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ways, would follow suit, every Greek god in Olympus had projected that same sort of revulsion at her at one time or another.
    At first, Anya had been hurt by their smug disdain. And for several hundred years, she’d tried the good-girl thing: dressing like a freaking nun, speaking only when spoken to, keeping her gaze downcast. Somehow she’d even squelched her desperate need for disaster. All to earn the respect of beings who would never see her as anything more than a whore.
    One fateful day, when she’d come home from stupid goddess training, crying because she’d smiled at Ares and that bitch Artemis had called her ta ma de , Dysnomia had pulled her aside. Whatever you do, however you act, they are going to judge you harshly, the goddess had said. But we all must be true to our own nature. Acting as anyone other than yourself merely brings you pain and makes you appear ashamed of who and what you are. Others will feed off that shame, and soon it will be all that you are. You are a wonderful being, Anya. Be proud of who you are. I am.
    From then on, Anya had dressed as sexily as she pleased, talked whenever and however she wanted and refused to look at her feet for any reason other than admiring her strappy stilettos. No longer had she denied her need for disorder. An offhand way of saying “fuck you” to the ones who rejected her, yes, but more importantly, she liked who she was.
    She would never be ashamed again.
    â€œIt is…interesting to see you in the flesh after all the research I’ve done on you lately. You are the daughter of Dysnomia,” Reyes continued. “You are the minor goddess of Anarchy.”
    â€œThere’s nothing minor about me.” Minor meant unimportant, and she was just as important as the other, “higher” beings, damn it. But because no one knew who her father was—well, she did, now —she had been relegated as such. “But yeah. I am a goddess.” She raised her chin, showing him no emotion.
    â€œThe night you made yourself known to us and saved Ashlyn’s life, you told us that you were not,” Lucien said. “You told us you were merely an immortal.”
    She shrugged. She hated gods so much she rarely used that title. “I lied. I often do. It’s part of my charm, don’t you think?”
    No one replied. Figured.
    â€œWe were once warriors for the gods and lived in the heavens, as I’m sure you know,” Reyes said as if she hadn’t spoken. “I do not remember you.”
    â€œMaybe I wasn’t born yet, smartie.”
    Irritation flickered in his dark eyes, but he continued calmly. “As I told you, since your appearance weeks ago I have been researching you, learning everything I can. Long ago, you were imprisoned for murdering an innocent man. Then, a hundred years or so after your confinement, the gods finally agreed on the proper punishment for you. Before they could carry out the verdict, however, you did something no other immortal had ever managed to do. You escaped.”
    She didn’t try to deny it. “Your research is correct.” For the most part.
    â€œLegend claims you infected the keeper of Tartarus with some kind of disease, for immediately after your escape he weakened and lost his memory. Guards were placed in every corner to fortify security, as the gods feared the strength of the prison depended on the strength of its keeper. Over time the walls did begin to crumble and crack, which eventually led to the escape of the Titans.”
    Gonna blame that on her, was he? Her eyes narrowed. “The thing about legends,” she said flatly, “is that the truth is often distorted to explain the things that mortals cannot understand. Funny that you, the subject of so many legends, don’t know that.”
    â€œYou hid here, among humans,” Reyes said, ignoring her. Again. “But you weren’t content to live in peace even then. You started