“I’m not going to say that it didn’t have to end like this,” she said.

Athena stood and gestured toward her fallen brother.

“Like this? Are you mad? He’s dead. You’ll save yourself by killing your family?”

Hera looked at him, and for a moment it seemed that sadness flickered across her hardening face.

“He was a stepson, only. Another bastard put upon me by my husband. Yet I would’ve welcomed him, had he not forgotten what you’ve forgotten. That he was a god. That gods are not meant to die.”

Aphrodite scurried to her, Poseidon’s decapitated head clutched to her breast.

“They killed him! They killed him!”

“And she killed Aidan!” Athena shouted, and Aphrodite edged toward Hera’s protecting arms.

Hera cocked her head.

“Who?” Then she studied Aidan’s jeans, his hooded sweatshirt. She shook her head, disgusted, and stroked Aphrodite’s hair. “I know, pet. I felt the sea god’s light go out. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I would’ve ground them to paste before they ever touched him.”

Athena took quick stock. What did they have? A slow Dodge and a fleet-footed god with a broken ankle. Their getaway would be sad and short.

“Why are you doing this?”

Hera snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Do you really think you can kill us all? All of us and these mortals besides?”

“I know I can.”

Hera whispered to Aphrodite and she slipped quietly to the side of the road, Poseidon’s blood mingling with the dirt streaks on her green and blue dress as she hugged it. “I lived with mortals too, you know. I loved them. Raised them.” She shrugged. “I even married a few. But I never forgot what I really was. The choice between them and us isn’t a choice. It’s just us.”

“Us. But not Hermes and me.”

Hera cocked her head. “Perhaps Hermes. But not you.”

Athena turned an ear back to Hermes, half wondering if the next sound she heard would be his feet, dragging and hopping to the other side of the battle line. Instead she felt the press of his shoulder against her.

“And why not Athena?” Hermes asked. “What’s she done? She’s not a bastard, not a betrayal of you by your husband. He made her out of himself. No paramour required.”

Athena watched Hera’s jaw set bitterly.

That’s why. All this time. All these years. That’s why she’s never been a mother to me, when she was the only mother I knew. I was evidence that she wasn’t necessary.

“Athena.” Cassandra spoke quietly from where she knelt, holding Aidan’s cold hand. Athena turned toward her. “This is what I saw. Why Aidan turned us back. The blue sky and evergreens. The silver-black of asphalt on the highway. Hera’s face, vicious and full of glory, even as chunks of granite form on her arms and shoulders. I remember the exact sensation of striking her skin.” She looked at Aidan’s empty face. “I remember the light going out.” She stroked his pale cheek, then turned to Athena with steel in her eyes. “This is it. This is the end.”

“The end?” Athena looked down at her. “But it can’t be.”

“I don’t have all day, stepdaughter,” Hera called. Her kitten heels tapped against the road. “Come closer so I can kill you and your half brother.”

Athena couldn’t form a thought. As she looked at Aidan’s body, Hera’s words landed sour, like a wrong strike against a tuning fork. They made her spine twitch and sent sharp bursts of rage ringing across her surface.

“Apollo lost his life to save a mortal girl. So now I will too.”

“No,” Cassandra said, and grasped her wrist. “You can’t stop it.”

“It’s not a choice. He wanted you safe. And we need you safe, so—”

“No.” She clenched her fist around Athena’s arm. Athena’s mouth dropped open. Where the girl touched her, it burned. Like the tingling on her face, after she’d slapped her. She looked up, her chest full suddenly with absurd hope and the words of Demeter urgent in her ears. She could be the key to everything.…

Cassandra trembled, then grew still.

“I feel it too, whatever it is. And I’ve seen this. I’ve seen this day and this fight. I’m in it with you.”

Athena looked at her, deep into her brown eyes. What is this thing? Like looking at a frozen surface through a pane of glass. She didn’t know what it was exactly. But she knew it was power.