Like Fire Through Bone (2 page)

Panagiotis waved his hand again. “I’ve lived long enough to see my grandchildren. What I do now is my own business. God will take me soon enough.”

Vasilios bit his tongue on an answer and schooled his face to blankness. He bowed once more before letting himself out. When the door had shut behind him, and he’d closed the ornamental gate, he turned to the guard.

“Our master wishes for sweet wine cakes and wine to be brought to him,” Vasilios told him, and the guard nodded once.

Vasilios headed back down the corridor in search of one of the house servants so he could send them with a note to Panagiotis’s private physician.

A figure rounded the corner of the hall and came toward him from one of the courtyards, and Vasilios recognized Bröndulfr, one of Panagiotis’s most prized bodyguards.

“Vasilios.” Bröndulfr’s deep voice boomed off the stone walls. “Where are you off to this morning?”

“I’m looking for a servant to send a message to our lord’s physician for me.” He had to tilt his head back a little to meet Bröndulfr’s blue eyes. Vasilios was by no means a small man, but Bröndulfr was huge, with skin much paler than even natives of the Empire. He wore his long blond hair in a single plait down his back, and he had a close-trimmed beard. He was dressed in a waist-length wool tunic, baggy wool trousers wrapped closer to his legs from the knee down by strips of wool, and high leather boots. Bröndulfr was unmistakably from the largest of the Northern Islands—the Island of the Wolf.

“Is he that bad?” Bröndulfr’s brows drew together.

“He was coughing badly the entire time I was with him.” Vasilios crossed his arms over his chest, not bothering to hide his unhappiness. “Then he ordered wine.”

Bröndulfr shook his head. “He’s going to drive himself into the ground, that man.”

Vasilios pressed his lips together in a hard line. Bröndulfr was a free man and a Northern Wolf, and therefore, he was sought after by the richest families to work as a bodyguard. Vasilios, on the other hand, was a slave and would be handed down to Damianos when Panagiotis died. Then Damianos could decide to sell him or not.

Bröndulfr’s hand fell briefly onto Vasilios’s shoulder, jerking him out of his thoughts. “It will be all right,” Bröndulfr said, smiling in a reassuring way when Vasilios glanced up at him. “You’re quite the prize for any household. Damianos would be a fool to sell you, unless there was no other option.”

“Or he listens to his brother.” Vasilios frowned harder, and Bröndulfr laughed.

“Anthimos is a spoiled, vindictive child who has a lot of growing up to do before anyone would take his advice about anything, much less the buying and selling of valuable eunuchs. Damianos is young and idealistic, but he’s not that much a fool.” Bröndulfr’s tone was so confident that Vasilios almost believed him. “But speaking of other things, have you heard the rumors that have been going around?”

“Which?” Vasilios asked. Normally he didn’t pay attention to gossip, but then, neither did Bröndulfr.

“About the babies,” Bröndulfr said, and when Vasilios looked blank, he shook his head. “It’s a bad business, but children have been going missing, young ones too, and not just from the poorer neighborhoods.” He now looked grim. “If I were back home, they’d say forbidden
seiðr
, track down the witch.”

Vasilios felt cold.

“It is the worst of bad luck,” he agreed. “When a child goes missing, the Gods turn their faces away from us all. My people would also have tracked down the one who caused such bad luck and punished them for it so that the Gods might smile on us again.” He did not often think of the beliefs and Gods of his parents. Not that Vasilios spared much thought for faith of any kind these days, but he remembered enough of what his mother had taught him to be wary of bad luck and the evils it brought.

They both knew things worked differently here in the Empire. The people of the Holy Empire, as they called it, didn’t believe in witchcraft or acts of bad luck that would anger the Gods. They believed in only one God and the demons and fallen angels who opposed him. Vasilios hoped they found whoever was responsible before more children went missing and that at least some of the children would be brought back safely.

Bröndulfr shook his head and then raised his voice to a near bellow. “You boy!” He waved to one of the servants passing by. “Vasilios has a job for you.”

The servant boy turned and came toward them, and Vasilios nodded to him. “Come with me.” He beckoned to the boy. “I’m going to write up a note for you to take to Doctor Kasim’s house.”

Vasilios nodded briefly to Bröndulfr, then led the boy back up to his room. He sat and jotted a note to the doctor and then returned to the boy and handed him the note.

“Run right to Doctor Kasim’s house and give his servant the note. Tell him it’s urgent,” Vasilios said, his tone firm. “I will expect you back within the quarter, or I will know you dallied along the way.”

The boy nodded, looked up at him with large, serious eyes, then bolted down the stairs.

Vasilios walked across the room to the table in front of his couch, picked up the brass pitcher that sat on the table in front of the low couch, and poured water into his water clock that would mark off a quarter for him. He turned, went back to his desk, and sat, trying to put aside his worry and get some work done. However, his thoughts wouldn’t stay on the silk shipments and who in the city would be most likely to contract with them for it.

Instead, he kept returning to the upcoming meeting with Markos Özdemir. Vasilios put his pen aside. He hadn’t known Markos was back in the capital again. He didn’t see him often, after all, only when Panagiotis had business dealings with him, or if they both happened to be at court at the same time, which was rare.

Vasilios sat and stared blindly out the window next to his writing desk, remembering the last time he’d seen Markos. Vasilios’s impression of him had always been of a quiet and serious man. Tall and heavily muscled, with a hawk nose and strong jaw, Markos’s dark hair had gone steel gray. Vasilios shook his head sharply. He had better things to do than daydream like a teenage jewel about a man so far beyond his reach that it was laughable.

Still, it would be nice to see him again. Vasilios shook his head again and reminded himself that nothing good came of fantasizing about impossibilities. He should focus on what he had; that was the best option. What he needed to do now was look over the silk contract and then go down to meet with Doctor Kasim before his fool master killed himself with too much wine and rich food.

H
E
ONLY
had to wait two quarters before Doctor Kasim arrived with his servants. Vasilios went down to greet him and found Lady Eudoxia already there with two of her female servants and one of her eunuchs in attendance. Unmistakable in severe-gray linen, Lady Eudoxia was small, with fine features and gray hair braided and piled on top of her head.

“Thank you for coming so promptly to see us,” Eudoxia said to Doctor Kasim, leading him from the front hall into one of the receiving rooms. She settled herself on one of the couches, flanked by her serving women, with her eunuch kneeling at her feet. “My husband has been having much trouble breathing, and his cough has worsened. If Vasilios had not sent for you, I would have.”

“I see,” Doctor Kasim said with a curt nod. “I would like to attend Lord Panagiotis myself and observe his condition, if you will excuse me?” He bowed, and Eudoxia nodded. Her eunuch stood, and after a quick glance at his mistress, he showed Doctor Kasim out. They passed Vasilios, who knelt on the floor, his head respectfully lowered.

“Thank you for calling him,” Eudoxia said, turning to Vasilios once the doctor had left.

Vasilios shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “It is my duty.”

“Yes.” There was a rustle of fine cloth as Eudoxia stood along with her serving women. “But not many attendants, slave or free, are as forward thinking as you, or take the initiative. But then, you were always the independent-minded one.”

Vasilios didn’t say anything to that. He stayed on his knees, his gaze on the floor, and Eudoxia laughed.

“I know many who would have beat that independence out of you when you were still young, especially since you were not born a slave, but I think that is a mistake. I always prefer my servants to be able to think and make decisions for themselves when necessary. It is an admirable quality, especially in a eunuch. And it is a good thing for you that Panagiotis agrees with me on this, if nothing else.” She turned and headed for the door, followed by her serving women.

Vasilios waited until she was gone before he stood. If Eudoxia was attending to Doctor Kasim, then he was hardly needed. She would be sure to inform him if there was anything he needed to know after the doctor’s visit. There were still contracts to read over and a buyer to find. After that, he might go and train in the courtyard for a few hours before overseeing dinner. He turned and headed back up to his room.

O
NE
of the things Vasilios hated most was when the family turned matters of discipline over to him. Everything else he could handle. Many aspects of running the household that Eudoxia or the concubines didn’t feel like doing fell to him, and by and large, Vasilios didn’t mind making sure the kitchen was well stocked or new rugs for the women’s quarters were purchased. Ordering discipline, though, he hated.

It had been two days since Doctor Kasim’s last visit, and today Markos Özdemir was coming to speak with Panagiotis. Vasilios had woken early that morning, well before dawn, and bathed carefully, although he’d told himself over and over again he was being foolish. He’d dressed with care in a red, finely woven, lamb’s-wool, ankle-length tunic with a gray woven trim, his best leather belt, and gray slippers. The lightness of the gray wool looked fetching when compared to his smoke-dark skin, short-cropped dark hair, and dark eyes.

He mentally slapped himself for thinking such things. His appearance hardly mattered, beyond that it reflected well on the house for him to look composed and well-groomed. He was no jewel, or eunuch concubine. He’d been castrated too old for that, and even if he had been one, he was far too old by now for anyone to find him alluring. Still, despite his mental scolding, he’d been in quite a good mood as he’d eaten a quick breakfast of fruit, flatbread, and goat cheese, with warm spiced wine.

Then a guard had knocked on the door to tell him one of the eunuchs that served in the women’s quarter had been found getting drunk on wine intended for Panagiotis’s concubines, and Eudoxia had ordered he deal with it. Vasilios’s good mood had vanished.

Now he stood in the courtyard between the kitchens and women’s quarter, with the young eunuch trembling and sobbing where he knelt on the ground flanked by two of the house guards. Vasilios kept his gaze firmly fixed on the figure on the ground, although he knew a small crowd of servants watched out of sight in the kitchen doorway. There were also more serving women, eunuchs, two of Panagiotis’s concubines’ daughters, and the youngest of the concubines herself, all watching from the balcony attached to the women’s quarter.

Vasilios pressed his lips together and clenched his hands at his sides, but he kept them out of sight in the folds of his tunic. The punishment for this kind of stealing was usually having the fingers cut off. Vasilios wondered if the young eunuch on the ground knew that, and if he did, why he’d done it in the first place.

Vasilios glanced sidelong at the man who stood beside him. Eòran was tall but slight, with red-blond hair he wore braided, and a hint of blond scruff that followed the line of his jaw. His skin was incredibly pale, marking him as from the Northern Isles. With his arms folded across his chest and his expression impassive, Eòran too, watched the young eunuch.

“Look at me, boy,” Vasilios ordered, voice loud enough to be heard but completely devoid of emotion. The eunuch on the ground looked up, gulping back sobs. “I don’t know if you are aware of how lucky you are,” Vasilios said, taking several steps forward. “Our master and mistress are extremely lenient with us eunuchs, but also with all who serve them.”

For a moment, Vasilios let his gaze sweep around the courtyard, making sure all of the servants who were watching understood this was a warning for them all.

“They give us fine clothes, enough to eat, a place to sleep, and discipline us only when we have let them down grievously.” Vasilios looked down at the young eunuch once more. “I have belonged to this household since I was sixteen years of age, and in all that time, I have never once been treated cruelly by our master, or even punished by him for acting beyond the scope of what I have been ordered to do. Instead, he educated me and made me his personal secretary. Our master and mistress prize intelligence, independence, and culture in their eunuchs, and that is a gift we should cherish.”

Vasilios shook his head, then knelt next to the younger man, and when he spoke next, his voice was gentler. “You are young, and you have never served in any other house, but let me assure you, most other masters would beat you every day for daring to even think beyond what you were ordered to do. We are eunuchs and that makes us more valuable than most servants, but never forget that we are still owned. Jewels are to be beautiful and pleasurable in the bedchamber until they grow too old for such things, and then to be attentive around the house and to the ladies’ needs. Castratos are to be obedient, attentive, loyal, and demure in all things. You have disappointed not only the expectation of our master and mistress, but the very duties you were designed to do.” Vasilios stood, his voice going hard again. “The common punishment for a eunuch caught stealing from the house concubines is having several fingers cut off.”

The young eunuch on the ground went white and began crying again, his voice keening into a high, desperate wail. Around the perimeter of the courtyard, everyone held their breath and waited. Vasilios shook his head and turned toward where Eòran waited silently, sword at his waist.