Chapter Text
They were called nereids, from the word for sea nymphs, the daughters of Nereus and Doris, friends and entourage to the God of the Sea, Poseidon. This was the closest word that the people of Opus had for them, though they were far different than the creatures after which they were named. They were rumored to be the children of sea nymphs and mermaids, half-human, half-fish, with untold power over the sea. For many years no one believed the stories that sailors would tell of these mysterious creatures that lived and hunted in the waters, luring men in with their calls and devouring them whole. They would return from sea with more and more tales of death, showing wounds they’d received, and body parts from fallen sailors they couldn’t save. Still, the people of Opus were hesitant to believe in such tales. Sailors were infamous for being drunkards, anyway.
It wasn’t until one man, Actor, King of Opus, killed one of the creatures, dragging its corpse onto the beach with triumph, that people began to take the nereid concern seriously. Actor explained that they were dangerous – they could make a man insane, they could devour him whole, sink an entire ship with just a breath. People became paranoid, and only the bravest were willing to go back onto the waters of the Aegean Sea.
Of course, the sailors had other incentives. Actor soon discovered that the scales of the nereid were worth ten times their weight in gold, and that surrounding countries were more than willing to pay up. Soon, every man was itching for a chance to hunt the nereids, despite most having no formal training or skill. Although many lives were lost, a great number of nereids were killed and their scales sold, making Opus far richer than surrounding kingdoms. Actor became famous and loved for his discovery and bravery, honored amongst kings. However, the gods were not pleased that their beloved creations were being hunted and killed in great numbers, and it is believed that Actor’s untimely death was caused by none other than Poseidon himself, angered by the desecration of his companions.
That was over two hundred years ago, and Opus had become famous ever since. Actor had several children, and the throne eventually fell to Menoitius, who had one son, Patroclus. By the time he was born, a nereid had not been seen for nearly fifty years.
Patroclus was small and often sickly, suffering from just about every allergy one can have, as well as asthma. In short, every king’s nightmare. Menoitius was certainly not secretive about the fact that he found Patroclus to be disgraceful, and let him know on just about every occasion. He frequently put him down in front of visitors, acknowledging aloud that his son was useless before someone could call him out about it first. Menoitius descended from a proud lineage, and having a son such as Patroclus was really almost a fate worse than death.
Patroclus was forced into athletic training to make him a more competent soldier – running, fighting, and, on this particular day, swimming. Opus was a coastal kingdom and it made sense for citizens to know how to swim, since sailing and fishing were such huge industrial assets.
“Today we will conduct a simple swimming exercise,” the teacher’s voice carried across the beach, where the children were dispersed.
They were all young boys, nearing the age of twelve, full of restless energy and eager to demonstrate their skills. Patroclus stood to the side of the beach, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, trying to calm the racing of his heart. He, of course, had no idea how to swim. He’d never been taught before and, judging from the elated and excited expressions on the other boys’ faces, he was the only one. Patroclus had zero friends amongst the boys, who frequently picked on him for being awkward, clumsy, and weird. They heard from their parents what his own father said about him, and repeated it back to him in cruel words and jests at his expense. Patroclus tried not to let it get to him, but all too frequently he found himself hiding away in a cupboard somewhere, crying softly into his hands. He hated feeling weak and helpless. He hated how no one would ever stick up for him. He wondered why he had to be so different.
“Teacher,” a boy called out. It was Duris, the strongest and fastest of the boys. An infamous show-off. “Isn’t it dangerous to swim in the water? My father says there are nereids that can eat you whole.”
“Are you scared, Duris?” another boy called, taunting. Patroclus cringed at the tone in his voice – all too frequently was it aimed at him. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself invisible, wishing he could bury himself alive in the warm sand beneath his feet.
“No!” Duris called, angrily. He was incredibly proud and used to always being the best. Patroclus pitied whoever had called him out.
“We’ll be staying in the shallows,” the teacher explained, used to dealing with the antics of this unruly class. “Anyone that goes out farther than the breakers will face serious consequences.”
“Yeah, being eaten alive!” someone shouted. Duris scoffed and called the boy a coward, despite having expressed the same concern only seconds before.
Patroclus debated whether or not he should mention to the teacher that he had no idea how to swim. On one hand, it could save his life. On the other, it would make him the target of further bullying and he knew he’d never hear the end of it. He thought vaguely that drowning might not be so bad. He wouldn’t miss much about being alive, and certainly no one would miss him. His father would probably be relieved if he’d died in some tragic accident.
In the end, he decided not to say anything. He hated the sound of his voice, anyway.
“Swim out to the breakers and back,” the teacher instructed. “We’ll make it a race. The winner gets an entire bowl of figs.”
Patroclus loved figs, though he hardly had any chance to enjoy them. He knew he wasn’t going to win a race, however, especially when he would have to concentrate on somehow staying afloat without triggering an asthma attack.
The teacher shouted for them to start and all the boys raced into the water as fast as they could. Patroclus was the last to enter, hesitantly submerging himself in the water and walking out as far as he could. The water was cool despite the warm summer days and his breath quickened. He concentrated on walking one step at a time as the water threatened to rush over him. Soon, he was unable to reach the bottom, the slimy sand falling away under his feet. He hoped he’d be able to remain calm, but the overwhelming sense of darkness and endless abyss below sent him into a panic.
“Come on, Patroclus!” he heard the teacher yell from the shore. He was sure that despite trying his hardest, he was still the farthest behind. “Get moving!”
Patroclus’ face burned at being called out. He wasn’t so far behind not to hear the other boys laughing at him. He tried to watch what they were doing, the way they moved their arms and legs to somehow stay afloat. He tried it himself and found that, with great effort, he was able to move a little. The water crashed around him, getting into his mouth and eyes. He coughed, struggling to stay moving. He was terrified that if he stopped, he’d sink to the bottom almost instantly. The idea of death no longer seemed so comforting.
He had no idea how long he’d been pounding away at the water in an attempt to live before he heard a faint cheering.
“Thank you, teacher!”
That was Duris’ voice. He could barely make it out passed the rushing of the wind and the waves thundering against him. Turning his head, he noticed with dread that the shoreline was barely visible behind him. His classmates had all returned, and the teacher was congratulating Duris on his win. They were so far away they looked like ants, milling around with absolutely no concern for Patroclus.
“Help!” he tried to call out, but his voice was carried away with the wind. Surely the teacher would have to notice he was missing?
All of a sudden he heard a frantic voice yelling.
“Did you see that? Did you see that?”
Patroclus struggled to hear what they were saying. He tried to turn himself around and head back to the shore but no matter how hard he tried, he seemed to be pulled farther and farther away.
“Nereid!” he heard a voice yell. One of the boys, from shore. He’d spotted a nereid, the most dangerous of sea creatures, almost certainly coming for Patroclus – the world’s easiest prey.
His heart was beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to drown, or be eaten alive. He tried again to yell for help. He could barely make out his teacher jumping into the water, hurrying to save him.
Without warning, he was tugged beneath the water, the blackness and sickening quietness overpowering his senses, water filling his nose and lungs. It was only a moment, and then he was back above water, coughing and spluttering and trying to call out passed the saltiness in his mouth and burning in his lungs. Then, a hand was on his ankle. It was cold, and strong, and Patroclus closed his eyes in fear as he was dragged down into the blackness of the sea.
Patroclus registered the sound first. It was a faint humming that seemed to resonate throughout his entire body, warming and calming him. It was a song, elaborate and sweet like honey. He felt utterly content lying there in the darkness, totally unaware of anything but the song travelling along the breeze and into his very heart. He wanted to lie there forever. He couldn’t imagine a better way to live, or die. He wondered vaguely if this was the afterlife. He hoped it was.
Then, just like that, the sound was gone. Silence. Patroclus realized with a wakening sense of fear that he was lying on his back, the sun hot against his face. He ached all over, and sharp rock was cutting into his back. He struggled to open his eyes, groaning against the blinding light. His eyes watering, he saw nothing but water out in front of him. He appeared to be on a rock in the middle of the sea. Just his luck. He’d had a perfect chance to drown and somehow managed to find his way onto the only rock for miles around. He was probably hours away from Opus and would now slowly starve to death instead of drowning peacefully. He could no longer remember at all what the song sounded like. Perhaps he’d dreamt it.
Then, he saw something. A flash in the water, an iridescent reflection moving like a snake through the sea beneath him. He froze, curling into the fetal position to keep his feet out of the water. Nereid, he thought, helplessly. Of course, he wouldn’t starve. He’d be eaten. It almost seemed fitting. He started to panic; he couldn’t help it. His breathing became rapid, forced. He knew he was having an asthma attack, and hoped the asphyxia would come before the nereid tearing him apart and pulling the skin from his bones. It was impossible to take in breath now, his lungs wouldn’t fill, and he was becoming light-headed from the sun and lack of air.
He closed his eyes, willing his lungs to take in oxygen, trying desperately to live despite his mind telling him he’d be better off dead. When he opened his eyes again, there was a face before him. He startled, although the face didn’t appear threatening. It belonged to a young boy, no older than him. He had bright green eyes, wide in terror, soaking wet golden hair falling around his shoulders. His hands were resting on Patroclus’ shoulders, shaking him slightly.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his voice frantic. It sounded strange to Patroclus’ ears. It was too musical to be human, ringing out like it was coming from a distance. It sounded like the hum of the shells that Patroclus used to press to his ear as child, when he still believed such simple pleasures could bring him happiness.
He concentrated on breathing. Whatever this was in front of him, it wasn’t trying to hurt him. Although he really wished he would stop being shaken.
“Stop –” Patroclus managed, before breaking off in a fit of wheezing.
The hands immediately fell away, and the boy pushed back into the water, looking cautiously at Patroclus from the waves.
Slowly, and with great effort, he managed to calm his breathing. It became easier to take in breaths, and he brought some cold water to his face in an attempt to dull the heat-stroke he was most likely suffering. He was not going to pass out on this rock. He repeated it to himself like a mantra.
His head was finally clear, and the boy who’d somehow found him on the only rock in the Aegean Sea was still staring from the waters, now a good distance off. Patroclus could tell from his expression that he was nervous. He found it absurd that he had the power to make anyone nervous.
“Hello,” he called over, unsure what to say. It occurred to him that there was no way this boy was human. It didn’t make sense for someone else to randomly be lost at sea – that was something only Patroclus could manage. If not human, then what? A mermaid? A nereid? He didn’t seem threatening, but Patroclus wasn’t exactly an expert. The only thing he’d learned about nereids had been from his father, who would go on and on about the legacy of his family – bringing millions to the kingdom of Opus by hunting, killing, and selling the scales of the creatures. Patroclus used to dream as a child of doing just that, of somehow making his father proud of him. And here he was, with a nereid in front of him. None of the boys had ever seen one, few people had. He was excited, and terrified. He had absolutely no weapon and no skill fighting. He was useless.
He looked around for a loose rock or something that he could use as a weapon.
“Are you okay?” the boy called over. His voice surprised Patroclus and he jumped, scrambling back to the edge of his rock. His fingers found a small stone that he could use to bash in someone’s brains if he was really dedicated. He imagined doing it and felt nauseous.
The nereid was swimming closer, gazing at Patroclus with a look of absolute fascination and fear. He seemed hesitant to approach the small island.
“I’m fine,” Patroclus said. His voice sounded rough and staggered following the beautiful melody of the boy’s. He wondered how long he’d been passed out on that rock before he finally woke. The sun was still high in the sky, so it couldn’t be that late. He was certain that his father was going ballistic wondering where he was. Probably currently praying to the gods that he’d drowned, or been eaten.
“What was wrong with you?” he asked, swimming closer. Patroclus could see his tail through the water, just like a mermaid’s. It frightened him, though he couldn’t say why. He’d only ever seen pictures of mermaids and nereids in books, as drawings. He never imagined he’d see one in real life, or that they’d be so vibrant, so graceful. The tail seemed to be made of solid gold, glimmering in the sunlight through the clear sea water. Patroclus knew from growing up in Opus, where every last person was obsessed with the nereid, that this boy in front of him was worth the price of the city. It did nothing to calm his nerves.
“I had an asthma attack,” Patroclus explained. He was shaking, whether from fear or stress, he did not know. “I can’t swim.”
The boy looked as though Patroclus had said the most absurd thing. His eyebrows drew together in deep concentration.
Suddenly, the boy was before him, so close that Patroclus could smell him – the strong scent of the sea all around them plus something else – lotus flower, cypress, and ambrosia – the food of the gods. Patroclus shivered. He looked briefly into those bright green eyes, flecked with gold, before looking away. He felt cornered on his small rock, the endless water all around him.
“My name is Achilles,” he said, resting his hands delicately on the rocky shore. “You’re the first human I’ve ever seen.”
Patroclus instantly felt guilty that he was Achilles’ first introduction to humankind. He couldn’t imagine what a letdown that must be.
“I’m sorry,” he said. It occurred to him then that he never would have survived this far on his own. The nereid had almost certainly dragged him onto this rock. And why? Weren’t nereids supposed to be constantly hungry for human flesh? It didn’t make sense.
“Why?” Achilles asked.
“Because you had to rescue me,” Patroclus said. It didn’t happen very often, but he always felt guilty whenever someone went out of their way for him. He knew that he didn’t deserve that sort of kindness.
“What’s your name?” Achilles asked. He was swimming back and forth now, about a foot away from the island. He would occasionally dip below the water, twirling and spinning a bit, before coming back up. If Patroclus didn’t know any better, he’d assume that Achilles was showing off.
“Patroclus,” he said, hating the way it sounded. Honor of the father, when he was anything but.
He imagined telling his father that he’d seen a nereid, had spoken to one. He imagined the disbelief in his eyes. He’d almost certainly ask why Patroclus hadn’t killed it. Why he hadn’t been able to do this one thing for their kingdom, for their family’s name.
“Pa-tro-clus,” Achilles repeated, dipping back below the water again before coming up only inches away from the rock. Patroclus had never heard his name sound like that before. Achilles did speak with a sort of strange accent, but Patroclus felt no need to correct him. When Achilles said it, his name sounded almost pretty.
“Yes,” he managed.
“You were drowning when I found you.” Achilles’ golden hair shone luminous in the sunlight. “You were panicking. I had to sing to you a little, to calm you down.”
Patroclus remembered the beautiful song that had kept him so subdued. He’d learned all his life to beware the power nereids had over humans, but had never truly believed that a simple song could knock a grown man out cold.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he continued, flushed with embarrassment. “But you were going to hurt yourself.”
“It’s all right,” Patroclus said. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as peaceful as when he’d heard Achilles’ song. “Are you…a nereid?”
Achilles’ nose wrinkled in confusion at the word. He hoisted himself onto the rock beside Patroclus, his golden tail still mostly submerged in the water. He was moving it softly back and forth, creating small ripples in the water that glittered in the sunlight.
“What’s that, Patroclus?”
They were so close now Patroclus was afraid he might have another asthma attack. Achilles was even more beautiful close up, his tan skin glowing in the sunlight, his bright green eyes full of light and curiosity. His face looked almost like a girl’s, with soft features and a sort of innate innocence.
“It’s our word for creatures that are half-sea nymph, half-mermaid,” Patroclus explained, remembering his lifelong studies of the creature that sat beside him. He didn’t mention that they were supposed to love feasting on human flesh. Perhaps he’d gotten lucky and found the one vegetarian nereid.
Achilles was looking at Patroclus as though he’d never seen anything so interesting in his entire life. He smiled, then, and Patroclus might have smiled back if he hadn’t been so nervous. He realized that he was unconsciously waiting for Achilles to say something mean.
“Patroclus,” he said, and Patroclus flushed at hearing his name spoken in such a way – like he was important, and worth addressing. “Let’s play a game.”
“A game?” Patroclus asked, hesitant. Games with the other boys usually ended with him either being left out, or the butt of everyone’s joke. He ran a hand through his salt-dried hair, wishing he had some means of escape.
Achilles did not seem to notice his hesitation and fell back into the water, creating a wake that lapped against the edge of Patroclus’ small island. He was lying on his back amongst the waves, arms out, lounging. Patroclus envied his natural grace; he was always awkward no matter what position he was in.
“I’ll make a face at you,” Achilles said, green eyes finding Patroclus. “It can be dumb or funny, and you have to try not to laugh. If you do, then you have to make a face, and I’ll try not to laugh.”
Patroclus blinked his large eyes – once, twice. The other boys never played games like this. In fact, all of their games involved violence to some extent, or some chance for them to show off. Patroclus had never tried to make a dumb face before. He always assumed his natural face was dumb enough.
“Okay,” he said, not wanting to disappoint Achilles by asking if they could play a game where he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself. Achilles utter lack of self-consciousness made Patroclus even more self-aware. He was the first human Achilles had ever seen, he reminded himself. It’s not as though he had anyone to compete with.
Before he could over-think his dumb face, Achilles was before him, far too close, crossing his eyes and opening his mouth and tilting his head and looking more ridiculous than Patroclus could have ever imagined a sea nymph looking. The fact that he was sitting here, on a rock in the middle of the sea, playing a ‘dumb face game’ with a nereid suddenly hit him like the waves that had plowed him down and landed him here in the first place. He couldn’t help it, he smiled. Achilles seemed to consider this a great victory, and refused to quit until Patroclus let out a small giggle. The sound of his own laughter startled him; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard it. He’d come to associate laughter with mockery and loneliness. It felt strange to laugh and feel happy.
“Your turn,” Achilles said, smiling widely. He was once again sitting beside Patroclus, nudging him gently with his small hand, still wet from the sea.
Patroclus had absolutely no idea what to do, but couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Achilles by refusing to play. Fortunately – or unfortunately – he was spared from having to try when Achilles’ head whipped to the horizon, sensing something Patroclus could not see.
“What is it?” Patroclus asked, worried. Perhaps Achilles’ nereid friends were coming to remind him that he was a carnivorous monster.
“My mother is coming,” he said.
Before Patroclus could ask whether or not he should attempt to hide, a sea nymph was before them. She seemed to appear from thin air, and stood tall on the rock next to Patroclus, who jumped back, falling into the water.
He was caught by Achilles, who pushed him back onto the rock, patting him a little on the head as though he were coddling a child. Patroclus didn’t have time to feel stupid. He was staring up at the sea nymph before him, her pale skin and black eyes seeming to singe his very soul.
“What is this?” she asked, looking at Patroclus as though she had never seen anything so disgusting in her entire life.
“A human,” Achilles said. He sounded proud, as though he’d made a great discovery. “His name is Patroclus.”
“I don’t care what its name is,” she seethed. “Where did you find it?”
“He was drowning. I saved him.”
“You should have let it die,” she said, her voice harsh and dangerous. Patroclus felt cold, despite the sun still baking him. She seemed to bring storm clouds with her, the sea around them suddenly tumultuous and dark. “Humans are vile creatures, I’ve told you before. They’d kill you the first chance they get.”
Patroclus did not have time to object. He was being pulled up by the collar of his shirt, which hung loosely around his small frame. The sea nymph was so close, Patroclus could feel her cold, salty breath on his face.
“Isn’t that right, Patroclus?” she spat his name. “You would kill my son first chance you get.”
“I wouldn’t,” Patroclus tried, but his breath was short.
“You humans are all alike. Barbaric. Greedy.”
“Mother, please stop, you’re hurting him,” Achilles begged.
The sea nymph threw him down, and he would have cracked his skull open on the rocks if he wasn’t caught again by Achilles, who settled him gently on the island, staying close.
“My name is Thetis,” the sea nymph said. Patroclus had heard the name before. He’d memorized the names of all the fifty sea nymphs of Poseidon. He trembled there on the island, feeling the power of the gods all around him. His whole life he’d felt helpless, but this sort of terror was new. “If you ever come near my son again, I will kill you.”
She turned to Achilles.
“Return the prince to his palace in Opus, and we will never speak of this again.”
Without another word, she jumped into the sea, disappearing deep into the darkness of the water. Patroclus was certain he was going to throw up.
Finally, he turned to Achilles, whose face was red with embarrassment.
“You’re really a prince?” he asked, at last.
“Yes,” Patroclus said.
“I’m sorry.” He was so close to Patroclus that their arms were touching, bare skin against Patroclus’ thin, torn shirt. “My mother is distrustful of humans. We’ve lost many friends from your species.”
“I would never,” Patroclus said, overcome with emotion. “I would never hurt you. I won’t tell anyone I saw you. I promise.”
Achilles looked at him, his bright green eyes shining as he smiled.
“Thank you, Patroclus. Let me take you home.”
The very last thing Patroclus wanted to do was go home. He would be content to sit on this rock forever with Achilles, playing stupid games and watching him swim back and forth. But he supposed that sort of life was impossible, especially since he was a terrible swimmer.
He was hesitant to get back into the water, still traumatized by his earlier brush with death.
“Don’t worry,” Achilles assured, gathering Patroclus into his arms. “I’ll protect you.”
Patroclus lowered himself into the sea, the cold water catching his breath. Achilles’ arms were tight around him.
“Grab onto my shoulders,” he said. “I’ll swim you to shore. We’re not far away.”
Achilles turned so that his back was facing Patroclus, who grabbed onto his shoulders. He was simultaneously terrified of drowning and hurting Achilles.
“Hold on,” Achilles said, before swimming off, Patroclus gliding through the water behind him like a cape.
Patroclus closed his eyes as they whipped through the water, the salt spray sprinkling his face. It was exhilarating, like being able to fly. Patroclus could distantly feel Achilles’ tail beating behind them, propelling them through the water as fast as he had ever gone. They created waves around them and after a few moments, Patroclus opened his eyes to watch the horizon rush by.
It wasn’t long before the shoreline of Opus came into view. Patroclus had expected it to be deserted, that the boys and the teacher had gone home after deciding that Patroclus was a lost cause. Instead, the beach was filled with people donning bright red and bronze uniforms – guards from the palace. Although Patroclus did not see his father, his stomach filled with fear. He was going to be in so much trouble.
“Don’t get too close,” Patroclus said, voice high. “They’ll see you.”
Achilles made a sharp left and Patroclus gripped onto him tighter. He wanted to hide his face in Achilles’ back. He wanted to disappear.
They came upon a small beach a little way’s off, surrounded by thick forest. The guards had not yet come here to look, and it provided them a temporary shelter. Achilles swam into the shallows, until Patroclus was able to touch his feet onto the soft, wet sand, the water coming up to his waist.
“Thank you,” he said, struggling to maintain balance as the waves fell around him.
Achilles was floating there, watching him with intent eyes. Patroclus had only known him for a few hours, and knew he’d never forget him. He was going to miss Achilles – not just his effortless smile and the way he said his name, but how he made Patroclus feel. Carefree, happy, special. Patroclus struggled to remember that feeling, to hold onto it. He knew he’d never feel it again.
“My mother does not wish for me to see you again,” Achilles said in his soft, pretty voice. Patroclus glanced behind them, at the forest surrounding the beach. He could hear the guards’ voices shouting orders through the trees. They sounded bored, probably wondering when on earth Menoitius had started caring about what happened to his son. At any moment, one could burst through the trees and see Achilles. He felt sick thinking about what they would do to him.
“I know,” Patroclus said. He couldn’t blame her. He’d seen firsthand the sort of violence the people of Opus brought to the nereids. Of course, Patroclus had always been taught that sort of violence was justified. If you don’t kill them first, they’ll kill you. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“But maybe I can come here again, and see you.” His words surprised Patroclus so much that he nearly lost his balance and fell over. He stared into Achilles’ green eyes, desperate to know whether or not he was making a joke. When Patroclus first began lessons with the other boys, they would always compliment him in some absurd way and then laugh about it later when he took them seriously. He knew that he was awful at reading people, and so always just assumed the worst.
Achilles, however, seemed genuine. And he was waiting for Patroclus’ response.
“Okay,” he said. “But it could be dangerous.”
He would actually die if Achilles was caught visiting him. He knew the way the people of Opus lusted after gold. They would kill each other for a chance to kill Achilles and sell the golden scales from his tail.
“It’s all right,” Achilles said, smiling, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “You’re worth it. You still need to make a dumb face.”
It took Patroclus a moment to realize that Achilles was referring to the game they’d been playing and not actually telling him that he had a dumb face. He smiled. He wanted to spend every moment of the rest of his life with Achilles.
“Patroclus!” a voice called. It was harsh, angry. A guard from the palace. Patroclus’ head whipped around to see a guard marching down the beach, heavy in uniform and boots. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Patroclus turned back, practically delirious with fear, but Achilles was gone. He’d probably heard the guard even before Patroclus did. He was smart; he knew how to avoid humans. Patroclus’ legs felt weak beneath him. He struggled to walk through the water and onto the beach, feeling the eyes of the guard beating down on him.
“Well? Where have you been?”
“Swimming,” he said. He couldn’t think of a realistic excuse for how he’d vanished during lessons and appeared hours later on some secluded beach. It was better to play the fool.
The guard rolled his eyes and huffed, tired and annoyed that he’d had to spend his entire afternoon searching for some boy who didn’t matter to anyone. He marched back along the beach and through the trees, Patroclus in tow.
The palace was close to the beach, behind a high wall for protection, and it took them only a few minutes to return. The guards were walking at a brisk pace, eager to be done with this ridiculous errand. Patroclus had to run in order to keep up.
His heart was racing widely. He was being taken to his father. He tried to remember Achilles’ smile. He tried to remember Achilles telling him he was worth it – worth possibly dying, worth defying his sea nymph mother. It was hard to believe that such a thing had happened. Patroclus contemplated vaguely if it had all been a dream brought on by sun stroke.
With little grace, he was brought before his father’s high throne. He knelt on the cold, stone floor, feeling light-headed from the exertions of the day.
“We found Patroclus on a small beach near where he disappeared,” the guard said. “He appears unharmed.”
“That’s a shame,” his father said, voice deep and grumbling. His tone was disinterested, as though the returning of his son was something he could give or take. Probably it was. He dismissed the guards with a casual wave of the hand, the heavy doors shutting behind them, echoing throughout the empty hall.
“So,” his father said, once they were alone. “Where were you?”
“I—” Patroclus began, cringing at the sound of his voice – too loud, too high-pitched, too weak. He was shaking, and the fear was evident in his voice. “I swam out too far, and was carried by the current. I ended up on a small island.”
“You can’t swim,” his father stated. “How did you make it back to the beach?”
“I….I swam. I learned.”
His father looked at him with disbelief, and beneath that, anger. He knew Patroclus was lying to him but couldn’t figure out why or what about.
He stood, descending the steps from the platform of the throne.
“Stand,” he commanded, when he was only a few feet from Patroclus’ kneeling form.
Patroclus stood warily on shaking legs, eyes downcast. His father was frequently angry with him – for placing last in a race, for tripping and embarrassing him in front of visitors. For existing in a state that his father would always consider shameful. But he’d never lied to his father before, he hadn’t needed to. Patroclus didn’t get into trouble, he didn’t press boundaries. He wasn’t like the other children – always challenging authority, seeing what they could get away with. Patroclus struggled every day just to get out of bed and face everyone without curling into a ball and wishing to die.
“Where did you go, really?” his father asked. His voice was quiet, deadly. Patroclus knew there was one way out of this: telling his father the truth. That he’d seen a nereid. Telling him how he’d spoken to one, how its tail was made of gold. How he could lead him to it, and make their kingdom richer than any king before. His father wouldn’t believe him at first, but the story would be glamorous enough to catch his attention. And Patroclus could prove it. He knew exactly where to go to meet Achilles again.
But, of course, he did not say that. He closed his eyes and pictured Achilles’ smile, his arms around Patroclus, protecting him. He would never betray him.
“I told you what happened,” he said, quiet and scared. “I learned to swim watching the other boys—”
He did not have a chance to finish. The back of his father’s hand hit hard against his cheek, turning his face to the side, sending him sprawling to the ground. He caught himself with his open palms, barely. He did not move from his place on the stone floor, lest he anger his father further.
“If it happens again,” his father said, walking passed Patroclus and heading down the long corridor of the throne room. “I will not be so lenient.”
Patroclus stayed there, on the ground, until he heard the door shut. His cheek stung and he knew it would leave a bruise that the other boys would taunt him for. None of their fathers ever struck them – it was only him, because he was so disgraceful, so useless.
He stood with great effort, making his way through the long, dark corridors of the palace and into his room, where he fell into bed. He wanted to cry, laying there in the dark. He thought about Achilles. Where did he sleep? Under the water? Did nereids live in houses, or caves? It occurred to him that despite having learned about the nereids his entire life, he knew very little about them. He knew how to kill them. He knew the danger they presented. He knew their economic value. That was it.
The exhaustion of the day was creeping up on him, and he closed his eyes. He would not attend dinner with the other boys; he didn’t want to see them. He would have to deal with them tomorrow, at lessons. Instead, he thought about Achilles. He thought about the sound of his own laughter when Achilles made his dumb face. He thought of Achilles’ song. For the first time he could ever remember, Patroclus fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Morning came too early, and Patroclus dragged himself to breakfast and then to lessons. The other boys were talking frantically about the events of the previous day – the nereid they’d seen in the water, and Patroclus’ mysterious disappearance. If it hadn’t been for their loud conversing, Patroclus might have been able to convince himself that he’d dreamt Achilles, and the small rock island in the middle of the Aegean Sea. But when his teacher approached him and asked whether or not he was okay, he knew it had been real.
Today they would race along the beach. The teacher was hesitant to allow them to swim again, and Patroclus couldn’t exactly blame him. Still, it was a hot day and the boys were all itching for a swim to take off the aching burn of the sun.
“We can’t swim because Patroclus will drown,” Duris announced to the group at large. They had raced for two hours, and were taking a break on the beach. Many of the boys were growing angry at the teacher’s insistence that they stay on shore.
Patroclus was sitting in the sand a little way off, trying desperately not to draw attention to himself. Of course, it never worked. He’d buried his feet in the sand, and was staring off into the sea, thinking about Achilles.
Duris and three other boys marched over to him, kicking sand into his face.
“You should have just drowned yesterday,” Duris spat out. The other boys murmured their agreement. “We all would have been better off.”
Yesterday Patroclus might have agreed with them. Now, the idea of death seemed strangely terrifying. It would take him even farther away from Achilles.
Patroclus refused to look up, brushing the sand from his mouth.
“Well?” Duris did not appreciate being ignored.
“Look at his face,” another boy said, amused. “I bet his father hit him again.”
They laughed, and Patroclus’ face burned. They were so loud he knew that everyone could hear. He hoped the teacher might intervene, but didn’t blame him when he did not. The first time he’d reprimanded the boys for picking on Patroclus, his father had raged, saying that he needed to toughen up, anyway.
“We all thought you’d been eaten by the nereid yesterday, Patroclus,” Duris continued, voice loud and goading. Duris said his name like it was a nuisance – ugly, and awkward. His entire life he’d thought that was the only way it could sound. “Your father told mine that he was so disappointed when you came back alive.”
“The nereid probably didn’t eat him,” the third boy said. “Because they don’t eat garbage.”
“Yeah, I saw it. It was going to eat him and then swam away,” the second boy added.
This seemed to enrage Duris, who always had to be the best and most important.
“You didn’t see it, Abrax,” he said. “You admitted yesterday you didn’t. I’m the only one who saw it.”
Abrax stuttered a moment, unsure whether to defend his honor or agree with Duris. Eventually, he nodded.
“I saw it a little,” he said, quietly. “I saw its tail.”
“You didn’t,” Duris argued. Patroclus glanced upwards and saw that his face was red. He was never challenged. “What color was it, then?”
“Red,” Abrax said, confidently.
“No, you’re wrong,” Duris said. “I told you that you didn’t see it. It was dark green, like seaweed.”
Patroclus laughed, then. He hadn’t meant to. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, and was out before he could over-think or stop it.
Duris looked down at him, anger momentarily vanished in place of complete and utter confusion. He probably hadn’t known Patroclus was capable of laughter.
Patroclus came to his senses in a flash, and stood, struggling to look Duris in the eye. He was shaking again. He knew that Duris and his friends could do whatever they wanted to him without consequence. It was impossible to feel brave.
“Is something amusing to you?” Duris asked, tightening his fists threateningly.
“No,” Patroclus said. He hated the falter in his voice. He was the prince; he would one day inherit this whole kingdom if his father couldn’t come up with some reason to disown him. They should respect him, and want to impress him.
“Then why were you laughing?” Duris was close to him now, spewing hot breath into his face. He wanted to back down, he wanted to apologize and ask them not to hurt him, to leave him alone, and run away, back to the castle. But he couldn’t. For whatever reason, he still had the slightest glimmer of pride.
“You didn’t see the nereid, Duris,” he said. It was the first time he’d ever spoken in such a way, to anyone. Confident, powerful. “You’re just trying to impress everyone, but you’re a liar.”
Duris’ face was red with rage. No one ever argued with him, they were all too busy falling over themselves trying to impress him. He wasn’t royalty, but he was close enough. His father was Lykaon, the king’s advisor. Their family was wealthy beyond means. Not as wealthy as Patroclus, but he was so much less impressive in every way that no one paid any attention.
“You think you can get away with calling me a liar?” Duris asked. He grabbed the neck of Patroclus’ tunic, and shoved him violently backwards. He stumbled, trying to retain his balance, falling heavily onto the beach. It was a soft landing, but he struggled to stand back up, grappling at the sand that seemed to slip away beneath him. He was panicking, sensing Duris’ approach. Without warning, there was a sharp kick to his stomach, forcing the breath from his lungs.
“If I killed you right now,” he heard Duris’ voice say, distantly, above the sound of his own pounding heart and wheezing breath. “I’d be rewarded for it.”
Another kick, and this time Patroclus fell limply to the sand, curling into a ball, trying to protect his body from further blows. Fortunately, none came. It was several moments before he peaked up from his protective position, eyes finding their teacher, who was doing his best to subtly reprimand the boys. Patroclus knew that he hadn’t needed to step in, and would likely be in trouble if Duris decided to broadcast the incident to his father. He felt guilty, and his whole body ached. He refused to cry. Not here on the beach in front of everyone.
Duris and the other boys were sent back to the castle, and the teacher approached Patroclus. He sat up slowly, the simple action causing him great pain. The teacher looked as though he might offer his hand to help before deciding against it.
“Get back to the castle,” he said. “Lessons are over for today.”
He walked up the beach and away, leaving Patroclus alone with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing into the shore. He closed his eyes, hugging his arms against his bruised chest.
He did not know how long he stayed like that, watching the water swell against the shore, retreating back again into the sea. The tide had come in a little, and the cold water was just beginning to lap against Patroclus’ bare feet. He did not want to go back to the castle, though he knew the sun would be down soon and his absence would be noted.
Instead, he walked along the shoreline, limping a little, to the secluded beach where Achilles had dropped him off the day before. The branches from the trees scraped against his legs, and he was bleeding by the time he made it to the beach, all but throwing himself onto the sand. He felt horrible.
Closing his eyes to the warm breeze, he tried to imagine Achilles’ face, and what his song had sounded like. He wished he could hear it now. He tried humming a little, though he had absolutely no ear for music. His voice was too flat, and unpleasant to listen to. Still, he hummed a little, under his breath, trying pathetically to recreate the divine song he’d heard only briefly in his half-aware state.
Eyes closed, it took him nearly three minutes before he realized abruptly that he was not singing alone. He startled, looking around wildly for the source of the other voice. It did not take him long to spot Achilles, lounging lazily in the sand, half underwater, staring at Patroclus with those curious green eyes.
His heart practically jumped from his chest in joy. He did not think Achilles would come here again.
Patroclus raced over as fast as he could manage and sat down beside Achilles, trying not to stare at the sharp glare of his golden tail against the fading sunlight.
“What happened?” Achilles asked, frantic. He was hoisted up by his arms, one hand touching Patroclus’ face hesitantly. His hand was cold against Patroclus’ cheek, which had grown warm from the long hours in the sun. It ached a little where Achilles touched it. He blushed at the small contact, and looked away.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“Patroclus,” Achilles said, and Patroclus’ blush deepened. He knew that tone – Achilles did not believe him. Instead of sounding threatening, however, Achilles sounded worried. “Did another human do this to you?”
“My father,” Patroclus admitted, after a pause. He could not think of a good reason to lie to Achilles. It was only a matter of time, after all, until Achilles realized that Patroclus was the worst sort of human he could have met. “He was angry I disappeared yesterday.”
“Is that common?” Achilles asked, confused. “Humans hitting each other?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But I am a disappointment to him.”
Achilles’ eyes widened, like the very last thing he could ever imagine Patroclus being was a disappointment.
“Well, I’m happy I found you here,” Achilles said, with a warm smile. “I’ve been checking all day.”
Butterflies formed in his stomach. It was a strange thing to feel wanted.
“I had to attend training,” he said. He didn’t elaborate on how awful that had gone. “The other boys were bragging about how they’d seen you yesterday. They thought your tail was green, like seaweed.”
Achilles’ face scrunched up in amusement and his tail flicked idly through the water.
“Some of us have green tails,” he said. “It’s a fairly common color.”
“Gold is unusual.” Patroclus knew this from his studies. It was actually the rarest, and the most valuable. A golden-tailed nereid had never been seen before, until now.
“That’s because my father is Phorcys, a sea god,” Achilles said. The god of hidden dangers in the sea. His tone was too casual and Patroclus struggled to follow. He’d known Achilles was divine, but he was more than that. A sea nymph for a mother, and sea god for a father? He had to be considered royalty. He was more important than Patroclus would ever be, more important than anyone in Opus. Patroclus felt small in comparison.
And yet, Achilles seemed almost frustratingly unaware of the grandness of his existence, lounging there on the beach as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He had probably spoken with the gods, spoken with Poseidon himself, and yet, for some reason, he was content to sit here on the beach, talking with Patroclus.
“Patroclus,” Achilles said. He realized he’d been staring and turned away, blushing. “You should learn how to swim.”
“I know,” Patroclus said, surprised. He’d expected Achilles to call him out for gawking.
“I will teach you.” Achilles grabbed Patroclus’ hand. He instinctively flinched back, the cold contact startling him. Achilles looked embarrassed. “I think– if you could learn to swim– I could show you around. Where I live.”
“Where you live,” Patroclus repeated, dumbly.
“The sea caves.”
The sea caves were not only mostly underwater, but notoriously off-limits to mortals. Patroclus scratched his head, nervously.
“I can’t breathe underwater.” It seemed an obvious thing to say.
Achilles nodded, as though Patroclus had made a valid and completely unforeseen point.
“It is sometimes possible,” Achilles began, stuttering in a way that roughly contrasted his natural grace. “For mortals to live amongst the sea nymphs. It has happened before.”
Patroclus recalled the story of Glaucus – a fisherman who, upon eating a magical herb, became a merman and lived amongst the sea gods. Patroclus could not imagine such a thing happening to him. Even with the truth of the gods before him, it seemed an impossible tale.
“Either way, it will be good for you to learn to swim,” he said. “I do not like to think of you drowning.”
It seemed odd that Achilles would worry at all about his safety. He simply nodded.
“And I will teach you. Come with me.” Achilles grabbed his hand again and this time Patroclus did not pull away. He followed Achilles into the sea, deeper and deeper, until the water touched his chin. Achilles was close to him, submerged in the water, his nose only inches away from Patroclus’. He was staring into his eyes, that same look of fascination and curiosity. Patroclus struggled to remain calm. The cold water did feel good against his body, numbing the bruises from his earlier fight with the boys. Achilles touched his arm, lightly.
“Try floating first,” Achilles said. “Lie on your back and breathe slowly.”
Patroclus blinked. He didn’t even know where to begin, and Achilles was staring at him intently. Carefully, he lowered himself into the sea, pushing his legs out so that he could lie atop the water. He thought for sure he would sink to the bottom, until he felt Achilles’ hands light on his shoulders, holding him up.
“You’re good at this,” he said, his breath soft in Patroclus’ hair. He flushed, turning so that his feet were once again touching the ground and he was looking at Achilles. Their faces were practically touching.
“What are the sea caves like?” Patroclus asked.
“Hmm.” Achilles considered it. “They’re many colors. Silver, and pink, and blue. There are hundreds of them, and they go deep below the water. I live in a cave, with my mother, and the queen, Amphitrite. And our servants.”
“You are considered royalty.”
“Yes,” Achilles said. “Like you.”
Patroclus might have laughed at this. He was technically royalty, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling like it.
“You must be very important,” Patroclus continued. He did not know what exactly he expected Achilles to admit. Perhaps why exactly the future king of the nereids seemed so keen to waste hours with Patroclus. It didn’t make any sense. “I was taught that the nereids have power over the sea. And your father is a sea god besides.”
“It’s true,” Achilles said, after a long pause. “I am very important.”
He wasn’t boasting, just stating a fact. Patroclus was surprised to hear it stated so bluntly.
“My father has had many other children,” he said. He was no longer looking at Patroclus, and his cheeks were red. “Skylla. Ladon. Ekhidna. All of them monsters.”
Patroclus knew the names vaguely from stories. Skylla was a sea monster who devoured sailors. Ladon, a hundred-headed sea serpent. Ekhidna, a she-dragon. He felt a chill run down his spine thinking that such creatures actually existed. In that moment, he wanted very badly to be on land.
“It is his wish that I should become the same,” Achilles said. “That I should use my power against humanity, in a sort of war. And my mother agrees with him…well, you saw how she is. She hates humans.”
“They want you to become a monster,” Patroclus said. He couldn’t picture it. Achilles with his sweet, easy smile and beautiful voice becoming a murderous sea monster.
“Yes.” Achilles’ cheeks were red.
“But you don’t hate humans the way that they do.” Patroclus felt lost, even farther away from Achilles than before. A reminder that their species were, technically, enemies.
“My mother says it’s because I’m young,” Achilles said. “I haven’t seen death like them.”
Patroclus had never seen a nereid killed before. He saw the jewelry that their scales were made into, the beautiful decorations that adorned the very palace he lived in. He never bothered to picture the living creatures that they had come from. That perhaps the ruby red scales on the crown that his father wore had belonged to someone like Achilles. Someone with a family, and friends, and dreams. He felt sick, thinking about it.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“I do not know,” Achilles answered. The sun was just touching the horizon and Achilles’ eyes were cast into shadow.
Patroclus shivered, cold in the fading daylight. Achilles noticed, and frowned.
“You should go back onto shore,” he said. “You’re cold.”
Patroclus nodded. He knew that he should also head back to the castle.
“Will I see you again?” he asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.
“Of course,” Achilles said, with a smile. “I’ll watch for you.”
This was how it went for many months. Patroclus suffered through lesson after lesson with his teacher, Duris, and the other boys, and, if he had the opportunity, would then sneak away to his and Achilles’ secluded beach. Achilles was almost always there within a few minutes, as though he possessed some sixth sense for Patroclus’ presence. It was only a handful of times that Patroclus sat on the beach alone, watching the waves for Achilles’ golden hair until the sun went down, heading back to the castle in disappointment.
Achilles eventually taught him how to swim. It took many, many weeks but finally Patroclus was able to regulate his breathing and coordinate himself well enough to stay above water. Achilles was incredibly enthusiastic – cheering and showering Patroclus with compliments. He couldn’t help but be proud of himself. He still wouldn’t win any races, but he could at least keep up.
It was nearing winter, and the air was chilly on the beach when Patroclus asked Achilles what exact powers he possessed. It was strange to think that Achilles might one day become another one of Phorcys’ monsters – a weapon against humanity, used only for death and violence.
Achilles was always making him smile. He knew what made Patroclus laugh, or what would cheer him up on a particularly bad day. No matter what, it seemed like Patroclus always had Achilles’ attention. He felt important when they were together. He felt happy.
“I can control the sea,” Achilles said. “To an extent. And I can hypnotize humans.” He seemed suddenly self-conscious saying it. “If I tried. And the song, but you know about that.”
Patroclus stared with wide eyes. “Have you ever—” He broke off. He had been about to ask if Achilles had ever hypnotized him. He probably wouldn’t have noticed. After all, that was the whole point. He felt awkward asking, though. He trusted Achilles fully, and didn’t want to insult him. Achilles seemed able to read his mind.
“Of course not,” he said. It was the harshest he’d ever sounded. “I wouldn’t, ever.”
“I know,” Patroclus said. He believed him. “I’m sorry to ask.”
They were both of them lying on the sand, Achilles’ golden tail dipped into the water. Their bare arms were touching, and the cold breeze whipped around them.
“Watch,” Achilles said.
Patroclus did not have to ask what he meant. The waves, which had been brushing against his feet only moments before, drew back unnaturally, darkening, rushing into the ocean as though summoned by some mysterious force. Then, the sea began to rise. Higher and higher, forming a wave so tall it towered over them, threatening to collapse and consume the beach. Patroclus stood in fear, his legs weak beneath him. But Achilles did not move. He was staring at the wave above them, eyes half-lidded, almost bored. It cast them into a shadow, briefly, and then fell back into the sea just as fast. The waves that approached the shore then were peaceful, like before. Patroclus had pulled away from the sea in his fear, and scurried back to where Achilles lay, looking down at the sand.
“You did that?” Patroclus asked, in disbelief. How? He hadn’t even moved. It was impossible. Should there not have been some spell, some motion, some summoning of the gods?
He told himself: Achilles had no need to summon the gods. He was already divine.
“It is not even a little of what I can do,” Achilles said, turning to Patroclus with dark green eyes.
“It was amazing,” Patroclus admitted, but Achilles heard the fear in his voice.
“I’m sorry. I suppose it can be frightening to witness.”
“It was unexpected,” Patroclus said. He smiled, then, hoping to dispel any of Achilles’ discomfort. This was his best friend. This was the one who listened to him cry over the cruelties of his father and the boys, the one who sang to him when he was upset. He should not feel afraid.
Achilles’ hand was on his, then. Cold and soft. He entwined their fingers together. Patroclus flushed, staring at their hands.
“I cannot imagine ever wanting to use it,” he said. “For violence.”
Patroclus looked up, meeting his eyes. He could not read them. Achilles was close to him, his pupils so wide his eyes looked almost black.
“Achilles.” A harsh voice, sudden, cutting through the howl of the wind. Patroclus had not heard it since the day they’d met.
“Mother,” Achilles greeted. Thetis stood in the waves, black dress whipping around her. She looked absolutely livid, her dark eyes murderous.
“You think I do not realize what you did,” she said. “Moving the sea. In front of a human.”
“I hardly did anything,” Achilles said. He sounded small next to his mother, unsure. “And I trust Patroclus.”
Thetis looked as though she might vomit at the mention of his name. Patroclus was frozen where he sat, too afraid to move an inch.
“Patroclus,” she spat his name, “will one day rule the very kingdom that you are destined to destroy. You may think becoming his friend will make this easier, but it will not. He will turn on you the second it will bring him fame.”
“It would have already brought him fame,” Achilles said, louder. “And yet, he has not done it.”
“Because he is a child with little skill and even less influence,” Thetis said. “In time, that will change.”
Patroclus’ head was spinning. They were talking about him, and yet their conversation seemed to be about some other world. Some other Patroclus. He could feel Achilles shaking beside him. He was upset. Patroclus fought the urge to reach over and comfort him; he could only imagine the punishment he’d face from Thetis for doing such a thing.
“Phorcys is here, and requests your presence. Come.”
It was a command, and Achilles could not refuse.
“I will see you soon, Patroclus,” he said, in a whisper, before disappearing beneath the sea. Patroclus stayed where he sat on the beach, too afraid to look up and meet the goddess’s gaze.
“You will never see him again,” she said, and followed Achilles beneath the darkness of the waves.
Patroclus did see Achilles again, but their visits were shorter, and farther in between. Patroclus would ask if he was in danger, and Achilles would smile and say that everything was fine. Phorcys’ visit was a formality. His mother was distracted with other things. Their alleged war with humanity was all but forgotten.
They would play games on the beach to take their minds off of the politics and the manipulative forces in their lives. Patroclus was quickly becoming an adept swimmer. At this point, he could even out-swim most of the boys. Of course, he never did. He did not wish to draw more attention to himself, or have to explain how he’d learned to swim so well.
Three years passed by without incident, and Patroclus found himself lying on the beach, closing his eyes to the warm sunlight. It was his sixteenth birthday, a fact that his father had conveniently forgotten. Patroclus never mentioned his birthday to anyone. He knew that, because no one liked him, they would simply use the day as an excuse to taunt him more than usual. His first birthday with Achilles had brought him to tears. Achilles spent the entire day with him, despite increasing threats from his mother. He’d made him a crown of flowers and stones from the sea caves. Patroclus treasured it, and kept it hidden. It would raise far too many questions if it were ever found.
Now, he lay on the beach, Achilles beside him. Achilles was singing a song that he’d written about him, and Patroclus was blushing all the way to his ears.
“Happy birthday,” he said, when he’d finished. He was so close that his breath danced across Patroclus’ ear. He turned to face him, and their noses brushed together. Patroclus’ breath caught in his throat, but he did not move away. Achilles’ eyes were dark, only a thin ring of green visible. He had the ghost of a smile on his face, left over from the song he’d been singing.
“Thank you,” Patroclus said, and his voice was so quiet it was hardly heard.
They stayed there for a moment, watching the light flicker in each other’s eyes. Time seemed to pause but for the rhythmical crash of the waves.
Patroclus did not have time to think. He leaned forward, slightly, and pressed his lips to Achilles’. His lips were warmer than he imagined, soft, and tasted of salt. He felt Achilles shift closer to him, pressing their bodies together.
Patroclus had known for a while that his feelings for Achilles went beyond friendship, and had spent many sleepless nights figuring out what exactly that meant. Achilles was a nereid; he was divine. He could never be with someone like Patroclus.
He pulled away, realizing with horror what he had done.
And yet, Achilles did not look upset. His eyes were wide, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Patroclus said. He wasn’t sure what else to do.
“Don’t be,” Achilles said, propping himself up on an elbow. His golden hair was long, flowing in waves around his shoulder blades. “I am not.”
Patroclus blushed. He had never thought about kissing anyone before. His father had talked distractedly about potential marriages, mentioning the names of girls in passing to Patroclus as though he had any real say in the matter. Patroclus had never thought about being with them. He’d never thought of anyone romantically before. Until now.
“I am not, either,” Patroclus said, a smile breaking on his face.
They spent the rest of the day in a blissful trance. Patroclus felt high, caught in some beautiful dream he might wake from. He kissed Achilles goodbye that day, and watched him return to the ocean with his lips red from kissing and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He returned giddily to the castle, certain that he’d just had the best birthday possible.
Still, it was harder for them to meet, and when they did, it was frantic, and desperate. They were addicted to each other, in love, and joyful whenever they were together. They spoke less and less of war and Phorcys and monsters; they spoke only of the future, of the things they would do, the adventures they would go on.
It was nearly six months later when Achilles stopped showing up on the beach. Patroclus did not grow suspicious until the second week came and went without a visit. It was not like Achilles to keep away for so long, even with the pressure of his mother. He was dizzy with worry. Something had obviously happened. Something, or someone, was keeping Achilles away from him.
He had no one to go to for help. No one knew about Achilles, and he could be anywhere – beneath the ocean, a thousand feet deep, where Patroclus could never find him.
He stopped eating, he could not sleep. He dreamt every night of Achilles – some nights they were together, kissing and holding each other, and in others he saw him with dark, black eyes, and blood on his hands, looking at Patroclus without recognition.
He woke in fear, drenched in sweat, eyes wide. He felt more helpless than ever before. He went to the beach every day, calling into the water Achilles’ name. Thetis’ name. Anyone he could think of. There was no answer – only the cold, lifeless growl of the sea.
Months came, and went. Patroclus was a zombie walking through the castle. He no longer heard the boys when they taunted him, or his father’s harsh words. He thought of nothing but Achilles, and heard nothing but his own racing, miserable thoughts.
Patroclus was nearly seventeen when it happened. A body was found on the beach.
It belonged to Aineas, a fisherman of royal blood who frequented the castle, providing food and treasure from his journeys. Patroclus had seen him often growing up. His father was amused by Aineas’ stories – especially the ones about the nereids. Patroclus cringed to remember the greed in his father’s eyes when those stories were told. The red glint of the nereid scales on his crown, reflecting firelight.
The body was brought before the king, and a coroner was called to advise on the cause of death. Patroclus knew before it was even announced; it was on the lips of everyone who had been on the beach that day. Nereid attack.
The body was found almost unrecognizable. Skin torn off, bloated from prolonged time in the water, face blurred and shredded. The stories grew worse and worse as the day drew on, the rumors spread and warped. Everyone was in a panic. They demanded revenge.
There had not been a nereid attack in Patroclus’ lifetime, nor since Menoitius had taken the throne. They had become part of a fireside story, remnants of a decadent history long past. Now, once again, they were real.
“We must do something.” It was Lykaon, his father’s advisor. His face was harsh, and he looked at the corpse before him with a sort of triumph. They all knew what this meant. If this was truly a nereid attack, then the hunting could begin. Menoitius would seize this opportunity to bring unprecedented wealth to Opus, searing his name in Greek history forever.
“We will gather men,” Menoitius’ voice rang deep across the hall. Patroclus was hiding behind a pillar, there only as a formality. He would not have had the courage to speak up in this room full of men. “We will prepare the ships. Let it be heard to the farthest kingdom. The nereids are back in the Aegean Sea, and they have already killed. We must strike hard, and fast.”
The crowd cheered, and shouted. They were angry that one of their own had been killed, and pleased by the idea of flowing wealth, and the honor that killing a nereid would bring.
Patroclus was grateful for the stone pillar that he leaned heavily against. He felt light-headed, nauseous. For months he’d been sick with worry over Achilles, and now the world was falling out from under him. There would be dozens and dozens of ships on the water, for one purpose. And he had no way to warn Achilles.
He ran back to his room when the men were dismissed, eager to gather their sailors and prepare their ships. He slammed the door behind him and reached under his bed for the crown that Achilles had given him. How many nights had he spent crying over it, trying desperately to recall the sound of Achilles’ voice, the touch of his fingers? His breathing was rapid now, and he knew that if he did not calm down, he would have an asthma attack.
The whole castle seemed alive, bustling with servants, and nobles, and merchants – everyone with only one word on their tongues. War. No one else would die from the nereids, they said. Opus would overflow with gold.
Patroclus took a deep breath, and then another. He traced the flowers and gemstones on the crown, blocking out the sounds of racing footsteps passed his door. He could not fall apart now.
Still, he could not stop seeing it. Lykaon, his father, some faceless sailor, dragging Achilles’ corpse ashore. His face lifeless, bloodied. The crowd cheering, seeing only golden scales. He could not stop it; he vomited onto the floor, his hands shaking.
He swung open the door and ran to the beach, hoping one last time that he might find Achilles. Tearing through the trees, he nearly cried out when he saw the beach crowded with people. They were pointing out into the sea and talking loudly amongst themselves. No one turned to look at him; they were all wrapped up in their gossip. It did not seem as though a man had died a tragic death just earlier that day. For the people of Opus, this was what they’d waited their lives for.