The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

I am the prince Achilles, son of Peleus. She did not wish me to go to war and hid me here, as one of your foster daughters.” Lycomedes swallowed and did not speak. “We will leave now,” Achilles said gently. The words shook Deidameia from her trance. “No,” she said, voice rising again. “You cannot. Your mother said the words over us, and we are married. You are my husband.” Lycomedes’ breath rasped loudly in the chamber; his eyes were for Thetis alone. “Is this true?” he asked. “It is,” the goddess answered. Something fell from a long height in my chest. Achilles turned to me, as if he would speak. But his mother was faster. “You are bound to us now, King Lycomedes. You will continue to shelter Achilles here. You will say nothing of who he is. In return, your daughter will one day be able to claim a famous husband.” Her eyes went to a point above Deidameia’s head, then back. She added, “It is better than she would have done.”