Krispos the Emperor

'So it does.' Phostis tried to match dry with dry. If he'd thought fulsome promises would have kept him out of a small, dark, dank chamber, he would have used them. But he guessed Livanios would assume fulsome promises to be but fulsome lies. He shrugged and answered, 'The choice is yours. If you don't trust me, you won't believe what I say in any case.'

'You're clever enough, aren't you?' Sitting in his high-backed chair, Livanios reminded Phostis of a smug cat who'd appointed himself judge of mice. Phostis had never been a mouse before; he didn't care for the sensation. Livanios went on, 'Well, we can see how it goes. All right, young majesty, no manacles for you.' Not now, Photis heard between the words. 'We'll let you see us—with suitable keepers, of course—and we'll see you. Later on we'll decide what's to be done with you in the end.'

The priest who stood in front of Livanios smiled as widely as his pinched features would permit and made the sun-sign once more. The man in the caftan, who stood at Livanios' right, half turned and said, 'Are you sure this is wise?'

'No,' Livanios answered frankly; he did not seem annoyed to have his decision questioned. 'But I think the reward we may reap repays the risk.'

'They would never take such a chance back in—'

Livanios held up a hand. 'Never mind what they would do there. You are here, and I hope you will remember it.' He might listen to his adviser's opinion, but kept a grip on authority. The man in the caftan put both hands in front of him and bowed almost double, acknowledging that authority.

'If he is to be enlarged, even in part, where shall we house him?' Olyvria asked her father.

'Take him up to a chamber on the highest floor here,' Livanios answered. 'With a guard in the corridor, he'll not escape from there unless he grows wings. Syagrios, when he is out and about, you'll be his principal keeper. I charge you not to let him flee.'

'Oh, he won't.' Syagrios looked at Phostis as if he hoped the younger man would try to get away. Phostis had never seen anyone who actually looked forward to hurting him before. His testicles crawled up into his belly.

He said, 'I don't want to go anywhere right now, except maybe to sleep.'

'Spoken like a soldier,' Livanios said with a laugh. Syagrios shook his head, denying Phostis deserved the name. Phostis didn't know if he did or not. He might have found out, had the Thanasioi not kidnapped him. But could he have fought against them? He didn't know that, either. He contented himself with ostentatiously ignoring Syagrios. That made Livanios laugh harder.

'If he wants to sleep, he may as well,' Olyvria said. 'By your leave, Father, I'll take him up to one of the rooms you suggested.'

Livanios waved an airy hand as if he were the Avtokrator granting a boon. Having watched Krispos all his life, Phostis had seen the gesture better done. Olyvria led him toward the spiral stairway. Syagrios pulled an unpleasantly long, unpleas-

antly sharp knife from his belt and followed the two of them. The ruffian, Phostis thought, was not subtle in his messages.

Doing his best to keep on pretending Syagrios did not exist, Phostis turned to Olyvria and said, 'Thank you for keeping me out of the dungeon, at any rate.' He wondered why she'd taken his side; from a young man raised in the palaces, calculation of advantage came naturally as breathing.

'It's simple enough: I think that, given the chance, you will take your place on the gleaming path,' Olyvria answered. 'Once you forgive us for the unkind way we had to grab you, you'll see—I'm sure you'll see—how we live in accord with Phos' teachings, far more so than those who pride themselves on how fat their bellies are or how many horses or mistresses they own.'

'How could anyone doubt surfeit is wrong?' Phostis said, and Olyvria beamed. But Phostis wondered if sufficiency was wrong, too: the glutton deserved the scorn he got, but was having a belly not growling with hunger every hour of the day also something to condemn? He knew what his father's answer would have been. Then again, he also remained sure his father did not have all the answers.

In normal circumstances, he might have enjoyed arguing the theology of it, especially with an attractive young woman. The knife Syagrios held a couple of feet from his kidneys reminded him how abnormal these circumstances were. Theological disputation would have to wait.

The way he wobbled by the time he got to the head of the stairs also reminded him he was not all he could have been. His own belly grumbled and cried out for more nourishment than he'd had lately.

The chamber to which Olyvria led him was severely simple. It held a straw pallet covered with linen ticking, a blanket that looked as if it had seen better years, a couple of three-legged stools, and a chamber pot with some torn rags beside it. The rest—floors, wall, ceiling—was blocks of bare gray stone. Livanios did not have to fret about his growing wings, either: even if he did sprout feathers, he couldn't have slipped through the slit window that gave the little room what light it had.

The door had no bar on the outside, but it had none on the inside, either. Syagrios said, 'Someone will be in the hall watching you most of the time, boy. You'll never know when.

Even if you do get lucky, someone will catch you in the stairs or in the hall or in the ward. You can't run. Get used to it.'

Olyvria added, 'Our hope is that you won't want to run, Phostis, that you'll find you've gained by coming here, no matter how little you care for the way you traveled. When you see Etchmiadzin, when you see the gleaming path as it leads toward Phos and his eternal life, we hope you'll become one of us.'

She sounded very earnest. Phostis had trouble believing she was acting—but she'd fooled him before. He wondered if her father truly wanted him to take his place on the gleaming path. As things stood, Livanios led the Thanasioi, at least in battle. But an Avtokrator's son had a claim on leadership merely because of who he was. Maybe Livanios thought Phostis would be a pliant puppet. Phostis had his own opinion of that.

'We'll leave you to your rest now,' Olyvria said. 'Come tomorrow, you'll begin to see how the followers of the pious and holy Thanasios shape their lives.'

She and Syagrios walked out. She closed the door after them. It wasn't much of a barrier, but it would have to do. Phostis looked around at his cell—that struck him as a better name for the place than room, and in truth no monk would have complained its furnishings were too luxurious. It was, however, not a dungeon. He did indeed have that for which to be grateful to Olyvria.