I’d been climbing for days, desperately searching for some sign of a tributary from the crystal waters of the Cephissus. Following the river was the only way I’d ever be able to reach the well-hidden entrance to the Oracle of Delphi. After so long on the mountainside, I was beginning to lose hope of ever finding the soothsayer I’d been seeking for what had seemed like an eternity.

A blustery gust of wind blew past, sending me listing to the side, my fingers gripping the rock face as tightly as they could. They were blistered and sore from the climb. Though they healed whenever I stopped to rest, each new bout of climbing rubbed them, and my reserve, raw. The mountain taunted me—its gray crags leering at me as I scaled the unforgiving stone.

As I continued my climb in the elements, I thought I spied a small crevasse in the mountain’s otherwise unbroken surface. I laughed through cracked lips, having drunk the last of my water the day before. This wasn’t the first time during my climb that I’d seen a way through, only to find the “crevasse” was a slightly darker shade of stone or a sharp edge that resembled an opening. I looked down between my dangling feet and saw the waves crash onto the shore far, far below. Though immortal, in my weakened state, a fall like that would likely kill me.

So, I pressed on and hitched a leg up to the nearest tiny ledge, crabbing my way across the stone toward the illusion of the opening in the rock. My fingers stung, and my muscles felt like molten fire was pulsing through them. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I labored on, closer and closer to the slash in the granite. The slightest runnel of water spilled out through the vertical opening, leaving a dark indention that marked its flow. If the water could get out, I could get in. Finally. This was it, what I’d come for. It had to be.

With a last heave of my body, I clambered into the narrow hole, bracing my back against one side and my feet against the other. I gulped deep breaths of air and let my arms dangle so the blood could return, despite the aching protest from the nerves in my fingers. I got a good look at the opening. It began widening from the point where I’d wedged myself until it had enough room for two people to walk abreast, but then abruptly curved to the right. The rivulet of water followed the same path deeper into the mountain. Though my body screamed at me to stop and slake my thirst, I couldn’t risk drinking tainted or bespelled water. The Oracle was well hidden for a reason. The pains it took to reach her were a defense mechanism, and I didn’t know what others might be in play.

I shimmied farther in, moving my feet and back along the wall until I could step down on solid ground. Just the feel of stone beneath my shoes instead of under my fingers had me sighing with relief.

I followed the stream along its harshly twisting and turning path. The rock above me opened as the path grew wider. Eventually, the stream led me to a larger one that created a magnificent waterfall over the side of another sheer cliff face. The water never made it to the ground, blowing away into a thousand refracted drops and forming a constant rainbow in the azure sky. It was the singularly most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Still, I pressed on.

After what felt like miles of trekking through the stone wilderness and following streams until they turned into a river that shone as if it were made of melted mirrors, I finally saw what I’d been searching for. An enormous stone statue of Apollo stood watch over the valley where all supplicants to Delphi had to pass. His likeness was undeniably handsome, though I detected the slightest hint of mischief in his sparkling eyes. Carved into the mountain below his feet was a set of stone doors that no doubt led to the Oracle.

There was only one problem—I had to cross a wide river to get to it.

The stone cliffs on either side of the water rose to an impossible height, and no bridge beckoned. I toyed with the idea of scaling the stone wall to get a better view, but my fingers ached at the thought of more climbing.

No, the only way to the door was through the mysterious waters of the Cessiphus.

The river was placid as it pooled in front of the great doors, seemingly motionless in its brilliance as the sun played across its unbroken surface. I reached down and chose a flat splinter of rock from the stone shards that littered the hard ground. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it bouncing across the mirrored surface until it disappeared beneath the water. I waited, tensed for anything. Nothing happened. The ripples eddied outward, unbothered, and no huge tentacles or man-eating piranha appeared.

Somewhat reassured, I shouldered my pack and pulled out a blade. Gripping it in my teeth, I eased one foot into the river, always keeping an eye out for trouble. The water was cool, refreshing even, after my long climb. I kept going deeper until my feet no longer touched the bottom, and then I began an all-out swim toward the other side. The faster I could get out of the water, the safer I’d feel, but the weight of my pack slowed me down, and the shore seemed to get farther away instead of closer.

When I felt I was finally to the halfway point, I treaded water to catch my breath. The far shore was nearer now, the doors revealing hand-carved scenes of what looked like the battle of Troy. I only tarried for a moment before setting off again. Well into my stroke toward the far shore, I kicked something under the water. An alarm bell went off in my head and instead of stopping to investigate, I kicked harder and swam even faster. When a hand fastened around my ankle and yanked me down, my scream was cut off as I sank beneath the surface.

I barely caught the knife as it fell from between my teeth, and I could see nothing in the inky dark, my night vision no match for the enchanted waters. Whatever had pulled me down let go of me when I kicked it with my free foot. I fought to the surface and continued swimming, now for my life. Drowning wouldn’t kill me, but whatever lurked beneath these waters just might. When I felt the water swirl around me, I gripped my blade and waited for the attack. This time, I felt something encircle my waist. Not giving it another chance to drag me down, I sliced out with my dagger and struck something solid. The thing released my waist and a pink bloom of blood spread in the water. Kicking out hard, I continued toward the far shore—now so close. I could only imagine what terrible beast was lurking just beneath me, its giant fangs readied for a meal. The thought of such a gruesome death put gas in my tank, and it wasn’t long before I could touch the stone bottom on the other side. Once the water’s edge was within reach, I tore from the river and landed on my back, chest heaving from the effort. I kicked and scooted back until I was well clear of the water before resting my head on the rocks and staring up at the sky.

“Why’d you go and do that?”

I bolted upright and found a male standing waist-deep in the river and nursing a cut on his forearm.

A triton. Figures.

“Why don’t you keep your goddamned hands to yourself, triton?” I kept an edge to my voice, though I was relieved to see my attacker was not the giant squid monster with rows of razor teeth I’d supposed, but a son of Poseidon. The tritons were a rough-around-the-edges sort of merman, and this one was no different. He clearly hadn’t shaved in months and looked blotto with his bloodshot eyes and swaying movements. The triton’s hair was a mass of golden curls that desperately needed brushing, though he didn’t seem to mind. He’d probably stink to high heaven of body odor and rum if he didn’t swim around all day. He was a perfect male specimen, with muscles and a masculine vee of a torso. Tritons were notorious womanizers and ne’er-do-wells. The giant tattoo of a large-breasted, naked nymph that ran the length of the titan’s upper arm told me this one was no different. He wasn’t a threat, though, especially not now that I was on the dry rocks. Tritons, unlike true mermen, could never fully leave the water.

“Ol’ Ferallo was just trying to get a little lovin’,” he said with a shrug and a hiccup. “Don’t get too many visitors up in these parts. ’Specially not ones that look like you.”

“Ol’ Ferallo needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.” I tossed my dagger in the air end over end and caught it by the hilt. “Wouldn’t want to get another boo-boo, now, would you?”

He leered at me and made an unbelievably coarse gesture involving two of his fingers and his tongue before adding, “Why don’t you come back in? Water’s fine.”

“I’ll pass.” I didn’t bother to hide my disgust.

“Suit yourself,” he said, seemingly hurt. “You’re gonna have to swim back across sometime.”

“Yeah, and I’ll still have this”—I flipped the blade up into the air again—“when I do.”

“Awwww.” He muttered a few choice curses, sinking beneath the shimmering surface.

With the triton gone, I lay back on the rocks and let the sun dry me off a bit. I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far and was overcome with excitement about finally getting back to the goddess. But I had to put my game face on, because the Oracle could have more tricks up her sleeve besides the amorous triton.

After regaining some of my strength, I rose and approached the doors, searching for any sign of danger. My senses told me nothing, as out of sorts in this stone world as they were in the modern one. I belonged in the forest, not in this crag or on the subway or in a Starbucks. Concentrate.

I put a slightly shaking hand on the enormous door and gave it a push. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. For lack of an option, I looked around for some sort of gong or doorbell, but there was nothing.

As I cocked my head and studied the door some more, I heard a soft whisper. “Knock.”

I did a quick check of my surroundings again and sensed no danger. I knocked, rapping my bruised knuckles on the stone. It made only a pathetic meat-on-rock sound. I waited for the door to open. After a few seconds of nothing, I heard the voice again.

“Bow,” the whisper commanded.

I obeyed and did my best curtsey. There was silence for a while as I stared at the door expectantly. Surely that was enough to gain entry. It’s not like I’d just scaled a mountain, walked for days, and swam across a magical river to get here.

“Stand on one foot,” the whisper came again.

“What?” I squinted at the door.

“Stand on one foot,” the whisper repeated, more insistently this time.

“You can’t be serious.”

The voice didn’t respond. I shook my head, but did as it asked. Muttering curses, I lifted my left foot and stood in front of the door. I thought I heard a whispery snicker.

“What the hell?” I stomped my foot back down onto the stone, likely cracking a bone.

“Just one more and I’ll let you in,” the voice said, stifling a laugh. “Agreed?”

“Fine. Just make it quick.” Excitement thrilled through me at the idea of actually getting to speak to the Oracle.

“Flash the door,” it breathed.

I cocked my head to the side. “Flash it with what?”

“With your breasts, seeker,” the voice replied.

“Not going to happen.” I crossed my arms across my chest. What in Hades was the Oracle thinking?

“If you’re serious about seeing the Oracle, you’ll do it.”

“This is ridiculous. Let me in.”

Once again, the voice fell silent.

I paced around for a few moments. I’d never get through the solid stone doors without the cooperation of the whispery voice. But, then again, I didn’t go around popping my top off for every Tom, Dick, and Harry who wanted to see the goods. I looked around to see if Ferallo was messing with me, but he was nowhere in sight. So, after some mental wrangling, I figured a little more sacrifice was par for the course. Besides, at least it didn’t ask for my firstborn or something.

“Fine,” I called out. “If this ends up on the Internet, you and I will be having words.”

“Trust me.” The voice dripped with anticipation.

I approached the doors again and grabbed the hem of my tank top, pulling it up so it sat above my sports bra.

“Yes, that’s it.” The voice was getting more excited.

I breathed out a sigh and quickly flipped my bra up to expose my breasts for a few seconds. I heard a groan and replaced my top.

“That’s all?” the voice whined, no longer a mysterious whisper.

“You got what you asked for.” I smoothed my shirt into place. “Now let me in.”

“Fine.” A low grumble carried on the air as the doors swung inward, revealing a dark hallway. Standing to the side was a towheaded boy who could have been no more than fourteen.

“You little creep!” I darted for him, grabbing his ear and twisting it. The boy let out a yowl and helplessly tried to wrest my hand away. “You did this? I ought to take you outside and—”

“Jakan!” A regal-looking woman ran down the hallway, her purple robes flowing out behind her. “Release my son!”

“Why don’t you tell your mother what you’ve been up to?” I gave him a push toward the woman, reluctantly letting go of his ear.

The woman’s face went from worry to motherly curiosity in an instant. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” he yelled, pointing at me. “She hurt me!”

The woman, whose hair was plaited down each side and seemed to be interwoven with pure gold, grabbed Jakan by the chin and looked at me questioningly. I was taken aback—the woman’s eyes seemed to be pools of mercury that were highlighted with pinpricks of starlight. Recognition flashed across the woman’s face before she looked back at Jakan and scolded him in a language I didn’t recognize. The boy only nodded and seemed relieved when she pointed for him to continue down the hallway. He ran off happily, giving me an uncouth gesture before disappearing from view.

“I am so sorry about that! You know how teenagers can be, especially boys,” the woman said, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. I peeked around her and saw a rich chamber lay beyond, decorated in lush silks and tapestries. How all these items made their way to the top of a desolate mountain with no discernible path, only the gods knew.

“But I didn’t even tell you what he did.” I was more than ready to rat the boy out and then some.

With a graceful shrug, the woman said, “Oh, I already know. I’m the Oracle.”

Once settled comfortably in what I learned was the Oracle’s living room, I took a good look around. The place was fit for a queen: gold inlay dotted the walls and everywhere I looked, a luxurious gem met my eye. Being the Oracle wasn’t such a bad gig.

I dug into my backpack to retrieve a solid-gold headdress I’d brought for payment to the Oracle. Liatra, as she was called, took it with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “Truly, this is a worthy gift.”

I was glad to hear it, especially after seeing all the other “gifts” that adorned the chamber.

It took a century of work in the mortal world to buy an offering worthy of the powerful Oracle. Early on in my exile, I realized I would need to visit the age-old seer if I had any hope of getting back into Artemis’s good graces, and one couldn’t go to the Oracle empty-handed.

So, I took my first earthly job at an embroidery house in New York, where I sewed tiny bits of jewels and luxurious thread onto pieces of muslin that were as light as air. The work was painstaking and paid very little, but it kept me occupied and allowed me to save some. Though I spent years on embroidery work, my eyesight never failing and my fingers never becoming arthritic like all the other women in the shop, I took several side jobs, including writing tales of earth for Underworlders. The series—akin to a travel guide with local anecdotes—sold well, and I was able to amass a small fortune even more quickly. I saved every dime I could, and now I’d made it to the Oracle’s inner sanctum. I’d made it.

I smiled to myself, finally feeling like I was on the right path.

“I know why you have come,” the Oracle said, carefully settling the headdress next to the biggest emerald I had ever seen. It easily dwarfed my fist and sparkled from a thousand facets.

I pulled my gaze away from the gem and stowed the goofy grin. “Can you help me?”

“I can only tell you what I see. If it helps, then it helps. If it hurts, then it hurts. It’s all fate, you see.” The Oracle’s voice was dreamy, her mercury eyes flickering to pure starlight. “Give me your hands.”

I eagerly reached out to her, ready to get back to the forests of Olympus.

Once our hands were joined, Liatra began swaying gently side to side, the ornate jade earrings that hung past her shoulders jingling to the rhythm of her movements.

She frowned, making me worry she was seeing something awful. “I see a man. No, a wolf,” Liatra corrected.

“No, that’s my past.” Of course seeing what Farrow had done to me would make any woman frown.

“Past. Future. All is one,” Her voice had gone guttural, almost animal. I bit my tongue and watched Liatra continue to sway.

She rocked for minutes on end. I analyzed every movement, anticipating what the Oracle would tell me.

“Your heart’s desire. I see it,” Liatra finally said with great effort.

“Artemis’s favor.” I could have told her that.

Liatra didn’t seem to hear me. “What your heart yearns for can be yours.”

“How?” All my struggles had led me to this and I was about to get my answers.

“Sacrifice.” The word slithered past the Oracle’s lips.

I didn’t know what the whole “sacrifice” thing would entail, but I couldn’t say I was surprised. Nothing was a freebie in the world of the gods—or even in the world of men for that matter.

Refocusing on the Oracle, I realized that no matter the consequences, I was ready to do whatever it took. The thought of immortality spent on Earth and away from my sisters was too much to bear. “I can do sacrifice. I’ll give anything, but what?”

Liatra’s movements became jerky as she swayed in a frenzy. A phantom wind whipped through the room, sending the rich fabrics billowing all around them. Voices seemed to float on the air, though I saw no one else in the room with us. It was as if a tornado of whispers and wind had erupted in the Oracle’s living room, and we were at the center of the vortex.

Liatra’s voice came in a harsh burst. “You must seek out the Bloody One.”

At the Oracle’s pronouncement, the whispered voices cried out in fear or agony, I couldn’t tell which, and I drew in a sharp breath at the import of the seer’s words. Did Liatra mean who I thought she did? And then the seer cemented my fears.

“Ares,” Liatra hissed through clenched teeth, as if the sound itself was too dark to be uttered.

Because it was. No god was more brutal. All of Olympus reviled Ares. Even the mighty Zeus, his own father, couldn’t stand the sight of the god of war. And I was supposed to approach him?

“So, if I see him, Artemis will take me back?” I knew it wouldn’t be so simple, but a girl could hope.

“He is the only way. The path to your heart’s desire. Complete his task.”

“And if I fail?”

Liatra’s eyes had gone completely black as her head snapped forward, stopping only centimeters from my face. “You die.”

* * *

Despite the theatrics and intensity of her prophetic gift—a high from which I was still trying to come down—Liatra was positively domestic. As I relaxed into the cushions and fine fabrics, trying to wrap my head around the Oracle’s words, Liatra disappeared to an interior chamber. She returned with some fragrant tea and lemon cookies.

“It can be a bit disorienting.” She sat next to me and patted my hand.

“It’s just, I knew it was going to be difficult to get back home, but I had no idea it would be that difficult.”

The Oracle proffered the cookie plate. I took one of the delicate rounds, the scent of lemon pleasant and homey.

“Well, let me see, let me see.” Liatra leaned back into the cushions, mirroring me, both of us deep in thought. “I get quite a few visitors here, despite the climb, and my patron Apollo stops by often. He is just such a good boy, always has been. Real heart of gold. But a bit of a gossip.”

“Oh?” I didn’t know what to think of anyone who could call a god a boy, much less a good boy.

“Well, last time he visited, he had some interesting tidbits for me. Just gossip, mind you, but interesting all the same. And it has to do with Ares.”

My ears perked up. Anything on the god of war was helpful at this point.

“As it happens, Ares is smitten with Aphrodite. Word is only her particular charms can quell his lust for vengeance.”

I sank deeper into the cushions. “Aphrodite is my mistress’s sworn enemy. She would never help me.”

Liatra gave another hand pat. “There’s more. Aphrodite has never been known for her faithfulness, cheating on her husband Hephaestus every chance she gets. I don’t blame her. He’s an odd sort really. Great with his hands but not much else going on upstairs…” Liatra trailed off before getting back on track. “Anyway, Ares was one of Aphrodite’s many lovers. But—and this is where the real heart of the rumor is—Aphrodite recently moved on to yet another lover, namely Roth de Lis.”

Liatra paused, seemingly waiting for me to acknowledge the worth of this information.

I wasn’t quite on the same page. “Um, who?”

“You really don’t keep up with the gossip, do you? Roth is only the most powerful incubus on earth or in the Underworld. After Ares learned he’d been passed over for an incubus, he was furious and vowed to enslave, torture, and kill Roth.”

“Being cheated on is not to be taken lightly. Believe me, I know. And I’ve had plenty of revenge fantasies. But the whole slave-torture thing is a bit extreme, even for me.”

“Nothing is extreme for them.” Liatra waved her hand at the air over their heads. “When Aphrodite discovered Ares’s plans for Roth, she made a deal with him. As a peace offering, the goddess gave Ares one more night of passion. In exchange, Ares promised never to harm Roth or instruct others to do so.”

I munched a lemon cookie, the flavor tart and sweet on my tongue. “Not sure how that helps me, really.”

“I’m not sure, either. But that’s all the information I have.” She made a “hmm” noise. “Surely there’s some way you can use that information.”

I nodded along as a plan formed in my mind. One that was dark, desperate, and bookended with betrayal. Had she known she was setting me on this path?

A slight glint in her eyes told me she did. But there was no going back. Not now.

I dusted the cookie crumbs from my lap and stood. “Tell me, where does Roth call home?”