'Urk,' Phostis said.
Krispos shook a finger at him. 'You have to answer without the foolish noises. When the red boots are on your feet, these are the questions you must deal with. You can't waste time, either.' He studied the youth, wondering how he'd do.
As if to redeem that startled squawk, Phostis made his voice as deep and serious as he could: 'Were the command mine, I'd say no. We're tracking the Thanasioi well by magic, so why let them blunder against our men before the last possible moment? If Zaidas' magic has worked as well as he hopes, Artapan should be nearly blind to us. The more surprise we have, the better.'
Sarkis glanced toward Krispos. The Avtokrator spoke six words: 'As he said, for his reasons.' Phostis looked even more pleased at that indirect praise than he had when Krispos said he was proud of him.
'Aye, it does make sense.' Sarkis chuckled. 'Your Majesty, you were a pretty fair strategist yourself before you really knew what you were doing. It must run in the blood.'
'Well, maybe.' Krispos and Phostis said it in the same breath and in the same tone. They looked at each other. The Avtokrator started to laugh. A moment later, so did Phostis. Neither one seemed able to stop.
Now Sarkis studied them as if wondering whether they'd lost their wits. 'I didn't think it was that funny,' he said plaintively.
'Maybe it's not,' Krispos said.
'On the other hand, maybe it is,' Phostis said. Thinking back to the grueling and in the end uncertain talk they'd had a few nights before, the Avtokrator found himself nodding. If they could laugh about it, that probably boded well for the future.
'I still say you've gone mad in the morning,' Sarkis rumbled. 'I'll try one of you or the other this afternoon and see if you make any sense then.' He rode off, beak of a nose in the air.
The tent was small and close. The warm night made it seem even closer. So did the stink of hot tallow from the candle stuck in the ground where its flame couldn't reach anything burnable. As she had for the past several nights, Olyvria asked, 'What
'I don't want to tell you,' Phostis said. He'd been saying that ever since he'd come back from Krispos' pavilion. It was not an answer calculated to stifle curiosity, but he knew no better to give.
'Why don't you?' Olyvria demanded. 'If it had to do with me, I have a right to know.'
'It had nothing to do with you.' Phostis had repeated that a good many times, too. It was even true. The only trouble was, Olyvria didn't believe him.
Tonight she seemed to have decided to argue like a canon lawyer. 'Well, if it has nothing to do with me, then what possible harm could there be to my knowing it?' She grinned smugly, pleased with herself; she'd put him in a logician's classic double bind.
But he refused to be bound. 'If it were your business, I wouldn't have wanted the talk to be private.'
'That's not right.' She glared, angry now.
'I think it is.' Phostis didn't want anyone wondering who his father was. He wished he didn't have to wonder himself. One person could keep a secret—Krispos had, after all. Two people might keep a secret. More than two people ... he supposed it was possible, but it didn't seem likely.
'If I tell you why I won't tell you, that would be about the same as telling you,' Phostis had to listen to that sentence again in his head before he was sure it had come out the way he wanted it. He went on, 'It has nothing to do with you and me.'
'What you talked about may not have, but that you won't tell me certainly does.' Olyvria needed a moment's hesitation, too. 'What could you possibly want to keep to yourself that way?'
'It's none of your concern.' Phostis ground out the words one at a time. Olyvria glowered at him. He glowered back; these arguments got him angry, too. His hissed exhale was almost a snarl. He said, 'All right, by the good god, I'll tell you what: suppose you go over to the Avtokrator's pavilion and ask him. If he doesn't mind telling you what we talked about, I suppose it's all right with me.'
She had spirit. He'd known that from the day he first encountered her, naked and lovely and tempting, under Videssos the city. For a moment he thought she'd do as he'd dared and storm out of the tent. He wondered what Krispos would make of that, how he'd handle it.
But even Olyvria's nerve could fray. She said, 'It's not just that he's your father—he's the Avtokrator, too.'
'I know,' Phostis said dryly. 'I've had to deal with that my whole life. You'd best get used to it, too. Phos is the only true judge, of course, but my guess is that he'll be Avtokrator a good many years yet.'
Videssian history knew instances of imperial heirs who grew impatient waiting for their fathers to die and helped the process along. It also knew rather more instances of impatient imperial heirs who tried to help the process along, failed, and never, ever got a second chance. Phostis had no interest in raising a sedition against Krispos for, among others, the most practical of good reasons: he was convinced the Avtokrator would smell out the plot and use him for it as a failed rebel deserved. He counted himself lucky that Krispos had forgiven him after his involuntary sojourn among the Thanasioi.
Probing still, Olyvria said, 'Is it something that discredits you or your father? Is that why you don't want to talk about it?'
'I won't answer questions like that, either,' Phostis said. Not answering was another trick he'd learned from Krispos. If you started responding the questions around the edge of the one you didn't want to discuss, before long the exact shape and size of the answer to that one came clear.
'I think you're being hateful,' Olyvria said.
Phostis stared down his nose at her. It wasn't quite as long and impressive as Krispos', but it served well enough. 'I'm doing what I think I need to do. You're Livanios' daughter, but no one has tried to tear out of you any of his secrets that you didn't care to give. Seems to me I ought to be allowed a secret or two of my own.'
