From their backs, great black wings stretch wide.
The Furies, three in all, swoop toward us, tucking in their leather wings to plummet faster than my eyes can track. They stop just short of us, diving behind a building.
More screams fill the air, cleaving my heart. Then, two Furies take flight once more. A woman cries for help as they grab each of her arms.
And then rip her in half.
The woman’s blood rains down upon the city. Salphinx sing from every corner of the city.
“Oh, gods,” Kassandra says, her face slack. “We’re being attacked.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Hippolyta snaps.
“We go,” Lykou says, voice rough. “Now.”
He leads us down the street toward a dark alleyway. The thumping of the Erinyes’ wings seems to follow our every pounding step. Smoke fills the air. Above the screaming, horns, and delighted cackle of the Furies, another sound I know all too well seems to swell.
The dirge of spears beaten upon shields.
Impossibly, the Achaeans are here.
Ten days, Hermes warned me. Apollo assured me he was wrong, but Olympus is blind to the machinations of Nyx, the goddess who wants to make a ruin of Troy.
We pound down the narrow streets. I hook an arm around Helen and steer her toward the shadows. I’m keenly aware, with every step, that the only weapon I have on my person is the dagger currently clenched in my fist.
The beat of wings presses closer. A yell shreds the air and a warm wetness rains down upon us. A choked scream breaks from Kassandra, and Hippolyta slams her into a wall just as clawed feet swoop down.
Without thinking, I ram my dagger into a foot. The Erinys screeches, a bloodcurdling sound that threatens to deafen me.
Lykou throws himself into Helen, shoving her around a corner just as another Erinys whips out a sword from her hip. The blade is crooked and barbed. A death on that blade would not be quick. It would be brutal and bloody.
I take up the rear as we thunder up a narrow street. Too narrow, I realize, for the Erinyes to follow by air. Their wings are too wide for the close buildings.
That doesn’t stop them from plucking Trojans from other streets and ripping them in half above us. The cries of dying people ring out around us, their blood drenching my hair and clothes. A choked sob escapes Kassandra, her feet faltering. Hippolyta stumbles into her just as we reach the end of an alleyway.
I don’t know where the third Erinys is, but the two blocking our path grin at us, fangs dripping with blood. Their wings pump the air, levitating them above the ground. Hippolyta and Lykou block our royals from the Furies, stepping to the front. I yank on Kassandra’s and Helen’s dresses, tugging them closer.
The two Erinyes ignore my friends, their dark eyes focused on me. More horns echo into the cloudy sky. Rain begins to pour, mingling with the blood on my skin, and running in rivulets down my face. I blink away the dark liquid.
They’re dressed in black leather armor that glistens with blood. Their faces are a mixture of horrifying and lovely in equal measure, smooth skin marred with a deathly pale and red paint blazing from their eyelids. They carry barbed swords, and around each of their necks is a viper tattoo that incessantly coils.
When one speaks, her voice is smooth and heavy like honeyed wine.
“I, Megaera of the Erinyes, bear the Achaeans’ message for you, Daphne Diodorus.” She points a hooked, mangled claw at me. “You and your queen will never again be welcome in Sparta. You are no longer known as the Shield of Helen.”
Her words bear upon my shoulders like a shroud of stone; I straighten them and raise my chin. “As long as my queen is in danger, I will always be her Shield.”
They laugh, a mangled sound like tearing metal.
“And I, Alecto, bestow upon you a new name.” The corners of another Erinys’s mouth curl high enough to almost touch the edges of her eyes, baring hundreds of glinting, pointed teeth. “You are now Prodótis of Sparta.”
The Traitor of Sparta.
A pain, keener even than the burning lance of venom, races down my spine and fills my stomach. I want to vomit.
“The Achaeans have arrived,” Alecto says, beating her chest with a fist. “And they will have their vengeance.”
The two sisters leap, taking to the skies. The third follows suit, and the thumping of their wings is eventually lost to the dull roar in my ears.
Hippolyta, breathing hard, clasps me by the shoulders. “We must return these two to the palace.”
I nod, dimly aware of everyone’s eyes glued to me. We jog to the palace, skirting the bloodier, more ravaged streets. It seems impossible, the amount of damage three women managed to cause, but I will never doubt the wrath of Nyx.