Lore

“What am I supposed to do?” Castor’s father whispered. “Is he suffering because I can’t let him go? Is this only hubris, thinking I can change an impossible outcome?”

“No, of course not,” Lore’s mother replied, her voice low and soothing as she clasped his hands between her own. “There is always hope.”

“Hope has abandoned us,” Cleon said. “The elders informed me that they will no longer pay for treatment, and he is too weak to travel abroad to those who might help us.”

Lore’s hands curled into fists at her sides, and her whole body, from her skin down to her soul, began to vibrate with fury. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be—

“There’s nothing to be done but surrender to the weaving of the Fates and allow him the dignity of death,” Cleon said.

“No!” She burst out from behind the door. Chiron barked behind her, startled by the noise and movement. Her body felt like it might explode as she lashed out at Castor’s pathetic excuse for a father. He wanted Castor to die—he was going to let Castor go. A hunter always fought, like the men in the legend; they were never supposed to give up.

“Stop this, Melora,” her father ordered, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back. “Stop this at once!”

“You coward!” Lore snarled at Cleon, struggling against her father’s hand. “Hades take you, you soft-bellied dog! You’re the one who deserves to die, not him!”

“Melora!” her mother said, aghast.

But Castor’s father only wept. “I wish he would, I wish he would. . . .”

“Apologize at once,” her father said, shifting her toward Cleon Achilleos.

Lore turned her head away, her jaw clenched. No. The gods hated cowards, and so did she.

Her father drew her back into the bedroom with a sharp “Stay here until you calm down.”

The door shut behind him. Lore banged both hands against it, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. Inside her was a riot of pain and confusion, and she couldn’t stand it.

The instructors said, over and over, that there was no greater dishonor than cowardice. Castor’s father might give up, but she wouldn’t. She would bring Castor to every doctor in the city if she had to carry him on her back. She would fight until her body gave out, and then she would crawl if she had to.

“He’s just sad, Lore.”

Castor’s voice was barely a whisper by the time it reached her.

Lore looked up, dashing the tears in her eyes against her arm. She went to him, crawling onto the narrow bed. Castor shifted over on the mattress as much as he could to make room for her. She lay back, her hands still shaking as she let them rest on her stomach. Chiron let out a grumpy noise as he moved to make room for her feet.

“I don’t care,” Lore whispered, turning to look at him. His skin was still pale, almost as translucent as the tubes in his nose feeding him oxygen. But then he smiled, and it made her feel a little better.

“You’ll be fine,” she told him. “There’s always another way.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not this time.”

She pressed her hands hard against her stomach to force them to be still. “I have an idea for how we can watch the Awakening without anyone knowing.”

“Healer Kallias said I can’t leave this bed,” Castor said. “That . . . I need to rest.”

“And then,” Lore continued, sitting up. The words babbled out of her, but she didn’t care. “After that, we can go buy ice cream in that place near our apartment that’s always open. Our neighbor gave me a few dollars for watering her plants while she was out of town—”

“Lore,” he said, and then used that word she hated almost more than any other. “Stop. . . . It’s okay. Really.”

She drew in a deep breath. Something wild clawed at the inside of her chest. “It’s not okay! You’ll be fine. Healer Kallias is stupid. She doesn’t know anything.”

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “I’ll see my mother again. I won’t be alone. I’m not afraid.”

“I won’t let you go,” she told him, her voice low with promise. She wouldn’t. He was her friend and hetaîros, her companion and partner in all things. She would defend him if he fell, cut at anything or anyone who threatened him; her blade was his, and his hers.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did you hear the one about the dancing dogs?”

Lore’s brow furrowed as her spiraling thoughts suddenly stopped. “What?”

His smile was weak, but still there. “No one wanted to partner with them because they all had two left feet.”

Lore shook her head. Even Chiron seemed to groan. “Castor Achilleos, that is the worst joke you have ever told.”

He gave a small shrug, but even his little grin fell as silence descended over them, and his breathing became more labored.

“You won’t die,” Lore whispered. “You won’t. And if you do, I’ll follow you to the Underworld and drag you back. I’m not scared, either. I’m not scared of anything.”

Her hand closed around his thin wrist, as if she could keep him alive by the force of her will alone. His pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips.

He watched her, his lips pale as they pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He was fighting his exhaustion, blinking against the pull of it. She didn’t like that, either, so Lore forced herself to nod.

“No,” he said. “No, Lore—swear you won’t.”

When she didn’t, he gripped her by the back of the neck, bringing their foreheads together. His hand shook from the effort it took, but Lore pretended not to notice.

“Swear it,” he whispered. His eyelashes were dark against his cheek as he closed his eyes. The tension in Castor’s body released with sleep, but her mind, her very soul, blazed.

“I know my fate,” she whispered to him.

And I will change yours.

FOR ONE TERRIBLE MOMENT, Lore could not move, could not think, could not do anything other than stare at the place where Castor had been standing. The rain washed the puddle of his blood away, feeding it to the growing stain in the water below.

Dead.

Just beyond the pond stood a dozen hunters. Some wore masks—but not Iro. Not the tall male hunter who stood beside her. The one who still had his crossbow trained in her direction.