Like Fire Through Bone (10 page)

One of the serving women nodded as she took the tablet, and Vasilios turned and headed for the door.

Panagiotis was reclining on one of the blue silk upholstered couches when Vasilios entered the receiving room. On the other side of the room, Markos stood, in full military uniform, complete with woolen cloak and helmet tucked under his arm. Vasilios went to his knees immediately, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

“General Markos,” Panagiotis said, voice wheezing, “you wish to speak to me about something?”

Panagiotis shot a knowing look from Markos to Vasilios, who had been peering up a little through his lashes.

“You seem to be fond of my Vasilios, General.” Panagiotis continued, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips. “And he is still a pretty thing. If you were hoping to bed him, all you need do is ask. I would gladly lend him to you.”

Vasilios felt all the blood run to his face, and he didn’t dare even peek in Markos’s direction.

“I know he’s not a jewel,” Panagiotis said, “and no longer young and fresh, but we men do have our weaknesses, and I can be discreet about such things.”

“Actually, my lord, I did come here to ask if you’d lend him to me,” Markos said.

Still kneeling on the floor, Vasilios froze, all his thoughts flying apart to become a jumble of images and emotions. His stomach lurched as his heart began to beat too fast. He fought every instinct to look up at Markos and see the expression on his face.
Not like this
, his mind chanted over and over again.
I don’t want it to be like this
.

Panagiotis laughed and clapped his hands delightedly.

“Although,” Markos said, voice still politely disinterested, “I do not have any interest in bedding him. I would, however, like him to accompany me to inspect that piece of land you have procured for me, since he has been so instrumental in the whole transaction, and I can hardly ask you to accompany me, my lord, your health being what it is.”

Vasilios drew in a small, shaking breath, hoping he wasn’t attracting attention. His pulse was still beating a little too fast, and his stomach felt unsettled with a mixture of lingering fear and relief.

“Yes, all right, if you wish.” Panagiotis rubbed his hands together, watching Markos closely. “Just don’t make off to the provinces with him. He’s worth a great deal, you know.” He laughed at his own joke.

“If you even suspect that I might do such a thing, you have my full permission to go to the Emperor directly,” Markos said, and Panagiotis waved one hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Oh no, I do not believe you would make off with him. After all, why steal what you could easily buy if you wanted? Vasilios,” Panagiotis turned to where Vasilios knelt on the ground. “Go and pack your bags. You will be going with General Markos and attending to his every need, you understand me, boy?”

From where he knelt, Vasilios nodded, and Panagiotis snapped his fingers. “Go on, go.”

Vasilios stood, keeping his eyes on the ground, and bowed to both Panagiotis and Markos. Then he fled upstairs to his own room. His hands were shaking, and when he was inside the room with the door firmly shut, he clenched them at his sides. After standing there for several minutes listening to himself breathe, Vasilios finally moved across the room to his clothes chest, pulled out his one canvas bag, and began to pack clothes and other things into it.

T
HERE
was a knock on the door, and Vasilios jumped a little. He told himself to stop being such a fool and went to open the door. Bröndulfr was on the other side, his expression slightly concerned.

“The master wants to know if you’re done?” Bröndulfr asked, and Vasilios nodded, picking up his bag.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Are you all right?” Bröndulfr asked as Vasilios followed him out into the hall. “I saw you bolt out of the blue receiving room earlier like you were being pursued by restless spirits.”

“I’m fine.” Vasilios looked away, not wanting to talk about it, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bröndulfr shrug his large shoulders.

“All right, then.”

They went down the hall toward the front entrance where Markos stood talking quietly to one of the house guards. When he looked up and turned toward them, Vasilios bowed low, and kept his eyes firmly down.

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lord General.”

“Good.” Markos’s voice still lacked its usual warmth. “We should be going, then.”

Vasilios pulled his scarf up over his head. Bröndulfr threw him one more questioning glance before Markos led the way outside and across the courtyard. There were two horses tethered by the gate with Markos’s young aide—Patros, Vasilios thought his name was—standing by them.

“You….” Markos hesitated as they drew closer to the horses. “You ride with Patros, all right?”

“All right.” Vasilios gave the horse a wary look. He’d never been good at riding. Patros came over to them, took Vasilios’s bag, and attached it to the back of the saddle.

“Come on.” Patros mounted the horse with apparent ease and then smiled down at Vasilios. He held out his hand, and Vasilios grasped it and tried to remember everything he knew about riding. He fumbled and slid a little, trying to get onto the back of the horse behind Patros, and was a little proud of himself for not falling.

Beside them, Markos mounted his own horse. Vasilios slid his arms around Patros’s waist, and held on tight as they started to move. The guards pulled the front gates open for them, and then they were on the street. It appeared slightly different from this vantage point.

They arrived at Markos’s house quickly enough. Markos dismounted, and Vasilios slid down off his horse as well, stumbling a little in the process.

Markos led the way inside. They entered the little receiving room, and Markos sat on the couch with a sigh.

“First, I need to apologize for taking you away at such short notice,” Markos said as Vasilios stood by the door. “The Bishop performed the exorcism last night and was not able to cast out the demon, although we did encounter it and managed to enrage it quite a bit.” Markos smiled without humor, dragging his fingers through his gray curls. “The Bishop’s physicians are seeing to his wounds even now.”

Vasilios’s head jerked up at that, and he stared at Markos. “Is the Bishop all right?”

“He’ll be fine.” Markos shook his head. “It’s not a serious wound.”

“And the creature? It’s still out there?”

“Yes.” Markos clenched his hands. “Which is why I need your help again. I’m going out into the desert to find this hermit Theofilos spoke of and beg her to come and help us before another child is killed. I would like you to accompany me in this.”

“Why?” Vasilios asked without thinking and then flushed. “I mean, of course. If I am needed, then I will go.”

“I need you because you are the only one with direct presage of this thing, and it is your story that I believe will be the most compelling,” Markos said. “And of course, you could say no. I’m not going to drag you into the desert against your will.”

Vasilios looked at him. Markos’s gaze dropped away.

“He’s right, you know,” Markos said abruptly. “Panagiotis, what he said.”

Vasilios’s heart almost stopped, then it started again double time, and he could feel the palms of his hands sweat. Markos must have seen some of Vasilios’s shock because he shook his head.

“About me being able to buy you easily,” he said. “And just to be clear, I would never force anyone to my bed.” He gave Vasilios a long and serious look. “I know, given your position relative to my own, you would never be able to say no.”

Something inside of Vasilios that had clenched painfully since Panagiotis had made the offer of Vasilios’s body back at the villa, loosened slowly.

“As far as the buying you, though,” Markos said, “I could do it. I have the money, even as expensive as you are.”

A totally new kind of cold dread knotted in Vasilios’s stomach, and he opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t quite sure what—when Markos overrode him.

“I wouldn’t, though,” Markos said, staring directly at him now. “I don’t want to own you, Vasilios.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Markos finally looked down at his hands with a sigh. “I could buy your freedom, though,” he said softly.

“No.” Vasilios shook his head, speaking before he could stop himself. “Panagiotis will never sell me. I am too great an asset to his family.”

“Well, I will try,” Markos said. Vasilios felt a spike of anger. He did not want to hope, especially since he knew Panagiotis would never let him go. His freedom was ultimately a false hope. How dare Markos act as if it could be anything else?

“No,” he said sharply. “I do not want you to try. I do not want you to hand me the possibility of freedom only to have it taken away again.”

“What am I to do, then?” Markos’s voice was hard. “I cannot simply let you remain owned and used. To see you this way is killing me. You are far too precious to me for that.”

Vasilios noticed the dark circles under Markos’s eyes and lines of strain around his mouth. His anger slowly drained away. He was overwhelmed by tenderness for Markos, who had, over these last few minutes, been so honest and open with him. Vasilios struggled to find something to say in return. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I do not think it is possible. Panagiotis will never agree to sell me. But—” He licked his lips and felt his throat go dry. “—I would like us to be equals,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, hoping he wasn’t saying or doing the totally wrong thing in this situation. “I would like to be able to say no.”

Or yes,
hung in the air between them.

Markos was looking at him now with an expression Vasilios had never seen before—open, tender, and hopeful all at once.

“Yes,” Markos said after a long moment. “I would like that too.”

Vasilios took a long, careful breath, feeling too full of emotion and too close to breaking.

“We need to go now,” Markos said, smiling back at him, a small, soft smile full of light. “We have a desert holy woman to find.”

“Yes.” Vasilios couldn’t stop smiling. “Is there something I can do?”

“No, just wait here while I change into something more practical and get my bags,” Markos said as he stood and headed for the door.

Vasilios sat on the couch as soon as Markos was gone. Too much had happened too soon, and he was still trying to process it. His head felt light and slightly disconnected from everything around him. He’d admitted to having feelings for Markos, wanting him, wanting to be his equal. Markos hadn’t gotten mad, hadn’t struck or beaten him. Not that he’d thought Markos would, but he couldn’t even imagine what someone else might do if they’d known he’d even thought such a thing. More than that, though, Markos had admitted to wanting Vasilios too, and not as a slave, not as Panagiotis had offered him.

He told himself sternly to calm down and not get excited. He was still owned, still part of Panagiotis’s property, with no way of obtaining his own freedom.

To think about what they could have if things were different, to dwell on what Markos had said to him, would be torture. Better to put it out of his mind now, and move on.

Markos pushed back open the door. Dressed in a heavy wool tunic, heavy Northern-style trousers, with a cloak and heavy boots, he carried a travel bag over one shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

Vasilios stood, and Markos turned and led the way back through the house. “How well do you ride?”

“Not very well,” Vasilios admitted. “I generally don’t have much reason to.”

“All right. You can ride behind Patros, then,” Markos said and headed over to his own horse where he tied the packs to the back of the saddle, like Patros had with Vasilios’s. Patros walked over to them, also dressed in dark nondescript trousers, short tunic, and cloak like Markos. He mounted and helped Vasilios back up into the saddle. They rode southeast through the city, heading for one of the many gates that led out into the countryside.

Vasilios watched the streets as they passed through them. There were large, sprawling villa complexes and clean, tiny stone-paved roads, changing into hard-packed dirt streets with small houses built so close together they were almost touching. They passed merchants’ stores and traveled through marketplaces with their open-air stalls shaded by brightly colored awnings.

As they drew closer to the wall that surrounded the city, the buildings they passed began to get taller, closer together, and more run-down. They were now three to four stories high with flat roofs. Each building was packed with more families than Vasilios wanted to think about, usually each to a single-room apartment. Sewage ran through deep gutters dug on either side of the road.

Markos rode ahead of them, and Vasilios tried not to watch his back and how he moved fluidly with the motion of the horse. The stone wall loomed in front of them, huge and high, with a walkway along the top on which soldiers patrolled. Behind the southeast gate were sandstone foothills that quickly turned into desert. Vasilios remembered reading that at one time, the great River Lethe had kept the whole valley lush and fertile when she ran her banks every year. When the great Emperor Alexarthos had built the Golden City, its massive walls had blocked the river from fertilizing the land to the south and east of the city, causing the desert to quickly claim them.