I was too confident, she lectured herself. The Lord Nikos is a professional, not a student. Of course he would notice me! Perhaps I will not get too bad a beating:.

Her face fell at the thought. Her mistress was quite strict about these things. Drawing attention to oneself, particularly in such an odd way, was sure to disgust her. She considered throwing herself on the Duchess' mercy, but then remembered that the lady was rather lacking in patience these days.

She sneaked a look around the corner of the chair again. The Lord Nikos was standing, his eyes flashing as he argued with the Lord Jusuf about some plan or trap or mechanism. Betia noticed that the Lord Nikos had a very muscular chest, all smooth and brown and well defined, which you could kind of see through his tunic.

"And these servants, what of them? Are they men or monsters?" Nikos put his fists on the table, leaning forward. Maps had been brought out, showing the land between the capital and the great bay a hundred miles to the south. A dozen possible strategies had been raised and discarded. Servants had brought wine and cooked meats and more shelled nuts. The Illyrian turned to the Duchess, raising an eyebrow.

Anastasia sighed and put down a goblet of watered wine. She was tired, though this kind of thing had once fired her blood like a drug. Now it seemed much the same as another hundred sessions late at night in just another room half filled with a smoky haze. "I am not sure of it," she said, "but it maybe that some of the Prince's servants are not human. They walk like men, wear the clothing of men, but: "She paused, groping for the word.

Jusuf looked up from where he had been puzzling over the notes written by the foreman of the excavation crew. He turned one of the sheets of thin-scraped parchment around and pushed it across the table to Nikos. "Some of the bodies that were found in the rubble," he said, "seemed to be those of men. But look at the drawing here- see the foot?"

Nikos turned the parchment around and squinted at it. The light was poor, for the candles had begun to burn down. Then it brightened, and he saw out of the corner of his eye that the little blond slave had slipped up beside him and was replacing the candles. He frowned, but pretended not to notice her. The drawing on the parchment was well executed by a man the Duchess employed to paint not only her wall frescoes but also various buildings, people, machines, and other items of interest to her. Things like dead bodies dragged from the ashen slurry of a ruined house.

The drawing showed a foot with a cut made along the line of the body and the skin pulled back. It seemed to be the foot of a man, but there were extra muscles and tendons, and above each toe- big to small- was a sheath of some kind. Nikos squinted again, unable to make out the fine details. The drawing was beautiful, etched on the parchment in a dark brown ink with a tinyquill.

"It is a claw," Jusuf said in a tight voice. "Some of the Prince's servants are animals that wear the shape of men. Among my people, we call them the ursakurt- your term, I believe, is lycanthrope. I have heard tales from my grandfathers of such- but they left our lands long ago, before even the Gok Turks came from the east."

Nikos cursed again and rubbed the back of his bald head. This just got worse and worse.

Betia almost laughed out loud, seeing the face that the Lord Nikos made. After sitting here worrying for almost an hour while her elders argued and cursed and exclaimed to one another, she had realized that his bald head and its smooth tan surface reminded her very much of a brown hen's egg. With that she had become much more relaxed and had even stolen some of the food from the trays that were brought in. The Duchess, of a mercy, had seemingly forgotten that she was there.

But Betia had learned the hard way not to forget that the Duchess could command her at anytime.

A breath of air touched the little blond girl's neck, and she sprang to her feet in perfect silence, turning toward the door, sliding her body between the door and the back of the Duchess' chair. She had heard neither the pad of a servant's step outside nor the tink-tink of one of the Khazar boots on the tile.

A figure was there in a dirty dark robe and a funny smell, like dust and mud and the marketplace. One hand was on the door, and the other was already over Betia's mouth. It was a strong, slim hand, with short-clipped nails and the ridges of callus that marked the swordsman.

"Hello friends," a familiar voice said. Nikos turned in puzzlement and saw the Duchess's eyes open in surprise as well. "Why the long faces?"

Nikos' heart skipped a beat, and the figure at the door shook the hood off her head, letting a river of red-gold curls spill down over her shoulders and the tattered tunic and robe. There was a hiss of air as everyman in the room took a breath to speak.

"Nikos!" Thyatis swung around the side of the table and wrapped the stocky Illyrian in a bear hug. She was laughing, her grimy face split with a huge grin. "You didn't get lost on your way home!"

Nikos laughed, feeling a huge weight- it might be the whole worldlift from his shoulders. He hugged her back, unable to speak.

Thyatis turned, her grin lighting the room, and made a half bow to the Duchess. Anastasia's eyes were shining, too, and she raised an elegant hand for Thyatis to kiss in greeting.

"My lady," Thyatis said, pressing her forehead against the back of Anastasia's hand. "You see, I did come home. Late and much delayed, but I am here."

"Welcome," Anastasia said, her old beauty suddenly returning to her face. To Nikos, it seemed she was young again in her smile. Her weariness fled. "You've come at the best time."

"It seems so," Thyatis growled, still holding the Duchess's hand as she turned to look upon the rest of the men in the room. The Khazars crowded around her, pounding her on the back and exclaiming at the wear on her boots and cloak. Jusuf smiled across the table, though he did not move to embrace her. Thyatis raised an eyebrow, noting the hand that the Khazar had laid on the back of the Duchess' chair.

"You've all been about some tomfoolery, I see." Thyatis gestured at the maps and papers on the table. "There is a hunt in the wind- I could hear it in your voices as I came up the stair. Tell me all."

Steam boiled up from the surface of the big cedar tub, and Thyatis lowered herself into it with a groan of pure relief. The water was hot and fresh, and there was plenty of it. The young Roman woman had bound her hair up in a bun at the back of her head. Every muscle in her body had decided it was time to wake up, start aching and demand immediate attention. It felt so good, after weeks of dogging around the Aegean ports on a succession of lugs and coasters before finally reaching Rome.

"The children are fine." Anastasia was sitting by the side of the tub on a marble bench. The Duchess was tired, too, but the haunted look in her face had passed, replaced by something approximating her old confidence and demeanor. "They made a horrible ruckus in the houserunning about like wild monkeys- and drove the maids and the cooks to distraction."

"Ah-huh?" Thyatis had settled into the water until only her firm, rose-colored lips were above the water. She leaned back into the side of the tub, letting herself float in the steaming water. "Did they break anything?"

"Oh yes," Anastasia said with a faint smile. "It took a great deal to keep track of them."

"I brought them presents," Thyatis said dreamily as the heat seeped into her sore muscles. "Are they here?"