Idris stared at the woman, and for a moment his nails dug painfully into Sextus’ hand, then an utter, frosty calmness, all too well known to him, suffused the Silure. Like a blade ice, deadly and clear like a crystal arrow it emerged from somewhere within and infused him – the calmness that was so much part of him ever since he’d killed the first time, the calmness that had always steadied his hand and made his aim true, the kind of calmness that had earned him an awesome reputation for carrying out assignments among those who hired him for ‘special purposes’. Aricia had made a fundamental mistake – she had, whether she knew it or not, threatened the lives of people he loved, which reduced her to nothing more than prey in Idris’ eyes. He’d seen too many go and cross the Veil of Mists (or however the Gods they served received them) to let such a threat pass unnoticed.

Aricia blinked a few times. Something had gone wrong; she had expected the barbarian plaything to shy away from her husband or at least show some signs of second thoughts or alarm, those greedy gold-diggers were all the same, after all. Instead he gazed at her with a calmness that couldn’t be feigned unless the man was an actor, which she would find out soon enough. A pity, Aricia mused, that she had not known about him before, she might know more about him already. Memnoch hadn’t mentioned him which meant his friendship with Sextus couldn’t be a long-standing one. Her gaze wandered over to her husband, and a triumphant smile curled her full lips again. She could almost see the thoughts race behind his forehead, and the sense of power she wielded, of her being in control returned and again warmed her insides. No matter if he already knew it, no matter what he did – he was in her hands from now on. At long last.

Aricia was right, the thoughts raced in Sextus’ mind; he frantically tried to find a way out, a loophole, something – but this time his father (or, more likely, Aricia) had been thorough. He held up the scroll the woman had slapped into his hands, and reread the conditions stated there. The meaning was all too plain. His mind was in turmoil. He wasn’t a greedy man by nature, he loved to give and share, although the thought of losing all he had made his blood run cold; and, in contrast, the knowledge of losing it all to Aricia made his blood burn scalding hot. With an effort he calmed himself and carefully rolled up the scroll to push it back into its cover. For now he had to play along with her schemes, he realised. He reached to his side where Idris still crouched and pulled the Silure’s yielding head towards his. There was no real passion in the kiss that followed, it was more of a defiant display, a statement of sorts. Aricia arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t I make myself clear concerning your boytoys, dear husband?”

Sextus let go of Idris and stared at her for a moment. “From the day on you move into Green Acres, until then he’s mine.” “Villa Manlius”, Aricia corrected dryly. “Green Acres”, Sextus repeated coolly and rose, pulling Idris to his feet and wrapping an arm around him in one fluid motion. “Let’s go, Idris. I don’t like the company in here.” Idris smiled at him and both men turned and left without another word at their hostess. Out on the street Sextus leaned against a wall and took a deep breath. “That bitch!” he moaned barely audible. “I hated her from the start, but I had to marry her.” Idris grunted something unintelligible and steered his friend behind an ornate pillar, feeling pretty sure about what would happen next. Only moments later one of Aricia’s slaves, this time a decently dressed one, stepped out onto the street and looked around, clearly dismayed that his targets had already vanished. He looked along the long eastern façade of the insula, then he turned around and cautiously rounded the far nearer corner to the insula’s southern side. When the sounds of his sandaled feet subsided, Idris peered around the pillar and stepped onto the street again.