“She ‘itched ‘im. She ‘itched him. She—”

Epitus slumped over with an ugly little groan. Askles shifted him, subtly angling the man so that if he vomited, it would miss his toes. Still, he kept a firm grip on Epitus’ wrist and held the drunk man’s arm over his shoulders with ease—Epitus would not fall on his face on the way back unless he did something exceptionally foolish.

Epitus gurgled, then spat. Nikias refrained from commenting, though he knew Gaios would not have appreciated sputum in his courtyard.

If anything, the old man deserved it. It was a breach of decorum to end a banquet and fail to walk the guests to the gate.

But Epitus and Askles were commoners. They didn’t know enough to understand the snub regardless, so this was merely pettiness, pettiness and arrogance.

Lukios’ chiton hadn’t escaped Nikias’ notice, either.

Gaios was a remarkably vindictive man.

“’Kles. ‘Kles. She ‘itched ‘im.”

Askles looked disturbed, glancing between Nikias and Epitus. “I’m sure…she didn’t. Witch him.” His eyes flicked nervously to Nikias then away.

“I’m sure you are correct.” And he was. Nikias did not know of any spell or potion that could keep a man ensorcelled for over five months. Not any K’Avaari trick, anyway—such things were es’tat, and the K’Avaari were very serious about whatever it was they labelled es’tat. Very, very serious.

And if Lukios had been spellbound for so many months, he would have been reduced to a drooling, mindless idiot by now.

Lukios was neither drooling nor an idiot, so that possibility could be safely struck off the list. Perhaps there was a very small possibility that she had enchanted him recently, but Nikias was disinclined to think so.

No, Lukios had a much more mundane problem: he had been seduced. By a witch. An immensely powerful witch that Nikias and his agents had somehow missed.

Someone had not done his job. Nikias was not pleased by this revelation.

“’E din’t e’en wa-walk ‘s o-out. Y’see? Brothers fer years n’ he—went off—he—”

“Pitie, you’re drunk.” Askles sounded mortified, pulling his childhood friend toward the open gates. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s not himself, sir. He’s very drunk.”

Epitus made a noise that signalled vomiting was imminent. Askles very quickly dipped his head in a bow and hastened out. “Thank you for the banquet, sir Nikias. Pi—Epitus, you have to thank him. Pitus!”

Epitus was too busy trying to hold it in. He was beginning to look green, even in the dim torchlight. Nikias did not care if he vomited all over Gaios’ garden, but he could see Askles would be horrified and perhaps too deeply embarrassed to ever show his face again. For a baseborn soldier he had always been very mannerly—shockingly so.

Epitus, on the other hand, had been raised in a barn.

Literally.

“There’s no need to be so formal, Askles. None of us are strangers.” Nikias turned to the slaves that had followed with torches. “Guide them home. Make sure they return safely.”

“That’s—uh, thank you, s-sir. But we can…find our way back.”

“It’s dark and the streets are dangerous. I insist.” It was customary, especially here; there were no torches on public streets. Kyros was a shithole, though its location was conveniently strategic.

“Thank you, si—” Askles paused, clearly fighting the urge down, “—Nikias.”

Nikias watched them go, waiting the appropriate length of time, before turning and walking back into his study. Gaios’ study.

By marriage.

Really, the entire estate was Astros property, as was the entire city. The coin that had flowed into turning this pile of wood and stone into a city had come from Astros’ coffers.

They weren’t finished, of course. Kyros was still a shithole—but it would be a city of marble once they were done. Not to rival Astropolis, no, but once Nikias was finished it would be a trading hub between the desert and the Empire, white and gleaming, a beacon shining over the sand.

Once he arrived, he sat at the desk and gestured for some tea. A slave that had been waiting quietly against the wall peeled away to the kitchen to fetch it. Without looking up, he added, “And bring Euthus while you’re out.”

“Yes, kyrios.”

Nikias noted that the pile of papers on his desk had grown. This was to be expected; his slaves brought round whatever missives were left over at the office every evening after dinner. Nikias did not habitually spend his later hours in idle leisure; he could not.

He was the half-Sander heir to House Astros. He could not be anything but exemplary.

Complaints. Reports. Hm. No, this one was…ah, yes. Nikias smiled grimly. It seemed many of the ruling elite had gotten rather fat and lazy during his predecessor’s reign. Many seemed to believe they could continue skipping out on their fair share of taxes; they were in for a very rude awakening.

Nikias set those reports aside. He’d have to invite everyone over for a dinner party with Gaios and his men. A subtle show of force was always more effective than politely worded missives.

More complaints. Building plans were finished; well, that was good. And…

Nikias almost sighed.

Not even a full day back, and Lukios had already generated two complaints. Typical. The man couldn’t keep himself out of trouble even if his life depended on it—which it often did. Naturally, he was also the luckiest son of a satyr alive, landing on his feet with more consistency than a cat.

Case in point: he was alive, and had even sauntered out of the desert with a witch on his arm—a ludicrously powerful witch that Nikias had never even heard of, never mind met.

Nikias shuffled the papers to the side of his desk to make space for a map. He walked to the bookshelf behind him, picked out the scroll he wanted, then returned to his desk. A detailed map of the desert unfurled on its surface beneath his hand.

Hm. Ba’an. Ba’an. It was certainly not a very common name, but it was not uncommon either. He was sure there had been some prodigy with the same name, though he could not recall which tribe she had been from. He had not heard news of any witch named Ba’an since the war ended, and he was almost certain the prodigy had died.

If she had not, he would have met her already at one of the meetings with the A’tat. The K’Avaari enjoyed bringing powerful witches to diplomatic meetings, though Nikias knew enough tricks himself to keep their…influence limited.

But this ‘Ba’an’ was powerful. Immensely powerful. Nikias took belaruna as a matter of course but he had still felt her, felt her so strongly that it was as if he had not taken any at all, and she had been nearly three full strides away. She had simply stripped him bare and taken his measure without laying a single finger on him, and he had nearly bolted from his chair.

But the most unnerving thing of all was that he had not sensed anything unusual about her whatsoever—right until the precise moment she had used her magic.

Her self-control was complete. Perfect. He had thought her comportment witch-like but had assumed her a healer-assistant in a shi-vuti because she had felt so plain, so mundane—and she looked it, too, with her painfully skinny face and limbs.

But she was far too powerful to merely be an assistant. She was a witch. There was no question about it, though—was this not very strange? Witches were rare and precious. No tribe would have allowed one to leave simply to return an errant outlander, and if they had, she would have had a full honour guard, though…perhaps the Circle had exercised some wisdom here, to keep from antagonizing all Kyros with a show of force?

But even then, it was exceedingly odd. Why had he not met her before? Nikias knew all the active witches of every tribe in the area, all the way out to the edge of the deep desert. If they had attended a meeting of the A’tat, he knew them. So why? How had Ba’an slipped beneath his notice?

He tapped the little dots that represented the closest saa-vuti vur with his finger.

Logically, she would have to be from a local tribe. The closest was Vala-Tur’in. The second-closest was Bata-Hau’sa, but calling them ‘close’ was a misnomer; it would take weeks to get there on horseback.

But Vala-Tur’in only had two witches: Nur-Yai’na salu-Salu’ka and Kos-Ra’ya salu-Vaa’ti. Neither of them would have been given a seat before the war had depleted their choices, and Nikias had difficulty seeing them as anything other than children.

They were not nearly as powerful or experienced as Ba’an, and if Ba’an had been a member of Vala-Tu’rin, she would have been their senior witch—he would have dealt with her.

Ba’an could not be from Vala-Tu’rin. He would have met her already.

So where had she come from?

The slave brought in his tea and placed it on the desk, along with some finger-snacks he had not asked for. Hm. Perhaps discipline was lacking in this household?

No matter. How Gaios ran his household was no business of Nikias’. Besides, Euthus had arrived.

“Master?” Euthus knelt respectfully, so all Nikias could see was the thick mop of light brown hair on his head. He was a short, round man with a broader belly than most, though he had an unobtrusive presence; he was boring to look at, to the point that the wall was preferable. Euthus was perfect for most errands.

“Rise and report, Euthus.”

“We intercepted a messenger at the gate.”

“House Helios?”

“Yes, Master. The situation was resolved…quietly, as commanded.”

“Good. Have them continue. No leaks, no noise, no eyes.” Nikias would have to discuss this with Lukios tomorrow. This was a sensitive matter, and it would not do to allow House Helios—or anyone else—to announce it first.

The Lion had returned from the dead. It was big news, and big news always came with opportunities. Nikias had not been in Heliopolis at the time of Lukios’ supposed death, but he had contacts there. He had heard there had been rioting in the streets, and it had lasted over a week.

And now that Rekos was dead—well, wasn’t it a fine time for House Astros to extend another helping hand?

“Yes, Master Nikias.”

He left, and Nikias was left to ponder alone once more.

Perhaps ‘Ba’an’ was not even her real name. It stood to reason. Lukios had jumped in the moment Nikias had asked for her name-chain, and he knew the reason was false: Lukios had been speaking to her in K’Avaari a moment before. Nikias had not heard him, but he had had a good view of his lips as he whispered into her ear.

Lukios learned very quickly, and he had already known some K’Avaari before his unfortunate run-in with the bandits, so it stood to reason that his grasp of the language had improved.

Nikias did not want to believe his old friend was lying to him, but it would be foolish to assume he was not. Lukios lied if it suited him, and sometimes he did it without even opening his mouth; the man was shockingly good at misdirection, and he was besotted with the woman. It had been obvious to the point of being painfully embarrassing to witness, and Nikias had recognized the look immediately. His father had worn it often enough when his mother had still been with them.

And if that look hadn’t been evidence enough, well…

He’d given the woman all his crab. All of it.

No wonder Epitus believed he’d been ‘witched.’

Well, there was no helping it. Lukios would learn the same lesson Nikias had the hard way: a witch was always a witch before she was a woman, lover, or mother. It was simply the way they were raised and molded.

Hm. Now there was a thought. Why had such a powerful witch even bothered with an outlander in the first place?

…Had they recognized Lukios? Or…perhaps his ring?

Perhaps she was not only a witch. Perhaps she was one of their infiltrators.

Nikias leaned back in his seat and considered the possibility. That would explain things rather neatly. No one would bring an infiltrator to sit in on a meeting with the A’tat, even if she had travelled with the diplomatic envoy—it would be the height of foolishness. And it would be incredibly foolish indeed to send her with an honour guard. That would be far too obvious.

And if she was an infiltrator, the question became this: what did they want?

Well, there was only one way of finding that out. Ba’an was only here for another few days, however, so…

Nikias would have to work very quickly.

He stood and walked to the door. His personal guards peeled away from either side of the entryway and fell into step behind him.

He would go to the barracks now, to the records room. The very first thing he had to do was confirm that Vala-Tur’in had never had a witch named Ba’an at any point in time. He would also have one of the slaves befriend her and shadow her at all times. Who was that one that had taken her to her bath? Aika? One of Gaios’. Nikias would have to borrow her.

He thought of Lukios again.

It would be stupidity to say anything to him now. But he would have to be dealt with, sooner or later, and…if Ba’an was the thing Nikias thought she was, then well…she would not return to the desert. She would not be going anywhere with Lukios, either, regardless of what he thought.

The man would be heartbroken, but it was better to learn hard lessons sooner rather than later. She had likely only seduced him for access to House Helios, anyway, and Lukios wasn’t slow, merely emotional. He would understand—eventually.

But for now—

Lukios had brought them a very fine gift from the desert, and it would be vulgar to refuse it.