"That is a dangerous Game, Poet," the tall, fair man dressed in the unlikely garb of a desert peddler said to me. I had not known he was in the House. Indeed, I had not known he was in the city.
"Lucius Verus," I acknowledged, looking up from my tea. "You were due to return to Lara."
"You place far too much trust in your informant," he said to me. "There can be no trust between the two of you."
"Was it so different..." I started, "...then?"
"That is completely different, Szol," he answered angrily, "and you know it."
"No. What I know is the stewards of our well-being are duping us, taking advantage of our lack of a real voice," I said to him. "Were our informants so reputable back then?"
"There was a foreign power, usurping authority!" he said, his temper rising.
"It is much the better to be subdued by one's brother than one's enemy then?" I asked him, returning his ire. I have not slept properly in better than a passage hand. It is starting to get to me and I am not always as much in command of my anger as I would like.
"No, of course not," he said ruefully. "But you are putting yourself in harm's way needlessly."
"That is not the first time today I was cautioned thusly," I nodded.
"Perhaps you should listen, then," he said to me. "To someone."
"You are a good friend, Lucius Verus," I said to him. "You know me well enough to understand that I will see this through."
"All too well," he said evenly. "All too well."