THE MONGER ARRIVES in Korinth in a spectacle of violence. He and his men cut down a score of Spartan soldiers —Brasidas' men. Shortly after the massacre, a little bird finds the Eagle Bearer and princess to tell them the Monger awaits in the Sacred Cave, ready put an end to their irritant actions and regain a firm grip on the city and its people.
Phoibe joins them at the entrance of the cave near Temple of Apollo, much to Alexios' displeasure. He kneels in front of the girl and makes her swear she will not follow him into the dark depths. It wouldn't be safe. Alexios rises and turns to Irene. She's preparing herself for a fight, it's evident in the stony gaze that's turned the ocean of her eyes into a storm.
He looks between her and the girl, vexed. The princess sees it then, the deep-seated trepidation in his dark eyes that Phoibe won't listen. "I'll stay with her," Irene offers and the unease immediately fades. Alexios nods then steps back, unsheathing the spear on his back before disappearing into the mouth of the cave.
"You don't have to babysit me," Phoibe laments, crossing her arms. Alexios never let her have any fun. "I would have listened," she says kicking a pebble into a puddle.
Irene laughs, rolling her eyes. "Given your history, I find that unlikely." Not even three ago the girl had run off after Alexios under Irene's watch and found her way into the Monger's sex andron. Phoibe had a penchant for getting herself into trouble. The princess watches the girl pace back and forth, pouting. It's like looking into the past. She'd behaved the same way when Zephyr wouldn't let her join him for business affairs.
High above a bird cries out. Phoibe and Irene both look up to see Ikaros diving toward them. An arrow whistles past the princess's ear. She turns to see three of the Monger's men stalking toward them —two brutes and an archer. Irene pulls her sword and broken spear free, stepping in front of the girl. "Stay behind me, Phoibe," she says -voice low and dangerous.
Ikaros hovers over the archer, pecking the man and clawing at his eyes. "Get this fucking bird off me!" He cries, blood running down his face from the eagle's assault. The two brutes ignore the archer and tighten their grips on heavy spiked maces. They both swing at the same time. Irene bends backward and flips out of range in a single, fluid motion.
"Hold still you little skeela," one says in a grating voice. Irene ducks under the mace again and dives forward, thrusting the point of the spear deep into the man's thigh. He lets out a piercing howl of pain and drops his mace, stumbling back. Ikaros still harasses the archer —he can't even draw another arrow or blade elsewise the eagle will take his eyes.
The princess slips past the second brute and plunges her sword into the archer's back, cutting through his soft linen armor -the blade emerges from his stomach, painted red. Ikaros rises into the air again. Irene kicks the corpse away and recovers his bow and quiver. She nocks and draws the satin string back, aiming at the brute struggling to pull the broken spear from his leg. The arrows sings, cutting through the air then embeds in his skull with a thwack.
Irene doesn't move out of the way quickly enough when the last of the Monger's men charges her. She hits the ground hard and gasps for breath. The brute steps over her, raising his mace overhead for a killing blow. Her hand is still curled around an arrow, the bow near her foot. The princess kicks up the bow and draws back on the string, pushing against the olive wood with her sandal. The arrow finds its mark -hitting the brute in the neck. She rolls out of the way as he falls forward.
Phoibe looks around at the carnage with wide eyes -she's only ever seen Alexios move like that. Irene stands, brushing the dirt from her arms. She picks up her sword, wiping the blood on the archer's clothes and goes to retrieve her spear from the dead brute's leg. When Irene turns back to the entrance of the cave, the girl is gone. "Phoibe!" She catches a sliver of the girl's pale chiton disappearing into the darkness. "Malaká," the princess curses, giving chase.
Anthousa is in the cave, looking down at the Monger's corpse next to Alexios. The hetaera glances over her shoulder at the echoing footfalls and sees Irene and Phoibe emerge into the dimly lit room. "We'll talk about your mother, Alexios. Just not here," she says, "meet me back at the Spring of Peirene."
IRENE STOPS AT the message board of Korinth after departing from the Akrokorinth and tears down two pieces of papyrus detailing contracts on her and Alexios' heads for their activities at the Akrokorinth fort. "This is not good," she remarks, passing the crumbled paper to him.
"Malakás," he swears, balling up both contracts and throwing them into a lit brazier. Bounty hunters made life difficult -always showing up at the most inopportune moments, like now.
"You!" A sonorous voice calls over the people in the streets. It was another misthios. "I've come to collect the bounty on your heads."
"Fuck," Alexios spits, readying himself for another fight, but Irene grips onto his arm, dragging him through a crowd and between two stalls in the agora. It's by sheer luck she recognizes one of the vendors is from Athens. "Demetria!" She cries.
The merchant looks around upon hearing her name and sees one of her loyal patrons racing toward her fabric stall. Demetria has known Irene long enough to know when she is in trouble. "Artemis?" She asks and the princess nods, out of breath, motioning toward Alexios. The princess can go unseen better than the Eagle Bearer.
Irene grabs a drab brown chlamys and throws it over Alexios's head to conceal his armor. "What are you doing?" He asks -not understanding how this was supposed to help avoid the mercenary on their heels. She frees his end of the broken spear and passes it to Demetria, who slips it beneath reams of fabric. The merchant nods for them to go -their belongings are in safe hands.
"Irene, I don't see how this is going-" the princess clamps her hand over his mouth, she can see the mercenary over his shoulder searching for them. "Kiss me," she utters. Alexios stares at her, brows furrowed, mouth agape —unsure if he is hearing her correctly. He takes too long to act. Irene surges forward, taking his face into her hands and presses her lips against his —it feels right.
His hands fall to her hips out of instinct, drawing her closer. She tastes of honey and wine and feels soft as silk. Sweeter and softer than he thought possible. For the moment he forgets about the mercenary hunting them, about the war, about everything that isn't Irene. Her hands slip into the matted hair at the back of his neck. She pulls away, breathless and immediately scans the crowd over his shoulder, but the mercenary is still searching for them.
Alexios opens his mouth to speak, but Irene rises on her toes —kissing him again. He stumbles, the back of his knees hitting the edge of a stone bench. She lets out a startled gasp as he sits and pulls her astride his lap, but then his rough hands are on either side of her face. She is at his mercy, and Irene can't stop the flutter in her heart —that perhaps this was only a beginning and a promise of more.
Irene draws back, peering across the street into the agora. One of his hands slips to her thigh, the other moves from her cheek to neck. The mercenary is speaking to Demetria, who is pointing in the opposite direction of where they are now. Alexios doesn't bother looking, even as the other misthios sets off in the wrong way, his focus is on the princess —his body humming from their shared kisses. He takes her lips again, just for good measure. Soft and slow. This, he thinks, this feels right. "Gods," the Eagle Bearer breathes when they part for the third and final time. "How'd you know that'd work?" He asks.
The Eagle Bearer is sure he has never seen Irene turn so red and flustered. "I didn't," she admits, unable to meet his intense gaze. Irene looks back toward Demetria's stall. "We should get back to the Adrestia," the princess says.
Anthousa had known Myrrine before she began to go under the moniker of Phoenix and she knows the name of the ship the Spartan woman took when sailing from the Korinthian harbor. "Siren Song," Irene muses, pacing the circumference of the painted map on the Adrestia. The name seems familiar to her and for good reason. She has seen a ship named that in several of her voyages. "I know that ship!" Alexios looks up at her outburst, brows furrowed. "Last I saw it was docked in Naxos."
He taps the largest of the Cyclades. "Then we sail for Naxos."
Herodotus approaches them and clears his throat. The historian is troubled about something. "What is it?" Irene asks.
Herodotus glances at the papyrus scroll that'd been delivered two nights ago. "I've received ill-tidings from Athens," he admits, passing the scroll to the princess. "Plague and unrest have taken the city."
ALEXIOS YEARNS TO see his mother after so many years apart, but for the sake of his new friends, he sets course to Andros —then Athens. He's collected enough Cultist artifacts to return to the mysterious island. Poseidon is on their side for the seas are calm and a warm wind constantly fills the sail. Even pirates do not cross their path. The Adrestia docks on the eastern side of the island.
The ground creaks and groans beneath their feet, then dirt and dust waft upward with the wind. Irene takes another step, but her foot passes through the vegetation and sand. Something latches onto her waist before she falls over the edge. She doesn't even have time to scream before landing on the smooth and ornate floor below. "That wasn't so bad," she laughs, looking up at where she'd plummeted from.
"Yeah," Alexios groans from beneath her, "because I broke your fall." Irene braces her hands on his chest and sits up, straddling his waist as she takes in the dark surroundings. Hewn from dark stone the cavernous room is large enough for even the cyclopes. Daylight filters through the underbrush covering the gaping hole in the roof. "Princess," he rasps —hands going to her bare thighs. It's a pleasant sight, but not what he wants to focus on at the moment.
"Oh!" She exclaims, scrambling to her feet.
Alexios brushes himself off and glances at the roof of the cave. The hole they'd fallen through is shaped the same as the stone door he'd initially found —though neither of them had to present their spear to open this entrance. "What is this place?" Irene wonders aloud. She's never seen anything like it before, yet somehow its familiar —like a dream or a memory.
Above them, the hidden door begins to close. The Eagle Bearer lights a torch and holds it in front of him and the princess, guiding her toward the central dais. "An ancient forge," he answers, though that is all he knows. Herodotus claims this place was created by a primeval civilization —those who came before. Being in this place he's inclined to believe the historian's theories.
"Could it belong to Hephaestus?" Irene asks, voice filled with awe.
He laughs softly as they stop in front of the cast of Leonidas' spear. "That I do not know," he says. Irene runs her fingers against the smooth dark stone, tracing the design of the spearhead —beneath her fingertips is a minute golden light that disappears as soon as she lifts her hand from the stone.
"Here." Alexios places the bottom half of the spear into the mold and presses the artifact from Chyrsis into the indention. The blade glows the same yellow-gold as when it had shown her visions of Alexios as a child. He steps back and motions for Irene to take it.
When she grabs the spear, silver-gold markings instantly surface on her arms and legs and Irene screams, falling to her knees unable to relinquish the weapon. It feels as though she is burning from the inside. "Irene!" Alexios tries to take the spear, but when his fingers brush against the splintered wooden hilt a shockwave of energy sends him back into a felled form. He stares at her —horrified. The princess squeezes her eyes shut.
Alas, the broken spear slips from her grasp and Irene slumps to the stone floor. Alexios scrambles over to her, cradling her trembling body against his —unsure of what he had just witnessed. He strokes her cheek, pushing back the hair clinging to her face. "Irene?" The markings on her skin are pulsing with light, in sync with her rapid heartbeat. Alexios traces over the lines on her arm —they feel smooth but warmer than the rest of her body. "Irene?"
Her breathing slows and she opens her eyes —blue irises ringed with gold. Blinking, the golden light fades and so do the strange markings. "I-" she begins, lifting one of her hands to look over. There's a tingling beneath her skin, as though her senses have been enhanced. "I feel different," she breathes.
