Locked. My chamber door was locked.

It had only been hours since I’d reached my room, relieved to find Parthenia unharmed. An intuitive actress, she’d known just how far to push before Eryx would break out the poisoned wine. She’d since left for her own quarters and exhausted, I’d climbed into my bed, sleep claiming me as soon as my head hit the pillow.

But now, with afternoon’s fading light stretching shadows across the marbled floors, both my chamber door and the servant’s entrance were locked.

Nerves a leaden ball in my gut, I settled in for a long wait.

Finally, as a deepening blue chased the last of the light from the horizon, a key clicked and the door swung open.

Her hair a frizzy mass of curls, bangles clanking as she stepped over the threshold, Sibyl greeted me with a deeply etched frown.

My heart sputtered and though I knew the answer, I asked, “Why have you locked me in here?”

A blonde brow rose, her doubt writ plain as she closed the door behind her. “You don’t know?”

“Of course not.”

A chuckle. “If only I had your gifts, my dear . . . I wonder what I might taste.”

My mouth remained carefully shut.

After a drawn-out silence, she sighed. “Aidoneus of Myridia has made a sudden, miraculous recovery. But you don’t need me to tell you that. I’m sure you know a great deal more about it than I do.”

Not quite a question, I didn’t dare answer. As much as I loved Sibyl, this was a truth I knew she’d never understand.

With a rustle of white robes, she came to stand at the foot of my bed. “I had him brought up from the dungeons for questioning. Elysa and Solara were both present. It was a strange story he told. And a true one, if your sisters are to be believed. So, I had him returned to his chamber to await the Third Trial.”

The already heavy beating of my pulse lurched into a gallop. “Oh?”

“He said no God-Blooded came to his aid. He said it was a divine will that interfered.”

I waited for the taste of this lie to roll across my tongue.

It never came. “He . . .” I began, confusion robbing me of words. “What?”

Her eyes were soft as they moved over me and my bafflement was forgotten at that look, replaced by a sudden thickness in my throat. Sibyl was the truest mother I’d ever had. But so often since the Trials began, she’d played the part of High Priestess with me instead. She smiled, then, gaze a bit watery. “When your mother entrusted me with your care, I knew you were more than a Korai. I just didn’t know what. But your power overcame a god-killer, Aurora. And now, the truth that’s been sitting before me all these years is clear.”

“Sibyl . . . What are you talking about?”

She glanced around my chamber, something in her expression wistful. “I’ve served both the gods and Doria for over a century. I never thought a day would come when I’d have to choose between them.” Attention moving back to me, she shook her head, apologetic. “When you learn what I did, I hope you don’t hate me. I hope you understand.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’ve never heard you speak like this. What do you mean? What—”

The door again opened on creaking hinges, silencing me. Elysa’s white-blonde head peeked from behind the wood. “The Emperor is in your morning room, Sibyl. He’s growing impatient.”

The High Priestess paled.

“The Emperor?” I asked.

Sibyl nodded. “I must tell him that the Trials are not over. That Aidoneus must compete in the final event.”

A thrill went through me at the thought, and yet he had only just healed. “When?”

“Varian is meant to return tomorrow. They will meet in the arena the day after.”

Two days. That was not enough time for Aidon to regain his strength. And if they put him back in his chains . . . I had to fold my hands to keep from trembling. “And if he loses?” I asked, my voice strained.

Sibyl reached up, gently tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Then Varian will kill him.”

Nausea roiled in my gut. I grabbed the bedpost to steady myself. No. No, this couldn’t happen. Aidon needed more time.

With one last gentle glance in my direction, Sibyl took her leave in silence. Elysa, though, lingered in the doorway.

I ran a shaking hand over my face. “What, you brought no wine this time?” I asked. “Are we past peace offerings?”

Her mouth curved upward into something approaching a smile. “Would you drink it if I had?”

With my senses so overwhelmed, it took a moment for her words to sink in. So very slowly, I looked at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know, you have a terrible habit of underestimating me, sister.”

The wine. You knew. The words flowed down the bond between us, my shock too great to allow me to voice them aloud.

She moved further into my chamber, silvery hair swaying over her shoulders. “No. Not when it happened. But since . . . Well, rumors started floating around. Now Sibyl is acting so nervous around the Emperor.” A shrug. “It doesn’t take a genius.”

“As if his sudden . . . change . . . is not enough reason for that,” I said bitterly.

“She is a priestess,” Elysa shot back. “She should know better than to question the will of the gods.”

Surely she was not so blind. And yet . . . “You saw Aidoneus. You told Sibyl that his crazy story was true.”

“It was.”

Still, truth flowed across my tongue, pure as a mountain spring. “How is that possible?” I breathed.

“I should be asking you that. You’re the one who healed him, after all.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me I was a fool for thinking I could?”

Her lips thinned. “It doesn’t matter,” she said after a moment. “Varian will return and Aidoneus will die.”

“With only the two of them left, I’d think you’d want Aidon to win. Then Varian could be all yours.”

She laughed, then, the sound cold as the cawing of a crow. “If Varian wins you, you are his. That doesn’t mean that he is yours.”

A week ago, my blood would have flamed at that. Now, this battle with Elysa just made me sad. When I didn’t rise to her bait, she turned to go but stopped abruptly. Her hand lifted and I realized she held something. A book—spine cracked with age. A crimson ribbon peeked from between the pages.

“The Ostara’s gift,” I said.

She placed it on the side table. “I thought you might miss your reading material now that you’ll have so much time on your hands.”

“Since I’m locked in here . . . Yes, I suppose I will,” I said as she took another step toward the door.

But, again, something stopped her. She looked at me over her pale shoulder. “Truth,” she said, “what does it taste like to you?”

I startled. In all the years we’d spent together, not one of my sisters had ever asked me that. “Why?”

A shrug. “Since Nemoralia, my sense of things has . . . sharpened. I’d never really noticed before, but it’s begun to taste bitter to me. Sour. Like a salad made of dandelion greens or those tiny apples that ripen in the autumn.”

“And lies?” I asked.

“Like wine.”

“Bitter truths and sweet lies,” I mused. How fitting.

“Well?” she prompted.

“The truth is fresh and clear, like spring water.” I didn’t bother to tell her that lies tasted like rot.

She simply nodded. Picked an invisible piece of dust from the graceful fall of her skirts. “As diverting as this conversation has been, I think we both could use some rest. I’ve plans tonight, after all.” She smiled then, a rare, tooth-baring grin.

“Oh?” I asked, voice tight.

She gestured to the book. “There are some enlightening passages in that.” Another chill smile. “Enjoy your reading.”

And then she was gone, the lock clicking into place behind her.

For a long time, I paced the room, hoping Parthenia might appear with some news. But the day wore on and the sun fully set. Finally, near mad with my helplessness, with nothing else to keep my worried thoughts at bay, I grabbed the book and nestled into the sea of soft pillows covering my bed. The tome fell open naturally, to the page Elysa had marked with a red ribbon.

My blood thrummed at the sight. The illustration took my breath. There, as if they stood before me, were the three Celestials, painted with such realism that it was difficult for me to meet their eyes. My mother dominated the right side of the page, her soft features just as I remembered. Hair the same shade as my own fell in soft curls down to her navel. Her hands were held before her, enveloped in a rosy light. Helios stood opposite in all his golden glory. And in the middle, Selene.

Much like Elysa’s own colorless features, Selene had been carefully painted in shades of white, gray, and silver. Her hair hung around a face as cold and stony as the moon. She was robed in a silvery gown, the full moon hanging bright above her.

And yet, what held me rapt was Selene’s hands.

Bound in thick golden cords that glowed with an inner light much stronger than that of the pale moon above her, the bindings ran in opposite directions, each tied to the sibling on either side. One hand was held aloft, though it seemed that the cord which bound her to her brother stretched to the point of pain. Yet she defied her bonds, hand held with three fingers pressed together in a strange gesture.

Three. Three celestial titans? Three Korai? I didn’t know.

Mind reeling, I turned the page.

And the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

One side depicted a battle. Alongside the mortal soldiers, Eos and Helios stood on the battlefield, facing down a being I did not recognize.

The same creature that was illustrated in shocking detail on the opposite page.

The being's hair hung in gray, thinning clumps, framing a face that was terrible to behold. Her flesh was drawn tight to reveal the shape of the skull beneath. Haunted, wide eyes stared out from sunken hollows, the malice they held a testament to the artist’s skill. And above, written in Old Dorian runes: the Crone.

Unable to stomach the disturbing image any longer, I flipped to the next section. A passage there gave the history of the ancient war that ended with the Dorian tribes united. Most of it told a story I knew—the tale of the Ether appearing and the Celestials' arrival in the Eleutherian Mountains. Of my mother’s grief at the discord among the tribes and how Helios listened to her pleas for unity, though Selene and her followers fought against them. But there was more. A chilling account I’d never heard.

For each phase of the moon, Selene held a strength that neither Helios nor Eos could defeat alone: the Waxing Maiden, full of reckless folly and wild in youth’s abandon; the Full Mother, Selene’s truest form, which lent the warriors steady resolve; but most terrible of all, most impossible to face on the bloody fields of battle, the Crone. She held a power, not of darkness or death, but of hunger—an insatiable desire that only grew her insanity. She fed amidst the reddened mud of the battlefields, the music of the dying ringing to her horrid ears as the most beautiful of melodies. With each soldier felled by her madness and devoured by her hunger, her strength grew.

Fingers shaking, I turned back to the image of the titans. Three, not for Selene and her siblings, but for the three parts of herself. For the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone. I shut the book. Cradling it against my chest, I rushed for the door, not pausing to think through my plans.

I beat against the wood and Eryx’s growl came from the hall beyond, “What?”

“I need to speak to the High Priestess. It’s urgent.”

“No.”

“But . . .” I searched for a plausible way to force his hand. “I . . . I want to . . . pray with her,” I finished lamely.

A snort sounded. In the short time Eryx had followed me, I’d never once visited a temple when it wasn’t required of me. “Careful, Korai,” he warned through the wood. “I suggest you make no fuss tonight. The Emperor has given me permission to quiet you if need be and I’m afraid you might find the process . . . unpleasant.”

Heat roared in my veins. Every foul word ever spoken by a careless guard in my presence gathered on my tongue. But before I could scream each one at him, a small hand grabbed my shoulder.

Book held aloft like a weapon, I whirled.

Parthenia only stared at me, a red brow cocked. I lowered the book, cheeks flaming. “Sorry.”

Her cat eyes shifted between me and the door as if she could see Eryx’s grimy presence lurking on the other side. Without a word, she marched toward the opposite side of the room and threw my balcony doors open. The chill of autumn blew in, bringing with it the thunder of the sea crashing angrily below.

Loud enough to drown out an eavesdropping ear.

Then she lowered herself onto the corner settee. “Seems your brilliant plan has backfired," she said with a frustrating calm.

I sighed, again pacing. “We just need to find some way to slow the Third Trial. Aidon needs more time to regain his strength.”

Parthenia’s mouth turned down. “Pretty little fool. As if the Emperor will allow it. Do you know what happened after the High Priestess told him that Aidoneus will compete? The Emperor’s new favorite toy . . . the slave from the Southern Isles, had to be carried out of his chamber. They are whispering that she may not live. Between that and his . . . transformation, all the slaves and servants are terrified.”

My blood chilled.

Trapped here, I couldn’t even go to the infirmary and offer her aid. Yet another death that would be my fault. And she wasn’t the only one I was powerless to help. Aphaea’s daughter was due any day. I hoped Epione could handle any complications that might arise alone.

“I don’t suppose that’s just light reading,” Parthenia said, attention flicking over the book I still held.

I shook my head. I crossed to join her on the settee. The bracing chill of salt air blew in from the balcony beside us and it helped focus my mind. “I think I found something. There is a passage in the book that speaks of Selene . . . feeding. And Leda . . . Leda looked as if all the life had been sucked from beneath her skin.”

She scoffed. “Even if you could prove that Aidoneus had nothing to do with the deaths, that they are some sort of sacrifice, it won’t matter. This was never about his guilt. It was always just a convenient excuse to get rid of a thorn in Doria’s side.”

“I don’t believe that. At least, not on Sibyl’s part. She is doubting his guilt. I know it.”

“She might be the leader of this city,” Parthenia said. “But even she can only push the Emperor so far. Varian played dirty in the last Trial and she did nothing. She won’t dare to intervene if he does it again.”

I threw up my free hand, frustration gnawing at my nerves. “If it was always so hopeless, why did he ever enter the Trials?”

She chuckled darkly. “If he won you, that guaranteed no one else could use you. And he is as strong, perhaps even stronger, than Varian. In a fair fight, his chances would have been good. But like I said, I don’t see much hope now.”

“But Sibyl . . . You didn’t see her today. She was afraid of the Emperor. And the way she talked about Aidon . . . It wasn’t like before. If I could talk to her, get her to see the truth . . .”

“You really think she’d defy the Emperor outright like that? It’s bad enough that she hasn’t ordered Aidon’s body spiked to the city gates. Whatever proof you think you’ve found, it won’t be enough.”

So I opened the book and read her the passage, going slowly to translate it aloud. While I read, she chewed her bottom lip. When I was done, her face had gone white as fresh cream, freckles as stark against her skin as flecks of dried blood.

“When Leda was killed,” I explained, “Sibyl mentioned that the lower levels of the temple had been sealed off because they were used improperly. What if the Emperor is doing that now? Using the undercroft to worship Selene’s other forms—the Maiden and the Crone?”

“You are suggesting that these other forms have returned, that this Crone is feeding on powerful God-Blooded?”

“The Emperor is not only a son of Ares. He is descended from the Mani . . . from Selene’s favored tribe. And how he has changed . . .” I swallowed. “The rituals could be feeding him strength somehow. It could also explain why Elysa’s powers did not fade after Nemoralia. We draw strength from our parents. If Selene—or the Crone—is growing stronger, then so will Elysa.”

“But the lower levels are still sealed . . .”

“The guard who searched the temple said they were.” The wheels of my mind turned. “But there is only one way to know for sure.”

Parthenia shook her head. “No. Forget it.”

I only smiled, a rush of adrenaline pumping through me at the thought of what I was about to do. “Ready to play pretend?”

Parthenia answered with a groan, but within a few blinks, it was my own amber gaze that stared back at me, anger simmering in their depths.

There was just one stop I needed to make first.