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Panagiotis Xarchakos’s house, with papers for the General,” Vasilios told her.
    “Then I suppose you better come in.” She stood back from the door, and Vasilios inclined his head politely before stepping into the house. “His lordship is in today, so you can give the papers to him directly,” she said and then turned and headed down the hall without waiting for him to answer.
    Vasilios hurried to follow after her, his stomach flipping and fluttering uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected to meet with Markos face-to-face, although he’d hoped.
    They stopped in front of a wooden door. “What is your name?” the older woman asked, sounding impatient.
    “Vasilios Eleni,” Vasilios said, and the woman’s lips pressed into a tiny frown, but she opened the door anyway.
    “Vasilios Eleni, from the house of Panagiotis Xarchakos, with papers for you,” she said briskly, and stood back so Vasilios could enter.
    Eyes fixed on the floor, which was covered by a beautiful mosaic in brilliant blue and white, Vasilios slipped into the room and then went to his knees.
    “I have the papers regarding the land you requested us to procure for you, General Markos Özdemir,” Vasilios said, without looking up.
    “Vasilios Eleni.” Markos’s deep voice was soft, with a hint of exasperation. “Do stand up. I do not want to have this entire conversation while you are kneeling on the floor, refusing to look at me.”
    Vasilios hesitated, then stood, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes still on the floor.
    Vasilios heard Markos stand. “Come over and sit,” he said, and Vasilios hesitated again, trying to figure out what would be worse, going along with this complete breach of etiquette or disobeying Markos.
    He finally moved across the room, then hesitantly folded himself onto the couch. Markos moved, and for a moment, Vasilios thought Markos was going to sit beside him, and he froze, unsure what on earth he was supposed to do. Luckily Markos sat on a carved wooden chair.
    “Would you like tea?” Markos asked. “Did you walk here from Panagiotis’s house? It’s raining quite hard out there.”
    “Yes, I walked,” Vasilios said, keeping his voice soft and his eyes downcast. “But it was no trouble, my lord, and I do not need tea, although it is gracious of you to offer.”
    Markos stood and walked to the door, and Vasilios heard him speak, voice soft, to the servant outside before coming back.
    “Thank you for bringing the papers over,” Markos said as he returned and sat again, and Vasilios hastily unwrapped the documents from their protective skin and handed them across to Markos.
    Markos took them, and Vasilios listened to the delicate paper rustle. “So this is how far from the city?” Markos asked.
    “About an hour by horse,” Vasilios said. “And the villa is in good condition. There was once a vineyard, but it has not been well maintained.”
    “It sounds promising,” Markos said. “Have you spoken to the seller about the price?”
    The door opened, and the same older woman who’d let Vasilios in entered, carrying a tea tray. Two tiny china cups sat next to a tall silver urn with a spout set into the side. These urns were designed to hold extremely strong, dark tea. It smelled expensive, and Vasilios frowned. He couldn’t refuse it, now that Markos’s servants had made enough for the two of them.
    “Do look at me, Vasilios,” Markos said, reaching for the teacups. “I know I’m asking a lot of you here, but I hate to talk to someone when I can’t see their eyes.”
    “No, it’s not that you’re asking too much.” Vasilios forced himself to look up, and Gods, Markos was exactly like he remembered, brown skin darkened further from a lifetime of military service, hair steel gray, eyes an even darker gray, features that should have been severe or imposing, but Vasilios thought they made him look refined. He was dressed in a short tunic with the loose-fitting wool trousers favored by people