Lore

by Alexandra Bracken

  “I don’t see it that way,” her father said. “She is my heir—”

  “She is certainly not,” Aristos said. “How many daughters do you have now, Perseous? And no sons. No one to pass on your name. She will never receive a better offer than to serve the archon of the Kadmides. You know this to be true.”

  Fury billowed up inside Lore.

  “Be wise, Demos. You have two other whelps to unload onto other bloodlines,” Aristos said. “Rid yourself of one leech and you will breathe easier. I will pay you handsomely for her.”

  It was a moment before Lore realized the faint growling sound was coming from her.

  Her father, to her surprise, let out a hollow laugh.

  “Do you think me such a fool,” he began, “that I don’t know the real reason you’ve offered for her?”

  The room fell silent again. Aristos Kadmou leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and raising a brow in challenge.

  “It must haunt you, as it haunted your father and his father before him,” Lore’s father continued, “to have such an inheritance in your possession, and to have it be nothing more than decoration. How heavy is it in your hands? Can you lift it unassisted the way any of my girl whelps could?”

  The other man’s eyes flashed, his expression darkening.

  “And how it will haunt you to know that the inheritance you lost lies beneath your feet, just one floor down,” Aristos said. “Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for you to try to take it back.”

  Lore’s vision flashed red as the heat inside her grew. They were talking about the aegis, the shield of Zeus carried by Athena. The inheritance Zeus had given her bloodline at the start of the Agon, the one the Kadmides had stolen from them. It was here.

  “Does it call to you?” Aristos wondered. “Can you hear it, even now? Or do you hear the wailing of your ancestors, slaughtered like pigs?”

  “I hear only the desperation in your voice,” her father said evenly. “But my daughters will never give you a child who can wield it.”

  The archon’s face passed into the shadows on the stage as he rose to his full height. “I don’t need to mix your inferior blood with mine to use it.”

  “It will never be willingly given,” her father said. “If we are to die, then it will disappear with us. How unfortunate for you that the most stubborn of the Perseides families was the one to survive.”

  Aristos descended from the stage slowly. His arms had been tattooed with a snakeskin pattern, and the thick veins there bulged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that right? Tell me, girl, what it is you desire?”

  Lore glanced up at her father and mimicked him. She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the archon.

  “I cannot imagine it is the squalor you live in now. Would you not like to live among the most powerful of the bloodlines—to have the gold and jewels and silk?” Aristos asked.

  Her father had told her not to speak. She knew she shouldn’t have, even now, but she couldn’t help it. Pride flared in her heart.

  “I will be a léaina,” Lore told him. “My name will be legend.”

  The laughter of the Kadmides clawed at her from all sides, but Aristos Kadmou’s small smirk was somehow worse. Lore felt like her whole body might burst into flame. Her father’s hand stayed on her shoulder, but she no longer felt it. She no longer felt anything other than the pounding of her heart.

  “You, a léaina?” Aristos said. “I have many of them, as you can see. All braver, faster, stronger than you—”

  Lore released the scream that had built in her lungs, swinging the bottle against the stone pillar beside her. Wine flooded the floor like blood, turning the air sickly sweet as she lunged toward the nearest little lioness, clutching the broken neck of the bottle like a dagger. The other girl’s kohl-rimmed eyes widened, but Lore was faster, she was stronger—

  Her father’s hand clamped down on her wrist, yanking it back before it could pierce the girl’s throat. For a moment, Lore saw nothing beyond the look on his face, the horror there. Her chest heaved, and she didn’t understand why it made her want to cry.

  He drew her away from the lionesses, from the Kadmides who came toward her. For the first time in her life, Lore heard true fear in her father’s voice.

  “Please,” he began, “she’s just a child—she doesn’t know her own temper, and there was no insult meant to you as a host. If there is to be punishment, I should face it, as I have failed to teach her better.”

  The Kadmides gathered closer, tightening around them like a noose. Someone gripped Lore’s braid and gave it a vicious tug. She pressed her face to the small of her father’s back, gripping his shirt as a blow struck her between the shoulders.

  Her father pushed them away from her. A whip snapped against his arm, instantly drawing blood.

  “Stop,” she whispered. “Stop—”

  It was another command that brought the room to silence. To stillness.

  “Leave.”

  The Kadmides obeyed the way Lore should have obeyed. They brought their leader pride as they left the restaurant, where Lore had brought her father shame. She knew about xenia, about the way a guest was meant to behave. She had violated something sacred.

  When the last of the Kadmides had left, Aristos Kadmou began to circle them. His steps were slow and heavy as he clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I apologize for my daughter,” her father said. “I will make any reparations you see fit.”

  “There is but one thing I want,” Aristos Kadmou said. “It’s lucky that I enjoy fire in my women”—he leaned in closer—“and the challenge of extinguishing it.”

  The archon slid an envelope into the pocket of her father’s shirt. “That is my offer for the girl. Send me your answer by the end of the Agon.”

  Her father gave a curt nod, gripping her hand so tightly that Lore had no choice but to follow him to the door. She didn’t dare look back, not even as the other man spoke one final time.

  “This is her future,” he said. “There is nothing more for her in our world. I will ensure that, one way or another.”

  A few of his serpents lingered outside. They hissed and spat at Lore and her father as they passed. The humiliation made her heart feel sick and her body small, but it was nothing compared to knowing that she had shamed her father.

  I will never gain kleos, Lore thought, her throat thick and her eyes stinging. I will never be anything at all.

  They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes when her father slowed. He said nothing as he knelt and drew her into a fierce embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Papa. . . .”

  He picked her up, clutching her to him the way he had when she was smaller, and carried her the rest of the way home.

  THE VAULT’S DOOR SLAMMED shut.

  Athena rounded on Lore, incandescent with rage.

  “Why?” she snarled. “When our enemy was there, within reach—”

  Lore somehow managed to choke the words out around the cold hands of terror still gripping her throat. “Too much time . . . too many of them—Castor—”

  The door vibrated with a deafening bang as something slammed into it. Athena straightened at the sound, mastering her anger enough to growl, “If we are to retreat like cowards, then we do so now.”

  Lore turned back, watching the door rattle. Indecision tore at her. They could take a stand. They could still kill Wrath here and end this nightmare.

  Iro moaned, shifting against her.

  Lore swallowed the bile in her mouth, her heart still raging in her chest. No—it was too big of a risk now. They needed to help Castor and get Iro to safety.

  “Let’s go,” she told the goddess.

  The pounding followed them down into the underground path, even after Athena bent the second door back into place behind them. Two hits, like a heartbeat. Bang-bang. It drowned out every thought in Lore’s mind, until she was sure she heard a m
essage in it.

  Bang-bang.

  Too late.

  Too late.

  Lore’s phone vibrated as soon as they reached the empty shoe-repair shop. The message came from an unknown number, blocked by her service.

  Safe.

  A moment later, she realized who it was. Relief crashed through her as she texted back, Safe. Meet at Van’s place.

  “Castor is all right,” Lore told Athena. The goddess had crept over to the door of the shop and had peeled back a corner of the brown paper covering it. She gazed out into the street, searching it for hunters.

  “A shame,” Athena groused. “For now he must answer to me for our ruined hope.”

  Lore adjusted Iro’s weight. The girl was taller than Lore, making carrying her awkward.

  “It . . .” she began. “It didn’t work out this time.”

  Athena’s gaze snapped toward her. “Why did you close the door? Does your belief in our objective falter?”

  Lore shook her head. “No. He just—it left both of you too exposed. There’s a difference between a long shot and a no-win, and this became the latter.”

  The goddess’s expression didn’t soften, but turned contemplative as she studied Lore. When she spoke again, the words were calm and measured. “Are you frightened of him?”

  “No,” Lore said. “I—”

  “Your fear will feed him,” Athena told her. “It will bring him pleasure. Do not grant it. He is as mortal as you these next six days. If you falter again, remember what he took from you. He may possess power, but you have righteousness. And should even that abandon you, remember that I am beside you, and I will not let you fail.”

  Lore tried to gather some response. Seeing Wrath coming toward her, knowing that he’d recognized her—it had sent a wave of doubt crashing through her confidence. It wasn’t that she wanted his death any less. It had been the sudden, hard realization of what the Agon might ask of her to see his death through.

  I can still get back out again, she told herself. I’m not doing the killing. This is an end, not a beginning.

  “We need to meet the others,” Lore said. “Is the street clear?”

  “Yes,” Athena said. “I will carry the girl.”

  Lore passed Iro over to her, and Athena stepped out into the darkness.

  Lore lingered a moment, taking in the sight, and tried to remember what it felt like to be unafraid.

  The address Van had given her and Castor before they’d split up turned out to be for a laundromat about twenty blocks north, in Hell’s Kitchen.

  They approached the waiting side door, letting the heat from the vents wash over them. The air was choked with the smell of detergent.

  Lore blinked against the fluorescent lights as they stepped inside, but Athena had already pivoted toward the sound of a familiar voice.

  Miles leaned against a desk in the laundromat’s cramped office, his face animated as he chatted in Korean with the gray-haired woman there. But when he spotted them, his expression fell.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Where are the others? Who is that? Why are you late?”

  “Which question do you want answered first?” Lore asked, tired.

  The older woman sighed and stood from her chair. She switched off the monitor on her ancient computer, pulled her purse out of the drawer, and said, “I’ll close for the night. Tell Evander to leave payment in the safe and vary the bills this time.”

  She shuffled off, and within seconds, the lights across the laundromat dimmed. Only a few machines were still churning as she stepped out and locked the door behind her.

  “Look at you, making friends wherever you go,” Lore said as Athena lowered Iro into the room’s other chair. The goddess stepped away, allowing Lore to feel for Iro’s pulse and try to rouse her.

  “Exactly how hard did you hit her?” Lore asked. Iro had been unconscious for almost twenty minutes.

  “Who was that woman?” Athena demanded, ignoring her question.

  “Mrs. Cheong,” Miles said. “Really sweet lady. She told me I reminded her of her grandson, with all my tattoos.” He took a breath and nodded at Iro’s limp form. “Okay, tell me who this is.”

  “Iro of the Odysseides,” Lore told him. “Daughter of Heartkeeper.”

  Miles gave them a pained look. “Why do I get the feeling things didn’t go as planned?”

  “The short version?” Lore began, leaning against the wall. Her body was quivering as it tried to regroup after the strain of carrying Iro. “Wrath is alive and Heartkeeper is dead and Iro may know the alternate poem or where to find it.”

  The side door creaked open again. Athena was out of the office with her dory against the newcomer’s throat before Lore could even draw her next breath.

  Van held up his hands. “Is everyone here?”

  Athena lowered her weapon, stepping aside to allow him to pass. “The false Apollo is yet to come.”

  Van looked less troubled by that fact than Lore was. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of Miles. His lips compressed, but he said nothing as he studied him.

  “Yup, still alive,” Miles told him in an uncharacteristically sardonic way. He picked up the plain black backpack at his feet and shoved it at Van with some effort. Van’s arms bowed slightly under the weight.

  “Your contact was a real gent,” Miles continued. “He only called me ‘Unblooded trash’ twice, but still said he preferred dealing with me to you.”

  “Possibly because you don’t hold the key to his eternal shame,” Van said.

  “Mrs. Cheong wants her money,” Miles reminded him. “And for you to vary the bills. Says you’re a good business partner, whatever that means.”

  “It means I know how much to pay to ensure she forgets everything she sees and hears,” Van said.

  He unzipped the bag and dumped out its contents onto the floor of the cramped office. Lore jumped as at least three dozen stacks of hundred- and twenty-dollar bills hit the tile. He gripped the laptop at the bottom before it could slide out with them.

  Lore covered one stack with her foot and attempted to slide it over to herself unnoticed.

  “Nice try,” Van said. “We’re going to need this money to survive the week.” He retrieved two stacks and turned to the safe beneath the desk, where he deposited them. “Did you run into any trouble?”

  “Just a few weird looks when I insisted on that particular karaoke room and then didn’t stay to sing more than one Whitney Houston song,” Miles said.

  There was a spark of something to his words—an exhilaration, like a kid who had just gotten away with breaking the rules for the first time. His eyes were bright, almost feverish at the memory, and his cheeks flushed the way they always did when he was excited.

  Van’s hands stilled over the pile of money. His tone turned accusatory. “There’s almost three thousand dollars missing. Did you buy something on your joy ride?”

  “Yeah, I stopped to treat myself to a nice meal,” Miles sniped back. “I’m not a thief. He had another bit of information, but he wanted more for it.”

  “And you gave it to him?” Van snapped. “Without bothering to check in with me? He probably sold you a lie—”

  “All you got was confirmation that the Kadmides bought a new property on Central Park South, and that they bought it using a shell corporation,” Miles said. “What I got him to tell me was that the new Dionysus, the Reveler, was allied with Wrath and had been working with him and the Kadmides since the last Agon. But the Reveler fled at the start of this year’s hunt and hasn’t come back. Wrath’s after him now, too.”

  Lore’s lips parted. Even Athena looked mildly disconcerted at the thought.

  “So, you tell me which information is more valuable to us now,” Miles said triumphantly.

  Van stood, but Miles didn’t back down, not even to escape Van’s glare.

  “This isn’t a game,” Van told him. “There’s nothing to win and no rules to protect you.”

  “I kno
w that,” Miles said. But Lore knew her friend, and she recognized the look of eagerness and accomplishment that buoyed his mood.

  Van was right. Miles was liking this too much.

  The side door opened again, this time with more force.

  Castor, Lore thought, slipping past Athena.

  He braced a hand against the wall and leaned forward, exhaustion crashing down over his face.

  Lore went toward him, ducking down to try to meet his gaze. Aside from a cut across the sharp line of his left cheekbone, he seemed to be all right. The tension in his face eased as he saw her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “What happened?”

  Castor wiped the sweat off his face against his shoulder, but his shirt was already clinging to every line of his chest and arms. “It took me longer to lose them than I—”

  He straightened suddenly, gripping her elbow. The slight movement jarred Lore’s shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through it. Warm blood trickled down her front, and she swayed, suddenly light-headed.

  Castor ripped open a nearby laundry bag waiting to be delivered and dug through it until he found a towel. “How did this happen?”

  “Charged when I should have ducked,” Lore managed, trying to focus on his face.

  “What— Oh no—” Miles began retching as he saw the bloodstained towel. “Is she—”

  “Heal her, imposter,” Athena ordered.

  “No,” Lore said, pulling back. “Iro first. Iro. She’s— She needs to wake up.”

  “I’m not going to watch you stoically bleed to death,” Castor said, exasperated.

  She pressed the towel to her shoulder, stepping farther out of his reach. “Iro first.”

  Castor pushed past Athena and moved into the office. Lore didn’t join them there until the light of Castor’s power filtered out into the dark hallway. He worked quickly, nodding as Miles repeated what he had learned from the Kadmides informant.

  “We need to get out of here as soon as possible,” Van said. “If Wrath and the Kadmides are still tracking us, they won’t be far behind.”

  “We can take a second to catch our breaths and figure out our next move,” Lore said.