Begrudgingly, I tuck the pipes into the folds of my chiton and march up the stairs. I know not to expect Hermes in the palace again anytime soon. Even before he betrayed me, he had a habit of disappearing at a moment’s notice—or, rather, in a flutter of wings.

“What a birdbrain,” I mutter to myself, climbing the stairs and turning down the correct hallway to the sparring ring.

But, in the back of my mind, his words still linger.

Ten days. An impossibly short amount of time. When Apollo and I traveled last summer, before his powers began to truly wane, we crossed Greece in less than a week to reach Mount Kazbek. What have the Achaeans done to have Poseidon help them so?

My steps are urgent as I rush to the sparring ring. Whether or not Hermes has told me the truth, I must let the Trojans know. I march across the threshold of the training arena. The outdoor space is lined with racks of weapons, and packed with soldiers and warriors and nobles alike all preparing. So similar to the gymnasion I left behind in Sparta.

I stop outside the ring where Hippolyta currently trounces Paris. She flings the prince over her shoulder, and he slams hard into a wooden post.

Paris groans. “We’re training. Not actually trying to kill each other, Princess.”

“I see no reason for us to hold back.” Hippolyta sniffs, tossing her braid over her shoulder.

“Trouncing the prince can wait,” I call, jumping over the wooden railing. “I need to speak with you and your sister.”

“You think you can just call a meeting with the Queen of the Amazons?” Hippolyta’s grin matches mine. “What gives you that authority, Daphne?”

I open my mouth to retort. She leaps across the space between us before I can say a word. She catches me around the middle. We tumble into the sand.

I hook a leg around her waist and catch her hands in mine. I dodge the swing of her head, her dark hair stinging my eyes. With a grunt, I flip her over. I keep one foot hooked under her hips, ignoring the pain in my ankle as I rest the full weight of my body on top of her.

She chuckles. “I don’t remember you using that move in Foloi.”

“Not exactly practical against a centaur.”

We circle each other, the movement so similar to what I did only moments ago in that hallway with Hermes. My back hits the railing. I should have monitored my surroundings better. Paidonomos would have made me run laps if I made that mistake back in Sparta.

Her fist flies toward my face. I duck.

Right into her next punch.

Nyx shoves my face into the corridor wall. A short scream escapes me. She slams an arm into the back of my shoulders, digging my chest into the wall and holding me immobile.

“The gods do not deserve your allegiance, my sweet. They do not deserve the powers of Olympus.”

My teeth sing, and I stumble back. Blood fills my mouth. I shake my head and spit it at our feet.

“Maybe you should have waited until you were less distracted to challenge me, Daphne.” Hippolyta’s voice is crooning.

“Then she’d be waiting for all eternity,” Lykou calls from behind me.

“I didn’t challenge you. I wanted to talk to your sister.” I don’t turn from Hippolyta, whose legs have bent slightly, preparing to jump. “And you, Lykou, should be watching over our queen.”

“She’s in a private audience with King Priam. I wasn’t allowed—”

“You should have waited outside the council chamber, then,” I snap, turning. Never mind this nonsense. I should be telling Helen about the Achaeans.

Hippolyta’s sandaled foot catches me square in the center of my back. I’m knocked into the wooden fence.

“You think you can stop me? I will stalk your every step, stall your every turn. The powers of Olympus have set like the sun, and I intend for them to never rise again.”

I gasp for air. Shoving to my feet, I lean against the railing for balance and search the sparring crowd around Lyta and me. That may have been a memory, but that doesn’t mean that Nyx isn’t here, plotting my downfall alongside that of Olympus.

My fingers dig into the railing, splinters threatening to pierce the skin beneath my nails.

“Being distracted nearly got you killed last summer in Foloi.” Lyta chuckles behind me, the sound far from mirthful, though. “Almost got you stomped on by a hundred centaurs.”

“You never told me how they managed to capture you.” I wipe sand from my lips with the back of my hand. It does very little. “It’s only fair.”

“I’ve seen you fight better than you just did, Daphne.” Hippolyta tugs on her leather vambraces, likely ones meant specifically for training, judging by how worn they are. “So I will not comment on the mess everyone here just witnessed. But I will offer you a chance to redeem yourself. You are a capable fighter, and Sparta has trained you well, but not for war. They never train women for such things in Greece, even in Sparta. You might know how to best an opponent one-on-one, but I’ve seen you fight when surrounded by enemies. The distractions overtake you. You don’t know where to focus, who to attack first.”

A retort itches its way up my throat. But she’s right.

My fear might kill me on the battlefield as swiftly as any enemy soldier.

Hippolyta softens her words with a smile. She tosses me a sword that leans against the fence, then picks up her own. “We will start with swords. Better to train with the shorter blade than the long dory a Spartan would normally use. Especially in a combat setting. Then once we’ve mastered the sword to my liking, I’ll let you move back to the dory.”

The air in Troy is dry compared to the sticky heat of early summer in Sparta. The warm breeze kicks up the dust around us. Every muscle in my body aches by the time I limp from the sparring ring and up the twisting palace stairs. Delicious aches, but tender nonetheless.

I cross the threshold of my room and a blush rises to my cheeks.

Apollo leans against the far edge of the bath, his bronze hair framed by the setting sun behind him. Gold and red light fragments across the surface of the water, doing nothing to hide the sheer nakedness of him beneath it. In my mind, I don’t bother ripping off my sweat- and sand-stained clothes. I leap into the bath fully clothed and smother the god with kisses. I press my hands against his warm shoulders and tuck my chin into the crook of his neck.

Apollo’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re adorable when you’re thinking too hard.”

Despite the hunger coursing through me, I plant my feet wide and raise a dagger between us. The metal glints in the firelight. “When we fought Minos, what was the first thing I did after I made sure Lykou was alive?”

Confusion flickers across his handsome face, before his brows narrow. My other hand inches toward the knife at my hip as silence yawns wide.

Finally, voice hoarse, he says, “You grabbed your bedroll. It was stained with blood and you wanted to wash it out and—”

“I scrubbed a hole right through the fabric,” I finish for him.

Still, I hesitate. Nyx has fooled me with illusions and shadows before. My caution must be written all over my face because he stills.

“You have no reason to fear me.” Apollo shakes his head and climbs from the bath. He wraps a golden silk sheet around his tan waist, the fabric clinging to the wet, hard lines of his body.

“Of all the stupid things to say, that is the worst.” I clench the hilt of my dagger. “Nyx has tricked me into nearly killing you before.”

“Zeus bound my power, but I will try to show you.” Apollo holds out a palm and light blossoms to life there. It sputters, flashing, then dies. “Nyx manipulates shadows. I manipulate light.”

“That means nothing. She’s ruthless. She knows your weaknesses, my weaknesses, and will stop at nothing until she gets what she wants, even killing me.”

“See that wall out there?” He points to the glimmering golden wall that surrounds the city. “I built that wall myself. A drop of my ichor in every stone. Not to protect these people, but the secrets this city keeps. The closest I ever got to death wasn’t last summer. It was when I nearly drained myself building that wall. Anyone with ill intentions for this city will be unable to step inside unless invited.”

“If the magic of that wall is supposed to keep any enemies from stepping inside, why was Hermes here today?”

“What? Here? In the palace?” Apollo jerks as if stung, then his voice sharpens. The setting sunlight reflects off the muscled planes of his tan chest. “Did he threaten you?”

I drag my gaze from his chest. “He shouldn’t be able to, remember? Hermes warned me that the Achaeans will arrive in ten days. Why is Poseidon helping them?”

“What are you talking about?” Apollo’s frown deepens and he slices an impatient line through the air with his hand. “What lies did Hermes fill your head with?”

I ignore the urge to wrap my arms around myself. “He told me that the Achaeans are being helped by the gods.”

“Poseidon is doing nothing of the sort. In fact, Agamemnon insulted Artemis by ransacking her temple in Sparta after you left, so my sister commanded nobody help him and his fleet cross the Aegean.”

“But Hermes said—”

“You should know better by now not to trust a single word that he says.” The silk sheet pulls taut against his wet skin as he turns, eyes narrowing. “Need I remind you of how he stabbed us all in the back?”

“I’m the one who quite literally stabbed him. In the back.” I give an exaggerated sigh. “Not an uncommon thing in your family, I’m sure.”

Apollo flashes me an impatient look.

I lean forward. “What does it feel like to be bridled like a horse by your own father? Can’t feel good, I’m sure.”

“Not completely tethered. I’m here, aren’t I?” Not bothering to dress further, he plucks some grapes from a bowl and sits, dangling his legs in the water.

“Using the same magic that allows Hermes to evade your father?”

“Yes,” he says curtly.

“But what about when I need you?” The question slips from my mouth before I can stop it.

He looks up. His face is almost hopeful.

I add, “On the battlefield.”

I’ll never admit out loud that some part of me might need him off the battlefield as well. If my words hurt, he does not show it, which only serves to sting myself.

He says, “I’ll be there.”

Something tugs within my chest. “What do Ares and Hermes have to gain from this war?”

Apollo’s lips press together in a heavy line. A sure sign that he is biting back something. The same face he made many times last summer. That look is exactly why I can’t cross that distance between us. Too many secrets.

“Give me a reason to trust you, Apollo.”

He rolls a grape between his fingers, as if weighing how much he can tell me. “Those lines that were drawn up on Olympus? Those are merely for show. Hera, Athena, and Poseidon won’t strike against Troy, but neither will they help these people. Troy is a valuable city to the gods.” He meets my eyes. “Just as the Garden of the Hesperides is.”

“Is there a source of Olympian power here?”

He shakes his head.

“What else aren’t you telling me?”

“If I tell you the truth, he’ll…” Apollo bites back a curse, hands curling into fists around the grapes. Red juice drips between his fingers. “Zeus would kill you before I even got out five words.”

I swallow and lean back from the heated vehemence of his proclamation. I rest a hand against the gold circling my navel. Artemis can hear everything we say right now and therefore so can Apollo’s father.

“I know I should be, but I’m not afraid of him.” Only the woman who haunts my dreams every night.

He stands. “And that is why I’m afraid for you.”

My breath catches.

He says, “Your courage will kill you.”

We stare at each other a long moment. Apollo was my adversary once and possibly still is. My eyes rise from his lips to the earnestness of his eyes. He breathes hard, searching my face, before pulling something from the folds of his sheet. Silver catches in the fragmented moonlight. In his hand is a bangle, woven like vines around three golden stones. They begin to shine, glowing brighter and brighter until light fills the room and my eyes begin to water. When I blink, the light suddenly dims, disappearing in an instant.

He stands and walks around the bath. “I made this for you.” His mouth quirks to the side. “Not those damn vambraces you turned your nose at.”

I take the bangle from him. The metal is surprisingly warm, pleasantly so. When I turn it one way, the gold stones shimmer with pink and cerulean blue, and then green and lavender when I turn it again. “What are these?”

“They are made with an old power.” He takes it from my hands and, as gently as one would with a newborn, clasps it around my biceps. The bangle holds firm, a sudden comfort, and the stones shift to a dull gold the moment it hits my skin. “Older even than Olympus.”

“What do they do?” I rotate my arm, trying to make the stones glow again, but they remain astutely dark.

“They will protect you,” Apollo says. Before I can tell him that I don’t need protecting, he adds, “Even when you cannot.” His face darkens. “When I cannot.”

I want to argue and take off the bracelet, but the warm metal fills me with a quiet comfort, something I cannot name or place. Those stones, three of them hardly bigger than the nail on my pinky, speak to me of a time before I was born. A time when my ancestors were born of storms and ash.

My thoughts are now as wild as a tempest. I could lose myself in the eye of that storm, drift into its epicenter. Toward him.

“Promise me you won’t be reckless,” he says, a deep edge to his voice.

“And lie to you?” My voice shakes, and I force myself to step back. “Darling, I’m always reckless.”

“Daphne?” Helen’s voice rings from the doorway.

Apollo, the sodden sheet, and bowl of grapes all vanish. All that remains is a scent of cedarwood that harangues me, and the bracelet clasped around my arm.

“You won’t believe what King Priam just told me. Apparently, my oaf of a brother-in-law ransacked the Temple of Artemis just after we left. He blamed her for our escape and so Poseidon has brought unseasonably dangerous storms to the Aegean in retribution. It will be months before they can cross the sea.” More jubilant than I’ve seen her in weeks, Helen strides through the door, emerald dress billowing behind her, and wrinkles her nose upon seeing me. “Oh, darling. You look and smell ghastly. Why haven’t you bathed yet?”

Lykou follows her through the doorway. His gaze flicks to the bracelet, up to my eyes, and he frowns. My wolf always sees too much.

Before I can protest, Helen begins pulling the sand-crusted ties of my uniform until it falls in a heap at my feet. The Midas Curse is the brush of a feather, squirreling away from her sight under the arms I cross over my chest.

Ignoring my huffed protests, she shoves me back over to the bath. As I climb into the water, she mutters behind me about wishing the servants would have left the grapes and, despite myself, a small smile pulls at my lips. I have zero doubt that Apollo knew Helen wanted them.

And so he took them.

I duck my head under the water just as a dark chuckle escapes my lips.