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“An outrage!” one of the councilmen says. “What do you take us for, girl?”

My thoughts are whirling too fast, like a child’s spinning toy.

“I cut it off myself,” Dimitra says staunchly. “It must have grown back in the night. It is the gods’ will.”

“Don’t lie, girl,” a councilman growls.

“She—she’s not lying,” I murmur. In the moment’s silencethat follows, my heart pounds.

“If it’s not a lie,” another of the men says, “then the girl’s a witch.”

Then even he stops speaking, because the birds in the trees have gone quiet, and something unearthly is in the air. The king, surrounded by his retinue, looks from one face to another as though they can give him answers. I lock eyes with Dimitra, who looks furious with me and also with everybody else.

“Renounce her.”

We all turn. It’s the High Priestess speaking, and yet it is not her voice. The voice that speaks from her mouth is young, not old, and it is beautiful. It’s like a voice from in dreams; the moan of the wind and the rush of a river. Each of the men drops to their knees at the sound of it.

“Renounce her,” the voice says again, and I feel my heart leap in fearful agony.

“Offer her to me, and I will show your people mercy.”

My father stares at me, wild-eyed, then prostrates himself on the ground.

“Great Aphrodite! You would not take my daughter from me? Goddess, no offense was meant!”

But the voice is silent. The water-roar slowly fades. We are alone once more. The king’s men look at each other, eyes wide.

“We must…we must seek forgiveness.” My father’s words fall over themselves. “Perhaps…perhaps some great tribute…”

“The time for tribute has passed.” It’s Kirios Demou who speaks. “The gods’ will is stone. You have heard Aphrodite’s will. Do not imagine that you have the power to change it.”

“Get up, witch.” One of the men jerks me roughly to my feet. My father’s hand goes to his sword, then so do the other soldiers’.

“Peace!” the king roars. “There will be no bloodshed here.” The color has flooded from his face and his voice is shaky. Helooks toward the sky, then meets my eyes. I don’t like what I see there.

“The goddess has been merciful,” he says. “Despite great offense, she has offered us a path to atone.”

“At my daughter’s expense!”

“Hold your tongue, Kirios Andreos!”

The other men mumble amongst each other, and there is nothing gentle in the sound. A few steal glances at me.

“The gods do not ask your permission, Andreos, for what they choose to take.” The king glances my way again. “They will have their pound of flesh either way; you will not flaunt their will or mine. You have one daughter left, old man. For her sake, do not anger me or your gods further.”

A great coldness seems to have taken over my body.Offer her to me.

They mean to sacrifice me.

My father’s voice reaches me from far away.

“There must be something we can do.”

“What you can do”—Kirios Demou’s voice cuts in—“what youwilldo, is what the king demands.”

The king is staring up toward the temple, his eyes on its soaring columns.

“We will take her to Aphrodite’s Pillow. The offering will be made at dawn.”