I’m sitting on a Greyhound bus. The air’s filled with diesel fumes and the smell of stale skin, and a spring is digging into my ass. Eryx is asleep in the seat next to me. He keeps drooping over and leaning on my shoulder. I shrug him upright again, but he just tips back down to my shoulder again, so now I’m just letting him lean. He barely makes a weight against my upper arm, like he’s made of brittle snowflakes and old feathers. I just hope no one thinks we’re faggots or something.

There are maybe twenty other people on the bus. One of them is this hugely fat man who had to force his way down the aisle and wedge himself into his seat. I always feel sorry for really fat people. I mean, who doesn’t like to eat? It must be shitty to deal with a hundred or two hundred extra pounds every day just because you like food and are stuck with a slow metabolism. The fat guy is sitting close to the front looking sweaty and miserable. The armrests are digging into his sides.

I’m pretty fucking miserable myself. I don’t know what the fat guy’s problems are, but I’d probably trade for them in a heartbeat.

It’s two o’clock in the morning, and it’s dark out. I’m writing because I can’t sleep, even though I’m so tired my eyes feel like sandbags. It’s taken us thirty hours to get this far, or maybe it’s thirty years. I think I’ve been on this bus forever, falling through an endless black pit.

The route doesn’t go straight south. We’ve gone through Ohio and Kentucky, and into West Virginia. South Carolina's next. It’s hot and muggy outside. You can get a drink just by inhaling hard. The AC isn’t working very well, so everyone is keeping the windows open. It feels weird—October should be cold and rainy. It’s also weird sitting here with Eryx leaning on my shoulder. He’s snoring just a little bit. I feel like I’m protecting him, and that confuses the hell out of me.

I still can’t get my head on straight. Just two days ago I thought I was adjusting okay to living at Myron’s house in Lake Trick. Eryx was still trying to make my life difficult, but Myron and Mom were both starting to see what he was doing, so I wasn’t getting into so much trouble over his attitude or his shit.

Then we had this big fight. Mom was at work and Myron had gone out to a movie or something, and I was playing FlashCar 3000. I needed to win one more race on this bitch-kitty of a course so the game would unlock the G4 engines. I’d been playing for two hours, which meant my thumbs were cramping, but I wasn’t going to give up. The speakers on Myron’s sound system would impress the guys who built the pyramids, and the sound pounded the anger out of my bones. Then I hit The Zone. Everything fell into place. I was cool, I was in control. I could do nothing wrong. I got my car halfway around the final lap and pulled into the lead. Two more turns, and the G4 engines were mine. I hit a burst of speed, tore around the first turn, then the second. The winner’s gate was only a few yards ahead of me.

The TV went blank. The sound vanished, leaving loud silence behind. I stared at the glassy wall, not understanding what had just happened. Then Eryx stood up. He was holding the game system’s plug in his hand.

“Time’s up,” he said. “I want to watch a movie.”

Before I knew what was happening, I jumped him. Eryx’s eyes lit up and we went at it. We rolled around on the floor, pushing each other and trying to punch, but not doing much damage. I finally got Eryx on his back. My nose was bleeding and his lower lip was cracked. I drew back my fist to slug him in that sneering face when he started to laugh. That threw me, and I hesitated, my fist hanging in the air like a missile waiting to drop.

“You don’t even know,” he said, and a bloody bubble formed at the corner of his mouth. “A big fucking porn star, and you don’t even know.”

I stared down at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re famous, asshole. Everyone’s seen you. All of you.” That made him laugh again.

I got off him and stood up. I just didn’t get what he meant, but his laughter made my skin crawl. Eryx sat up and wiped his mouth. My nose started to hurt, and I pinched it to stop the bleeding.

“What are you talking about?” I said in that dead voice you always get when you hold your nose.

“Porn star, man,” Eryx repeated. “Shit, you’re the biggest fucking thing on the underground underage underdog set.”

I edged backward. He’d lost it. Crazy. Bedbug city. “Sure,” I said. “I’m famous. Right.”

“I’ll show you, asshole. Or maybe I’ll show your asshole.” Eryx laughed again. Then he went into Myron’s study.

Myron’s study is off the living room, a little room with a good view of Lake Trick. It’s the hub for Myron’s ethernet system, and all the computers in the house connect there. The desk top is always empty except for the computer and a few office supplies. Two locked filing cabinets guard the corners. Eryx sat down and flicked the mouse. The screen leaped to life and asked for a login and password. I looked around, suddenly nervous. The study was the one room Myron said we weren’t allowed to enter, and I knew it in my bones that he and Mom would come home and catch us. That’s the way it always works. Do nothing wrong and no one notices. Screw up even once, and that’s when someone sees.

Eryx entered Myron’s name. Then, to my surprise, he entered a password and the computer desktop appeared.

“You know his password?” I said stupidly.

“Duh,” Eryx said. “Check out this hard drive, porno boy.”

He clicked around and a bunch of pictures popped into view. I stared, then leaned over Eryx’s shoulder and stared some more. They were all of me. They ran something like this:

PHOTO 1: Danny sleeping face-down on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxers.

PHOTO 2: Danny sleeping face-up, wearing the same boxers. The fly gapes a little, showing dark pubic hair.

PHOTO 3: Danny standing by the toilet taking a leak. The hand holding his dick hides it from the camera, but the thin yellow stream is easy to see.

PHOTO 4: Danny getting undressed in his room. His shirt is halfway over his head.

PHOTO 5: Danny in his room with a hand inside his jeans. He seems to be scratching.

I felt my face go solar heat. “What the fuck is this?”

“You haven’t seen the best one,” Eryx said.

He clicked the mouse and a video filled the screen. There I was in the shower, the camera looking down from above. Water ran over the video me, streamed over my skin, plastered my hair. The tinny sound of shower spray trickled from the speakers. A cold fist clenched inside my stomach.

“No,” I said.

“Fuck yes,” Eryx laughed.

I knew what was coming next, and I wanted to throw up. Instead I watched. The video me rinsed off a last bit of lather, then reached for soap again, getting a good fistful. Video me reached for his groin and started stroking. Jesus! There I was on the video, getting hard and pumping it for all I was worth. I felt sick as a poisoned dog, but I couldn’t have looked away if a cement truck had smashed through the wall. Video me paused a second, got some more soap, then went back to business.

“You got a good stiffy,” Eryx commented. I jumped—I’d forgotten he was there. “We’ve got videos of you getting ready for bed, waking up with morning wood, and beating off in your bedroom. The shower one is the most popular, though. Over three thousand downloads and counting.”

“Downloads?” I said. My kneecaps turned into marshmallows and I leaned against the wall. “What do you mean?”

“I said you were a porn star, dude.” Eryx called up a web browser and typed in a URL. It showed a site with some really boring-looking business graphs. Before I could say anything, Eryx skimmed down to the second-to-last graph and clicked on it. A login box appeared, and Eryx typed in a login and password. What the fuck was this?

Eryx clicked, and a jumble of images washed over the screen. All of them were of naked or near-naked guys, though their faces were blurred out. A box asked for another login and password, which Eryx gave. More graphics popped up, including one with my picture. I was smiling at something and not wearing a shirt. I had no clue where that picture had come from.

DANNY: OUR MOST POPULAR NEW CUTIE, said the caption. SCROLL DOWN FOR PICS AND VIDEOS.

Eryx scrolled down. Thumbnail photos of me coasted by in an obscene parade of skin. Eryx clicked on a couple at random and they ballooned into full size. I made a horrible sound in the back of my throat.

“Oh, calm down,” Eryx said. “It’s not like you’re the only one.”

He clicked the BACK button and scrolled down past several other half-naked guys my age until he came to a picture of himself, blond and grinning at the camera. He clicked on it, and a bunch more Eryxes appeared. He scrolled down and I got an eyeful of Eryx’s private, solitary sex life. Eryx didn’t seem at all bothered that I was seeing it.

“But wait, it gets better,” he said like a TV announcer.

Further down, the photos and stills became less solitary. Other people were in the pictures with him. Other men.

“What the fuck?” I yelped. I punched the screen’s power button and the images vanished.

Eryx turned in the chair, grinning through the dried blood on his cracked lip. “Dude, how do you think Dad affords this nice house and all this computer shit? We all have to pay rent. You’ve paid some, and you’re gonna pay more. It’s why Dad’s been so nice to you. He’s buttering you up for your turn to play horsie.”

“He thinks I’m gonna do that shit?”

“Sure. And the videos of it will go out live. Summer tourist season is over, but bow hunting season just started, and Dad always gets a little spike in business. When rifle season starts, he gets really busy. That’s why he needs a second boy.”

Eryx said the word second like an exclamation point. I was clearly second and he was first. In that moment I knew what had been going on all this time. Eryx was scared and jealous of me. He was afraid I was going to take his place.

“Is my mom in any of these?” I blurted out.

Eryx snorted. “Hell, no. The guys who visit have better taste than that.”

Normally I would’ve wanted to hit him for that, but I’d already been punched in the gut with a wrecking ball.

“We’ll call the cops,” I said.

“Yeah,” Eryx shot back. “Because the cops are all about helping people like you and me. Because the cops won’t keep these pictures off the news. Because the cops will stop everyone from learning you’re a porn star.”

I swallowed with a dry mouth. He was right. “Where are the cameras?” I said.

“All over,” Eryx said. “Mostly in the corners. Dad’s good at hiding them. They’re motion-activated, so they start recording the second you walk into a room.”

Anger overcame the nausea. I couldn’t completely understand the idea of thousands of men watching a video of me in the shower—the idea was too big, too sickening—but I could understand cameras. Cameras could be smashed.

“I’m getting rid of them right now,” I said, striding toward the door.

Eryx caught me by the arm. “The fuck you are. You break those cameras, and Dad’ll throw you and your mom out. He didn’t marry her, so it’s not like she could get alimony or anything. Both of you will be homeless.” He paused as a new idea came to him. “On second thought, go right ahead. It means you’ll be out of my life.”

I stared at him and he stared at me. Then I ran into the bathroom and threw up. When my stomach was empty, I sat down on the cold tile floor and cried. After a minute, I remembered that a camera in the bathroom was recording me right then. I threw up again, dry heaves that wrenched me from neck to knees. Once the spasms ended, I washed my face—dried blood was caked around my nose—forced myself to take a look at the ceiling. Up in two corners near the ceiling were bracket shelves with fake plants on them. I’d never really paid attention to them before, but now I stood on tiptoe and pushed the plastic leaves aside. Camera. It was tiny, with an antenna sticking up from the back. The second bracket overlooked the shower, and it had a camera as well. I thought about everything I had done in the bathroom and wanted to throw up again.

“Hey!” Eryx called from the other room. “I can see what you’re doing. Leave the cameras the fuck alone or you’ll be out on your ass.”

I snatched my hand back and ran into my room. It was the usual mess of clothes and DVDs and shit. Now I saw it through different eyes, the eyes of a thousand hungry perverts. Did they think my dirty laundry was a turn-on? What about my old underwear? My messy blankets?

I remembered the angle used in the pictures Eryx had shown me and figured the camera had to be above the door. I dragged a chair over and found it. Only the tiny lens showed through the drywall, easy to overlook. The camera itself was in a hollowed out area in the wall above the door frame. That somehow made it worse. The bathroom cameras were there casually, could almost be there by mistake. They saw anyone and everyone, including Myron. This camera was specially made and hidden to spy on me.

“Don’t even!” Eryx warned from Myron’s office.

I forgot—he could see me. Was anyone else watching? It suddenly felt like every eye in the world had turned toward me. Millions of invisible gazes piled on top of me, forcing me down off the chair. Their weight pushed me down to the floor, and I crawled across the carpet. Every limb felt heavy as an anvil. I hauled myself under my bed and lay there, pinned to the carpet. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run. I wanted to call the cops. But Eryx was right. Myron and Mom weren’t married. She and I didn’t have any claim on anything in this house except our clothes and a few Christmas decorations. Mom had the money from selling the house, but that wouldn't last long. With Myron gone or arrested, we’d be out on the street. Mom doesn’t have any relatives that I know of, and Uncle Zack was dead. No one to go to. I huddled there on the coarse carpet and shook like a trapped animal.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep because the sound of the front door opening woke me up. My entire body tensed as I heard Myron’s voice.

“—son is here,” he was saying. “And another boy named Danny. This’ll be his first time, so whichever one of you takes him will have to pay extra.”

Two other male voices made “sure, okay” sounds. Cold adrenaline spurted through my body. I started to pant, then bit my lips to hold in the noise.

“Eryx! Danny!” Myron called. “Get out here!”

I heard shuffling noises from the room next to mine, followed by the sound of Eryx’s feathery footsteps on the hardwood hallway floor.

“Good-looking kid,” said one of the strangers. “How about the other one?”

I had a hard time believing this was happening. I was being bought and sold like a puppy or can of beans. This shit is supposed to happen in the city, in slums and crappy neighborhoods. Not out here in sporty, resorty Lake Trichonida. Not to me.

“Eryx,” Myron said, and in my head I saw his big, powerful hand pat Eryx on the shoulder. “Where’s Danny?”

0o0

We’re still hours and hours away from Florida. It’s still night, and the bus has cooled off. The fat guy got off two stops ago. I don’t even know where we are. Eryx is sleeping like a rock in his own seat. His mouth is open and he’s drooling. It’s gross. At least he isn’t leaning on me anymore.

I’m still awake. I’ve gone through sleepy and come out the other side. I’m restless and I’m trying not to do a bang-ass freakout. I need to go for a swim, feel the cold water of Lake Trick wash off all the dogshit that’s hanging onto me, but Lake Trick is a trillion miles away. All I can do is write. But when I write about what happened after Myron came home, my lungs feel like they’re full of sand. It’s hard to breathe, and I get black spots in front of my eyes. I need a break, so I’ll do something else.

0o0

Ganymede sat on a stone bench in the gardens at Crete. Night turned the shadows purple as Minos’s robe and made everything look lush and expensive and fake. His first finger itched where Minos had licked it. A foul taste was laid over his teeth like thick paste from when he had thrown up. His stomach was empty, but he didn’t feel hungry. A little fountain trickled water nearby. In the fountain was a statue of three little boys peeing in three different directions. Ganymede had thought the fountain was freaking hilarious when he’d first seen it. Now he wondered why Minos wanted it in his garden. He got up, rinsed his mouth out with water from the fountain, and sat down on the bench again.

Tomorrow. Ilos had said he would talk to Minos, and Minos would probably come for Ganymede tomorrow. Minos would take Ganymede to bed, do some shit, and then Minos would sign the trade agreement Troy needed so much. What was the big deal? Like Ilos said, being a prince wasn’t a free ride. It came with sacrifices, and this one was pretty small, really. Once the trade agreement was signed, Ilos and Ganymede would sail back to Troy and Ganymede would never have to see Minos again.

But the memory would go with him. Ganymede’s skin still remembered Minos’s every touch, the oily hair, the garlic mouth, the fingers chilly as dead worms. And he remembered how his own brother was going to arrange it. Maybe Ilos was talking to Minos right now. What was he saying? “Hey, that little thing in the garden was a misunderstanding, your Majesty. My kid brother actually thinks you’re the coolest thing since unwatered wine. He’s a great piece of ass, don’t you think? Now, about that trade agreement.”

Ganymede felt like he was going to throw up again.

A figure dressed in yellow came around the garden path. Ganymede didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but it was too late to find a place to hide. The figure drew nearer, weaving through the shadows like a little ghost, and Ganymede saw it was Phaedra. She was fourteen, and her yellow dress had a purple edge because she was Minos’s daughter. She had honey-blond hair, blue eyes wide enough to fall into, and a small nose. Phaedra was very pretty, but her beauty reminded Ganymede of a butterfly. If you touch a butterfly’s wings, the pretty scales come off. He liked Phaedra all right, and had kissed her once on this very bench. Then her father had started seriously chasing Ganymede around, and that had shoved all thoughts of Phaedra out of Ganymede’s head.

Phaedra slipped up to the bench and sat down. “Hi, Ganymede,” she said. Her voice was high and breathless.

“Hey,” he said shortly, hoping she would get the hint and leave him alone.

She didn’t. Instead, she slid a little closer until her thigh touched his. Her perfume was light and floral. Ganymede didn’t move away, but he didn’t press toward her, either. He had no feelings for Phaedra either way. This actually bugged him. Ganymede had heard lots of stories and poems and stuff about people falling in love, and he had seen his friends pair up lots of times. His dad seemed to love his mom a lot, too. But Ganymede himself had never fallen in love, even though he was already sixteen years old. Girls just didn’t grab him. Neither did boys. Was there something wrong with him? Phaedra here was pretty, and a princess, and she seemed to like him. She should have been perfect, but Ganymede felt nothing for her. He had kissed her that one time, hoping to see if he could feel anything for her. It hadn’t worked.

“I talked to my father just now,” Phaedra breathed. “He thought it was a great idea. Your brother was there, too. He agreed.”

“Agreed?” Ganymede looked at her. “About what?”

She gave him a playful little slap on the shoulder and giggled lightly. “About us, silly.”

“Us? What us?”

“You’re so funny.” Phaedra took Ganymede’s hand and leaned against him like a wisp of damp silk. “We could probably do it next week if we hurried, though two weeks would be better. Mother cried when I told her.”

“Phaedra, I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about,” Ganymede said.

She looked at him in the deepening purple shadows, clearly puzzled. “We’re getting married, dummy.”

“We are?”

“Well, yeah.” Phaedra sighed, her small breasts barely moving beneath her dress. “It was very romantic, the way you kissed me here on this very bench. So sweet. I told Father that you were interested, and he thought we should get married as soon as possible. It would cement relations between Crete and Troy, he said. You’d live here, of course—I certainly couldn’t move to a backwater hole like Troy—and you could take over as the liaison between our two kingdoms. And Father said he would love to have you around all the time. Those were his exact words.”

Ganymede couldn’t speak. His future unrolled before him like a ball of black thread, and Ganymede saw Ilos handing him over to butterfly Phaedra; he saw himself waving from the dock as his brother’s ship sailed for Troy, while Phaedra stood at Ganymede’s side and Minos’s chilly, long-fingered hand gripped his shoulder.

“I don’t want to marry you,” he blurted out. “I never said I did.”

Her eyes went wide and hurt. “But you kissed me. You stroked my face. No one’s ever done that to me before.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to marry you,” Ganymede said.

“I’m a princess; you’re a prince.” Her breathy voice was rising. “You can’t say no!”

Ganymede pulled into himself like a turtle at the hurt in her voice. He hated the idea of hurting someone else’s feelings and he hated saying no. The word tightened his throat and made him feel small and stupid. So instead of answering, he just sat and looked at her without saying anything at all.

Phaedra stared at him with her enormous blue eyes. Then she got up and stormed away in a yellow cloud edged with purple. Ganymede watched her go, feeling like a complete asshole.

That night, Minos threw a big banquet, Minoan style. That meant everyone lay on padded couches in front of low tables and ate course after course of stuff like peacock stuffed with pigeon, and peeled grapes, and dates with honey, and fresh-baked flat bread. To drink they had lots of wine, but it was watered down so you wouldn’t get drunk too fast. Only men were there—Minos’s four sons and some army generals and noblemen and famous athletes and guys like that. Women weren’t allowed at formal banquets, except to wait on the men. Ganymede sat at the high table with Minos, but Ilos managed to insert himself between his younger brother and the king. Ganymede was both nervous and relieved. Relieved because Phaedra wouldn’t be there. Nervous because Minos kept staring at him. For a moment, he wished he had a long scar puckering up his face like one of the generals did. If Ganymede weren’t so good-looking, Minos wouldn’t want him.

The tables were arranged in a square, with a big space in the middle. Musicians played there for a while, and then acrobats jumped around like human springs, and then another guy came in and told a story about a man named Orpheus who traveled to the underworld to rescue his girlfriend. Almost no one paid attention to any of them except Ganymede, who watched every performance like a thirsty man watched a waterfall. He longed to be among them, jumping around and making people laugh. And if things got sticky, he could just pack up and move on to the next town.

Several times, Minos spoke to Ilos, but Ganymede scarcely listened. More than once he heard his own name, but he steadfastly watched the performers instead of listening to his brother’s conversation. He didn’t want to hear what Ilos and Minos were saying. Way better to lose himself in acrobatics and songs and stories.

At last, during a lull between performers, Minos slammed his wine goblet onto the table. The entire room fell silent.

“These negotiations are pointless,” Minos boomed at Ilos. “Troy has steadfastly refused to give Crete the one thing it desires most. There is no point in discussing matters any further. Tomorrow morning, the Trojan ships can set sail for home.”

Ilos’s face looked so pale, it could have been poured from milk. “Mighty Minos,” he said. “I beg you not to misunderstand. Troy is . . . perfectly willing to give you—give Crete—exactly what it desires.”

“When?” Minos demanded.

Ilos gave Ganymede a look that said I’m sorry a hundred times, and Ganymede swallowed his stomach. He knew what Ilos meant, and so did most of the men at the banquet. Several whispered behind their hands to their friends and nodded in Ganymede’s direction. Ganymede fought to keep his own expression stony, though he felt like one of the stuffed peacocks displayed on the high table.

“Tomorrow,” Ilos said. “I believe you have called for a hunt, Majesty? Perhaps that would be a good time for Troy to demonstrate its good will.”

“It would.” Minos’s eyes never left Ilos, never even flickered in Ganymede’s direction, but somehow that was worse. Not looking at Ganymede, talking about and around him instead, made him more of an object than anything else that had happened so far.

“And the wedding?” Minos added.

“At your leisure, Majesty,” Ilos replied in his smooth, powerful voice, and Ganymede felt the threads of fate bind him tighter than chains. He caught a flash of yellow in one of the doorways. Phaedra was watching, and she had a small, happy smile on her face. She blew Ganymede a kiss and withdrew into shadow.

“Excellent!” Minos rubbed his palms together. “Then we’ll be able to sign the trade agreements right after the hunt, assuming everything turns out well.”

“It will, your Majesty,” Ilos said. “You have the word of Troy.”

Minos stared at Ilos for a long, long moment. Then he clapped his purple-tipped hands together once, twice, a third time. People began to realize he was applauding, and they quickly joined in. The banquet hall boomed with applause. Some of the men cheered. Ganymede looked at his brother, but Ilos wouldn’t meet his gaze.

At last the clapping died down. “We should have some entertainment to celebrate,” Minos said. “Perhaps something from young Ganymede. I understand he’s quite talented.”

All eyes turned to Ganymede. Ganymede felt his face grow hot.

“If your Majesty desires,” Ilos replied. “Brother? Our host has a request.”

Ganymede slowly got to his feet and made his way into the center of the hollow square made by the tables. Bare earth sprinkled with sawdust made up the floor. Torches burned in brackets to supply flickering light. They made the air in the banquet hall hot and stuffy, and they smelled like pine. Sweat trickled down Ganymede’s back and through his armpits. Minos gave Ganymede a small smile that reminded him of the one Phaedra had just given him, and he wanted to turn his back and run all the way to the sea, flee across the salty water to the familiar halls of Troy.

Instead, he set his shoulders and reached for determination. They wanted a show? Ganymede would give them a show. For all he knew, it would be the last time he’d ever be allowed to perform.

He bowed to Minos and pretended to stumble, then turned the gesture into a forward roll. He came swiftly upright with a surprised look on his face that made the banqueters burst into laughter. This brought him to one corner of the performing area, so he turned, ran four steps to gain momentum and leaped. Ganymede tucked up, turned two somersaults in mid-air, and twisted around to land in the opposite corner facing the way he had come. Startled shouts of praise and encouragement followed him. He ran again, leaped, landed on his hands, turned a cartwheel, changed it into a back flip, landed on his hands, then continued into a roll that brought him into a sitting position. Palms flat on the dirt floor, he pushed himself slowly upward, legs straight out. He held them there, demonstrating to everyone that he had the strength and control to do it. Showing off, but Minos had asked. Minos and the others applauded. Ilos stared, and Ganymede grinned. His brother had never seen Ganymede perform like this. It had all been secret until now.

With an easy flick, Ganymede gyrated his body, moving legs and torso beneath him while his hands held him up. He had to lift them out of the way, one at a time, almost faster than the eye could follow, to let his body pass by. Ganymede danced like this for several seconds, building up speed, spiraling his legs higher and higher like a waterspout, until he ended in a free handstand straight as a hunting spear. A cheer broke across the onlookers, and golden pride swelled through him.

Here, performing for an appreciative audience, Ganymede felt in his element. In control. His body did what he wanted, went where he ordered. Flowed. Muscles rippled like water with every movement. Every eye was on him, and this time he loved it. Here, his looks didn’t matter. What mattered was how he moved, and Ganymede knew how to move.

He dropped from the handstand into a full split, his legs completely straight, then leaned down and, his arms spread wide, placed his palms on the ground and slowly, carefully, pushed himself into a wide-stance handstand, and held it. This was harder than a regular handstand because Ganymede’s arms were spread out instead of straight up and down, and his arms trembled slightly with the effort, but his stance didn’t waver. One of the tumblers from earlier in the evening was standing in the back of the hall. She caught Ganymede’s eye and nodded approval, one gymnast to another. Ganymede felt he could have happily died right then.

The performance continued. He twisted, leaped, spun, paused, and leaped again. Delighted cheers and bursts of applause trailed after every move. Finally, he built up momentum, flung himself into two back handsprings, and leapt into a high back flip. Ganymede landed precisely, hands high above his head. The banqueter hall exploded with the banqueters’ approval. They clapped and whistled and chanted his name. Ganymede stood in the center of the square, flushed and panting, drinking in the shouted praise. Ilos still looked amazed. Minos was clapping as hard as anyone, his fingers a purple-tipped blur, but Ganymede let himself pretend, for a while anyway, that he wasn’t here for Minos. For a few diamond moments, everyone was here for him.

Eventually the applause died down. Ganymede bowed once more to Minos and exited quickly, before Minos could summon him back to the table.

Some time later, Ilos found Ganymede staring out the window in the rooms they shared in Minos’s stone palace. It was way past midnight—in those days, that meant halfway to dawn—and only a few lights glowed like shy fireflies in the city far below. Cool night air breezed around the chilly stones.

“That was incredible,” Ilos said. “Where did you learn all that?”

“Lots of places,” Ganymede replied with a casual shrug, though he was secretly pleased that he’d managed to impress his big brother. “And I practiced a lot while I was out with the herds. Not much to do when you’re with a flock of cows.”

“You were great. Father would have been impressed.”

There was a long pause as both brothers stood side by side and looked out the window. Ganymede wished the moment would last forever, but he knew it couldn’t.

“I’m sorry about Phaedra,” Ilos said at last.

Ganymede said nothing.

“We need the agreement, and Minos holds all the bargaining power,” Ilos continued. “He said he wants you for his daughter. I know she’s only a second-born daughter, but Minos has four sons of his own anyway, so you wouldn’t inherit any— ”

“I don’t care about that!” Ganymede snarled. The moment was destroyed, and all his previous fear and anger came rushing back. “He doesn’t want me for Phaedra, no matter what he says. He wants me for . . . for himself.”

Ilos paused. “I know.” Another silence. “Look, Ganymede, without this trade agreement, Troy will have a hard time for years and years. People will go hungry and cold. I need you—Troy needs you—to do this. I wouldn’t ask you if there were any other choice.”

“Ask. You mean I have a choice?” Ganymede said bitterly.

“You could publicly refuse Minos,” Ilos told him. “Bluntly tell him you won’t marry Phaedra. As your older brother and Father’s representative, I could force you into it, but . . .” He let the sentence trail off. “Ganymede, will you do this? Please?”

Ganymede looked at his older brother, the boy—now man—he had looked up to all his life. The guy who would one day be his king. The person he knew better than anyone else. And Ganymede knew that if he said no, Ilos would go along with it, pull out of negotiations with Minos and try to find someone else to bargain with.

But it was Ilos who was asking him. Ganymede really wanted to say no, despite the high stakes. He started to, in fact. Then the word died in his mouth. He couldn’t say that word to Ilos and watch disappointment make his brother’s face heavy. He’d rather bear the pain of whatever Minos had in mind.

“All right,” Ganymede said. “I’ll do it.”

Ilos hugged him hard at the shoulder for a moment, then dropped his hand and peered into the night beside his brother, pretending to look for something so he didn’t have to see Ganymede’s face. “In the morning,” he said, “late morning, Minos is going hunting with some of his men. You need to go, too. Minos will make sure he gets separated from the group. So should you. He wants to . . . catch you.”

“Sure,” Ganymede said. “Whatever.”

For a long time they stood side by side, staring into the darkness, trying to see the shape of tomorrow.

In the morning, Ganymede couldn’t eat. He tried twice, and threw up both times. He stayed in his and Ilos’s rooms until nearly noon, when a servant came to announce that the hunt was about to begin. Ganymede laced up his sandals, buckled his knife to his belt, and trotted down the twisted staircases to the main courtyard of Minos’s palace, his expression proud. He was a prince of Troy and he would act like one. Storm clouds were piling up in the southwest like mountains made of dirty cotton, and Ganymede eyed them warily.

The courtyard was huge, almost as big as a football field, and set with bumpy cobblestones. Men in light tunics and sandals similar to Ganymede’s milled about, talking and laughing. Most of them carried spears and knives. Hunting dogs, sleek and fast, bounded around the hunters barking their excitement. A handful of women stood at the edge of yard, watching the men. Phaedra was among them, and she waved at Ganymede. He gave her a polite wave back. It was hard for him to comprehend that in a few days, he would be her husband—and Minos would be his father-in-law. Phaedra made as if to enter the courtyard to come talk to Ganymede, and Ganymede quickly turned away as if he were looking for someone else. He didn’t really want to talk to her right now. Phaedra stopped, looked confused, then stepped back to rejoin the women. Ganymede saw Ilos in the crowd and acted like this was the person he’d been looking for.

“Where are the chariots?” Ganymede asked, more for something to say than any real need to know.

“Minos called a foot hunt,” Ilos said just as a servant approached with a pair of short spears for Ganymede. “The beaters are already out.”

He meant that a bunch of slaves were out in the bushes making noise to scare the animals out of hiding, making it easier for the hunters to find something to hit. It was cheating, really, but it was kind of embarrassing for a king’s hunt to come back empty-handed.

A flicker of lightning struck among the distant clouds, making them look purple for a split-second, and a baby boom of thunder rolled across the hills of Crete. The air felt strangely heavy, like it was weighted down with eagle feathers.

“The coming storm adds excitement,” Minos called, and Ganymede saw him among the crowd for the first time. He looked very different. Both his hair and his beard were braided and bound up to keep them out of the way, and instead of his purple robe, he wore a rough brown tunic cinched with a leather belt. The belt held a knife and short bronze sword. No other hunter had a sword, Ganymede noticed. Minos also held a pair of spears, and three lean gray hunting dogs remained at his side. He saw Ganymede and nodded. Ganymede gripped his own spears and nodded back. The sick feeling roiled around in his stomach.

“Are you ready?” Ilos murmured, and Ganymede heard the extra meaning in his words.

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” Ganymede said quietly. “I’m a prince of Troy.”

Ilos clapped Ganymede on the shoulder, and a louder peal of thunder rumbled at the horizon. One of the men blew a horn as if in answer. A priestess of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, sprinkled water in a wide arc over the men to bless them. She called upon the goddess to bring game to the men and keep them safe, and she promised an appropriate sacrifice from the hunted animals if Artemis would give her blessing. Ganymede sent up a prayer of his own, silently begging the goddess to help him.

When the priestess finished, Minos led the hunters down a long flight of stairs cut into the earth before the palace. High hills and small mountains wrinkled the island of Crete all the way down to the sea, which spread out like a silken blue blanket to the north. Ganymede shaded his eyes and gazed out at it. Far over the water he could make out the slope of Thera, a tall mountain that sat amid three islands north of Crete. The islands were part of Minos’s kingdom, of course. Beyond them lay still more islands, broken and scattered in the Aegean Sea like crumbs spat from the mouths of volcanoes. And still farther north lay Troy. Home. A place Ganymede would never see again. How long would it take him to think of Crete as home? Would it ever happen?

“A prize,” Minos announced at the bottom of the stairs, “to the first catch, to the largest catch, and to whoever brings in the most game by weight.”

A cheer went up from the hunters. Ganymede forced himself to raise his spear and join in, though he wanted to vomit. He hated himself for that, was getting sick and tired of feeling ready to barf all the time. Was this what his life was going to be like from now on?

Minos gave Ganymede a long look. “Now we seek our game!”

The horn sounded again, thunder grumbled a third time, and the men scattered in all directions, their spears raised above their heads. Ilos gave Ganymede a small push, and Ganymede realized he’d been standing there, unmoving. He jogged away toward a random patch of trees no one else had chosen and threw a glance over his shoulder. Minos was watching him, arms crossed, dogs still at his side. A rabbit screamed a high, shrill death cry, and a distant cheer went up. First blood. Then Minos ran in Ganymede’s direction with a speed and grace that surprised Ganymede. The dogs streaked ahead of him. Ganymede turned and ran into the trees.

There was no trail, only tall trees and soft ferns. Ganymede ran light and fast at first, then he remembered that Minos was supposed to catch him, and he slowed down. Clouds spilled across the sky, blotting out the blue. Ahead, he saw a place where three trees formed a copse. It would be a good place for Minos to find him. Already he was pushing his emotions down, readying himself. All he had to do was close his eyes and let Minos do some shit for a few minutes. How bad could it be?

A soft snarl made him glance behind. Minos’s hunting dogs were running ahead of the king, who had entered the woods. The dogs had bared their teeth and their whip-like tails remained rigid as they ran. They didn’t pant or wag. A little fear chilled Ganymede, even as the temperature around him fell. Minos ran forward as well, his face more serious than Ganymede had ever seen it. What the hell was going on? Ganymede turned and made the copse in a few more steps. He darted in among the trio of trees, then forced himself to stop and wait. His heart pounded like it was trying to escape his ribs as he braced himself against a rough tree trunk, awaiting fate.

The three dogs arrived first. They burst into the copse, yapping and snarling. Ganymede put his hand on the knife sheathed in his belt and brandished a spear. The second spear was strapped to his back. The animals formed an instant triangle, their ears low. Their body language made it clear that if Ganymede moved, they’d tear something off. Ganymede paused uncertainly. He could easily take out one dog with a spear and probably a second with the knife or his second spear. But fighting three dogs at once would probably earn him some serious bite wounds—or worse, if the dog got lucky. And how would Minos react if Ganymede killed some of his favorite hounds? He glanced at the tree behind him, but the lowest branches were out of reach. No way to climb.

Minos appeared at the edge of the copse. He spoke a sharp word, and the dogs backed away, though they didn’t take their eyes off Ganymede. Ganymede relaxed, but only a little. The dogs stood at heel, and Minos had caught him at last.

Ganymede started to speak, but his voice wouldn’t quite work. He coughed and tried again. He could do this. “Your Majesty,” he said. “It looks like you’ve caught some pretty strange game.”

Minos moved forward with none of the languid ease he had displayed in his garden and banquet hall. Here he moved with confidence and power. The simple brown tunic showed thick muscle, and no purple paint tipped his fingers.

“I have,” Minos said. “I’ve finally caught the little prince of Troy.”

A chill breeze rushed through the copse, rustling leaves and stirring ferns. A crack of thunder drowned out the dogs’ growling. Minos passed the dogs and abruptly Ganymede realized he was still brandishing his spear—at a king. He quickly dropped it, feeling weirdly naked without it in his hands. Minos came forward until he was only a step away from Ganymede. Ganymede could smell the sweat on the king’s skin.

“You like to run, don’t you, boy?” Minos said. “You like to joke and tease and taunt and play little games. You think it’s funny.”

Now Ganymede felt confused. “Majesty?”

“Don’t worry, boy.” Minos closed the final step and put his arms around Ganymede, who forced himself not to flinch, readied himself for a cold kiss. “I’ll teach you how to play it right.”

He slammed Ganymede to the ground.