Lore

by Alexandra Bracken

Castor’s pupils were dilated, ringed by the gold embers of his power. He was looking at her, but not seeing her, even as he tore her mask off. “It’s me!” Lore choked out, trying to twist away from the burning blade. “It’s me—it’s Lore!”

The silence that followed was almost as painful as the heat had been. For a long time, Castor did nothing but stare at her as she leaned forward over her knees, trying to gulp more air into her lungs. Her blood was still drumming in her veins.

Chiron trotted over to her on stiff limbs, and for a moment she did nothing but press her face into the fur of his neck. The weaker part of her wanted to disappear into it.

“Surprise?” she said, because Lore had never met a situation she couldn’t make even more painfully awkward. “I could have . . . I could have killed you,” Castor said hoarsely. “I thought . . . I was confused, and the assassin—”

“I seem to remember being the one on top, big guy,” she said.

“Should have known it was you from that first hit,” he said. “Only you would immediately go for the head. Do I want to know where you got that mask?”

Chiron licked Lore’s chin, comforting her. “Yeah, yeah,” Castor said, shooting the dog a dark look. “Give the dagger a little twist, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t what?” Lore prompted, feeling the first licks of anger on her heart. “Stand there and let him try to kill you?”

Lore shook her head. “You’re always careful.” He rubbed at the knee he’d hit earlier. “Not lately. It feels like . . .” She waited for him to finish. “Like I’m in a body that doesn’t belong to me,” he said, finally. “I haven’t had to move . . . or feel . . . or . . .” Castor drew in another breath. “I just wasn’t sure what to do, or how to avoid killing him.”

“They never wanted me,” he said. “Not as a child, and certainly not now. Maybe I did think, just for a minute, they would be better off if Philip were to ascend. That he would—”

“That he would what? Become even more insufferable? Abuse even more power?” Lore pressed. “He’d at least be able to control it,” Castor said. “He wouldn’t . . . They would believe in him.”

Man alex, i see you

He’d fought an aggressive form of leukemia from the time he was four years old, pushing through chemotherapy, radiation, and stem-cell transplants throughout the years. It had returned with a vengeance just before the start of the last Agon, and everyone, including Castor himself, had believed he’d die from it. Everyone but Lore.

Not for the first time, Lore realized she’d been kind of an asshole as a child. This, however, had been the one possible exception.

“It was the only way inside when you were . . . when they stopped letting me come to see you.” The medicine had compromised his immune system, but Lore couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone, day after day. She had always been so careful not to touch him, knowing the kind of city grime she brought in with her. Most days, she had just sat by his bed as he slept and kept watch over him with Chiron.

Did mortality make you feel particularly nostalgic, or were you just in the mood to ruin my night?”

Was she wearing some kind of sign on her back that offered shelter to all immortals in peril?

The question hung like a sword above her neck. Lore turned her back to him, struggling to answer that herself. Because you’re the only one in the world I thought I could trust.

I wish I had more of an answer for you, Golden.” “Don’t—” Lore forced her voice to steady. “Don’t call me that.”

It was a play on the endearment her parents had used, my golden, which itself had been an ode to honey. Lore had been named for both of her grandmothers, Melitta, meaning bee, and Lora.

Castor’s hand hovered alongside hers. A hint of warmth brushed her bruised knuckles a heartbeat before he did. The touch was soft, hesitant, gone almost as soon as she’d felt it.

“What?” His eyes were on her. She couldn’t say what it was that kept her there, waiting, her hands still outstretched. But then the touch came again, the very tips of his fingers drawing down from her wrists, over the curve of her thumbs, until, finally, they hooked around the piece of the crown and Lore remembered she was supposed to let it go.

Now, it seemed, she had a third: for Castor.

When she risked a glance beneath her loose strands of hair, Castor was looking at her jaw. At the long scar that ran down her face.

Scars, her father used to tell Lore and her sisters, are tallies of the battles you’ve survived. But Lore hadn’t earned this one; she’d been branded with it.

“Lore, I’m still Castor.” She shook her head with a sad laugh, even as her whole chest seemed to clench. “I am. I am.” The crown fragment fell to the ground again as his hands closed over her wrists, as if the touch could somehow make her understand. It seemed to spread through her blood, sparking her nerve endings, and was more than enough to prove the lie in his words. As if just realizing what he’d done, he released his hold on her and took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” Castor said, an edge of desperation in the words. “Just . . . talk to me. Why do you want to know what Wrath’s plans are?” His eyes widened. “Tell me you aren’t going after him. . . .”

Lore took comfort in knowing how humiliating it would be for Aristos Kadmou—to all of the Kadmides—to know he had been bested by a little girl.

Her throat thickened, but Lore wasn’t a little girl anymore. She would control her emotions.

Lore leaned toward him, staring up into the sparks of power glowing in his dark irises. Her hand opened at her side and started to rise, as if needing to smooth away the harsh lines setting into his face.

“You are not useless,” she told him. “And you’ve never been. Not ever, no matter what anyone in this horrible bloodline told you.” Castor looked as if he desperately wanted to believe her.

“I’ve always remembered you as a stupid child,” Philip continued, “but I never thought you would be foolish enough to show your face here.” “Funny,” Lore said, “I’ve always remembered you as an asshole, and I definitely thought you’d be foolish enough to try to kill your new god.” The archon spat at her. Castor took a step forward, furious.

Castor flinched. Lore gripped his arm, hoping to steady him.

“Get back,” she heard Castor say. When she didn’t move, he gripped the front of her robes and spun her behind him.

Lore drew in a deep breath, knowing exactly what he wanted. She stepped in close to him, her fingers curling around the hilt. It had absorbed the heat of his skin and now burned her fingertips.

Somewhere nearby, Chiron whimpered. Lore felt blindly for him, clutching his fur and drawing him closer to her, behind the protection of Castor’s body.

Castor’s jaw tightened again as he turned to look down at her. “Are you all right?” he asked, running a soft touch along the outer edge of her eye. She pulled back from him.

Castor set his jaw. A shadow passed over his face, and Lore could only guess that Philip’s words were playing through his mind again. You will fail them, and they will all die cursing you.

“Are you a complete idiot,” Lore asked seriously, “or has the smoke gone to your head?” “Charming as always, Melora,” Van said. “Dare I ask what you’re even doing here? You wouldn’t help him before.” “I came for the food,” Lore said. “You?”

“You haven’t heard anything about it?” Castor pressed him. Lore felt a strange sort of guilt that, even now, he was still trying to help her, to put her needs first, the way he always had.

“Your honor would be adorable if it weren’t so stupid,” Lore told him.

“Exactly,” Van said coming to stand beside her. “Which is why you’re going with Melora.” It took Lore a moment to process this. “Wait—what? No. He can’t come with me.” “I’m not going,” Castor said. “It has to be you,” Van insisted, ignoring him.

Lore grew heated, and forced herself to take a breath. It had always been this way—even as kids, Castor would try to pull her back from any edge, regardless of whether or not it had something to do with Van. The difference was, now she was more than capable of deciding when to jump. “If I wanted a moral compass, I would have stopped at a store on the way here.”

Lore knew he was baiting her. Knew that her temper was quick and her regrets after the fact long, but there was something about that word, coward. It wasn’t that he’d thrown it at her like a knife; it was already inside her like a painful infestation. At the sound of its name, it began to claw its way out.

May all cowards be devoured by their shame, her mother used to say.

“Leave, Cas,” Van said. Castor shook his head, pained. “I can’t.” “You have to,” Van said. It was the smug tone of someone who knew they’d already won the fight. “You may be willing to give up your life, but I know you’re not willing to risk hers.” Van nodded toward Lore. Her lips parted in protest, but Castor drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes.

She groaned. “If you’re coming with me, we’re leaving right now.” Lore looped her arm through Castor’s and pulled him toward the hole he’d blasted in the wall. “I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get you across the city without leaving a trail—”

Castor was suddenly beside her, holding out both arms. It took her a moment to understand exactly what he wanted. “You’re joking,” she said. “And you’re afraid,” he said. “Do you think I’ll drop you?” “No, I think I’m going to have your scrape your mortal body off the cement,” she said. “Are you serious? We’re four stories up.” “Trust me,” Castor said.

“If you do drop me, I swear I will come back as one of the Keres and leave you nothing more than ash and blood.” Castor nodded, his expression grim. “I’d definitely let you try.”

Lore reluctantly stepped up beside him, rising onto her toes to loop one of her arms around Castor’s neck. He reached down, lifting her with irritating ease, his own strong arms wrapping around her shoulder and under her knees without the smallest quiver of effort. Castor glanced down at her face. “Ready?”

Lore turned, pressing her face against Castor’s shoulder as the stench of burnt hair and skin and metal flooded her nostrils. “Ready?” he asked again. She nodded. Then Castor tightened his hold on her, gripped one of the dangling ropes, and stepped into the air.