Chương 12: Chapter Eleven: A Most Fascinating Tale of Leandros

[Leandros's POV] Curse it all! Leandros slapped his palm down, striking the surface of the asaminthos. The impact sent a plume of heated water crashing over the polished edge of the terracotta tub. The steaming water splashed down onto the mosaic tile floor, but the harsh strike failed to do anything to dissipate the indignation that seethed and burned beneath his skin. He reclined, trying his best to loosen his tense muscles. Closing his eyes, he let the thick vapors envelope him.

The air was packed with the crushed chamomile and sweet lavender perfume. He had demanded the excessive concoctions from the slaves, as he'd heard that the scents were great at easing one's stress. Instead, it merely served to aggravate him further.

"M-Master Leandros... shall I bring more heated water?" a tremulous voice ventured from beside him. Leandros wearily opened his eyes, glaring towards a young servant who remained bowed, clutching a bronze pitcher.

"Get out!" Leandros barked, indignation raging through him.

"Vanish before I have your head!" With a fearful whimper, the slave set the pitcher down and hastily retreated, practically sprinting out of the bathhouse. The high cedar door slammed shut behind him. Letting out a long sigh, he submerged himself deeper, letting the hot water bite at his skin. He vehemently shook his mane, trying his best to forget, yet his thoughts remained on what dishonor he had suffered. By the gods, he was already on precarious standing within the household.

His insufferable stoic and capable elder brothers had already long since secured their positions in their father's inner circle. They were routinely invited to their high-status symposias, treated as true men of the family. But Leandros, being the youngest, was always treated as nothing more than a little, naive boy. He knew that he was spoiled—he enjoyed the finest tunics, the fanciest of jewelry, and had been granted the luxury of doing as he pleased—but he was not a fool.

He knew that without his family's name, he had nothing. He was accustomed to a life of privilege, and the mere thought of losing it made his stomach churn. And to make it worse, he hadn't done anything wrong! Leandros felt like he was going mad. It was the sin of that whelp of a baker! That commoner had dared stand up to him, and Leandros had simply corrected it. That was all. It was common sense, wasn't it? It was how the world worked. The strong ruled. The weak obeyed.

A wolf hunted the hare, and no man would think to accuse the wolf of some crime for it. He had been born into a higher status. That boy had been born into a lower status. What quarrel could either of them possibly have? If Leandros let such defiance stand without answer, what then, hm? Would every dog in the village suddenly imagine itself capable of biting its master and walking away unpunished? No. He had done what any man of sense would have done.

Reminding the boy of his place, while it may have seemed cruel, would be a mercy in the long term. And now my reward is this utter disgrace? The humiliation—and perhaps the stifling steam—choked him. Simply, word had traveled far too fast. After the dishonor he had endured, Leandros had relied on a singular hope that the humiliation could be buried and silenced before it reached his father's ears. But that dream had been crushed within hours.

Darius, that wretched, cowardly rat, had already run his mouth to anyone who would listen. To salvage his own pathetic reputation, Darius had spun a grand tale, painting himself as an innocent bystander who had watched Leandros—that careless fool—humiliated by a mere commoner in broad daylight. Yet, what infuriated Leandros more—to the point that he felt nauseous—was that Darius hadn't spoken a single word of truth from his false lips.

Truly, there hadn't been a single word about the bizarre sorcery that the baker's boy had committed. And having omitted the truth entirely, Darius had left Leandros looking like a dishonored, spoiled little brat. Leandros rubbed his face, and clutched his temples. If his father believed he had truly been bested in a common brawl by a nameless common urchin, the consequences would be severe. His mind exploded with all the grave possibilities and consequences. But one word stood out above the rest. Apokeryxis.

By the gods, he could be disowned! Stripped of his lineage, he would be thrown like garbage into the wilds with nothing. If that happened, how would he survive? He didn't know how to work. He was a nobleman's son, completely unfit for the life of a commoner. No, I must not let that happen. And right now, sitting in a tub of lukewarm, flower-scented water was doing nothing to help him. Action was his only recourse. He hauled himself out of the asaminthos, letting the streams of water cascade off his pale skin.

"Slaves!" he shouted, his voice amplified by the high walls of the bathhouse.

"Get in here!" The heavy cedar door swung open immediately, and three servants hurried inside, taking care not to make eye contact with Leandros. They hurriedly began their work. One wrapped a dry linen sheet around Leandros's shoulders, patting away the lingering beads of water. Another approached with a polished strigil and a small alabaster vial of fine olive oil. Leandros stood still, closing his eyes as he let them slather the fragrant oil over his skin before having it scraped it away with the bronze blade.

Once cleaned and rubbed dry, a servant brought forth a pristine white chiton. Leandros stepped into it, letting the slave expertly pin the bronze brooches at his shoulders, while another cinched his waist with a braided leather belt. Finally, a dark purple himation was draped over his left shoulder. Leandros studied his reflection in a polished bronze mirror held up by one of the slaves. He felt satisfied with his appearance, at least. He looked every bit the nobleman's son.

A prideful youth of privilege and political strength. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Leave me," he muttered. The slaves all bowed and retreated back out. Leandros soon followed after adjusting the folds of his clothes, stepping out into the courtyard. He took a deep breath of the crisp air. It was time to face his father. ❦ ❦ ❦ Ktesios, son of Xander, father of Leandros, was a grave and intimidating man. Sitting amidst the opulence of his estate, he did not wear any jewelry or fancy trinkets—he had no need for such items of vanity.

Instead, his sheer presence and aura was like the strongest of iron, bold and intense. His body was muscular and riddled with scars from his time in the Stratos, where he had come back from campaigns as a decorated war hero. His cold eyes, blue as the winter sky, glared at Leandros unnervingly, completely unblinking. He lay reclining upon a couch inlaid with ivory. He had only a single servant attending him, silently waving a massive palm-frond fan.

Ktesios didn't deign it necessary to turn his head as Leandros entered. He merely waved his finger, gesturing for his youngest son to approach.

"Advance, boy," Ktesios commanded. Leandros swallowed down the bile that had been pushed up from fearful anticipation. Taking a deep breath, he forced his lower limbs to trode forward until he stood right in front of the fancy couch. He bowed his head solemnly. Ktesios raised a silver skyphos to his lips, taking a deep sip of wine.

"A most fascinating tale has reached my ears today, Leandros," his father murmured.

"Your cousin Darius was most eager to display his piety with the house. He spoke about how my youngest son was made to grovel in the dust by a common citizen." Leandros bit his lower lip, his blood boiling.

"I do not care for excuses, nor do I care for tears," Ktesios rumbled in a bored manner.

"You stand before me scrubbed and clean, yet you reek of pathetic weakness. So tell me, boy. Why have you dared to bring your dishonored face into my sight?" Leandros stepped up, the shame and sting of Darius's treachery flaming his courage and emboldening his lips.

"Because Darius speaks with a serpent's tongue, Father!" Leandros cried out. Ktesios's icy gaze barreled into him, but he did his best to remain composed.

"He utters falsehoods to save his own cowardly skin. He claims that he was but an innocent bystander, but he was right there beside me, cowering just as—""Silence," Ktesios cut in, immediately severing Leandros's outburst. He slowly set his silver cup down, turning his full glare onto his youngest son.

"I weigh no care for Darius's cowardice, nor do I care how he spins his tales," Ktesios said coldly.

"Darius is not my son. You are. And whether Darius lied about his own actions changes nothing. In the end, you were bested and humbled by a commoner."

"You do not understand, Father—""Enough!" Ktesios rumbled. His icy eyes flashed, and Leandros felt the pressure upon his chest deepen. Though he knew it was all in his head, he felt pinned to where he stood.

"Our blood does not make excuses. You allowed yourself to be brought low, Leandros, and you have brought shame upon our house. Now give me one reason why I should not strip you of my name." Leandros swallowed hard. He could almost feel the blade of his father's horrible judgement pressing into his neck's flesh. He had no choice. He would have to throw everything he had into his argument, even if it sounded insane.

"The youth exhaled flame, Father!" Leandros blurted out.

"It was true sorcery, the thing that the commoner did!" Ktesios stiffened. The servant fanning the master of the household froze as well, before remembering their place and quickly lowering their gaze to the floor. Leandros's heart leapt about inside his chest. He knew how it sounded. Claiming a commoner possessed supernatural powers sounded like the rambling delusion of a madman. If Ktesios believed he was lying to save face, the punishment would be twice as severe. But this was a risk Leandros had to take.

"I speak no falsehood, Father!" Leandros declared hastily, trying his best to reinforce his claim.

"It was no ordinary clash of fists! The boy breathed actual fire! It was sorcery, Father. By the gods, it was true sorcery!" The room was silent, spare for the quiet wooshes of the beating fan. Leandros bit down on his tongue, bracing himself for his father to roar in fury at the absurd defense. But no. To his incredulous shock, the very opposite happened. The thunderous rage in Ktesios's eyes dissolved away. Ktesios sat up slowly on the ivory couch, his blue eyes intensely studying Leandros.

"Leave us," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively at the servant behind him, who bowed frantically and scrambled out of the room, leaving father and son alone. Ktesios leaned forward.

"Describe the flames," the intimidating older man commanded.

"What color were they? Where did they leave from, his mouth or nose? Did they burn, or remain harmless?" Leandros blinked. His lips faltered, caught off guard. For some reason, his father didn't seem to care about the humiliation at all anymore.

"I... I..." Leandros stammered, his mind spinning in confusion.

"Father, I—""Silence your worthless stuttering!" Ktesios snapped, a flash of impatience erupting through his stoic shell.

"Answer my question, boy!" Leandros closed his gaped mouth, forcing his brain to shake off the cobwebs of confusion. He couldn't understand it. Somehow, his father wasn't threatening to disown him anymore. Why does he care so much about the strange sorcery? Leandros thought, feeling absurdly incredulous. Why is he not calling for my head? But even if it didn't make sense, Leandros was not foolish enough to question a miracle.

Whatever strange madness had taken hold of his father, it had helped rid Leandros's sin from the older man's mind. Leandros coughed, racking through his brain to scrounge all the memories he could.

"Well, Father…" Leandros began softly, tentatively preparing to offer his answers. ❦ ❦ ❦ Ktesios sat lounging in an empty room. Just minutes before, he had watched his youngest son practically scurry out of the hall. All that fancy drapery covering his skin, yet his march continued to be utterly pathetic. What a spoiled, worthless fool. It never ceased to amaze Ktesios how a man of his blood could sire such a spineless creature.

Leandros was weak and his entire being was consumed by petty vanity and the fear of losing his plush lifestyle. The boy didn't care anything about strength or politics, completely different from his other two much ambitious sons. Every time he landed his eyes on that fool, Ktesios's stomach curdled with disgust. He reclined on the ivory couch, taking a few more slow sips from his silver skyphos.

The Thasian wine that filled his cup was truly one for the gods, rich and bursting inside his tongue with flavors of fruity apple and wild honey.

"Quite interesting, isn't it?" Ktesios murmured into the empty air. The air snapped with vengeance. A plume of ash erupted into the air, sweeping into a raging vortex. The black specks gathered and collided, the ash glowing gold and spattering sparks onto the floor tiles. With a blast of furious heat, the floating soot bound seamlessly together, revealing the shape of a humanoid shadow.

"Indeed," a voice rattled from within the strange entity.

"Tell me, Lord Ktesios. What shall we do?" Ktesios took another sip of the Thasian wine, letting the sweetness linger on his palate.

"Send a handful of the Psiloi from the Academy down to the baker's," Ktesios commanded. The shadow paused.

"Even if the Psiloi are the lowest ranks of the Academy, they are still trained cultivators," the voice reverberated.

"Why waste them on mere mortals?" Ktesios shook his head, silently swishing the wine around the skyphos.

"They are not going there for the mortals," Ktesios explained.

"I shall send some of my common guard for them. The Psiloi are going there for a different reason." He tilted back the cup, sending the last dregs of the tasteful alcohol sliding down his throat.

"It appears that we have finally found our Lady."