Philip Achilleos appeared at the head of the stairs, Acantha a step behind him. They moved with the lyre’s song, their eyes on the altar as they made their way toward the throne. Rather than sit on it, Philip stood to its left and Acantha to its right.

For a moment, Lore didn’t understand Philip’s reluctance. But like the crash of an unstoppable wave against the shore, it came to her.

The elation of those around her. The symbols of the sun, the lyre, and all the laurel in the reliefs and garlands around her.

This was meant to look like the Great Temple on the isle of Delos.

The birthplace of Artemis . . . and her twin brother, Apollo.

“Oh,” Lore breathed. A jolt raced down her spine, electrifying her. Oh.

The new Apollo didn’t reside in the House of Theseus, but the House of Achilles.

But it’s not Philip? She glanced toward the old man, trying to read his guarded expression.

Interesting. An accident, maybe. Perhaps Apollo had died before the old man could finish him. It wouldn’t have been the first or last time.

Children, the same girls Lore had seen upstairs, made their way down the steps, their skin painted gold. They were almost unbearable to look at, so proud as they each clutched a candle in one hand and a small silver object in the other. One held a book, another a telescope, another a lyre, another a theater mask. She saw it then. They were meant to be the Muses.

Sing to me, O Muse . . .

They, too, formed a procession to the pool. One by one, they sat along its edges and added their candles to it. The flames floated among the white flowers.

A faint hum filled the air, seeming to rise from everyone at once. The young Black woman playing the lyre began a new song, one that seemed to spiral to the eaves on notes of air and light. She, too, shifted in her seat to get a better view of what—or rather who—was coming.

Lore knew to turn even before she heard the faint gasps. A sudden warmth passed over her skin, an incendiary power that set every nerve in her body ablaze.

He descended the stairs the way the first ray of sunlight breaks through a window at morning. His form was immaculate—tall, corded with muscles, and a face that echoed in the sweetest part of her memory.

Castor.

ONE WINTER MORNING, BEFORE the sun had begun its ascent and her sister roused from her fading dreams, Lore woke to her destiny.

She opened her eyes to find her father’s face hovering over her own.

“Chrysaphenia mou,” he whispered, using his usual endearment. My golden. His face was soft. “Do you still want to train? I’ve found a place for you.”

Lore looked over to Olympia, curled up beside her like a kitten on their small bed, then back to her father. She was suddenly wide-awake. Her whole body felt like it might burst. “The agogé?”

Her father nodded. “The Achillides will accept you into their training, but you’ll need to start today.”

Lore threw aside her bedsheets, jumping to her feet quickly enough to make her father chuckle. He bent over her, kissing her head. She kissed him back. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Shhh,” he reminded her, pointing to Olympia.

Lore pretended to zip her lips, but she couldn’t stop grinning. She bounced on her toes.

“It won’t be like what you’ve read,” he said, smoothing her hair down. “I don’t want you to be disappointed when you arrive and see it is not Sparta.”

The hunters had adapted their training programs from those of the great Sparta, but they removed the things they didn’t like. Lore didn’t care; the only thing that mattered was that she would be able to fight like her parents did. That she would get to see the ceremonies and the archives and all the things they didn’t have in their own small family. The big mysteries she’d only ever heard stories about.

“Today?” she said, just to be sure it wasn’t a dream. “Really?”

“Really,” he said. “Now wash up and get dressed. I’ll take you there before my shift.”

Lore raced to the small dresser she shared with her sister, yanking out the top drawer. The photos there rattled, making Olympia stir and turn over. Lore glanced back at the tuft of dark hair over the bedsheet and forced herself to quietly pull out a T-shirt, her sweater, and a pair of jeans, then shut it again. She went to the bed again and pulled the covers back over Pia, making sure Bunny Bunny the doll was in reach.

Finally, she thought, excitement swelling in her until she could barely breathe. She raced out of the room, only stopping when she realized she didn’t have her shoes.

Three months earlier, her parents had sat with her at their small kitchen table and explained why she might not be able to begin her training with the other hunter children her age.

There isn’t the time for it, her mother had said. I know this is upsetting, but I also know you understand that we’re not the same as the other bloodlines. My— The House of Odysseus won’t open its doors to us after I renounced my name, and even then their school is across the sea. Your father and I will have to continue your training. Come summer, I may be able to work fewer hours, and Mrs. Osborne will be able to see to your sisters. . . .

Lore had nodded, letting the tears and ache build inside her skull until she could escape to her room. She’d cried silently into her pillow and shoved the book of myths her father had given her far beneath her bed, so she wouldn’t be able to reach for it again.

She’d fallen into a deep, deep sleep and there, her fate had come to her, shimmering. Dreams were messages from Zeus. It was important she remembered everything. She saw the edge of a shield held firm in front of her, repelling the darkness. A wing made of golden light. Bright eyes reflected in the blade of a sword.

She had kept the dream to herself. Now, it seemed, the Fates were ready for her.

Her mother was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Damara was nestled in a bassinet, babbling quietly to herself. She was smaller than a doll, and her skin so soft and thin that Lore was sometimes afraid touching her would leave a bruise.

She leaned over and kissed her sister softly on the head. She liked to whisper her secrets to Damara, because, unlike Pia, Damara couldn’t tell her parents what Lore said.

“I’m a little nervous,” she said softly, then tickled her until Damara cooed.

Lore laughed. “She sounds like a kitten.”

“A kitten?” Papa reached in, stroking the curve of Damara’s cheek, letting her gnaw on his thumb.

“She’s a Perseous all right,” he told them proudly. “The strength of this grip!”

“A Puuurrrrseous,” Lore said, giggling.

“Someone is excited, I see,” Mama said as she set down a bowl of oats in front of Lore. Lore breathed in the sweet smell of the cinnamon and bananas she’d mixed into it. She’d made her favorite breakfast.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Mama asked.

Lore nodded eagerly, letting her mother brush out her waves and carefully weave them into a plait as she quickly finished the food in front of her. Papa and Mama talked quietly about the news on the radio.

“Can we go?” Lore asked. “Can we go early?”

Her father laughed. “What do you say to your mother?”

“Oh! Thank you, Mama,” Lore said, standing on her chair to kiss her cheek. Her mother helped her down, following them to the door. She handed Lore’s father his coat, then helped Lore into her own.