They sound like nothing to worry about. Medus has a clear goal in Colchis, Tisander is scholarly, and Medea obviously wouldn’t allow any man to harm a girl in her care. Certainly not the daughter of an Olympian.

Achilles brings a hand up to rub his jaw and glances at the offered food he’s left untouched. Rude, he thinks, and takes a date from the platter as a show of gratitude. As he chews, his eyes shift to the goat. Its lips and ears have gone ghastly pale for want of blood.

If he had his reservations about the idea of Medea’s mentorship, this conversation has largely laid them to rest. As much as it still pains him to admit such a thing, Apollo was wise to suggest her. She’s a formidable woman, quite unlike any Achilles has met.

“I think you are well-suited to this task, Lady Medea, but this is not my decision alone. I will speak with Hermes—and Lyra as well.”