Two guards flanked Xeator, gripping his shoulders as they shoved him against a sidewall in the moonlit courtyard fronting Lorenzo's residence. Their scabbard crossed before his neck, throttling him like a garrotte. He could feel the chill of steel blades behind the leather.
"Are you a mole?" Lorenzo asked; his eyes narrowed, drilling at his subject. "Was it Augustus that old snake who planted you in the League? Was he also the one who nominated you as the Underdog?"
Locks of hair straggled before his eyes. Xeator looked up at the gibbous moon half hidden behind a single tuft of cloud. "Would you believe it even if I told the truth?"
"When I ask, you answer!"
Feeling more strain around his neck, Xeator rasped with a chuckle, "Let your guards draw their swords and be done with me if it pleases you, my lord." Pressing the crown of his head against the wall, he shut his eyes. "But that really will be the end of all your investments!"
He felt the grips loosen. Caligae clacked the flagstones while the guards fell back behind Lorenzo. He snapped open his eyes, his hand about his neck. "Even if the Praetor has agreed to the card game, a game as meticulous reeks of wiles. The more he dwells on the details, the more fervent his suspicion will grow. Just give it time."
Lorenzo only regarded him without a stir in those large green eyes.
"When Lord Romulus Scipio objected to the game, saying the odds for the Favorite to win are much bigger, what did Lord Gaius reply?" Xeator went forth. "Aw, that the Favorite will have to win five times to declare victory. Sounds like he's doing the Underdog a favor, isn't he? Except the math is all wrong."
"How?"
Upturning his sword, Xeator scrawled on the sand with the pommel. "A favorite beats a fighter that beats an underdog that beats a favorite," he intoned, pointing at the sand.
Knitting his brows, Lorenzo squinted at where the hilt tipped.
"Set I: III Fighter & I Fav
Set II: III Fighter & I UD
Fav to win:
Fighter > UD: ¾ x ¼ = 18.75%Fav > Fighter: ¼ x ¾ = 18.75%
Total: 37.5%
UD to win:
UD > Fav: ¼ x ¼ = 6.25%
Total: 6.25%
37.5%÷6.25%=6
"The Favorite has a total of thirty-seven point five percent the chance to win," Xeator explained. "Whereas for the Underdog, the chance is only six point twenty-five percent. And there you have the chance for me to lose in each round, which is exactly six times higher. In other words, the Favorite should be required to win six times out of the ten rounds to make it fair." Tipping his head to the shoulder as he glimpsed Lorenzo sideways, he thudded the hilt by his feet. "Lord Augustus must have done the math or have the math done for him. While his proposal with the card game will indeed make the fight more interesting, it has been months since I was nominated the Underdog, and why didn't he bring it earlier? Another cue for the Praetor's suspicion."
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Lorenzo's gaze fraught with the same suspicion of which he tried to rid himself. The chill of the night rustled fallen leaves. Suspicion, he thought, like the dead leaves, while they might take off the ground for a few breaths, once fallen, they could never return to the trees. He couldn't reverse Lorenzo's suspicion; he could, however, correct his ill-fated investments. Parrying for time to think, he asked, "Pardon me for asking, my lord, but did you confirm that Lord Augustus had indeed proposed to mint the coins with the profile of Domitian Uranus?"
Lorenzo snorted, "You heard what I said."
"And the goldsmiths you have kindly commissioned?"
"What about them?"
"What if it isn't Lord Domitian's profile?" Xeator allowed a small chuckle as he urged on, his eyes riveted on the lord. "What if it's the profile of Julius Gaius, their beloved Commander General?"
Wind dispersed the tuft of cloud, revealing the moon that cast Lorenzo in a pale glow.
"What about all the denarii I've placed on the mercenaries?"
"You'll still have use for them." Gnawing his bottom lip, Xeator smiled. "Winning the bet has never been your true objective, my lord. When the time comes for you to ride north and take out Julius Gaius, you'll be fighting in his territory. You need the mercenaries who know the terrains and weather, who have come across Julius' men in the past and know their habits. Everything has fallen into our plan, and you've wasted nothing."
"Haven't I?" Lorenzo cocked a brow. Nothing moved except the slithering draft, billowing their garments, and the Legidus' banner snapped atop the parapets around the courtyards.
"You're still concerned about the chance I'll end with a blunt blade," Xeator chuckled. "I beg of you, my lord, do not raise any objection to the Praetor."
"Why?"
"For one, your grief for his loss needs to be consistent, and you must keep mourning for Lord Domitian as if it was your only priority now."
"And two, playing the fool shall keep Lord Gaius in a false sense of security so no more plots will be devised against you. As for how I shall win with a blunt blade."
He uncinched his amulet and pointed it sidelong at a nearby tree. At the flick of a thumb, a pin sprung off, thrusting forward a diminutive karambit. The blade scythed across the night and dug into the trunk. "No rule says no amulet."
"Tell me, lad," said Lorenzo, his large green eyes didn't take a moment off him. "When the time comes for you to kill one of your brothers, will you be able to flick off the pin?"
"Brothers?" Xeator risked a wider smile. "I'm a single child, my lord."