"Harvas alarms me, too," Krispos admitted. "If you think you're going into danger, Iakovtizes, I won't send you."
"No, I'll go." Iakovtizes ran a hand through his graying hair. "After all, what could he do? For one thing, he may have to send an embassy here one fine day, and I know—and he'd know—you'd avenge any harm that came to me. And for another, I'm coming to pay him tribute, lots of tribute. How could I making him angry doing that?"
Mavros leered at the short, feisty noble. "If anyone could manage, Iakovitzes, you're the man."
"Ah, your Highness," Iakovitzes said in a tone of sweet regret, "were you not suddenly become second lord in all the land, be assured I would tell you precisely what sort of cocky, impertinent, jumped-up little snipsnap bastard son of a snake and a cuckoo you really are." By the time he finished, he was shouting, red-faced, his eyes bulging.
"Kind and gracious as always," Krispos told him, doing his best not to laugh.
"You, too, eh?" Iakovitzes growled. "Well, you'd just better watch out, your Majesty. As best I can tell, I can call you anything I bloody well please for a while and not worry a bit about lese majeste, because if you send me to the chap with the axe, you can't send me to Harvas."
"That depends on where I tell him to cut," Krispos said.
Iakovitzes grabbed his crotch in mock horror. Just then Barsymes brought in a fresh jar of wine and a plate of smoked octopus tentacles. The eunuch looked down his long nose at Iakovitzes. "There are not many men to whom I would say this, excellent sir, but I suspect you would be as much a scandal without your stones as with them."
"Why, thank you," Iakovitzes said, which made even the imperturbable vestiarios blink. Krispos raised his cup in salute. So long as Iakovitzes had his tongue, he was armed and dangerous.
Iakovitzes set out on his mission to Harvas a few days later. Krispos promptly put him in a back corner of his mind; what with the state of the roads during the fall rains and the blizzards that would follow them, he did not expect the noble to be back before spring.
Of more immediate concern was Sarkis' continuing campaign against Petronas. By his dispatches, the regimental commander was making progress, but at a snail's pace thanks to the weather. The rains were still falling when he reached the first of Petronas' estates. "Drove off to westward the cavalry who sought to oppose us," he wrote, "then attempted to fire the villa and outbuildings we had taken. Too wet for a truly satisfactory job, but no one will be able to use them for a good long while yet."
When Krispos was a youth, the world in winter had seemed to contract to no more than his village and the fields around it. Even as Avtokrator, something similar happened. Though news came in from all Over the Empire, everything beyond Videssos the city seemed dim and distant, as if seen through thick fog. Not least because of that, he paid more attention to the people closest to him.
By Midwinter's Day, Dara was visibly pregnant, though not in the thick robes she wore to the Amphitheater to watch the skits that celebrated the sun's swing back toward the north. Midwinter's Day was a time of license; a couple of the pantomime shows lewdly speculated on what Dara's relationship with Krispos had been before Anthimos died. Krispos laughed even when the jokes on him weren't funny. After looking angry at first, Dara went along, though she said, "Some of those so-called clowns should be horsewhipped through the plaza of Palamas."
"It's Midwinter's Day," Krispos said, as if that explained everything. To him, it did.
Some of the servants had started a bonfire in front of the steps that led into the imperial residence. It still blazed brightly when the imperial party returned from the Amphitheater. Krispos dismounted from Progress. He tossed the reins to a groom. Then, holding the crown on his head with one hand, he dashed toward the fire, sprang into the air. "Burn, ill luck!" he shouted as he flew over the flames.
A moment later he heard more running feet. "Burn, ill luck!" Dara called. Her jump barely carried her across the fire. She staggered when she landed. She might have fallen, had Krispos not reached out a quick hand to steady her.
"That was foolish," he said, angry now himself. "Why have you been traveling in a litter the past month, but to keep you from wearing yourself out or hurting yourself? Then you go and risk it all—and for what? Holiday hijinks!"
She pulled away from him. "I'm not made of pottery, you know. I won't shatter if you look at me sideways. And besides—" She lowered her voice, "—what with Petronas, Gnatios, and Harvas Black-Robe, don't you think more ill luck is out there than one alone can easily burn away?"
His anger melted, as the snow had around the campfire. "Aye, that's so." He put an arm round her shoulder. "But I wish you'd be more careful."
She shook him off. He saw he'd somehow annoyed her again. Then she said, "Is that for my sake, or just on account of the child in my belly?"
"For both," he answered honestly. Her eyes stayed narrowed as she studied him. He said, "Come on, now. Have you seen me building any minnow ponds?"
She blinked, then found herself laughing. "No, I suppose not." Minnows had been a euphemism Anthimos used for one of the last of his debauched schemes—one of the few times Anthimos bothered with euphemism, Krispos thought. Dara went on, "After living with such worries so long, do you wonder that I have trouble trusting?"
By way of answer, he put his arm around her again. This time she let it stay. They walked up the steps and down the hallway together. When they got to their bedchamber, she closed and barred the doors behind them. At his quizzical look, she said, "You were the one who was talking about it being Midwinter's Day."
They wasted no time undressing and sliding under the blankets. Though brick-lined ducts under the floor brought warm air from a central furnace, the bedchamber was still chilly. Krispos' hand traced the small bulge rising around Dara's navel. Her mouth twisted into a peculiar expression, half pride, half pout. "I liked myself better flat-bellied," she said.
"I like you fine the way you are." To prove what he said, Krispos let his hand linger.
She scowled ferociously. "Did you like me throwing up every morning and every other afternoon? I'm not doing that as often now, the good god be praised."
"I'm glad you're not," Krispos said. "I—" He stopped. Under his palm, something—fluttered? rolled? twisted? He could not find the right word. Wonder in his voice, he asked, "Was that the baby?"
Dara nodded. "I've felt him—" She always called the child to come him. "—moving for a week or ten days now. That's the hardest wiggle yet, though. I'm not surprised you noticed it."
"What does it feel like to you?" he asked, all at once more curious than aroused. He pressed lightly on her belly, hoping the baby inside would stir again.
"It's rather like—" Dara frowned, shook her head. "I started to say it felt like gas, like what would happen if I ate too much cucumber and octopus salad. It did, when he first started moving. But these bigger squirmings don't feel like anything, if you know what I mean. You'd understand, if you were a woman."
"Yes, I suppose I would. But since I'm not, I have to ask foolish questions." As if on cue, the baby moved again. Krispos hugged Dara close. "We did that!" he exclaimed, before he recalled he might not have had anything to do with it at all.
If Dara remembered that, too, she gave no sign. "We may have started it," she said tartly, "but I'm the one who has to do the rest of the work."