Arete smiled at Ba'an very pleasantly, offering her a goblet of something sweet and floral.

Ba'an only stared, still as stone—or would have been, if not for all the jostling. The carriage hit another uneven stretch of dirt and the drink spilled over the side. One of Arete's girls hastily laid down her own shawl to keep it from dirtying her mistress' chiton or the plump, delicate cushions. Another girl kept the basket of food from upending.

Arete's handmaidens were silent but attentive, handing their mistress whatever it was that she wanted before she seemed to even know she wanted it; it was disturbing, how their eyes never seemed to leave the woman, forever watching for the smallest of cues.

Dita did not move to take the goblet, which Ba'an took as a sign that she, too, ought to ignore the offering. After all, there was no telling what was in it—perhaps the sweet smell masked a deadly poison, and though Ba'an did not think such a thing could defeat her magic, it would be deeply unpleasant.

Besides that, Lukios was just outside. If Ba'an collapsed, it did not take any mystical foresight to know how the day would end. He was already on edge, riding at the very fore of the procession with his usual cheer; no one would have guessed how agitated he was, but Ba'an could hear it: his soulsong dropped low, then high, then jangled again, even as he laughed at one of sir Askles' ribald jokes.

Arete took one look at Ba'an's face and laughed her merry, tinkling laugh. Ba'an knew better than to think the woman was really amused, now: the flighty air was merely an act. Gaios would never have sent along a silly woman, and most especially not if this silly woman was his own daughter, on an outing that could turn deadly.

No. Arete was no fool. Ba'an had seen that clearly enough that morning.

She had never imagined Nikias would be outmatched by a woman even younger than he was, and most especially not by a woman like Arete. It had been startling and sobering in equal measure: Nikias, with his give-nothing smile and his clever tongue, had been left sputtering as Arete simply waved his protests away with the sweetest, most harmless smile imaginable as her men took down his banners and replaced them with her own: an eagle standing atop a laurel crown. Ba'an could only assume this was the sigil of House Origos.

It had all happened so very quickly.

"Oh, do not worry, lady Ba'an. It's not poisoned—that'd be rather stupid, wouldn't it?" Arete gave a delicate little shrug and brought the goblet up to her own lips and sipped. "Mm. Truly, this is very good. It won't be quite so good once it warms, though. Are you sure you won't try some? They're from the central gardens. One of Niki's little orchards."

Another handmaiden leaned over with a square of cloth and dabbed Arete's lips.

"Kyria would never dream of accusing—" Dita's mouth snapped shut as Arete's gaze shifted and fixed on her, managing at a glance what Ba'an had failed to do for a nearly a day now.

"You ought to have that one whipped. They get a uppity without a little discipline now and then." Arete's smile never wavered as she spoke. "That one would never talk over one of us, you see? It's disrespect disguised as care." Then she shrugged again. "Of course, you need not take any advice from me. You ought to say something to Niki, though—just atrocious manners. Needs more educating."

Ba'an frowned as Dita squeezed her hands together and dropped her eyes.

"I thank you for the offer and advice." Dita glanced over at Ba'an, though Ba'an did not glance back. A show of deference now would be deadly, so the girl would have to manage on her own.

Arete laughed again. "Oh, you're welcome, then. Are you sure you don't want a drink?" One of the handmaidens reached into the basket and brought out a covered clay bowl. Ripe, shining olives and soft white cheese glistened in the wan light filtering through the curtains once the lid came off, and the girl offered it to Arete before a word about food was spoken.

"I am well."

"Well, if you change your mind, the offer is still on the…well, I suppose there's no table. It's floating in the air—or whatever else strikes your fancy." Arete's gentle, friendly expression never wavered. "Now. I believe we never got a chance to really chat, did we?" A girl took her goblet and Arete simply clapped her hands together the way she had during that first, horribly awkward breakfast, though it did not fool Ba'an again. "You did promise to tell me all about your little shopping trip, didn't you?" She gestured to the walls of the carriage as it jostled along and leaned forward. "To think! We have all afternoon together." She leaned forward, delicate smile widening until even her dimples beamed at Ba'an, all the more alarming for their charm.

"We ought to get to know each other better. Much, much better."

They were not fleeing.

The night had been a chaotic mess of packing and vacating the premises. Ba'an refused to refer to it as fleeing or even a retreat; they had all said their goodbyes with perfect comportment, though the twins had been missing. Everything had been as cordial as could be.

And yet there had been no mistaking the polite smiles and courteous kisses for anything but what they were: a thin, pretty layer of painted glass, to hide what bubbled beneath.

"No, Mai'ra," Ba'an said again, though she was certain it would not matter if she said it another ten times or another ten thousand times. "You cannot come with us. You must go with the nice man to another stable. There will be other horses there and you will not be lonely."

The nanny goat lowered her head, eyes fixed on Ba'an. "Baaaaa!" She dug in her hooves, refusing to budge.

Uchos only laughed and tugged her leash. "She sure is spirited, lady Ba'an!" He reached into the folds of his chiton and produced a small, wrinkly apple. "Here you go! Be a good girl and I'll give you something tasty later. How about that?" This caught Mai'ra's attention, and she slowly trotted toward him as he clucked his tongue at her and made sweet, silly noises. She pressed her snout against his chest, then tried to shove it into the folds of his chiton. "Haha, nope! Not now! Later! Later! La—hahah! Hahaha—ah—uh—la—lady Ba'aaaaan!"

Ba'an sighed and slung her arms around Mai'ra's neck as she attempted to headbutt the boy into submission. "No, Mai'ra. Why are you so ill-mannered?" How could such an adorable creature be such a bloody terror?

But Uchos only straightened his clothes with another endearing little laugh, as fresh as he had been hours ago, then reached out and scratched Mai'ra between the ears. This seemed to calm her, though it did not quite stop her from nosing her way into the folds of his chiton again. "Hahaha, nope! You be good first, then you get a treat!" He wriggled away, still scratching her on the spot just behind her ears. Mai'ra paused, then rubbed her head against him, this time bleating very sweetly.

Ba'an watched as he petted, teased, and flattered her terrible goat into trotting along beside him. He'd run a message for Nikias, and then another for Lukios, but his eyes were still bright and alert, his brow unmarred by sweat and unlined by worry. Now he was ferrying Mai'ra to a stable and then Ba'an's things—her wagon full of things—to a place called a 'warehouse', which Ba'an thought must be the same as a storehouse but bigger. Lukios had explained to her that they could rent something called a lot inside this 'warehouse', which was simply some space to place items in, and the owner of the 'warehouse' would then guarantee their safety.

It made sense—an outlander sort of sense. Of course someone would find a way to make money keeping other people's things safe; this was Illos. Items were not safe if they were left unguarded.

Yet she still felt a sense of discomfort as Uchos led Mai'ra away.

It was only that she did not know any of the men involved. He was taking her to a stable used by the central office to house their beasts of burden, and sir Nikias had assured her they were very professional.

But Ba'an knew Illos. The men were strangers whose loyalties would be bought with coin, the sort of loyalties that only lasted as long as the coin.

Would they treat her well? Mai'ra was so small, and yet her temper was…

Ba'an sighed. No, surely they would not whip an animal in their care. They were given coin to keep her hale and happy, regardless of how the animal behaved.

Surely all would be well?

"Aw. Don't fret sweetheart." Lukios put his arm around her shoulders, right on cue. "We'll be gone two days. She won't even notice. Really! She's a goat."

Mai'ra didn't even look back at them, again preoccupied with what Uchos had hidden in his clothes. It really was rather funny, the way he was dancing to keep his sad, shriveled apple from an enthusiastic goat.

Ba'an let herself lean against him. "Yes."

He kissed the top of her head, letting his mouth rest where it landed. "And we'll be away from this dirty, smelly, mud hole of a city." His lips moved against her shawl and she knew he was beaming. "Kind of worth it, actually, ha. Goodbye, Kyros! Hello, rolling hills and fresh air!" He raised his head and sniffed, then grimaced. "Yeah, it's rank here. Ugh."

"Yes." The streets were mostly empty now, and Nikias was a ways down the street, still speaking with his aide who appeared on the verge of weeping.

They would only be gone for two days. Surely the dramatics were not necessary?

As she watched, Nikias sighed and patted the man's upper arm through his himation. Yes, Nikias never touched anyone skin to skin, and it was no mystery why. The older man, Medoros, reached out for a hug, but he was too slow: Nikias avoided him easily with a simple sidestep, one that looked too natural to be unpracticed. The old aide's shoulders drooped. The look of sadness drained away, and he said something sharp. Surprisingly, Nikias only laughed.

Hm. No. Perhaps this Medoros was only thinking of the paper work that awaited him in Nikias' stead. Yes, that would certainly bring any man to tears.

Ba'an looked away, trying to keep from fidgeting.

What a mess this was—a grand old mess.

Trouble, Tik-tak Mal'uk cooed. Just as I said.

Ba'an refused to react, though somehow, Lukios always…noticed.

"…Sweetheart." He turned her gently so he could look at her, placing his hands on her cheeks. "None of this is your fault. No guilt, okay? Fucker had it coming for years. Years. It was just luck we fought over you and not something else. Just rotten old luck. Really."

Ba'an sighed. Around them, the streets were clearing as everyone went about their business. Nikias was speaking with another man, directing him toward the upper acropolis, and Ba'an knew they would set out toward the caravan park soon. For once Dita and her friends were not dogging Ba'an's steps, too preoccupied with making sure the carts were loaded correctly.

All she had with her were a change of clothes and her travelling cloak, her own waterskin, and a bag of whatever emergency supplies she had not sold or left with Merida: most of the ointments were from Eikolus' stand, and they were not as fresh as she would have liked. And yet she had not had the time to mix her own cures, so they would have to do. Ba'an only hoped no one would be injured seriously enough to need anything more complicated than a stitching and a stiff drink.

And she did not have her coat. There had been no time to fetch it from Merida's and besides—Nikias was coming.

It was sensible to leave it with her friend.

Unless they were attacked by bandits, that is.

It would not seem very sensible then.

She sighed again.

"It'll be fine," Lukios said. Ba'an tried to relax, though her mouth refused to curve upwards. He had spent most of the evening reassuring her, and she was certain he was tired of it now: even Ba'an was tired of it now.

But he had been adamant about the coat—downright stubborn, in fact. He was adamant about her leaving, too, once they returned, mired in some vague anxiety he would not share. Every time she questioned him, she found herself on the backfoot as his words simply curved around hers, jocular and slippery as a mudfish.

It was maddening.

She tipped her head back and placed her hand over his chest. Lukios had changed into a clean tunic, his new cloak over his shoulders and his sword in his belt, hilt bound by rope. He would not be able to draw it while in the city, though Ba'an hoped he would not need to do so in the wilds, either.

"One more time." It would have to be quick; Nikias was preoccupied now, but Ba'an did not think it would last.

Lukios only smiled down at her and placed his hand over hers. His warmth seeped into her as Ba'an focused, letting her magic touch him; she had already checked his ribs for fractures this way, though she had not had enough time to be thorough. She was certain he must have bruises. The pandura had not been as delicate as he claimed.

Lukios smirked. "Oooh. That tingles. Hey, how come you don't do that in be—"

"Lukios."

"Aw, come on, Ba'an. It'd be fun. Real fun. Hey, can you do, uh, little zaps? Not 'I'm gonna fry you up like fish' zaps, I mean like, itty-bitty ones—"

"Lukios." She sighed at him, making sure her expression was communicative. "Magic is not a toy. Do not make such absurd suggestions."

"Awwww. But Ba'aaaan, it'd be fun."

"No. You will die. That is not fun."

"Uh. It'll be fun right up until I—"

"Lukios." With a tired groan, she let her head list forward until her forehead struck his chest with a dull, defeated little thud, though he only laughed.

"I love it when you moan my name, but we're out in public, sweetheart. Hey, we should—"

"Nnnngh. You are impossible."

"Yes, he is. And we ought to get going." Nikias' tone was crisp as he came up behind them, though he was beginning to show bags beneath the eyes. Lukios only continued laughing, sounding delighted.

"That's right. I'm impossible. Too damn good to be true! The man of your dre—"

Ba'an rolled her eyes and walked away, somehow falling into step beside Nikias. "I don't understand how you didn't strangle him in his sleep," the man muttered, and she stared straight ahead, determined not to respond.

"—walk away now, but you know you'll be back for some—" Nikias' expression slid from neutral to appalled. Ba'an resisted the urge to slap her hand over her face.

"Yet," she mumbled as Lukios' voice followed them down the street. "Yet."

By the time they arrived at the caravan park, everyone but Lukios was drooping. It was incredible, how energetic he was; Ba'an ought to have expected it, but his stamina always astounded her anew. The servants pitched tents and set a fire going while curious neighbours looked on. One even greeted them, and Lukios greeted him back, clasping the darker man's hand with a cheerful cry of, "Sangani! Looking good!"

And then they hugged like old friends.

Ba'an blinked. Hm. Well, Lukios did have friends everywhere.

With a little shrug, she sat next to the fire, as did her entourage. They were all tired. The girls were nodding off, though they were doing their best to stay upright; as it turned out, their best was insufficient. Surreptitiously, Ba'an tugged a blanket from a wagon and draped it around the dozing serving girls, then fed logs into the flames until they roared. The wind was rather nippy, and it smelled like rain clouds moving in.

Lukios came to her on silent feet, though as always, she sensed him. He gave her a mug of something steaming. He glanced at the girls all curled up together and turned his face back to her with a sweet, dimpled smile. "Little present from Sangani," he said softly. Ba'an accepted the mug and took a delicate sniff.

Oh. It smelled sweet, but rich—a sort of creamy, nutty aroma she had not encountered before. Lukios looked at her and winked. "It's called cakalota." His voiced dropped even further. "You can't even get this in Heliopolis, most of the time. It's all the way from the island colonies, way down south."

She blinked at him. But the merchant had simply…given it to him? Lukios only smiled, understanding her question before it left her mouth. "I traded a little something for it. Nothing big." Ba'an glanced toward the big Yartan man, who only smiled and waved at her. He was clutching a rolled up parchment in his other hand.

Well, it really wasn't anything big. But how very odd—what could it be?

Lukios' smile widened as he leaned in. "Try it," he said softly. "I promise it's real good."

It smelled good. Ba'an took a cautious little sip.

Oh.

She took another.

Oh.

Lukios' grin was so wide now that it threatened to split his face. "Good, right?"

"Yes." Ba'an sipped again.

Yes. It was bitter and sweet, rich and nutty—like nothing she had ever tasted. Lukios looked more than a little pleased. "It's even better with some milk and honey—not as bitter. But there isn't any milk, and the honey's all at the warehouse." He sighed. "Next time," he promised.

Ba'an shook her head, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He looked more than a little pleased, now. "It is well. It is very good, Lukios. What is it called again?"

"Cakalota." He kissed her temple. She offered him a sip, and he obeyed, though she could see it was only to please her. "Once knew a guy who traded a whole damn horse for an palm-sized pot of this stuff. Thought he was crazy."

Ba'an raised an eyebrow. "That is very…" she glanced down at the mug. It did sound like madness.

But the cakalota was very, very good.

Lukios covered his mouth, though his shoulders still shook. "Not so crazy, huh?"

She cleared her throat. "A horse is…very expensive." And they had more utility, besides; the cakalota was merely a transient pleasure.

But it was very, very good.

Lukios' smile gentled. "Yeah. But that's nothing next to this, is it?" He reached up and touched a finger to her mouth, and Ba'an felt heat flood her cheeks. "Don't think he's so crazy now, really. I'd do the same."

"Lukios. That is very silly."

"Nah." His smile didn't waver, and the look in his eyes warmed her more than the fire. "His lady was from the islands, or from around there. Was mighty homesick. Thought she'd die without some. What's a horse next to that?"

Ba'an closed her eyes and leaned forward so her forehead was pressed against his chest. He reached out and held her gently, and Ba'an sat nestled against him, warm in every possible way beneath a quiet blanket of endless stars. "Lukios," she murmured, but the rest died unformed. The delicate, tender feeling welling in her defied description; there were no words. Words were paltry. She released one hand from around the mug and placed it against his rib, the one that had taken the blow from the pandura.

There had been no fractures.

But she was certain there were bruises. Large, ugly welts that were surely tender to the touch, though he did not complain; he only placed his hand over hers as he always did.

"Don't fret, sweetheart. Really. Really."

"You were lucky," she mumbled. "The pandura was neither light nor delicate. You must use more caution, Lukios, especially…" When Ba'an wasn't there. To fix him. "Hold still, Lukios. I will see if I can…" She dipped into her own soul, trying to remember what she had done during the sandstorm to replenish him, but Lukios gave her hand a firm little squeeze. He let out a soft, sweet little laugh, mindful of their sleeping companions.

"It's just a flimsy wooden box on a stick, Ba'an." He slipped gentle fingers beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. "Just a love tap. 'Sides, I'd take a hundred panduras to the chest. A thousand. I'd take 'em to the face. I'd take 'em every day and laugh if it meant…" His voice dropped even lower. "…If it meant…" He fell silent, gaze hot against hers. Ba'an stared into his eyes as the fire popped and crackled. His other hand pressed hers against his heart, singing an old, ancient tune beneath his ribs, thrumming through blood and bone.

"Lukios." Her tongue stuttered as her heart swelled. "That is—that is utterly—"

"—true." He shrugged, callused fingers, the same fingers that had nearly broken Leandros, sliding tenderly over her skin to rest on her cheek. "Ba'an. Sweetheart." His eyes seemed to swallow the light—they swallowed the stars, the night around them, until all she could see was her own face reflected back in the glint from the flames. "What I'm saying is—what I've been saying is—well. I…"

Ah, ancestors. By blood and water, his eyes were so clear. Ba'an felt her heart in her chest, singing the same song as his.

"I…"

There was a little rustle and a smack that sounded suspiciously like a palm being slapped over a mouth about to speak. Lukios froze. Ba'an slowly turned her head to glare at Calloe and Nene, who were huddled together and staring at them both with eager, shining eyes, as if they were watching one of those wretched outlander entertainments at an ampthurtuer. Theater. Amphitheatre. Yes. Whatever it was that they were called. One of those.

"Oh! Kyria! Kyrios! We—um. We didn't hear a thing! We were sleeping. Weren't we, Nene?"

"Oh, yes, yes! We were sleeping very, very deeply. We didn't hear a thing! Not a thing. And we weren't looking. At all. Were we, Calloe?"

There was a soft little snore from beneath the blanket. Dita stirred, but did not wake, turning over so her cheek was wedged against Nene's shoulder. Nene blinked, then shook her head, regaining herself. "No, no, of course not." The two girls looked at each other, then swivelled their heads to stare at Ba'an and Lukios.

"But kyria…kyrios…" Nene's voice was plaintive for someone who hadn't heard a thing or looked at anything much at all.

"…Aren't you going to kiss?" They both leaned forward, eager as hunting hounds.

Ba'an felt a muscle in her cheek twitch. Lukios stared at them, mouth slightly agape, and then he burst out laughing.

"Girls," he said, finally. "Get yourselves into that tent. Ba'an, too. She needs to sleep. A good, long, sleep without playing a round of fifty questions first. Got it?"

"That tent?" Ba'an frowned. "Lukios. Where will you sleep?"

He smiled and kissed her fingers, then her ring. "Out here."

"What?"

"Out here." He smiled. "We're engaged, not married. And I'm doing things proper this time."

Ba'an stared at him, aghast. His expression faltered. "Uh…that's usually not how you look when you're happy."

"Yes. I am not happy."

"Uh…"

Ba'an crossed her arms across her chest. "Lukios. Everyone already knows."

"I don't!" Calloe's voice was chirpy, right up until Nene's elbow met her ribs. "Ow!" Retaliation was swift. The taller girl pinched her attacker, who pushed her away and called out to them.

"Nobody knows a thing!" Nene's smile was brighter than the fire.

It was not very convincing.

Dita snorted, then abruptly sat up. "Calloe! Nene! The fire needs—" She blinked, looking at the hearty flames, then at the two girls. "Huh?"

"Uh," Lukios said. Then he gave his head a little shake and cleared his throat, facing her once again. "I mean…sweetheart. It's…it's how we're supposed to do things. Here. In Illos. When a man is…courting." He looked at Dita more than a little helplessly. "Right?"

Dita stared at him, dazed. "I…yes?"

"Right!"

Calloe and Nene glanced at each other, then at Ba'an. Then they turned their eyes on him the way a mother did toward a wayward son who had said or done something particularly stupid. "If you say so, kyrios."

Lukios looked at Ba'an. "I mean, it's…proper. To avoid sharing a tent. Before we're married." He looked at Dita again, clearly willling her to wake up and take his side.

The girl only drooped further. "Hm. Oh. Yes. Tents. Those are nice." She yawned.

Lukios momentarily wilted, before continuing doggedly, "Yes! They are. And you ladies are going to get in one and have a good night's sleep. Road's long and bumpy!" He turned his face to Ba'an and beamed.

Ba'an only looked at him and sighed.

And that was how she spent the night: wedged between giggly teenage girls who kept looking at her, then at Lukios' shadow laying at the mouth of the tent—for their protection, he had said, since there were many strange men about, as if the guards Nikias had brought were insufficient—and trying not to breathe in too deeply.

The girls were a little sweaty. Ba'an could smell them, and she did not enjoy their smell at all; Lukios' sweat was one thing. Nene's and Calloe's were another, and Ba'an deeply regretted not escaping up a tree.

Ba'an glared at Lukios' shadow. He stirred, seeming to feel her ire, but he did not poke his head into the tent, being far too fond of his head remaining between his shoulders.

And that was that.

Ba'an did not know if she slept; she must have, for she remembered small, strange fragments of dreams, and the dreams had been strange. In one she was standing on the sand beneath a hot desert sun, the sun of her childhood, her girlhood, the entirety of her life, waiting; what she waited for, she did not know, but the feeling in her chest had been an alien thing, a thing she could not put into words. Then there had been a scintillating cry, like the wail of an infant at the moment of birth, but shriller, higher, cutting through flesh and trembling though bone in a way no human voice ever could as the world shook and turned dark, and when she regained her footing she was no longer in the desert, but in the cool shade of an olive grove, a baby in her arms with Lukios' eyes, burbling and tugging at her shawl with the most beautiful smile in the world—

A woman's voice, familiar and unfamiliar. No, not her voice. Her song. Her soulsong, distant now but closing, closer and closer, and Ba'an frowned, staring across the glare of the sun above into the desert, straining her eyes, her ears, the frustrating wisp of memory—

Louder. Like wind-singing sticks striking the hot rocks, dry and echoing, chimes stunted, gaining ground and growing closer and closer; Ba'an held her baby against her chest, hackles rising with the chorus as the song gained ground, and suddenly, Ba'an remembered; she knew this song, she knew it, because it belonged to—

"Arete." Ba'an sat up, confused and disoriented in the dark, warm pile of bodies. Nene snuffled and shifted, kicking Ba'an's ankle, but the former witch paid it no mind.

Why had she dreamed of Arete?

It was so strange; the sound of her soul had been so real, getting louder and louder as if she were coming closer and closer. In fact, the dream had not faded entirely: Ba'an could still hear her now, as if she were coming down the main thoroughfare and approaching the gates, then pausing then…

Then…

No.

This was no dream.

Ba'an jerked forward, yanking the tent flap open. The sun had yet to rise, and the only men awake were the guards—fresh ones. One turned his head to look at her with distant curiosity before turning back to chatter with his friend.

Lukios' eyes were already open. "Ba'an? What's wrong?" He sat up. "Ba'an?"

"Lukios." She put her hand on his arm, willing him to remain calm.

"…Ba'an?"

"Arete, Lukios." He stared at her, eyebrows knitting together.

"She is coming, Lukios. Arete." Ba'an raised her head at the sound of men and horses. Lukios' head turned and she watched as his expression of concern slowly morphed into one of disbelief.

"No. Not coming—she is already here."