‘I am the son of a prince. There are expectations …’ He frowned. ‘What happened to your eye?’
Involuntarily, Danae twitched a hand to the tender skin around the left socket, where Odysseus had struck her. The swelling had gone down, but she imagined she had an eye the colour of a ripe fig.
‘You should see the other man.’
Achilles’ lips quirked. He stretched like a lynx. ‘Go on, then, what have you to tell me?’
Danae lifted her chin. ‘The omens have spoken. You must come with us to Troy.’
Achilles flopped back on the bed and sighed. ‘Did wily old Odysseus put you up to this?’
‘You dare defy the gods?’ The old threat tasted bitter in her mouth.
He sat up. ‘Never.’
‘Odysseus may be my king, but a seer answers to no mortal master.’
The best of the Greeks, mocked the voice.You are a Titan. He should be worshipping at your feet.
She advanced. ‘You should show a mouthpiece of the Twelve more respect. It is not just their words that flow through me.’ She placed a hand on the bed frame and sent a bolt of life-threads into the wood. The frame cracked, splintering beneath her touch.
Achilles sprung from the bed, landing crouched ready to spring, like a cat. He looked at the bed then back at Danae. Slowly, he rose to stand naked before her, staring as though seeing her through fresh eyes.
‘Very well, Seer. I should have known my mother’s plan to cheat the fates was foolish and my destiny would come for me sooner or later.’ He clenched his fists. ‘I am not afraid.’
Danae frowned. ‘What destiny –’
At that moment the door flung open, and Patroclus ran into the room.
‘I heard …’ he trailed off at the sight of the broken bed frame and Achilles standing bare before Danae.
The tension fled Achilles’ limbs. He moved to pluck a cloak from a nearby chair and swept it around his shoulders.
‘Come, Patroclus.’ He strolled towards his Myrmidon, his gait almost convincingly nonchalant. ‘I have a sudden urge to swim.’
Patroclus eyed Danae as though she were a viper. Then he followed Achilles towards the door.
‘We leave at dawn,’ said Danae.
Patroclus turned sharply to Achilles. The best of the Greeks lingered, his face half turned in shadow, then he nodded.
42. The Camp
Odysseus’ penteconter charged through the Aegean Sea, the Myrmidon ships following like a flock of midnight swans. Achilles stood beside Patroclus at the helm of his own vessel, his copper locks streaming in the chill wind as his men rowed in perfect unison.
They’d left Achilles’ bride, Deidamia, sobbing on the shore. Danae could not help but pity the poor girl, married to a man she probably would never see again. Lycomedes had been furious when Achilles announced he’d changed his mind and planned to leave for Troy with Odysseus. But there was little the old king could do to persuade him to stay, or hold him by force. The palace guard might outnumber the Myrmidons, but there was no comparison in their skill.
For most of the voyage, Danae haunted the prow deck, watching the familiar landmarks of the Aegean flow by. When they passed the isle of Imbros, her heart tightened with memories of the Argonauts: Tiphys and his beloved maps, Orpheus’ music, and Ancaeus’ rumbling laugh. All of them gone.
On the third day, the Bay of Troy snarled open before them. The fortress city was just as Danae remembered when she’d first sighted it from a distance aboard theArgo. Great walls of yellow stone towered over the eastern reach of the bay, a vast plain cut through with a thick vein of river stretching beyond.
‘When we arrive, will you take me to my army?’ she asked Odysseus.
‘You will meet them soon, but first we must report to King Agamemnon with Achilles. I will introduce you as my seer, which will afford you access to the war council meetings.’ He regarded her intently, brow furrowing. ‘It is vital none but the Children of Prometheus soldiers discover who you are. Agamemnon’s seer, Calchas, corresponds directly with the gods. They cannot know you are with the Greek army.’
Danae nodded, her jaw set. She recalled the golden amulets used by Polyxo and Dolos to commune with the Olympians and wondered if Calchas had such a device.
‘While we are on Trojan soil, I will remain Dione.’
