“That’s the same with us,” I said.

“Yes, that’s part of why we think you’re essentially all right in the Remnant. I came here because I believed we should be following Plato more strictly, and I’m happy here.”

“Even with the Festivals of Hera?”

“The Festivals of Hera are great!” He grinned at me. He was telling the truth. “No courtship, no ambiguity, no will-they-or-won’t-they, everything organized simply for you, and most of the time no need to worry about it. Perfect!”

“And you haven’t fallen in love with anyone or anything?”

“Oh, sure.” He shrugged, a little too casually. “Agape. That’s also great. I’ll introduce you to Diogenes later. He’s in my troop, but he’s in Solon, not Theseus. He’s originally from Psyche. He had to escape to get here, as they hate to have their Young Ones leave. You’ll like him. I hope Father does.”

“I’m sure Father will,” I said, loyally. I felt a pang when I thought of Erinna, and pushed it away. A bird rose up singing from the vines, and we tilted our heads back to follow it up the sky.

“I’m happy,” he said, looking back at me. “I like it here. I have Diogenes and all my friends. I have my studies and my exercises and my troop. I enjoy my hobby work among the vines. When I’m thirty I’ll be able to vote in Chamber, and when I’m fifty I’ll be able to read the Republic. If you can stop the stupid art raids so that we only fight about important things, that would make everything better. But I don’t want to change anything about my life. I don’t want strange powers messing up who I am and all my friendships. I don’t need to be able to fly like that bird to be happy watching it fly. I don’t want something else I can’t tell Diogenes.”

“I’m so glad you’re happy,” I said. “It does seems strange to me that you don’t want powers when you could have them.”

“It’s so pointless,” he said. “Athene set us here to enact the Republic as best we can, to become philosopher kings and live the just life. We’ll be destroyed when the volcano takes down this side of the island. There’s no sense in going beyond that.”

“Because there’s no posterity,” I agreed. “No future, except for our souls. But don’t you feel you have a duty to Fate?”

“My excellence is here,” he said. “I feel my best self isn’t in acquiring divine powers and learning about them, it’s in living the good life here in Athenia.”

28

ARETE

I had heard so much about the City of Amazons and Ikaros that finally seeing them was almost a disappointment. The city was much like Athenia, like home only smaller, and not so well built. The Naming of Crocus was as impressive close up as it was from a distance—crouching Sokrates was bigger than a building, and Maia, younger but very recognizable, seemed to have her head almost in the clouds. Crocus himself was completely unrecognizable as anything, seeming equal parts Worker, human, and flowers. “It’s even bigger than his Last Debate,” I said.

“It was his first full-scale colossus,” Father said. “Crocus’s art has always been really interesting.”

“And he’s been making more of it,” I said.

Father nodded. “He’s one of the city’s most unexpected successes as a philosopher king. Sixty-One’s numerology confuses me, but Crocus is a true Platonist.”

“His art shows good people doing good things,” I said, gazing upward at the huge Maia. Her braid was falling down slightly, the way it did sometimes when she twisted it up before it was quite dry. I wondered what she thought of seeing herself this way.

Ikaros met us as soon as we stepped out onto the quay. He was a man in his early sixties, with a charming smile and a cloud of untamed silvery hair. He had a girl with him, an ephebe about my age, whom he introduced as his daughter Rhadamantha. My birthday had come while I was away. I would be cutting my hair and taking my tests when I got home again.

Ikaros kissed my hand and told me that I looked like my father, so I must have been blessed with my mother’s brains. While this came out as a compliment to me, it was subtly insulting to Father, but he only laughed. “I’m not such a fool as you think, Ikaros, for I have been chosen as envoy on this mission, and so far all the cities have agreed to come to the conference we are arranging.”

Athenia had agreed to send envoys to the conference, and to send all their art for redistribution on condition that all the other cities agreed to do the same. “They think the Amazons won’t,” Alkibiades had explained. “They’re sure the Amazons have the head of Victory, and that they won’t give their art back because they’ll think it’s a trick to find out who took it.” Father had nodded thoughtfully.

Now Ikaros took both of Father’s hands and kissed them. “I was so sorry to hear about Simmea. A loss to you, and to the world. She was a true philosopher.” Astonishingly, he was sincere. He really had admired Mother.

“We need to stop fighting about art and concentrate on increasing our excellence,” Father said, with no preliminaries.

“Yes,” Ikaros said. Father’s eyes flicked to me. I nodded quickly. He meant it. “Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” Father said. “Shall we go somewhere and discuss it? Do you have a committee for me to meet? Or should we go aboard and share a cup of wine?”

“We’re guest-friends already,” Ikaros said. “I remember sharing lemons with you and Simmea in Thessaly when Sokrates was still with us.”

“I have the other member of your debate team. Aristomache is back in the City,” Father said.

“Wonderful!” Ikaros sounded delighted. “You rescued her from Kebes?”

“It’s more complicated than that, and I don’t want to discuss standing it on the harbor,” Father said.

“Oh, be welcome to the City of Amazons, both of you, come share food and drink and tell me everything you know about everything,” Ikaros said.

He took Rhadamantha’s arm, and we all walked along the quay to a nearby eating hall which, as it was the middle of the afternoon and not anywhere near a meal time, was almost empty. He sat us down so that we were in sunlight from the window. Rhadamantha ran off to the kitchen and came back with rather good cold cakes spread with quince and red currant conserves, and wine.

“Now run and find Lysias, and your mother, and Damon, and Klio,” Ikaros said. The girl nodded and ran.

“Our Foreign Negotiations Committee,” Ikaros explained.

“Four Masters and one of the Children?” Father asked, sipping his wine.

“Three. We were so used to running things,” Ikaros said, narrowing his eyes. “Children, and even some Young Ones, are on lots of committees. Your boy Porphyry is on the Farming Committee.”

“How you run the City of Amazons is your affair,” Father said. “But I do want to tell you that other people have equal significance—they’re just as real as you are, and you have to allow them to make their own choices.”

Ikaros blinked. “Why do you want to tell me that?”

“Because Maia said something that indicated that you might not know it,” Father said, sitting back blandly. I frowned at him. Had Maia told him about Ikaros saying she didn’t love anyone? But how did that relate to other people being real? Father bit into his cake. “Good quinces you have here.”

Ikaros recovered his poise. “Tell me about Kebes. You found the Goodness Group? All we’ve had is rumors.”

“Shouldn’t I wait for the others?”

“Then what should we discuss while we’re alone?” Ikaros was wary. There were a few people working in the kitchen, laughing together as they made an early start on dinner, and one old woman sitting drinking by the window, out of earshot.

“My plan for ending the art raids involves returning everything to the original city and redistributing it based on population, with a certain amount of the more portable art moving between the cities on a regular cycle. The other cities have agreed to this, which means that you have the head of Victory, because nobody who had it would agree, not to me, not about this.”