I stumble across a flawless marble floor. I’m in the pantheon—again—and covered in sand and blood. The sand has dried and makes my skin itch, but I dare not reach to brush it from my skin. Not when the gods stare me down.

Poseidon looks as if he wishes to kill me with his gaze alone. Good luck to him. Dionysus’s pillar is empty. Demeter’s face is unreadable, as is Hades’s. Very well. It is one thing to save Olympus, and another to kill a god, even one that had betrayed them. Above the pantheon, the sky is still a vivid blue. No clouds, no hint of Zeus’s wrath—yet.

“You.” Hera’s shrill voice cuts through the air. She marches toward me with a finger pointed at my chest. “You killed my son.”

Aphrodite stands. Her soft pink peplos is wrinkled, so unlike the pristine clothes of the gods around her. “How is that even possible?”

Her question hits me like a punch to the gut. The judgment in her words and how it truly isn’t misplaced. I shouldn’t have been able to kill Ares.

“It isn’t possible.” Hera says. “Only a god can kill a god.”

“She’s taken down Ares on her own before.” The god of music leans back on his pillar, a forced nonchalance. Apollo is immaculate in a red chiton and looking for all the world as if he didn’t just face down the Furies.

“When we were weakened.” Hera’s face is hideous in her fury and despair. Her tan face is a valley of wrinkles and age spots. In her agony and rage, she’s releasing the ageless mask and channeling her powers elsewhere. Likely to skewer me. “Not at the height of our power.”

“Your son was willing to kill all of you,” I bite out.

“My son is dead.” Hera’s voice cracks. “But you obviously don’t understand the bonds of family, having so quickly thrown your own to the wolves.”

Her words hurt worse than any whip ever could. I stagger a step back. My teeth clench so hard they threaten to shatter.

“I will not apologize for doing what I failed to do last summer.” My hands curl into fists. “He has tried to kill me, time and time again. He was going to kill everyone I care about.”

“We did not send you to defend your friends,” Poseidon says, voice dripping with disgust. He stands and walks toward me. “We sent you to protect Helen. How did killing our kin help you accomplish that?”

“Because Ares is still aligned with Nyx,” I say around a sneer. “And you are all fools if you think she won’t exact her revenge on Helen, or Sparta, or even Troy. Unless you think that I have no reason to believe she wants something inside the city?”

The goddess of wisdom and war assesses me, Athena’s blue armor shimmering under the pearlescent light of the sun above. The tattoo of Glaukopis takes flight from her brow and lands on her shoulders, tan feathers ruffling.

“I think,” she says, gaze latched on to my armor, “that we should instead ask where you got your weapons from.”

My face is unyielding stone. “Hephaestus can tell you where I got them.”

“Oh, he already told us where your armor, daggers, and one of your swords is from.” Athena braces both hands on her pillar and shoves off. “He did not know how you reached his forge, or how you came by this sword.”

Glittering gold and black, the Adamantine sword appears in her hand.

“A single lie,” Poseidon says, “and I will wipe Troy from the earth.”

“You disgust me.” I glare and turn back to Athena. “Hermes gave it to me.”

“You mean to tell us that you have been colluding with one of the gods who tried to destroy us?” Athena steps closer.

I look up into her eyes. I am tall, but not nearly so much as she. She towers over me. Glaukopis’s talons are pitch black and primed to strike my face.

“You still owe me an answer for saving Athena’s power last summer.” I turn toward the bird.

The pantheon goes deathly silent. Athena’s lips curl back over her wide mouth.

“Glaukopis doesn’t answer to you,” she says.

“What gods aid the Achaeans in the Trojan War?” I ignore her and continue talking to the owl. “Your master promised me an answer from you last summer.”

Glaukopis clicks his beak and flares his wings wide. His voice is melodic when he says, “You already know that Nyx has swayed the Achaeans to fight for her. She controls them in ways you do not yet understand, but will soon. You also already know that she is aided by the Erinyes and Ares, and the goddesses Eris and Enyo. It is why the Trojans have yet to make a truly decisive victory against Menelaus and those who fight for him.” The pantheon of gods and goddesses lean forward to hear what other names he has to say.

“Nyx is aided by Eros,” the owl continues, ignoring Aphrodite’s gasp, “and Nemesis.”

Athena sighs through her nose, but Glaukopis continues, “Poseidon, Hera, and my master, Athena, have aided the Achaeans as well.”

Hera’s mouth opens in a voiceless protest. Zeus leaps to his feet while Athena turns just as a silver trident materializes in Poseidon’s hand. Apollo is behind me, his arms firm as they encage and haul me away. I don’t have time to cry out before the trident soars. It impales the owl against a marble pillar.

Athena’s wild cry could shatter the world. The floor shudders. With a frenzied growl, she clenches a deep blue spear in her fist. Poseidon barely has time to duck before the spearhead pierces the air where he just stood.

“Enough!” Zeus steps between them and catches his daughter’s fist.

“You did this.” Hera’s voice shakes as she points to me. “You are nothing but chaos.”

There’s a blinding lavender light and searing pain in my temple. I spin to the floor with a short gasp as green light bursts around all of us. Hera’s scream is drowned out by Apollo’s roar, and then it all goes black.