Lightning crashes between the trees. Rain floods my vision. Someone throws me backward and I crash into the water.

I’m pulled down into the dark.

The black water surges. I open my mouth to scream and it pours in. I choke and claw for the surface. A howl breaks through, mournful and long.

I jerk awake.

Eos hasn’t even risen beyond the city. My room is still dark, the furs intertwined around my bruised body.

A low howl floats through the air. I leap from the bed.

Lykou tosses and turns across the room. Both arms are raised above his head, legs curled as if ready to pounce. His face is slick with sweat, eyes clenched shut and teeth bared. A growl rumbles from his chest, a noise that is far from human. Shivers course up my spine.

Helen sleeps through his fit. I tread softly across the room with both arms outstretched. The silk partition slides over my shoulder as I cross the threshold. The Lykou of before would have woken at the slightest sound. That was before he grew to rely upon wolf senses and before his nightmares dragged him down, down, down into the recesses of Nyx’s lair each night.

“Not her,” he whispers in his sleep, making me hesitate. His tone takes on a pleading note. “Don’t take her from me.”

I step closer.

“Hurt her”—Lykou’s lips curl back to bare his teeth, so similar to the wolf of before—“and I’ll kill you.”

Something sharp in me cracks. I reach out to cup his sweaty cheek. His eyes flutter open and recognition dawns in their dark depths.

“Thank you for not attacking me,” I say. “I’m not the only one who sleeps with a dagger under their pillow.”

“I would know your touch anywhere.” He does not pull away from my hand. He takes it in his own and grazes a finger up the underside of my arm.

I cannot return the want, the thirst in his face. Gently, I say, “Shall we patrol the wall together?”

We dress quickly. I wash my face and plait my hair before clipping the red cloak atop my shoulders. Assured that the Amazon warriors outside Helen’s door will keep her safe, we make quick, quiet leave of the palace. Lykou walks beside me in the narrow hallways, his arm brushing mine. We take the stone bridge from Priam’s palace until we reach the wall. Soldiers march in pairs of two and three atop the impossibly high structure, and we pass them with reverential nods. Lykou is silent, content to walk alongside me.

More Amazons are below, marching along the trenches and wrestling in pairs. Their games are a tradition likely picked up among the Greeks, a funeral rite to celebrate death rather than lose oneself to grief. I look out over the stretch of battle-scarred sand. The Achaean camp is largely silent.

“No funeral games?” I frown.

“Odysseus and his men had a handful of wrestling matches,” Lykou says, inclining his head. “But no, the other kings have been silent after each battle.”

“Maybe nobody worth celebrating has died yet.”

Doubtful, but it is the only explanation I can think of. I purse my lips. The silence makes me itch like I’m wearing an ill-fitting dress.

“It doesn’t sit right with you, either,” Lykou says.

“No,” I say. “I doubt Paidonomos Leonidas leads the army if there are no funeral games. He was very adamant about respecting them.”

“When I was on the wall for that first battle, none of the Spartan formations were familiar. Nothing the paidonomos ever taught us.” Lykou tunnels thick fingers through his hair with a clicking noise of his lips. “Why would Menelaus leave him behind?”

“Perhaps they worry we have given their secrets away and so hoped to try something new?”

“No.” My friend shakes his head. “They would use the old formations to lull us into a sense of security and then turn on us.”

There are cheers below our feet. Penthesilea has trounced one of her commanders.

I lean over the edge of the wall for a closer look. The sea breeze pulls my hair from its braid to flap behind me with my cloak. A soft sigh over my shoulder makes me turn.

The dawn has started to rise, at long last, painting Lykou’s face in delicate light. Longing makes his expression soft. His smile is coaxing and his eyes are imploring. A blush rises up my neck and his smile slips.

“I cannot return your love,” I say. The words are barely a whisper but I cannot keep them behind my teeth any longer. “Not in the way you want me to.”

“Am I not enough?” His voice trembles.

“You are,” I say, taking his hands in mine and squeezing. “You are more than enough. But no amount of searching inside myself will find the love that you hope for. You are like a brother to me.”

“You tell yourself that because you cannot bear the thought of losing me.” He tears his hands away. “I won’t hurt you.”

Our love would be pure. It would be painless and without secrets. That isn’t what I hunger for, though. I want a love that leaves me restless. One that excites me and has me gasping. Someone who takes the embers inside me and breathes them to life.

I continue walking along the wall, so fast the ground is a blur. My friend jogs to keep up.

“Apollo won’t make you happy, Daphne.” Lykou’s face is no longer soft. Shadows dip into the harsh lines drawn across brow and jawline. “Not forever. Eventually, he will toss you aside as he has all of his lovers.”

“This isn’t about him,” I say, jerking to a halt.

“It’s always about him.” Lykou pants, waving an arm. “This whole war is about him and his family. They want you to protect this city, but won’t even tell you why!”

“Because Helen is Zeus’s daughter,” I say, with a quick look around to make sure nobody heard us.

“Zeus doesn’t give a damn about Helen and you know it.” He grabs me roughly by the shoulders. “You and Apollo will never have what we could. Not while his family controls you.”

His thumbs dig into my collarbone just above where the Midas Curse dances. Artemis hears everything.

“If you want to turn your back on this, on me”—Lykou releases a shuddering breath—“don’t look back and expect me to still be there waiting for you.”

I open my mouth to protest—to what end, I don’t know—when a clicking echoes up the wall toward us.

I lean over the edge to peer below. Trojans dig a deep trench just at the base of the wall. Some throw objects into the trench, then throw dirt over it, filling the gap back up. I squint. “What are they burying?”

“Animals.”

Lykou and I spin around. Paris saunters over. His face is gaunt, as if his sleep was as fitful as ours.

“Why are you burying animals?”

“And what kinds?” Lykou demands. “You’ll offend the gods.”

“The gods seem to have abandoned us already.” Paris waves a hand through the air. “Besides, we’re not the ones to kill the creatures. The Achaeans left them at the gates last night.”

“That’s absurd.” My mouth opens and closes. “They wouldn’t disgrace the gods, either.”

“Judging by their flagrant sacrilege already”—he points to the temples by the beach, where Greeks drink on the steps—“I doubt they care about offending the gods.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” My friend shakes his head. “Paidonomos Leonidas wouldn’t allow it.”

“Reports from our spies say that Leonidas is dead. Killed before the Spartan army even left the capital.”

My knees threaten to buckle and I reach a hand out for balance. “That’s not possible. He’s the best commander Sparta has had for centuries.”

Lykou’s tan face has blanched. “That explains why the battle formations are so different.”

“I was going to ask you both if you could tell me anything you know about them. Anything to give our army an edge in this war.” Paris inclines his head, his voice hollow and unfeeling. “But you just answered my questions quite succinctly.”

I don’t know if I would have told him anyway. Fighting against my people is one thing, but betraying my kingdom’s secrets is another entirely.

That must be written across my face, because Paris says, “It is in the best interests of Helen that you tell us everything you know. We can’t protect her unless we know our enemies.”

The two-pronged blare of a centaur’s horn captures our attention past the wall. A cloud of dust floats above the foothills beyond the city.

Paris says, “The Kentauroi have made their decision.”

I swallow. “We should retrieve Helen and go to Priam’s council chamber.”

I turn, striding along the wall toward the stairs, and don’t look back to see if either man follows.

Servants drape Helen in a silver chiton threaded with cerulean waves that flutters behind her as we march to Priam’s megaron. We arrive, pushing in behind Hector and his wife, just before the clip of at least a dozen hooves echoes down the hallway.

Lykou stands on our queen’s other side, refusing to meet my eyes. He looks toward the entrance, teeth clenched so hard a tic forms in his jaw. I chew my cheek. Priam’s guards straighten as Chiron leads two other centaurs down the long, red runner to the throne. The Trojan king’s knuckles are white as he grips the gilded arms of his throne, watching the centaurs plod intently toward him.

Chiron stops a casual distance from the throne and bows, his horse legs bending until his knees touch the floor. The two other centaurs behind him do the same.

“Dear Priam.” Chiron stands, holding a hand over his heart. “Forgive our bloody arrival yesterday. Some of my kin are overeager, and you might say that our loyalties are especially knotted as of late.”

“Knotted.” Priam nods. “An interesting word to describe the Kentauroi who have historically fought the Achaeans, for centuries actually. What makes your kin so loyal to them now?”

I shift slightly when Chiron’s gaze flicks in my direction before returning to the Trojan king.

“Old grudges. My kin are notorious for them, actually,” the centaur says, mouth a grim line across his face. “But we also take debts just as seriously.”

“Oh?” Priam raises a gray, shaggy brow.

Chiron nods. “The Kentauroi have talked long into the night. We would have aligned ourselves with the Achaeans, many of my kin pledged to the goddess of darkness”—a shiver ripples up my spine—“but that pledge does not outweigh the lives of our own.”

Now he turns to face me fully, the audience standing apart so that everyone can see who exactly he glances at. I swallow as Helen looks to me, confusion alighting her stunning face. Even King Priam adjusts himself atop the throne, leaning on an elbow to peer at me.

Chiron offers me an apologetic smile. “For the freedom of my wife, lovely Chariclo, kept imprisoned for eight years by the Sphinx, the Kentauroi will not take part in the Trojan War.”

The Trojan War.

The title rings throughout my head. These are not mere battles. This is a full-blown war.

The Sparta you know will be gone forever more on the bloody fields of Troy.

“I’m afraid that I cannot offer you anything more, Anax,” Chiron continues, “but I am pleased to tell you that we will not be adding another enemy to your number.”

Silence stretches broad wings across the great hall, broken only by the rapid thunder of my heart. I look down at my toes, keenly aware of the focus of every person in the megaron. I flex my fingers, pulse rising like an inexorable tide.

Priam finally coughs. “Before you return to your forest, great Chiron, I would have a word with my counselors and generals. I offer you the promise of safety from my armies in return for you leading your kin as far from here as possible.”

“If it means that no more of them shall die, then I will gladly accept your offer.” Chiron nods to his fellows as Priam whispers to an attendant, waving a hand bedecked with many large rings.

Theseus also wore large rings like Priam’s, his entire hand gloved with glittering iron and gold and jewels.

I swallow the pain that rises in my throat like bile. Helen pokes me in the ribs and I turn sharply to her. “Sorry?”

She inclines her head. “The king wants us to join them.”

I blink, wordlessly following Helen and Hector to the council chamber atop the palace. Belatedly, I realize it was on top of this room that Hermes took me last night. A flash of moonlight crosses my vision, of the god flinging me aside and a tangle of our swords. The elbow he clipped across my jaw. I touch a finger to the bruise there.

Priam faces off against the centaurs, his arms behind his back. Chiron gives me a sheepish grin when I walk into the room.

“Forgive me,” Hector says, glancing between us, “but how exactly do you two know each other?”

“We don’t, actually,” I say. “I met him for the very first time yesterday.”

“The Shield of Helen does not lie.” Chiron hooks his own hands in front of his narrow chest, tail lashing the air. “She does know my commanders very well, some of whom would rather bathe the fields below with her blood rather than return to Foloi.” He looks to Hippolyta, standing beside her sister. “And yours as well.”

“They’d find that I’m rather hard to make bleed,” Hippolyta says while digging the tip of a knife beneath her nails with a bored expression.

Penthesilea rolls her eyes. “I apologize for my sister’s dramatics, but I don’t regret her actions last summer. Your kin stole from us and kidnapped Helen’s Shield. Their actions were merely defense, nothing more.”

The centaur leader nods. “To which I agree. And now, with all this nasty business behind us, I will gather my men to leave.” He turns, but a word spills out before I can stop it.

“Wait.” I stumble forward.

He does me at least the courtesy of that. Hoof raised and eyebrows high.

I swallow, keenly aware of the eyes of every important figure in Priam’s army currently latched on to me.

“You said that your kin answer to the goddess of darkness.” I thumb the hilt of my sword. “What has Nyx promised them for such servitude?”

Chiron considers me, weighing the angry looks of his fellows and the army of centaurs waiting outside the city.

“Power,” he finally says, voice soft as silk. “She offered them a new balance of power.”

To upend Olympus. That had been her goal last summer. To take from Zeus and his kin what she felt was never theirs, though I don’t yet understand how tearing Troy down will help her accomplish this. Perhaps, without the love and devotion of the Trojan people, their powers will grow weaker.

He turns to leave, but pauses on the threshold once more. Chiron turns to Priam and Hector. “You should know that the Achaeans have called in many more allies. You should do the same. This paltry army will not be enough, even with the blood of Olympus offering protection to this city.”

I leave the Trojans as they squabble over what allies they have left to call. There are too few, the cities on the Eastern shores of Greece already ransacked by Agamemnon and his allies. I storm the halls toward my room, fists bunched at my sides and cloak whipping behind me.

My jaw trembles, the feeling of my blade slamming into Spartan bodies still echoing through my own.

Prodótis.

That is what I am now, and will be forever. All those years aspiring for Spartan acceptance and I’ve literally severed the hands that have reached for me. I’m no less a traitor than Ares.