PLAGUE RAVISHES ATHENS. Threatening to tear apart everything Perikles has worked for. The air is heavy with a foul stench –burning flesh, bile, and other excrements. A haze lingers over the city, blocking much of the sunlight from reaching the streets. A once vibrant city is laid low by disease and looks more like the underworld.

Hippokrates is burning the diseased corpses in hopes to prevent the spread, and radicals threaten him for the perceived desecration. He assures Irene there is nothing she can do to help –this plague is the result of the gods' wrath; he is sure of it.

As they near Perikles' villa, the throng of people grows thicker and at their head is Kleon the Everyman. "Kleon," Irene hisses, hands balling into fists at her side. It only takes a second of deliberation for her to begin marching toward the demagogue spurring on the disgruntled rabble of Athenian citizens. Alexios reaches out –seizing her wrist before she does anything rash. Now is not the time to pick a fight with Perikles' adversary, especially when he heads a mob. The fire in her eyes does not die down and the Eagle Bearer begins to wonder what had transpired between the two for such vivid hatred to linger in the princess' stormy gaze.

"Alexios, you're back!" A small voice calls. They both turn to find Phoibe running toward them –she stops, bouncing on her feet with a smile. "Got to run! See you at Aspasia's!"

"Wait!" Alexios calls, but Phoibe is already gone. Irene frowns. Athens is not safe for children to run about anymore. She glances up at the Eagle Bearer and can tell he worries for the girl, too –even if he tries hiding it. Irene's hand brushes over his arm –when he shifts his attention to her, she nods toward the Athenian leader's home. They would be able to find answers there.

Sentries allow them passage into the villa, no longer wary about the misthios accompanying the princess. Alkibiades is pacing outside the home's entrance –for the most part, he's always able to keep a blithe outlook, but the city's gloom and sickness weigh heavily on him. "Allie?" He turns, surprised to see Irene. By now he figured she and Alexios would be halfway across the Aegean –he'd hoped that's where'd they be– far away from a foundering city.

"You've returned, sweetling," he says, though his voice doesn't hold the same charm it usually does. Alkibiades steps aside and motions them both inside. "Aspasia will want to speak with you." It troubles Irene to see him in such a despairing mood, but she nods and follows Alexios into the villa.

The villa has turned into a safe harbor –Aristophanes, Euripides, and Protagoras are among those present. "Oh, Irene," Aspasia cries and the two women embrace. The hetaera had nearly given up hope that she and the Eagle Bearer would return after her letters had gone unanswered. Irene glances around at those gathered within the courtyard and solar, but Athens' leader is not among them. She had hoped to speak with him about the war and the Cult. "Perikles?" The princess questions softly.

"Is dying," Aspasia chokes –suddenly Alkibiades grim guise made sense too. "He won't see me or Hippokrates." Perikles avoids her, as to spare himself from listening to her worry about his wellbeing. He refuses visits from Hippokrates too –claiming the physician's skills are better served helping the people of Athens than a dying old man. The hetaera turns to the Eagle Bearer. "Alexios, he respects you. Would you see he receives his medicine?" She asks, holding out a small vial filled with a thin brown liquid.

Alexios takes the tonic and nods before leaving to seek out the leader. Irene steps into the courtyard and looks up at the dusky air –she's never seen Athens in this state before. By the look of it, the city will still be suffering for many months to come. "How long has it been like this?"

"Since the last full moon," Aspasia answers. In the first days, it was only a mild sickness, though that was all it took for the plague to tighten its grip. People from the countryside flocked to the city when the Spartan army advanced, but now not even the Spartans dare get too close. They view it as the gods' punishment for the Athenians and a sure sign they will emerge from this war victorious.

New plumes of dark smoke begin to fill the air, followed by the acrid smell of burning flesh and hair. Some days they could not burn the bodies quick enough and resorted to having the sick dig their own mass graves outside the city walls. Aspasia lays her hand on Irene's shoulder –she knows the princess is a fighter, but before she'd ever gone searching for blood, she was a healer, albeit a novice one. "There is nothing you can do," the hetaera tells her.

"Hippokrates said the same." Irene knows it is a lie, though. Medicine is in your blood. She'd helped people on the precipice of death before –from sickness or injury. Their souls meant for Hades, but Irene kept them alive. She doesn't understand why she can help others in such a way, but couldn't even save her own brother in the forest from bandits. Look what I've become, Zephyr.

Aspasia leaves the courtyard and goes to the adjoining solar. She's amassed several scrolls about Irene's father and the Order since the last time the princess was in Athens. She lays them on the altar and tells the princess what they are. Irene unrolls one of the smaller pieces of papyrus and frowns. She evaded us in Argos the scroll reads in hurriedly written script and now she has the Eagle Bearer as a companion. Irene picks another scroll from the pile. We've come to an agreement then? Do as you will with Deimos and the brother, but the exiled princess is our claim. "How did you come by these?" She inquires, it seems odd that Aspasia is always the one to have news of the Cult and Order.

"Thucydides came across Persian scouts in Boeotia," Aspasia explains, "the ones regarding your father were sent from Kos." Alexios has not returned from delivering Perikles' medicine, and the hetaera begins pacing the perimeter of the courtyard, overwrought by something. Irene lays down another scroll and turns her attention to Perikles' partner. "What is it?"

"I expected Phoibe back by now-" Aspasia admits, turning back to Irene "-I sent her to Anastasios to see about a ferry."

It's at that moment the Eagle Bearer joins them. "You sent her out alone?" Alexios asks anger lacing his question. He would've stopped the girl before she'd run off if he'd known what she was meant to do. "I'm going to find her," he says, glancing between the two women before turning to leave.

"Why would you send a child out alone when the city is like this?" Irene demands. Aspasia blanches when as she recalls who else is within the city.


PERIKLES TAKES IT upon himself to leave his villa to pray at the Parthenon, telling no one of his intentions. When Aspasia realizes he is missing, she asks Sokrates and Hippokrates to find Alexios. Irene will escort her to the Acropolis.

From the steps of the Acropolis, the extent of the plague can truly be assessed. Pyres and columns of blackened smoke pock the city. Athens is but a shadow of what it had once been. Irene turns from Aspasia upon hearing someone approach –her grip on the broken spear loosens when she sees who it is. "Alexios," she sighs, relieved, but his eyes are red, cheeks streaked with dried tears, and his hands stained with blood. Her heart sinks. "No," she whispers. Phoibe.

"Quickly, Alexios," the hetaera says, motioning toward the temple's entrance. He stays rooted in place, gaze downcast. The grief is still too fresh. Irene lays her hand on his cheek and feels her own lip start to tremble. "What's gotten into you?" Aspasia inquires –the question sounds harsher than she'd intended.

"Phoibe is dead," Alexios chokes, pulling away from Irene's gentle touch. His brow furrows, hands clenching into tight fists. "She's dead because you sent her to do your work," he exclaims.

Aspasia takes a step back at the accusation. "No...I," she stumbles over the words, disbelieving, "it's not true. Phoibe wanted to go. She told me she would be all right." The words are hollow to Alexios and only serve to ease the hetaera's guilt.

"And you believed a child," he spits. Irene rests her hand over the scars wrapping around his arm, trying to bring him out of the trance of grief and rage.

"You know Phoibe! She wouldn't have taken no for an answer. It was out of my hands," Aspasia says.

"Out of your hands?" Alexios shouts with the tears in his eyes renewed. "You sent her away! You could have protected her!"

"What I asked of her was needed to protect Perikles," Aspasia explains. "She lived to help others, Alexios. She lived to help you."

The statement makes him go quiet for a moment and he finally notices the soft grip Irene has on his arm. "She should be here," he says, voice strangled with emotion.

"Of course, she should," Aspasia replies, her voice going soft. "You know the cost of living this life."

Alexios' gaze darts to Irene. "I do," he replies, "but did Phoibe?"

Hippokrates and Sokrates arrive on the verge of panting –they'd come as quickly as they could, but the streets were turning to madness. A low wailing comes from inside the temple. Alexios moves to the head of the group and shoves both of doors open and drawing his spear.

"Perikles!" Aspasia screams and both she and Irene move toward where Athens' leader is at the feet of Athena's likeness. Sokrates and Hippokrates restrain Aspasia. Alexios holds back Irene. A woman clad in gold and dark steel armor is leaning over Perikles. She holds Perikles' bloodied face and forces the leader to look upon his friends, her dark gaze following. Irene sees the resemblance immediately and knows who she is. Deimos.

Alexios' grip on Irene's bicep tightens when his sister raises her blade to the leader's throat with a flourish. Deimos drags the full length of her sword across Perikles' neck and lets the leader collapse onto the tiled floor before rising –covered in blood. "Stay out of my stay," Deimos rasps and three cult guards take her place as she disappears behind the statue of Athena. The Eagle Bearer releases Irene and unsheathes his sword –she does the same.

The hair on the back of Irene's neck rises and she sidesteps the cultist guard before he can even start the forward motion of his blade. Irene steps up onto a terra cotta vase and leaps onto the guard's shoulders, plunging the spear deep into the area of exposed flesh where shoulder meets neck. She twists the spear -something snaps and cracks then the man is falling forward into the shallow reflecting pool. The other guards' attention is focused on Alexios. He blocks both advances, sword behind his back –spear pushing forward.

Irene approaches the guard at his hindmost and kicks the cultist guard's knee inward –quick to drive her broken spear into the back of his neck as he falls. The man gurgles blood for only a moment before she pulls the blade free. Alexios turns looking down at the corpse lying before his feet and to where another lies in the shallow pool –the water now tainted. His gaze shifts to Irene. Her hands and spear are coated in blood, her eyes ringed with the same golden light he'd seen in the forge on Andros.

The princess drops her spear and kneels next to Aspasia where Perikles' body lies. The hetaera turns toward Irene, leaning against her shoulder. "You cannot stay here, Aspasia," she tells her. Athens will be too dangerous for her in the wake of Perikles's death, and Kleon is unlikely to offer sanctuary.

"We need to get back to the Adrestia," Alexios announces. Irene nods and helps Aspasia to her feet. She looks over her shoulder at the corpse of her partner for a final time before exiting the Temple of Athena. The Eagle Bearer moves ahead of the small group, scouting out guards and empty alleyways to pass through. Hippokrates, Sokrates, and Aspasia follow the princess, the former armed with a shovel and rake.

Several steps ahead, Irene watches as Alexios steps up behind a soldier and clamps his hand over the man's mouth. The flailing is over in an instant after a quick twist and the soldier slumps forward, unmoving. There'd been no sound, no blood. He looks back and motions toward one of the warehouses south of the Temple of Asklepius.

The docks are desolate –no one is entering or leaving the plague-ridden city– but the Adrestia is waiting for them –lit braziers like a beacon in the night. Alexios and Irene share a quick look before stepping out into the open. The others follow. "Stop!" A voice shouts, and the five of them halt -turning to face those who dare try to hinder their escape. "Kleon has ordered no one to leave Athens." The Athenian strategos glances between the two women, recognizing them. "He wants Aspasia and Irene brought to him."

"I'm not going," Irene spits, tone acerbic. Aspasia steps up next to the princess, head held high despite how her world was crumbling. "Nor am I," she echoes.

"Don't let them leave," the strategos commands his men and they all draw swords.

"Stay behind me," Alexios tells them. Irene steps up at his side, sparing him a quick disproving glance –sword and spear drawn. "Stay behind us," she amends. They move in sync with one another. A storm of grace and fury. She blocks an overhand blow, twists, and swings backward -opening her attacker's throat. A spear is thrust towards her, but Alexios deflects it with his sword and catches the wooden shaft. He wrenches the spear from his opponent's hands and hacks his blade down into the man's skull, splitting open both metal and bone.

Only the Athenian strategos is left and both Irene and Alexios turn their attention to him at the same time -stalking forward. None of the gods can save him from the princess and Eagle Bearer. He sweeps his spear in a wide arc. They step back then move forward. Irene slips to her knees and drives her broken spear deep into the man's leg. His howl of pain is cut short by a quick slice to the throat.

The philosopher and physician agree to stay in the city. They will do what they can for the people and try to reign in Kleon's control. Irene does not wish for them to stay, for as soon as Perikles' body is found she knows riots will erupt in the streets. She does not protest their decision, though. "Stay safe," the princess whispers, placing a chaste kiss on Hippokrates cheek. "Stay alive," she utters, reciprocating the gesture with Sokrates. "And please, give Phoibe's body the proper rites," she all but whispers. Both men bow their heads as she steps back and boards the Adrestia.


ALEXIOS SITS NEXT to Irene at the stern of the Adrestia -Athens is already behind them on the horizon. Even after all this time, the Persian princess is still a mystery to him. She glances at him and then to the dried blood under her fingernails. "Why do you hate Kleon so much?" He hadn't really thought Irene was capable of harboring such odium. She has a gentle heart, and he knows something must have happened for a black streak to form.

Aspasia overhears the question and turns abruptly. "She hasn't told you?" She seems surprised that Irene has not voiced the reasons behind her hatred to the misthios, especially given that they seem so fond of one another.

Irene crosses her arms, face twisting in anger and disgust. She's never longed to shed blood needlessly, but given half the chance she'd mount Kleon's head on a pike outside the gates of Athens for the world to see. "He has hounded me since I became a woman." In truth, the moment her chest was no longer flat marked the beginning of his unrelenting and unwanted attention. He'd even went so far as to try poisoning her brother to force her into a union.

"One time he paid-off common street criminals to carry her off, strip her and leave her in the woods for him to rescue," Aspasia recounts.

The misthios' expression contorts to outrage. "What happened?" He asks.

"I killed them before they could lay a hand on me," Irene answers, uncrossing her arms, "and found the scroll written in Kleon's hand promising them drachmae for their cooperation." Perikles had been wroth after learning of his adversary's scheme, even Zephyr had been on the verge of taking up arms. Alkibiades had even tried hiring a mercenary to do away with the then captain until Perikles found out about his plan.

Tired, Irene rises from the bench –her hand briefly moving to Alexios' shoulder before taking leave to the bow where she's amassed a small collection of pillows and pelts during their travels. He watches her go –resisting the urge to reach out and take her hand to pull her back.

Barnabas inspects the ship deck, as is his nightly routine and comes to stand next to Alexios at the helm of the Adrestia. The captain looks between the commander and Irene at the bow of the ship with his good eye. The Eagle Bearer can hide his exhaustion and worry, but he's failed to hide his feelings toward the princess –or at least Barnabas can see it plainly. "You should get some rest, commander," he says, clasping him on the shoulder. Alexios follows Barnabas's gaze and lets out a heavy sigh, knowing the captain's intentions. "What?" He shrugs. "You two are good for each other."

Alexios shakes his head and turns, leaning against the railing. "She's a princess, Barnabas-" he crosses his arms wearing a look of defeat. The old sailor has never seen such a quailing expression on the misthios's face before. "-I'm just a mercenary." Yet he's never felt the same kind of connection with another being that was so strong and consuming. He'd felt it ever since coming across her on the beaches of Samos. After years, he'd finally found the girl that haunted his dreams and she was perfect.

"I don't think she cares about that," Barnabas replies. If Irene cared about titles and status, she would have never agreed to sail with them on the Adrestia.

"Barnabas is right," Herodotus chimes, appearing to his right. "Go to her."

He listens to the historian and captain and kneels at her side, unsure of what to say or do. Frustrated, he begins to rise but a delicate hand seizes his wrist before he can stand. "Alexios," Irene breathes, pulling him back to his knees. "Stay," she says and he does, laying at her side, gazing up at a starless night sky. "I'm sorry about Phoibe," Irene whispers. She hadn't known the girl for very long, but in a short span of time, she'd come to admire her. A headstrong girl with a penchant for trouble that reminded Irene too much of herself.

"She-" Alexios bites down on the inside of his cheek to stay the tears that surface when he recalls Phoibe calling out his name, afraid "-she'll go to the Fields of Elysium," he tells her, voice heavy with grief. Irene rolls onto her side and tentatively lays her hand on his cheek. Seeing him fighting to restrain such dolor and pain makes her heart ache. You don't have to be the face of strength all the time she wants to tell him, but the words are stuck in her throat. Alexios covers her hand with his own and gently slides it toward his lips –he kisses the center of her palm and releases her hand.

Irene moves her head to rest on his chest. He stiffens and she quickly distances herself, face burning red. Alexios shakes his head and draws her back toward him, arms wrapping around her waist. "Stay," he breathes, pressing his cheek into the crown of her head. He hadn't been able to protect Phoibe, and it is a mistake he will not make again. Alexios makes a silent vow that he will always protect Irene as he begins humming a hauntingly familiar lullaby.