THE ADRESTIA'S CREW encircle Alexios and Irene on the deck —Barnabas and Herodotus watch from the helm. As of late, they all have started making bets on who will win the sparring matches between them. The Eagle Bearer wins most of them, but that doesn't stop a handful from always betting on the princess. All it takes is for the commander to get distracted by a wayward smile or salacious glint in Irene's sapphire eyes and he is on his back.
She dodges his swing, slips under his arm and lands a blow to his back. He grunts, spinning around and finds she is already gone. The princess hooks her leg around his, throwing him off-balance. Alexios begins falling backward, but he grips onto her chiton and twists. Irene lands on her back and he catches his weight on his forearms. "You almost had me," he breathes, a slight smile playing on his lips. She is pinned beneath him on the ship's deck —chest heaving in exertion. Alexios hovers above her —his breathing coming in soft pants. It had been a good match.
Several of the crew toss drachma to one another, grumbling as they return to their tasks. "Not going to finish me off, commander?" Irene asks, fluttering her lashes.
Alexios rolls his eyes as he stands, offering her his hand. "Later," he promises, pulling her up from the deck with a wink.
The remainder of the day is uneventful —a pleasant change from the usual chaos. A warm breeze fills the sails and the crew sing hymns to Poseidon and Ares. Eppie and Barnabas are deep in discussion about myths and old legends. Herodotus transcribes his work onto papyrus scrolls. It's but a preview of a simpler, more peaceful life.
By sundown, everyone has gathered into small groups of four or five around the braziers, sharing wine and stories. Ikaros perches on Alexios' shoulder and the princess spoils the golden eagle with strips of fish and pieces of fresh fruit. "If you keep feeding him, he'll be too fat to fly," Alexios chides, and Ikaros squawks his disagreement, hopping from foot to foot on the misthios' shoulder. Irene laughs and ruffles the eagle's feathers the way he likes, silently promising him a few more treats the next time Alexios looks away.
Silver moonlight reflects off the dark surface of the water —a hundred stars are shining down as though the gods are smiling upon Alexios and Irene. The princess settles back, and Alexios wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Ikaros circles high above them in the night sky. "Do you think strangers will hear our names long after we are gone and wonder who we were?" She asks softly.
Alexios traces a faint line connecting freckles on the inside of her forearm, deciding it looks almost like one of Artemis' arrows. "People will remember us," he assures her, placing a quick kiss to the corner of her jaw, "what we are doing will echo across the ages." Irene shifts in his arms to face him —he looks at peace, though she knows a storm is brewing within him the closer they sail to Thera.
The pad of his thumb traces the fading scratch on her temple. Her eyes slip shut and reopen when his touch fades only to be replaced by his lips pressed to hers. Alexios pushes the fabric covering her shoulder aside and follows with a line of open-mouth kisses. Ikaros lands on the sternpost of the ship and looks down at the pair then screeches. "I don't fancy an audience tonight," she breathes with a soft laugh.
Alexios tries to shoo the eagle away, but Ikaros' call is louder this time and now he can see burning braziers moving closer, illuminating a black sail with a dragon's head. "Malákas pirates!" He curses, springing into action —regretting having ignored Ikaros' first warning.
"Pirates!" Irene calls and the crew begin to spill out on the deck —most are half-dressed with little armor and by the time everyone takes their stations the galley as turned. The bronze ram glints in the moonlight, pointed at the Adrestia's flank, oars diving into the water propelling it across the water.
"Brace!" Alexios shouts —crouching with Irene under his arm. The impact almost knocks them off their feet. Several of the crew are launched into the air and sea. The churning waves settle and then it becomes a race. The Eagle Bearer leads the boarding party with a fierce shout, Irene and several others join him. It's a quick and bloody affair —they leave none alive. Alexios searches the deck and finds the princess kneeling next to one of the deckhands.
Thekla pushes Irene's hands away. She already knows this wound will be fatal —not even Hippokrates himself could repair the damage the pirate's blade had done. Alexios kneels next to the woman and grasps onto her hand in camaraderie. "A quicker death is all I ask," she chokes, blood trickling from her mouth. He frees the broken spear from the sheath on his back and Irene rises, turning away —unable to watch. Eppie pulls her into an embrace and watches over her shoulder as Alexios slips the spear between Thekla's ribs. A soft gasp escapes her lips before unending serenity overtakes her expression. The crew wraps Thekla's body in a cut of the old faded sail. They will bury her once making landfall.
A THICK SULFUROUS haze lingers over the Volcanic Islands. Thera is the largest of the three islands and desolate, though ruins of a once-great people remain. On the dark shores, the crew takes a moment and lays their fallen companion to rest in a pit of black sand. Most return to the Adrestia after the short ceremony, but Irene and Alexios search the ruins for any sign of his father. They come to a gateway nearly identical to the one on Andros, but this one is larger. Recalling how he'd opened the gate, Alexios frees the broken spear from his quiver and touches it to the dark stone —nothing happens.
Something behind the door draws Irene closer. She lays her hand flat against the smooth rock and warmth spreads over her limbs. "The light," she says stepping back then pointing to one of the reflective mirrors at the pinnacle of the southernmost ruins. A puzzle. Aligning the mirrors does not take long, especially since Ikaros had taken care of the snakes littered about the ruins. A focused beam of light shines on the gateway, illuminating a blue-white triangle before the stone starts grinding. The triangular entrance gapes open, leading into darkness. "I don't even know if I'll come back," he admits, looking into the depths of the dark passage. Alexios is not one to show or admit fear readily, but Irene knows him well enough to spot it, and there is no point in trying to conceal it.
The princess guides his dark gaze back to her. In comparison to the black volcanic rock and ruins, she is a ray of light. "This is not where your journey ends, Alexios," she assures him. Deep down, Irene knows fate has more in store for both her and Alexios. Their fate does not end here in the ruins of Thera. "Nor where our ways part," she adds.
A smile crosses his lips. "You sound so certain," Alexios breathes —he wants to share in her optimism, but the unknown keeps him from doing so.
"I am," Irene says, placing a short kiss to his cheek. For a moment, he gapes at her —if this is to be his end, he wishes for her fair face to be the last thing he sees before the Keres take him. She nudges him toward the door, breaking him from the trance. Alexios disappears into the ruins —the gateway closing behind him— and Irene wanders along the barren and destroyed streets of Akrotiri.
Light breaks through the haze and catches something both crystalline and metallic. The object is heavy in hand given its size and reminds Irene of the metal of Leonidas' spear. She reaches behind her back for the broken spear. The tip of the blade begins to glow as it nears the ingot. At the same time, the strange markings she's seen before surface on her skin, though this time there is no pain.
Irene takes the opportunity to look at them closely. The lines and smooth curving arcs are a mix between silver and gold and run from her fingers to her toes. They are smooth but feel warmer than the rest of her skin. A part of her is tempted to ask Herodotus what these markings mean, but after a moment of silent thought, the princess decides some questions might be better left unanswered. Still, she cannot help but wonder if this has to do with her father.
A hand falls onto her shoulder, and instinct takes over. Irene lashes out, sweeping her leg around and knocking the would-be assailant to the ground. He falls to his back with a groan —he should have known better than to sneak up on the princess. "Alexios!" She reprimands, offering him her hand. Alexios takes hold of her hand, but tugs her down across his lap instead of rising to his feet.
There's a distant look in his eyes. "Atlantis is real," he breathes. Irene isn't sure she'd heard him right. Atlantis is just a children's story. Hydarnes used to tell her stories of the lost city when she was a girl. Before she can say anything or question him, he meets her gaze and recalls what Pythagoras had told him. "My father is down there," Alexios whispers and he is less than happy with the revelation.
WAVES BREAK AGAINST the Adrestia, rocking the ship as a mother rocks a babe in her arms. On the horizon are dark clouds, though. It will be a stormy night. Irene is left to wonder if the gods can sense the storm growing within her.
Alexios has been nigh silent since returning from the depths beneath Thera. It is clear the weight on his shoulders has increased tenfold. He sits atop the sternpost watching the last of Helios' light disappear beneath the waves. Irene is speaking with Iola —a former smuggler and Barnabas' new flame. The two women laugh, though when the princess shifts her gaze up to him her smile fades.
Nearly the entire crew goes below deck, urged quietly by Herodotus and Iola to give the commander and princess a moment of solitude. It's obvious there are things between them that need to be said and are not meant for the ears of others. Alexios jumps down from the sternpost, comes to stand next to her at the helm. "You're troubled," she notes gazing at the blackened horizon. He does not bother denying the accusation.
"I just-" Alexios tilts his head back, looking to the heavens and draws in a deep breath "-have a lot to think about." I was never going to raise you. Anger pulses through his veins at the thought of Pythagoras. An obligation to preserve the bloodline. He drapes his arm over Irene's shoulders and presses his forehead into her temple. Right now, she is his anchor in the calamity of life. "I'm glad you're with me," he breathes.
Irene steps back. "I know you're hiding something, and I won't press you to say anything-"
"I don't know how to tell you," he says in turn, cutting her off as he starts to pace the deck with arms crossed and a pensive expression. It should be easy to say, and she needs to know.
Irene steps into his path and presses her hand against the center of his chest. His arms uncross and his shoulders fall. Irene knows he is not a wordsmith and does not expect an eloquent verse. "Just say it," the princess tells him, voice just above a whisper.
Alexios grips onto her arms and meets her gaze —stormy like the sea around them. "You're a demigoddess." A playwright or poet would have fashioned the words into art. He is neither. Even Pythagoras managed to word the revelation more adroitly before he spoke of the princess as a broodmare for the bloodline. Alexios watches her expression, but she has always been able to mask her inner thoughts —it's what made her a skilled orator and politician. "Apollonides was a guise for Asklepios," Alexios explains. "Your father is the God of Medicine."
People called him a demigod, but his is not the blood of Olympus. Irene though is truly descendant from the heavens. She suspires, turning from the helm and takes a seat on one of the benches at the stern. Alexios follows and kneels in front of her. "I always believed he was just an Asklepiad." Irene absently touches his cheek, fingertips ghosting over the stubble on his jaw. Her soft laugh is filled with bitter emptiness. "He must be ashamed of me," the princess notes, "all the lives I've taken." Instead of saving people from Hades, she sends them to him.
