"Don't be so glum, Retty", he said, but with his broken nose it sounded more like, 'Mmph bleg so glom, Rheeti.'

"Landy," said Arete, voice was perfectly serious, "don't talk." One of the slave girls took this as her cue to gently press a cool, wet cloth over his nose. Leandros slapped her away with a yelp, cursing.

"Was your mother a crippled ox, you worthless—"

"Landy." Arete crossed her arms. "Don't bully my slaves. We're not ten." Then she added, "And she's just doing what the surgeons said." His twin sister waved her hand at the slave girl, who cautiously lay another cloth over his nose.

It fucking hurt.

Leandros grimaced and lay back on the bed, breathing through his mouth. The surgeons had set his nose the best they could, but then they'd gone and stuck gauze inside it to 'keep its shape' as it healed. It was somehow ingenious and sadistic at once, and he half-thought that fat little turd, Galen, had done it to torment him.

Arete ordered a new bowl with fresh, cool water from the fountain. They'd been at this for hours now, but the pain and swelling hadn't abated. The draught of dreamseed had hardly made a dent, most especially because the very same fat little turd had refused to leave the entire bottle. If that uppity cripple hadn't belonged to House Astros, Leandros would have taught him some proper manners, but no; dear, sweet Niki had been oh-so-concerned enough to send Landy his personal physician.

It was the stupidest fucking thing Leandros had ever heard. A fat cripple who hadn't managed to fix himself was Sandy-boy's personal physician?

It was obviously one of those ridiculous, publicity-loving appointments that House Astros so loved: Oh, look at us! We're House Astros! We're so just and smart and rich and perfectly perfect in every way! Bring us your cripples, your poors, your useless fucking slaves. We're perfectly moral moralists moralizing out our asses every moral fucking day.

It was revolting, particularly because everyone knew: those fuckers liked their slaves and rent money the same way everyone else did. They were just pretending, just like precious Niki was pretending he wasn't some half-Sander get dressed up in fancy clothes who'd been taught to mouth pretty words.

Everyone knew Nidemus had his hand shoved up his baby boy's ass, wriggling Niki's head here, there, anywhere, whenever and wherever he wanted to parade that bastard son of his around as some kind of genius. Leandros already knew the man had hired some slaves to write the boy's theses—all twenty of them, which was a waste of fine parchment—for the last ten years.

Like Hā́idēs Leandros believed that cuck had managed a border-skirmish at fifteen. That was bullshit. Fifteen was barely enough to grow chin-fuzz or get your dick wet. In fact, Leandros was pretty sure that little Niki still didn't understand what women were for, and that was exactly why Heiode had cucked him for some big-dick slave.

It was actually really fucking funny. Leandros almost laughed, but checked himself as pain welled up through the bridge of his nose like a little spurt of fire. The dreamseed helped, but any time he moved his face, it hurt like a Hōra-ridden bitch.

"Wine," he muttered, but Retty shook her head.

"Landy, no." And now she sounded mad at him, which wasn't fair at all. It just wasn't. "That's exactly how you got here in the first place."

"Retty," he said, hating how the stupid gauze made his voice whiny, "it hurts. Come on. This's watered down to shit." He gestured to the empty little bowl of dreamseed elixir. "You try breaking your pretty nose. Bet you you'd drink. Bet you you'd drink a lot."

"Landy. No. No wine. And stop talking." She sat next to him with a little huff and ran her fingers through his hair the way their mother used to. Her voice gentled. "It's for your own good. You know you can't have wine with elixir. That's what they said—Galen and Nisos."

"Galen's worthless and Nisos is an ass-licker."

"Landy." She sighed at him. "You're upsetting me. Again."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll stop upsetting you when you stop upsetting me. How come you're mad at me? That's not fair."

"I am not mad at you." Her voice had stiffened, which was a sure sign that she was lying. She was pissed as fuck.

"You are. Don't tell me you're on his side. That's fucked up. That's not fair."

She sat up abruptly and Leandros wondered if he'd gone and pushed her a little too hard, except...

It just drove him so fucking crazy, how crazy she was over some worthless, cock-sucking, boot-licking, pox-riddled—

"You started it."

Leandros had been ready for the accusation, but he still felt it.

It really wasn't fair.

"Damn fucking right I did."

"And now you're proud of yourself. I can't believe you." She clutched her hair and tugged so her bangs swung over her face. Yeah, she was pissed off. All that sweet cooing had been fake horseshit to make him shut up and stop bothering her, which was exactly what he'd been expecting.

"Damn fucking right I am."

She shot him an angry, disbelieving look—finally, some honesty. "You said you'd make up with him. You said! That's why we came in the first place!"

Leandros dug in. "Yeah, well that was before I knew he'd been off sticking his dick in some sandy whore." To think Retty wanted to marry that worthless guttersnipe. It was outrageous. Outrageous. "He probably has pox. His dick'll fall off and then who'll you do?"

"That's disgusting."

"It's true. He's taken every dick from here to Heliopolis and then some. He's taken more dick than a half-copper dock-whore. Bet you Stephanos dicks him down every time he—"

"Landy! That's revolting. Stop saying 'dick.' It's not funny and it's not charming. Stop it."

"I just saved you from humiliating yourself over Lukios-the-fucking-Lion—again. And I paid for it with my nose. Be grateful, woman."

"I wasn't—"

"Bullshit you weren't." Leandros fixed her with a hard stare. "We're better than him. Don't be blinded by that piss-drinking smile or that stupid shiny hair. He's a filthy, lying guttersnipe that fucked his way to the top. He's too stupid to know who he should be thanking and why. He's got no manners, no class. He's a pretty, shiny box that's empty inside. He—"

Arete turned around on her heel and began marching to the door, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. 

Landy tried to sigh, but it was more of a wheeze. And it hurt. Again. "Retty. Come on. You know it's true. You know it. There's no way some colosseum slave climbed that high and that fast without sucking cock and bending over."

She whirled to face him. Retty always had to have the last word. "He's a Helios, Landy. A born Helios."

"He's a slave Helios. Not really the same fucking thing, Retty."

"He's not a slave anymore. And he's a real Helios."

"Bet you Rekos fucked him, too."

"Uuuuuurgh!" Retty finally lost her temper and grabbed a cushion from the fainting couch, throwing it at him with her usual accuracy. Leandros raised his hand and caught it in midair, though it was a near thing: dreamseed didn’t keep a man alert.

But cushions didn't make very good projectile weapons, thank the gods. Retty could get downright nasty.

"And you don't want him 'cause he's a Helios. Grow up, Retty. Heroes aren't real."

Arete stomped over to the little side table with the amphora of wine and clay kantharos. She poured herself a cup and glared at him as she gulped it down.

"Well, aren't you the grown up now, hm? Come on, Retty. Share."

"No. And you're wrong about Lukios—as usual. Those are just rumours—rumours—and you know what that's like. I can't believe you. Why can't you just get along with him? He could help you. He could—"

"Retty. Don't." Leandros made the mistake of grinding his teeth until a sharp spike of pain made him stop and lay back with his eyes closed. "He's gutter trash. You're too good for gutter trash. You were too good for Cusiasios—" he heard his twin make a pained, disgusted noise at the mention of her first husband "—and you're definitely too good for Gutter-man."

"This 'gutter trash' leads an army of over a hundred loyal men—independently. They don't ride for House Helios, Landy. They ride for him." She raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to see you rouse a hundred men to fight for you, just because."

He popped one eye open to glare. "Don't be a bitch, Retty."

"Don't be a pussy, Landy."

He forced himself to sit up, though he was really starting to feel the dreamseed to his bones. Damn, he was tired. "You know I just took a fist and a forehead to the nose for you, right? I can't fucking believe you, sometimes. Hā́idēs' balls, woman!"

"I keep telling you—he could—"

"No. Stop comparing me to pox-riddled gutter trash. It's offensive." He snorted, then stopped, wincing. "And besides, one hundred men ain't shit. That's a drop in the bucket. Father-dear can raise—"

"Conscripts aren't the same thing, Landy."

"Most of them aren't conscripts, Retty."

"They can't exactly refuse, Landy. And besides—they follow House Origos. That's different."

"I don't get you. Why're you so stuck on this? Gutter-man isn't the only fucker with an army. There are other men with armies. Look, if you want to marry a man with an army, I'll find you one that doesn't stink like a pisspot. How about that? Forget this guy. I'm serious, Retty. You want to fuck a strapping young—"

"Landy!"

"Oh, get off it. You like the arms. And the shoulders. You eye him up like—"

"I do not!"

"Pffff—ow, fuck! See what you made me do?"

"It's not my fault you're an idiot, Landy." 

"Gods, why are you such a bitch about this? How come you're not plotting to murder his ass already? He threw you over for some Sander whore, Retty. Fuck! At least poison the whore!"

Retty rolled her eyes. "She's ugly and he's a man. Obviously, he was lonely out in the desert by himself. He'll remember he doesn't like sticking it in dish rags soon enough." She shrugged. "And she's a sad little thing, anyway. Scrawny. Probably happy he picked her up and fed her."

"…Didn't you sell that one slave girl because she looked at him funny?"

Arete hmm'd. "No. I did no such thing. Only…Lukios can be a little rough around the edges, it's true. He needs to distance himself from his lessers if he wants—"

Leandros couldn't help it. He laughed, even through the pain. "He's—ow!—hanging out with our lessers because that's his level. Water always finds its level, sister dear. Always. That's why he came crawling back with a Sander whore—that's his level. Don't stoop to his level."

Arete sighed at him. "He just needs some polishing. That's all. But he's competent and well-liked, and he has the backing of the emperor. House Astros won't back you, Landy—"

Leandros would have scowled, but it hurt too much. He checked himself and settled for looking sour instead.

"—so Stephanos will have to do."

"Bull. Shit. There're plenty of muscle-heads in House Helios, and Stephanos doesn't hate all of 'em, either. Write to Danaë and ask for an introduction. But you won't, will you? 'Cause they don't have that stupid, shiny hair. Shallow, Retty. Shallow." She scowled at him, but Leandros continued. "'Sides, I don't think he's going to forget about his dish rag. They're getting married, ha. What a perfect pair: gutter trash hitching it to a dish rag. Nice."

Her jaw tightened. "He's just…confused, is all. All that sun and sand. He'll snap out of it eventually, and when he does he'll remember—"

"—Why he left you?" Leandros snickered through the pain. This was too funny. "Nice trick with the dinner, by the way. He definitely didn't like it."

She sighed. "I didn't think about the Sander. Well, I did, but I didn't think he'd care so much." She put a hand to her forehead. "I reminded him of the wrong thing."

"Thought it through real damn good, huh?"

"Stop being smug. It's aggravating."

"I'll stop being smug when you stop being stup—"

Someone cleared his throat and they swivelled their heads toward the sound, eerily synchronised.

It was their father's personal aide, Tarchones. "Arete," he said in his usual, straightforward way. "Your father wants words with you."

"Now?" Arete's brow crinkled as she looked at Leandros. "But…"

"Now."

The twins glanced at each other, and Leandros flapped his hand at her. "Oh, go on then. Father-dear is calling for his golden-child and all."

"Landy…"

"Leave me some wine, though. Don't be a pisspot."

Arete rolled her eyes at him. "You're a drunk, Landy." She drained her cup until there were only two or three swallows left and handed it to him. She turned to one of the slaves. "Don't refill this once he's done, no matter what he says. I mean it."

"Yes, Mistress."

Arete smoothed her hair back and shook out her chiton, the same one she'd worn to dinner. The crinkles shook out, but the bloodstains remained. She looked down at herself and sighed.

Tarchones offered her his elbow, but Arete swept past him. "Well, come along then," she called to him over her shoulder. "The night's not getting any younger."

The slaves propped Leandros up on some pillows—carefully—and handed him the goblet. He took a sip, which didn't improve his headache, but did improve his mood. He savored it before breathlessness forced him to swallow; the gauze really was bullshit. He took another mouthful, puzzling over the mysterious summons.

His father was likely in a temper, but it was odd that he'd called for Arete rather than Landy—usually Landy took all the beatings.

He paused. No, surely not. Not Arete. Not…

"Hey, you."

The slave girl who'd been doing the fetching paused, arms around the new pot of water. "Master?"

"Go down to Father's office through the slave door and keep an ear out. You come get me if you hear anything untoward, got it?"

"Untoward…?"

"Yelling or slapping, you stupid twat," he snapped. The breathless wheezing really undercut the effect. "Now go!"

The girl set the pot down and scuttled away, eyes wide. 

Leandros lay back and closed his eyes.

Fucking Lukios.

The man was nothing but trouble.