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Sleep had eluded him days and days ago, and tonight, if he still hadn't found any sleep, he’d go visit Orion and see about getting his insomnia taken care of. Jon was more than right: Fadon was not at his best, and best was in dire need right now.
“A woman.” Fadon shook his head as he took a sip of the now luke-warm tea. He made a face, and a servant nearby promptly set a new mug in front of Fadon, pouring a fresh cup of tea. “Thank you, Jeba.”
“You’re more than welcome, Captain.” The servant covertly backed away, slinking off back to the corner.
“Actually, Jeba?” Fadon turned around, raising his hand.
The servant quickly stood by Fadon’s side. “Yes, Captain?”
“Who would you consider to be the biggest gossip here in the manse?”
Jeba blinked, but because the request came from a prince of House Trajan, there was no hesitation as he answered, “Dolorus, my lord Captain, from laundry.”
Ah, Dolorus. The ample-bosomed beta woman who did more than serve in the laundry. She knew her way around a bed in more ways than one.
Fadon nodded, dismissing the servant with a thanks, then turned his attention back to Jon. “You know what to do.”
Jon pretended to be bothered by this unsaid request, but Fadon knew Jon was being his usual humorous self.
“Oh, how tedious. Fine. Guess I’ll have to make a sacrifice for the good of the House.”
A snort escaped Fadon. “Get back to me later today, see if you found anything.”
“I’ll keep you… abreast, Captain.” Jon’s hands went to his chest, shaping imaginary tits.
“By Ongar, your humor is getting worse in your old age, my friend.”
“Well, you still haven’t been blessed with yours yet.” Jon ripped into a roll, his eyes dancing.
“Captain. A word?”
By the gods, the blue-eyed Servant walked on air, Fadon thought as he looked to where Demos had suddenly appeared.
“Of course.” Fadon stood from the table, then nodded a goodbye to his Second. Demos waited as Fadon followed him out to the main hall, which was empty of people. Taking a seat near the roaring hearth, both men faced each other.
“I’ll be leaving the Mor tomorrow,” Demos said, not bothering with a preamble, as usual.
“And going to?”
“Ultimately, Utilla. From there, north to Ordelpho.”
To where Sierra was. Fadon wanted nothing more than to join him, but he couldn’t leave. Not when the Owl was about to be exposed, not when a thousand-year-old agreement between the Basilica and the Ongahri was about to be officially broken.
“I’d like you to go with us, Captain.” The Servant’s eyes shone bright from the flames that danced in the hearth beside them.
“Us?” Fadon raised an eyebrow.
“Phobius and I will be traveling the majority of the journey together.”
The last time Fadon had seen the strange Phobius was on the Longest Night, and only briefly, when they’d lit the cerei outside in the main courtyard.
“Who is he to you, Demos?” Sometimes Fadon wished he had Lady Lordes’ power of reading people’s thoughts—not that the House Seer truly had such a power, only the power of intuition at best; worst were visions, and Fadon had no need for those. But to see inside Demos’ head? There were too many things the Servant was hiding, and as usual, Demos’ ability at evasion was much stronger than Fadon’s curiosity.
“We share a common goal, he and I. Other than that, there is nothing between us.”
“And that goal?”
“To make sure certain things stay set in motion.”
