The Rankan emperor remembered Nikodemos from the battle for the throne at the
Festival of Man. He’d been with Tempus once when the Riddler had had to bail his
Stepson out of a Rankan jail.
The ashen-haired youth sitting with a babe on either knee looked tired, wan, and
somehow much too gentle to be the same much-lauded fighter. But when Niko raised
his head and wished them life and glory, it was clearly the youngster whose fate
was dogged by a Nisibisi witch.
Tempus left Theron’s side and strode to where Niko sat.
As he did, Gyskouras buried his young head in Niko’s chiton and began to weep at
the sight of his natural father, and Alton, understanding more than children
should, shook his dark-haired head and told his blond companion: “‘Kouras, be
brave. Don’t cry.”
“Let him. They’re clear tears, and that’s a blessing,” Niko said softly to the
children, then looked up at Tempus and beyond, to Theron: “You’ll excuse me for
not rising, lords. They’re tired. They’re undisciplined. They’ve had too many
adventures for boys so young.”
“So have you, we’ve heard. Stealth,” Theron said kindly, remembering all that
went on upcountry to win him the throne from Abakithis, and how much Niko had
sacrificed to that end.
“You’re still taking them to Bandara, Niko?” Tempus asked offhandedly.
“If you still agree. Commander. If you’ll give me leave.”
Tempus almost said that Abarsis had usurped command from him in the matter, but
he was too pleased with the outcome of his talk with Theron. “Leave you have,
and leave to meet us in three months back in the capital-we’re mounting an