“The liars have returned,” Atticus’s voice called from behind, in Latin. Cade turned to see Atticus standing on the thin lip of the gatehouse doors, the same one he had hauled himself into when the Grays had attacked.

“We come bearing gifts,” Cade called back in Latin, his voice surprisingly hoarse.

The sun was beginning to set, for the poor contenders had trekked all day to return to Jomsborg. But they had no time to dally.

“Gifts, you say?” Atticus laughed. “Perhaps the Codex, in exchange for our protection?”

Cade shook his head. “A weapon,” he called back. “The key to the Triton fortress.”

His answer seemed to catch Atticus by surprise, and Cade thought he saw the man’s face pale. Emboldened, he drew the package from where he had placed it in the sled and held it up to the Romans.

“Quintus,” Cade said. “Tell them.”

Quintus bit his lip, but took a few steps away from them and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Romans,” he yelled. “Hear me!”

Atticus disappeared from the doorway, and Cade heard the slap of his footsteps.

“Quickly,” Cade said urgently. “He’s coming.”

“We have with us a substance from the future. Greek fire, but more potent. Lightning straight from Zeus’s fingertips.”

“Seize them,” Atticus screamed, now on the ramparts. “I will tolerate their corruption no longer!”

Quintus ignored him, even as Romans stood from their campfires, peering at them with curiosity. Only Marius moved, passing unheard orders to his men, who jogged in tandem down the beach.

Cade stumbled forward as Quintus spoke, finding a small fire where a pair of men warmed their hands beside it.

“Leave,” Cade hissed in Latin, jabbing the package at them as if it were a poisonous snake.

The men scrambled away, and Cade held the package aloft for all to see once more. By now Marius’s men were closing on him, but Cade had circled the fire, putting it between the approaching soldiers and himself.

“Look!” Cade bellowed.

He hurled the package into the fire, then threw his hands up to protect his face.

There was a fizzle. Silence, but for the chatter of men.

Laughter. Then …

Crack.

Cade felt the heat hit him like a wave, accompanied by a sudden flare of light. Coals scattered from the fire, pelting him across the hands and torso.

He fell on his back, half-blinded by the light, and smoke billowed in a mini–mushroom cloud into the sky.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

It had not been as spectacular as he had thought it would be, but it was enough to get his point across. He lay there, waiting for his world to stop spinning. Whether it was exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, or the explosion, he did not know, but for the life of him he could not find the energy to bring himself to his feet.

So he lay there, staring as the breeze pulled the ash cloud away, until hardly a trace remained.

A shadow fell across his face. Marius stared down at him, his face twisted in a strange mix of consternation and anger. Rough hands pulled him up, and Atticus’s visage swam into view.