It was raining when they left the bathhouse, exactly as his notes had predicted. Which was why they would dine in his mother's rooms. It had been awhile since he looked around, he supposed a part of him was still a little boy told off for looking around her vanity. It was an ornate one, a wedding gift from his grandfather, and came with a sizable collection of pins and jewelry to fill its drawers. That wasn't the only thing, she kept her private letters in there, and no doubt sickeningly sweet notes from Galer. He shuddered, truly it had been a horrible day when he looked.

Her clothes weren't kept in her rooms, she never liked leaving clothes in trunks, something about moths and smells. There was a door on the right side wall leading to the underused nursery. The room next to the nursery was his childhood bedroom, still equipped with his wooden toys and clothes.

When he was shown the room, Olus sniffed disdainfully at the wooden hoop and toy horse, but his attention was quickly caught by the collection of army soldiers. He made to reach for them then pulled his hand away, crossing it firmly on his chest.

"You can play with it you know," said Aleci, watching Olus's indecision with amusement. He continued in a mock whisper, "It's not childish if no one sees you playing with them."

From what he'd seen of Olus's arms, and the scab on his cheek, the boy's current mission to bell the tom was more failure than success.

"Isn't it... mean of you?" he whispered to Finne under his breath when Olus's back was turned.

Finne shrugged, "Patience."

This garnered a reaction, "I am patience!"

Aleci snorted, Olus was truly the epitome of patience, red faced with his hands on his hips.

„Have you tried being nice?" said Finne with a raised eyebrow.

Olus responded with a huff and a stomp. But he did go to Aleci's old rooms, much to Aleci's amusement. Finne shook his head, watching him go, but not before saying something to him along the lines of 'come back for dinner'. It was precisely the tones his mother used, kind and firm, though when she caught him snooping through her vanity it was more exasperated. Speaking of vanity, he stared at the chair and the pins that were in the drawers.

"Sit," he said. Aleci stood behind him, frowning in concentration. His first attempt at braiding Finne's hair resulted in a long silence. He thought Finne was offended at the plaited braids he'd pinned together, with one of his mother's silver pins, in a half crown. Finne touched it gingerly, and when Aleci held out the small mirror for him to look, he stared at his reflection for a long time.

"Do you like it?"

Aleci blinked, puzzled at the reaction. What he liked? "It looks better than tying it up," he said, at a lost of what to say.

"You want an Alyssa woman?"

His own baffled expression stared back at him. "What?"

Finne had gradually stopped wearing the stola altogether, opting for the same tunics that Aleci wore. At first Aleci thought it was more for convenience, it was impractical to train in a stola after all, what with its silky fabric wrapping around the wearer. His wife's daily activities certainly didn't make wearing women's clothing practical. He could simply ask Finne, his Imrukian was improving after all, but he would be deaf and blind to not notice that Finne ignored questions on purpose. He could press Finne, but he didn't want to, their conversations were significantly less one-sided, now that he made an effort.

"If you look like a Capital woman," he said, deciding to speak in a tongue he was familiar with, "I wouldn't have married you."

"No?" said Finne.

„I don't like women," said Aleci, deciding to switch to Imrukian for emphasis. "Unfortunately, most men can't have children, so..." he shrugged, deciding it was best to not mention Galer.

„Do you want children?"

He blinked, taken aback by the question, "I don't think about it."

"Why?" said Finne, wide-eyed and his gaze flickered downwards before meeting Aleci's eyes in the mirror.

This was one of those situations where his mother would no doubt chastise him. "I like your company," Aleci blurted out, trying to fix the gaffe. Of course Finne would ask! "I don't know how many children you want but I would rather you than a possible child." He didn't want to explain what health was, and didn't want to wait for Maera to translate.

"Finne?" he repeated, when the silence stretched between them, Finne's face inscrutable in the mirror.

„You are strange," said Finne flatly, turning to look at him.

„Strange?" echoed Aleci, the word unfamiliar to him. "Is this... good or bad?"

Maera chose that moment to come in with the food which Finne took as an opportunity to slip out and find Olus. It was somewhat of a talent Finne had, finding Olus. The following days only proved this observation right.

It was hard to find Olus, near impossible at times. The boy spent his mornings and afternoons roaming around the villa in search of the black cat. Olus had tried catching it while it was sitting in Finne's lap one day and gotten another series of scratches for his troubles. It didn't seem to daunt him, if possible, it made him even more determined. There was no instant during the day that he could find himself alone with the boy. At night though, he was with Finne, curled up around his wife as Finne read one of Aleci's books to him. Finne occasionally stopped reading to draw pictures, as it was a long running complaint of Olus that, as Aleci understood it, 'what kind of story book doesn't have pictures?'.

The benefit to listening in to his wife's stories was that Finne told it in Imrukian and he caught on quickly to the words. After the stories Finne would carry the boy back to his room. Since moving to his new room Olus didn't give the slightest bit of attention to Maera, except for the polite responses he would give to her. It was the same response and distance Finne used to show him. But then again, Olus wasn't familiar with Maera. He was familiar with Finne. Though that didn't make sense either.

He ran the thought around and around in his head. Mulling over it, and wasn't that a hard task, because he only ever thought about numbers and wine these days. Then Brissa's address to Maera and Olus's word to Finne came barrelling in, worst than an intense migraine. „Mamaí." Finne would have told him, wouldn't he? He could have simply said he'd had a child. Just because the question were on his tongue didn't mean that he could speak them. It was like walking on an icy lake with Finne most days, an unwanted question would break the fragile serenity they had between them. He should ask Olus, he thought, some light innocent questions out of earshot of Finne that would at least reveal whether or not the boy was really Finne's son.

The chance came to ask Olus one rainy day when Finne felt unwell again, the vomiting keeping him up all night and morning found him curled up in bed, face pale and sweaty.

"Sleep," he said, running a hand through Finne's grimy hair. "I'll go see to things."

He pulled the blankets over Finne's body, making sure that an empty basin was well within reach. Now to find Olus, he thought, triumphant. There were no chasing cats today. He strolled leisurely to his old room, and at the shouted agreement, he opened the door to find the boy had built an elaborate fort out of rocks and sticks he'd found throughout the villa. Half of Aleci's wooden army men was organized on one side and half onto the other. It wasn't any formation Aleci was familiar with, it must be an Imrukian army. The boy was doing a running commentary about how a battle was fought and which side was the winner.

"Good afternoon, Olus."

Olus glanced at him, then turned back to the wooden soldier he had in his hand, "Good afternoon, Dominus Aleci."

"Do you want to play Latrunculi with me?"

The boy placed the wooden soldier to the side, to look at him curiously, "And what do I get, if I win?" said Olus. Then with a cheeky grin, "You know Imrukian, why should I teach you?"

"Well, how about this? If I take a piece, I ask you a question, and if you take a piece, you ask me a question."

"I don't like that. It's boring."

"How about I ask Maera to cook you anything you like, for a week if you win? Within reason?"

Olus perked up at this particular bribe head, "Deal."

His face immediately fell when Aleci took one of his pieces not a moment before starting the game.

"Where did you live in Imruk?"

"In the big house," Olus scoffed. Olus took two of Aleci's pieces and scowled when he lost a piece to Aleci.

"What does „strange" mean?"

"I thought you knew Imrukian," said Olus with childish pride, "It means not normal, you know, like a woman with water snakes in her hair. That's not normal."

So he found Finne's drawing of Cione fascinating rather than creepy. Aleci filed the fact under things he would never understand about children. "What's your favorite food?" he asked, moving another piece on the board.

"Are you asking so you can tell Maera when I win? It's the fried cheese. I like those."

"What was your mother's favorite food?" he said, taking another piece of Olus's, subtlety be damned.

Olus paused at this, frowning at him, "Why do you ask?"

"My mother's favorite food was dried dates. You can tell a lot about a person by what their mother likes."

"That doesn't make sense at all." Olus squinted suspiciously at him, then shrugged, "But if you really want to know, it's iced sugar berries."

"Iced sugar berries?"

"You have snow," said the boy, patiently, and there was that patient tone Finne took with him when explaining or pronouncing an Imrukian word. "And you have berries, and you mix it with honey and cream, and you beat this into the ice."

"I've never had it," he glanced at the board, realizing he'd made a mistake earlier and the next turn would make Olus the winner.

"You haven't gone to Imruk in the winter. It's the best. Not as much as the fried cheese, it's the best-est." Olus looked at the board, moving to capture Aleci's pieces, and gleefully proclaiming, "I win! Ha!" Then he leaned close to Aleci, close enough that Aleci could see the green in his eyes. "I want to play again," said Olus, "I'm asking the questions this time."

"Isn't that what I said earlier?" Aleci said, trying very hard to reconcile why he had been so bafflingly idiotic.

"Yes, and your questions are stupid," Olus sniffed, crossing his arms. "They really are. How can you even tell what a person is like from what food their mother likes?"

"It's true," lied Aleci cheerfully, setting the board again.

He let his first token be taken, curious as to what question Olus would ask of him.

"You're married," said Olus, and then with the bluntness of a brick, "Don't married men beat their wives?"

"Why do you ask that?" said Aleci, shocked.

"I win! You said I could ask the questions!" said Olus, crossing his arms, "Is it true? That all men beat their wives?"

"I don't," said Aleci, and even he knew his mouth was half-opened in shock. "So it's not true."

"But why?" said Olus, pushing the board away to stare at Aleci, "Why don't you?"

"Because..." Aleci stared at Olus's earnest expression, struggling to find an explanation the boy would easily accept. His gaze fell to the board. "You see this board right?" He set up the board, making sure to put the pieces into the familiar set up of the first game he bested Olus with. "If you saw the pieces like this again, would you make the same move as you did before?"

"No," said Olus. "Because I'll lose." He frowned. "I don't know what you are saying. What does this—" he gestured to the board, "have anything to do with my question?"

"But if you kept on making the same move over and over again—"

"Then I'm stupid," said Olus irritably. "And a «loser». What does this have to do with my question?"

"That's what happens when you beat your wife," said Aleci, deciding to target the boy's penchant for victory as the basis for his explanation. "You're not a winner."

"But—" Olus's frown deepened so much his forehead was wrinkled, "I don't understand."

"Do you think I'm a good Latrunculi player?" said Aleci.

"No," said Olus, adding, calculatingly, "Dominus Aleci."

How polite of him, Aleci thought, amused, "Are you a good Latrunculi player then?"

"Yes."

"What do you think makes a good player?"

"They win."

He only had himself to blame for asking that question, "Well, yes, but, they learn from their mistakes. They don't do the— " he paused, guessing the meaning of the Imrukian word, "«loser» move over and over again and expect to win." Olus still looked confused, and if Aleci hazarded a guess, underneath all that was frustration. "What happens when you hit someone?" said Aleci forgoing the connection to Latrunculi altogether.

"They get hurt if you hit them hard enough," said Olus.

"Yes, and how does that make them feel?" Why did no one give Olus this talk?

"They... are...." a long pause, "scared? Of you?"

"Exactly." Then at Olus's frustrated stomp and kick at the air, he said, "Olus, what is the point in making someone, that you live in the same house with, that you vow to protect, scared of you?"

"Then why do men do it?"

"I'm a man, I don't do it." It was a rather mean philosopher tactic, forcing people to think but in this case he appreciated their tactics. "Did I answer your question?"

"You are terrible at answering questions," said Olus, standing up, and stomping his foot. He looked exactly, if Aleci bothered to reflect, like how he himself had exited the philosopher's gardens. "I'm leaving."

Olus stood, and made to go out the door to the adjourning courtyard and only stopped when he realized it was still raining. Olus scowled, turning back to him, "May I ask you to leave, Master Aleci? Is that rude? I don't care. I want you to leave."

"It's your room," said Aleci, his questions answered. "I'll see you at dinner then." There was no answer and the door clicked firmly shut behind Olus.