The Stormcrow Cycle [Slow-burn Slice-of-Life Tragic Fantasy Romance]

Interlude: An Unexpected Development

"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.