My eye catches on a light head among dozens of dark, tousled crowns. I lean forward to see. Hair lit like honey in the sun, and within it, glints of gold—the circlet of a prince.

“I wished to tell you. Because—” He paused. “I thought you would wish to know. She—” He hesitated again. “She was not pleased that I asked her.” “She was not pleased,” I repeated. I felt dizzy, my mind turning and turning through his words. She cannot see us.

We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.

He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will be dead soon, and his honor is all that will remain. It is his child, his dearest self. Should I reproach him for it? I have saved Briseis. I cannot save them all.

I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world

Achilles’ gaze lifts to meet hers. She is afraid, but does not draw back. “I hope that Hector kills you.” The breath rasps in his throat. “Do you think I do not hope the same?” he asks.

The funeral pyres burn through the night, their greasy smoke smeared across the moon. I try not to think how every one is a man I know. Knew.

I gaped at the cold shock of his beauty, deep-green eyes, features fine as a girl’s. It struck from me a sudden, springing dislike. I had not changed so much, nor so well

It was that moment, perhaps, that our lives changed. Not before in Scyros, nor before that still, on Pelion. But here, as we began to understand the grandness, now and always, that would follow him wherever he went. He had chosen to become a legend, and this was the beginning.

Later, Achilles pressed close for a final, drowsy whisper. “If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”

Her mouth tightens. “Have you no more memories?” I am made of memories. “Speak, then.”I almost refuse. But the ache for him is stronger than my anger. I want to speak of something not dead or divine. I want him to live.

I woke to his nose on mine, pressing insistently against me- He smelled sharp and strange, and for a moment I was almost revolted at this creature that clung to me and shoved its face against mine. But then he sat back on his heels and was Achilles again

I watched as he strode towards them—the way the bronze buckles on his tunic threw off fire flashes, the way his dark purple cape brightened his hair to sun’s gold. He seemed so much the hero, I could barely remember that only the night before we had spit olive pits at each other

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone

There was a vividness to him, even at rest, that made death and spirits seem foolish.

His eyelids were the color of the dawn sky; he smelled like earth after rain.

He kissed me, catching me up in a soft, opened warmth that breathed sweetness into my throat. Then he took my hand and we went outside to the Myrmidons.

But I know the look on his face, the dark recklessness of his eyes. He will not yield. He does not know how. I have lived eighteen years with him, and he has never backed down, never lost. What will happen if he is forced to? I am afraid for him, and for me, and for all of us.

I gaped at the cold shock of his beauty, deep-green eyes, features fine as a girl’s. It struck from me a sudden, springing dislike. I had not changed so much, nor so well

He was lying on his back on a wide, pillowed bench, balancing a lyre on his stomach; He did not hear me enter, or he did not choose to look. This is how I first began to understand my place here. Until this moment I had been a prince, expected and announced. Now I was negligible