Lore

“That’s right,” Lore murmured, “keep running.”

She would follow him to the ends of the city, and he would take her to wherever Wrath was hiding.

Gil . . .

No, this was good. She would keep her gaze ahead now, and she wouldn’t look back. If she didn’t acknowledge the pain, it would leave her, just like everything else. It would. Her anger would be useful for once. It would keep her going.

Not lost, she thought. But never free.

It wasn’t just anger that Lore felt, but humiliation—all this time, she’d believed that she existed outside the reach of the gods, that she was finally in command of her life.

None of it was real.

Not the love she’d felt from Gil, not the hope, or even the good days. Lore hadn’t wanted to change a single thing about the town house or move a single object. She’d felt like she owed it to Gil to preserve his memory, but all she’d done was create another shrine for a god.

He must have laughed at her every single day.

Building a new life, a better life, Gil had told her, will keep you looking forward, until, one day, you’ll find you’re no longer tempted to keep turning back toward everything you’ve lost.

Hermes. Hermes had told her that. And for what? To see if she would eventually give him the aegis?

For the first time in seven years, the thought of the shield didn’t send her body into lockdown the way it usually did. She could almost imagine herself holding it—how the leather strap would feel tight against her arm, the purr of its suppressed power stroking her senses . . .

She could get it. She could take back what was meant to be hers. If the Agon wouldn’t let her go, she would beat them at their own game and break them before they ever broke her again.

Lore would send Wrath and all the others a message they couldn’t ignore.

Where are you going, little snake? she wondered, watching him race through the trees of the empty park. What hole are you slithering back to?

Lore had her answer soon enough.

The hunter had stayed away from the park’s established paths, preferring to keep to the grassy hills and weave through playgrounds and statues. Now he slowed as he approached the fence that edged the Mall.

The broad walkway was lined with park benches and dark elm trees. She hung back, but he had already stopped at the center of the path. Waiting for her.

The hunter lifted his mask.

“Come on, Melora,” Belen Kadmou said. “Come out and play.”

ADRENALINE, HOT AND SWEET, surged through her.

Belen had all the same markers of arrogance as his father. The easy, unafraid posture. The smug smile of someone who had never been knocked off a throne. Even as a bastard, Belen had been afforded some measure of respect as Aristos Kadmou’s only child.

More respect than Lore had ever been given as girl.

Belen tossed his crossbow aside, but pulled out a long knife from the sheath strapped to his inner arm. Lore gripped her own knife, taking quick stock of him. Lore was tall, but he was just that little bit taller. Fighting with small blades would give him an advantage. He would have the longer reach.

But she had more fury. Belen was a gift. There would be no better way to send Wrath a message than leaving the young man’s body for him to find in the park.

Lore stepped out from the shadows. “Don’t mind if I do, you overdramatic asshole.”

“Is that how you want to greet your old pal after all this time?” he crooned.

“The last time I saw you, you were sitting at your father’s feet like an obedient puppy,” Lore said, giving him a quick look up and down. “Seems like nothing’s changed.”

“You’ve always talked too much for a woman,” he said, watching her jump down over the low fence.

“Ironic, given that this is the first time I’ve actually heard you speak for yourself,” she said. “Did Daddy loosen the leash?”

“He is my lord and father,” Belen said. “An unfamiliar concept to you, I realize, as you have neither.”

Lore let the insult go as she began to circle him. “How will your lord and father react to knowing that you didn’t manage to kill any of the three gods who were in that museum?”

“I wasn’t aiming for the Reveler.” His gaze bored into her. “I was there for you.”

She tried not to let her shock slip into her expression. “I’m flattered.”

“He wants it back, Melora,” Belen said. “He won’t stop until he has it again.”

“I don’t have whatever it is,” Lore told him, drawing closer as she circled him again. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I told him as much,” Belen said, holding out his knife. “That you would have used it if it were still in your possession, or given it to the gods you’re hiding behind.”

“And yet here we are,” Lore said. “Seems he doesn’t care much about what you think.”

Belen’s expression darkened. “You are a distraction. It is a distraction. All I need to do is blame it on the gray-eyed bitch. She’s loyal to no one but herself. And once you’re dead, it disappears forever, and he can focus on what he should be doing.”

“Which is?” Lore asked.

Belen only smiled, then lunged.

Lore blocked his jab with her free arm, dropping onto a knee and spinning away before he could lock her into a vulnerable, bent-forward position. She righted herself again, keeping her own weapon moving to avoid letting him get too close.

He’d have another blade slipped into the top of his black boots, and likely another strapped to his back or other hip, but both were hidden by his hunter’s robe. She drew a breath, trying to settle the rapid rise of her pulse. The problem with knife fighting was that so much of it was grappling. There was no way to escape unscathed.

But Lore had never been afraid of getting cut.

“I don’t know how you slipped away the first time, but it won’t happen again,” he said. “I heard they took the little girls’ eyes first, but kept them alive long enough to hear their parents die, just so they’d know that no one would be coming to save them.”

Lore surged toward him, slashing, forcing him to keep one hand high to protect his neck and chest. Her mind disconnected from her body, and all she was left with was the deep well of raw pain that had simmered inside her for years.