Then, as if he’d wished her into existence, Athena slammed into Ares with full force. The impact tore him off of Hermes and sent him sprawling, tumbling like a pile of expensive clothes. Athena’s hands were on Hermes’ shoulders, keeping him on his feet.

“Stay up,” she said, and he did. Her voice brought his senses back from whatever scared corner they’d run to. It was even and strong, and more than a little angry.

“As you wish, big sister.”

*   *   *

Odysseus lay in a heap beside the broad trunk of a tree. Cassandra ran through the clearing, splashing through what had to be the last of Artemis, and knelt beside him.

“Is he all right?” Athena asked, her eyes on Ares, who had rolled to a sitting position and stayed there, looking amused and not at all in a hurry to flee.

“He’s awake. His throat is black with bruises,” Cassandra said. She whispered to Odysseus, and he nodded. “He’s breathing. He’s okay.”

Ares got to his feet and made a show of brushing himself off, but he’d rolled twenty feet in blood. It soaked into his clothing and streaked across his bare forearms and cheeks. It was terrible to see him so, covered in his sister’s death. Yet it was right. Ares wore blood like armor. In it, he looked like himself.

“Is that her?” he asked.

“Never mind her,” Athena replied.

“But it is her, isn’t it? The prophetess. The girl who kills gods.”

Cassandra pulled Odysseus into her lap. She glared but said nothing.

“It is,” Athena said. “Is that why you’ve come? Want her to put you out of your misery?”

Ares laughed. But he didn’t charge in like he had with Hermes. Athena was a different game altogether. No one really knew which of them was stronger.

“Hera said you were infested with owl feathers,” Ares said. “Seems like she exaggerated. I can’t see a single one.”

“When did she tell you that?”

Athena flexed her fist, annoyed at the small bandage wrapped around her wrist. The only visible blemish. The rest of her was long mahogany hair and smooth skin. Healthy, and without weakness. She hoped it irritated the shit out of him.

“And what about you?” she asked. “What death waits for the god of war?”

“Who says I’m dying?”

“You’re dying,” Athena said. “I’m not blind. Not all of that blood belonged to Artemis.” She gestured to a long, shallow cut running along his elbow. “Unless Hermes did that to you.”

“Hermes? Not on his best day. And this is nowhere near his best day.”

“Screw off,” Hermes muttered.

“Brave now, aren’t we?” Ares said. “Brave, once Athena is here to hide behind.” He made a fist and squeezed a few drops of blood back onto the forest floor. “So this is Artemis?” He looked at his gore-streaked hand. “I don’t know whether to feel dirty or comforted. Like she’s a blanket.”

“She’s dead, you asshole.” Athena kept still, uncomfortably aware of her sister’s blood, and worse than blood, beneath her shoes in a grotesque carpet. The sight of it, and the smell, made her stomach tighten. She should’ve known. She never should have let Hermes and Odysseus come. But they were there. A vision had led them there, straight to her handsome, grinning brother. Ares, just like she remembered him. His face full of blood.

“She’s dead,” Ares mused. “And I’m dead. And you’re dead. Spitting out feathers like a cat in a canary cage.” He snorted. “That’s funny. Can you do it now? I’d like to see.”

“It is funny, I suppose.” Athena kept her breath shallow. She didn’t need him to know how spot on he really was. The feather that had wormed its way into her lung was starting to tear loose. It was a maddening tickle every time she breathed, a gristle-coated fan, waving back and forth. “As funny as the god of war bleeding to death without taking a single blow. As funny as your bitch mother turned into a statue.”

The insult didn’t touch Ares. Maybe he didn’t care. He wiped a little more of Artemis onto his pants. Something was wrong. In the corner of Athena’s eye, Hermes tensed like he was trying to tell her something, and a familiar feeling ran through her frame. The same feeling she’d had when Hera had tracked them so effortlessly that fall. But Hera was dead. Cassandra had killed her.

Odysseus coughed, a raw sound, and got to his feet. Ares had a lot of balls, coming after him.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”