2nd Week of January, 1460

  “W-we have a b-big problem, T-Theodorus.”

  Theophylact’s study felt more boxed-in than ever. Shelves sagged under ledgers and scrolls and loose sheets, half-signed writs, and smeared notes seemed to be breeding on every flat surface. Or maybe it only felt that cramped because of the focused rage that had been building in Theodorus. His attention was fixed squarely on the Steward’s barely-there stubble and the sheen of sweat on his round face.

  “Yes, we do, my good Steward.” Theodorus did not bother to hide the bite in his voice. “You did not warn me of our Lord’s plan to recruit the Tatars as mercenaries.” He stepped closer, sarcasm sharpening each word. “How, pray tell,” he raised his tone and eyebrows together in scorn, “did you happen to forget that rather important detail?”

  Theophylact froze, lips parted. For a heartbeat he looked honestly baffled, as if the memory had only just resurfaced now that Theodorus shoved it under his nose. Whether it was genuine or a rehearsed mask, Theodorus could not yet tell, and that uncertainty only deepened his irritation.

  “Ah, t-that, C-Captain.” The Steward’s fingers immediately found his reddened wrists, rubbing at the skin. “T-that was…” He seemed to rummage frantically through his thoughts, eyes darting. “A-an oversight on my p-part.”

  “An oversight?” Theodorus all but roared, closing the distance until the steward had to crane his neck to look up at him. “That ‘oversight’ has earned me the enmity of several influential nomadic families.” His words came out clipped, each syllable like a blow. “They are threatening to skip future market fairs outright. They have no fit combatants to offer and no desire to risk life or limb. Yet they fear being left out of the ‘benefits’ our Lord promised those who do.” His jaw tightened. “They know they cannot compete otherwise.”

  He glared down into Theophylact’s pale face, and the Steward visibly withered, his shoulders curling in as if he could fold himself into the stool and vanish.

  “F-forgive me, m-my Lord.” Theophylact lurched up from his seat only to collapse straight to his knees, flopping against the stone as he bowed. His voice rose in thin panic as he switched, tellingly, to Theodorus’s noble title. “Th-the Lord swore me to secrecy. S-said ‘the Captain doesn’t need to be informed’.”

  “You certainly kept your end of that bargain on that front,” Theodorus replied, every syllable dripping. “Tell me, did you show the same admirable discretion with our plans? Or did you blabber about those as well?”

  “Not a-all, my Lord, I a-assure you.” Theophylact’s answer came too quickly. Theodorus did not blink, letting the silence stretch until the Steward’s gaze skittered away. “S-some… p-perhaps.”

  Theodorus threw up his hands in exasperation. “Wonderful. Truly.”

  “W-what was I t-to do?” Theophylact’s words tumbled over each other as he tried to justify himself. “H-he is my Lord l-liege. H-he can c-cast me out at any moment.”

  “He still can, my good fellow,” Theodorus replied, forcing his voice into something that only vaguely resembled amicable patience. “Do you not see that if this marketplace endeavour fails, you will be blamed as well? Your seal is on the permits, your sums in the ledgers. Your reputation is riding on this.”

  “As l-long as I f-follow my Lord’s orders-” Theophylact began weakly.

  “-Hypatius still lurks on the loose, my good Steward,” Theodorus cut in, voice low. “My sources say he has been plenty on the move.” He leaned forward, letting the words coil deliberately around the Steward’s fears. “Men like him thrive when their targets stand alone. We need to be wary. And we must do so together,” he stressed. “Divided, we are easy pickings.”

  “That is w-what I wished t-to speak to you about, m-my Lord,” Theophylact seized on the opening, his voice pitching with urgency.

  “T-the Lord t-tells that Hypatius has been s-sent to collect m-money for the tithe,” he said. Theodorus’s gaze sharpened to a razor’s edge. “T-to seek moneylenders and any m-means of coin he c-can arrange.”

  The hairs at the back of Theodorus’s neck stood on end. This was something else entirely. The pattern became clearer now.

  “Which is why the matter of the tithe is of utmost importance!” Theophylact’s voice was laced with such gravity that his stutter nearly vanished. “How is the c-collection going, Captain? I m-must show decent progress to Lord Adanis. H-he stressed its importance, and if we f-fail, Hypatius might get his way!”

  Of course, Theophylact’s first concern was his own position. Theodorus's own thoughts were already ranging far beyond the Steward’s fears.

  “I agree, my good Steward,” Theodorus was quick to affirm, leaning forward over the desk, “this is of utmost importance. And we will get you the tithe.”

  “R-really? The tithe is well on its way t-towards completion, then Captain?” the Steward asked, hope flaring despite himself. “Y-you have not spoken of its progress in a long time. I had f-feared,”

  “You feared right, my friend,” Theodorus admitted, the words imbued with calculated regret. “The tithe cannot be wholly collected from the villages under Nomikos influence.”

  “W-what?” Theophylact’s voice cracked. “B-but how?”

  “There simply isn’t enough the villages can give without starving, my Steward,” Theodorus said, his tone heavy as he met the man’s gaze. “Not without stripping them down to the bone.”

  “T-they could be hiding in their homes…” the Steward tried weakly, clinging to the familiar suspicion. “S-stashing coin or grain where we c-cannot see it…”

  “I have checked every one of them, Theophylact,” Theodorus replied, voice firm but not unkind. “I measured the land and the yield. If we take more, they cannot survive the winter and plant enough seed for next year. The tax would force them to eat the seed grain and doom the next harvest.” That the people would starve, he left unsaid. He doubted that consequence weighed heavily on the Steward.

  The fact was that Theodorus had squeezed as much as he could, given the constraints. He needed the villagers’ goodwill to secure their cooperation in expanding the Shepherd system beyond the original Probatoufrorio frontier, one of the missions the Doux had given him, and crucial to his future plans. He could have met the tax and earned the enmity of the populace. But why do that when the shortfall itself worked to his benefit?

  It was a situation to be exploited. And he knew just how to do it.

  “But not to worry, my friend,” Theodorus said at last, gentling his tone when he saw Theophylact’s shoulders sag. “I have a neat way to ensure that the tithe is paid in full to our Lord, that we complete our task, and that we are seen as dutiful in his eyes.”

  “Ah C-captain, you always c-come through in the end.” Theophylact let out a shaky breath, some of the colour returning to his face. He had come to trust Theodorus to bail him out of impossible knots. “H-how will you d-do that?”

  “I will ask my brother to pay the difference,” Theodorus revealed calmly, as if he were suggesting a minor adjustment to the accounts.

  “What? P-pay the difference?” Theophylact spluttered. “As in t-taking a loan?”

  “Not a loan, my good friend.” Theodorus lifted a hand, waving away the objection. “We will not have to pay him back. We will grant him some exemptions, and in return he will cover the deficit once. A single payment. Nothing too burdensome.”

  “B-but the Lord…” Theophylact’s eyes darted toward the door, as though Adanis might materialize at the mention of his title. “I-I’m not s-sure he will take kindly to the notion of t-taking money from a m-minor landlord…”

  “He is not just any landowner,” Theodorus countered smoothly. “He is my brother, Theophylact. And we will do nothing behind our Lord’s back. We will involve Adanis openly. It is only if he agrees.” That assurance seemed to ease some of the tension coiled in Theophylact’s posture.

  “You will talk with him,” Theodorus went on, his voice taking on the patient cadence he used with his shyest students, “and explain that this is likely the only means to pay the tithe without causing open unrest. In exchange, we grant a few privileges - nothing extravagant - that, properly chosen, will actually work in our favour.” He gave the Steward an encouraging nod. “Okay?”

  “Y-yes, Captain.” Theophylact looked downward, almost embarrassed at how much relief washed through him. “A-although… w-what privileges are we t-talking about? H-how can giving them away p-possibly benefit us?”

  Theodorus stepped around the desk and placed a steadying hand on the Steward’s shoulder. “Well, that, my good Steward,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips, “is the beauty of the arrangement.” His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a man about to lay out a particularly elegant proof. “Let me walk you through it…”

  As soon as Theodorus left Theophylact’s study, his genial smile fell away as if cut with a knife. The door thudded shut behind him, muffling the Steward’s nervous shuffling. Demetrios was already at his elbow, with Stefanos a step behind.

  “He has sent Hypatius on a moneylending expedition,” Demetrios began without preamble, his voice grim and low.

  “Yes.” Theodorus nodded once, his own tone matching Demetrios’s. “At first I thought the market stunt was just a consolidation of power, or a posturing for prestige.” His gaze flicked down the corridor, noting every passing servant nearby. And if they lay within earshot. “But now… he is amassing both coin and men. With the Principality in the state it is in, I fear the worst.”

  “Do we send word to the Doux?” Demetrios asked, voice barely above a murmur.

  “We will,” Theodorus replied, “but we must be cautious of the timing. We are now walking a tightrope.”

  He turned his head slightly toward Stefanos, the likely messenger. He had grown so much since his first days here, but this was another challenge entirely. “Because the contents of the next message,” he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper, “might mean our death if it is caught. And we are not sure enough yet to risk that lightly.”

  “How can we be sure, though, my lord?” Demetrios asked, lines deepening on his weathered face.

  “I have set a small trap,” Theodorus revealed, a thin smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “By having the Steward approach the Lord with the option of receiving a loan to repay the tithe in full, we give Adanis a set of choices. His reaction will tell us much about his current temperament.”

  His mind played with the calculations. “If he accepts, he appeases the Crown at a personal cost,” Theodorus went on. “He would be granting favour and exemptions to a minor landowner. Something Lord Adanis, proud as he is, is loath to do.”

  They stepped out into the courtyard. The winter air bit at their cheeks, but the space rang with the rhythmic thud of boots on packed earth. Theodorus’s militia were training alongside Kyriakos’s men, a joint exercise they had begun since Theodorus started teaching Kyriakos his methods. Already, the difference was visible. Morale was high and injuries low in the jester's company.

  “So,” Theodorus said, turning back to his small entourage, “what do you think Adanis would normally do?”

  “Refuse outright,” Stefanos ventured.

  “Negotiate for additional concessions from us,” Demetrios added.

  “Both correct,” Theodorus confirmed. “So if he accepts with neither, that tells us one of two things: either he is desperate to please the Crown and fears backlash from Mangup…”

  Demetrios let out a snort.

  “Or,” Theodorus continued, his expression turning glacial, “he no longer cares about long-term consequences. Because he does not expect the current system to remain in place long enough for them to matter.”

  Demetrios and Stefanos both went still, the weight of the possibility sinking in. The clang of training weapons suddenly sounded distant, muffled beneath unspoken fear.

  “You think…” Demetrios began, but the word stuck in his throat. He could not quite bring himself to say rebellion aloud.

  “Adanis is preparing for something,” Theodorus said quietly. “ And he is using the tithe as an elegant excuse to hide behind while he amasses coin and men.”

  There was a certain bitter admiration in him as he considered it. Adanis was an oaf when it came to coin and practical management. But like politicians of Theodorus’s own age, that was because the most prized skillset for his particular vein of employment, if one could call it that, was political maneuvering and ruthless intrigue. Masters of state were often not the most competent in ruling it, but the ones who would do anything in their power to reach and maintain that position.

  “We cannot be sure yet,” Theodorus added. “But we have to find out.”

  His gaze drifted back to the men on the field. The once hapless recruits had been hammered into a proper militia. Demetrios and Stefanos followed Theodorus’s line of sight. They realized that the competence of the men before them might become relevant very soon.

  And it might mean the difference between life and death for them all.

  3rd Week of January 1460

  Cassandra’s quill flowed up and down, each stroke bringing a small surge of private satisfaction. The ink moved almost of its own accord, as if her hand were only remembering an old dance.

  She had not written for a long time, but inspiration had struck her suddenly. The coziness of the fire in the Nomikos common room - the place where all the family gathered to socialize - wrapped her in warmth against the winter cold seeping through the stone walls. And a quieter, more dangerous warmth bloomed in her chest.

  The room itself had been shaped deliberately into an open, inviting space. Her father had insisted that everyone, from youngest to eldest, should feel welcome here. There was nothing he enjoyed more than wandering through and catching his kin in easy conversation and laughter.

  Her brother Apostolos occupied the nearest corner, bent over a wooden desk set under the window. He scribbled furiously for a stretch, then rose abruptly, pacing three lengths of the carpet before dropping back into his seat to start again. He had been very tense of late, and at this time of year that could only mean one thing.

  “How is the end-of-season competition looking?” Cassandra asked, pausing in her writing and lifting her head to study him.

  “Not good at all,” Apostolos muttered. The dark smudges under his eyes lent him a harried, almost hollow look. “For starters, Theodorus’s militia looks strangely competent, performing spear drills adequately, his men looking nearly as tough as my own now.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And now Kyriakos is also pulling ahead. They’re using some secret method, the both of them, I’m sure. I just have to puzzle out what it is.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Don’t worry yourself tired over it, brother. It won’t help your cause at all,” Cassandra said, concern threading through her voice. “You’re already running yourself ragged.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Apostolos replied under his breath, the words escaping sharply. “You don’t have Father breathing down your neck about duty to the Nomikos household.”

  He paused, and his eyes widened in immediate regret. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, pushing back from the desk so quickly the chair scraped. He half-rose, as if standing would make the apology more sincere. “I did not mean to speak so to you-”

  “It is alright, brother.” Cassandra lifted a hand and waved him back down before he could start pacing again. She knew too well how important it was to him to present himself properly in front of their father, to be the image of a capable heir. Father’s expectations rested squarely on his shoulders, leaving little room for softness. The thought sent a small pang through Cassandra’s chest.

  “I understand your stress,” she added quietly. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

  Apostolos let himself fall back into his chair with a long, defeated exhale. “I feel like I am being left behind,” he admitted. “There is no single trick the pair of them are using that lets them pull ahead. It is… a system.” He raked both hands through his hair. “My patrols have not been as successful, either. There is that group of bandits in the northwest harrying our roads, but I’ve made no progress in tracking them down,” Apostolos continued, frustration sharpening his tone. “All these setbacks… I am not used to this. It is vexing.” He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.

  “I feel I will not be able to catch up soon, no matter how much I work. I do not truly care for the prize of the end-of-season competition, but I know Father watches the results. I have to win.”

  The sentence dissolved into the quiet crackle of the fire.

  “I have an idea.” Cassandra broke the spell.

  Apostolos lifted his head from his hands, blinking as though unsure whether he had heard her correctly. “An idea?” he repeated, brows knitting together.

  “From what I understand, the problem is that Captain Theodorus and Kyriakos are using a different way of training, correct?” She tilted her head, feigning innocence, her quill still idly rolling between her fingers.

  “Correct,” Apostolos said, suspicious now. He frowned, knowing she was leading him toward something.

  “Then why not simply ask him for advice?”

  “Advice?” Apostolos laughed incredulously, the sound tinged with exhaustion. He slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “They are competing as well. They will not hand me their advantage on a silver platter.”

  “The Captain will,” Cassandra replied with quiet certainty, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “If I ask.”

  Her brother froze, studying her face for a long moment. He had never commented directly on her connection with Theodorus - it was one of those unspoken topics both pretended not to notice - but now his expression softened, reluctant amusement breaking through. “I would be grateful, sister,” he said finally.

  “It is not truly cheating, after all. I only want to be a better commander.” His words were precise, proper, as they always were when he tried to convince himself of something.

  “Of course, brother. Then the matter is settled.” Cassandra smiled and bent back over her page. They sat in a companionable quiet, the fire’s gentle crackle filling the room, until the heavy door creaked open.

  Their father entered.

  Apostolos straightened his spine in an instant. “Lord Adanis,” he greeted, formal as ever.

  Cassandra’s heart sank a little as it always did. She hadn't heard him call him Father in a long time.

  “At ease,” Adanis said with a brief wave of his hand. He was still in his work cloak. “I just came to check on my children, to see how you are faring.” His gaze, stern though it was for Apostolos, softened slightly as he leaned down to kiss Cassandra on the forehead. She leaned into the touch instinctively.

  His attention shifted when he noticed the parchment on the desk. “You’re writing a poem?” he asked, surprise flickering in his voice.

  “Yes,” Cassandra said quickly, sliding her hand over the page. She had forgotten to hide it, and now she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Nothing much. Just something idle to pass the time.”

  “You haven’t written since…” He paused. Since mother died.

  His eyes drifted away. “I’m glad to see you writing again,” he said after some time. There was a wary note in his tone. Like he had guessed the subject of the poem and did not care for it.

  “Papa,” she said softly, using the name she saved for when she needed him gentle.

  “Yes, little fawn?” He sat down in the armchair nearest hers.

  “I’ve heard that you’ve conscripted the nomadic families into serving as mercenaries,” She didn’t know how to bring up the topic indirectly, so she dispensed with subtlety.

  “Yes,” Adanis said, his brow creasing. He clearly hadn’t expected the question. Cassandra rarely spoke on matters of policy.

  “I went to the market the other day,” she continued quickly, “I saw what goods they had for sale, the Tatars. They were mostly older men and women, Papa. Traders, artisans. Not soldiers.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “They were kind to me. They smiled when I spoke their language poorly and gave me dried fruit to taste. They are not raiders.”

  "Are you trying to say I shouldn't hire them as mercenaries?" Adanis’s frown deepened. “They are all raiders and warriors, Cassandra. That is their way. The best they can do for the Principality is to bleed for it.”

  “That’s wrong,” Cassandra said, words tumbling. “They have families. They are tired of fighting.” Her voice trembled with rising emotion. “Why must they be forced to die for us?”

  “Cassandra.” His tone sharpened. “You should not involve yourself in state affairs. There are matters you do not understand.”

  She turned back toward her parchment, jaw tight. “I understand that you are manipulating them into serving as warriors.” She said, her voice cracking slightly with nervousness. “But I apologize," Her gaze slid downwards. "I did not think that my father would care so little for what his daughter had to say. ”

  That stopped him. For a long moment, Adanis said nothing. The silence stretched heavy and brittle between them. Then, quietly, he said, “I do care.”

  Cassandra did not lift her gaze, stonewalling him.

  “Fine," He sighed. "I will not force anyone to serve who does not wish to, nor offer any talk of exceptions and privileges for those who do. Those who want to work for coin will do so, but that is all.”

  Cassandra looked up, startled. “Really?” she asked, searching his face for any hint of jest.

  “Really.” He managed a faint, almost fond smile. “Tell me, little fawn, was it Captain Theodorus who filled your head with such notions?”

  Cassandra did not have a good answer, so she gave none.

  Adanis blew air from his mouth, slow and heavy, seeking to master himself. “You should be careful with men like the Captain,” he said, rising to his feet. “They are clever, and act only for themselves. Next time I won't hear of such matters from my daughter.” He drew the line firmly.

  He turned toward the door, tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I must return to my work,” he said briskly, already half gone. He gave a stern grunt toward Apostolos. “Keep at your duties.”

  The door shut behind him with a solid click.

  Cassandra stared at the dying fire, the ink drying on her poem. Her father’s words echoed faintly in her mind, unshakable.

  Be careful with men like the Captain.

  She wondered if her father might be right.

  4th week of January, 1460

  After months away, Theodorus neared the Sideris estate once more. The path that wound through the rugged hills toward the manor felt as faded in reality as it did in his memory, its cart ruts softened and stones half-swallowed by scrub.

  He always felt a heavy sense of nostalgia when returning here, despite having never truly lived there for long. The feeling did not belong entirely to him. He supposed it was the instincts of the original body. Vestiges of the original soul that had once called it home, drawing a quiet ache out of him whenever the familiar ridges came into view.

  He had brought an elite guard, Christos and Stathis at their head. The bulk of the sergeants were more than adequate in leading the militias in the customary routes by this point, and did not need to be supervised.

  As was customary, his brother Iohannes Sideris stood by the doorway to receive him, flanked by the resident Sideris steward, Panagiotis, and Sir Spiros, the veteran marshal of the domain.

  The compound itself was more heavily fortified than when Theodorus had last seen it, with fresh men lining the small timber palisade that surrounded the main compound.

  On the way up they had passed plenty of people at work in the fields, backs bent as they prepared the soil for the coming spring planting. And in the distance, if he narrowed his eyes against the pale winter light, he could make out woodcutters moving like small, dark figures in the rugged woods that formed the most northern and inhospitable portion of the Sideris land. The very parcel his father, Lord Konstantinos, had gifted him during the initial succession crisis.

  Iohannes had not wasted the time. Half a year in charge of the compound had seen him push the estate hard toward relentless productivity.

  As Theodorus drew closer, though, he could see stress lines at the corners of Iohannes’s eyes, and the way his jaw stayed clenched. Something had happened here in his absence.

  “Brother,” Iohannes greeted him in his usual dour, authoritative tone. “It is good to see you.”

  Theodorus swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the packed earth with a soft thud. “And I you, brother. It has been some time.” He stepped forward and clasped Iohannes’s hand. The grip he received was still strong despite the haggard look.

  “It has indeed,” Iohannes said, letting his gaze run over Theodorus with a critical eye. “Only a few months since I last saw you, and yet look how you’ve grown.” There was a faint incredulity in his voice. “Before, you could barely reach my chin. In a few years, you might match our father’s height.”

  He was aiming for a joke, though it came out awkward and stilted. But that alone spoke volumes. The reclusive Sideris, who preferred ledgers and solitude, had been forced, by necessity, to grow into a lord in his own right and dispense diplomatic niceties, attempting light conversation.

  “Surely you jest,” Theodorus replied, a bashful expression tugging at his mouth. “I’ve still a ways to go before the army manages to beat the scholar out of me.” He said humbly. He ran with his militia every morning and forced himself through some of the drills when time allowed, but the gains came slowly. They were built on dull, unglamorous habits like hearty meals and a strict sleep schedule he imposed on himself despite the endless tasks that tugged at his attention. “You and Gregorius inherited far more of Father’s physique than I did.”

  The name cast an instant pall over Iohannes’s face, like a cloud cover.

  Theodorus did not miss the shift. “What is the matter?” He asked.

  “Not here. Inside,” Iohannes said curtly, glancing toward the hills as if mention of their brother would make him appear out of thin air. He gestured toward the inner compound. Theodorus could feel the tension in everyone’s posture.

  Their little band was escorted through the gate and into the heart of the compound. As they moved along the corridors, Theodorus’s unease deepened. Roughly one in two figures they passed was a man-at-arms, and they were fully kitted out: gambesons laced tight, helmets close at hand, swords and spears cleaned and ready.

  The smell of oiled leather and metal clung to the air. It felt less like a peaceful estate and more like a garrison braced for trouble.

  At least, Theodorus thought as he noticed the quality of the mail the men wore, Iohannes had continued their father’s tradition of equipping his men properly. For all his mercantile leanings, his brother had not forgotten that steel was the backbone of a lord’s power.

  They reached the main study, the room Lord Konstantinos had once ruled from, and which Iohannes had now commandeered for himself. Theodorus felt the faint sting of memory as he crossed the threshold - the old scent of wax and ink and their father’s presence - but there was no time to dwell on it. As soon as the door shut behind them, he turned on his brother.

  “What is happening?” Theodorus asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

  “Since the coalition’s disbandment I have been busy, little brother,” Iohannes began, moving behind the heavy desk and resting both hands on its edge. “Officially, the alliance was dissolved. Unofficially, you were right - most of the connections and soft power I gained remained in place.”

  Theodorus nodded once. He remembered long evenings spent in this very room, discussing with Iohannes his next steps if the coalition broke apart.

  “I began consolidating the established trade routes,” Iohannes continued, “and used the supply runs already going to your fort to keep the trade flowing. It made the logistics smoother and, conveniently, helped facilitate the payment of the latest tithe.” The was his mouth twisted around the word told Theodorus exactly what he thought of that particular levy.

  “Once the coin had stabilised,” Iohannes went on, “I turned to the last remaining pressing concern in my domain.” His expression hardened. “Our brother.”

  “I resumed buying what few men-at-arms he still had, and - more importantly - the villages under his sway. With the reputation I still held as former head of the Coalition, I convinced various reeves to send their produce through my lands instead of Gregorius’s. They agreed quickly enough once their neighbours vouched for the benefits of the routes I had secured. What sealed it was the inclusion of a percentage of the profits from the produce sales back to the villagers.”

  That particular idea had been partly his brainchild. In a feudal world where peasants were expected merely to endure, the notion that a village might receive a commission on its own goods was nearly revolutionary.

  It made the choice easy for the reeves. Iohannes’s offer was a vastly superior deal: easier logistics as he offered to collect the products himself, wider markets, and a direct reward to the people doing the hardest work. On paper, it might have looked like Iohannes was eating into his profits. In reality, the incentive would, over time, spur greater productivity. Villagers who saw a direct link between their labour and tangible gain would plant more, shear more, take better care of their flocks and tools. More goods in bulk meant more profit overall.

  In essence, Iohannes was acquiring villages for free and stimulating economic growth in his own domain, even if the process was inherently slow and subtle.

  “Increasingly cornered, our brother reacted as he always does. By lashing out,” Iohannes said, his eyes going glacial as he recounted the next part. “He raided one of the villages that used to be under him, accusing them of treason for redirecting their tribute.”

  Theodorus’s jaw tightened.

  “I levied my forces and men-at-arms and marched on his manor,” Iohannes continued. “But he has entrenched himself there. He has built it from the ground up to be a fortress first and a residence second. We judged a direct assault too costly. We cannot afford to bleed ourselves out against his walls.” He sank back into his chair, clasping his hands beneath his chin.

  “And we cannot afford to siege him out in winter,” he added. “Even if we tried, a prolonged engagement would draw the Crown’s attention. They would seize upon a war between vassals as the perfect pretext to intervene and strip land from the man who once dared to head the coalition.”

  He exhaled slowly. “So you see, little brother,” Iohannes concluded, eyes meeting Theodorus’s, “for now, we are at a stalemate.”

  Theodorus leaned back slightly, working to absorb the situation in full. He had not expected things to deteriorate to this point. For all his business acumen and gift with numbers, Iohannes lacked the easy charisma and raw martial presence of their middle brother. Gregorius had always been the one who most inherited their father’s skill in that regard. A tough opponent to outmaneuver, even when he was being a fool.

  “It is actually good that you’ve come, brother.” Iohannes held Theodorus’s gaze, the meaning in it unmistakable.

  “You want my help,” Theodorus said quietly. Iohannes’s silence, the faint tightening around his eyes, was answer enough. It made sense. Theodorus had already snatched one improbable military victory from the jaws of disaster. Now his elder brother wanted him to manufacture another.

  “Alright. I will help you,” Theodorus decided aloud after only a heartbeat of deliberation. In truth, the choice was simple. A strong, indebted Iohannes made an excellent ally, and it would make the coming negotiations far easier. “Because I actually want your help as well.”

  He flashed a small, predatory grin.

  Iohannes stared him down. “I shudder to even think what it is,” He was well accustomed by now to Theodorus's usually outlandish demands.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, dear brother.” Theodorus’s tone turned mock-hurt, theatrically coy. Iohannes did not look amused in the slightest. “I simply wish for you to pay the part of the tithe levied for Suyren.” He delivered the line as if he were asking for a modest favour rather than a fortune.

  “What?” The word snapped out of Iohannes like a whip.

  Panagiotis, the steward, immediately dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, already sweating at the idea of what such a request might entail before a single sum had even been named. Sir Spiros, by contrast, looked utterly unruffled, stroking his impressive moustache with slow, thoughtful fingers. Theodorus wondered if the old veteran was even listening.

  “Hear me out,” Theodorus said, raising a calming hand. He had anticipated the backlash.

  “Of course I will,” Iohannes replied tightly, “but this is your most outrageous request to date.”

  “Are you forgetting the time I asked you to lend me men to fight outnumbered against a superior force while you remained practically undefended?” Theodorus asked, lifting a brow.

  “You are not helping your case,” Iohannes muttered, massaging his temple.

  “I won, didn’t I?” Theodorus countered, his voice softening, losing the teasing edge.

  Iohannes’s gaze sharpened. “You did,” he conceded at last, with a tone of finality. “Now explain.”

  “The payment of the tithe will not only earn you my personal support in our little fraternal dispute,” Theodorus began, “it may also secure you the support of my entire company, though that would require Lord Adanis to assent to the arrangement. And if you agree to pay the tithe, it will go a long way toward earning his… generosity.”

  “A strong start,” Iohannes grunted, not yet convinced. “But not enough. I assume the remaining portion of the tithe is not insignificant, is it?”

  “Sixty hyperpera, roughly,” Theodorus mentioned offhandedly.

  “Sixty hyperpera?!” Iohannes actually shot up from his chair. “Have you grown mad? I do not own anywhere near that much in ready coin.”

  “The Crown accepts payment in grain and wool just fine,” Theodorus pointed out smoothly. “And lumber is invaluable for any sea endeavours. You are rich in all three, brother.”

  “It is still too much,” Iohannes said, jaw tight. “It would bankrupt me. Perhaps forty hyperpera,” he began.

  “The number is not up for negotiation. The tithe must be paid in full,” Theodorus replied, his tone firm as steel. “We will not talk of numbers this time, I’m sorry, brother. I know how much you enjoy doing so.” A faint smile tugged at his lips.

  “Convince me,” Iohannes demanded. “Why should I not throw you out and forget about this conversation?"

  “Because then you would forget about how much I can give,” Theodorus answered. “I will remove our thorn. This time, permanently. And think, brother,” he spread his arms, as if presenting a grand tapestry “of the reputation you will hold.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you offer to pay off an exorbitant tax that would otherwise drive entire villages to famine, what do you think the common folk will think of you?”

  Iohannes’s eyes widened a fraction as the idea rooted itself. He had come to appreciate the usefulness of soft power and reputation. The coalition had been one such lesson. He had thought he would be merely a figurehead whose name appeared on charters. But people remembered him. They knew who he was, repeated his name at markets and in taverns. That recognition had allowed him to secure trade with his peers and quietly draw villages away from Gregorius’s grasp.

  “And this time,” Theodorus pressed, “it will not just be a tiny northern strip of villages that know your name. It will be the entire northern frontier that feels indebted to you.”

  Iohannes, already standing, turned toward the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out at the courtyard. He was calculating now, weighing risks and rewards the way other men weighed coin. Suddenly, the option did not seem so impossible or likely to bankrupt him. “I would expect privileges and concessions from your Lord,” he said at length. “This is no small thing you ask of me.”

  “But of course,” Theodorus replied smoothly. He had expected nothing less. Iohannes would wring every advantage from this if he could, and Theodorus intended to help him do exactly that. Within limits of course.

  Iohannes turned back, eyes alight now with a familiar, cunning smile. “Then if we cannot talk of numbers, let us talk of privileges, little brother.”

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