Dara put the palm of her hand on his bare chest, felt his heartbeat slow toward normal after their coupling. Smiling, she said "If he hadn't neglected me, we wouldn't have happened. Still' I know what you mean. Just as you did, I hoped he'd rule for himself once his uncle was gone. Now—"
"Now he's so annoyed with me for trying to get him to rule that he won't even see to the little he did before." You were the one who made me keep pushing at him, too, he thought. He kept that to himself. Dara had been doing her best for her husband and the Empire. Had Anthimos responded, all would have been well.
"Never mind Anthimos now," Dara whispered, perhaps feeling some of the same awkwardness he had. She held him to her. "Do you think we can try again if we hurry?"
Krispos did his best to oblige. One did not say no, not to the Empress. Then he got out of bed and into his clothes. Which turns me from lover back to vestiarios, he thought with a touch of irritation. He slipped from the imperial bedchamber, shutting the doors behind him. He started to go back to his own room, then changed his mind and decided to have a snack first. He walked down the hall to the larder.
He was coming back, munching on a roll sticky with honey, when he saw a disembodied head floating toward him. His mouth dropped opened; a bit of roll fell out and landed on the floor with a wet smack. He needed a moment to gain enough control of himself to do anything more than stand, stare, and gurgle. In that moment of terror, before he could scream and flee, he recognized the head. It was Anthimos'.
The head recognized him, too. Winking, it spoke. Krispos frowned, tried to read its silent lips. "You'd eat better than that if you were with me," he thought it said.
"I s-suppose I would, your Majesty," he got out. If Anthimos could work magic this potent while at a revel, he was turning into a very impressive sorcerer indeed, Krispos thought. Aloud, he added, "You almost scared me to death."
The Emperor's head grinned. As he looked at it, he realized it was not physically there; he could see through it. That made it a trifle easier to take—he did not have to imagine an acephalous Anthimos lying on a couch among his cronies. He tried to smile back.
Grinning still, the Avtokrator—or as much of him as was present—moved past Krispos. The head came to the door of the imperial bedchamber. Krispos expected it to drift through the wood. Had it come a few minutes earlier—he shivered. He knew what it would have seen.
But instead of sailing ghostlike through the closed doors, the Emperor's projected head fetched up against them with a bump that was immaterial but nonetheless seemed to hurt, judging by the expression the slightly misty face wore and the words it was mouthing.
Krispos fought to keep his own face straight; Anthimos might be turning into a powerful mage, but he was still a careless one. "Would you like me to open it for you, your Majesty?" he asked politely.
"Piss off," Anthimos' head snarled. An instant later, it vanished.
Krispos leaned against the wall and let out a long, slow sigh. He suddenly realized his right hand was sticky—he'd squeezed that honeyed bun to pieces without even remembering he had it. He threw away what was left and went back to the larder for some water to wash his fingers. He did not take another bun. He'd lost his appetite.
One of the Halogai standing guard outside the imperial residence turned and spotted Krispos in the hallway. "Someone out here to see you," he called.
"Thanks, Narvikka. I'll be there in a minute." Krispos put away the armful of newly washed robes he was carrying, then went out onto the steps with the guardsmen. He blinked several times, trying to get his eyes used to the bright afternoon sunshine outside.
He did not recognize the worn-looking man who sat waiting for him on a worn-looking horse. "I'm Krispos," he said. "What can I do for you?"
The worn-looking man touched a finger to the brim of his straw traveler's hat. "My name's Bassos, esteemed and eminent sir. I'm an imperial courier. I'm afraid I have bad news for you."
"Go ahead. Give it to me." Krispos held his voice steady, wondering what had gone wrong now. His imagination painted plenty of possibilities; earthquake, pestilence, famine, rebellion, even invasion from Makuran in spite of the peace he thought he'd patched together.
But Bassos had meant bad news for him, not for the Empire. "Esteemed and eminent sir, the gold you sent up to your sister and brother-in-law ..." The courier licked his lips, trying to figure out how to go on. At last he did, baldly: "Well, sir, we couldn't deliver that gold, on account of there wasn't much left of the village there after these new stinking barbarians we're mixed up with went through it. I'm sorry, esteemed and eminent sir."
Krispos heard himself say "Thank you" as if from very far away. Bassos pressed a leather pouch into his hands and made him count the goldpieces inside and sign a receipt. The Emperor's vestiarios was too prominent to be cheated. The courier remounted and rode away. Krispos stood on the steps looking after him. Evdokia, Domokos, two little girls he had never seen ... He never would see them now.
Narvikka walked over to him, setting a large hand on his shoulder. "Their time came as it was fated to come, so grieve not for them," the Haloga said. "If the gods willed it, they took foes with them to serve them forever in the world to come. May it be so."
"May it be so," Krispos agreed. He had never had any use for the northerners' wild gods and fatalistic view of the world, but suddenly he very much wanted his family to have servants in the afterlife, servants they had slain with their own hands. That would be only just, and if justice was hard to come by in this world, he could hope for it in the next.
But was their time fated? Had Domokos been less proud ... had Petronas not made his too-clever bargain with Harvas ... had Anthimos listened and sent troops north in good time—had Anthimos listened even once, curse him... .
Thinking of the Emperor's failing filled Krispos with pure and frightening rage. His fists clenched. Only then did he notice he was holding the gold-filled leather pouch. He gave it to Narvikka, saying "Take it. I never want to see these coins again."
"I take it, I share them with the rest of the lads here." The Haloga nodded at the rest of his squad of guardsmen, who were watching him and Krispos. "Each of us, he takes a piece of your ill luck for himself."
"However you like," Krispos said mechanically. Much as he wanted not to, part of him responded to the Haloga's gesture. He found himself saying "My thanks. That's kind of you, to do such a thing for me."
Narvikka's massive shoulders moved up and down inside his mail shirt. "We would do it for each other, we will do it for a friend." As if Krispos were a child, the big northerner turned him round and gave him a light shove toward the imperial residence. "Is wine inside. You drink to remember them or to forget, whichever suits."
"My thanks," Krispos said again. Given a sense of purpose, his feet made for the larder without much conscious thought.
Before he got there, Barsymes came out of one of the other rooms that opened onto the corridor and saw him. The eunuch stared; later, remembering that look, Krispos wondered what expression his face had borne. Barsymes seemed to wrestle with courtesy, then spoke, "Your pardon, Krispos, but is something amiss?"
"You might say so," Krispos answered harshly. "Back at the village where I grew up, my sister, her husband, my nieces—Harvas Black-Robe's Halogai hit the place." He stopped, unable to go on.