Chapter 73
Ten minutes passed in silence, filled only by the scratching sound of styluses carving into wax, the faint chewing of Georgios, and the chirping of crickets outside the window growing louder as the morning sun became increasingly visible.
The oil lamps in the room began to dim slightly, their oil slowly consumed by the flames, yet none of them moved to refill them.
Nirma finally placed her stylus beside the tablet.
Her fingers, which had clenched from writing, slowly stretched as she loosened the tension in her muscles.
Arya did the same.
The breath he had been holding quietly escaped in a soft exhale that was barely audible.
They exchanged a glance for four seconds.
It was the same silent dialogue as before, and within those four seconds, thousands of words may have passed between them through nothing more than their gazes.
Nirma nodded first—a small yet firm nod—then Arya followed.
Together they turned their eyes back toward Georgios Palaiologos, who was still sitting casually in his chair, the wine cup still in his hand and the bread still ready to be eaten at any moment.
"We both thank you, Lord Georgios, for the audience you have granted us in the midst of your busy and long day," Nirma said in a flat yet meaningful voice.
Her tone made it clear that she was not acting, that her gratitude was sincere even though she had just presented indirect accusations to their host.
She bowed slightly, a respectful gesture that was not excessive, then continued in the same tone.
"And we also apologize, Lord Georgios, because our presence here cannot last much longer.
There is still much we must investigate.
There are still many witnesses we must meet.
There are still many clues we must pursue before they vanish like smoke at the tip of incense."
Arya beside her nodded in agreement.
His wax tablet had already been closed and was ready to be returned into the fold of his robe—a gesture indicating that they truly intended to leave, that they had no intention of lingering to enjoy the food or wine Georgios might offer.
There was something unusual in the room as Nirma and Arya prepared to depart—something that did not align with the usual protocol of parting from a high noble such as Georgios Palaiologos.
He did not ask to see what they had written on their wax tablets.
There was no request to correct anything.
There was no insistence on ensuring that his words had been recorded properly.
In his eyes, for a brief moment, Nirma caught a flash of genuine sadness.
It was a sadness she had never expected to see on the face of a man she had just accused using three pieces of incriminating evidence.
Georgios Palaiologos looked like someone who had lost something.
Like someone who did not want this conversation to end.
Like a traveler watching his companions depart, leaving him behind in the middle of a silent desert.
Yet that sadness lasted only a moment—no longer than a blink.
Soon after, Georgios swallowed another sip of his diluted wine.
The silver cup briefly covered his lips that had trembled.
And when the cup returned to the table, a thin smile had already settled neatly upon his face—the same smile as when they first entered the room, a smile that could not be read.
Nirma and Arya stepped out of the room with mixed feelings.
Their footsteps echoed through the long corridor illuminated only by several oil lamps that were beginning to fade.
When they finally reached the portico outside, the Prefect's soldiers were still faithfully waiting where they had been left.
Eight living statues that had not moved even slightly for hours, their eyes the only things shifting as they followed every passing shadow.
Without much conversation, without needing to exchange reports, Nirma and Arya immediately approached their horses.
Within seconds they were already mounted.
Nirma and Arya chose to ride on a single horse again.
Their shared position upon the same saddle had long become a habit—a practical decision that allowed them to speak quietly without needing to shout above the sound of galloping hooves.
Their horse was placed at the very front, leading the small group away from the Mesomphalos District.
Leaving behind the Forum of Theodosius that had begun to darken.
Leaving behind the portico where Georgios Palaiologos might still be sitting in his chair, staring at an empty wine cup with a gaze that could not be interpreted.
Nirma drew a deep breath when their horse finally left the quieting forum district.
The rhythm of the horse's hooves slowly changed as they entered the descending paved road that led toward the harbor.
Beside her, Arya was busy opening his wax tablet, trying to read the marks he had just written beneath the faint moonlight emerging between the clouds.
Nirma did the same.
Her eyes moved across line after line of brief yet dense notes she had written while Georgios Palaiologos spoke.
And the more she read, the clearer an unexpected conclusion formed in her mind.
She glanced at Arya.
From the look in her companion's eyes, she knew Arya had reached the same conclusion.
Georgios Palaiologos had delivered his clarification very well.
Not in the sense that he had successfully cleared his name from suspicion, but in the sense that he had not fed them the manipulative arguments they were accustomed to hearing from palace nobles who were used to lying.
What he offered was simply the state of things as they truly were—or at least that was what their instincts, sharpened through years of examining lies, seemed to perceive.
Unlike Konstantinos Dalassenos, who constantly threw accusations in every direction.
Unlike the merchants of Kapeleion who always possessed alibis that were too perfect to be real.
Georgios Palaiologos did not deny his connection to the evidence at all.
He acknowledged that every piece of evidence was indeed closely related to him.
That he truly had purchased the green bile.
That his ring indeed could retain heat.
That he had indeed been at the baths of Zeuxippus minutes before the murder occurred.
There was no defensive "but."
There was no attempt to reverse the situation by accusing the investigators in return.
He merely explained reason after reason why those facts could be connected to him.
And in those explanations, he never asked them to believe him.
He never begged them to understand.
He simply presented his version of the facts calmly, then allowed Nirma and Arya to draw their own conclusions.
It was a kind of courage rarely encountered—the courage of someone who knows that truth, no matter how complicated, will eventually speak for itself.
What was even more surprising was that from the beginning to the end of the conversation, Georgios Palaiologos never once attempted to redirect suspicion toward the two of them.
He did not ask why they were investigating the case.
He did not question their authority as women handling a murder investigation.
He did not attempt to probe for weaknesses or search for opportunities to discredit their work.
He simply sat in his chair, eating bread, sipping wine, and answering every question with a calmness that was almost unsettling.
In their experience of interviewing dozens of suspects and witnesses across Constantinople, such behavior was the rarest of all.
Usually people were busy defending themselves.
Busy searching for scapegoats.
Busy manipulating facts to match the narrative they wanted.
But Georgios Palaiologos did none of that.
He simply spoke, then fell silent, and allowed them to leave without asking for anything in return—not even asking them to keep secret what he had just said.
To be continued…