Helen stared off the side of the house for a while, wondering whether or not she’d done the right thing. A part of her knew she was hurting Lucas more by not setting him straight about her and Orion, but in the end she couldn’t do it. Her reasons were selfish, but still valid. If Lucas thought she was with Orion, he would eventually pull away and she really needed him to do so.
She could look inside him and see he was still in love with her, but that the love had changed slightly. Regardless of what Orion said about it not making any difference to Lucas if she spent the night with another man, it had altered something in him—not the amount of love he felt, but how keenly he felt it. Helen figured it made sense. Even with a physical injury, there’s only so much pain a person can take before they start to go numb.
Helen saw Matt leave the house and go to his car. She inhaled a breath, about to call out to him and ask him where he was going, but she remembered all the sleeping people just under the roof she was sitting on and stopped herself. Matt turned and looked in her direction, anyway.
Impossible, Helen thought as he smiled and waved up at her. There’s no way he could have heard me inhale. But how else could he have known to look on the roof? Helen waved back, and Matt got into his car and drove off.
Still mulling it over, Helen flew in Lucas’s window and sat down on his bed. For a moment, she considered climbing into it, but there was a chance Lucas would come home and find her there. It wasn’t fair to do that to him. Helen hauled her tired body up and walked down the hallway to Ariadne’s room.
She was surprised to find Ariadne awake.
“Hey,” Ariadne said, automatically sliding over to make room for Helen in her bed.
“Hey yourself,” Helen replied with a worried frown. Ariadne’s heart was a throbbing mess of emotion, and Helen knew it had to have something to do with Matt. She kicked off her shoes and got into bed. “I just saw Matt leave. Did you two talk?”
Ariadne avoided all mention of her feelings and instead told Helen what she and Matt had discussed about the Scions being stuck in one repeating cycle. She explained how Matt thought the Fates needed all the roles to be filled, and if they weren’t, the cycle would just start over again with the next generation.
“I think everyone’s coming to the same conclusion,” Helen said with a nod. “It would explain why we all look like people from Troy—we’re stuck. There’s something that didn’t happen way back then that the Fates are still trying to bring about.”
“But what?” Ariadne asked, exasperated. “And something else I don’t understand? Why can’t the Fates just make what they want to happen, happen? It doesn’t make sense.”
“What did Matt say?” Helen asked, feeling a sinking sensation in her stomach.
“He said that there must be a force working against the Fates in every cycle. Something that keeps ruining the play before the Scions can get all the way through it the exact way the Fates want. He said he thinks it’s Nemesis, working against her sisters.”
“By blocking the Fates and giving a Scion free will,” Helen whispered. “At least that’s what Lucas thinks. Every cycle someone who’s supposed to make a huge decision has free will and ruins the Fates’ plan.”
Ariadne rubbed her eyes. “Does Lucas have any idea who has free will in this cycle?”
Helen felt like the universe kept pointing an accusing finger at her.
“We aren’t sure,” she lied.
Helen rolled over and opened her eyes. She expected to see Ariadne lying next to her. Instead, she saw a man’s naked back, swelling and sinking with the deep breaths of sleep.
Lucas, Helen thought, recognizing his shape immediately. She wanted to run her hand between the bunched muscles of his shoulder blades and down the trench of his spine, but something was off. The room Helen had awoken to was familiar, although she had never been in it before.
The other Helen sat up slowly, watching her husband carefully to make sure she didn’t disturb him. She needed to sneak out before Paris woke up, or she wouldn’t be able to get away that day as she had planned.
Helen watched as Helen of Troy tied her simplest chiton over her shoulder, gathered up an old girdle, veil, and worn sandals. She noticed that Helen of Troy had one brown eye and one that was turned blue by a lightning-bolt scar that ran down the center of the iris. Helen knew that it had happened during the stoning. The beating Helen Hamilton had taken from Ares had given her the same mark.
The other Helen hurried a short ways down the dark marble corridor without putting her sandals on and stopped at a door. Inside the room was a little girl, no more than three or four, still in her bed. The little girl opened her eyes with uncanny prescience.
“Mommy?” whispered the little girl, awake in an instant. “Are we going to see Auntie Briseis today, like we promised?”
“Yes, Atlanta,” Helen said quietly, rushing into the room and closing the door behind her.
“Are we going to walk with the Lady first?” Atlanta asked. Sensitive to her mother’s mood, she kept her voice down.
“Not today.” Helen dressed Atlanta in an old skirt and shawl she had borrowed from a servant.
“But the people like it when you and the Lady walk through their gardens. They hug each other and kiss your hand.”
“That’s because Aphrodite brings love to the beasts and to the growing things and they multiply,” Helen said with a sad smile as she turned to finish dressing herself. “It’s why our people have lasted so long without starving inside the walls.”
“Starving—like they are outside?” Atlanta asked with a troubled frown.
“That’s right. That’s why we have to go see Auntie Briseis. We must bring her more food.”
Helen of Troy picked up her daughter and put her on her hip. “Change your face, like mommy taught you,” she said, touching half of the cestus that hung in the shape of a heart charm around Atlanta’s neck. Atlanta squinted in concentration, and her face magically altered. “Don’t forget your hair,” Helen reminded her, and Atlanta’s sparkling blonde locks darkened to brown. Helen then altered her own looks, adopting the plain face and stout figure of a hardworking field hand before the pair left the room.
They made their way swiftly through the palace and down to the kitchens. An old woman who had nursed Briseis as a baby handed Helen a prepared bundle, which she tied across her back. A quick glance to make sure no one but the loyal old woman was watching, and she stole out through a back door and through the kitchen gardens. Helen ran swiftly to the wall, her daughter clinging to her tightly. Picking up speed as she reached the fortifications, she scrabbled up one side of the wall and down the other faster than the guards could see in the low predawn light.
Atlanta was not afraid, although she knew that outside the wall she and her mother were in mortal danger. Helen smiled at her brave daughter proudly, and slipped through the sleeping siege camp. They stopped at one of the largest tents and whistled softly at the entrance.
A moment later, a woman who looked just like Ariadne appeared and wrapped the disguised mother and daughter in a warm hug.
“Briseis,” Helen said softly to the woman. The sisters-in-law kissed each other warmly on both cheeks.
“There isn’t much time for a visit,” Briseis said as she led Helen and Atlanta into the tent. “Achilles will be back soon.”
“There is an easy remedy for that. One that allows us to spend as much time together as we wish,” Helen said leadingly as she allowed her real face to appear.
“Don’t start,” Briseis warned. “I won’t leave him.”
“I know.” Helen put Atlanta down and gave her a small wooden figurine to play with before handing Briseis the bundle of food. “Have you thought about what will happen when Achilles joins the battle lines again?”
“He may never join them. He detests Agamemnon and refuses to do his bidding anymore.”
“He didn’t cross the sea with his army for nothing, Briseis.”
“I’m aware of that.” Briseis’ eyes sparkled with anger. “But he’s different now. He told me he has no quarrel with my brother.”
“It doesn’t matter if he has a quarrel with Hector or not. This is war. Don’t let your love for Achilles blind you.”
“I haven’t.” Briseis looked away. “But I know what side of the wall I’m on.”
“And what side of the war? What about her?” Helen pleaded quietly, gesturing to Atlanta. She saw Briseis’ eyes widen with worry, and knew that the risk of bringing Atlanta was worth it for this reason alone. Helen pressed her case while she had the chance. “Achilles came here to kill the Tyrant. That was the one argument Agamemnon made that convinced him to fight.”
“Atlanta has nothing to fear from him, I swear it,” Briseis said, glancing down at Atlanta protectively. “He would never kill a child. You don’t know him.”
The two sisters-in-law glared at each other. The only sound in the tent was Atlanta whispering to her doll.
“Do you like the pretty garden I made? The sun never burns and the bees never sting and the stones stay out of your sandals,” Atlanta cooed, completely lost in her game of make-believe.
Helen rolled her eyes comically and spoke under her breath to Briseis. “She spends all day imagining a perfect world where no one suffers. Terrifying, isn’t she?”
Briseis looked away again, her face falling into a frown as her thoughts turned dark. “It helps that she was born a girl. No one suspects her to be the Tyrant now. Not really.”
“Then why does Achilles stay here even though his men starve?” Helen asked desperately. Briseis had no answer. “Sister, I believe you when you say he’d never kill a child. Achilles is a man of deep principles—principles that brought him to Troy. Have you ever considered that ridding the world of the Tyrant is so important to him that he might be willing to wait for her to grow up first before he kills her?”
“You must go,” Briseis said suddenly, waving at the air like it had filled up with flies. “He’ll be back any moment.”
Helen sighed and dropped her head in defeat and then reached down to scoop up her daughter. “I’ll be back with more food in a few days.”
The two women embraced, cautiously at first as if they were still at odds, and then with true tenderness before Helen and Atlanta assumed their disguises and left the enemy camp.
Helen woke up with a thick tress of Ariadne’s hair in her mouth. She spat it out and mentally apologized for drooling all over it before rolling over. She rolled over onto something that squeaked. It turned out to be Andy, who batted at her and made protesting sounds in her sleep. Wishing Noel would get even just one more mattress for the girls to sleep on, Helen scooted down to the end of the bed and crawled out as quietly as she could without crushing anyone.
Helen hugged herself as she left the room, trying to shake off the memory. That one had seemed closer to her than the others had, like she was more than just a spectator this time. In fact, halfway through it had started to feel like it was Helen of Nantucket, and not Helen of Troy, who was in that tent. She could still feel the warm, squirmy weight of her little girl (correction—Helen of Troy’s little girl) in her arms, so of course she ran into Lucas in the hallway. She ached to hold one of them, either the little girl or the little girl’s father, so desperately she actually groaned.
“I thought you’d gone home,” Lucas said after a pause.
“Haven’t been there in days,” Helen said, staring at him greedily. “I figure, why bother when everyone is here?”
“And more on the way,” he said, suddenly frowning.
Helen nodded. “The meeting of the Houses. Did you call—”
“Orion? Yeah,” Lucas said, finishing her sentence. “He’s waiting for us in the library.”
“What time is it?” Helen asked, and peered blinkingly at the slanted light coming in a nearby window.
“Past two.” He chuckled at the shocked look on Helen’s face. “Meet us downstairs?” he said as he passed by her and made his way to the staircase. “We need to make plans.”
“I just need a minute,” Helen said, gesturing to her rumpled clothes and ratty hair.
“Take your time,” Lucas said. As he walked by on his way down the hall, he bent close to her, running his hand up her arm. His large hand swallowed every curve of her slender muscles, cupping them one by one in the palm of his hand and leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. His skin was so hot on hers, she shivered when his warmth was removed, which it was, far too quickly.
Helen peeked in on her father first. Jerry still slept deeply, but even standing over him she could hear his heart beating strong and steady. He looked like he was in another world, a peaceful one that he was reluctant to leave. Helen didn’t know if it worked like this or not, but she hoped that if Jerry were merely sleeping, that Morpheus was watching over him.
Helen ran to the bathroom, conniving to beat Ariadne and Andy to the shower before they got out of bed. She darted in before they’d even started scratching and shut the door behind her with a satisfied smile.
Helen turned on the tap and started pulling off her clothes, the memory of Lucas’s hand on her arm still burning bright. She showered quickly. While she toweled off, another chance encounter in another dark hallway, centuries ago, billowed up in Helen’s mind like the steam rising off the white tile.
Lancelot had been away from Camelot for many months.
The Barbarians—big, blond invaders from a land of ice—had kept the Knights of the Round Table busy. Guinevere’s father had fought the Barbarians his entire life, as her father’s father had fought before him. Now, with the marriage between Guinevere and Arthur finalized, the dragon and wolf worshippers from the world of snow were Arthur’s problem and, therefore, the problem of every knight sworn to him in Briton. If Guinevere’s island home was to survive, the Barbarian invasion must be stopped, or every Briton-born would be slaughtered before the year was done.
Arthur was not prepared for the Berserkers. His men were orderly soldiers, trained in the Roman fashion of warfare. They were not used to the drug-induced trances that the Barbarians employed to send their rabid hordes screaming down on men, woman, and children. The horrors they saw during these barbaric hit-and-run raids were taking a toll on all of Arthur’s men. The knights were outnumbered, and an all-out war was brewing.
Arthur was still on campaign in the north, trying to find a solution. Lancelot had returned to Camelot two days ago, but Guinevere had not seen him yet. He was avoiding being alone with her, and she suspected it was not just because Arthur was her husband, as they both knew far too well. There was something deeper there, hindering him. Something terrible had happened to him. Guinevere could see it in Lancelot’s eyes—they burned like two freshly blown-out candles. The color was still fierce, but all the heat was gone.
Guinevere knew she had to talk to Lancelot, set his feet right again, or he would spin away from both his duty and family. It was up to her to fix him, even if it broke her heart to be near him, to see the wounded look on his face as he imagined Arthur in her bed.
“Lancelot,” Guinevere called, touching his elbow in the dark hallway. She coaxed him gently to turn around and face her. “Please. Talk to me.”
“Gwen,” he breathed softly, pulling her closer to him. There was a lost look in his eyes, like a little boy. He tugged on her hand, and she followed without a word or thought of protest.
Lancelot led her away from the main walkway and down a turret alcove that overlooked the dark moors surrounding Camelot. Moonlight streamed into the cross-like shape of the arrow slit, giving enough light so she could see the heavy look of lust weighing down his eyelids. Guinevere’s lips parted with a dozen unsaid words as she stared into his eyes. Lancelot’s hips shifted closer to hers for one tense moment, and then he pulled himself away, releasing her entirely.
“You shouldn’t have come to me tonight.”
“But you brought me no word from my homeland in the Summer Country,” she replied, smiling up into his bright eyes as she closed the distance between them. “You told me you’d sit with my father and bring back a token of his remembrance of me.”
Lancelot’s face went pale, his eyes widening with pity, and Guinevere knew.
“It can’t be,” she said, her voice suddenly high and girlish.
Her father was dead. That cantankerous, crafty, and surprisingly hilarious giant of a man couldn’t be dead. He was too stubborn to die. But Guinevere saw the truth written all over Lancelot’s face. The leader of her clan, her father, was dead.
Sorrow swept over her. She lost control for a moment, and the room crackled with the white-blue light of her witch-fire.
“I married Arthur so my father and our clan would be safe from the Barbarians.” She sobbed disbelievingly. “All this,” she said, gesturing with disgust to the jewels and the rich gown she wore now instead of humble homespun, “was to protect my father and my clan.”
“I know,” Lancelot said, striding forward to take Guinevere’s hands. He jumped back involuntarily as her witch-fire coursed through him, but he schooled his pain and didn’t let her go. “Gwen,” he pleaded, gasping for breath. “It’s not Arthur’s fault. We fought and lost. I lost. Arthur wasn’t even there.”
The room went dark as Guinevere got control over herself, and the white-blue fire extinguished.
“But I married Arthur instead of you to save my clan,” she said. Her voice was shaky and reduced to a whisper. “I gave you up for my clan’s protection.”
“And your clan is gone now.” Lancelot’s eyes darkened. “But not because of Arthur. Because of me.”
Lancelot sat down on the floor of the turret in a heap and raked his hand through his hair. He told his story quickly and quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.
The Summer Country had flooded, as it always did in the ebb and flow of the yearly tides. The roads were impassable, and a battle unthinkable in the bog-like terrain. With the women and children safe in their flooded homeland, most of the men had all left to join Arthur’s campaign against the Barbarians up north, as they always did at this time of year.
Lancelot had stayed behind to learn how the women grew all kinds of crops in the water instead of in soil, and Arthur agreed that knowledge of that technique could be useful at Camelot.
Lancelot was in the water fields with the women when he saw the dragon-crested ships sail right into the flood plains.
“I stayed with the women in the fields instead of going to your father,” Lancelot rasped. “When I couldn’t fight anymore, I stole a ship and sent as many women and children as I could gather away from the slaughter. Your father was . . . He was killed.”
Guinevere knew he had been about to say tortured. It didn’t matter how Lancelot tried to soften the blow for her. The damage was done. She’d allowed herself to be offered up in marriage to a man she didn’t love because she’d believed that by doing so, she could save her clan. But it hadn’t worked. Her father was dead, and her people was scattered. She’d married a man she didn’t love for nothing.
“Thank you for saving what part of my clan you could,” she whispered. “I owe you my life for that. Again.”
Lancelot looked at her with such open need and desperation that she reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “It’s my fault,” he said, his face hot.
“No. I don’t blame you for the lives lost. I bless you for the lives you saved,” she said tenderly, meaning every word and hoping he believed her enough to forgive himself.
“Gwen,” he breathed, and wound his arms around her tightly, his whole body pushing against hers in a wave of need.
He pressed his mouth against hers, startling her. For all the whispered words and longing looks, he had never dared touch her. This was their first kiss—the first time they had crossed this line. Guinevere knew that Lancelot would suffer more for betraying Arthur, his cousin, king, and closest friend, more than she would because Lancelot loved Arthur, and she didn’t. Guinevere pushed against his shoulders for a moment, trying to spare him the guilt she knew he’d feel, before giving in to the swell of desperation she felt rising up in Lancelot.
His hands dug into her hair, sending her hairpins flying and her tresses tumbling down around his calloused fingers in messy locks. His lips nudged hers apart. Guinevere fell back against the flagstones and pulled Lancelot down on top of her. He slid his knee between her thighs, pushing her many-layered skirts up until his hand could reach the bare skin underneath. He ripped her under-shift off, and she cried out as the silken ties burned across her skin. Lancelot stilled and eased back.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice breaking and his eyes vulnerable.
“The only time you ever hurt me is when you leave me,” she replied, wrapping herself around him. “Don’t ever leave me again.”
Her heart still pounding away, Helen quickly dried her hair and half ran to the library to escape the borrowed memory before it got any more graphic. She stopped at the door and fanned the hot flush on her cheeks, reminding herself that in her memory Guinevere was betraying her husband, so she shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much, and in this life, she and Lucas were cousins so she had no business dredging up those old memories to begin with.
She could hear Lucas’s deep voice through the library door, and after such a vivid flashback, even that was enough to make her giddy. She recalled Lancelot taking her to his rooms, untying the laces on her dress, and . . . other things. She blushed furiously.
Stop being such a giant, throbbing hormone and get in there, she chided herself, shaking out her hands. It’s not like everyone will know what you were just thinking about.
She pushed open the door and saw Orion immediately glance down at her chest, look back up at her, and raise an eyebrow as a knowing smile spread across his face. Except maybe Orion, she thought, wishing she could drop dead on the spot.
The men rose to greet Helen, but Cassandra stayed in the giant leather chair that dwarfed her fragile body. Helen bowed to the Oracle respectfully and noticed that Cassandra had her iPad on her lap.
“What’s up?” Helen asked, ignoring the jolt of warmth she felt when she sat down in the only vacant spot—next to Lucas, of course.
“Another attack,” Cassandra replied gravely, handing Helen the iPad.
“A tsunami in Turkey,” Orion said. Helen scrolled through the pictures of flooded land.
“But why here?” she said, looking at the area in Turkey that had been hit. “This isn’t a major city.”
“Not anymore,” Lucas said. “But thirty-three hundred years ago, Troy was there.”
“That’s some grudge,” Helen whispered, closing the iPad.
“The gods are getting bolder.” Cassandra sat back in her giant chair, her brow drawn with worry. “The Scions can’t waste any more time. We have to unite.”
“And to do that, we need to figure out how we’re going to deal with this meeting of the Houses,” Hector said, taking the lead. “The three of you are all Heirs, so you’ll be standing behind your House Heads. Except for Orion, of course, who is the Head of the House of Rome. I guess you’ll have your second in the House standing behind you.”
“No way in hell I’m standing with Phaon at my back,” Orion said with a grimace. He saw the questioning looks on Lucas’s and Hector’s faces and knew he had to explain. “Phaon and his elder brother, Corvus, disputed my succession when I was little.”
“Wait. Corvus?” Lucas asked, leaning forward. “My father killed Corvus before any of us were born.”
“No. Castor thought he killed Corvus. But he survived,” Orion said. His voice dropped. “Believe me, I wish it were otherwise.”
“Orion. You don’t have to explain,” Helen said, trying to spare him.
“It’s okay, Helen. I’d have to tell them about my scars eventually, anyway,” he said, giving her a sad little smile. “My mom’s cousin Corvus officially challenged me when I was eleven. I won.”
“In the Colosseum?” Hector asked. Orion nodded. “Wow. Is it true that if members from the House of Rome kill each other in the Colosseum, they don’t become Outcasts?”
“It’s true. Romans have spilled so much blood into the sands of the Colosseum that the Furies lost track of the blood debts. It’s a cursed place,” Orion said in a subdued voice. Hector’s eyes gleamed enviously like he would give anything to fight in the Colosseum, but the haunted look on Orion’s face kept him from voicing that desire. “When I killed Corvus, Phaon lost his only ally—the man who’d raised him like a son. Phaon’d put a knife in my back as soon as look at me. I’ll never stand with him.”
“Well. That’s something to consider,” Lucas said quietly, and a heavy silence followed.
Helen could see Hector’s heart swell for his friend. Out of all of them, Hector could relate to Orion the most. It was strange for Helen to think about, but both of them were killers. A bright flash from Cassandra’s direction caught Helen’s eye. The silvery orb that hung in her chest rippled like moonlight reflecting off a dark pond.
“And you’re not to go anywhere near Phaon,” Orion said suddenly, following Helen’s eyes and pointing at Cassandra. His tone was uncharacteristically rough. “If he tries to get you alone, you come straight to me. Understand?”
Cassandra nodded cautiously, puzzled by his angry look.
“Why?” Lucas asked.
Orion’s lips twisted into a bitter scowl, like there was a vile taste in his mouth. He shook his head, like he was shaking off Lucas’s question.
“Why?” Lucas repeated, undeterred.
“He’s a monster.” Orion looked away, his volume dropping. “He only goes for little girls.”
Cassandra looked away and frowned, the light inside her chest dimming. “I’m not a little girl,” she said quietly, but no one responded.
“Are you sure about that?” Hector asked Orion seriously.
Orion nodded. “My father’s little sister.” He didn’t elaborate. “Trust me, Cassandra’s his type. Some family I got, huh?”
“They’re not your family,” Lucas said sharply. He tipped his chin at Helen and Hector and Cassandra, including everyone before looking back at Orion levelly. “We’re your family. You stand with us.”
“We are blood brothers,” Helen said, reminding him.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be watching for a knife in the back, too,” Hector said, his face falling. “Tantalus will be there. Who knows what he’ll do when he sees me?” He looked over at Lucas, and the two of them shared a sad smile. “Some family we got, huh?”
“I think the five of us have to stand together no matter what,” Helen said before Hector could get any more upset. She bit her lip, finding a snag. “Except Cassandra is supposed to be neutral, right? She’s the Oracle and she outranks us all, so she’ll be the only one seated.”
“Right,” Hector said with a quick nod. “When the Houses meet, she is considered above all bloodlines and sits alone.”
Helen looked over at Cassandra, so tiny in that big chair. She was always alone.
“Are you guys okay with this?” Helen asked sheepishly.
“It’s never worked like that before,” Hector said slowly. A moment later he looked around smiling, his decision made. “If we stand together it’ll be like we’re our own House—the Scion Heirs or something. I’m willing to do it, but I think our parents will be pissed.”
“So what?” Lucas said, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “We’re not doing things the way they did them. I say we stand together.”
“I agree,” Orion said with a definite nod. “But only if Helen’s our leader.”
Helen burst our laughing. “Are you serious?” She looked around, and saw that everyone was nodding in agreement. “Wait. Back up. I can’t be the leader.”
“Yes you can,” Hector said, nodding his head. “In fact, you have to be the leader.”
“So when did all of you start eating bowls of crazy for breakfast?” Helen asked, her patience growing thin. She didn’t even like to win track races—she sure as hell didn’t want to be the leader of the Scion Heirs. “I’m the worst choice. Hector . . .”
“Hector can’t be the leader, Helen. He’s not an Heir,” Cassandra said, her voice low. “And Orion has too many enemies trying to depose him already. Worse than that—too many people think he’s the Tyrant. He would be challenged the moment he stepped forward as the leader of the Heirs.”
“Lucas, then,” Helen said, a hint of desperation entering her tone. “He’s the smartest. He should lead us.”
“Lucas is the brother of the Oracle,” Cassandra said, shaking her head sadly. “That would give too much power to the House of Thebes. Your own mother would fight it. It has to be you.”
“No,” Helen said simply. “I don’t want to do it.”
“Tough luck, Princess.” Hector smiled at her with infuriating smugness. “Come on. You always knew it had to be you.”
“But I’m clueless!” she said, bolting up out of her seat anxiously. “And the worst fighter. What if someone from another House challenges me to a duel or whatever? I’d totally lose.” Helen started pacing around, running her hands through her hair.
“If you’re our leader, you’d never fight,” Lucas said, liking this new development more and more. “Leaders choose champions to fight for them when they get challenged—usually the best fighter. It’s a bad idea for our best fighter to be the leader.”
“Okay, we all agree. Helen’s the boss,” Orion said.
“We did not agree—” Helen interrupted, but Orion kept talking over her.
“Now all you need to do is choose a champion.” He stood up and bowed formally to Helen. “I accept.”
“Like hell,” Lucas said, standing up and squaring off with Orion. “I’m Helen’s champion.”
“Can’t let you do that, bro,” Orion said with an apologetic shake of his head.
“Did you just say let me?” Lucas asked in a disbelieving voice.
“Ladies, please,” Hector said as he nudged Orion and Lucas apart and stood between them. “Weren’t you listening? The champion is supposed to be the best fighter. Clearly, that’s me.”
“Really? Prove it,” Lucas said coolly.
Helen could see a brawl coming. It killed her to think of any of her guys hurting each other, and although she wasn’t ready to face it just yet, she knew that there was only one of them that she would ever be able to send into danger.
“Hector,” she said firmly. “If I’m the leader, I want Hector to be my champion.” Helen looked at Lucas and Orion, her face set. “He is the best fighter.”
“Atta girl. Already making the right decisions. You might be a better leader than you think.” Hector grinned.
“Hold on,” Lucas objected.
“Do you accept?” Cassandra asked Hector, ignoring her brother.
“I do,” he replied immediately.
“I bear witness. Hector is Helen’s champion from this day forward. If anyone challenges Helen, Hector will fight in her stead.” Cassandra looked sharply at Orion. “Lucas will be Hector’s second.”
“Wait just a damn minute,” Orion sputtered.
“And you will be my champion,” Cassandra said loudly over his protestations. “That way Atreus leads, Thebes protects Atreus, and Athens and Rome protect Thebes. We need to show them all that the time of fighting between the Houses is over. The best way to do that is for the five of us to trust each other with our lives.”
Orion closed his mouth with a snap, thought about it for a moment, and sighed reluctantly. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“Do you accept?” Cassandra asked him, a timid note entering her tone. “Will you be my champion?”
“Yes,” Orion answered seriously. Then he cracked a smile and gave her a little push. “Of course I accept, Kitty.”
Cassandra smiled back, relieved.
“I’ll witness,” Helen said, sensing that this needed to be voiced. “Orion is Cassandra’s champion.” She looked over at Lucas, who she could tell was barely holding his tongue. “Do you have something you want to say?”
“I don’t like being sidelined,” he said angrily. “But I’ll deal with it.”
“Okay. So we’re a team now,” Orion said, looking around at everyone. “This should be an interesting meeting.”
“Matt!” Claire snapped. “Can you focus, please?”
Matt’s head turned, and he looked at Claire blankly. She had just said something about Helen, but he wasn’t sure what.
He was distracted.
At that moment, a ship was landing on the beach at Great Point, right under the lighthouse. It was a small ship. Matt didn’t hear it scrape across the sand all the way from his house in Siasconset—nor did he see the three Myrmidons vault lightly out of the vessel, grab hold of the sides, and carry the boat up the beach at an effortless run. Matt wasn’t physically present when ten more small ships followed and his soldiers took the beach, but he was aware of it happening as if he were. Even as Claire waved a hand in his face and sighed with frustration, his eyes could also see the precise steps of his thirty-three men as they tracked silently up from the waterline.
“Greetings,” Claire said with a worried grimace. “Are you ever going to land that spaceship and join the conversation?”
An ironic laugh burst out of Matt. “Land that ship,” he repeated as he sensed members of his landing party regarding the terrain with soldierly precision. With this new double awareness, Matt saw a Myrmidon warrior, his skin black and shiny like a carapace, kneel and lay a hand on the cold sand in one sleek, swift motion.
“He’s here. Our master’s mind is with us right now,” said Telamon.
Matt remembered that Telamon was a prince of his kind, and one of Matt’s best captains.
“Another beach, brothers,” he said ruefully. Telamon rubbed his hands together to brush away the sand. The distasteful sneer he wore made it clear that he still detested sand after all these years away from Troy.
“What are your orders?” asked a soldier with faceted black eyes.
“Make camp. We wait for our master here,” Telamon decreed. “When he’s ready, he will join us.”
“Are you okay?” Ariadne asked plaintively.
Matt blinked hard and was finally able to banish the image in his head.
“I’m fine,” he said, concentrating on the task at hand. “Go on, Claire.”
“Okay, so like I said, the first time I saw something weird—well, weirder than usual—was when Lennie was reaching for a spoon. It shook for a second, like it was shivering, and then it just flew into her hand.”
“All three of us saw something similar to that when we were in Andy’s hospital room,” Ariadne added.
“Describe it,” Matt said, turning to Andy.
“Well, first she got angry and then she lit up. Sparks started to fall out of her skin and hair like rain,” Andy said, her lovely voice filling with awe as she remembered. “All the equipment in my room started to rattle, and I could have sworn I felt my bed move.”
For a moment, Matt’s bedroom fell silent as they all thought about this.
“I felt something strange like that when Helen got angry the other day,” Jason added reluctantly.
“What happened?” Matt asked.
“She and Lucas were checking in on Jerry, and they started fighting. I guess it was pretty bad because they went down to the fight cage to settle it. I could have sworn I felt the house shake for a second.”
“That could have been an impact tremor,” Matt said. “They’re strong enough to shake the house when they hit the ground.”
“It was before they got downstairs. They were just walking, Matt,” Jason said with a shrug. Matt paused, thinking.
“Did you see any lightning?” he asked the three girls.
“Not really,” Ariadne said for them. “What we saw was definitely electrical, but I can’t figure out why that would make stuff rattle like that. The whole thing was just strange. And scary.”
“Her voice was all funny,” Claire added, rubbing her arms like she had a chill.
“Way too much reverb,” Andy said emphatically. “I’m a siren, I know voices, and I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
“She sounded like a goddess,” Ariadne said, summing it up for the three of them. “Something’s happened to her, guys.”
“You think?” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “After everything she’s been through, she’s bound to have changed a bit. That doesn’t mean she’s changed in a bad way. Cut her some slack. She just fought a god.”
“And won,” Matt added quietly. “She fought a god and won. How strong do you think she’d have to be to do that?”
“Stronger than any other Scion. Ever.” Ariadne’s voice shook.
“She was tortured, you guys,” Jason countered sternly.
“Exactly,” Ariadne responded. “And you think an experience like that is going to change her for the better?”
“This is ridiculous,” Jason said angrily. He spun around and stormed to the door.
“Jason,” Claire began, but he turned back and cut her off.
“I know you and Helen have been best friends since you were little, and that she’s changing a lot and it’s scaring you. But everyone changes. Just because you don’t understand what’s happening to Helen doesn’t mean you have any reason to be afraid of her. I hope you all realize that before you go and do something stupid.”
Jason left them to stand around and stare at one another.
“There’s one more thing,” Claire said, her voice forcing its way through her tight throat. “I tried to talk to Helen about how she’s changing. She made it pretty clear that she didn’t care. She just wants to win.” Claire rubbed her arms again like she was cold. “The Helen I knew didn’t care about winning. She never even tried to win a track meet before.”
She was afraid. They all were. The worst part was that Matt had the sinking feeling that they should be.
Matt thought again about that morality question Zach asked once. Would Matt really kill someone who hadn’t done anything yet, to keep that person from possibly killing millions? What was right?
“How much longer, captain?” asked one of the Myrmidons.
“Soon,” Telamon answered. “Master is still torn.”
“Impossible,” said another soldier. His glowing red eyes narrowed with emotion. “It can’t be him if he wavers. Achilles would never be swayed from our true mission. He died for it.”
“Patience,” Telamon said commandingly.
“Patience,” the Myrmidons chanted back with hushed reverence, like they were reciting catechism. This was a ritual they had performed many times.
“Old loyalties from his mortal life still pull at him,” Telamon continued, momentarily putting a soothing hand on a comrade’s shoulder, like a sympathetic counselor or a priest. “But loyalties that are older still are starting to surface. Courage.”
“Courage,” the soldiers repeated in unison as soon as Telamon fed them the word. Their soldierly version of “amen” thundered across the dunes, and the force of their combined voices lifted up swells of sand off the undulating dunes and sent it airborne like smoke over the water.
“The end of this cycle is near,” Telamon continued knowingly. “And in the end our master’s heart will lead him back to us. Friends, remember. The blade chose this particular vessel because the blade knows that this vessel, above all others, shares our desire.”
“Matt?” Ariadne asked.
Matt blinked hard again and focused on her. She looked worried.
“What do you think we should do?”
“First we have to find out how far she’s willing to go,” he said gravely. “And then we’ll each have to decide—each of us for ourselves—how far we’re willing to go to stop her.”
