The Fates’ power fills the hallway, a simmering cloud of fate. It brushes against me, then recoils, as tangible as misting rain. Kassandra whimpers from behind me, gripping my arms and digging her nails into my skin.

“Come to impart some more terrible wisdom?” I ask with a drawl. I’m calmer than I have any right to be.

Lykou barks at the Moirai. His hackles are high. Their faces remain unchanged as each hefts a bronze club. One, the closest in appearance to her mother, points to my chest.

“You have tangled the web of fate, Daughter of Oceanus.” Her hair, dark and wiry, rises about her shoulders.

My eyebrows rise. “I did not know I was so powerful.”

“If you have come to punish Daphne, take me instead.”

Surprise makes my mouth fall open as Apollo steps in front of me, though it is quickly snuffed out.

“I don’t need you to take my punishment,” I say, yanking him back. “I don’t need you for anything.” I turn to the Moirai. “Promise to leave Lykou and Kassandra alone, and I will do whatever you ask.”

The youngest in appearance scoffs. “We are not here to punish. Our gifts, our threads, are worthless now on you. Whatever you touch, you unweave.”

“How?” The question falls from my mouth.

“You are now immune to our gifts,” says the third. “The future is carefully woven, and with your every step you cleave it in two. The Olympians helped the Achaeans create the Trojan Horse with the intention of fostering love for the gods once more. Troy was meant to fall to the men in that Horse. The Achaeans would take the city in the night, and thank Olympus for their victory.”

“Only fools would actually lug that thing into the city,” I mutter.

“Fools, the righteous, those under the sway of curses and gifts,” Klotho says, her voice hollow. “All reside here in this city, and each was to play an important part in Troy’s downfall.”

“At the behest of your mother, no doubt.”

“We met your mother, too,” Lakhesis says. Her ruby eyes gleam when I start. “Normally, we visit a mother three days after a child’s birth, but yours was different. You’ve seen the day, heard her screams thanks to Prometheus. We were there. Did Ligeia ever tell you what wisdom we shared with your mother before she died?”

“If I say no, will you get to the point?” Weariness weighs down my shoulders like a shroud of stone. Tears from only moments before are still wet on my cheeks. Lykou, still a wolf, leans against me. He bares his fangs at the Moirai.

“You may be obstinate like your father, but that will not endear you to him,” Klotho says, keeping her finger pointed at my face. “No, in fact it will have the opposite effect.”

“We don’t need to weave that into your fate.” Atropos laughs softly.

“Fate has never controlled me.”

The women laugh. Apollo gives me a pleading glance, but I ignore him.

“Nor need we worry about the fall of Troy.” Atropos leans back. She’s so like her mother that I tremble just to see her. Her dark hair falls into the flames, but does not burn. “There are some fates even we cannot weave.”

A chill snakes down my spine. I reach for the sword at my hip. “What do you mean?”

“There is nothing you can do to save this city,” Atropos says. “Troy will fall tonight.”

Kassandra gasps. “No!”

There’s a dull roar in my ears. “But that’s not possible. Nothing remains of that damned Horse but cinders.”

As one, bodies disappearing in a great rush of smoke that makes me cough, they say, “The downfall of Troy has been inside the city this entire time.”