Sirine Hill

Madame Phrina leaned over the balustrades of a balcony overlooking a waterway that ran around the sides of an inner courtyard until they reached piscinas that were flanked by shrubbery. A few attendants trimmed some of the hedges and she watched them at work.

She sipped her rosewater in peace and listened to the songbirds chirping. She had not noticed that her host observed her in the same manner she observed his home. Dhaxi's villa lay nestled in a more quiet part of the city, the district of Sirine Hill.

When she she turned to and saw him, she laughed, and he laughed. They were friends, lovers once, but just friends now. Every so often he had tried to court her since they ended that part of their relations, with varying degrees of success.

Maybe it was her, she never felt ready to settle. Never felt stable enough to settle. The air between them never felt stale or uncomfortable because of it. She watched him as he signaled his servants. She admired his authority from a distance.

It oppressed her when they use to walk the streets together hand in hand. That was many years ago, though, when love was innocent. She knew he had changed, but in many ways he had not. She knew the same of herself.

Dhaxi gestured with an open palm toward the table that had been decorated for them, "Sit, Mazha."

A train of Dhaxi's servants flowed into chamber at a steady beat like the water that ran in his home's fountains.

The first servant entered with his arm serving as a rack for cloth napkins, of which he took two and handed them to Dhaxi and Phrina.

A second servant uncovered his tray and slid two full plates before them. Shahan ful consisted slow cooked fava beans and an ensemble of chopped green onions, diced tomatoes, cheese, yogurt, olive oil, and legumes. The dish's origins lay in Syakh, where the natives often ate it with their hands. Phrina and Dhaxi were both D'homani, this dish reminded them of home, but only when it was properly crafted.

A third servant delivered a communal bread basket made of yucca to be shared by the two of them.

A fourth servant delivered two chalices of bright pulpy pineapple juice, no doubt fresh squeezed. The drink coupled well with the savory elements of the dish.

Phrina eyed all of his servants, "Living comfortably aren't we?"

"Most thanks to you," Dhaxi nodded curtly.

A fourth servant came with a black figure ewer of rosewater and refilled both of their cups. When he left, Dhaxi and Phrina toasted, split their bread, and went about their meal.

Phrina asked first "What is it you wanted to discuss?"

She noticed the imperceptible smile adorning Dhaxi's face as she tasted the ripe baby tomatoes and legumes. She always went straight to business even over lunch.

Dhaxi put down his piece of bread first and wiped his mouth of crumbs with the napkin. Beyond the chirping birds, he could hear the subdued voices of the city beyond the walls of his home.

Phrina noticed her companion had paused, her expression softened, "Something troubles you."

She waited for a response, but knowing Dhaxi, he would not reply with frankness about such feelings. He had always been contained when it came to his emotions and anxieties.

"It is about the boy, is it not?"

Dhaxi inhaled deep and exhaled, "Yes, he is a great fighter. One of the best I have had in years."

"And what of Gythos, Balphon?"

"The boy is as skilled as they are, but he lacks what they have. Submission. Every now and then he defies me, never in the open, but I sense the discontentment boiling beneath."

"Ah, his independent streak..." Phrina scooped some of the onions and yogurt into her mouth.

"The boy's stubbornness confounds me, Mazha. At every moment that I try to instill into him the notion that he will NEVER leave the arenas, he..." Dhaxi paused.

Phrina chuckled before she took a bite of the tomatoes that had soaked in olive oil.

"I don't understand. He has been a slave longer than he has been a freeman. And yet..."

Phrina swallowed her last bite, "Perhaps it is the will of Oelne."

Dhaxi dismissed the notion with a wave, "Mazha you can't possibly expect me to buy that."

"No, you never buy anything I sell, I've come to expect that."

"Mazha..."

"I don't own gladiators, so I know not of your struggles."

"You jest, Mazha. Owning gladiators is like owning any other servant, except their duty is to fight," as Dhaxi said this another servant took the emptied basket of bread and replaced it with one full of piping hot buns of rich brown that were soft to the touch.

Phrina took a bun as soon as the servant left, "What do you want me to do?"

Dhaxi leaned in, "I want you to set him up for a fight with one of Kail's fighters."

Phrina stopped, her eyes beamed quizzical in his direction.

The slavemaster whispered, "The lion perhaps. They've grown too fond for my comfort."

Then she cleared her throat and said, "The boy is not ready for him, but mayhaps the Tlamani girl would suffice? She shouldn't be too much trouble for him?"

"Very well, can you draw it up for tomorrow?"

Phrina wiped her mouth and stood up, "I can make arrangements. Lunch was pleasant, a bit too mild for my tastes."

"A better one can still be found Dhaxi," she smiled, gave a polite curtsy that signaled her departure and she left through the hanging beads.