“You’ve nearly outgrown this one, too,” she said, bemused. “You’ll be tall, like my mother.”

Lore could only hope. It would help her when it came to sparring and, later, hunting.

“It will feel very hard at first,” her mother told her, buttoning her up. “Take heart, and don’t be discouraged. Everything will come to you in time. You are a daughter of Perseus.”

The words stayed in Lore’s mind as she and her father made their way downtown, taking the subway farther than she’d ever gone. When they emerged from the station, the streets were as unfamiliar as they were thrilling.

Her father held her hand, resisting Lore’s attempts to tug free until they finally reached a large brick building. Her father paused a moment, checking the number, then moved his hand to her shoulder to guide her to the smaller building beside it. There, the door opened before he could raise his hand to knock.

A man met them there, glowering down at where they stood on the lower steps. His black hair was slicked down against his scalp, and Lore noted immediately that he had a face like an irritated goat.

“We are honored by your graciousness.” Her father bowed his head, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat to pull out a thick envelope. The man accepted it without a second glance. “May I present my daughter, Melora?”

“You understand the terms of this arrangement? The favor I ask of you in return?” the man said, his voice rumbling.

Lore looked between then, confused. Favor?

“I do,” her father said. “I will send all the information on Tidebringer to you.”

“By tonight.”

“Tonight,” her father agreed.

Lore’s brow furrowed. Tidebringer had caused the destruction of their family, but she didn’t like the idea of giving this man, a rival of her own house, anything.

It would be fine, though. Her father was never wrong.

Finally, the old goat shifted his gaze down on her. “I am Philip Achilleos, archon of the Achillides.” He turned, leaving the door open. “Come, child. Your father is not permitted to enter this place.”

The weight of her father’s hand lifted, releasing her.

“I will return for you this evening,” he promised.

But Lore didn’t look back, even as the door shut and locked, sealing off the morning sunlight. The building was not so much a building as the shell of one, she realized. There were cars parked inside it.

The man led her down a staircase into a dark hallway. They were underground and heading back toward the bigger building.

“You are a guest at Thetis House,” Philip Achilleos told her. “If you reveal anything you witness here, your life, as well as the lives of your family, will be forfeit. If you fall behind the others, you will be removed from the agogé to prevent you from holding our children back with your incompetence.”

Lore responded yes, as if they had been questions. She would do whatever she needed to in order to stay. She would train as long and as hard as it took to achieve areté—that perfect combination of courage, strength, skill, and success—and, one day, kleos. Her destiny was a gift, and now she would manifest it.

The archon brought her to the second story of the building, a bright space despite its lack of windows. The floor was covered in wood, and there were already clusters of children there, some as young as her at seven or eight. Others were older, and older still.

A heavy silence fell over them as she and Philip passed by, moving toward the far end of the room. They bowed to him, but Lore was too awed by the racks of weapons and the training groups to really hear their hissing whispers of Perseides and Perseus.

Finally, they reached the other children her age. They all wore short red chitons and clutched small wooden staffs, like spears without their deadly point. Lore searched their faces eagerly, and was surprised to see the looks of disgust and apprehension there.

They just don’t know you, she thought. You have to prove yourself, like the stories say.

“This is Melora Perseous,” Philip said. “She will be joining your agelé as a guest of our bloodline.”

That was the only introduction she was to be given. With a nod to the instructor, Philip left them.

For a moment, the instructor, a pale-haired beast of a man, merely took measure of her with his eyes.

“Perseous,” he said, amused. “The great House of Perseus reduced to begging and trading in pity, it seems.”

The other children smirked at one another, snickering and whispering.

Lore’s jaw tightened until she thought she might crush her own teeth.

“You are weeks late to be joining the others your age,” he continued, circling around her. At the opposite end of the floor, the other trainees began their day’s lessons, drilling with swords and staffs. Lore resisted the nagging temptation to turn and watch them, letting the clash of metal on metal, wood on wood, flesh on flesh, be enough.

You are a daughter of Perseus. She repeated the thought until it became like armor only she could see. You are a daughter of Perseus.

“As it happens, so is he,” the instructor said, motioning to a boy at the back of the room. He stepped forward through the other children. Lore gave him a look of appraisal, uncertainty worming in.

The boy was about her height, but his limbs were like twigs. His skin was sallow, as if he hadn’t seen the sunlight in months. A shadow of dark hair was growing back along his shaved scalp. Thick bandages were taped to the bruised skin of his inner arms and the back of his hands.

He’s sick, she realized. Or had been, if he was here now.

She liked the laughter of the other children even less now, and liked the boy more for not reacting to it when it began again. Lore met his dark eyes, narrowing her own. The boy looked exhausted to her, but he was here, even if the others clearly thought he shouldn’t be.

“Castor will be your hetaîros for the time being,” the instructor said coldly. “But he is destined to apprentice with the healers and will not always be available to you. In those instances, you will observe. In the meantime, you should be . . . evenly matched.”

The others laughed again. Lore wondered if they thought she was going to be hurt by it because she’d been paired with someone coming back from illness, or if Castor was because he’d been stuck with someone born into the House of Perseus.

There are always rivalries between the houses, she thought. But with her and Castor, there would be none of that. Her blood was fizzing in her veins at knowing she had a partner. Lore lifted her chin. They had no idea what she was capable of, or what her destiny would be. She wouldn’t fail her bloodline, and she wouldn’t fail her hetaîros.

Lore nodded to Castor. He nodded back, his gaze soft but intent. She liked him. His calm made her calm, too.

Her only warning was the feel of the air shifting at the back of her neck, and then the crack of pain there knocked her forward. The other children shoved back at her with their staffs, keeping her within their ring. The next hit came from her right, then her left, battering her back and forth as they circled her.

Castor let out a sharp gasp to her right, lifting an arm to try to block one of the boys as he spun the staff down against his shoulder blades.

Don’t fall, Lore thought, trying to catch his eye. Don’t fall.