Rain falls upon Troy for the next two weeks, turning the plains into swamps of mud and gore. It is impossible to walk across, even harder to ride horses and steer carriages. Even so, Hector listens to my warnings and has the gates guarded day and night.

My training is brought indoors, banquet halls and megarons commandeered by the armies as our outdoor arenas now flood. I never let anyone finish my healing because, though I should, some small part of me screams that I deserve to suffer alongside these men and women.

A fact I’m reminded of, day in, day out, as Lyta and Lykou shun me.

They each choose different partners, leaving me to train with Hector or Paris, or any number of the other warriors. The Amazons, taking the lead from their new queen, likewise ignore me. I limp and grimace with each bend, my ribs healing slowly. I take each hit thrown my way without protest.

Helen gives me a pitying look as I tumble into my bed across the suite from hers. “Perhaps you should soak in the bath first.”

“Tomorrow,” I mumble from my furs. Hypnos drags me into the throes of sleep before I hear her response.

I awaken with the blankets tucked around my body and a hand placed firmly over my mouth.

My eyes snap open. Hermes’s scent of sweet incense sweeps over me, and my fear lessens just a fraction.

He holds a finger up to his lips and removes the hand from my face. He points toward the ceiling. Understanding his meaning, I nod and take his offered hand.

I’m jerked from the bed and it isn’t until I’m standing atop the cold roof, already drenched to the bone, that I remember the deluge outside.

I blink back the spray. “You couldn’t have picked a drier place to train?” I have to yell to be heard above the storm. Hermes’s grin is as wild as the wind roaring around us. It makes the city sing.

“Where would the fun in that be?”

A crack of thunder makes me jump. “This is insanity!”

“Oh, stop your whining. It’s time for some real training.” He tosses me the Adamantine sword, a twin of pure black appearing in his other hand.

Before I can even catch the sword, he’s charging me. He swings high, then low, forcing me to duck, then jump. My muscles bark in agony. He’s relentless, his attacks coming from every angle and almost faster than I can track. I dodge another swing, but take his heel to the gut. The air rushes from my chest and I double over.

“Bastard,” I gasp.

“You Spartans rely on your arms too much. What would you do if both were broken?”

“Honestly? Probably die.”

“Again?” Hermes dances around me. “Let’s teach you how to fight without relying on them.”

He leaps, scissoring the air with his legs. I dance backward. He continues forward and I slash out. He pivots on a leg, avoiding my swing, as his other leg kicks, swings out, and catches me in the side.

I stumble. “I could cut your leg off while you do that.”

“Go ahead and try.”

Another crack of thunder drowns out my yell as I leap forward, slowly. He catches my wrist. I yelp and drop the blade as he twists me around. I’m flung off my feet and slammed face-first into the ground. My jaw screams in agony.

I spring to my feet. “Teach me something new.”

His answering grin glitters with excitement. “Finally.”

I ignore the fallen sword and raise my fists.

Hermes takes a step back and appraises me. “Do as I do. This will take balance.”

He lifts his right knee high, higher, until it is halfway up his abdomen, and I do the same. He straightens his leg, turning as he does until it is a line from right hip and across his chest. It is an effort of will to keep my balance on my left leg. My muscles strain against the roaring wind and rain. He snaps his foot in and out, and I mimic the movement.

“Have your leg directly across the center line of your body. This will engage all of your muscles.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” I say around a grimace. Merely speaking threatens to throw me off balance.

“From here you can either sweep outward to hit your target or sweep inward.” He demonstrates, his leg swiping down where it would hit a target with the back of his foot. In the same movement, he switches to his right foot and raises his left leg. It turns in the opposite direction, cutting across his body instead of out.

“Again, how would this be helpful against a sword?”

“Take up your sword and try to attack me.”

I drop my leg and collect my blade. Hermes lifts his left leg and I lunge. He twists out of reach and his foot slaps into my side. I spin, swinging again and he jumps out of reach. His foot hits my hand. I cry out, my grip reflexively loosening and the blade falling. I bend to collect it and he rushes forward. I rise just in time for his legs to wrap around my middle, and before I can make sense of direction, his legs grip tight and I’m tumbling through the air.

He holds out a hand and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. I gasp for breath. “Teach me that.”

The moon above is wrapped in cloud and rain as we spend hours going over new moves and ways for me to use my legs in a fight that not even Paidonomos Leonidas would know what to do with. Just as I finally feel like I am getting the hang of fighting with my legs, Hermes takes my wrist. One of his legs sweeps under mine and I’m tumbling through the air. The hand on my wrist jerks me upright, the other catching me around my middle.

I’m pressed into him, chest heaving against his own. The rain feels warm, pouring between our too-close bodies. I can count the raindrops as they fall and slide from his brows to his lips. They’re so close the slightest movement would brush them against my own.

“That was cheating,” I stutter, keenly aware of his cool arm around my waist.

“So is this.” His hand slides up my arm, gently pinching the skin below the bangle Apollo gave me. His thumb rubs over the metal vines. “Has Apollo told you what this is?”

“He said it was for protection.” My lips part, my gaze drawn to his mouth.

His eyes shutter. The hand on my back tightens, gripping my drenched chiton. I’m keenly aware of every hard muscle pressed against me, of the rising heat in my core.

Lightning cracks above us and we leap apart.

“He wasn’t lying, I suppose.” Hermes brushes the front of his peplos. He turns to the clouds, roaring and twisting above. “You should get some rest. Hippolyta will pit her finest warriors against you in training tomorrow.”

Cold sweeps over me in the absence of his body. “I’m not tired yet.”

“That would be your heritage playing tricks on you.” Hermes glances at me askance. “The moment we’re out of the rain, exhaustion will weigh you down.”

Last summer, water had helped me. In small, almost insignificant ways. “Was Peneios my actual father?”

Hermes shakes his head and a glimmer of disappointment goes through me. “No, he was merely your caretaker.”

“Where is he?” I venture, stepping into the god’s space again. “And my mother.”

“They’ve once again hidden beyond my sight.” Hermes looks down at me, his handsome face unreadable. “Be grateful. It means that even your enemies cannot find them.”

“I wish my brothers had managed such luck.” I bend to collect the Adamantine sword and his black one. I offer it to him and he merely snaps his fingers, the blade disappearing in a blink.

“Where does it go?” I ask, more in an effort to distract myself from the strange ache growing inside me than because I expected an answer. “When you snap your fingers like that. Apollo does the same.”

“His belongings probably come and go from his palace atop Olympus, or a hideout similar to my cave. Mine return to Kyllini. I never kept much of my belongings atop that horrible mountain. Besides, I was never there long enough to garner a palace of my own.”

He slices a hand through the rain and we’re back in my suite, dripping on the marble floor. He looks me over, his face unreadable. “You should dry off. Those furs will stink if you climb into bed looking like that.”

Before I can snap a response, he’s gone.