There appeared to be a particular misconception which slithered through the lesser streets of Colchis and wormed its way into the ears of those who knew no better than to spread such dangerous rumours, one which implied that the youngest of the Thanasi siblings may not have been as duplicitous as the other four; that he was almost wholly dependent on his sisters’ aid. It was untrue. While there may well have been numerous incidents when Nethis and Thea and perhaps even Dysius or Evras’s assistance may well have been of use, there were countless other less-publicised occasions where Mihail had unearthed the solution himself, pieced together an answer to his troubles from the snippets of information he could gather. There were some private matters which could not be brought before the others, but they were not the only ones with blood to their name.
Or perchance he had blood to a different name.
Nethis’s words had hit the man hard. They had, without a shadow of a doubt, had their desired effect: any silly fantasies about that servant girl he had once considered remarkably beautiful had dissolved instantly, replaced with a newfound panic for his own status. Over the few days which had followed, Mihail had spent many hours hidden within his chambers, drunk on opium and high on drink, forcing himself into that state of simulated euphoria and equanimity. He had stood on that cliff edge above the sandy beach for an almost equal amount of time, wasting those fine-crafted arrows on shooting any stray which dared wander into his line of sight, a feigned means of taking back the power he so desired and still had never really held. He had not eaten well in days and, although his physique had hardly been affected by the light fast, he
felt thinner; his chitons
seemed larger; his reflection
appeared more cadaverous and his hair more dishevelled.
He had not kept himself otherwise unoccupied over those days; instead, every part of his mind had rushed at once, a thousand questions rising and falling and spinning through his head because he simply
did not know and
could not fathom what was occurring. There was too much fearful logic and too little fantasised hope in the concept; he couldn't quite understand it, and yet he could not consider any alternative all at once; it was both a dream that he thought he might have hallucinated and the harshest of realities. He had thrown himself at the wall, tugged at his mangled hair and spent endless and excruciating passing seconds staring into that paradoxical blank void of panic and confusion and solitude and peace.
But he had done his thinking as well, in those moments when his head had been cleared, and he had struggled to jot down those bursts of inspiration, keep noted anything which might come of use. He had started thinking as to which of those exploited men he knew would be of the most use, who would be able to provide willing and prompt answers to the queries he raised, and then he had put the wheels in motion.
During this prolonged temper tantrum, as Nethis might have lovingly referred to it had she not disappeared away to Taengea, Mihail had chosen but one confidante, a pretty yet gullible young maid in the household who had so reliably run back and forth to fetch him such copious volumes of wine over the past days. It had only begun with well-placed smiles, coy looks between them as his thoughts had formulated into a more tangible idea, and then the master plot was only a few manageable steps away. Her will to please ran stronger than her sense, she was sufficiently literate, and she was an easy manipulation, tempted with a few flirtations and whispered promises of much more if she would be inclined to complete a few simple errands for the youngest Thanasi.
* * *
It was almost a week into his dramatics that he had called upon her for yet another new container of wine, the beginnings of a plan taking root in the recesses of his mind. He had been seated in the corner of the smoke-darkened room, glancing up at her through thick eyelashes. She had moved as though to let light into the room, and he had hissed at her to stop, dragging himself with some effort from where he sat half-slumped against the wall, a hand reaching out to steady himself on the bed beside him. His head felt dizzy, light, the room spinning and black spots clouding his vision as he waved the girl closer.
"Leave the wine. Come, I have a particular need of you."Mihail would not blame her for being so tentative in her approach: he was not precisely the picture of dignity at that moment, with his messy sanguine chiton, tangled curls, bloodied upper lip and the thick bittersweet stench of drugs and alcohol that came off him. In a staggered step forward as though to meet her halfway, he lunged to swipe a bronze oenochoe filled instead with clear water, downing it in a single long gulp, the refreshment smooth in his dry throat. She had stood there almost rigidly, biting her lip and waiting for some instruction before he once more sauntered toward her, having miraculously but correctly calculated the stumble that would land her left ear exactly in line with his mouth.
"Nothing difficult," he had assured her, murmuring in a manner which sounded simultaneously so sweet and sinister. She had taken it as the former, despite the disquieting slur of his words, and a weak smile had drifted onto her face.
"My sister. You have certain access to her chambers which I do not possess." Any female servant or slave within the household could sneak her way into the Nethis's chambers with far more ease than Mihail. The ruse of dusting and tidying was always successful in comparison to a purported visit by a brother to a sister who was not present.
"Your sister?" she had queried, pulling away to eye him with obvious concern, that pleasant expression on her face fading. It was understandable anxiety - his 'sister' may well have meant any of the three, and some were prone to causing more distress than others, especially if one was caught rooting through their belongings.
"My Lord, whi-"Mihail raised a hand to cut her off, placing a finger to her mouth. Peasant that he allegedly was, he currently declined the title amongst his siblings and only permitted it amongst the servants out of a sense of self-degradation. Here, he denied it solely by means of cunning, a trick that would ingratiate her to him further.
"Mihail.""Mihail?"He nodded, taking her dainty fingers rough from overwork in his, soft from the lack of it, planting a tenderly considered kiss on her middle knuckle. It must not have been comfortable - his throat was still dry, and his lips chapped despite his drink - but she had flushed red nonetheless, unused to advances from men of such status.
"And yourself? Such a fair face, but I have yet to make your acquaintance." The blackened air hung dense with the familiarity of the moment. Though her name was not Euphemia but
Korinna, as she so eagerly breathed out, she was another penurious servant, another woman that would be considered of no worth. The only contrast between her and the other, save for the colour of their hair, was that Mihail felt no love when he looked upon her; he did not feel the heavy beating of his heart, nor the violent tugging of his heartstrings. Here he saw only a tool for future benefit.
In other words, she was disposable.
The deep-coloured fabric of his wrinkled chiton blended with the stark white of her own inexpensive dress as he languidly rested his arms on her shoulders, gaze connecting with that of the shorter woman. There was a note of uncertainty in her pale eyes that he had solely recognised because he had seen the look before, the kind of look which gave her away as being fearful of his affections, as though she could not fathom why he might have any feelings for her at all. He smiled that half-charming, half-menacing smile to reassure her once more as he repeated the request.
"A small favour. Nothing complicated, I assure you. My sister is in possession of certain documents...I only require that you...obtain them." His mind was starting to pound again, a dull throbbing at his temples and behind his eyes dulling his concentration, making it harder to focus on the girl and forcing his words out more slowly. Mihail blinked as though in an attempt to regain coherence, though he did not move his arms from where they lay, finding it easier to use her as a support, though she sensed it as nought but endearing as he masked the reliance by pressing his cracked lips against the loose strands of hair on her forehead.
"Nethis. You can do that for me, can't you?"Korinna had taken a long moment before she agreed. She had glanced away, thought through the pros and cons of undertaking the job - likely the fact that Nethis was not currently in the kingdom of Colchis had been a deciding factor, for her discovery of the task would have been significantly damaging to Mihail's needs. But she had nodded at the end of it all, stuttered out a
"Yes, Mihail" and he had fallen away to sit back on the bed, ready to drop back down the rabbit hole that was his paroxysm.
"They will not be easy to find. I assume Nethis will have hidden them but..." He took up the container of drink she had brought with her, taking it directly from the jug so that it spilt over his face and stained the furniture he sat on. It was high-grade wine, thick and crimson and noticeably undiluted. It helped his head, the pain and pounding vanishing with that which had initially caused it. He wiped the drink from his chin, the droplets of liquid sticky in his light spattering of stubble.
"But I am sure you can manage. A safe, a box, or something of that ilk. Adoption papers. They'll be old, faded. Find them, bring them to me at this hour in two days, and I shall reward you amply." A highly open-ended promise, yet it had done the trick, and she had been convinced, as Mihail had suspected she would be.
"But first..."One more thing. Collateral.
Mihail reached for an ornate stone box on the small table beside his bed, the decorated lid finished with that classic red and black crest in dyed ivory. It was elaborate, but rightly so, as he opened the case to extract a piece of jewellery, the necklace dangling on its chain as he held it up with two thin fingers. The pendant was elegant, classier than she would have seen before - indeed more ornamental than she would have worn - the silver charm on the end resembling a drachma were it not for the snake pattern with the garnet embedded in the eye. He had thieved it from Mother many years prior, though it must have been intended to be passed to Nethis or another of his sisters. A servant had already suffered for its loss nineteen years ago, but another doing so was no far-fetched fantasy.
"A gift."She advanced gingerly, though her moves were not as hesitant as they had been at the start of the conversation, the jewellery taken from his hand as though it would dissolve into thin air if she did not grab it fast enough. It would have been almost endearing if she hadn't been falling so pathetically into his trap.
"Put it on. Flaunt it. Let others see your favour."He had said no more while she placed the pendant around her neck, the emblem on it nestled in the dip of her breasts, hidden under the fabric of her dress; only leaning back against the wall as he had been when she had first entered, lifting the jug a final time and nonchalantly waving her out of the room.
* * *
In the few days which followed, he had done his own research as he awaited Korinna's return with the requested tidings, a new girl appointed to the task of maintaining his developing dependency on the drink. Evras had expressed concern when he had journeyed to the Kotas home to visit her - an effort on his behalf which had not received the praise he had imagined it should - but he had ignored it, hidden himself away so that none of his siblings might bother him further with comments on self-control. If Mihail wished to halt his consumption, then he had every ability to do so, as he had declared to all, but he did not want to, for they kept him untroubled and carefree and for a while, he could act as though there was little wrong in the world and formulate his schemes in peace. Besides, there was a reason he left such gaps between his consumption of drink and drugs. He did not care to become
too lightheaded.
Mihail had various contacts residing close by in the city of Midas who were typically of use when it came to the gathering of gossip, a few associates he may have claimed to trust to report to him that which they had the pleasure of overhearing, and several victims he had stolen words from in the past who were too afraid to fight back and hence always prepared to provide aid. The missives he had written were scrawled, the words on the parchment scratched and shaky, his penmanship distorted by intoxication to the point that one might have assumed forgery had they not been signed and sealed as unmistakably his. Their solicitation, however, was uncomplicated: an urgent behest that those who received the note discover for him the best manner of discreetly investigating an adoption, an added query on midwives and a firm warning to keep the subject private else they could expect the full wrath of Dynasteia Thanasi. The letters had not specified the purpose of his adjurations, nor given any indication of his current emotional state outside of the questionable writing style.
When Korinna had next entered his chambers bearing the documents, she had also carried with her the responses to his correspondence.
On this occasion, he had been better prepared for the girl. The lie of an effort made in her name despite all the strife in his life. His eyes were still bloodshot and devoid of any sentiment towards her, and his movements were still that uncanny mixture of lethargic and jittery all at once, but his chiton was more thoughtfully selected and free of any creases, and his scent was purer, with only the slightest hint of smoke and earthiness. He had altered his position too, and when the girl had scanned the room to find him, Mihail had been seated at the single desk in a corner, slumped in the klismos, yet his gaze had turned to meet hers, and he had risen from his chair to approach.
For a moment, she was ignored as he snatched away the documents, studying them with that haughty expression which was so usual to him yet had not graced his face while he had locked himself away, the combination of blurred gaze and aged writing turning the basic act of scanning them into a greater exertion than it was ever intended to be. They were the correct papers, and the responses to his letters could be read later. At present, he owed the girl her prize and her punishment all at once - there would be no loose ends to his plans. A single person privy to his alleged adoption was capable of jeopardising a significant portion of his future plotting.
"Exemplary work, dear Korinna," he hissed, tongue flicking out and running over his lower lip as he dropped the pile of parchment onto the worktable. Now, he raised his head for his gaze to meet hers, bent it to one side as though to examine her appearance, the left side of his lips cocked upwards into an amused smirk, noting with satisfaction that she still so prominently wore that accessory he had given her. He closed the few metre gap between the pair of them, an outstretched hand tilting her head up to make her look at him, the other fiddling to release the plain fibulae which held up her linen robe. With the pins undone, it slipped off effortlessly, and he directed her to the bed.
These flirtations may only have been for his later benefit, but there was no reason to treat them as false as they were, no need to make her feel as though she was only the means to an end. There was a tenderness to the way Mihail pressed his hand against her sternum and pushed her onto the bed so that she lay there on her back, tittering as though this was the first time she had ever been taken to bed, arms resting stretched out above her head. He had climbed over her, situated himself between her legs and leaned to pin her arms onehandedly in place so that she might be unable to escape him now if she had suddenly changed her mind about the whole ordeal. It was nothing special, the way he placed a few rough kisses along the length of her neck and down to her collarbone, twisted his fingers in her brunette tresses and nibbled on her earlobe. So enamoured was she by his tender movements that the girl hardly noticed as Mihail reached for the table beside him once more.
Perhaps she should have noticed something was amiss when he hadn’t removed his own chiton.
The dagger he lifted from the table was as embellished as the box which sat beside it, a weapon in sharp obsidian with a silver hilt. It was more practical than it appeared, sharp enough to cut when it barely seemed to touch the skin and, as he stabbed it sharply and abruptly into the cushioning a mere inch from her face, he purred into her ear:
"As though I'd ever fuck somebody like you."Korinna's reaction was to be expected. Her eyes had widened and dripped with those untameable tears of fear, she had squirmed, unable to move with her arms in his grasp and knife so perilously close to her face. There was no perceivable exit, and, with that realisation, she lay as still as if already a corpse, only the subtle movements as she pronounced his name in worry any hint to her life, so incautious as to use it without its title, almost imagining that there might be a semblance of care left for her under this sudden turn of personality.
"Lord Mihail," he reprimanded, still close enough to her that their noses were near touching and he could feel her stilted breaths on his skin.
"You should know better than to trust a man only because he promises to bed you," he spat, the venom in his words no longer disguised by sugar.
"Such a shame no one will believe you." He took his time, trailing his fingers down her bare chest and resting them on the cold metal of that pendant, twitched his mouth into a new smirk, eyes not leaving hers.
With the maid in such a vulnerable position, he might have considered killing her himself had it not felt too great a hassle. There would be far too much disposal to which he would have to attend, and Mihail frankly did not have the time to spend covering up the murder of some girl who he had allowed the privilege of too much knowledge. Thus, prior to her arrival in his chambers that day, he had passed a moderate sum to a guard in the household with instructions to visit his rooms in an hour, permitting himself adequate time to have her right where he wanted her before the man arrived. This time, Mihail had been better prepared.
When he heard the rapping of knuckles on his heavy door, the young man was quick to shift from on top of her, although he kept his dagger fixed in place by her throat as a precaution. Mihail nodded the guard who entered on command towards her, so that the taller yet upsettingly unattractive man heaved the girl into his own grip and kept her restrained without the need of a weapon. She was dwarfed beside him, almost hanging naked from his arms with the necklace swaying limply from her neck like a glittering noose. It was a perfect picture of irony as Mihail ripped the pendant from its place, the clasp snapping easily and leaving a red mark on her flesh.
"I don't like to be stolen from," he warned, as though it were the most casual matter in the world, facing only the guard as he spoke.
"Dispose of her efficiently. I do not have the time to clear up your errors as well."He was fast growing bored with this game now, having wasted enough effort on the whole ordeal. Settled once more by his desk, jewellery and knife carelessly discarded to one side, Mihail made a gesture for the pair to leave, his attention turned to the documents and missives before him but still watching their actions through the corner of his eye.
"I heard tell she was showing that necklace off to the others, and I would rather they didn't develop any foolish ideas. Ensure it's known that if any dares steal from me again, they shall be met with a certain degree of...maleficence."The guard had nodded, the girl's had contorted in further terror - her very first impressions in speaking to Mihail had been both unfortunately correct and disregarded - and with a muttered and reverent acknowledgement of his demands, they had slipped away and left him alone once more.
* * *
Within the letters which had received a response so hastily, Mihail had found repeated word of a temple hidden away in Illytia which 'may well be worth the visit' for his purposes. The Cypress Sisterhood which resided there were not only mere priestesses of Artemis but midwives, and if one were in need of assistance with an unwanted birth, then it would be the ideal place to visit. There were various references too that, if in possession of the documents describing the adoption in question, they may well be able to provide him with further information. There had been no questions, at least, none which had been written on the parchments he'd received, and he had not bothered to send any notes of gratitude in return - if their reports proved useful, then they would earn their rewards. It was the same incentive he offered whenever he kindly borrowed some of their better work, the prospect of remuneration always more significant than any fear.
For a visit of such indeterminate results, Mihail had opted to pack more lightly than one might have expected. The ride itself may have taken a while, but he was unsure as to how long he would have to remain in the presence of the priestesses, unconfident as to how long it would take before he obtained the knowledge for which he had come. He had never been one to pack extensively, the bother of requesting a servant attend to him on long journeys too great when it came to such a sensitive subject, and he had come to a conclusion that, with Arcanaes and Pieria so conveniently close by and assumed willing to host him ever so briefly, there was little cause for stress on the matter of supplies. As such, Mihail carried little more clothing than the chiton he wore in such a mournful colour, the drabness of the cloth symbolic in a manner that he could not quite understand yet wholeheartedly believed, and a second in a similarly monochromatic shade. His bow hung from a leather scabbard on his puissant steed, more a precaution than anything else, those elaborate arrows he so favoured resting beside it, and a few drachmae to ensure the trip some luxury.
”I shall not be gone long,” was the assurance he had given regarding his whereabouts for the next few days, although in reality, the man could not have said whether that was the truth. But it was far better that he ensure his sisters remained unalarmed by his sudden disappearance, however brief, and this way they could easily chalk it up to his customary melodrama when he slid from the family home in the early hours of the morning. It was a long ride to his destination.
Illytia was not a place of which he was particularly fond. Since the incident with that Eliades child close to a week back - it was only an injured leg, so
pathetic of the boy to sob so - he had been surprisingly wary of any potential consequence to his actions, and venturing into one of the family’s provinces unguarded hardly seemed a wise decision. But there was no choice in the matter, and he had opted to make the journey nonetheless, albeit with enhanced caution.
Mihail did not much like riding, and if one had followed him as he travelled north of the Colchian capital, it might have been evident from the dissatisfied expression he wore on his face. He had always preferred to walk but, with such a distance to cover, it would have been ridiculous to do so, even he was forced to admit that much, and he was thankful once he had reached the Pierian border, positively bursting with gratitude once he’d arrived at some sort of tavern. They were kinder than he might have expected, more willing to tend to his desire for respite, and happy to fill him with the wine he adored. It was a welcome rest and, when he had had his fill, ‘twas far easier to return to horseback. He had stopped once more as night fell and he’d come close to the border with the Kotas lands, a surprise call to the baron’s home securing relative comfort for the night. Mihail knew full well the decision to take a detour through the Thanasi province had been a wise one.
It was not until the following afternoon that he finally arrived in Illytia, and only a short while and a few nameless queries later that Mihail reached the temple of which he had been informed. It was as he had expected from the word he had heard, appearing more a fortress than a place of worship, an image which should have unnerved him and yet barely caused his expression to shift out of sheer determination.
He docked his horse outside, entreated a meeting with the High Priestess. It was an awkward affair.
As far as Mihail was aware, the Sisterhood was not precisely the most
friendly towards the male sex, nor could he imagine they would be all too amicable towards those who worshipped deities other than their preferred. He could not blame them - having been raised well-nigh entirely in the company of his sisters (and Dysius, although Mihail would never genuinely consider him the ideal image of a man), he had a more accepting view of the concept of women in power than most - yet the majority of his gender was less kind. It was something he thought absurd, though the belief might have been something battered into his mind from years of listening to Nethis, and her words were something he was taking with a pinch of salt at present. But these were nought more than private philosophies, nothing to be brought up in a place such as this, where he could feel the air thick with the disapproval of his presence, as though the gods themselves were reprimanding him for the actions which had led him to this moment.
When the priestess he had requested approached, appearance half-hidden from him, only glimpses visible when the light caught her, not that he cared. Mihail had not come for any reason other than the uncovering of his past, he could not have had less interest in their identities, and it was for similar reasons that he had not uncovered his own, only introducing himself by incertain family name and equally dubious title.
A faint smile drifted across his features, sweeter than his common sort, head tilted to one side and hand outstretched to take hers if she wished to offer it, the appropriate social interactions for the location clouded in speculation. Her words had an underlying harshness to them, that same tricky tone that he used when dragging someone into his own scheming, but the added false mercy was ironic.
”My Lady,” he’d responded with a dip of the head, though it was unlikely that was anything close to the correct form of address.
There was a silence as held out the fading documents he had brought with him, waiting for her to take them before he spoke, that peaceful expression of greeting he had worn only a moment prior fading into one which betrayed the gravity of the situation. Mihail had rarely been adept in the art of hiding his true emotions, only when his surroundings required theatrics for future benefit, and it was in these that he exposed himself.
"My sister has recently disclosed to me some information which I found to be most...unsatisfactory and, as a result, I have opted to take matters into my own hands and investigate her allegations further." His head nodded towards the parchments, indicating the lack of any inscription of a name which might have offered further data. Mihail had already scrutinised them himself as though to confirm it hadn't only been scrubbed away in an endeavour to hide any answers further.
"An adoption, around twenty-four years back. I was told you may be able to aid me in my inquiries." Kallista of Dolomesa