Like Fire Through Bone (25 page)

“I don’t know.” He shook his head once, stood and moved to help her.

“You don’t have to do that.” She took the teacup he was holding and stacked it onto the tray with the rest.

“Nonsense,” he told her. “I’m a servant just like you.”

To his surprise, she laughed, a rich sound with actual humor behind it. “Not in this house.” She picked up the tray. “But I would be obliged if you opened the gate for me.”

He nodded and walked ahead of her, opened the gate, and held it open as she passed through. After a brief hesitation, he followed her to the kitchen.

“When you first came here…,” she began as she unpacked the dishes from the tray. Vasilios turned to her in surprise, since it was the first time she’d talked to him when she didn’t have to.

“I thought you were like the last mistress. Well placed, looking to become better placed. Worse, because Markos likes you so much.” Phyllis shook her head. “I came to Markos’s household when he and his first wife were newly married, and he’s a good man, better than most. I’ve never had reason to complain working here.” She eyed him but then went back to dumping dishes into a washbasin.

“He’s rich, high ranking, and well placed, and lots of people want that for themselves. You though….” She glanced up at him again, flicked water from her hands and then placed them on each hip. “I don’t know what you want.”

“I….” Vasilios didn’t know what to say to her. “I care for Markos, but beyond that I’m not expecting anything.”

She gave him another long, searching look, and Vasilios couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

“Do you need any help?” he asked, and she shook her head. He bowed a little to her and turned to head back out of the kitchen.

He was still not sure what to do. He headed up to the room he had been given, not feeling comfortable with the idea of wandering through Markos’s house by himself. Even though he didn’t feel much like sleep, he sat on the bed. The room was small and contained almost nothing. Vasilios didn’t have anything with him except for the clothes he was wearing.

There was a knock at the door, and Vasilios turned toward it. “Come in?”

Markos pushed the door open and then closed it behind him. “I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Markos said. “Despite what it must have sounded like, I do trust you to take care of yourself.”

Vasilios raised an eyebrow, and Markos looked down at the floor.

“Having you hurt scared me.” He hesitated, still over by the door, before crossing the room and sitting beside Vasilios on the edge of the bed. “It made me want to prioritize protecting you above everything else, even your own wishes, even though I do know better than that.”

“I understand.”

Markos looked at him as if considering. “How badly are you still hurt?” he asked finally. “I know you say you’re all right now, but you still move stiffly and as if you’re in pain most of the time.”

“I’m not that badly hurt.” Vasilios shook his head.

“Can I see?” Markos asked, and Vasilios felt a strange mixture of something, he wasn’t sure what, war inside him.

He reached for his tunic, standing and stripping it off before sitting back down and facing Markos.

Markos drew in a sharp breath. “And this is
how
much better than it was?”

“Much,” Vasilios assured him.

“God.” Markos touched the edge of a bruise so lightly, Vasilios almost didn’t feel it. “He was really trying to kill you, wasn’t he?”

Vasilios bit his lip, wondering how bad it really looked.

“Stretch your arms out to either side for me,” Markos said, and Vasilios did as he was told. “Now over your head.” Vasilios stretched his arms over his head, feeling his back pull and ache. He shivered a little when he felt Markos’s fingers ghost across his shoulder blades. “You can put your tunic back on,” Markos told him.

Vasilios stood and pulled his tunic back over his head, then turned to face Markos.

“You can come tonight if you want,” Markos said, looking up at Vasilios from where he sat on the bed. “Despite how appalled I am at the condition of your back, it wouldn’t keep you from fighting if you had to.”

“Are you sure?” Vasilios smoothed down the front of his tunic and sat again on the bed.

“Yes,” Markos rubbed his hands across his face and then gave Vasilios a small smile. “If you were anyone else and said you wanted to come with those injuries, I would probably have let you with a warning to try and stay out of trouble. So I will give you two warnings and tell you to get some sleep before we need to leave.”

“You as well.” Vasilios reached out and touched Markos’s hand lightly. Markos curled his fingers around Vasilios’s own before he could withdraw it. “You look tired.”

“Yes. I’ll be glad when this is all over,” Markos agreed. “I’ll be happy to do things like sleep, eat a proper meal, catch up on some of my own business matters.” He made a face. “But God only knows what the Emperor will want me to do next. He could very well see fit to send me back to the territories or even the border.”

Vasilios realized he hadn’t thought of that. He’d been so focused on the demon and his own situation, it never crossed his mind that Markos could possibly be ordered out to the edge of the Empire on campaign for months, perhaps years. He supposed he would deal with that when it came.

“Last time I passed the kitchen, I believe Phyllis was cooking something,” Markos said. “If you’re hungry, just let me know. You should also sleep, or at least nap. We’ll be leaving two quarter turns after sunset.”

Vasilios nodded and started to reply when Markos lifted their joined hands and kissed Vasilios on the back of the hand. Vasilios lost all train of thought.

“I’m sorry.” Markos let go of Vasilios’s hand. “That was crossing a line I have been trying not to cross.”

“No.” Vasilios leaned forward and rested one hand on Markos’s shoulder. “It’s all right, truly.”

Markos reached up, cupped the side of Vasilios’s face, and allowed his thumb to rest against Vasilios’s lips. “I should go talk to Phyllis,” he said, letting his hand drop as he stood. “Come downstairs if you want. You’re welcome anywhere in the house.”

Vasilios nodded, and Markos turned and left. Even after the sound of Markos’s boots on the stairs died away, Vasilios still sat on the bed remembering the feel of Markos’s hand against his face—his fingers had been calloused. Vasilios licked his lips.

The scent of duck and spices cooking began filling the house, and Vasilios hesitated and then headed down the stairs. Phyllis was stirring a pot over the hearth when Vasilios ducked into the kitchen.

“Is there a bath that I can use?” he asked.

“Come this way.” She straightened, wiped her hands off on an apron around her waist, and led the way back out of the kitchen and then to the left down a short flight of stairs. She pushed open a wooden door that led into a small tiled room with a blue tiled bath. “Let me run the water.” She bent and grasped the handle of the pump to begin filling the pool with water.

“I can do it.”

She snorted. “There.” She stood back up, bracing her back a little bit as she did so. “That should suffice.”

“Thank you,” Vasilios said as she headed for the door and back out into the house.

As the tub slowly filled with water, the entire room became hot enough that sweat began to prickle along Vasilios’s arms and face. When he dipped his hand into the water, he could feel the heat was coming from directly under the tub. As he pulled off his slippers and set them aside, he wished he had a clean set of clothes, but he didn’t know who to ask about the possibility of getting another tunic. He folded his scarf and then pulled his tunic off over his head once more. In his trousers now, he tested the water with his wrist and found it warm, but not as hot as he would like. Using his hand he swirled the water through the tub trying to get it to heat evenly.

He finally pulled off his trousers and folded them on top of his other clothes. The water was warm enough now for a little steam to be rising from it, and Vasilios climbed into the tub. The warm water began to unlock his muscles, still sore from the ride he’d done the last couple of days, and soothe the bruises on his back as well. There were small stone jars of different scented soaps, and Vasilios chose one that smelled of spices and wood to wash his body with and one that smelled sharp and green, like crushed leaves, for his hair. When he was finished, he climbed out and redressed.

Back in his little room, Vasilios found fresh clothes folded neatly on his bed. They were made of linen, not wool, in shades of dark gray, but they smelled clean and fit him, and he gratefully changed before heading back downstairs. The door on the opposite side of the stairs from the bath was a dining room, Vasilios found. A modest-sized wooden table had been set with food.

The other person in the room when Vasilios entered was Brother Stavros, who sat curled up next to the table, picking at a plate of bread and lentils.

“Brother Stavros.” Vasilios bowed before approaching the table. “I trust you are well?”

“Yes, thank you, Vasilios Eleni.” Brother Stavros inclined his head.

“Just call me Vasilios,” he said with a smile before sitting and serving himself some food.

“Are you well?” Brother Stavros asked. “Have you rested?”

“A little, and bathed, thank you for asking.”

“Good. God is kind to us both, then.” Brother Stavros reached for his cup of wine.

“Do you mind if I asked you a question? It’s rather personal.” Vasilios ducked his head.

“Ask your question.” Brother Stavros put down his cup. “And I’ll see if I can answer it.”

“Until I met you, I had thought such… as yourself existed only in legend and had stopped walking the Earth long ago. Do you know of any others like you?”

“No.” Now it was Brother Stavros’s turn to look away. “I do not. Although I too, have wondered. I have read of people like myself, half-snake half-man, possessing great power and wisdom. There is an old legend I found of a man who was as I am who was known for his great knowledge and justice. He rose to power when a powerful sorcerer with a mighty army of demons marched against the kingdom, and only he stood against them. He slew all the demons upon the battlefield, defeated and finally cut the head off the sorcerer, saving the people of that land. In return, they made him king. He was a great king, just and kind. Even nobles and princes from other lands came to be heard in the serpent king’s court of law. They brought tribute, and the land grew rich and powerful. The prince of a neighboring kingdom, however, soon grew jealous and yearned to have such a prosperous land for himself, so he sent assassins in the night. They attacked the serpent king while he was bathing with his most beloved jewel and slew both of them. So the land fell into the hands of the greedy prince and slowly declined and was forgotten.”

Brother Stavros shook his head as he ended the story. “That is all I’ve ever been able to find of others like me, unfortunately. As for other sorts of creatures, I have no idea. I have seen the great ruins in the desert and seen the statues and carvings of men with the bodies of lions and hawk’s wings, and others with the head of a bull, but I have never seen such beings for myself.”

Vasilios thought about the legends he had been told as a child, all of the different, wondrous beasts and powerful creatures. All of which he had later as an adult put aside in his mind as no longer existing, if they ever had.

“But they could,” he said, voice soft and thoughtful. “You exist, so they could as well, in hiding maybe, somewhere.”

“Maybe.” Brother Stavros shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I was given to the brothers to live among them and serve God. That is more important to me. What I look like, what I am, makes no difference. God loves me the same.”

“Do you really believe that?” Vasilios pressed his lips together, quickly kicking himself mentally for saying it out loud when he had meant to think it.

“I do.” Brother Stavros uncurled himself and moved from where he had been sitting. Vasilios thought he had taken offense and was about to leave. Instead, Brother Stavros circled the table until he was beside Vasilios, who schooled himself not to show any discomfort at Brother Stavros’s closeness.

“My form frightens you.” Brother Stavros tilted his head a little to the side, his eyes watchful, and this close, Vasilios could see his pupils were slitted like a serpent’s, not round like a human’s. “It is all right. I don’t take offense. After all, it is natural for people to fear serpents, healthy even. It keeps them from getting bitten.”

Brother Stavros curled his mighty body and sat back against his coils. He regarded Vasilios for a long silent moment, and Vasilios fought hard not to look away. “I believe in a God who loves us all,” Brother Stavros said, voice serious, “no matter what form or lives fate has handed us, and I know that is not what the Church teaches, but I know it to be true.”

He shook his head. “I would like one day to meet someone else like me, but it preoccupied my life for a long time, and no longer does. I am content to be the sole one, if that is the way it must be. Besides….” Brother Stavros smiled. “The brothers of the Archangel Michael love me very much, and I could not ask for a better place to spend my life.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” Vasilios looked down at his plate, too aware of the uncertain state of his own future.

“I should pray a little and then rest.” Brother Stavros reached out and clasped Vasilios’s shoulder briefly. “Be well, and may God watch over you.”

Vasilios listened to the soft sound of scales against stone as Brother Stavros uncurled and then slithered to the doorway. The wooden door made a soft thump as it closed behind him.

The food was good. He reached across the table for more eggplant and tried not to think about what he would do tomorrow if they managed to send the creature back to Hell tonight. Go back to Eudoxia? It was the one thing he could do, and he would have to face Damianos undoubtedly sooner rather than later. Eudoxia’s power only went so far, and Damianos was the head of the household now. What if Damianos ordered him back to Anthimos’s house?

Vasilios set his cup of wine aside with a hand that shook, and he clasped his hands together to try and stop it. Anthimos would surely kill him, probably almost immediately. The punishment for a eunuch who ran was death. He was costly, so Damianos would probably maim him but nothing worse, cut off a hand most likely, maybe brand him across the face, probably not take an eye, Vasilios was too good a scribe for that. Bile rose in his throat and Vasilios took several calming breaths, trying to push it down. He closed his eyes briefly.
You will never have everything you want
, he told himself sternly.
You never really thought you could have him the way you both want anyway, and if you did, you were a fool.