“He’s breathing. Don’t you hear that desperate whistle of air pulled over his lips?”

So smug. But Ares hadn’t meant to choke Odysseus unconscious. Why bother? If Ares wanted him dead, one twist of his wrist would take his head clean off. Blood would splash across Ares’ fist. And Ares loved blood above all things.

“What are you doing?” Hermes asked.

“I’m looking for something.”

“That’s how you look for something?” Hermes watched the muscle in his dark brother’s arm. He had to be careful. If Ares lost his temper, Odysseus’ poor, mortal neck would pay the price. “What do you want?” Hermes asked. “Why don’t you ask me?”

“Because you don’t know,” Ares said lazily. He kept on slapping until Odysseus jerked awake. “There he is. Good morning, sunshine. Do you know who I am?”

“Ares,” Odysseus croaked.

“Good. Feel this?” Ares dug his fingers into the back of Odysseus’ skull, and he kicked like a snared rabbit.

“You don’t want to do that,” Hermes said. “Big sister won’t like it.”

“She’s not my big sister, little brother. I don’t care what she likes and doesn’t like.” He slapped Odysseus again. Despite everything, Odysseus’ jaw clenched with anger. No fear.

“Listen close, boy of many ways. I’m only going to ask once. You know what I’m after, don’t you?” Ares shook him lightly, and Odysseus grabbed onto the hand around his throat.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then where is he?”

He. Achilles. Ares had taken up his fallen mother’s cause.

“Just tell him,” Hermes said quickly. “Tell him and be done with it. Let Athena deal with the fallout.”

Odysseus sucked air down deep. “No. I won’t tell him, or her either.”

“Isn’t that too bad. Hera says you’re the only one who knows where to find him.”

“Hera?” Hermes asked. “What are you talking about? Hera’s dead.”

Ares smiled, lazily, in a way that made the skin scrunch up between Hermes’ shoulder blades.

Ares shrugged. “Whatever you say, brother. And anyway, I don’t believe her.” Ares’ fingers tightened. “There’s always more than one way to skin … well, anything.” A few notches tighter, and they’d hear the sound of bones breaking.

Hermes’ pulse quickened. If he could get to Ares’ fingers fast enough, he could make him drop Odysseus.

But how fast could he get there? He wasn’t as quick as he used to be. And he couldn’t afford any telltale gauging of muscles. No flexing or tensing. If he was too slow, or if he missed, Odysseus wouldn’t survive the impact. He had one chance.

Hermes sprang like a twitch. Like a beam of light. His fingers twisted around Ares’ fist, and Odysseus fell to the ground. Hermes heaved hard and pushed the other god back so fast he would have laughed with joy had Ares’ elbow not connected with his face and sent the side of his skull cracking off the trunk of a tree.

Hermes pushed his arms out blindly, trying to get a solid hold and keep Ares at bay. But the god of war was strong. Hermes tasted blood and wondered whose it was. Had he bitten his lip? His eyes cleared just in time to see Ares’ bared teeth inches from his face.

“I used to clothe my throne in the skins of men,” said Ares. “But times have changed. Perhaps the skin of gods will prove more durable.”

“Times have changed,” replied Hermes. “Nothing about gods is ‘durable’ anymore.” The blood on his lips did belong to Ares, forced into his mouth from a seeping cut on the god’s forearm. It was gross. He’d rather have bitten his lip. “Is that what’s happening to you?” Hermes asked. “The god of blood will die slathered in it. Seems fitting.” He braced himself and shoved. “Ha,” he said. “Still strong enough to send the god of war skidding backward.”

Backward, through Artemis’ remains. Did Ares even know what it was, all that red beneath his feet?

Hermes didn’t have much time to wonder. Ares crashed back into him, his weight like lead. All the air left Hermes’ lungs in a rush. Spots and stars flooded his eyes as his spine ground against a tree, and the roots began to give way.

“Odysseus! Run!” he groaned, but he didn’t even know if Odysseus was conscious. But he’d have to get up. Hermes couldn’t keep this up for long. Grappling with Ares, he could almost feel the point when his arms would break.