Under my breath, I say, “Ready to kill each other again?”

“Only one of us was successful in that endeavor last time.” With a toss of her long, ebony hair, Nyx sheds the disguise of my former king. Menelaus is gone, and in his place stands the goddess of night. “You’re more useful to me alive, in any case. But you don’t need all of your limbs. One hand will do.”

I don’t let myself feel a trace of fear. “Will do for what?”

Her shadows lash out. They come from all angles. I move in a large sweep, the Adamantine cleaving through them like stalks of wheat. Her darkness sweeps a wide net around me, trapping me in a sea of crawling black.

So I let the darkness rise in me, like calling to like. It claws from the depths of my battle-weary soul. Through my battles and journeys and scars, a storm has grown inside me, waiting to erupt.

I fling myself through the shadows, swinging wildly in an arc. I cleave through the air like a living blade. Her ruby eyes go wide.

I’m atop her and we tumble through shadow and sand. Her claws dig into my arms and pierce me to the bone as we roll. A scream bursts from my chest but I wrench from her grasp. My blood sprays between us. My blade slices her gut and I fall backward. Without hesitation, she surges after me, but I roll and spring to my feet.

“You’re even more reckless now than when you were on death’s doorstep.” She sounds almost proud.

“The venom slowed me down last time,” I say, angling my sword at her. Blood runs down my arms, making my grip slick.

She leaps forward and I throw myself away from her reach. I’m dancing with death.

The darkness surrounding us pulses, lightening for mere moments before suffocating us once more.

“Apollo is trying to come to your rescue.” She walks slowly around me.

“I don’t need him to save me.”

“Maybe not.” Nyx inclines her head, black hair spilling over her shoulder. Dark wings spring from her back and feathers along her arms.

I blink the sweat from my eyes and the feathers dart through the air toward my face. Diving to avoid their touch, but not nearly fast enough, one pierces my hip. It bounces off harmlessly.

The Midas Curse swoops, sheathing my arms, torso, and legs. It’s a golden second skin.

Nyx laughs, a piercing sound like the cry of a hawk. “Can’t do anything without their protection.”

“What can I say? They must like me a lot.” I twirl my sword. “How can you resist this adorable face?”

“The scar on your arm says otherwise.” She points with a long nail at the wound Hermes healed.

She spins across the distance, arms wide and claws reaching an impossible length. They slice through my uniform and glance off the Curse encasing my ribs. My swing goes wide.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “I can only aspire to be as much of a pain in their asses as they have been in mine.”

Nyx straightens, appraising me. “Your father was just as much a thorn in their side during the Titanomachy.”

I nearly drop my sword. “My father?”

“Have they not told you who he is yet? They wouldn’t, would they?” Her claws retract. “It could very well be their undoing.”

My heart flutters, with trepidation or fear I cannot say. Or is it a challenge despite the fact that I can’t trust a word she says, rising in me as surely as the darkness? “Will you tell me, then?”

She grins. “I thought you would never ask. You are no mere mortal, nor god. You are the daughter of a titan and the oldest being to walk this very earth. Ruler of all fresh water.”

“A titan.” My grip on the sword slips. I feel as if I’ve been punched square in the gut. “Oceanus.”

Somewhere beyond our ball of shadow, thunder rumbles. Nyx waves and her features melt into the shadows. Out crawls the rough-hewn edges of Menelaus’s face.

Her voice, a sweetness that will forever haunt my nightmares, still emerges from his lips. “I hope you survive Zeus’s wrath, Daphne, daughter of the traitor Oceanus.”

The darkness dissipates, revealing a sky tinged with gray, roiling clouds.

It’s Menelaus’s voice that speaks next. “If only to kill them yourself.”

He turns to the crowd formed on the walls of Troy, and the line of Achaean soldiers surrounding us. He sweeps his arms wide and says, “I forfeit this duel.”

A resounding silence greets his proclamation. Many soldiers drop their shields and spears, and the Achaean kings looking on have gone blank-faced. Achilles, still towering over the body of Hector, spits and turns to drag the corpse away.

I can’t even protest for the sanctity of Hector’s remains. Shock holds me immobile, from both winning this duel and the circumstances of my victory.

A hiss from the crowd, a symphony of crickets and snakes, begins to grow around me, from both the wall and the army watching on. Hushed whispers, weeping, and cheers. Exclamations, but above all, the wail from behind the wall grows. Kassandra, Queen Hecuba, and Hector’s wife all lean over the battlements. They cry and wave their veils as Hector’s body is dragged away. In the arms of Hector’s wife, a baby begins to screech. Still, Achilles walks on.

This is the price of war. It is a hungry beast, making meals of us all. War cares not who wins and loses, only that the blood is spilled.