Lore

“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.

Whatever Iro felt about her now, Lore knew that Iro would feel duty-bound to kill her for what Lore had done the night she’d fled their estate.

“I think I know where the Odysseides are,” Lore told them finally. “But I can’t approach them. They’d kill me before I got over the threshold.”

“What?” Miles said. “Why?”

She didn’t regret what she’d done, but she also didn’t feel like she needed to share it with an audience. “Family problems.”

Athena tilted her head, deepening her resemblance to a raptor. “Would the death be justified?”

“In their eyes? Yes,” Lore said. “It’s not like the old way, when you could compensate them or exile yourself.”

“Are you not exiled now?” Athena asked. “Is that not enough to satisfy their anger?”

The ancient law had been focused on anger—the anger of the wronged, and the need to answer to it. Anger was like a disease to the soul, and no aspect of it was more contagious than violence. If it could be avoided, it would end a vicious cycle before it began. But this was a vicious society.

“I don’t know,” Lore said. “I wasn’t planning on ever finding out.”

“So you were with them,” Van said. By the way he was looking at her now, Lore knew that he had a good idea about what she had done, even before he said. “The new Aphrodite, Heartkeeper—”

“Heartkeeper?” Lore repeated, making a face. “Is it just me or are these names getting stupider?”

“If Lore can’t approach them,” Castor said, “a Messenger might be able to.”

Van shook his head. “The asset in the Kadmides wants to meet again tonight. I can’t be in both places at once.”

“I can do it,” Miles said. “The asset meet, I mean.”

“Wait—no,” Lore said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea, actually,” Van said. “It’s not just a meet. I have to retrieve one of my go-bags for the cash.”

“So? Tell me where it is and where to meet him,” Miles said.

Van said nothing.

“What, is there some elaborate handshake I need to learn?” Miles asked. “Does he not speak English?”

Lore sighed, pressing a hand to her face. “Miles . . .”

“Let me do something,” Miles said. “I can’t fight, but I know this city and how to get around it.”

“No,” Van said firmly.

“You claim to be a disciple of logic,” Athena said. “Surely you see that this is the best course. He is unknown to your kind and familiar with the city. The task itself does not require unique skill so much as discretion.”

“Exactly!” Miles said. “I’ll go straight there and come straight back.”

“And what if the asset tries to kill you and take the money?” Van asked.

“You’ve still got the dirt on him,” Miles shot back, more than willing to meet Van’s cold gaze. “He’s not going to do anything that risks you releasing it in retaliation.”

“Miles does have a point . . .” Castor began.

“I was planning on linking up with the twenty-seven Achillides after,” Van told him. “And trying to find them a place to shelter. All of our safe houses and properties are compromised, along with most of our vaults and stockpiles—”

“I know a place they can use,” Miles cut in. “That is, if you can find it in yourself to accept help from a mere Unblooded.”

Van said nothing, and his face betrayed little more.

“Where is it?” Castor asked.

“An abandoned warehouse,” Miles said. “In Brooklyn. I sat in on a meeting about it at my internship. The building’s been empty for over a decade because of a dispute between the city and its developers.”