She could kill him—she knew that now. She could kill him and take his power, and use it to truly match Athena, blow for blow. She could burn her name into the memory of every hunter.

But she would never be free.

It was enough to know he had been beaten by her, a mere girl. That, to him, was a fate worse than death. Revenge created the Agon, but it wouldn’t be what ended it. Killing either of them would only continue the hunt for another cycle. For her, and for Castor.

The pressure broke inside her chest, like a sudden storm easing to light rain. She seized the aegis again and rose.

Wrath only growled, thrashing around with unspent rage.

The words reverberated through her again. A fate worse than death.

Lore turned to Athena slowly, the words ringing through her.

Suddenly, she knew. She understood.

What could sacrifice be for the gods, except to give up the one thing they truly desired beyond their own lives and power? To sacrifice that which they wanted most—a conquest final and fearsome.

The embers in Athena’s eyes glowed at the dark center of her helm.

Lore slid her arm free of the shield’s straps and held it out to the goddess.

“Take it,” Lore said.

The goddess did not move. She did not so much as draw a breath.

Lore moved closer to her, setting the aegis down between them before backing up. “What if I were to tell you that the only way to free yourself from the Agon was to take your fists and destroy this shield? To pound it into nothing but twisted metal and leather?”

The goddess didn’t move.

“You were willing to torture and kill two little girls for it. You were willing to murder my parents and countless others to hold it again,” Lore said. “I’m giving it to you, of my own free will. At least have the courage to pick it up.”

Athena took a single step forward, but caught herself.

“It has nothing to do with the poem, does it? Not really,” Lore told her, a strange calmness taking hold. “It doesn’t even summon your father, the way you’ve let Wrath believe.”

Wrath snarled behind her. “Is this true?”

“My lord,” Athena began.

“You can’t let go of it,” Lore continued, cutting her off. “Because it was a symbol of your father’s love. His pride in you. That’s what you want back, not the shield. That feeling you lost when you stood against him.”

“It is true,” Wrath said. His gaze was murderous as it fell on Athena.

The goddess didn’t seem to hear him. Her whole being was focused on where the aegis lay beneath the shallow water. The goddess’s expression turned tortured as the weight of her choice set in.

Athena could escape the Agon—and perhaps end it for all of them—but only by destroying the one thing that mattered most to her.

“Do it,” Lore told her. “It has to be you. You have to finish this!”

A blade appeared in Wrath’s hand, then winged out of it, spinning through the darkness.

No.

Lore felt the certainty of her decision before she recognized making it. In the sliver of time between one heartbeat and the next, she stepped into the dagger’s path.

The shock of it cutting into her chest savaged her, even before the pain took hold and blood poured from the wound. She collapsed onto her knees, into the water, but in the moment before she fell, a face flashed in her mind.

Castor.

Wrath roared as he pulled her from the water, slamming her down again. Water flew up around her, lashing at her from all sides until she was choking on it.

Dying—

Her body locked, twisting as she gasped for her next tortured breath. The sight of Athena split like a prism, spinning until, finally, Lore vomited and tasted blood.

Wrath ripped her from the water once more, bending her back over his knee. Her lower back cracked. Lore screamed.

She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t move. Agony tore into her.

“What have you done?” Athena’s voice sounded as though it was carried on the wind.

“It’s the hydra’s poison, Gray-Eyed One,” Wrath said, pulling the knife free from Lore’s chest as he dropped her into the water. He raised the blade over her chest, just above her heart. “Taken from a piece of the cloth given to Herakles. I coat all of my blades in it. Would you like a taste?”

“No,” Athena said quickly. “Think this through, my lord. Think of the aegis! It will disappear with her.”

“What use do I have for it now?” he said, glowering at her. “When my victory draws near? I cannot summon him and I will not be able to carry it. From this day on, I will only ever hold a sword.”

“Our victory.”

The words emerged through the fog of torment. Lore wasn’t sure if she had heard them, or imagined them into existence. Not until Athena spoke again.

“I am sure you meant to say our victory,” she spat.

The goddess stepped forward, leaning over the aegis. Her hand hovered for a beat, resisting. Then, as easy as drawing her next breath, Athena lifted it from the water, and returned it to her side.

“Just as I am sure that I did not give you my consent to kill this mortal.”

LORE’S MIND WAS A riot of fear and pain. Unable to completely trust her eyes, she focused on the sound of metal clashing against metal. She tried to move her body, to rise from the water that washed over her face again and again in a frenzied tide.

The two gods hurtled toward each other, only to be thrown back by the force of their blows.

“Bitch!” Wrath roared. “How dare you!”

Athena smashed the aegis into his breastplate hard enough to send a shower of sparks raining down. The new god flew as the shield roared, his massive body skidding across the tracks and water. She walked toward him slowly, enjoying the way he crawled toward the flat car, and the tank.

Wrath spun quickly, throwing one blade, then another. Athena was fast enough to deflect the first, but Lore couldn’t see what had become of the second before it splashed into the water. The goddess waited until he had climbed onto his feet, until he was an arm’s length away from the car—just close enough to believe, for a moment, he would reach it.

Athena, wrapped in ribbons of darkness, leaped high into the air, flipping above Wrath’s head, the dory steady in her hand. Her face showed no emotion or hesitation, and she did not need to look back once as she stabbed the spear’s sauroter behind her, ramming it through Wrath’s breastplate, his chest, and back out through his spine.