Page 41 of The House of the Red Balconies

“What name did you give Nahaz?” Taris asked later, after the early guests had left. “Temar? Is that your real name?”

“Oh. No, but it’s a typical Parkan name, and ‘Zo’ isn’t.” He shrugged. “I thought it would confuse him if I didn’t have a Parkan name.” He’d put on a slight Parkan accent when speaking Zashian to Nahaz, too, but Taris didn’t seem to have noticed that.

She frowned. “Well, he seemed to have a good time, so he may come back. You’d be better off giving him your real name then.”

“He’ll think I did give him my real name, and that Zo is a nickname. This isn’t my first chariot race, you know.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and she laughed and let the topic drop.

Hylas did not expect to see Loukianos at the government office that day. But he came in, late in the afternoon, looking grey-faced and worse for wear. He shuffled some documents about and talked to a few people before finally coming over to Hylas’s desk.

“Hylas,” he said grimly. He leaned against the desk, arms folded.

Hylas held his breath. Clearly the governor remembered what had gone on the night before and was embarrassed by it. And a man in his position could easily make such a problem go away. Dismissing Hylas would be simple—logical, even, with the aqueduct project stalled and perhaps moribund.

Of course he didn’t want to be dismissed, but equally he found he didn’t want to see Loukianos abuse his power in that way. It would be unworthy of him.

“I have to apologize for last night,” Loukianos said, and Hylas breathed again.

“It’s all right, sir,” he said easily.

“No, no, it isn’t. I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

There were other people in the office, though none very near them.

“I think you were upset and grieving, and I’d never hold that against you. As … as for the other … ” He lowered his voice further. “You know, it’s not really anything I know much about, but I’m sure you can make it happen. Not—not with me, that wouldn’t work, and probably not with that young woman at the Peacock, but I daresay there are people on the island who would quite like the idea.”

Loukianos had been staring fixedly down at the desk, but now he looked up at Hylas. “You’re probably right. It is Tykanos, after all.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

But in fact, when he thought about it more, after Loukianos went off to another part of the office to speak to someone, he thought that Tykanos wasn’t quite what everyone made it out to be. It was more complex, more difficult to grasp—like a person with many sides to their character.

The garden door rattled open briefly and shut again, a breath of cold air wafting over the bed, and Hylas was in the room; Zo could feel his presence even if he wouldn’t open his eyes.

“Zo, it’s mid-morning. You should get up.”

“I’m tired,” Zo snarled from the depths of his pillow.

A pause. Then Hylas’s voice again, gentle and sympathetic but somehow also implacable: “I know. But you told me that lying in bed all day doesn’t help and that you often feel better when you get up. So I’ve come to remind you that you should try that.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. I’m here to help, though. What if I get you some fresh tea?”

“Mph.” Zo finally opened his eyes and peered at the chair beside his bed. There was the tray which Hylas must have left earlier, the tea bowl full but obviously quite cold by now. “Was I awake when you came earlier?”

“I thought you were, but perhaps not.”

“Fresh tea would be nice.”

Very briefly, Hylas touched his shoulder—just the slightest tap of his fingers through the blanket.

“I’ll be right back.” Another pause. “Is it all right if I come in through your front door, from the hall?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Um, I don’t know. Sorry. Never mind.”