Day, Quarter Past the 9th Hour

Eirian Quarter, Streets

The sight that greeted Nikias when he entered the Eirian quarter was not one he had expected.

The smell of smoke and ashes had yet to dissipate. Togus hadn’t lied; there clearly had been a fire.

But it was out now, and it hadn’t been the entire district; it had been more like three or four buildings.

Well. It was true Togus was high-strung. And it was also true that he had likely heard it from a runner, who had heard from some other runner, who had heard it from someone else, until eventually...

It was just as well. Nikias could hardly be annoyed by this outcome; a few ruined buildings was preferable to an entire block of them, and if Togus had not come pounding on his door, Nikias would not have dispatched the fifth and third district fire brigades.

The ending to that story could have been very, very different.

No, this was the best possible outcome. Nikias rather thought Togus deserved a raise.

“Oh.” Iokras looked confused. “Looks like it’s been put out.”

Indeed, and if Nikias had his guess, that was the fifth district fire brigade, drinking and carousing with the locals.

They were having a party. In the streets.

A party.

Nikias rubbed his eyes.

No, they were still there, having a party in the streets with the fire brigades—all three of them.

The day was getting too strange for words.

The stone apartments looked terrible. Aside from the lingering stench, there were streaks of black here and there, marking the path of the flames. It had started in the Faravahar compound, and then spread outwards to the other apartments toward the west. Well that made sense; it was autumn now, and a stiff breeze often blew in from the east. Soon there would be chilly rain nearly every day, and then winter would come with even more freezing torrents so a cloak and hat became mandatory.

“So…should I…?” Iokras was a handsome man with not much happening behind the eyes. It was convenient, but sometimes Nikias actually missed Crasilo; for all his flaws, being stupid hadn’t been one of them.

Of course, that was exactly why he had had to go, but as far as conversation went?

Crasilo could have talked circles around Iokras all day without really trying.

“No. Stay. You have to make your way around and shake hands with the locals. Ask them what happened and if they need anything from the Archon’s office.”

That was the key to popularity: being available and being just like them. The plethos always ate it up and asked for more.

“Oh. If you say so, sir Nikias.”

“I do.”

Nikias gestured to Medoros. His assistant nodded wordlessly and followed at Iokras’ elbow, ensuring he would not say anything embarrassing.

It was like managing a particularly stupid puppy, but it could not be helped.

Nikias did not sigh, well aware of his slaves and attendants eyeing him. Nikias always hand-picked his own staff, but he wasn’t naive; there was no doubt in his mind at all that a handful of them reported back to Nidemus, and the proportion that didn’t had their own handlers. It couldn’t be helped, not unless he picked his slaves and attendants off the streets, but even that was tricky.

He had gotten lucky with Lukios, but—

“Niki!”

Ah. Speak of the spirit, and it will appear.

Nikias allowed a single, soft sigh to slip out. Of course he was here. Why wouldn’t he be here?

If Nikias had his bet, Lukios had probably started the damn fire, too.

Lukios grinned widely, coming to Nikias with his arms outstretched. In one hand he held a cup of wine, and Nikias moved subtly away before the bigger man could sling his free arm around Nikias’ shoulders. Touch was always a dangerous proposition, and Nikias had no desire to be Lukios, no matter how temporary. He’d rather stab himself through the eyeball with a rusty spoon. The blunt, rounded end.

“Lukios,” Nikias said, very coolly. “Imagine meeting you here. Did you start this mess?”

Lukios made a wounded noise. “What? Me? Start a fire? Nik. Niki. That’s mean. That’s cruel. That’s just dastardly.” He shook his head. “I’ll have you know, I was here, but I was helping. Helping. Just ask anyone!” He gestured to the large crowd of Eirians who were chattering and laughing. The sun was just setting, and Nikias could see that candles and lamps had been lit in the windowsills of many of the apartments with the shutters open, letting their light spill onto the streets. Doors had been left open as well, to fight the darkening day.

“Is that so.”

Lukios nodded, doing a very close imitation of Iokras' beautifully happy, vacant expression, but Nikias wasn’t fooled.

Iokras was the only stupid puppy in Kyros. Lukios was a lion—whether he bared his teeth or not.

“I was getting kaleh pascheh, Niki. You know. Food? You have to go to the Eirian quarter for Eirian food, Nik. That’s common sense.”

A loud, familiar laugh turned Nikias’ head.

“Askles and Epitus as well?”

“Well, they gotta eat too, Niki.” Nikias grimaced reflexively at the childish nickname. Did Lukios think Nikias was ten? Lukios only let out a soft little laugh. “People eat out with their friends. It’s a real thing we rabble do all the time—remember?” Lukios snapped his fingers. “In fact, let’s give you a refresher right now.”

Before Nikias could speak—before he could do anything, really—Lukios slung his arm around Nikias’ shoulder. The shorter man froze, but no, of course it was fine—he was wearing his cloak. All he felt was the other man’s warmth seeping in through the layers of fabric and the familiar call of Lukios bright, chattering soul.

Even with the belaruna, Nikias could hear him. He was just that loud.

…How had the maho-ska simply not gone insane? Lukios was always so noisy.

Dolus and Iphram started forward. “Sir Lukios,” Iphram snapped, “I must ask you refrain from—”

Nikias waved him away. “It’s fine.” After a moment of consideration, he added, “Go mingle. Get a drink and eat something.” Why not? Their workdays were as long as Nikias’. They needed dinner, too.

His guards glanced at each other, then at him, and Nikias could see them both writing up their latest report to send to his father: The young master insisted we leave him with his friend, Lukios the Lion. As per our last report…and so on and so on, ad nauseum.

Nikias only raised an eyebrow, and the two guards shared a look. It was obvious they were trying to decide if it was worth kicking up a fuss. Throwing Lukios a stern glance, the two guards slowly peeled away, glancing at Nikias intermittently as they joined the party.

It was all rather comical. The two tall, burly guards stuck out in the crowd of Eirians, rather like horses amongst a pack of camels.

“Well, they’re gone now,” said Nikias. “Now I’ll ask you again: was it you?”

Lukios sighed. “I did not start the fire.” He paused. “I mean, why would I? It’s not like I have a history of arson, Niki.”

Nikias stared at the gutted Faravahar compound.

True. Lukios did not have a history of arson.

But he was Eirian-born and he did have a temper.

Lukios took in Nikias’ expression and snorted. “Here’s an idea. Let’s have a chat with the locals. You like that sort of thing, don’t you?”

“They are your friends.”

“We met today, Niki.”

“You always manage to charm them somehow.” It was true. Lukios always managed to wriggle his way into trouble, then he simply...smiled, and talked his way out. It was as baffling as it was infuriating—he always generated so much blasted paperwork.

One of these days, he’d tie Lukios down to a damn chair or nail his feet through the floor, though Nikias half-suspected that would do nothing to keep the man out of trouble. He’d start a riot by smiling at the wrong man at the wrong time, or something equally absurd. It was a losing battle.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Obviously not,” Lukios retorted, snorting, “since I haven’t managed to charm you for eight years running.”

“I’m an Astros, Lukios."

“Uh huh. So, what does that mean, exactly? You were born with a stick up your—”

“Lukios.”

“What?" The man grinned, completely unrepentant. "Would you rather I just thought it without saying it? That's not very honest, is it?"

Nikias sighed again—yet another Lukios effect. “I don’t understand how she didn’t just smother you in your sleep.”

Lukios' gaze went sharp and Nikias felt the arm around his shoulder tense before relaxing.

Hm. Well that was intriguing.

“Ba’an?” His smile was tight. “She on your mind a lot?”

She was. The woman was simply bewildering, and very much a witch. Nikias had sent some of his men around to the brothels and leatherworkers’, and they had done business with her for five years, exactly as she had said. It was troubling—what could she have possibly done to merit banishment, right after a disastrous war that had halved the witches in the People’s ranks, at best?

The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He was certain of who she was now: Vala-Tu’rins prized prodigy, who had been reported dead after the war. Well, that had obviously been an error.

What had Ba’an done that was so terrible that she had been banished, but not executed?

Was she a spy? What had she been doing, trading—or more accurately, ‘trading’—in Kyros right under everyone’s noses for five years?

She’d had five years, but she’d never bothered learning how to read? Or how to use an ink pen? Or understand basic legal parlance?

If this was a honeypot operation, Nikias failed to see the point of it. There were more influential men in Kyros than Lukios, and Nikias had seen no sign that she had been working her way up, and…

There was no way. She was…

…Well, she wasn’t ugly. Certainly not. She had elegant bones and dark, striking eyes, and even if she hadn’t had any fetching features whatsoever, Nikias was not cruel enough to refer to a woman as ugly. But she was so skinny—which made no damn sense, either.

Surely posing as a starving, exiled witch was not a winning strategy for a honeypot operation. Men enjoyed being heroes, yes, but not to women who resembled beanstalks with mop heads for hair, though it was true that such a thing would, and clearly had, worked on Lukios; this brought Nikias full circle, to the only obvious conclusion: this was about Lukios, and Lukios in particular. The man loved rescuing women. Slave women, freewomen, old women, young women, girls with clubbed feet and crossed eyes—the sadder, the better.

The man had a real problem with women, though he never seemed to want to marry any.

But that didn't quite fit, either, because...well. K'Avaari colluding with bandits? Outlander bandits? The very idea was ridiculous. Nobody trusted bandits, not even the illiterate peasant farmers that dotted the countryside; surely the A'tat would not be so foolish.

And besides, there were easier ways to arrange a coincidental meeting. A clean, well-coifed woman in trouble was a far more appealing bit of bait than a skinny, unkempt one with sharp elbows and a sharper tongue; the witch didn't act sad enough. She was the right kind of pot, but the wrong kind of honey.

And besides all that, Nikias could hardly imagine what she even wanted; why Lukios?

Rekos of House Helios would have been a better target, but she had let him die.

Nothing made sense. Nothing.

She was either the cleverest infiltrator Nikias had ever encountered, or the dullest. He wasn't sure which.

He would give Aika another day or so to find something, but after that?

Hmm. Well. Therein lay the difficulty—the decision, as it were, to let the woman leave and have her tailed—challenging, considering her prodigious abilities—or to find a way to keep her within his own domain, where he had control.

It would be so very easy to simply have her...disappear off the streets.

Easier, even, if he sent Lukios to Red Stride Canyon early. Then the man wouldn't be around to miss his Sander bedmate, and with no tribesmen to report to—as far as Nikias knew, anyway, and he did know these things—it would be the most perfect crime imaginable.

Except, of course, it was illegal, and Nikias was an Astros. The House of Stars stood for order, not against it, and he could not quite bring himself to stoop so low, not when he didn't even know what he was looking for.

If only there was something—an unpaid fine, contraband in her bags—something, anything to hold her with.

Surely the slavegirl would find something of note in the woman's things?

“No.” Nikias lied promptly. Telling Lukios he was seriously considering the merits of having his Sander witch disappear into the aether would be immensely stupid. “But I would have assumed a woman of her temperament would not have tolerated a man of yours.”

Lukios laughed. “Wrong,” he said, and he sounded very smug, indeed. “Ba’an loves my temperament. She loves my jokes, and my face, and my—”

“Stop.” Nikias grimaced. “We’re out in public and I don’t want to know.” The man had no shame whatsoever, which was useful in its own way, but sweet Athēnaíē, sometimes the things that came out of his mouth were just appalling.

“Uh huh.” Lukios was still chortling, though he did stop long enough to call out to another Eirian. “Hey! Neva! Look who came!”

The man turned. He was middle-aged, his beard streaked with grey, but like everyone else, he was sooty and sweaty.

No. Nearly like everyone else.

Lukios' chiton was spotless. Now how had he managed that feat?

The oblivious man waved. “This is my friend at the Archon’s office, Nikias. Nikias, this is Neva. He owns the butcher’s shop down the street.”

Ah. Neva Mumti Azlahi. Yes, he had lodged a complaint about this very compound and their activities multiple times, along with complaints about the local guardhouse. He had a modest butchery and two boys, though as far as Nikias knew, he had no wife to speak of. Dead, most likely.

Now this was getting interesting, wasn’t it?

The man put a hand over his belly and bowed. It was very Eirian, but Nikias had no complaints; kissing or hugging was off-limits, and so was shaking hands.

“Good evening, sir Neva. I am Nikias.” He disentangled himself from Lukios arm and mirrored Neva’s motion, inclining his head just enough to be well-mannered. Neva blinked, but otherwise did not react.

“Good evening, sir Nikias.” He glanced around. “I am sorry to meet you in such a manner.”

Nikias only smiled pleasantly and replied in perfect Eirian. Neva’s eyes rounded. “No need to apologize. I am pleased to see you and your neighbours are uninjured. Have you need of anything? The claims office will open again tomorrow morning, but if you had any other concerns, I would be happy to assist you.”

Lukios looked amused. “I did warn you, didn’t I, Neva?”

“You did,” the older man responded, sounding perfectly polite. “I would not be so uncouth as to take your time.” He glanced over at Iokras, who was chattering away with the members of the third district fire brigade. Nikias recognized Menousus and Phanakro, who were both looking a little too happy. How much wine had they had?

Surely they were not off-shift? What if there was another fire in some other home or business?

“I am shocked that the Archon himself is here. I did not know that we were so important.” Neva’s eyes were following Iokras, who was being his happy, smiling—but thankfully, not obviously idiotic—self.

Nikias continued smiling as he answered. “We had reports of an entire block ablaze.” He paused, then added, with emphasis, “Archon Iokras takes the safety of Kyrosians very seriously. He insisted on coming down to help with the efforts himself.” With encouragement. It was inadvisable for a new archon to avoid the site of an on-going disaster; it made him look cowardly. And on top of that, Iokras was young—in his early thirties. There was no excuse for not showing his face to his citizens during a crisis, particularly not after an unpopular predecessor.

Nikias glanced at Menousus and Phanakro again, who were laughing and now dancing with the local girls. A few men had come out with homemade tonbak and simple hand drums, and the air was filled with a sprightly Eirian folk tune. Someone began playing a dotar. More people joined in, and the streets became a moving tapestry of skirts and tunics.

Nikias eyed the scorch marks again, then caught Medoros’ eye when the older man glanced his way. Nikias tilted his head toward the western walkway inside the Faravahar compound, then returned to the conversation before Neva and Lukios noticed anything at all.

“—ly?” Neva’s tone was polite. Just barely. “How fortunate for u—”

Another man, an older one, with graying hair and an abundance of lines around his mouth and eyes, began to cackle. “That so, little Astros? Came all the way down here ‘cause we stone-suckin’, grain-hoardin’, sheep-fuckin’ southlanders are so bleedin’ important to yer archonship?”

Neva’s skin went blotchy. “Harya!” He smiled at Nikias, very thinly, then whirled around.

Harya only laughed harder. “Oh, get off it. This one’s an Astros. Lookit ‘em. Came down here to make sure we’re the only fuckers that burned.”

Now that was deeply offensive. Nikias preferred to have no one burn, because it had taken a great deal of effort to relocate so many merchants and other economically viable men with families to Kyros, Eirians included. It would be marvellously foolish to undo all his hard work over some historical grudge that had settled before Nikias had been born.

“I assure you that is not the case,” Nikias said mildly.

Lukios only laughed, and clapped Harya on the back before slinging his arm around his shoulders. Harya shot the younger man a look that clearly said, get your arm off my shoulders before I take it from yours. “You drunk already? Come on, don’t be mean to Niki. You’re embarrassin’ me.”

“Don’t take much to embarrass you, then, Lukios the Lion.”

Lukios’ smile froze on his face.

Neva blinked.

Hm. This Harya was rather sharp. Nikias was surprised that anyone had recognized Lukios in Kyros, especially since he’d gone to the trouble of dyeing his hair.

Harya only laughed again, but this time, it was right in Lukios’ face. He took the younger man’s arm off his shoulder, then clapped him on the back. “I’m jokin’. Call me when you take that bandit fort. I could use the drinkin’ money.” Then, with another little chuckle, he wandered away, grabbing an entire pitcher of wine from a passing woman and ignoring her indignant, “Hey!”

They watched him go.

Lukios cleared his throat. “Well, he’s in a good mood, huh?”

“He is.” Neva’s tone was flatter than bread from an iron pan. “Trust me.” He eyed Lukios, but seemed to think better of whatever he’d meant to say.

Lukios only smiled, put a finger to his lips, and winked. Neva raised an eyebrow. “We were more blessed than we knew.” The man’s tone had gone impressively dry.

“Yes, the fire does not seem to have spread too far.” This seemed like a good time to change the subject. It would be troublesome if news of the Lion’s return spread too quickly. These things had to be done with the appropriate pomp and circumstance: heroes didn’t slink back from the dead as failures. They came back in victory, with plenty of bandit heads and a rescued maiden fair.

At Nikias’ words, they all took a glance around. Three scorched buildings and one torn down, but this was not as bad as it could have been. The Faravahar compound itself was still largely intact; the timber had burned, but the walls were made of brick and rough-hewn stone. They had blackened, but held. Nikias would have to send inspectors out first thing in the morning to ensure the integrity of the affected buildings. A collapse would be disastrous, not only in lives lost, but for the optics. The news crier would bray about it for a week, at least, and Nikias had no doubt it would cast doubt on Iokra’s—and by extension, House Astros’—leadership.

Neva clapped Lukios on the back. “Everyone helped, and the gods were watching.”

Ah, of course. Lukios had undoubtedly hauled enough buckets for ten men all alone. Perhaps he had done a charming Eirian rain dance while he was at it, as well. Would this story soon involve the seduction of gorgeous and nubile goddesses, too?

All this, while dodging soot and smoke and keeping his clothes absolutely pristine.

Surely Lukios did not think Nikias was this stupid?

Seemingly oblivious to the younger man's thoughts, Lukios caught Nikias' eye and beamed. “Everything’s been handled, Niki,” he said. “You should have a drink. Hey, did you eat something? I think I heard your belly just now.”

He had. Nikias ignored the rumbling. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to walk around for a bit. Just to make sure everyone is…well.”

Which they clearly were.

Oddly, the Faravahar themselves appeared to be missing.

Lukios and Neva conspicuously did not glance at each other. “Well, why don’t we wander around together? We can snack and chat. Bet it’s been a while since you’ve had some real food.”

“I always eat real food, Lukios.”

“You eat bird food dressed up as real food.”

Nikias did not deign to answer. There was nothing wrong with his food. Overindulgence was a vice, and Nikias had no desire to develop gout in ten years; his dinners were often lavish, on account of being invited to this banquet and that. His personal meals, as such, had to be sparse and plain, to maintain a healthy balance.

Lukios slung his arm around Nikias’ shoulders again and began dragging him toward the…

…dancers?

“Lukios. Wait. The food’s—the food’s over the—”

But it was futile, of course.