Nikias resisted the urge to scrub his face with his hands.

Dolus stood with his back to the wall, eyes and ears alert even as he slouched with his arms crossed over his chest. Medoros was sighing in between instructions as the slaves packed Nikias' things.

Despite his efforts, there was no fooling his aide.

"Perhaps you ought to sleep, Young Master?" Medoros paused to tut at a passing slave before turning back to his charge.

Nikias shook his head, waving away assistance as he changed out of his toga for a simpler, more sensible outfit for travelling. "The night is far from over, Medoros."

The old man shook his head, sounding perfectly put out. "There's no reason for you to involve yourself, Young Master. Sir Lukios is a grown man. Let him handle his own affairs."

Nikias said nothing. He would have dearly loved allowing Lukios to handle his own affairs, but this was a matter of honour: Nikias owed the man his life twice over.

Such debts could not be discharged so easily, and besides—Gaios was rather wroth with them both, so leaving the strategos alone for a day or two was common sense.

Not that he thought Gaios would behave rashly, but…

The man had a tendency toward extreme pettiness. He'd find some way to take it out on the slaves or even the horses.

No, it was best to be away until the old man's temper cooled further.

He left the slaves and Medoros to finish preparations. Normally, Nikias would have stayed to manage the transfer of goods and equipment to the carriage whether his aide was present or not, but the night—and his sanity—was growing long in the tooth. The sound of feet and the scrape of clothes chests opening and closing were enough to send a throb between his temples, so he took himself out to the balcony for air.

It was quieter outside, though not silent. He could still hear muffled thumps and Medoros' exclamations through the walls. Dolus was silent as always, a second shadow as he dogged Nikias' steps.

The young scion of House Astros breathed in, slowly. The air was cold and crisp, tasting of autumn. Beneath the tang of leaves was the smell of soil, settling in the back of his throat with each inhalation.

He gave himself to the count of sixty before turning back to the estate.

He ought to interrupt whatever it was Lukios was doing. The man had been instructed to inform the women and then to return to his room to pack, but he was still with lady Ba'an; knowing Lukios, he was comforting her by driving her quite mad.

Nikias had had quite enough madness for one evening, thank you. He had no desire for any more, and most certainly not from a witch of Ba'an's caliber; witches were a handful at the best of times, but a witch like Ba'an? On a rampage?

Gods. No.

He pushed down a shudder.

He was in no shape to suppress a witch, even a middling one, and Ba'an was not middling. Not even close.

And time was wasting. Nikias wished to sleep before sunrise.

He took off in a brisk walk, irritation rising at how Lukios continued to linger. He had a few choice words for the man, but they swept away like leaves in the wind as he rounded the corner to Ba'an's room.

Nikias stopped cold, eyebrows knitting as he tried to make sense of the scene that greeted him.

The door was wide open. Uchos was grinning in the hallway, calling out encouragement; whom he was encouraging—or what—was unclear. Iphram's face was twitching in a way that indicated he was trying his damndest not to laugh.

Lukios was loud as ever, his voice as obnoxious as his soul as he cooed at his wife-to-be in a tone so honey-sweet that Nikias nearly felt his teeth start rotting.

But it was Ba'an that shocked him most.

The two of them were framed by the door, Lukios laughing as if he'd just returned from a happy, fulfilling banquet rather than a disaster. Ba'an was staring up at him with an expression that Nikias had not known she could make: her cheeks had darkened dramatically, her face twisting as if she could not decide whether she was angry or bashful. Even as he watched, her mouth…wobbled.

Nikias took a sharp breath as he remembered another witch, an older one, who had looked at Nidemus the same way whenever he had said something both outrageous and flattering.

His skull throbbed as his mind shied away from the memory. He forced his attention to the scene before him, disturbed. He could scarcely reconcile the witch Ba'an was with the woman before him now.

Lukios put his hands on her cheeks and cooed at her even louder. Distantly, Nikias realized that they—or Lukios, rather—were playing some kind of guessing game. Nikias blinked, eyes focusing on the soft strifa-hair fabric. It was a sar-dur, and it was draped over Ba'an's head and shoulders like a shawl. Lukios was trying to guess what it was for, and by her expression, he was getting it spectacularly wrong.

There were only two things a sar-dur was for: a women's kesh and a man's sa-kesh.

"—goat blanket?"

…And it was clear Lukios had no idea how insulting that was. Nikias watched as Ba'an's eyebrows knit. The wobble of her chin became more pronounced as she wrinkled her nose, and Nikias felt yet another stab of pity.

Three times in one night? Would the madness never end?

He forced himself to still and refrain from comment.

But a goat blanket?

Really, Lukios?

Ba'an's eyes snapped to him before he could clear his throat. Her expression closed, and he watched, strangely transfixed, as the woman was swept away by the witch. It was instantaneous.

Tii'ka had been like that, too. She had only been soft for Nidemus—and her son.

For Nikias.

Ma na ki'tan, ma na Kuv'an.

This time, the memory struck without warning, sliding a knife between his ribs. Nikias stopped breathing at the too-familiar sting.

No. This was absurd. Nikias was far too old for ghost stories or childish brooding. He forced himself to take a breath through the pulse of pain and met Ba'an's cool glare with his usual courtly smile. He noted that her cheeks had not lost their darkness. "Lady Ba'an. Lukios. Are you ready to leave?"

Ba'an raised her head, looking down her nose at him despite her diminutive stature. Nikias was not bothered—it was merely another witch-trick.

"We will be soon." There was no mistaking the meaning of her tone. She was telling him to get himself gone. Immediately.

Nikias only continued to smile, glancing about her room. From what he could see, she was already packed, which meant they were waiting on Lukios.

Well, of course they were. Typical.

"I see. Lukios, would you like me to send—"

"Nah, I'm good." Lukios looked amused. "Don't need that many hands for three chitons, two cloaks, and this toga, Niki. And the sword goes on my belt, ha." He shrugged. "Didn't bring much with me."

At this Ba'an looked even more flustered. "That is because you say 'no' to everything, Lukios. You ought to buy something for yourself next time we do our…shopping."

And then she wringed the hem of the trailing sar-dur between her fingers as she gazed up at her paramour from beneath her lashes.

The effect was distinctly…maidenly.

And preposterous. Absolutely preposterous.

Lukios grinned. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Anything you want, I'll get!"

Ba'an's lips parted again. Her eyes glittered as her eyebrows dipped. "Lukios. That is silly. You must get something you want. What will you do if I pick something ugly?"

"Well, obviously, I'd wear it!" And then he lowered his head to meet her eyes, still grinning. "And I'd get you a matching…whatever it is, too. If I have to wear a dead ferret on my head, so do you! We can look ridiculous together!"

Ba'an covered her face with the sar-dur, making a muffled noise of perfect exasperation. Lukios laughed outright.

The sound she had made had been disturbingly feminine and…girlish. Nikias noted that she had a small delicate mouth with small delicate teeth before her face disappeared beneath the fabric. Then he promptly banished the entire disconcerting thought: there was nothing winsome about her at all. Nothing.

She was a witch. She had certainly fed more than one boy to the stone and slept soundly right after, and that was likely the kindest thing she'd ever done.

A witch was a witch was a witch. Nikias knew better than to fall for her charms—not that she had any.

Ba'an was not charming. She was pitiful. That was all. No, it was more accurate to say that was her charm: being sad and pitiful with her skinny cheeks and frail wrists and those wretchedly oversized eyes.

Such things only worked on men like Lukios. Nikias had too firm a head between his shoulders for such nonsense.

It was the most unsettling experience of the entire evening. Nikias continued smiling, working to keep his racing thoughts from his face.

He heard giggling from deeper in the room, and he knew that the serving girls thought this was all very romantic.

If only they knew what a witch truly was. They wouldn't have found it nearly so sweet, then.

Nikias only inclined his head politely with a smile. There was no need to antagonize either of them further. He had underestimated Lukios' extreme attachment to her and that had been a mistake. He would have to be in her good graces if he wished Lukios' continuing cooperation, as much as it grated: one caught more flies with honey than vinegar.

She had already accepted his olive branch. There was no need to ruin it—not now, at least. The future was, as ever, uncertain.

"We are finished packing," Nikias said. There was no way of knowing if this was true, but Medoros was efficient, so it was likely. "Lukios, I will await you by the gate. We ought to leave as soon as possible if we want any sleep tonight." It was not optimal, but they would have to shelter at the caravan park before setting out at sunrise.

Nikias could have slept at the Archon's office, but doing so would have left Lukios…unsupervised.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

With his friends.

His very loyal, very gullible, and very violent friends, who Lukios had insisted had to come along.

This was an alarming prospect if one considered the last forty-eight hours since his arrival.

"Yes, yes, we'll be there soon," Lukios promised, and Nikias was pleasantly surprised there was no sharp little rejoinder attached.

It appeared that Nikias had been forgiven already. This was good, though Nikias wished this sad, stupid disaster had not been necessary to repair the rift.

Sander witches. Always so much damn trouble, and for what?

No, no. Patience was wisdom, and wisdom was virtue.

And perhaps she really was not here to spy—it was looking more and more likely. His agents had turned up nothing, though the man he had sent to Vala-Tur'in had yet to return: that was a fair distance, even on horseback.

But then that left yet another little mystery: why was she here? And how?

The K'Avaari were not in the habit of banishing poorly behaved witches. They were in the habit of killing them.

And yet, here was Ba'an: a witch of child-bearing age, wandering the outlands at will.

It was an impossible claim. Such things were simply not permitted; Tii'ka had not been banished. She had entered House Astros to accomplish…whatever it was she had been directed to accomplish, and then she had left again, child and lover be damned.

That she had even left Nikias alive was surprising. Sometimes he had wondered if...no. There was no use in wondering.

But the witches of the A'tat hardly hid their contempt for him. It was clear what they thought.

So nothing about Ba'an made any sense. At all.

"Lukios," he said patiently, "we're waiting on you."

"I'll be quick."

"Yes, that's what you said. The first time."

Lukios sighed. "Fine, fine, let's go. I'll be finished before you finish telling Medoros how to do his job. Promise."

"Very funny." Nikias did not lecture Medoros on how to do his job. That would be rather rude and a waste of time. The old man was very good at his job already.

Ba'an straightened. "You must go, Lukios. We will meet you at the gate. There is no need to…return."

And then Nikias watched, fascinated, as Lukios pouted.

A grown man. Pouting.

By Thiós. How was he not embarrassed?

"Aw. But sweetheart! I'm supposed to walk you down. To the gate. 'Cause we're engaged now, remember?" Sweet gods. That expression. What was that even supposed to be?

Ba'an's cheeks grew dark again as her head dipped, suddenly shy, and Nikias remembered the way she had stood, stoic and expectant, beneath Leandros' assault.

She could have moved.

Lukios seemed to take her bowed head as some kind of sign. He swooped in, taking her hands in his as he began cooing again.

No, this was too disturbing to watch. Nikias pivoted on his heel, turning his head. "Lukios?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your loincloth in a knot."

"Lukios." Ba'an's voice was stern again. "That is rude." Then she added, "He was of great help to you."

Lukios' mouth opened, then closed. And then, to Nikias' great shock—

"Yeah, he really was." And then Lukios smiled that sweet, winsome smile he had, the one he had stopped directing Niki's way years ago.

It shouldn't have been this gratifying. It was just a smile, for gods' sakes.

"Thanks, Niki. I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your day." The man gave an awkward little laugh. "Or even your next few days. I owe you big, that's for sure."

Nikias felt his mouth curve in response. Hā́idēs, he'd forgotten: that grin was always so damnably infectious. "Yes, well. It is a boon, in a way." He shrugged. "I ought to have ridden out myself, earlier. So think nothing of it."

Which wasn't strictly true. Nikias had already sent men out to interview the farms and villages that dotted the border. They had all said the same thing, so why would he have ridden out himself?

Except things were different, now.

Not just this issue with numbers—that was a problem, too, but he could have very easily sent Eunos or another fix-it man—but this mess with Gaios?

No. Lukios had to be managed. This much was clear.

And the thought of Lukios alone in the wilds beyond the city, surrounded by Gaios' men with only a witch for company? A Sander witch? A thing nearly all fighting men hated?

That was just foolish, but Lukios was stubborn: he would never leave the witch behind. Never.

And so Nikias had given in—again.

Well. At least it took him from the office for a day or two, though the weather could have been nicer.

"Aw, Niki. You're so damn sweet when you're not busy with that stick up your—"

"Lukios." Nikias and Ba'an spoke together, and in much the same tone. They glanced at each other, and Nikias was certain Ba'an's disturbed expression mirrored his own.

Calloe's peal of laughter floated from the room into the hallway before there was a sharp little thwack!, followed by an indignant, "Dita!" and then a storm of furious mutters.

Well, thank the…gods…for Dita.

No. Heiode. He ought to thank Heiode.

His mood cratered.

"Wow, that was creepy," Lukios muttered, putting his arm around Ba'an and pulling her closer. "Niki, never do that again."

"Do—? What?"

"Imitate Ba'an, I mean. Seriously. Ugh." Lukios made a face. "I don't want to think of you every time I look at my wife, y'know?"

What?

"I wasn't—!" It had been a coincidence. That was all.

Ba'an's disturbed expression deepened. "Lukios. Stop speaking."

"Okay, sweetheart. But seriously, Niki. Ugh."

Ba'an wrinkled her nose.

Nikias tried not to stare.

No, no. He was not—

He was not looking at that woman's nose. There was nothing fetching about some witch's nose.

Giving in, he pinched the bridge of his own nose, which was in no danger of wrinkling.

"You are still speaking," muttered Ba'an. Then she pulled away from Lukios, slipping effortlessly from his grip.

"Sweetheart?" Lukios' expression was a wonder to behold. Nikias had never thought he would see Lukios mooning after someone. Usually it was the other way around.

Nikias watched as she wordlessly disappeared into the room. When she returned, she held a small bundle in her arms. The fabric slouched downwards and Nikias was again startled by what he saw. Was that koiri?

What was she doing with bottles of—?

Without preamble, she handed him the bundle. "These are for you." She paused, then added, "You paid for them." Her expression was matter of fact and not at all sentimental, and Nikias nearly laughed.

Oh, it was all so very K'Avaari.

His mouth twitched of its own volition. "Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded dry, even to his own ears. "I will enjoy them with the knowledge I paid for them."

Lukios put a hand over his mouth. "We usually don't say that part out loud, sweetheart," he said.

Ba'an only blinked. "Ah." She shrugged. "But it is true."

Very, very K'Avaari.

Ha.

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

Afterwards—that is, after the packing, the arguing, the oh-so-sad goodbyes—

The thought came to him again.

It was a thought that had come to him during the banquet—or more accurately, during the disastrous aftermath of the banquet, before Lukios had been led away—while watching Ba'an watch Lukios.

The thought had been this: That is a woman in love.

It had been a preposterous thought.

Ba'an was a witch. Witches simply did not love, not the way normal people did, but—

There had been that precise moment when she had put her hands on Lukios' chest, head tilted up, eyes wide, and for a moment, just one moment, Nikias had forgotten what she was: a witch.

Because witches didn't love, and the face of a woman in love could not belong to a witch.

Ma na ki'tan, ma na Kuv'an.

It was a lie. It could not possibly be true, and yet—

In that one moment, that single, shining moment, Ba'an had looked up at Lukios with an expression of terror: not for herself, but for her man. It was a look that Nikias had seen on the wives of men he and his father had led into battle—the look of wives, mothers, sisters, daughters.

And in that one, terrible moment, he had thought—

Heiode never looked at me like that.

What a stupid, childish thing to think.

Nikias lifted his hand from beneath his blanket. The caravan park was quiet as it ever got, which meant it wasn't quiet at all; even so, the tent's leather walls were thick enough to hide him from view, to muffle his rustling.

Dolus and Iphram were sleeping. Medoros was in Kyros.

And Nikias was alone in his bed—cot, in this case—as he always was, thinking of a wife that was pregnant with another man's child, a wife who had never looked at him like that—

How stupid. How childish.

Heiode never looked at me like that.

And why would she?

They hadn't even met before they married. They hadn't even married in person. Nikias had been away along the western border, his first real military outing without his father or Gaios, and…

He had nearly died. He would have died, if Lukios hadn't been there; that had been the second time Lukios the Lion had saved Niki's life, and right after that, a missive had come from his father telling Nikias that he was getting married to a girl from a supporting house named Heiode.

And that had been that.

Nikias had been too wounded to ride a horse. He had been too wounded to travel. He had signed some papers and stamped them, and then a messenger had carried them all the way down to Astropolis, and by the time the season had turned and he had returned in triumph, he had been a married man.

Why would she have ever looked at him in any which way?

He stared at the wedding band. It was too dark inside the tent to really see it, and there was no telltale glimmer without light.

He had told her to be discreet.

Ba'an's upturned face filled his vision again, dark eyes full of that soft, tender something he recognized.

Lukios would never have to wonder if his child was his.

Nikias waited for the familiar sting of betrayal—but was it really? You told her to be discreet. Just that—and the rage that had nearly eaten him alive when he had first heard the news.

But there was nothing now. Just ashes. Less.

Heiode had never looked at him like that.

He stared at the ring—or where he knew the ring was. He would not have noticed it was there if not for the memory of slipping it back on the night before. If Lukios could guess what a ring-less finger meant, so could everyone else. Nikias had no desire to announce his divorce before it was final, before the baby was born.

And it had to be discreet. Quiet. No one could know, not yet—not ever.

A cuckold could never hold an office.

There was no law against it—not on any parchment, paper, or tablet—but everyone knew.

A cuckold could never hold an office. A cuckold would be laughed out of it. He would be mocked ceaselessly by his enemies, and no one would heed the words of a man who couldn't keep his wife—his own household—in order.

So, no. A cuckold could never hold an office, and that meant Heiode had to go. Quietly. Off to her father's estate somewhere in the green country hills, out of sight and out of mind until the baby arrived, and then…

She was a sensible woman. Nikias didn't think he would have to resort to anything rash—she would keep her mouth shut, if only to preserve her own reputation. She knew perfectly well what happened to adulterous whores.

No, that was petty. She knew perfectly well what happened to adulterous wives. Better. It was best not to be childish, to not be so small.

And it wasn't as if Nikias hadn't known. It happened all the time—only a fool or a commoner married for sentiment. An Astros married strategically, and Nikias hadn't cared about the lovers, not really, except…

She was pregnant.

Hadn't she been taking her suk?

A pregnant belly was not discreet. It was the opposite of discreet, and Nikias had been fortunate that his own agents were so prompt, so skilled, fortunate that Heiode had not fought him very hard, or at all.

Yes, Heiode was a sensible woman, and he did not think she would behave foolishly. Provided she kept her end of the bargain, she would live to a ripe old age—gods willing—in a kind of soft exile. There were worse fates to be had.

Nikias had been generous their entire marriage. More than generous.

Surely she would appreciate that, at least. Surely she would cooperate.

And if the child resembled her more than her lover, then, well.

Then Nikias would have an heir—finally.

Problem solved. See, father? No need to worry. No need to fret.

And if the child didn't?

Well…that was a problem that needed resolution.

Heiode was a sensible woman. A noble, through and through.

He didn't think she would need coaching.

Nikias tucked his hand back under the blanket, staring at the ceiling.

Oddly, he thought again of Ba'an, her upturned face, and the way the taut line of her body had softened when Lukios touched her cheek. As he watched, her face, with its big dark eyes, became wider, older, and suddenly he was looking at his mother, his mother smiling at his father as he tucked her hair behind her ear, turning that same beautiful smile on Niki as she held out her arms and called, "Ma na ki'tan, ma na Kuv'an!", and he, her little Kuva'rin, had run to her as fast as his little legs could carry him, laughing as she lifted him to her chest and kissed his head, his father putting his arm around them both as he boomed, "And what shall we read today, hm? A treatise on Eirian farming techniques? A K'Avaari longbow manual? Or"—and here he had tossed a sly little look to his woman, the one who wasn't his wife—"how about the entire court proceeding from yesterday's cases?" And then his mother had elbowed him and said, "Nidemus, do not be stupid. He is a child!", and then his father had laughed and laughed, and Nikias had laughed along, not quite knowing what was funny, but happy and warm, the safest he'd ever been—

"Lukios!"

Nikias startled awake, shocked to see sunlight leaking in beneath the tent flap. He sat up. Dolus looked up from his cup of morning tea and greeted him in his usual, stoic way. Iphram was just outside, speaking with Lukios and—

"—Ba'aaan!" Lukios' voice cut through the final fetters of his dream. "This is his show. He needs to run it. He needs to be awake to run it. Sun's been up for hours—"

Nikias narrowed his eyes at the opaque walls of his tent. It didn't matter; he could feel them.

"Shall I tell them to go?" Dolus' expression said they had been at this for some time now, which made Nikias wonder what was wrong with him: how had he slept through it all?

"No, it's fine." He sat up, wincing. A cot was a luxury most soldiers did not have, but…well. It certainly could not pass as a bed. "Lukios is correct." He frowned. "You ought to have woken me." Dolus widened his eyes, which was his best attempt at innocence. Nikias only raised an eyebrow.

"My deepest apologies," his bodyguard said with perfect insincerity. "I will be sure to tip your cot over next time."

"Cute." Nikias swung his legs over the side and stood, stretching. They were moving away now, Lukios bright, happy soulsong dogging Ba'an's.

It always astounded him anew, how plain she sounded: it was a perfect lie. There was nothing mundane about her.

"The farms will be there whether we leave now or later," she was saying. "You must let the man sleep. He—"

"—saved my pretty behind, I know, I know." Then Lukios raised his voice. "You hear that, Niki? You better thank her later!"

And then they were gone, bickering comfortably.

Nikias stood staring at the spot on the leather that would have given him a good view of their backs if it had been transparent.

"Young Master?"

He roused. "Tea."

Dolus was already moving. "I believe there is some pork on the fire still. I will send for some bread."

Nikias only grunted, shrugging into his chiton.

"Shall I send someone in?"

"No." Tii'ka had always been particular about self-sufficiency. Nikias could lace himself into his armour in the dark, one-handed.

No one knew this, of course.

Tii'ka had always been particular about secrets, too.

Dolus hesitated. "Master Nikias."

There was something about his tone that sent Nikias on alert.

"What? What happened?"

Dolus' smile was more than a little pained.

"We…" He cleared his throat. "...Have some guests."