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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.
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It was enough to watch him win, to see the soles of his feet flashing as they kicked up sand, or the rise and fall of his shoulders as he pulled through the salt. It was enough.
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“There is no law that gods must be fair,
Achilles,� Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?� “Perhaps,� Achilles admitted. I listened and did not speak. Achilles� eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know it in dark or disguise, I told myself. I would know it even in madness.
throat. I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.
