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and willed his own tone to unflinching firmness—“you will be lashed until I think you have learned your lesson.” He turned back to the young eunuch, strode across the space, and hauled him up by the front of his tunic. “And if ever you do such a thing again,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I will see you branded or have fingers removed as I should have done today.”
    He let go of the man, who crumpled to the ground again. Then he nodded at Eòran, who turned, walked out of the courtyard, and returned a moment later carrying a single-tailed lash. Eòran stripped off his tunic, revealing a slim, if heavily muscled, chest covered in bright-blue and dark-black swirling and knotting tattoos.
    The two guards roughly pulled the young eunuch to his feet, stripped him out of his own tunic, and dragged him across the courtyard to tie him to one of the ornate metal gates that covered the doorway. The eunuch began to sob in earnest again, and Vasilios pushed down the revulsion that twisted in his gut. Gods, but he hated being in charge of discipline.
    “Please,” the young man said between choked sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. I swear on God’s name, please.”
    He couldn’t flinch, Vasilios thought, no matter how much he wanted to. The boy was young, stupid, and scared out of his mind, and Gods, but Vasilios didn’t want to do this. He was already going softer on the eunuch than he should. If he was any more forgiving, word of it would surely spread. Not only would Panagiotis hear of it, but also the servants and eunuchs, and his ability to command any kind of obedience within the household would be ruined. So he braced himself and nodded to Eòran, who approached the young eunuch.
    The man shrieked with the first strike, and Vasilios took a long careful breath. Eòran kept a regular rhythm and pace. The muscles worked and flexed in his back. The lash snapped through the air, marking the eunuch’s back with bright welts. Vasilios knew the lash would soon draw blood, and he forced himself not to flinch away or look anywhere else.
    The lash bit again, and now the blood came. Vasilios swallowed back the nausea that rose in him. The young man had stopped screaming and was instead hyperventilating so badly that Vasilios was half afraid he’d choke. He shifted where he stood, and when Eòran looked back at him between strokes, he shook his head, and Eòran let his arm fall.
    Everyone around the courtyard seemed to wait, long enough for Vasilios to be sure the eunuch wasn’t about to choke to death on his own tongue, and then he nodded sharply to Eòran who raised his arm again. The crack as the lash cut the air seemed much louder this time, and the young eunuch screamed in earnest. Vasilios felt his whole body tense with the need to look away or curl in on himself as if he’d been the one struck.
    When the lash cut across other marks that were deep enough to bleed for the third time, Vasilios unclenched his hand enough to gesture for Eòran to stop. The two guards stepped forward to untie the eunuch. Vasilios raised his eyes to the group on the balcony watching the entire scene.
    “One of you come down to attend to him.” He raised his voice loud enough for them to hear him, and one of the women’s eunuchs detached himself from the group and headed for the stairs.
    Vasilios turned to the young eunuch now lying on the ground, and walked over to inspect the damage. There were a few marks that would scar, but nothing he wouldn’t recover from.
    Turning away, Vasilios hoped the eunuch had learned his lesson and would not need to be disciplined like that again.
    If there was a next time, Vasilios would be forced to hand out one of the harsher punishments he usually shied away from, or Damianos might oversee his punishment. While not cruel, Damianos was a traditionalist. The Gods forbid, it might even be Anthimos, in which case—Vasilios couldn’t help but shudder a little at the