HIS SEARCH LEADS him to Naxos and the closer the Adrestia sails to the island, the more anxious he becomes. It is the closest he has been to his mother since that night on Mount Taygetos, and somehow he still feels leagues away. Irene walks with him along the white sands of a quiet cove. "Go on," she whispers, trying to soothe his addled nerves.

"What if she doesn't recognize me?" He asks. He had only been a boy of twelve on Mount Taygetos –still growing and not yet a warrior. Now though he is a man, hardened by life. All traces of the boy Myrrine once knew are gone. The boy his mother raised died on the slopes of Taygetos.

Irene smooths her fingers over his creased brow and across the scar below his eye before taking his face into her hands –forcing him to meet her gaze. She focuses on his eyes, which are darting back and forth, shining in the fading light of the sun. They are a deep, earthy brown with glints of old copper and flame. "You are her son," she tells him, "she will have never forgotten you, Alexios."

He desperately wants to share the princess's sanguinity. It's not just seeing his mother again for the first time in over a decade –it's figuring out how to tell her Kassandra is alive and she may be past the point of redemption. It's gathering the nerve to ask about his real father and the Cult. It's hoping his mother will adore Irene as he does.

There's a storm raging inside him and only action will quell it. The longer he waits, the stronger the storm will become. "Chin up, Spartan," she remarks, tipping his head back so he's no longer looking at their feet. Alexios takes her hands into his own –the briefest of smiles appearing on his lips. Irene raises to her toes and places a chaste kiss just below where his jaw and ear meet. He steps back but does not let go of her hands. "Go," the princess smiles, "I'll be here."


MYRRINE THINKS THE gods are playing a cruel trick, but her son is alive and so is her daughter. She has just as many questions as Alexios, but hers can wait. Though the words on the tip of his tongue aren't a question, not yet anyway. "Mater, there's someone I want-" Timo rushes onto the balcony before he can finish.

They both turn at the interruption. "Soldiers from Paros just made landfall in the cove!" She announces, out of breath. "A small force, maybe a dozen."

His mother curses and sighs as though this is a common occurrence. "Gather the troops," she commands, then turns back to her son –eyeing the spear on his back and sword at his hip. "I assume you can use those weapons?" She asks. Before that fated night, he was still clumsy and timid –steadily improving like any boy yet to enter manhood.

Alexios smiles. "Better than when you last saw me," he notes with a soft laugh. Myrrine motions for him to follow. They will make short work of Silanos' troops. As he and his mother near the cove, Alexios feels his heart sink into the pits of his stomach. It is the same beach where he and the princess walked. Only now she is no longer on the white sand looking off to the horizon. In her place is a dozen men though two are already bleeding out.

He wastes no time trying to be stealthy and drives his sword through one man's gut then thrusts the broken spear up into another's neck –pulling it free from the other side. They fall concurrently, blood creeping toward the sea. A third brute hoists an axe above his head, though before it comes down, Alexios spins. Slashing both sword and spear across the brute's stomach –eviscerating him in a single fluid motion.

The other half of Leonidas' spear is laying in the sand, the blade glistening with blood. "Irene?" He calls. There is no response. Another soldier rushes toward him. Alexios turns, ramming the spearhead into the soldier's chest and slams the twitching body down onto the beach. "Irene!" He shouts but there is still no answer.

In only minutes. Paros' troops are defeated –either dead or dying. Myrrine raises her spear to finish off one of the soldiers. He is the only one still clinging to breath at the moment. The Eagle Bearer prowls toward the man before his mother can send him to meet Hades. "Where is she?" Alexios asks, seething. He had not come all this way just have Irene torn away from him.

The man lay dying, clutching his bloody entrails. "He. Took. Her." Pulses of bile and blood flow from his mouth between each word.

Alexios hauls the man to his feet. "Who?" He growls.

"Silanos," the man gasps.

"Tell me where he is and I'll ease your passing." The soldier opens his mouth, but no words come. His head lolls forward, spilling blood on the sand by the Eagle Bearer's foot. Alexios throws the corpse down and kicks the sand, brimming with rage. Not Irene he pleads to whichever god will hear him and listen. You already took Phoibe, don't take Irene.

Myrrine looks across the water to the sister island of Naxos. "Paros," she tells her son, laying her hand on his bloody shoulder. That is where Silanos resides.


SILANOS CROUCHES NEXT to the lost Persian Princess, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She squirms at the touch but has nowhere to go with both hands and legs bound. They'd gagged her too after she almost bit off one of the deckhand's ears. Before that she'd been kept tied to a post like an animal.

"I imagine the Order will offer a handsome reward for such a prize." For twenty years, she has evaded the Order. A Tainted One in plain sight, rising amongst the ranks of the Athenian elite. His hand slides down to her throat and squeezes lightly –fear floods her eyes and stirs a carnal desire deep in Silanos. "But you may be of use to Deimos too. Yet that is for others to decide." The Cult and Order would choose what became of her, but until she was delivered to Phokis, Silanos of Paros controls her fate.

The cultist leans toward her. Irene feels his hot, acrid breath on her flesh and trembles. His hand moves from her neck, slipping below her peplos and apodesmos. "You must enjoy the touch of a Spartan," he says, roughly, squeezing one of her breasts.

She clenches her jaw and rears back, smashing her forehead into Silanos' nose. He falls backward, two streams of red flowing over his lips and into his greying beard. Silanos touches the blood, looks at his fingertips and laughs. Struggle only makes his conquests sweeter. He surges forward, one hand winding into her hair, pulling her head back, the other pushing up the tattered remains of her skirt. Silanos drags his bloody nose and tongue up the pale column of her neck. He will have her before the day is done.

Irene writhes in his grasp, shouts, and curses silenced. Silanos shifts and she manages to quickly bend her knees, and kick out –her feet colliding with his groan. His wince of pain if followed by a snarl. The pressure on her scalp lessens and both his hands twist onto the thin material covering her breasts –it tears and bears her to him.

A cultist guard steps into the dark underbelly of the trireme and ends Silanos' assault. "A ship with an eagle figurehead approaches!" The Adrestia.

Silanos growls and grips onto Irene's chin. "Perhaps I'll let you look upon your dead misthios while taking you." The princess thrashes against her bonds as the cultist leaves and screams, but the sound is muffled.


PAROS' FLEET SINKS to the bottom of the Aegean, but there is no sign of Irene. Alexios' grip tightens on her half of the broken spear –feeling the faint indentation of her hand on the wooden shaft. He turns his sights to the island until one of Silanos' captured men laugh, asking how long he thought the princess could survive in the hull of a sinking ship. Myrinne races to look over the edge of the Adrestia into the depths and watches as her son dives into the water without a second thought.

Her hands are still bound and she struggles to open the hatch to the deck. The butt of a broken spear is wedged under the hinges for leverage, but she is not strong enough and the weight of the water grows heavier with each passing second. One of the rowers' corpses floats past her.

Alexios reaches through the latticework of metal, fingers brushing over her arm. She looks up and sees his shadowed outline –hopeful even as her lungs begin to burn and darkness creeps into her vision. He plants his feet on the deck and pulls as she pushes with what strength remains in her body. The hinges give and the hatch lifts. He grips onto the rope tied around her wrists –begins swimming toward the surface as the trireme sinks further into a watery grave.

Two heads emerge next to the Adrestia. Alexios holds Irene against him, keeping her above the water he swims toward the ship with one arm. "Help get her up!" Barnabas shouts, spurring the crew into action. Five deckhands link arms and lean over the water –carefully pulling the princess up.

They lay her upon the deck. Barnabas slices through the bonds and quickly lays the ragged scrap of brown fabric draped over his shoulders across the princess –to protect her modesty. The Eagle Bearer collapses on his hands and knees next to her. Alexios pushes black hair from her face, leans down and is relieved to feel shallow puffs of air against his cheek. He runs his fingers over a fresh scratch on her temple and presses his forehead against hers. "Alexios," she breathes –unsure if it was him or a dream, but the way his arms tighten around her feels real. Irene's smile is ethereal and ephemeral before exhaustion takes her.

"Back to Naxos!" Myrrine shouts and the rowers extend their oars into the water, turning the ship back to the island. Alexios carries her from the dock through the streets up to his mother's villa and lays her on a kline, falling to his knees. She still breathes, but it feels as though he has failed her all the same. Aella follows him from the ship with a golden chlamys and one of Irene's spare gowns. He removes Barnabas' mantle and replaces it with the soft golden fabric.

Weary, the Eagle Bearer rises, kisses her temple then stumbles from the room leaving her to rest. Myrrine finds her son on a balcony overlooking the sea. She has not seen him smile since Silanos' men landed in the cove.

Alexios glances to his side as his mother comes to stand next to him, leaning her hip against the stone railing. "She must be special to you," Myrrine notes.

He looks to the sea again and the depths remind him of her eyes. A lump rises in his throat. The princess is more than just special to him. They share a connection he has never felt before with another woman –or man. It is more than physical attraction with Irene, his soul longs for her as does his heart. The gods must have crafted them for one another and fate had brought them together at last. Alexios glances at his mother and realizes there is a word that describes how he feels about Irene. "I love her, mater," he tells her, voice low and heavy with guilt.

"Did you know humans were created with four arms, four legs, and two faces?" He shifts toward his mother, brows furrowed. "Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." She lays her hand on his cheek and wipes away the dampness beneath his eye. Myrrine sighs –she had felt a great power lying dormant within the princess. The same kind of power than ran in her and Alexios' bloodline, but much more potent. "She is your other half, Alexios." He blinks, unsure if he heard his mother correctly. "And she is strong."