fists.

“Nothing happened,” I promise, despite the heat in my face proclaiming me for a liar.

“Why do you even still talk to him?” he asks again between gritted teeth.

“I don’t—” I stumble, cold sweeping over me. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Rage flares across his face, there and then gone only a moment later, but tangible enough to get me to step in front of Apollo. My hands likewise curl into fists.

“He is dangerous, Daphne,” Pyrrhus says, voice so low I barely hear him. “Or did you forget what his sister did to me? What he did to Lykou? What his family did to our mother?”

I could never forget. No response is forthcoming, my tongue tied behind my teeth. All I can do is level my brother with a baleful glare.

“You’re better than this,” he spits, voice rising dangerously loud. He marches forward, steps jerky.

“Careful what you choose to do now, young buck,” Apollo says with lethal quiet from behind me.

Slowly, I turn to see the barely concealed fire in the god’s eyes. Terror dashes across my chest. In my mind’s eye, I see Lykou’s transformation again, hear the curse Apollo inflicted upon Theseus.

Pyrrhus is too lost in rage to care. “Or what, bdelyròs? You’ll turn me into a deer again? Do you truly think my sister will forgive you so easily next time?”

He reaches out as if to yank me away. Before I can think, I take a step back. My brother blanches.

Without turning, I say to Apollo, “Leave. My brother and I must have words. Alone.”

As tangible as a hand on my shoulder, Apollo’s presence vanishes from the garden, leaving just Pyrrhus, myself, and the swaying flowers around us. They reach for my ankles as I stride toward my brother, as if Demeter begs me to stand still. Olympian presence harangues me always, even when I’m trying to prove that the gods don’t control me.

He knows that, too. His face is pinched, blotched with furious red. “They cannot keep their claws from you.”

“Apollo left when I asked,” I say, my eyes imploring. “He will not turn you into an animal.”

His voice low, he says, “What will he do when he tires of you?”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and cold.

“He should fear what I’ll do when I tire of him.” I force a hollow laugh.

“This isn’t a game. Maybe for them—it always is for them—but not for you.”

“I know.” My lips pinch together. “I’m no fool.”

He nods. “That’s right. So why play along with their games, Daphne, unless you have something to gain?”

I blink, taken aback. “What are you implying?”

Despite our equal height, my brother looks down his nose at me when he asks, “What did you offer Apollo in return for winning the agon? Is that why you were with him in this garden?”

Betrayal, like none I have ever felt before, hits me as keenly as a slap across the face. “How can you even ask that?”

I would have expected this from a random Spartan, perhaps even Alkaios last year, but not Pyrrhus. Not the brother who cradled me even as our father disowned us all on the day of my birth. Not the brother I journeyed to Tartarus and back to save.

“You think…” I swallow, struggling to find the words that voice my hurt. “You truly believe that I would barter my own body to win that tournament? To steal your victory, your chance of redemption? I may have won at their behest, but I did so without their help.”

“Liar,” Pyrrhus says with a snarl. “I saw you leap for the hoop. You could not have flown through the air like that without their help.”

It takes every ounce of my patience not to slap my own brother across the face. I take a deep, shaking breath. “I won fairly.”

He steps close, looking me over with unconcealed disdain. “Did you?”

I was fast. Too fast. “Don’t let your jealousy blind you. There will be other opportunities for your redemption.”

“For you to steal as well?” he snaps.

“You’re acting like a child,” I say, my voice like the lash of a whip to match his.

Silence, like the dreadful calm before a storm, settles between us. He opens his mouth, closes it as if tasting the words for himself, before finally saying, “Tell yourself whatever you need to. You and I both know that, no matter how you might try to spin it, there was a small, insurmountable part of you that entered to feel that rush of victory.”

He leaves me then, standing alone in the garden. My breathing is heavy but controlled. No tears spill from my eyes.

Because, though I don’t want to admit it aloud, some part of me did crave that victory. Not for the gods, but for myself.

From the corner of my eye, movement attracts my attention. On the edge of the garden, shadows flicker. My hand immediately snaps to the knife I keep atop my thigh at all times. I’m tensed, blade raised and ready to spring at the goddess of night… But, instead, three others step forward.

The Moirai, the keepers of destiny and children of Nyx, glide toward me. They are not the crones the stories paint them to be. One is young, far younger than I, with poppy curls and pale skin. One is older, maybe twenty years my senior, and regal in bearing with tan skin and sleek brown hair. The third, of age with me, is the spitting image of their mother. I have no doubt who these three women are.

“Our mother sends her regards,” the oldest says. Her eyes, like Nyx’s, are ruby pools. “We have words of portent that need to be shared.”