Ba'an sat on her bed, listening.

Nene and Calloe were chattering as they organized Ba'an's gifts for their intended recipients as Dita directed them, but it was not toward their banter that her attention was bent, no; Ba'an was listening to souls.

Lukios' soul—and Gaios'.

Their second dinner had been bread with slices of meat and cheese, purchased from the night market by Dita and Uchos. The girl had been stiff-lipped, but the length of time it had taken her to return made Ba'an suspect the journey had not been altogether pleasant.

Ba'an ought to have cared more about Dita's distress—but she didn't. She had other concerns, and she had only managed a single slice of bread before setting the meal aside, covered with a clean square of cloth. Lukios would need something, too, once he was done.

He was displeased. She could feel it—there was an angry little jangle in the music of his soul, jagged and inharmonious in a way that was immediately obvious. On top of that, he was pacing: she felt his soul moving back and forth, back and forth, in a tight little line, and she knew he must be gesticulating angrily at his audience.

This was expected. As long as he was only angry and not alarmed, Ba'an would hold her peace. But if the situation shifted—if she sensed the guards at the walls around him moving to him—

She would have no choice but to act. Ba'an would not allow Lukios to be arrested and taken to an outlander gaol. Such places were filthy and barbaric, and she knew that those who stepped into one rarely stepped out again.

No, she would not permit this to happen. If the guards moved to arrest him, Ba'an would have to kill them.

Ba'an did not have her coat, this was true. But she did not need her coat to kill, and the estate was a bountiful cornucopia of souls.

Many, many souls, all pulsing and singing, all bursting with the stuff of life: magic.

Magic and souls. Beautiful, delicious souls.

Suddenly and without intention, her mouth flooded with saliva.

Ba'an bit down on her knuckle, wrestling her sudden hunger down. No.

Not for hunger. No.

Only if she had to. Only for Lukios.

"Oh, this is so pretty, kyria!" Calloe held out a pot-within-a-pot. "The patterns are so unusual! Don't you think so, Nene?"

Ba'an blinked, attention momentarily diverted from the tense drama playing out in the office below.

"Oh, yes!" Nene nodded. "They're very…uh…very…unique! The patterns, I mean." Nene's smile was warm and reassuring. They had been doing this all evening—smiling and complimenting her and everything she had, presumably to distract her from her worries.

It was very sweet.

But Ba'an would have to kill them first if things went sour.

It would be a disaster if anyone survived to report her activities, should the worst come to pass. Ba'an would have to ensure no one escaped, and most especially not Nikias—he was too clever, and he knew too much. Even if he did not guess what she was, he would know that she had been the epicenter of the sudden, strange malady to sweep through the entire estate, sparing none but he.

Killing him would be difficult. But she would do it.

If Gaios moved against Lukios, Ba'an would devour him and his entire wretched household.

"Put that down," Dita snapped. "Gently." She turned her head to address Ba'an. "Who shall you gift this to, kyria?"

Ba'an forced herself to focus. "That is for our host."

Dita nodded, and the girls placed it in the pile meant for Gaios.

If all went well, there would be no reason to be petty. If Gaios proved himself a rational man, there was no reason not to resume as usual, and it gave the girls something to do.

It was best to be prepared for all possible outcomes.

"And these, kyria?" Dita gestured to the crate of koiri.

"They go to sir Gaios, but save two bottles for sir Nikias."

The girls did as they were bid, Dita taking pains to note in her tablet what went to whom; it was very odd, since Ba'an had not requested such a thing, but Dita simply did it as naturally as breathing. It was clear she was trained for this type of work—management work.

It was a pity she would have to die first. The girl was too competent by half, and not nearly as biddable as Nene, or even Calloe. Ba'an would have to kill her first, making it appear as though Ba'an was only catching her as she fainted, and then…

They would have to call Uchos and Iphram in for help. They were just outside the door, playing some kind of game involving dice as they kept watch. They had moved her bed across the door of the servant's passage, so they only needed to guard one door. They would have to die too, though…

Two men were too difficult to handle at the same time. She would send Uchos to fetch sir Nikias, citing a sudden emergency involving his household. She could direct Calloe to go to the kitchens and bring hot water for poor Dita, and Nene would be tasked with bringing linens while sir Iphram laid Dita out on the bed…

Yes. One by one. That would be best.

And with such a glut of souls, Ba'an would never tire. She could use all the tricks she wished, and even invent new ones.

Warm approval. Satisfaction. The feeling glowed inside her as if a fire had been lit inside her soul.

Ba'an nearly recoiled in revulsion.

Tik-tak Mal'uk snickered. Now what is the matter, child? The tone was innocent, which only incensed her more. I am only agreeing with your sensible decision. Unless…have you changed your mind? Will you let your outlander die, after all?

There was only one answer to that, but Ba'an grit her teeth and said nothing.

The creature laughed. It matters little to me, come what may. Either you entertain me with a fine bit of mayhem or I am rid of his filthy presence. What a delightful end to a delightful day!

How did the damned creature always manage to wriggle free and exert its foul influence? She glared at the ground, the frustration of being utterly useless mingling with the frustration of having this wretched thing torment her whenever it wished. Nothing she had tried so far had worked. Nothing. Distantly, she heard a little tinkling sound; it was the sound of Enha-naus-hasa-en's laughter.

…And how was the godsoul so conscious again?

"Kyria?"

"It is nothing. I am only tired."

And hungry, the creature cooed. So, very hungry. And listen! These children are simply so irritating. Would silence not be sweeter?

"You must rest, kyria!" Calloe's voice was as chirpy as ever, oblivious. The girl had no idea that Ba'an would eat her and everyone here if Lukios was taken, but this was for the best.

After all, there was no need to be cruel. They would die without knowing, without pain. Ba'an could do that much for these girls who had simply been unlucky.

But there was no need to be hasty.

Ba'an tilted her head and resumed listening. Lukios was still in the office, as were Gaios, Nikias, and the guards. Nothing had changed. All was well, though…Gaios was…Gaios…?

She frowned.

This was strange.

"Yes! Here, kyria! Please, lie down! Me and Calloe will finish organizing your gifts!" Nene grinned up at Ba'an from her position on the floor, folding fabrics. "Oh, this is so soft! But sturdy, too! What is it?"

Ba'an blinked, then hastily stood to take the folded length of wool. "It is woven from strifa hair. That is…that is not for Gaios or his family. That is for" —Lukios— "myself." She held out her hand. "Give it here."

"Oh! Will you make something with it?" The girl held the bundle of undyed fabric up to Ba'an, cheerful and obedient. Ba'an clutched it to her chest, suddenly acutely aware that there would be no going back once she decided to act—Lukios would know.

He would know, and…

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He would leave her. Finally.

But he would be alive to do so, on his own two feet.

"Yes." A man ought to have a sa-kesh when he married—if he married. Perhaps he would change his mind once she…told him. He would most certainly reject her if he saw her, if she committed even more atrocities here, on foreign soil.

Yes. The way he looked at her would change, then. Forever.

But the afternoon had been golden and sweet, and the soft wool had caught her eye. Once the thought struck her, it could not be dislodged, ringing gently in her ears over and over as she touched the soft, tight-woven fibers: a man ought to have a sa-kesh when he marries.

Ba'an was not good at weaving or sewing, but she could make something simple. She had thought of embroidering the sigil of his house, but it was clear that he hated the name Helios, so perhaps she would give him a different pattern. Did he dislike lions, too?

But they both suited him so well: he was sunny and bright, yet fierce when he wished to be. What else could she sew into his sa-kesh?

Olive trees?

The strange god with the winged heels?

Perhaps she ought to ask him, but then it would not be a surprise, and…

She curled her fists into the fabric.

Perhaps it did not matter now.

"Oh! Another shawl? Or…perhaps some Sander clothes? It is a kind of Sander wool, isn't it? I have never seen this before, I'm sure of it!" Nene continued to burble away as Dita sighed. Calloe giggled as she finished tucking the all the parts of the 'Sander sculpture' into Ba'an's bags.

Ba’an did not think it wise to stay longer, no matter how the night ended.

"No." Ba'an stared at the floor, listening hard.

Yes, there was something very strange about Gaios. It sounded as if...as if…

He was not even very upset.

But he had been furious. Furious. How could he not be upset?

What was going on?

"It's not Sander wool?" Nene sounded very confused.

"Yes." Ba'an let the girls' voices fade into the background. She focused, opening herself to the singing of souls as she delved deeper into her magic, pulling her attention to the minutia of Gaios' soul, the rise and fall of each note, the flex of its weave…

Gaios was not outraged—or at least, not as much as he had appeared.

Frowning, Ba'an listened to the delicate, subtle nuances of each vibration.

No, he was offended, but it was a low-burning fire. Mostly, he was…he was…

…Victorious?

What? Why? How could he feel any glee at all over an evening that had ended with his son's face ending up like an over-ripe fruit split open on the stone?

Something was wrong.

She shifted her attention to Nikias. His weave was as tight as ever, but…there. A discordant little ripple.

Nikias was not as calm as he appeared, either. Ba'an was not familiar enough with his soulsong to know, but she suspected the jagged little ripples meant he was irritated and annoyed—but not alarmed.

What was going on?

Ba'an concentrated, trying to get a better read. Lukios was even more aggravated than he had been, but he was not alarmed, either, only angry. Gaios felt smug. But Nikias felt…he felt…

His song shifted, and she knew he had noticed.

Ba'an froze, trying to decide if she ought to plumb deeper or retreat, when he did the last thing she expected: he reached out and touched her.

It was a shocking, forthright gesture—as if he had placed his hand on her shoulder and given it a comforting little squeeze.

Ba'an landed on the bed gracelessly as she stumbled backwards in her hasty retreat. Calloe squawked in alarm and stood, while Dita paused in her scribbling to look at her with a little crease between her eyebrows.

"Kyria!" Nene looked concerned. She took one of Ba'an's hands in hers and gave it a little squeeze. Calloe came to them and put her hand on Ba'an's forehead.

"You don't seem well, kyria. Please, lie down."

Ba'an pushed her confusion away. "I am well."

She wasn't.

Calloe and Nene exchanged a look. Dita was still frowning, stylus still poised over the tablet. It was clear she was trying to decide on a course of action.

"Are you finished with the gifts?" They were. Everything was in neat, organized piles, and someone had wrapped the smaller items in tight little bundles of cloth that looked remarkably artistic.

"Yes." Dita finally stopped frowning. "There is only one thing left. Nene."

"Hm?"

"I want you to go to Master's office with Uchos and get some parchment. We need thank you notes for the Strategos and congratulations to sir Askles."

Ba'an raised a hand to her head. Oh, yes. The gifts ought to go with notes. Clever as ever, Dita.

"Yes. Thank you, Dita."

"It is my duty, kyria." Her voice was stiffer than usual. The girl was deeply aggravated by the entire debacle, this much was clear.

"Oh. Yes. Okay." Nene stood up slowly, then wandered out the door.

Ba'an was listening to her titter at Uchos when Calloe suddenly raised her voice. "And tea!"

Nene popped her head back into the room. "What?"

"Tea. Khamaimelon tea." Calloe's voice was firm. "Kyria is still distressed."

"No, I am well."

"As you say, kyria!" Calloe was relentlessly cheerful. "I'm distressed! Get me some khamaimelon tea, Nene!"

Nene stared at her for a moment, then grumbled, "Fine." Then she beamed at Ba'an. "We will only be gone a short while!" And then she and Uchos were gone, making their way down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

Dita only sniffed in a way that made her feelings quite clear, then went back to scribbling in her tablet.

Ba'an wriggled away from Calloe, turning her attention back to the office, but the girl seemed determined to keep Ba'an's attention.

"Kyria!"

"Calloe. I am we—"

"Did you know that babies can be born with six fingers?"

Ba'an stared at her incredulously, baffled. What did that have to do with anything?

She took Ba'an's silence for agreement. "Oh, yes! When I was seven, my ma took me to help this lady that lived out near the woods have her baby! We always said she was cursed, on account of being so unlucky, but…"

"Calloe—"

The stream of words did not stop. Instead, the girl took Ba'an's hands in hers and squeezed them, as if Ba'an were some village maiden about to burst into tears at any moment.

Flabbergasted, Ba'an could only stare at the younger girl as her story became more and more ridiculous.

"—and of course we were saying the whole time, that her husband wasn't a real man at all, but he was—"

"Calloe—"

But it was useless, of course.

----------------------------------------

By the time Lukios came to her, it was well into the small hours of the night.

Ba'an, grimly determined, had monitored the situation all the way through. To her irritation, Nikias had modulated his reactions so that she could tell nothing from his soulsong; all his rough edges had been smoothed out by the time Ba'an regained her wits and returned to her particular form of eavesdropping.

The entire situation was strange. The guards had, at first, been amused, only to grow bored and weary as the hours wore on. Lukios' temper had cooled into a kind of cold fury that she had never felt from him before, but he had stopped his pacing.

Gaios felt satisfied, exactly like a cat that had gotten the kia-kia bird.

But no one moved to take Lukios away.

When Ba'an felt Lukios leave the office—of his own volition, with only Nikias and his attendants at his heels, not guards—the relief had made her muscles go to water and she had finally allowed herself to slump in her spot on the bed.

"You should sleep, kyria!" Calloe was still cheerful, though she yawned at the walls when she thought Ba'an wasn't looking. Nene was already dozing on the floor, her back against the wall. Dita, who had tried to rouse the girl twice already, had given up and was now keeping herself occupied by tidying the room. This was something of a feat in and of itself, as the room had already been tidied a dozen times already; at this point, Dita was merely moving things around out of sheer boredom.

Calloe seemed to have a never-ending repository of bizarre and silly stories. Ba'an had the impression they were meant to be humorous, but…

They were like all Dolkoi'ri jokes: confounding, and not very funny. If anything, they were horrific; many of the incidents Calloe described with such aplomb were entirely preventable, if only the men or women had applied proper sense to their decisions.

But no, this was Illos. Common sense was not common here.

"No. I am well." Ba'an paused, then added gently, "You may sleep if you wish, Calloe." She looked at Nene. "Perhaps you ought to rouse her and have her sleep here on the bed instead?" The floor was hard, and now that Lukios was safe—or appeared safe—Ba'an felt the keen edge of guilt against her conscience as she remembered what she had planned.

Lukios was as well as he had said he would be.

She felt entirely stupid now, having fretted so strenuously…though…

Ba'an did not think everything was well. It had not gone as poorly as it could have, but she did not think it had gone well, either. Lukios was too coldly enraged, and Nikias was too deliberately calm.

Oh, come now. Surely there is still room for a little indulgence here and there. Tik-tak Mal'uk sounded put out, and Ba'an sneered at it smugly. This half-breed, for instance. Is he not a thorn in your side? Perhaps he ought to have a sad accident later.

And now Ba'an was in the most undesirable position of defending Nikias, of all people. Ugh. No, best to ignore its provocations. That was all it could do, stunted as it was now: provoke her with its snide babbling, whining and pathetic.

The creature laughed at her. He is so very sure of himself, is he not? A proper outlander, despite the skin he wears. How insulting. You ought to eat him.

And then it added, disturbingly, Perhaps he'll even like it.

That is disgusting.

And now she had responded to the filthy thing. Ba'an sighed as it cackled at her.

She knew she ought to simply stop reacting. That's what it wanted—her aggravation. The creature was malicious and bored, and acknowledging it at all was encouragement.

Ba'an felt Nikias peel away to his own room with his entourage. Lukios was coming down the hall to her, and Ba'an roused herself, moving to the washing stand to splash her face with cold water.

Better.

Calloe yawned again. "Oh, that is a good idea!" She moved to the basin and did the same. "I am sure everything is well, kyri—"

Lukios stopped right outside the room, and Ba'an heard him speaking with Uchos and Iphram in a low, quiet murmur.

Ba'an simply went to the door and hauled it open. "I am awake."

Lukios blinked at her an instant before his face broke into a surprisingly bright smile. "Sweetheart!" He stepped past a sleepy but amused Uchos to go to her. Iphram only looked on with his usual stoic expression, looking exactly as he had all day.

Ba'an tilted her head up obligingly as he took her face in his hands and kissed her, resting his forehead on hers once he finished with a sigh. Ba'an put her hand over his, frowning as she noted he was still wearing his blood-stained toga.

To think he had been obliged to sit in filthy clothes all evening—the Dolkoi'ri knew no decorum. She shifted to straighten the fabric without thinking, and Lukios caught her hand. He glanced down at himself and let out a self-conscious little chuckle. "Should’ve changed, huh?" He stepped back to keep her clean, though he did not release her hand.

"No. That is not why I am…" Ba'an sighed. "Come inside, Lukios. You must eat." And rest. He was upset still, though now he was working not to show it.

"Just for a bit," he said as he entered, eyeing the neat piles of gifts against the wall. "Don't tell me you spent this entire time fretting. You should have just taken a nap, sweetheart." He stepped back and held his arms out, turning slowly. "See? I'm all in one piece. Everything's fine."

Ba'an raised an eyebrow.

"…Mostly." Lukios ran his hand through his hair. "We're…" He paused, then sighed. "Well, it all turned out in the end, is all. Just…"

His belly decided now was the time to make itself known; it gurgled. Loudly. Calloe clamped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Ba'an went to the bowl that held her leftovers and brought it to him. "It is cold, but hearty." And now she was frowning again; she ought to have warmed it at least or sent for more food. This would not be enough for a grown man, especially not one as big as Lukios.

Lukios' expression brightened at the sight, but he checked himself, eyeing her with suspicion. "Did you eat?"

"Yes, Lukios." Ba'an clicked her tongue at him. "This is your portion, so you must eat it. Do not argue or I will be annoyed." She narrowed her eyes at his hands then added, "But you must wash yourself first." Blood did not make good seasoning, though it did do well as porridge or sausage.

Lukios obeyed with a little laugh as she laid out his repast on the small side table. She took a jar of honey as well—why not?—and poured him whatever was left of the wine.

No, it was still a poor meal, no matter how one looked at it. She sighed again.

"Dita."

"Kyria?"

"Go to the kitchen and demand fruit and bread. Calloe, go with Nene and fetch another set of clothes for Lukios from his room."

Lukios looked up from the washing bowl, drying his face with a towel. "No need. We don't have a whole lot of time, anyway. We…" He glanced at her, then at the girls. He cleared his throat. "Say, how do you ladies feel about…camping?"