Fear grips me tight by the throat. “How is this possible?”

“You returned the Olympians to the height of their power.” Ares’s hand—the one Lykou ripped off last summer—is encased in molten black metal and caresses my neck. Sweat slicks down my spine. I doubt I will get the chance to dagger him again. “And that includes me.”

Oh gods. If Ares was masquerading as Theseus, Nyx and Hermes could have been playing anyone the entire time.

I try to tear away, but his fingers suddenly tighten on my throat. My breath abandons me. With impossible strength, he lifts and slams me into the wall. The palace seems to shake.

I claw at the hand holding me. Stars form in front of my eyes.

Ares leans close, sneering. “I will enjoy every second of watching you fight for your life.”

I jam my thumbs into his eyes. My nails dig in, cutting deep.

He roars, dropping me. I gasp for breath and shuffle away on the floor as fast as I can. He stomps toward me, ichor dripping down his face. His eyes are already healing and they zero in on me with murder in their dark depths.

“What is going on here?”

I climb to my feet and spin, dagger raised. Odysseus stands there. Moonlight frames him, painting his face in shadows. As subtly as I can, I sniff, scenting for the lavender of Nyx. Only the sea and the sour tang of olives emanates from Odysseus as he steps toward us, genuine confusion flickering across his features. He turns to Ares, once more in Theseus’s form.

“The young woman seemed lost,” he says, holding his hands out, placating. The metal hand has been replaced by one too devoid of calluses and scars to not be an illusion.

“In her own palace?” Odysseus raises an eyebrow. “Seems unlikely.”

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe.” Ares-as-Theseus sneers, dropping the friendly facade. He considers Odysseus, a large vein in his throat pulsing. Finally, he inclines his head and says, “I will see you both on the morrow. Athenians know when to take their leave.” He glares at Odysseus. “Even if those of Ithaca don’t.”

He strides past us into the megaron where soldiers and kings snore.

Heart thundering in my chest, I turn to my would-be savior. “My thanks.”

Odysseus shrugs. “It seems like you handled the situation just fine, but I thought it best to interrupt before things got too heated.”

“Had you arrived earlier, you would have saved me a massive headache.” Though not too late to see Ares in his true form.

Any mortal would be horrified right now. Perhaps Odysseus isn’t quite mortal, either. My brows narrow with suspicion. He couldn’t be Hermes. The smell isn’t right. Besides, Hermes wouldn’t have stopped Ares from ripping my head from my shoulders.

“As always, your wise counsel is appreciated.” I move to step past him and return to Helen’s chambers, yet Odysseus grabs me firmly by the wrist.

“What did he want with you?” he asks, eyes stormy even in the dim light. No, not another godly deceiver.

I should cower beneath the gaze of a king, but I’ve never even bowed my head to a god.

“What do all men seem to want?” I raise my chin. “To control women.”

I yank my wrist away and sprint to Helen’s rooms.

I slam into Apollo’s firm chest the moment I barrel through the doorway.

He lets me drag him into the garden and says, “Your face tells me that there is much I need to know.”

I hiss, “He’s here. Ares is here.”

Apollo’s face blanches. “What?”

“He’s Theseus.” I grab his upper arms, nails digging into his dark tan skin. “He’s pretending to be Theseus.”

Before the god can react, a deep voice fills the garden. “We have to do something.”

Both of our heads snap upward. My hands grip Apollo’s hard arms and he drags me into a dark corner.

The voice continues on the other side of the wall. “There is nothing left for us to do. They agreed to the proposal.”

“Then make a new offer,” the deep voice—Agamemnon—replies. “One they cannot accept.”

“This is why you cannot secure bargains for Mycenae, brother.” Menelaus’s unmistakable voice echoes through the night. “You have no tact. No strategy.”

“And you bend too easily,” Agamemnon says with a snarl. “Has hiding behind Sparta’s army made you so weak?”

I angle my head to hear better. The Brothers Atreus must be passing on the other side of the wall. Their voices are barely above a whisper, but the silent night makes their words flitter high into the sky.

“We must be careful.” Menelaus’s voice is rough. “We cannot incite a war with Troy blindly. We need to find a way to rally our allies against them.”

A war. Even though the Trojans agreed to the Hellespont agreement.

“Then we fabricate an excuse.” Ares’s voice—unmistakable, coated in death and decay—is coaxing, filling me with an icky sweetness. I’ll kick myself from here to the Underworld for not recognizing it sooner.

Apollo stiffens, his arms tightening around my waist as he holds me in the darkness.

“We cannot let them leave,” Ares continues. “We need Priam to declare war. It is the only way.”

A moment of silence passes. I lick my lips.

Finally, Agamemnon says, “If we cannot get Priam to declare war, we will declare it on them.”

“But the Hellespont—”

“Damn the Hellespont,” Agamemnon snaps. “We can fabricate some other excuse for capturing the princes. They attacked you, they assaulted your wife, they insulted the gods. Anything. Priam isn’t here, and the other kings in this palace are just biding their time waiting for a war.”

My heart thunders in my chest, so loud it must be heard by Hades. I hold my breath and wait for my king to call out his brother’s madness.

Finally, with a silky smoothness that makes the world fall from beneath my feet, Menelaus says, “If we’re to capture them, we must be quick about it. No loose ends. Kill the ephor and his family.”

The Trojans are staying with my father. He means my family. My heart leaps into my throat.

Agamemnon says something else that I cannot hear, but the last of his words are unmistakable. “I will send Ajax and his men to capture them. Nestor will distract Odysseus. You prepare a cell. The deed will be done before the moon sets.”

The pair have moved on, past my line of hearing. Apollo’s supernatural hearing can still catch their words, and his skin grows paler by the second.

“You must warn your father,” he finally says. “The soldiers will be at his home soon.”

I grab Apollo’s arm and dig my nails deep into his skin as I hiss, “Go to Ligeia. Warn her. I need to tell Helen.”

“Helen?” Apollo likewise catches my wrist. “Why bring the queen into this?”

“Because her husband threatens to drag my people into war,” I say, raising my chin. “And she could be the only one who can stop him.”