"NOT TO BE RUDE," Dahlia starts, "but, Antigone, why is your house full of dicks?"

The festival—the City Dionysia—ended while we were busy trying not to get killed by a god. As such, my house is full of penises of all shapes, sizes, and colors once again.

We live on a cliff overlooking the harbor. If you climb to the roof, you can see the blue glint of the sea. Our neighbor on the other side, the winemaker, owns a sprawling vineyard that encroaches on our property. It always smells like salty ocean-water and drying fish and warm grapes.

"My mom is the high priestess of Dionysus," I explain. "The City Dionysia was today."

"I'm sorry, what?" Dahlia asks.

"That festival with the penis parade." Marisol elbows her. "Remember? We learned about it in western civ sophomore year."

"Ooooh, right! I remember that! Mr. Mitchell got fired because he had us reenact it and march all around the building carrying what was essentially a bunch of dildos!"

"Good times, good times." Marisol sighs wistfully. "I wonder what Mr. Mitchell's doing these days."

"Probably porn," Dahlia suggests.

We carry the still-unconscious Ezra out to the central courtyard. The sun is setting, turning the sky into a smear of orange and pink. Gently, we lay him down on the soft earth.

"You two stay out here with him," I order. "I'll be right back."

I stride inside and root through all of the clutter. My mother and I always have more important things on our minds; organizing our home or cleaning up after ourselves is the last of our priorities. I'm looking for her first aid supplies—honey, wine, flax threads, and linen bandages. All things you need to keep around when your daughter is a hoplite.

"Antigone?"

My mother pokes her head out from the bedroom that we share. Her cloak is wrapped loosely around her.

"Oh, hi, Mom." My voice is a squeak. I was expecting her to still be out, mingling with the other priests and priestesses.

"Where were you today?" she asks. "I didn't see you at the feast."

"One of my siblings was—um—not feeling too great." My voice is barely audible. Lying to my mother forms a pit in my stomach. "I walked her home."

"Is that blood on your hands?"

Of course there is blood on my hands. There always is at the most inappropriate times.

"What?" I scoff and quickly hide my hands behind my back. "Noooo..."

"Antigone," my mom insists. "Let me see your hands, lamb."

Bang.

The front door flies open.

I jump in front of my mom, whipping my shield and sword out. Apollo's ichor still gleams on the blade. Let these intruders see it—let them see that I stabbed a god and survived.

Maybe six or seven people pile inside.

I recognize them as members of the Cult of Apollo. Their sun-yellow tunics held up with pins in the shapes of lyres gives it away. As does the golden bows they hold, their arrows pointed right at me.

Their leader, Kassiani, lowers her bow and steps forwards. In addition to being the high priestess of the Cult of Apollo, she's also a distant descendant of the god. Her family is known as the Iamidae, and they are a clan of seers who claim their lineage (and their gifts) come from Apollo and Evadne's first child together, Iamus, all those years ago. Also, she has a second job as a prostitute, one of the most respected jobs a woman can have.

I know her because of my father, who has an affinity for certain local prostitutes. With her long, flowing dark hair; striking blue eyes; and sharp jawline, it's easy to see why he's taken a liking to her. I have never actually spoken with her; only seen her from afar.

She raises her free hand, fingers spread. Halt. Though I don't know if the command is for us or her cult.

"We have come to collect your mother," she says.

I blanch. "Apollo gave me a month."

My mother looks from me to her. "What?!?!"

Kassiani cups her thumb in front of her palm. On cue, the young boy standing beside her fires an arrow.

It lodges in my shoulder. An explosion of pain ripples through me. I'm knocked backwards, tripping into my mother.

"I'm not going to ask you again," Kassiani says.

If you're lucky and have never been shot by an arrow before, the pain is almost unbearable. Tears spring to my eyes. "Fine. You want her?" My voice comes out so much stronger than I feel. I raise my sword and shield. "Come and get her."

Kassiani closes her hand into a fist. Each of the cultists let their arrows fly.