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“I...” Teigra paused, looking down at the book. Aurelius was right. If Calix was a satyr, he should have some of those qualities all the time.
And he didn’t.
“But, but,” she stammered, “you said you came here for the same thing as me?”
Aurelius chuckled and ran his fingers over a higher shelf, bringing down a codex of his own: Ailments, Maladies, and Curatives, by Prolego, High Healer of Farmot Vatic, the Goddess of Medicine.
He flicked through the pages, before turning the book to face her.
“The five divine ailments?” she said. “Ashen passion. Symptoms: A sudden loss in motivation and enjoyment of life, most common among citizens of Ardora—”
“The bottom one, Tiggy.”
“Oh,” she said, in a voice of deep embarrassment, after reading the first few lines.
Wandering Vigor
Symptoms: Increased blood pulse, sudden and steeply rising body temperature, shortness of breath, dizziness and uncontrollable desire, heaviness of the abdomen and general impulsivity.
Cause: An overindulgence in the worldly gifts of the Pentariat—including excessive consumption of stupefying libations, persistent intemperate behavior, moral turpitude, and an overfascination with physical ecstasy. This ailment is most commonly found amongst the free citizens of Mestibes, no doubt indicative that Mesti holds her own citizens to a higher standard of worldly restraint than she does those of the other polities.
Remedy: Abstinence from all worldly pleasures until symptoms cease, and considerable restraint thereafter.
Teigra looked at the floor, her face burning hot. “I’m sorry, Aurie. I’m so stupid. I got all worked up over nothing, didn’t I?”
He patted her shoulder. “I would have much preferred your explanation to mine.”
The significance of his words snapped her from wallowing. “Wait. I thought you didn’t believe in the divine ailments? You always hated when people said you had wandering vigor?”
Aurelius shrugged. “And yet, here we are? I can’t say I fully believe this crap, but it would be foolish to deny that the symptoms are astoundingly similar.”
“So, you are sick? Oh, Aurie. I’m so sorry! You have to take care of yourself. If this only happens around the prince, then you need to stay away from hi...”
Aurelius gave her a sympathetic smile as her voice trailed away. “Yes, darling. Exactly. I can’t do that. Just as I can’t avoid my mission.”
“So, what will you do?”
He closed the book with a resolute snap, glaring up at the bronze face of the goddess, darkly shadowed in the flickering lamplight. “It appears that I must make the ultimate sacrifice.”
32
AURELIUS
The tail of his toga dragged along the wax-polished floor, hanging as heavy as his fucking balls, sweating beneath the yards of unfamiliar wool.
The last three days had been unbearable. His cock screamed for attention. His tongue yearned for the sweet kiss of wine. And his entire body felt practically malnourished from the plebeian fabrics he’d been wearing—absent his usual jewelry or silks or finest brocades.
Despite this, he had stuck to the abstinence, just as the codex had instructed. There was simply too much at stake not to.
And besides, it would probably only be for a few days. A week or two at most, given the prince’s obvious weaknesses.
However, the cumulative effect of all this restraint was that Aurelius was in the foulest mood of his life. He had even snapped at Tiggy this morning, as Aurelius had departed and she’d stayed behind, when she’d joked about how proud the archon would be to see him in the crocus-yellow toga, over top a piss-bleached tunic so white it practically glowed. For the gods’ sakes, he had even combed his shag of blond hair, just to take his mind off the throb between his legs.
“You have memorized the protocol?” said Ms. Securia, quiet enough that she wouldn’t be overheard by the pair of guards escorting them down the corridor—lined not with frescos or mosaics, as they would be back home, but with dark and heavy tapestries.
Through the glassless windows was a magnificent courtyard below, seemingly set in a permanent feasting configuration, with lounges for a hundred guests, surrounded by enormous amphorae and stands positively groaning with fresh fruit and bowls of nut-sprinkled yogurt. And beyond that, back at their elevated height, was a tholos—a grand, circular building overlooking the city, without walls, supported by three dozen columns as thick as tree trunks, all of which were covered with twisting wraps of green.
“Of course, I did!” he snapped, almost tripping on the toga. It was about the nineteenth time the bitch had asked. “Bow, present credentials, wait in silence, polite small talk, leave. I think even I can manage that, Ramuna.”
