"There was a really sweet priestess, back in Troy," Apollo said, languidly folding his arms, the word sweet fair dripping with the memory of how gorgeous she'd been; as golden as Aphrodite, some said (though not to Aphrodite's face.) "Cassandra, her name was. Do you remember her? I'll remind you," he offered before Avery could reply, slowly letting his arms unravel as he pushing himself away from the table, toward Avery again. "She was a prophet, and every word she spoke was true, but there wasn't a soul in the world who believed a thing that came out of her mouth."