been left in command of the city, so she wasn't really wrong—and she was dead right to err on the side of flattery.
Evripos grunted. Before he could say more than 'Get up,' a messenger bleeding from a cut over one eye came up and gasped something Phostis didn't follow. Evripos said, 'It's not hard unless you make it so. Push one troop down from Middle Street east of where those maniacs are holed up and another west of 'em. Then crush 'em between our men.'
The messenger dashed away. Off to one side in the pavilion, Phostis saw Noetos bent over a map. But Noetos was not running the show. Evripos was. Phostis had watched Krispos exercise command too often to mistake it.
He said, 'What can I do to help?'
'To take things away from me, you mean?' Evripos asked suspiciously.
'No. Father gave it to you, and you seem to be doing well by it. I just got here, remember? I haven't the faintest idea what's going on. But if I can be of use, tell me how.'
Evripos looked as if such cooperation were the last thing he wanted. Olyvria said, 'If you like, we could speak to the mob and tell them why we care for the gleaming path no more.'
'Not the least reason being that Makuran is behind the Thanasioi and supports them with a wizard and the good god only knows what all else,' Phostis added.
'So you know about that, do you? We wondered, Father and I. We were afraid you knew and didn't care, afraid you'd thrown your lot in with the heretics. You hadn't seemed exactly eager when we went on campaign against them last year.' Evripos' sarcasm stung like a whiplash.
'I wasn't eager then,' Phostis admitted: No point denying it, for Evripos knew better. 'It's different now. Fetch a mage for the two-mirror test if you don't believe me.'
Evripos glowered at him. 'The Thanasioi have tricks to beat the two-mirror test, as you'll recall from the delightful time Zaidas had trying to use it last year. And if Zaidas couldn't make it work, I doubt another mage would be able to, either. And so, brother of mine, I'll keep you and the heresiarch's daughter off the platform. I can't trust you, you see.'
'Can't trust us how?' Phostis demanded.
'How d'you think? Suppose I let you go talk to the mob and instead of saying, 'The golden path is a midden full of dung,' you say, 'Hurrah for Thanasios! Now go out and burn the High Temple!'? That would spill the chamber pot into the stew, now wouldn't it?'
Noetos looked up from the map table and said, 'Surely the young Majesty would commit no such outrage. He —'
Evripos cut him off with a sharp wave of the hand. 'No.' He sounded as imperial—and as much like his father— as Phostis had with the same word. 'I will not take the chance. Have we not seen enough chaos in the city these past few days to fight shy of provoking more? I say again, no.' He shifted his feet into a fighter's stance, as if defying Noetos to make him change his mind.
The general tamely yielded. 'It shall be as you say, of course, young Majesty,' he murmured, and went back to his map.
Phostis found himself furious enough to want to hit his brother over the head with the nearest hard object he could find. 'You're a fool,' he growled.
'And you're a blockhead,' Evripos retorted. 'I'm not the one who let Digenis seduce him.'
'How's this, then?' Phostis said. 'Suppose you summon Oxeites the patriarch here to the plaza of Palamas or anyplace else you think would be a good idea, and he can marry me to Olyvria as publicly as possible. That ought to convince people I'm not a Thanasiot—they'd sooner starve than wive ... Curse you, Evripos, I mean it. What's so bloody funny?'
'I'm sorry,' Evripos said, the first concession Phostis had got from him. 'I was just thinking it's too bad Father's gone on campaign. The two of you might don the crowns of marriage side by side. Do you remember the serving maid named Drina?'
'Of course. She's a pretty little thing, but—' Phostis gaped at his grinning brother. 'Father's gone all soft in the head over her?'
'I doubt that,' Evripos said judiciously. 'When has Father ever gone soft in the head over anyone, us included? But she is pregnant by him. We'll have ourselves a little half brother or half sister before Midwinter's Day. Relax, Phostis—you don't need to go so white. Father truly doesn't plan on marrying her. Believe me, I'm as happy at that as you are.'
'Yes. A new half brother or half sister, eh? Well, well.' Phostis wondered if he was only half brother to Evripos and Katakolon as it was. He'd never know, not for certain. He said, 'If you're done gossiping, I'm dead serious about what I said. If you think it will help end the riots, I'll wed in as open a ceremony as the chamberlains can dream up.'
Beside him, Olyvria nodded vigorously. 'That might be the best way to discredit the gleaming path: let those who think of following it see that their one-time leaders are abandoning it.'
'The plan is sensible, young Majesty,' Noetos said.
'Mmm—maybe it is.' Evripos frowned in intense concentration. A messenger interrupted with a note. Evripos read it, snapped orders, and returned to study. At last he said, 'No, I will not order it. One of the drawbacks of our rank, brother, is that we aren't always free to make the matches we would. I see nothing wrong with this one, but I'm slowly finding out—' His grin was rueful and disarming at the same time. '—I don't know everything there is to know. Too much rides here for me to say aye or nay.'
'What then?' Phostis demanded.
'I'll send you along the courier route to Father. Tell him your tale. If he believes you, what can I possibly say? And if he thinks this marriage of yours a good idea, then married you shall be—and at a quickstep, if I know Father. Bargain?'
'Bargain,' Phostis replied at once. A couple of orders from Evripos and he and Olyvria might have disappeared
