“Yes, you do,” Lore said. “Take it from a mortal who’s had her fair share of injuries. All I did was stop the bleeding. If you agree to this alliance, he’ll heal you and restore your strength. You won’t need to waste days resting.”

“Perhaps I shall let the false Ares do the work of eliminating my rivals for me,” Athena said, “before taking his life and finishing this hunt once and for all.”

Lore wasn’t a fool; she knew that any partnership between the gods would only last until the end of this Agon, and that eventually Athena and Castor would stand between each other and full release from the hunt. This was just delaying the inevitable, especially if the new version of the poem existed and confirmed the victor would be the last god standing.

“You won’t,” Lore said to Athena meaningfully. “Because you wouldn’t make it to the end of this cycle.”

The others fell silent at her words. Athena lifted her chin, but her gaze was one of approval.

“I won’t swear a binding oath to you,” Castor said, finally. “But as your life is tied to Lore’s, I cannot—and will not—allow you to die.”

Athena nodded. A cold prickle crossed the back of Lore’s neck as the goddess studied Castor.

“The imposter will heal me,” Athena said at last, taking a seat in the middle of Gil’s velvet settee. The goddess raised the hem of the shirt Lore had given her, revealing the angry wound. “And we shall begin to plan in earnest.”

Castor gave a sarcastic bow. “But of course.”

The others took their seats around the living room, Van in one of the chairs, and Miles and Lore on the ground beside the glass coffee table.

Castor brought a hand to the goddess’s wound. Light flowed out from his fingertips; not the crackling, fiery energy of the blasts he’d thrown, but a soft, pulsating glow.

Athena hissed in a breath as the light sank deep into the red, puckered skin. She turned to meet Lore’s gaze.

“Were you able to learn more of the poem the false Ares searches for?” she asked.

“Nothing particularly useful. But as Van pointed out, if anyone has a record of a different version of the poem it would be the Odysseides,” Lore explained. She rolled her shoulders back to ease the tension building in them.

“I see,” Athena began, hissing again as Castor shifted his hand. “I suppose the false Ares will know this as well?”

“Definitely, just like he knows they have the new Aphrodite,” Lore said. “I’d bet anything they’re Wrath’s next target. The only question is when.”

“Tonight,” Van said.

“Tonight?” Lore repeated. “How can you be so sure?”

“Deductive reasoning,” Van said quickly—too quickly. “The House of Kadmos won’t want to risk another daylight attack that could draw unwanted media attention.”

“Your reasoning is flawed. If they were willing to strike the Achillides in the waking hours, they will not hesitate to do the same to the Odysseus bloodline,” Athena said. “Did any city guardians respond to the assault on your bloodline?”

“That is weird,” Lore said, glancing at Castor. “I would have expected, at the very least, someone would have called in about hearing your blast, even if they didn’t see it.”

He made a soft noise of agreement, but was still focused on his task.

“It’s not weird at all,” Van said. “All the bloodlines pay off different members of the city and emergency services to look the other way. It’s possible Wrath and the Kadmides are in deeper than the rest of us.”

Miles blinked. “That’s . . . horrifying, though I guess not totally unexpected.”

“Then they would not fear being seen by those outside of the Agon,” Athena said to Van. “Tell me, then, how you speak with such certainty that the House of Kadmos will attack this evening. Your ‘sources,’ I presume?”

Van’s armor of self-possession and composure had always seemed unassailable to Lore. But from the moment he had walked through the door and laid eyes on the god, she’d sensed the nerves firing deep beneath his skin. Even now, as he remained silent, Lore saw him shift under the force of Athena’s probing gaze.

“I detest half-truths and shadows,” the goddess warned him.

Castor sat back, his work finally done. He looked to Van. “Tell them.”

Van’s nostrils flared as he drew in his next breath. “One source, yes. After years of trying, I managed to develop an asset in the Kadmides—an elder. When I spoke to him an hour ago, he confirmed the reports about Tidebringer’s death, and that they would move against the Odysseides tonight. The final timing still hadn’t been decided, but he believed it would be closer to midnight.”

“An elder?” Lore said, surprised. Those men tended to be the most loyal to their bloodline, because they reaped the bulk of its many rewards. “Why would he help you?”

His smile was unfeeling. “Because I learned something about him, and he would die before revealing it to his bloodline. Because I always get what I want in the end.”

“Hm.” Athena did not seem impressed.

Castor stood, crossing the room to sit in the other armchair.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered.

The goddess ignored him, focusing on Lore again. “It seems we will have a true opportunity to kill the false Ares tonight, and perhaps even collect information on the poem ourselves.”

Lore pressed her lips together at the mention of the poem, hoping her face didn’t betray her thoughts. Neither Athena nor Wrath would be learning anything about the poem if she could help it.

“And even if he doesn’t show up to kill the new Aphrodite himself,” she said, “the Kadmides would have to bring the new god back to wherever he’s hiding. We could follow them.”

The settee creaked as Athena leaned back against it. “Indeed.”

She felt Castor’s gaze on her, but Lore refused to look—to see the concern or worry she knew she’d find there. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Really? I didn’t hear a plan in that,” Castor said. “We don’t know where the Odysseides are—their New York base has never been identified. And even putting that aside, we’re going to have Wrath, his combined force of hunters, and the Odysseides trying to kill us.” Before Lore could protest, he added, “And yes, I mean us, because I’m not going to be left behind.”

“It is a simple matter of asking the Odysseides and their false god for a truce of a few hours,” Athena said. “Surely one of you has ties to the bloodline and could approach them?”

“Don’t you have a friend in the Odysseides?” Castor asked Lore. “Iro? I remember you talking about meeting her. . . .”

Lore wanted to fade into the air when both Castor and Van turned to her. She might be able to get through to Iro, if they could find her. . . .

No.

Their mothers had been the best of friends, training partners who had become like sisters, and it was only at Iro’s mother’s insistence that Lore came to live with them after her family was murdered. Came to be hidden by them, really.

In those four years she had lived with the Odysseides, Lore and Iro had gone from strangers who had met once to becoming as close as their mothers had been.