From across the water Andromache beckoned
@Nikolaos to her side, her expression solemn.
Sit,
She bid him in their native tongue. When he was settled, she turned her eyes back to the water.
The Roman does not trust us. Our ways offend him,
She drew in a slow breath, and considered her next words carefully.
He thinks to declare himself dictator, or imperator. He denies my claim as queen. Our advantage is undeniable, but...
Andromache let her gaze drift to Nikolaos's shoulder. A frown knit her dark-masked features.
I can't risk you,
She finished after a moment.
Can you handle this, Nikolaos? If I call upon you, will you be ready?
Her eyes flicked to Euryalos, an unspoken inclusion. She would not give the order until she had Nikolaos's word. If the Roman was to be taken captive, they would both need to be ready.
Called away from his companion's side, Nikolaos listened to all that the princess said. Queen, she insisted now; a queen whose king was usurped by Hades himself. He could have laughed. His expression betrayed nothing, but his eyes turned hard and cold by the time she had finished.
He considered his answer, silent for a long moment.
Finally, he said, Order it, and it will be done,
Stiffly, through gritted teeth. Always.
He looked to Euryalos, unwilling to allow the princess to see the anger in his eyes. She reached too far, as her father before her. And as with King Thyestes, Nikolaos could not decide whether he hated her for this arrogance or admired her deeply.
Her frown deepened under the weight of his displeasure, which seemed to fill the air between them. But you disagree,
Andromache prompted, and without waiting, went on. Speak your mind. Your experience is valued.
Yet she felt tense again, this time with consternation. Nikolaos had served faithfully, survived a war, won a war. He was known. Respected. And vital to her success. They could not afford to be at odds with one another.
Okay,
Nikolaos lifted his own gaze to meet hers, almost challenging. She would have his tongue; it would likely fall to him to tear it out himself. You want to know what I think? You don't know what you're doing. The Roman, Fochis or whatever, he's nothing. You want to teach him a lesson, that's cool. Waste of time. Waste of resources.
Waste of my blood, and Euryalos's.
You're not thinking, you're feeling. Young men make the same mistake, but you're a woman. Men will call you unfit to lead. Fochis will be the loudest,
So think about it. He had said enough, so he left it unspoken. Nikolaos fell silent and watched for her anger.
Her jaw tightened, and her eyes turned briefly to silvergreen flame. Just as abruptly her fury died, and she was overcome with a feeling that once might have brought her to tears. Andromache had never seen her father cry, not once, not even as he'd sent his most beloved child away for the final time.
So she did not cry.
She sighed, and turned the words over in her mind, softening as she realized that Nikolaos was right. If Faustus would not follow them willingly, he was worth nothing to them. His value as a political prisoner had dwindled with their growing distance from Florentia. It was only for her own pride that she hated the idea of watching him walk away.
He's worthless, this far from Florentia. No, we don't need him,
She decided aloud. But it would be better to have him. Of his own volition. He won't accept a queen, he says; my title should be lady. I've already refused. If I concede now, it will set a precedent. I can't have that.
He saw the flash of her anger, and then saw it dwindle just as quickly. Nikolaos hid his surprised pleasure to see it; there was more wisdom in the girl than he'd expected. He knew, as all of Myros had known, that she had been raised differently to other girls. Andromache had known a freedom and respect that the grown women of Myros only dreamed of, but no one had known what sort of woman she would become.
A fierce one, he saw that now. A smart one. But Nikolaos knew men like Fochis. There was no winning with that one in the matter of pride.
I'm no political mastermind,
He said finally. But in my experience, words are just that, and power speaks for itself. Concede. Drop the title of queen if it makes him feel better, and know that we answer to you.
His gaze shifted toward Euryalos as he spoke, knowing his companion would follow him across the Styx itself without question.