*
There was still one thing that he had to do.
When he finally dismounted, an Akielon city of tents had risen up to mirror the Veretian one, on his orders. He slid down from the saddle and passed off his reins to a soldier. He was very tired by now in a purely physical way that he felt as an effort of concentration. He had to put aside the tremor in his muscles, in his arms and legs.
On the eastern side of the camp was his own tent, which offered sheets, a pallet, a place to close his eyes, and rest. He didn’t enter it. He called Nikandros to the command tent instead, raised in the centre of the army encampment.
It was now night, and the entrance of the tent was lit by torch posts that flamed orange at waist height. Inside, six braziers made jumping shadows out of the table, the chair set to face the entrance, an audience throne.
Even making camp so close to a Veretian troop had the men on edge. They had superfluous patrols and galloping hornsmen with every nerve on alert. If a Veretian threw a pebble, the entire army would launch into action.
They didn’t know yet why they were making camp here; they had simply obeyed his orders. Nikandros would be the first to hear the news.
He remembered Nikandros’s pride the day that Theomedes had given him Delpha. It had meant more than the bestowal of lands, or stone and mortar. It had been proof to Nikandros that he had honoured the memory of his father. Now Damen was going to take it from him, in a piece of cold-blooded statesmanship.
He waited, not turning away from what it meant, now, to be King. If he could give Laurent up, he could do this.
Nikandros came into the tent.
It wasn’t pleasant, the offer or the price. Nikandros couldn’t completely hide the hurt as he searched for understanding that he didn’t find. Damen gazed back at him, unbending and unflinching. They had played together as boys, but now Nikandros faced his King.
‘The Veretian Prince is to be given my home, and he is to be your primary ally in this war?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you have made up your mind?’
‘I have.’
Damen remembered hoping for a homecoming where it could be between them as it was in the old days. As if friendship of that kind could survive statesmanship.
‘He’s playing us against each other,’ said Nikandros. ‘This is calculated. He is trying to weaken you.’
Damen said, ‘I know. It’s like him.’
‘Then—’ Nikandros stopped, and turned away in frustration. ‘He kept you as a slave. He left us at Charcy.’
‘There was a reason for that.’
‘But I am not to know it.’
The list of supplies and men Laurent was offering them lay on the table. It had been more than Damen would have expected, but it was also finite. It was roughly the size of Nikandros’s contribution, equal to the addition of another kyros, perhaps, to his side.
It was not worth Delpha. He could see that Nikandros knew it, as Damen had known it.
‘I would make this easier,’ said Damen, ‘if I could.’
Silence, while Nikandros kept his words in check.
Damen said, ‘Who will I lose?’
‘Makedon,’ said Nikandros. ‘Straton. The northern bannermen, maybe. In Akielos, you’ll find your allies less helpful, the commoners less welcoming, even hostile. There will be problems with troop cohesion on the march, and more problems in battle.’
He said, ‘Tell me what else.’
‘The men will talk,’ said Nikandros. He was pushing the words out with distaste, he did not want to say, ‘About—’
Damen said, ‘No.’
And then, as though Nikandros couldn’t help the words that came out next, ‘If you would at least take off the cuff—’
‘No. It stays.’ He refused to lower his eyes.
Nikandros turned away and put his palms flat on the table, resting his weight there. Damen could see the resistance in Nikandros’s shoulders, bunched across his back, his palms still flat on the table.
Into the painful silence, Damen said, ‘And you? Will I lose you?’
It was all he allowed himself. It came out in a steady enough voice, and he made himself wait, and say nothing more.
As though the words were coming up from the depths of him, against his will, Nikandros said, ‘I want Ios.’
Damen let out a breath. Laurent, he realised suddenly, wasn’t playing them against one another. He was playing to Nikandros. There was a dangerous expertise in all of this; in knowing how far Nikandros’s loyalty might be stretched, and what would keep it from snapping. Laurent’s presence in the room was almost tangible.
‘Listen to me, Damianos. If you have ever valued my counsel, listen. He is not on our side. He is Veretian, and he’ll be bringing an army into our country.’
‘To fight his uncle. Not to fight us.’
‘If someone kills your family you don’t rest until they are dead.’
The words dropped between them. He remembered Laurent’s eyes in the tent as he had procured this alliance for himself.
Nikandros was shaking his head. ‘Or do you really think he’s forgiven you for killing his brother?’
‘No. He hates me for it.’ He said it steadily, without flinching. ‘But he hates his uncle more. He needs us. And we need him.’
‘You need him enough that you would strip me of my home, because he asked you to?’
‘Yes,’ said Damen.
He watched Nikandros struggle with that.
‘I’m doing this for Akielos,’ said Damen.
Nikandros said, ‘If you’re wrong there is no Akielos.’