Fallen Eagle

3rd Week of September, 1460

“I believe Zeno was successfully diverted, my Lord,” Stefanos reported from the entrance to Theodorus’s private study.

The room felt too small for the weight of the conversation. Its narrow windows admitted only a weak strip of afternoon light, leaving the corners dim and close, while the heavy door behind Stefanos seemed far thinner than Theodorus would have preferred.

“He has shown no overt interest in the Lady, nor made any effort to enter the loggia for now,” Stefanos continued. “His schedule remains packed and brisk, much as it usually is.”

In the opposite corner sat the aforementioned Lady, her eyes fixed steadily on Theodorus. Cassandra’s posture remained straight and composed, entirely at odds with the plain gardener’s clothing upon her back. Dirt had been rubbed along the hem and sleeves to make the disguise appear lived in, though she did nothing to conceal her noble bearing.

“But it was only the newly arrived missive that captured Lord Zeno’s attention,” Demetrios remarked from off to the side. His brow had pinched inward, and his hands worried at one another. “We escaped by the skin of our teeth.”

Theodorus wondered whether it was truly that simple.

If Zeno had caught even the faintest inkling of what had happened, it would not take a great intellect to deduce the rest, and then the entire arrangement might unravel. Being caught harbouring a wanted criminal would be an utter catastrophe.

He clenched one fist surreptitiously within his sleeve.

The plan had been a gamble from the beginning, and a poor one at that. If they had escaped discovery now, it was because fortune had intervened rather than any brilliance on his part. Yet there had been no sensible way to keep Cassandra entirely hidden within the castle.

Locking her behind key and bolt would demand a permanent drain on manpower. Zeno would soon question why two guards stood before the same unmarked chamber day and night.

A single scream from Cassandra would also give everything away, and she might well resort to one if desperation overcame restraint. Few people remained cooperative when confined indefinitely inside a cramped stone box, especially when they believed their captor intended them harm.

Theodorus needed to provide the bare minimum of tolerable conditions to maintain her compliance, and that compliance remained a fragile thing.

“Your movement will be further restricted,” he announced. “Your schedule will now be managed according to Zeno’s own movements for the day, so that the two of you do not cross paths. You shall also have less time in the garden.”

Cassandra kept her expression placid and distant. Theodorus suspected the cold composure was a defence mechanism, a means of placing some measure of distance between herself and him.

The slight tightening of her hands was the only mark of her displeasure.

Well, that and what she said next.

“So I am to be further leashed according to your whims,” she said, her tone calm and poised. “Like a lapdog.”

“This is for your benefit as well.” Theodorus raised two fingers to his temple and massaged at the dull ache gathering there. “If you are caught, your life is forfeit. Most likely your brother’s as well.”

“Of course I know that.” Her reply carried the smoothness of a polished knife.

Theodorus suspected the only reason Cassandra had not attempted to run was because she could not meaningfully reach anywhere on foot without being captured along the way. And she had not exposed herself only because her brother remained alive in the capital.

Theodorus knew enough about her to understand that she could not recklessly throw her life away while someone still depended upon her. It was the strongest chain holding her here, stronger than guards, locks, or threats.

“But do not attempt to fool me regarding your reasons,” Cassandra continued. “You could have kept me outside the castle on any one of my Family’s former estates, under guard and far from Zeno.”

“Men can be tracked, coin even better,” Theodorus replied, turning fully toward her, tone firm. “Zeno could easily identify an unusual expense if he began looking for one. A remote estate supplied beyond its ordinary needs, additional guards hired without explanation, provisions purchased for a household that officially does not exist. Those things leave patterns.”

Theodorus also lacked sufficient funds of his own to arrange such a thing without drawing upon resources belonging to the Crown or his family. Though none of those were the reason he had not carried out such a plan.

Cassandra tilted her head slightly. “Then you admit this is chiefly a matter of convenience.”

“I admit that every available option is poor,” Theodorus said. “This one is simply the least disastrous.”

For the first time, something faintly bitter crossed her face.

“You speak as though I am a problem in a ledger.”

Theodorus exhaled through his nose. “At present, you are a wanted noblewoman hidden inside a castle occupied by a man who may have reason to recognise you. Forgive me if the situation requires some administrative thinking.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. Theodorus regretted the phrasing almost as soon as it left his mouth, though only because it would make her less cooperative, rather than because it was untrue.

“You asked for honesty,” he said, moderating his tone. “Here it is.”

“And I am expected to be grateful.”

“No,” Theodorus replied. “Only sensible.”

The silence that followed settled heavily across the cramped study.

“You have a brother of your own, do you not?” Cassandra countered, her voice sharpening. “You could have stashed me away with him for good.”

Theodorus had no good answer for that.

He had, of course, considered it. More than once, in fact. Sending Cassandra to one of his brother’s estates would have removed her from Zeno’s immediate reach and spared Theodorus the daily risk of keeping her within Suyren’s walls.

Yet the vague, arbitrary nature of his promise to personally keep Cassandra safe had become a chafing chain around every decision he made. Anything that removed her from his direct oversight felt like a breach of that promise, and the unseen force governing him resisted the thought before he could properly act upon it.

It was nonsensical, subjective, and maddeningly imprecise.

Why could the forces that kept him here never be straightforward? A clear prohibition, a fixed boundary, even some divine command carved into stone would have given him something solid to work around. Instead, he was left navigating instinctive resistance and invisible limits that only made themselves known when he pressed against them.

“I thought so,” Cassandra said with a sneer, and Theodorus had to control the urge to become irked.

“At least do not pretend this is anything other than what it is,” she continued. “You mean to keep me squarely beneath your thumb. Perhaps you simply enjoy watching me squirm and grovel at your feet while pretending to be a maid.”

“Enough,” Theodorus cut in, his voice edged with iron. “You have your orders. Return to your quarters.”

He dismissed her with all the cold authority expected of a lord, though something tugged painfully at his chest as he did so, despite himself.

“Of course, my Lord,” Cassandra replied with exaggerated sweetness.

She dipped into a low, mocking bow, gathering the plain skirts of her disguise with the grace of a court lady making sport of a servant’s costume. Then she allowed a pair of Theodorus’s personal bodyguards to lead her from the study.

Theodorus watched her go, his mind turning over possibilities.

Keeping her within the castle was beyond untenable with a man as observant and cunning as Zeno beneath the same roof. If Theodorus had not been weighed down by the promise he had made to Stefanos, he would have cast her out long ago. Not cruelly, and not without means, but decisively.

He would have arranged for her to be quietly conveyed to Caffa, given her enough coin to survive, and left her to seek out whatever remained of her family and allies.

There was little room for sympathy or idealism when the fate of nations rested upon his shoulders. History rarely rewarded rulers for endangering thousands to spare one person.

Yet the chains around him barred any action that might place Cassandra in greater danger.

The restriction was exceedingly frustrating.

More importantly, it could not be allowed to remain so.

It was time to do something he should have done long ago and discover precisely how far those chains could be stretched before they pulled tight.

“Demetrios,” Theodorus said, keeping his eyes on the closed door, “I wish to speak with Stefanos alone.”

Demetrios heard the seriousness in his tone. He bowed and excused himself with considerably more sincerity than Cassandra had managed, closing the door behind him as he left.

Stefanos remained by the entrance, though his posture grew noticeably tenser. His back straightened, and his hands settled stiffly at his sides as though he had been called before a tribunal rather than asked to stay behind after a private meeting.

“You remember the promise I made to you before the rebellion ever began?” Theodorus asked.

He sat back behind the desk and steepled his fingers before him, studying Stefanos over their tips.

“That you would protect the Lady to the utmost of your power,” Stefanos answered.

Theodorus cursed the phrasing even now. It must have been his promise to use his own power to protect her that had wound the obligation so tightly. Had he promised merely to aid her or keep her from immediate harm, perhaps the limits would have been broader.

“Do you mean to break that promise now that the Lady is in danger of being discovered?” Stefanos asked, his gaze wary.

“No,” Theodorus stated resolutely.

The answer came easily, in no small part because he knew he was physically incapable of doing otherwise.

“I have protected the Lady with everything available to me,” he continued. “The conditions have not been ideal, but I have tried to place her in a position where she would remain safe and would not suffer more than necessary.”

Stefanos’s expression did not soften, and he shook his head.

“Not suffer?” he repeated, and a bitter smile pulled at his mouth. “All she has done is suffer since she arrived here, my Lord. Do you not see that?” Stefanos asked. His disbelief evident. “How much do you think it pains her to walk across the same stones where she once played as a child, now scrubbing them clean?” He gestured toward the chamber around them, “to see you sitting here in her father’s place?”

Something tugged at Theodorus’s heart. It was obvious in hindsight, but Theodorus had never allowed himself the time to consider it properly. Now a pang of pain threatened to bloom beneath his ribs. He ruthlessly crushed the sentiment before it could flourish.

Lately, he found himself doing that more and more.

“So you understand that she cannot remain here,” Theodorus pressed, keeping his voice measured. “The risk is too great, and she is plainly miserable.”

Stefanos swallowed but offered no argument. His gaze dropped toward the floor. Whatever feelings he carried for Cassandra made the thought of sending her away difficult to bear. By God, this whole situation was becoming more complicated by the minute, and he did not have time for any of it.

“If she is moved to one of my brother’s estates, she will no longer need to hide her face,” Theodorus softened his tone deliberately. “She could return to her poetry, have attendants, and gain enough distance from these walls to begin healing. Nor would she be entirely beyond reach. I have cause to send messages to my brother’s holdings with some regularity.”

The implication concerning who might carry those missives was obvious.

Stefanos drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he looked up again, a measure of hardness had entered his expression.

“You do not need to convince me, my Lord,” Stefanos said. “I decided some time ago that I would not place my feelings above what is necessary.” The coldness in his voice surprised Theodorus. “If she must be sent away, then send her.”

Theodorus leaned back in his chair. This was an opportunity he had to seize.

“Then hear my promise anew,” Theodorus said, choosing each word as though drafting a treaty. “I promise that I will take every reasonable measure available to conceal and protect Cassandra, whether by my own hand or through people I judge trustworthy. I may place her beyond my direct keeping, remove her from this castle, or send her elsewhere whenever I honestly judge that doing so offers her greater safety.”

He had avoided promising success, freed himself from personal supervision, and reserved the final judgment for himself. By any ordinary reading, the wording preserved the purpose of the vow while leaving him room to act. It reeked of legalese, and Stefanos frowned faintly. “Do you accept this promise in place of the one I made before?” Theodorus asked.

After a brief hesitation, Stefanos lowered himself to one knee. He had no reason to suspect that Theodorus was bound by a supernatural contractual obligation to anything he promised after all. “I do, my Lord.”

“Then rise and return to your duties,” Theodorus said. “Speak of this to no one, least of all the Lady. I will decide where she is to be sent once the arrangements are secure.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Stefanos stood and bowed. Before leaving, he paused with one hand upon the latch. “See that she is safe.”

“That remains my intention.”

Stefanos accepted the answer and departed, the door closing behind him with a dull wooden thud.

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Theodorus waited for some telltale shift in the vow fastened around him. He expected relief, or the subtle loosening of a pressure he only noticed when he pressed against its limits. Nothing came. Still, the agreement had been spoken, accepted, and replaced. By every reasonable standard, it was done.

“Demetrios,” he called.

The door opened again, and Demetrios stepped inside. “My Lord. Have you decided what is to be done with the Lady?”

“Yes,” Theodorus answered. He would remove her immediately, with no half-measures and no further opportunities for Zeno to stumble upon the truth. Cassandra would be sent well beyond the Principality, given enough coin and protection to finally remove her as a problem.

“She will-”

The words caught in his throat.

Theodorus stopped cold. His tongue refused to finish the sentence, while the muscles along his neck tightened as though an unseen hand had closed around them.

What? Why?

He had changed the terms. Stefanos had understood them and agreed, yet the same resistance remained, immediate and absolute.

His teeth ground together. This was beyond intolerable. He would not be dictated to in matters so basic, reduced to a puppet while already struggling against the weight of history itself. How was he meant to divert wars or preserve a state if he could not choose make his own decisions?

Theodorus gathered his will and forced the words upward, each one dragged through a body fighting him at every turn.

“She will…be…sent….”

His eyes widened as pain seized his chest and his limbs threatened to convulse beneath him.

“My Lord!”

Demetrios rushed around the desk, eyes widening as Theodorus folded beside his chair. Pain tore through his chest in violent spasms, each cough scraping deeper than the last until blood spilled across his lips and spotted the soft carpet beneath him. More followed in a thin, dark stream, spreading between the woven patterns as ruptured vessels gave way.

Demetrios caught him by the shoulders before his head struck the floor. “Get the nurses in here!” he shouted toward the door.

The latch snapped back, and Christos entered in full armour, one hand already gripping his glaive. Shock held him for no more than a heartbeat when he saw his lord curled upon the ground, blood staining his mouth and chin.

“The nurses and the surgeon!” Christos bellowed into the corridor.

His voice carried through the keep with enough force to wake the dead. Theodorus heard boots thundering over stone and the panicked questions of curious servants.

“What happened?” Demetrios asked, gripping Theodorus’s hand with both of his own. “My Lord, tell me what happened.”

“I…I do not know,” Theodorus managed.

His body felt as though it had tried to tear itself apart from within. Every muscle remained locked and trembling, while his lungs burned with each shallow breath he dragged into them. The force binding him had reacted with open violence the moment he tried to move against its will.

He could not break the obligation.

Worse, it seemed he could not even force himself to attempt it without being punished.

For all the authority he wielded, or soldiers who obeyed his word, Theodorus had never felt so powerless.

He was a prisoner within his own body, and whatever held the key had no intention of surrendering it.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Zeno intoned from within the narrow confessional booth built against the side of Suyren’s small chapel.

“May God forgive thee,” Father Thaddeus replied from the other side. “Confess thy sins truly and with a contrite heart.” Muffled by wood and incense, the man almost sounded pious. It was a valiant attempt at obfuscation, something a man like Zeno could appreciate.

“I have been guilty of jealousy and hatred,” Zeno said solemnly. “Directed toward a man I hold most dear to me.”

He allowed himself to enjoy the theatricality of the doublespeak. A man had to find amusement where he could, particularly when conspiring with priests.

“Such dark thoughts are natural,” Thaddeus said. “Hatred need not be a vice when the man hated is himself wicked.”

Zeno suspected the priest enjoyed their little performance nearly as much as he did.

“What has changed recently,” Thaddeus continued, “to lead you further down this path?”

That meant the good Father wanted fresh intelligence concerning their plot.

“I have recently learned of a terrible secret he has kept from the world,” Zeno said. “One that could damn him if brought into the light.”

The silence behind the screen changed, and Zeno could feel interest sharpen on the other side of the partition.

“What have you learned?” the priest asked.

“It is too wicked to speak aloud in a holy place,” Zeno replied, allowing the hint of a smile to enter his voice.

He had no intention of surrendering valuable information. Knowledge retained value only while it remained scarce, and Zeno preferred his allies dependent upon him rather than fully informed.

“But I know now that I must move against him,” Zeno continued, “if only to clear my conscience.”

“So soon?” Thaddeus asked, unable to keep a measure of surprise from his tone. “God teaches that patience is a virtue. I am still reaching out to those who might be brought to our cause.”

Zeno had entrusted the priest with cultivating the clergy under his immediate influence, and, if possible, reaching as far as Father Damianus. The task required care. Theodorus had already shown an irritating talent for drawing useful men toward himself, and any priest approached too bluntly might carry the entire matter back to him in exchange for favour.

Their argument was simple enough when properly presented. Theodorus’s plans for the north threatened old privileges, accepted customs, and the Church’s place within the order of society. Men did not need to be told they were joining a conspiracy. They only needed to be persuaded that their faith, property, or dignity stood in danger.

Zeno had pursued much the same strategy among the more receptive pronoia holders, though progress there remained limited. The cement works had proved too successful, and success had a way of buying loyalty more effectively than blood or theology. Landholders who had begun profiting from Theodorus’s projects were reluctant to condemn the hand feeding them merely because Zeno warned that it might one day close around their throats.

“Especially given our present fortunes,” Thaddeus added.

Something darker entered the priest’s voice.

The seizure of so much Church wealth by the Prince had wounded the institution badly. Men were often most cautious immediately after being struck, when they had finally learned that another blow was possible.

Zeno understood the priest’s hesitation. The Church was weakened, even further by the drain it had promised itself to in terms of repairing and rebuilding its churches, while Theodorus’s popularity in the north had grown with every reform and industry he began.

“Boldness and courage are virtues as well, Father,” Zeno said, leading him on. “If Providence has placed a weapon in my hand with which evil might be excised, would it not be more pious to wield it before that evil has time to spread?”

“Your words carry wisdom,” Father Thaddeus replied. “But speaking openly before all is prepared will require a most convincing argument. How do we persuade the people that a man who has promised them lower taxes and forgiven every unpaid obligation from years past is sin incarnate?”

That particular conundrum had occupied Zeno across many nights.

He had long since noticed the pattern beneath Theodorus’s policies. However strange or revolutionary each measure appeared, the result was almost always some concession granted to the people, carefully structured so the administration could remain solvent while appearing generous. Whenever a new project produced even the slightest prosperity, Theodorus made certain that some portion of it flowed downward.

It was simple and insidious, really.

Theodorus had rejected the traditional method of governing peasants through the men placed above them. Most rulers secured the loyalty of landholders, clergy, merchants, and village heads, then left those intermediaries to manage everyone beneath. It was efficient, familiar, and wonderfully vulnerable to manipulation. A man such as Zeno needed only to win over a handful of influential figures to stir an entire district into disobedience.

Theodorus, however, was attempting to pacify the common population at its roots.

Perhaps the lack of established ruling families in the north had forced his hand. Perhaps it was merely another of the boy’s eccentric ideas. Whatever the reason, it had built a stout shield around him. The people did not yet love Theodorus, but might in time if his rule left them with full bellies and lighter burdens.

Revolts were rarely born from peasants waking one morning with a shared political vision. They were cultivated through grievances, supplied by ambitious elites, blessed by accommodating priests, and directed by men who knew where to press. That was a craft Zeno understood exceedingly well.

Without those elites, he was being forced to appeal to the common people directly, and common people were inconveniently numerous.

His greatest weapon was therefore the Church, which Theodorus had alienated enough for Zeno to slip his influence into the widening cracks. The divide was not especially deep. Theodorus continued to attend the liturgy, showed the clergy proper courtesy, and had taken care to negotiate with the church from a position as an equal when he might have pushed for more given the Prince’s backing.

But resentment did not need to be broad when it could be made sharp.

Zeno understood Father Thaddeus and men like him. The confiscation of Church wealth had left them fearful and eager for an ally within the government who might restore what had been taken. Thaddeus needed protection and, more importantly, he needed to believe that his own interests were inseparable from the defence of God’s order.

“I have heard the most disturbing rumours of late, Father,” Zeno said, allowing concern to enter his voice. “Have any reached you?” he asked.

Thaddeus wisely did not answer, waiting to see where Zeno took things.

“They say Theodorus’s father took a lowborn Tatar slave as his wife. Some even speculate that she was the boy’s mother.”

The claim was false, of course, but that Konstantinos Sideris’s had wed a runaway slave was common knowledge. That he took a second wife was considerably less interesting or worthy of note.

Rumours did not require truth. They required only enough truth around their edges to survive being challenged.

“Do you not find it curious,” Zeno continued, “that he is so desperate to bind the Tatar communities to the Principality? Barbarians and heathens of the worst sort, invited to stand beside proud Romans as though there were no distinction between them?”

A stillness settled on the other side of the screen, a shocked awe at the daring in Zeno’s proposal.

The northern population carried generations of hatred toward Tatar raiders who crossed the Crimean borders to loot and burn villages. Theodorus’s attempt to draw local Tatar communities into the state had faced a fair bit of backlash, especially within the pastoral communities, though he had managed it well so far.

If Zeno could bind that policy to the boy’s blood, a fair few things could then be called into question.

“Those rumours are grave indeed, Lord Zeno,” Father Thaddeus said. The caution in his tone had thinned into interest. “One might even wonder whether he fraternises with infidels because he was raised according to their customs. Perhaps his devotion to our Lord is little more than an appearance.”

Zeno smiled within the darkness of the booth, though he kept his voice solemn.

“That is a most astute observation, Father. One might indeed be inclined to wonder.”

He had already considered precisely that accusation, but conclusions were always more powerful when men believed they had reached them unaided.

“I trust, then, that we understand one another,” Zeno said.

“I will speak with the others,” Thaddeus replied. “We shall make discreet inquiries and evaluate the veracity of these rumours.”

Which meant he would spread them judiciously while maintaining enough distance to deny having begun them.

Zeno rose from the confessional and stepped back into the chapel. Pale light entered through the narrow windows, catching upon drifting incense. Halfway down the aisle, he knelt and crossed himself with proper solemnity, ensuring that anyone watching would see nothing more suspicious than a nobleman lingering after Mass to tend to his conscience.

Conducting these meetings after the Sunday liturgy had proved trivial. Theodorus regularly departed early once his public obligations were fulfilled, though he attended often enough to satisfy what was expected of a lord.

Zeno also knew that Theodorus had men observing many of his movements. He did not concern himself overmuch with that. Keeping watch upon rivals was as ordinary among nobles as exchanging gifts or polite insults, and Zeno had his own agents following Theodorus in return.

It was rare, however, for one of those watchers to approach him directly.

“My Lord.”

A guardsman stood near the chapel entrance, breathing more heavily than the short walk from the castle should have warranted. Zeno recognised him as one of Theodorus’s personal bodyguards. The man bowed quickly, with none of the leisurely ceremony usually afforded to rank.

“Your presence is required at the castle with all haste.”

Zeno studied him for a heartbeat. “What has happened?”

“Lord Theodorus has collapsed.”

Zeno’s thoughts actually paused for a moment.

“What?”

…

Zeno was hardly Lord Theodorus’s staunchest ally, but neither did he wish the boy to die before his proper use had been exhausted. Theodorus remained useful - popular enough to steady the north and clever enough to produce results.

For that reason, the concern Zeno wore as he entered the lord’s chamber was not entirely feigned.

He found a crowd gathered around the bed. A veritable army of retainers and servants packed the room until there was scarcely space to move. Theodorus lay propped against cushions beneath thick woollen blankets, with a bowl of steaming broth untouched beside him.

The boy was pale. More than that, he was unsettled.

“Hypostrategos,” He greeted. Theodorus had arranged his face into its usual calm, but the performance lacked its customary ease.

“Strategos.” Zeno inclined his head, allowing the proper amount of worry to crease his brow. “Are you unwell? I came as soon as I heard.”

“It was merely a fright,” the boy replied, cool despite the strain in his voice. “You need not concern yourself. By tomorrow I shall be my usual self again.”

The declaration was meant as much for the retainers crowding the room as for Zeno.

“I trust you will,” Zeno said, offering the room a reassuring smile. “Even so, I can assume some of your duties over the coming days. There is no wisdom in straining yourself merely to prove that you can stand.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, Lord Zeno. I had intended to speak with the steward today regarding the household budget. I would be grateful if you handled that matter in my place. We may discuss this further on the morrow. I believe I will have recovered by then.”

A neat answer. Refusing outright would have appeared ungrateful, so the boy surrendered the least consequential duty while avoiding any promise concerning the coming days. He would not hand Zeno genuine authority merely because he had been found bleeding on the floor.

Near the doorway, the steward peered into the chamber worriedly. Theophylact held several parchments against his chest and looked as though he would have hidden behind them.

“Perhaps we should conduct the meeting now,” Zeno suggested.

The steward nodded weakly and followed him from the room.

Zeno still did not understand why Theophylact had been retained. He had advised replacing the man after Suyren changed hands, but Theodorus argued that too many abrupt changes would unsettle an already lackluster administration. Theophylact understood the northern economy better than anyone else available. A timid instrument remained useful if no sharper one could perform the same work.

They entered a large storeroom repurposed as a council chamber. A broad table occupied the centre, surrounded by high-backed chairs.

Adanis had never maintained a large council, nor possessed much patience for discussing policy with his subjects. The castle had thus lacked any proper chamber for collective administration until they arrived.

Zeno had chosen this room deliberately. Nervous men often became more pliable when they felt exposed. Sure enough, Theophylact seemed to diminish once the door closed, his shoulders folding inward as the empty chamber swallowed every rustle of parchment.

“Shall we begin?” Zeno asked, taking the seat at the head of the table once he had allowed the Steward to stew in his thoughts for long enough.

“Y-yes, my Lord. The h-household expenditure has increased with the new batch of scribes we have hired, as well as the turnover of servants under employ.” Theophylact clutched the documents with the reverence of a priest holding scripture.

Zeno had not realised he inspired quite so much fear in the man. He had never chastised him openly.

“Has the increase placed the household budget under strain?” Zeno asked. “The scribes in training and the servant recruits from the outlying villages are being paid half wages until their instruction is complete, are they not?”

The additional hiring had been planned in advance. Theodorus and Zeno intended to extend Suyren’s bureaucracy, while the next militia levy, to be raised after harvest, would be nearly twice the size of the present one. Both efforts required more clerks, servants, runners, and men capable of keeping records.

And there was another advantage. Bringing the sons of reeves and village notables into the castle placed them within Suyren’s administration, and gave the government a quiet hold over the communities they came from.

Theodorus might call it integration. Zeno recognised leverage when he saw it.

“T-The expenditure was p-planned to rise in tandem with the increase in revenue from the d-dyes, cement, and the fair,” the steward said, glancing down at the parchment as though afraid the figures might change beneath his eyes. “I-It is now r-roughly seventy hyperpera each month.”

“It appears the situation is well in hand, then” Zeno remarked.

Theophylact released a breath, and for the first time since entering the chamber, his grip upon the parchments loosened.

“Y-yes, my Lord. It was m-mostly a matter of confirming that the balance remains steady, w-which it has.”

Theophylact gathered the documents against his chest and began to rise, plainly believing the matter concluded. Zeno allowed him to lift halfway from his chair before speaking again.

“For the present, at least,” he said warmly. “And it seems we have you to thank for that.”

The steward paused.

“I would have assumed Lord Theodorus managed the accounts entirely himself, given the way he speaks of these projects,” Zeno continued, resting a hand thoughtfully against his chin.

Theophylact lowered himself back into the chair. “W-what do you mean?”

Zeno let a trace of uncertainty cross his expression, as though he had only now realised he might have spoken out of turn.

“I was unaware that the two of you still discussed the household budget so closely,” he said. “I had been led to understand that the Lord had entrusted you chiefly with instructing the newest scribes.”

Theophylact turned toward him, chin trembling faintly.

“I do not mean to distress you,” Zeno added, looking aside with carefully measured regret. “I am certain the Lord intended no insult. Still, I think it a poor use of your experience to relegate you to teaching duties when you should be handling appointments of genuine importance. Were you aware that one of the scribes has already been entrusted with portions of the tax obligations and the surveys being conducted throughout the northern villages?”

Theophylact’s eyes widened.

Zeno kept his expression sympathetic.

He had found the weakness and needed only patience to burrow deeper.

“T-the Lord truly said that?” The man asked. Whether he looked appalled or merely more frightened than before was difficult to determine. Theophylact seemed to exist in a permanent state of nervous expectation, and Zeno found it hard to read him.

Zeno knew that he and Theodorus shared a close relationship, or something approximating one. Yet men such as Theophylact often took perceived betrayal more seriously. He likely remembered every slight because they had already spent years imagining them. Once resentment found a place inside such a man, fear preserved it remarkably well.

“Do not trouble yourself, my friend,” Zeno said.

He rose and placed a comforting hand upon the steward’s shoulder. Theophylact stiffened beneath the touch, then slowly allowed himself to ease.

This was likely how Theodorus had earned the meek man’s loyalty in the first place. But if the boy was an apt student, Zeno was a master.

“I see now how useful you have been to Suyren,” he said, his tone low and reassuring. “Your knowledge should not be discarded merely because younger men are eager to prove themselves. I will not allow your service to be forgotten.”

Gratitude flickered through the steward’s fear, fragile and immediate. Zeno gave his shoulder one final squeeze before withdrawing his hand.

Bit by bit, he was gathering the pieces he would need when the moment came to strike. None alone could threaten Theodorus, but together, they could constrict him.

Zeno would coil his influence around Suyren slowly, hidden beneath assurances and quiet favours, tightening each loop only after the last had gone unnoticed. By the time the Sideris boy felt the pressure around his throat, it would already be too late.