Phobia ☤ Alexios

fifteen: land of beautiful corruption

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IRENE EMPTIES HER bag, checking over its contents again since they had stopped at Skandeia Harbor in Kythera. A bronze box packed with dry tinder and kindling. A flint and iron. Fish hooks and animal gut for stitching wounds. Various medicinal herbs –honey, sorrel leaves, yarrow and seeds from the poppy. A roll of linen bandages, needles and hemp thread, and a small iron for cauterizing wounds. Before her is the difference between life and death.

The Adrestia docks in Korinthia after many days at sea. Korinth is a city rank with corruption even under Spartan law. Whispers say the Monger –a brute with lust for violence– controls the city with terror and blood. Others tell them Anthousa and her hetaerae are the true leaders but are stranded at the Spring of Peirene near the Temple of Aphrodite on the Akrokorinth, having fled the city for fear of the Monger and his thugs.

Regardless of who the city's true leader is, Alexios turns his gaze toward the Akrokorinth –that is where he will find answers about his mother. Irene adjusts her loculus after having stopped at an apothecary to purchase silphium and oak gall. The short pause in their pace had allowed Alexios to scan over the vendors and shoppers –what he sees brings a deep frown to his lips. "We're being followed," Alexios notes in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the busy agora.

Irene has felt the lingering gaze of strangers too. She's been at unease since stepping off the Adrestia. "Hunted, more like," she amends, stepping closer to the misthios –their arms brush together with each step. A lifetime of being hunted has made her senses keen enough to spot those who wished to go unseen. "Two on our right," the princess mutters.

"At least three behind us and another to the left," Alexios supplements, slowing to almost a stop. If they continued on their current path the men following them would decide to strike or move forward to set a trap. "Get to the temple," he tells Irene. Only a fool would attempt spilling blood in Apollo's temple with Spartan sentries keeping vigil. "I'll fall back and see exactly how many there are." A jerky movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Their pursuants are quickly closing in. Alexios grips onto Irene's wrist. "Cause a scene," he breathes.

The princess twists around, glaring at him with brows pinched together. "Why do I have to be the one to make a scene?!" She challenges in a low hiss. Though seconds later her expression shifts to heartbreak and betrayal –the effortless transformation can put even the best actors to shame. "How could you?! You swine!"

Irene's arm rears back and then her hand is connecting with his cheek. Alexios has no time to react and the slap echoes through the crowded agora. He stumbles at the sudden and unexpected impact. People stop and stare at the commotion. Those meant to be pursuing them are thrown off by the spectacle. "I loved you!" Irene cries, hiding her tearful gaze as she absconds the market toward the Temple of Apollo.

"Wait!" Alexios shouts, cheek burning with the aftermath of her touch. He gives pursuit but once she climbs the crepidoma of the temple, he slips into the crowd. The men all gather at a warehouse on the western docks. Guards standing at the entrance are neither Spartan or Athenian –but are more akin to bandits. After seeing their meeting location, Alexios turns back toward the heart of Korinth.

Spartan sentries give him wary glances as he climbs the Temple steps. Mercenaries weren't known for their piety. He kneels before the statue of Apollo at the center of the noas. "That worked surprisingly well," he remarks, humor lacing his tone. She'd played the part well and had saved them from a confrontation in the streets.

Irene glances at him and frowns –there's a red mark on his cheek the same size as her hand. She aligns her fingers with the welt and feels guilty for not warning him about her intentions. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard," the princess admits with a grimace. Alexios turns his cheek farther into her hand, a faint smile pulling at his lips. Her fingers unintentionally slip upward, following the scar below his left eyes.