Hector. "Thank you," I said.

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice hissed like water poured on coals. "Do not presume to thank me. I have come for another reason."

I waited. Her face was white as splintered bone.

"It will not be so easy as he thinks. The Fates promise fame, but how much? He will need to guard his honor carefully. He is too trusting. The men of Greece"-she spat the words-"are dogs over a bone. They will not simply give up preeminence to another. I will do what I can. And you." Her eyes flickered over my long arms and skinny knees. "You will not disgrace him. Do you understand?"

Do you understand?

"Yes," I said. And I did. His fame must be worth the life he paid for it. The faintest breath of air touched her dress's hem, and I knew she was about to leave, to vanish back to the caves of the sea. Something made me bold.

"Is Hector a skilled soldier?"

"He is the best," she answered. "But for my son."

Her gaze flickered to the right, where the cliff dropped away. "He is coming," she said.

ACHILLES CRESTED THE RISE and came to where I sat. He looked at my face and my bloodied skin. "I heard you talking," he said.

"It was your mother," I said.

He knelt and took my foot in his lap. Gently, he picked the fragments of rock from the wounds, brushing off dirt and chalky dust. He tore a strip from his tunic's hem and pressed it tight to stanch the blood.

My hand closed over his. "You must not kill Hector," I said.

He looked up, his beautiful face framed by the gold of his hair. "My mother told you the rest of the prophecy."

"She did."

"And you think that no one but me can kill Hector."

"Yes," I said.

"And you think to steal time from the Fates?"

"Yes."

"Ah." A sly smile spread across his face; he had always loved defiance. "Well, why should I kill him? He's done nothing to me."

For the first time then, I felt a kind of hope.

WE LEFT THAT AFTERNOON; there was no reason to linger. Ever dutiful to custom, Lycomedes came to bid us farewell. The three of us stood together stiffly; Odysseus and Diomedes had gone ahead to the ship. They would escort us back to Phthia, where Achilles would muster his own troops.

There was one more thing to be done here, and I knew Achilles did not wish to do it.

"Lycomedes, my mother has asked me to convey her desires to you."

The faintest tremor crossed the old man's face, but he met his son-in-law's gaze. "It is about the child," he said.

"It is."

"And what does she wish?" the king asked, wearily.

"She wishes to raise him herself. She-" Achilles faltered before the look on the old man's face. "The child will be a boy, she says. When he is weaned, she will claim him."

Silence. Then Lycomedes closed his eyes. I knew he was thinking of his daughter, arms empty of both husband and child. "I wish you had never come," he said.

"I'm sorry," Achilles said.

"Leave me," the old king whispered. We obeyed.

THE SHIP WE SAILED ON was yare, tightly made and well manned. The crew moved with a competent fleetness, the ropes gleamed with new fibers, and the masts seemed fresh as living trees. The prow piece was a beauty, the finest I had ever seen: a woman, tall, with dark hair and eyes, her hands clasped in front of her as if in contemplation. She was beautiful, but quietly so-an elegant jaw, and upswept hair showing a slender neck. She had been lovingly painted, each darkness or lightness perfectly rendered.

"You are admiring my wife, I see." Odysseus joined us at the railing, leaning on muscular forearms. "She refused at first, wouldn't let the artist near her. I had to have him follow her in secret. I think it turned out rather well, actually."

A marriage for love, rare as cedars from the East. It almost made me want to like him. But I had seen his smiles too often now.

Politely, Achilles asked, "What is her name?"

"Penelope," he said.

"Is the ship new?" I asked. If he wanted to speak of his wife, I wanted to speak of something else.

"Very. Every last timber of it, from the best wood that Ithaca has." He slapped the railing with his large palm, as one might the flank of a horse.

"Bragging about your new ship again?" Diomedes had joined us. His hair was lashed back with a strip of leather, and it made his face look sharper even than usual.

"I am."

Diomedes spat into the water.

"The king of Argos is unusually eloquent today," Odysseus commented.

Achilles had not seen their game before, as I had. His eyes went back and forth between the two men. A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Tell me," Odysseus continued. "Do you think such quick wit comes from your father having eaten that man's brains?"

"What?" Achilles' mouth hung open.

"You don't know the tale of Mighty Tydeus, king of Argos, eater of brains?"

"I've heard of him. But not about the-brains."

"I was thinking of having the scene painted on our plates," Diomedes said.

In the hall, I had taken Diomedes for Odysseus' dog. But there was a keenness that hummed between the two men, a pleasure in their sparring that could come only from equals. I remembered that Diomedes was rumored to be a favorite of Athena as well.

Odysseus made a face. "Remind me not to dine in Argos any time soon."

Diomedes laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

The kings were inclined to talk and lingered by the rail with us. They passed stories back and forth: of other sea voyages, of wars, of contests won in games long past. Achilles was an eager audience, with question after question.

"Where did you get this?" He was pointing to the scar on Odysseus' leg.

"Ah," Odysseus rubbed his hands together. "That is a tale worth telling. Though I should speak to the captain first." He gestured to the sun, hanging ripe and low over the horizon. "We'll need to stop soon for camp."

"I'll go." Diomedes stood from where he leaned against the rail. "I've heard this one almost as many times as that sickening bed story."

"Your loss," Odysseus called after him. "Don't mind him. His wife's a hellhound bitch, and that would sour anyone's temper. Now, my wife-"

"I swear." Diomedes' voice carried back up the length of the ship. "If you finish that sentence, I will throw you over the side and you can swim to Troy."

"See?" Odysseus shook his head. "Sour." Achilles laughed, delighted by them both. He seemed to have forgiven their part in his unmasking, and all that came after.

"Now what was I saying?"

"The scar," Achilles said, eagerly.

"Yes, the scar. When I was thirteen-"

I watched him hang on the other man's words. He is too trusting. But I would not be the raven on his shoulder all the time, predicting gloom.

The sun slid lower in the sky, and we drew close to the dark shadow of land where we would make camp. The ship found the harbor, and the sailors drew her up on the shore for the night. Supplies were unloaded-food and bedding and tents for the princes.

We stood by the campsite that had been laid for us, a small fire and pavilion. "Is all well here?" Odysseus had come to stand with us.

"Very well," Achilles said. He smiled, his easy smile, his honest one. "Thank you."

Odysseus smiled in return, teeth white against his dark beard. "Excellent. One tent's enough, I hope? I've heard that you prefer to share. Rooms and bedrolls both, they say."

Heat and shock rushed through my face. Beside me, I heard Achilles' breath stop.

"Come now, there's no need for shame-it's a common enough thing among boys." He scratched his jaw, contemplated. "Though you're not really boys any longer. How old are you?"

"It's not true," I said. The blood in my face fired my voice. It rang loudly down the beach.

Odysseus raised an eyebrow. "True is what men believe, and they believe this of you. But perhaps they are mistaken. If the rumor concerns you, then leave it behind when you sail to war."

Achilles' voice was tight and angry. "It is no business of yours, Prince of Ithaca."

Odysseus held up his hands. "My apologies if I have offended. I merely came to wish you both good night and ensure that all was satisfactory. Prince Achilles. Patroclus." He inclined his head and turned back to his own tent.

Inside the tent there was quietness between us. I had wondered when this would come. As Odysseus said, many boys took each other for lovers. But such things were given up as they grew older, unless it was with slaves or hired boys. Our men liked conquest; they did not trust a man who was conquered himself.

Do not disgrace him, the goddess had said. And this is some of what she had meant.

"Perhaps he is right," I said.

Achilles' head came up, frowning. "You do not think that."

"I do not mean-" I twisted my fingers. "I would still be with you. But I could sleep outside, so it would not be so obvious. I do not need to attend your councils. I-"

"No. The Phthians will not care. And the others can talk all they like. I will still be Aristos Achaion." Best of the Greeks.

"Your honor could be darkened by it."

"Then it is darkened." His jaw shot forward, stubborn. "They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this."

"But Odysseus-"

His eyes, green as spring leaves, met mine. "Patroclus. I have given enough to them. I will not give them this."

After that, there was nothing more to say.

THE NEXT DAY, with the southern wind caught in our sail, we found Odysseus by the prow.

"Prince of Ithaca," Achilles said. His voice was formal; there were none of the boyish smiles from the day before. "I wish to hear you speak of Agamemnon and the other kings. I would know the men I am to join, and the princes I am to fight."

"Very wise, Prince Achilles." If Odysseus noticed a change, he did not comment on it. He led us to the benches at the base of the mast, below the big-bellied sail. "Now, where to begin?" Almost absently, he rubbed the scar on his leg. It was starker in daylight, hairless and puckered. "There is Menelaus, whose wife we go to retrieve. After Helen picked him for her husband- Patroclus can tell you about that-he became king of Sparta. He is known as a good man, fearless in battle and well liked in the world. Many kings have rallied to his cause, and not just those who are bound to their oaths."

"Such as?" Achilles asked.

Odysseus counted them off on his large farmer's hands. "Meriones, Idomeneus, Philoctetes, Ajax. Both Ajaxes, larger and lesser." One was the man I remembered from Tyndareus' hall, a huge man with a shield; the other I did not know.

"Old King Nestor of Pylos will be there as well." I'd heard the name-he had sailed with Jason in his youth, to find the Golden Fleece. He was long past his fighting days now, but brought his sons to war, and his counsel, too.

Achilles' face was intent, his eyes dark. "And the Trojans?"

"Priam, of course. King of Troy. The man is said to have fifty sons, all raised with a sword in their hands."

"Fifty sons?"

"And fifty daughters. He's known to be pious and much loved by the gods. His sons are famous in their own right-Paris, of course, beloved of the goddess Aphrodite, and much noted for his beauty. Even the youngest, who's barely ten, is supposed to be ferocious. Troilus, I think. They have a god-born cousin who fights for them, too. Aeneas, his name is, a child of Aphrodite herself."

"What about Hector?" Achilles' eyes never left Odysseus.

"Priam's oldest son and heir, favorite of the god Apollo. Troy's mightiest defender."

"What does he look like?"

Odysseus shrugged. "I don't know. They say he is large, but that is said of most heroes. You'll meet him before I do, so you'll have to tell me."

Achilles narrowed his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

Odysseus made a wry face. "As I'm sure Diomedes will agree, I am a competent soldier but no more; my talents lie elsewhere. If I were to meet Hector in battle, I would not be bringing back news of him. You, of course, are a different matter. You will win the greatest fame from his death."

My skin went cold.