All right, I am apologizing ahead of time for the length of this (five pages, I know 
) But I couldn't help it. I truly loved writing these five pages and I couldn't shorten it without it loosing it's voice, so hopefully you won't hate me too much after you read...
Happy Reading! 
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CHAPTER TEN
Delicia’s peculiar behavior haunts me and I wonder of her warning. Of Nicandro’s disobedience and how she says it will bring doom to him if he doesn’t calm his spirit. I still haven’t found the bravery to question Delicia of the Inn that was ransacked and what it has to do with her and her family. Lately, she has been distant and withdrawn and I suspect it is the Inn that troubles her mind.
I perambulate through the halls, my fingertips skimming the textures on the painted walls, thinking of these things. I think then of the frescos back home adorning the walls and my heart pangs painfully inside of my rib cage.
A silhouette outlines the end of the corridor and I creep cautiously until I see that it is Nicandro’s backside I view. I halt when I near close enough to see that his eyes are closed and his mouth mumbles nonsense I can’t hear. His hands grip the rail on one of the many balconies scattering the home and a soft breeze scented with the sea blows briefly through his hair, messing the curls framing his face. I fear my presence will disrupt whatever his mind is concerned with and I back slowly away until my foot steps on a board and it creaks. I freeze and a soft smile plays across his lips but his eyes stay closed. I curse myself silently when he speaks. “Don’t go Isadora.”
He stuns me when he knows who pesters his peace. I think then of his carelessness when I injured my head and I frown before speaking. “How did you know it was me?”
His eyes remain shut but he speaks clearly. “Lilacs.”
I fluster. “I shouldn’t bother you any longer.”
“Please. I wish for your company.” His eyes flutter open then and fix me with their stormy gaze.
“I shouldn’t…” I trail off, backing slowly away. The memory of his steely glare makes my feet move quicker in retreat.
“Please.” His eyes flash and my heart pounds under my chest. I breathe deeply and cave under his intense stare, stepping onto the balcony beside him.
I see that this one overlooks the north side of the house, the one with the forest. I think of what lays just beyond those trees and my stomach curls in disgust. I hear Nicandro stir beside me and look up to him. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, where the sun is just beginning its decent into the undergrowth of the world. Into Hades realm and to the souls lost to the world where I reside. “What troubles you?” I ask bluntly. My carefulness with words vanishes when I am with Nicandro and I don’t fear being blunt with him. I forget all formality when in his presence.
He cocks his head, amused. “You are bold, Isadora.”
“I am only being concerned,” I say innocently and he laughs throatily before looking back to the horizon.
I wait for him to answer but when it doesn’t come, I pester him again. “There must be something gnawing at your mind for you are much too quiet.”
“Would you rather me be like you with your loquacious nature?” he wonders, a coy smile tugging at his mouth.
“No. I just wish for you to speak,” I answer simply and hope that his mood will stay cheery.
“’Tis true. My mind is being gnawed but the reason is too obscene for young ladies’ ears.” There is animosity in his voice and I narrow my eyes.
“Too obscene or too irksome to tell me?” I question curtly, not forgetting his rude behavior to me earlier.
His eyes look at me with mild interest. “Both.”
I scowl. “Will women always be the inferior race?” I say this to no one in particular yet Nicandro sees reason to answer.
“Yes. Women have their opinions but men know how to follow through with those opinions and make them realities.”
“So you are saying women are just a bunch of procrastinators?”
He grins widely. “Yes.”
“You – “ I struggle for a word to call him and he laughs openly in my face.
“Proves my point. Don’t plan ahead. Rash and unpredictable, women are not to be trusted.” There is that animosity again.
“Not all women are rash,” I defend my gender.
“Are you willing to test that theory upon yourself?” He catches me. I open my mouth but no words come and he chuckles lightly. “See! You know that you will fail.”
“No! It isn’t that at all.”
“Oh. It isn’t?”
“No!”
“It’s just that you are one of the rash women and so you wish to seek out one that is not?”
“I am not rash!”
“You are bold.”
“They are different.”
“They are one and the same.”
“You know not of what you speak of!”
“And you do?”
“AH!” I yell, and cross my arms forcefully over my chest. “You are unbelievable.”
“I am reasonable,” he corrects and I glower, to his amusement. “I know what women are capable of Isadora. You are already forming into one.” And I catch his eyes as they linger over my body. This sends my heart hammering and cheeks flaming. “Did I offend you?” His eyes twinkle and I glare.
“No, sir, you did not.”
“I just assumed for your face is as red as a glass of wine.” This makes me blush more and he grins. “What? Becoming a woman not satisfying enough for you?”
“That isn’t it at all.”
“Then what makes your face flame?”
“Your – “ But I stop myself before I blurt stupidly. His eyes widen and he tries to coax it out of me. I refuse and he presses.
“Come now. Spit it out. What of my behavior disgust you?”
“Your actions!” I finally blurt and he laughs. Loudly. Hunched over and tears springing to his eyes, I try to hush him, but to no avail.
“Hush, you fool, before you awaken the entire Roman military!” I scold and only than does he straighten.
“You are not used to men looking at you, are you, Isadora?” he asks audaciously and I blush again, not replying. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He pauses. “But what surprises me is why? What would you do to turn off a man?” He taps his chin in thought. “Could it be your rash tongue?”
I gape. “How dare you!”
“Your words are as sharp as a blade, Isadora. Has no one every told you this?” He is extremely amused at my astonishment.
“No, nobody has ever told me that.”
“Oh. So your loquacious nature only happens with me. Is that it?”
“No.” I fumble and he shakes his head as though he finds me pathetic. “You think yourself in too high esteem, Nicandro.”
“Do I?” he challenges, eyebrows raised. I snort and look to the horizon, where only half of the sun is present. He sighs. I roll my eyes. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and see him go stiff. “Enough arguing,” he commands, straightening. I stare at him, astounded by his sudden change in demeanor. I eventually see the cause when I spot his father approaching from behind.
“Evening children,” Evander greets convivially.
“I am no child, Father,” Nicandro says stiffly and I see Evander shift uncomfortably before beaming.
“Of course you’re not Nicandro. It’s hard for a father to see his son as grown.” He claps a hand on Nicandro’s shoulder and Nicandro shrugs it off. I am stunned and then I think of Delicia and the conversation we shared. I see now that Nicandro is as rebellious as any child is and I wonder what conspired during Delicia’s and my absence.
“Come now, Nicandro. Don’t fret,” Evander urges and I wonder again of what haunts Nicandro’s mind.
“Maybe you can live and forget father. But I, who had to live with the – “ But he cuts off with a quick glance at me before continuing in hushed tones. “But I will never forget.” Evander looks distressed and I am embarrassed by the exchange.
“I should go. Good to see you both,” I excuse. Neither acknowledges my exit but Evander’s voice rises as I scamper down the hall and into the safety of my room.
~ ~ ~ ~
I ponder Nicandro’s hostile reaction to his father’s cheery mood. I fail to understand his constant fault with his parents. Every meal is an argument. Every word spoken is a threat placed against Nicandro. He finds nothing well with his parents. I discover Delicia in distress, her eyes blotchy. Evander’s mood slips and darkens with his sons growing dislike. Delicia was right in her presumption, I think. Something broods ill with Nicandro.
And I plan to find out what that is.
I find him at the same balcony as before, facing the thickening forest. His eyes are open however, and it isn’t my scent that arouses his senses. He spots me but his face stays plain. “Nicandro,” I bow my head and he inclines back, allowing me to join him.
“What brings you here?”
“Same reason as you,” I say and he narrows his eyes at me.
“I highly doubt that.”
“Why? You seek peace, as do I. You seek condolence, as I do.”
“Yes, but the reasons behind the restfulness are not one and the same.”
“That I can agree with.” There is a heavy pause after that, the humid air outside seeping around us. I pat at my brow as perspiration gathers there. I pull at my hair as sweat slides down my neck in response to hot air and I fumble with the ribbon tying the strands. I sigh as my fingers tangle in my hair before giving up with a huff. I glance at Nicandro. His face is emotionless and I shift uncomfortably. Nicandro groans.
“Are you at peace yet?” he snaps and I jolt at his rudeness. Never had he chided me and my hackles rise.
“Sorry but you can speak plainly if my presence disturbs you,” I glower.
“No. It’s the noise you make that pesters me.”
“Excuse my noise then, sir,” I snort and he rolls his eyes heavenward.
“What is it that you want, Isadora?” he demands pointedly.
“Nothing but peace,” I say simply, to his great annoyance.
“Yes, I know this for you spoke of it earlier but I fear to realize that you also come to become a bother to me as well.”
“I don’t wish to be a problem, Nicandro.”
“You may not wish it but you are nearing one,” he says bluntly and I scowl.
“I only wish to discover what pesters you so,” I say boldly.
“Besides you?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Besides me,” I agree.
He fixes his dark eyes on me and I feel the breath leave my lungs. “You are not like other girls, Isadora,” he says in way of reply, resting his forearms against the railing.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, nor will I.”
“Why? Is it so horrible that you won’t speak of it with me nor with your parents?”
“You know nothing of what you speak of,” he replies coolly, in means to warn me, but I press on, oblivious to his growing frustration.
“I see how you quarrel with your mother and father. I see how you prod at their patience and let it run thin. How your tongue has turn sour and lashes at all who speaks of beatitude.”
His face hardens then and his handsome features cloud with anger. “You are too presumptuous.”
“You are too bitter.” I retort and he faces me with igneous eyes.
“Hold your tongue girl before I find you reason to be bitter!”
My lip trembles under his hateful gaze but I dare to speak. “I just wish to help.”
“No. You wish to be a nuisance.” He throws up his hands and moves further away from me. “You may go.” It is less a request than an order and I hesitate.
“I only pray that whatever broods ill with you, Nicandro, will soon pass for your sour attitude is wearing heavily upon your family.” And with that, I take my leave.
I discover myself, breathless, in the garden. My mind is plagued with images of Nicandro’s steely gaze and hardened eyes. I could feel the anger within him and it’s heat radiated from his eyes like flames from a fire. What was it that gnawed at this man’s mind? I could find no explanation for his sudden hostility to all that walked in this home. I wonder how my father faired for Evander and himself have made themselves scarce in Nicandro’s sudden mood change.
At that moment, I craved nothing more than the company of my own Greek counterparts. My mother, father, Timandra, and even Damaris, who had rejected me most harshly when I departed for Rome. I remember clearly his far-off gaze as I wished for him to find me appealing. However, my efforts proved useless as he sought another in a neighboring village, to his parent’s torment.
I shake those images from my mind and collapse on the marble bench residing beside the nude sculpture. I pay the naked man and woman no mind as I stare blankly at my slippers. I try to go through the days spent in this household since my arrival but I discover no evidence to explain Nicandro’s behavior. One minute, he was alluring and mysterious. Next, he is hostile and vain. I rake my brain but I find nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I conclude that it must have happened during Delicia’s and my absence. It is the only explanation I can come up with at the present time.
I stand, restless. I think of kind Evander and serene Delicia. Of my loving father, Amycus and my hard-working mother, Fedora. My heart aches at the thought of them and a pace aimlessly.
Never, had I encountered such a person as Nicandro. I should be wary of his unpredictable manner and yet, his cold behavior draws me ever nearer. Something about him catches my attention and holds it on him. And his pain I feel as though it is my own. And right now, I wish nothing more than to soothe his aching heart.
~ ~ ~ ~
Nicandro glowers out on the Terrence, a goblet of wine gripped in white-knuckled fingers. His brow is furrowed and when I enter, he casts his flaming eyes on me. I notice immediately that yet another quarrel between father and son has transpired and I tread cautiously. “Nicandro, sir, am I welcome to join you?” I lower my head modestly and I hear him grunt his reply. I enter and place myself beside him. He shifts to further himself from me and I frown. I go to say something but bit my tongue. I close my eyes, pray to Athena for her wisdom to guide me safely into dangerous waters, before beginning. “Sir, I must be frank.” I start and Nicandro groans, swirling the contents of his goblet in a circle. I pause before continuing. “Why must you quarrel so?”
“The love of fighting,” he answers dryly.
“I can see plainly that you have no love of fighting.” I observe his face, pained after the argument with Evander.
“Oh, how wise you are, Isadora!” he scorns and I huff.
“Don’t mock me,” I order and he glares at me with contemn. “And don’t look at me as if you will shoot me down with Zeus’ lightening bolts.”
“If only I could,” he grumbles and I glower.
“You are ruthless!”
“You are burdensome.”
“How am I? When you storm around as though you are a god!”
He snorts. “No, that would be my father.”
I pause at this. “How so?”
“Did you not see his pride the first day you stepped foot in my home?” He glances wryly at me. “I know you did, Isadora, for you are not as stupid as other women are.”
“Your father admires his success,” I say slowly, not comprehending.
“He gloats.”
“With pride,” I defend, now realizing Nicandro’s scorn.
“Why try to defend one who has never done anything for you?” he wonders curiously.
“Same reason why I try to help someone who doesn’t wish me to,” I persist and he glares. “Why must you harbor such vengeance? What it is that conspired that made you so bitter?”
“None of your business.” He slams his goblet down on the table, making me jump.
“It is my business when you punish the people closest to you.” I push forward with new determination.
“You care not for me but more for my parents.” He hisses the word like a curse.
“Why do you hold your parents in such low esteem?”
“Why do you have to be so annoyingly persistent?” he counters with a sneer.
“Because I care.”
“Ha! Just as my father cares? Just as my mother?” He stands, restless. “Your presence is no longer desired,” he says rudely and I scowl.
“It would seem so.” I stand and straighten my skirt. I turn to go, but I force myself to stay, even knowing of the fury hidden just below the surface, bubbling inside of him, waiting to be released. “But not before you share with me of what causes you so much pain.”
“Leave, girl!” he shouts and I cower at his sudden rage.
“No.” I stand firm, squaring my shoulders in a stance of a fighter preparing for battle.
“AG!” Nicandro yells in anguish. “You women are all the same.”
“What is it that you have against women?” He has plucked a nerve.
“Nothing but that they are all ruthless harlots.”
I blush with fury. “You are the ruthless one!” I accuse, heart hammering. How dare he? I am no harlot, as are most of the women out there.
“Am I?” Nicandro faces me with ignited eyes. “Am I the one keeping one man’s bed warm while toying with another’s heart?” My face pales and his defenses shatter. All is brought to light then and Nicandro runs a shaky hand through his hair as he paces away from me. I realize now what broods’ ill with Nicandro and my heart breaks at his obvious hurt. It is plainly clear what has happened.
Celia has been unfaithful.
I fumble with something to say. Something to utter to give him peace. To share with him the condolence I so wish to give him. But my mouth is bone-dry and my throat feels raw as I gaze at his face lined with pain. His eyes fill with regret and his brow furrows with hurtful memories.
When words fail me, I near him and lay my fingers lightly on his forearm. He looks down at me and my heart feels as though it is being ripped from my chest at the heart-warming look that he gives me. Emotions tumbled and swirled together pour from his eyes like a heavy rain and I am pummeled by it. His biceps tense at my touch and they flex beneath my fingers. His mouth thins and his eyes harden before my eyes so quickly that I jolt. “I don’t need your sympathy,” he hisses and rips from my grip.
“Nicandro!” I call out but it is too late. He snatches his goblet and storms off in a wake of pain and revenge cloaked around him like a coat of darkness. And there is nothing I can do for him to yank the cloak away, no matter how hard I try.
Oh well, correcting my mistake now.
