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Rathe, redirecting his attention to Osaant. Rathe shook off his ire, choosing to make a joke of the moment. Affecting a haughty tone, he said, “To be sure, he is wealthy—as you can see by the stunning appointment of his palace. And while he serves as the head of the king’s council, surely he garners respect not by sage advice, but in flaunting his riches. Even with his esteemed birth, he is a most wretched creature.”
    Thushar laughed. “As well, I have heard it that his manhood is a tiny, mangled thing,” he said, drawing a giggle from the red-haired beauty.
    Rathe flashed her a cocky grin. She returned his gaze with stirring boldness. As a three-time champion of King Tazzim’s yearly games, Rathe was not unaccustomed to women of all stations seeking his affections. For his part, he had never found cause to be stingy. Now was no different. He was not so drunk to deny her gown of sheer crimson silk, open from her throat to her bellybutton and revealing more of her breasts than it hid, played a role in his judgment.
    Thushar’s grunt of irritation drew Rathe from his pleasant study. The Prythian pointed out Girod, meandering toward them through the jovial throngs. The brutish man traded banter with the highborn, but after he had gone by, they eyed him with the same mistrust as the Ghosts of Ahnok. If not for his father, he would never have been allowed within the walls of the palace.
    “More wine, captain?” Girod asked as he joined them, offering a fresh goblet. He had oiled and tied back his long dark hair, seemingly in a bid to make himself more presentable. He had not bothered cleaning his sculpted bronze breastplate of dust and fingerprints. A greasy smear ran across the snarling face of Ahnok, as if Girod had used the god’s face to wipe his hands.
    “Legion commander of the king’s guard,” Thushar corrected with a glower.
    Girod displayed an oily grin of crooked teeth. “Of course. I misspoke. But then, I forget that I am now captain of the Ghosts.” His expression made it clear he had forgotten nothing.
    Rathe snatched the goblet from Girod’s outstretched hand and tossed it back in a single gulp. He would need that and more, if he was to suffer the lout’s company.
    Leaning in close, the reek of old sweat and sour wine wafting about him, Girod inclined his head toward the beauty by the fountain. “She favors you.”
    Rathe swayed on his feet, and cautioned himself to slow his intake of wine, no matter his distaste for Girod. It would not serve him well to be seen stumbling about like a common sot.
    “Her name is Lisana,” Girod offered, leering.
    Rathe blinked dazedly, his cheeks hot and tingly. “Who is she?” he asked, slurring a little.
    “Does it matter?” Striding away, Girod added, “Do be gentle with the girl.”
    Thushar looked after the captain. “I do not trust that bastard.”
    “Nor do I,” Rathe agreed, blinking in a bid to stop the room from spinning. “But he’s no longer any trouble to us.”
    Thushar grunted noncommittally.
    “Go on, brother, enjoy yourself, as I intend to.”
    “Very well,” Thushar said, “but have a caution. Here you tread the path of serpents.”
    “As do you,” Rathe said, smirking like a fool.
    After giving him a lingering look, Thushar eased into the milling crowd. A moment later, the woman at the fountain strolled to Rathe’s elbow. By all the gods, she’s beautiful, he thought, his mind flaring with lustful images.
    “Does the Scorpion always get what he desires?” she asked pointedly. Her lips pursed prettily when she sipped her wine.
    “Just so,” he said, feeling giddy. Her eyes, their pale blue irises ringed with a darker shade, regarded him boldly despite her demure tone. His pulse quickened.
    “I am Lisana,” she said, toying with the open neckline of her dress.
    “I know who you are,” Rathe murmured. The room kept trying to spin him around. He shook his head, collected himself. Doubtless, the wine Girod had given him