Markos' heart was beating like a drum when the dinner table was set. A spread of breads, roasted pheasants, soups, and pastries was sprawled out. Father, as was his right, sat at the head of the table, with mother opposite him. Uncle Ignatios was at his right side, and Theo next to him. Markos' place was beside his mother, while a few guests had placed themselves in the middle- all clients of the Nemos family. There was one Goodman Kallistos, a trader from the port who was tied to the estate vineyard in one way or another, his wife, and Lord Kyprianos, the patriarch of the neighboring estate. All things considered, it was a much smaller crowd than was usually the case. Each one of them still had to be greeted, though, and in order of precedent as always: first Father, then Mother, then Uncle, then Markos, then Theo.

  Lord Nemos began the meal with a toast, "to our fortune! Heaven knows we need it!"

  The guests erupted with laughter, though Markos didn't find it all that funny, he faked a chuckle for propriety's sake. A few of them began asking for news from the capital, about the Emperor, about the Regents, about the Synod; everything that he hadn't been told a thing about. Markos was fairly certain he wouldn't have even known the old Emperor had died a year ago if father's guests hadn't asked about it.

  It was about half an hour into the party when Lord Nemos locked eyes with his son, motioning for all the others to be silent, if only for a moment.

  This is it, he thought. This is the time.

  "Markos...I hear you have been keeping to your studies?" Father asked, turning in his seat with anticipation.

  "Yes sir, I have!" he replied, "Arithmetic, History, Geography, Music, all of it! Just ask mother!"

  Artemisia nodded in approval.

  "Very good. I suppose it's past time we start looking to your future career, then, eh?" Father gave a curt laugh before turning to Ignatios and giving a slight nod, as if to signal him.

  "Yes, I agree, brother...Past due, if you ask me." Ignatios said, taking the time to swallow a small bit of pheasant before continuing, "I think he's just about ready for the Academy..."

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  The two of them began speaking at length about some choice encounter they were having with a nobleman in Illia, or about some business they had with the Empress Regent, which the other guests seemed to view with intense fascination, but Markos couldn't sit still. What could that have meant? Markos paused before meekly sputtering out his objections.

  "A-academy? What academy?" he'd never heard of such a thing before. To the best of his knowledge Father and Ignatios had been taken straight under their own father's wing once they came of age.

  Father took a sip from his wine, "Yes, a little break from tradition, but a necessary one, in light of present circumstances."

  Present circumstances? What could that possibly mean? "Is...this academy in Illia, sir?"

  "Illia?!" Father began to laugh so hard he had to hold a hand over his mouth, and the rest of the table quickly joined in. "Gods no! Whatever would have given you that idea, my boy? No, no! Far away from here, if I can help it!"

  Markos tried to ask why, but his voice was drowned out, the whole room was a cacophony of laughter. His face turned red as a beet, and he begged his mother leave to be excused.

  "Where do you think you're going? Sit down, would you? I haven't even told you-" Lord Nemos' speech was immediately interrupted by Mother's piercing glare.

  "Yes, well, I suppose it's a lot to take in. You are excused, boy." Lord Nemos' eyes turned down to the table, and he refused to meet his son's gaze, simply waving him off with a flick of the wrist before returning to his other guests.

  Markos was holding back tears. Am I an idiot? What aren't they telling me? Am I supposed to know already? Question after question ringing through his mind, the corridors felt cold and unfamiliar. He was barely out of the room when he felt his mother's presence behind him.

  "Are you alright, Markos?" she asked, pulling him closer to her.

  "I-I'm fine." he lied.

  "Your father didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Markos, he's just trying to be protective."

  "Protect me? From what? From being like him? From being a man? His father took him to Illia! Why am I not good enough for that? What did I do wrong???" Markos let all his feelings erupt to the surface, spittle dripping from his clenched teeth.

  "You didn't do anything wrong! Your father...he's not happy with how things are in the capital, he just needs you to be safe until things calm down."

  Markos began to breathe, his mother's hand on his shoulder giving him some slight measure of peace, but on her face he saw her own eyes filling up with tears. He swallowed deeply, and with a hoarse throat asked "Mother, what's going on? Why am I being sent away?"

  Artemisia hugged her son closely and whispered, "We're scared for you, Markos, we're scared for everyone. I can't explain it all to you right now, but your father's position makes him very vulnerable, and that's why we need you to be strong. Can you be strong for us?"

  "I guess so", Markos lied again.