“I know it feels wrong to you that I’m working with gods,” Lore said. “But look at Prometheus—he brought us fire, even knowing what it would cost him. There comes a point where you have to decide what’s right for yourself and act, no matter the consequences.”

Iro drew in an uneven breath beside her. “We were not born to carry fire.”

“The rest of my family is gone,” Lore said. “I don’t want to lose you again. Please stay with us. Help us.”

Iro closed her eyes and was silent for a long time. “My family is gone now, too.”

“Even your mother?” Lore asked. “You’re sure?”

Dorcas’s presence had lingered like a ghost at the estate; she’d vanished a few days after Lore had arrived, and no one, save Iro, was ever willing to acknowledge or question it. It wasn’t until months later that Iro and Lore had broken into her locked chambers to look for answers. Inside her empty jewelry box they found a slip of paper with a single word on it.

Mákhomai. I make war.

“I can’t go with you to find the Reveler,” Iro told her, her accent softening the words until they seemed to run together in a whisper. “I have a duty to my bloodline. But there’s a debt that has to be paid, even I know this, for none of us would have survived without you.”

The girl stood, her hands clenched before her. Lore waited, struggling to hide her impatience.

“The poem you asked about before,” Iro began. “There is another, more complete version of what Zeus told the hunters at Olympia when he first gave the command to begin the Agon.”

Lore’s lips parted in surprise. “And you know it? The complete version.”

Her heart fell like a stone in her chest as Iro shook her head.

“Our archivist found a letter from centuries ago, forgotten in a safe-deposit box in the Alps,” Iro continued. “From one of your ancestors to one of mine.”

“About its existence?” Lore pressed.

“About where to find it,” Iro said. “Lore, it claims the full text is inscribed on the aegis.”

Lore drew back a step, static burning in her ears as disbelief emptied her thoughts. It felt as if she had run here, to this moment. “That’s impossible. That’s . . . I would have known about it. My father would have known it. I would have—”

I would have seen it myself.

But—would she have? In those few precious moments she’d laid eyes on it?

“Does Wrath know what it says?” Lore asked. The Kadmides held the aegis in their possession for decades. They had to have studied every inch of it to discover its secrets.

“I don’t think so,” Iro said. “The letter describes the text as being hidden or disguised in some way. The only reason he found out about it is because some of his hunters raided the archive vault where we kept the original letter.”

“Then what did he need you for?” Lore asked. “What information did you have that he didn’t?”

Iro looked pale. “His hunter didn’t just find the letter. There was record of the fact that we sheltered you.”

“No,” Lore breathed.

“He wanted to know where you were,” Iro said. “I think he believes that you know how to read the inscription, and, whatever he’s planning, he needs you in order to see it through.”

THEY SPLIT UP INTO pairs to make the journey up to the Frick, approaching the museum from different directions. Lore tried to keep her composure, but she was struggling to hold on to her threadbare nerves.

She passed Athena her dory as the goddess stepped out of the cab several blocks north and east of the building. The driver had eyed their staffs—the ends of both covered by pillowcases stolen from someone’s laundry—with some suspicion, but not enough to jeopardize his fare.

“This way,” Lore said, hurrying along the sidewalk. She turned around when she realized Athena hadn’t followed.

The goddess had stopped near the steps of St. Jean Baptiste Church, her gray eyes glowing in the deep violet of late night. The church, with its classical pediment and columns, Renaissance-style bell towers and domes, and statues of Christian angels, suddenly struck Lore as an embodiment of history itself. The way it marched ever forward, each civilization devoured by the next.

“Do you feel something?” Lore asked her. “Or someone?”

The goddess shook her head.

“Okay,” Lore began slowly. “Then why do you look like you want to tear the place apart with your bare hands?”

Athena leveled her with a look that came like a blade across the neck. “How shall I look upon the temple of a god whose followers destroyed the culture of the Hellenes, defiled our images, sanctuaries, and temples, and ravaged the people’s faith in their gods?”

“Fair enough,” Lore said.

Athena cast one last look at the church. “But this god did what we no longer could, even at the end. He made them fear him, and it took control of the hearts of our people.”

“Maybe,” Lore said. “But that’s only one interpretation of fear. To some, it just means that they respect their god and stand in awe of that power.”

“Do you not feel angry?” Athena asked her. “Your own way of life has been threatened.”

“Good,” Lore said. “Good riddance. It’s a horrible way to live. It can’t end soon enough.”

A flicker of true surprise moved across the goddess’s face. She seemed to change her mind about what she was about to say, though her voice didn’t betray it.

“Do not deny your birthright,” Athena said. “You are no mere mortal. I have seen you fight. You may silence her, you may suppress her glorious rage, but a warrior lives in you still.”

My name will be legend.

The memory of her declaration, the confidence that had powered it, made Lore feel sick to her stomach. She hadn’t thought of the dream in so long, but now it crashed through her mind. The edge of a shield. The golden wing. Eyes in the blade of a sword.

Bullshit. All of it.

“The Fates—” Athena began.

Lore shook her head. “The Fates have nothing to do with any of this. I don’t accept that anything is outside of my control.”

“You may deny the Fates, but they will not deny you,” Athena said. “Fighting them will not save you from what is ahead. It will merely quicken the course of things.”

“So you say,” Lore said. “But that would mean you think you were always destined to fall from favor and be hunted. The Ages of Man have all come to an end in one way or another, with the exception of this one. Why can’t we see the end of the Age of Gods?”

“The Age of Gods is eternal.” Athena gripped her dory, and Lore wondered if she would ever become used to the goddess’s eyes, the way they seemed to raze her defenses. “I may have been meant to fall, but it is so I might prove my worth to my father once more.”

If you say so, Lore thought.

Athena finally followed her as Lore started down the street again, this time at a quick clip. “Take heart, Melora. If Wrath believes you hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the poem, we will survive this hunt. He cannot kill you. Your death as the last of the Perseides would remove it from this world.”