“She was no competitor. Actually,” he says, clearing his throat. Leaning close, he whispers in my ear, “that was Nike.”

My jaw drops and I am incapable of speech.

“Despite your drive to win,” Damian explains, “you did not use your powers.”

“So that was it?” I ask. “Not cheating was my test?”

“No,” he says. “Proving that you and not your emotions master your powers was the test. It was not about honor—even the gods cannot regulate a person’s honor—but about mastery. You did not want to cheat even more than you did want to win.”

I can’t believe it. I passed my test! Even as Griffin steps past Mom to wrap me in his arms, whispering congratulations in my ear, I can’t believe I just passed the test . . . by losing to Nike!

“Racers to the starting block,” Coach Lenny calls out again, “for the men’s long-distance trial.”

I release Griffin and shove him toward the box, like he’d done for me.

While he’s jockeying for position with the other racers, I take my place in front of the spectator section, prepared to cheer him on at every lap.

“He’s going to win, you know,” Adara says as she slides up next to me.

“For once,” I reply, giving her a grin and a sideways glance, “I think I’m actually going to agree with you.”

“Someone call the Chronicle.” She stifles a fake yawn. “This is headline news.”

Coach Lenny fires the starter pistol into the air. As the guys take off to follow the same course I’ve just run, I break out in a grin. Next to me, Adara eyes me warily, as if I might seek revenge for her months of torture, now that I’ve got my powers under control.

Now that I trust myself to control them.

With all the people I care most about in the world—yes, even Stella (who is here with Xander!)—gathered around to cheer my victory, and Nola and Cesca just an e-mail away, I can’t help thinking I’m a pretty lucky girl. I’ve got my powers under control. I’m going to be racing in the Pythian Games. I just ran on the same course as my goddess ancestor. And—although I could never prove it and I’d deny the insane idea if anyone suggested it—I have a feeling that Dad was right there by my side with every step.

Out of all the moments in my life, this is the most perfect.

I sling an arm around Adara, ignoring how she cringes away. She has nothing to worry about from me. We goddesses have to stick together, you know.

EPILOGUE

“ARE YOU READY?”

I look up at Griffin standing in the doorway to my room. He looks so yummy in his tracksuit—turquoise blue with baby-blue stripes, the colors of the Cycladian team—with his sunglasses perched on his head. The Pythian Games racecourse at Delphi isn’t wooded like the Academy course, so we’re definitely going to need the shades.

“Almost,” I say, grabbing my Nikes from under my desk and dropping onto my bed to pull them on. “I just need to lace up.”

“Your mom and Headmaster Petrolas are waiting at the dock.” He walks over to my desk and picks up the framed picture of us running on the beach. He’s smiling when he says, “I think they’re more nervous than either of us.”

I finish lacing one Nike and move onto the other. “Well, it’s not every day their daughter and her boyfriend get to race in ancient mythological games that used to be as big as the Olympics.”

As I finish my bow, I catch sight of the leather-bound book under my bed. For luck, I run my fingertips along the smooth spine. Over the gilded letters of my dad’s name.

“Have you read it yet?” Griffin asks, his voice a soft whisper.

“Not yet,” I say, sitting up and snatching my turquoise duffel off the floor. “Let’s go.”

Griffin offers me his hand and I take it, loving the way his palm feels hot against mine. I also love that he doesn’t press me about the record. It’s not that I’m afraid to read it—we got past that weeks ago. I’m not sure how to explain it except that I haven’t needed to read it yet. Someday I will, I know. One day something will happen or I’ll just wake up knowing that the time has come to find out the whole truth.

But for now, I’m pretty content as is.

“So after we win the Pythian Games,” Griffin asks as we head to my door, “what next? The Athens marathon? The Olympics? The Oxford cross-country team?”

As I turn to pull my bedroom door shut, I see the record poking out from beneath my bed.

“Yes. Yes. And—” I point at the record. It glows for a second and then slides out of view. “Yes.”

Griffin laughs out loud. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he says, “That’s what I love most about you. You always set attainable goals.”

I know he’s teasing. Because if I’ve learned one thing in the last year, it’s that anything is attainable.

After all, I am a goddess.