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Leda’s glare, and only shook my head, collecting my bread, smeared with honey, and a pomegranate. It made a meager offering, and I wondered if Leda meant to shame me before the priests, too. More likely, she wished to keep me from eating any of it myself.
    Pollux rose as if to follow, but Leda’s sharp voice brought him back to his seat, and I l eft alone.
    The path up the hill to the shrine had long turned into packed dirt, and in truth I preferred the sacred grove to the temples. It seemed more fitting to me that a god should be worshipped in a garden than trapped inside st one walls.
    Of course the shrine had not always been a garden. It had begun as nothing more than a stone altar before the face of Zeus in the rock, but Leda and Tyndareus had made it into something finer. Flowering trees and bushes scented the air as thickly as incense before the shrine came into view, and a seashell path led to a raised limestone altar, exquisitely carved. They had also built the bower to shield the stone of Zeus from the elements and encouraged grapevines to grow over the frame.
    It had been done after the swan came, before my birth, and Pollux claimed to remember playing in the dirt here while Tyndareus worked. It was a rare thing for a king like Tyndareus to build a place like this with his own hands. Perhaps they had hoped that with their sweat and labor, Zeus might forgive them for the insults they had given.
    Now the shrine was tended by two priests, watering the plants and clearing away the offerings left for the god. It was peaceful and quiet, for most of Sparta’s people prayed to Zeus at the temples. But not us. Tyndareus and Leda always insisted that we make our offerings here. Pollux and I had made almost daily trips to the shrine while Tyndareus fought for Mycenae, and we had offered kids, lambs, golden cups and bowls, and wine.
    Steps had been cut into the hillside and an archway built at the top to remind those who passed through it that this was a sacred place. On either side of the arch, Tyndareus had planted oak trees, hiding the inside of the garden from sight. The bark of these trees would not be harvested for cork, unless the priests re quired it.
    I did not notice the priestess until I had entered, removing the scarf from my head out of respect. When she looked at me, her mouth twisted, and then she laughed, a sound like silver chimes in the wind.
    “Oh, Helen. What a sad sight you make now.”
    I flushed and walked to the altar, setting my offerings out and keeping my head down as I knelt before Zeus’s image. Tyndareus swore he had once seen the face come to life, after I had been born, but I felt it more likely someone had put poppy milk in his wine. As a child, I had prayed and prayed for some sign from the god who was supposed to be my father, aching for Zeus’s acceptance when my mother looked on me with such loathing, but I received nothing for my troubles. Pollux had never seen anything, either, and by my tenth summer I had given up.
    Now, I pretended to pray so that I would not have to speak, but I felt the priestess watching me, and though she waited in silence, I did not think she was convinced.
    After a time, she asked me, “What do you pray fo r, Helen?”
    I sat back on my heels and covered my hair once more with the scarf. “My mother told me that I should beg Zeus for his favor, since I have l ost hers.”
    The priestess laughed again. “Do you honestly believe you ever had hers to begin with? Pollux may have been born of love, for Zeus took Tyndareus’s form when he came to her then, but you, Helen, you were born of rape and shame. She would have had you dashed on the rocks if not for fear of the gods.”
    My face burned, though I did not think my cheeks could become much redder than they were already. “No woman deserves to be treated in su ch a way.”
    “Leda was given a great honor, to bear Zeus’s son. She cursed him for it, as did Tyndareus, who could not see beyond his own