The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

Afterwards, when Agamemnon would ask him when he would confront the prince of Troy, he would smile his most guileless, maddening smile. “What has Hector ever done to me?”

“That’s the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know my death is coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, is relief.”

“That the best of the Myrmidons will die before two more years have passed.” Achilles’ face was still; utterly still. “We have known it was coming,” he said. A curt shake of her head. “No. The prophecy says you will still be alive when it happens.”