But, so far, Sandalio and Alasdair had been rather good at catching what threats Leon did not. Dimitrios was doing better, if nothing else he was alive, and that was rather a good thing, given he'd been so close to dying in the first place. Kassandros didn't really want to think about it. By the time the brothel's staff had figured out what was wrong, it'd have been far too late.
He was still digging for the slavers that thought it was a great idea to castrate the boy, and then not even allow him healing time. Brothels were inherently messy, dirty places, it was really no wonder the wound had festered and become infected. Dimitrios was really quite lucky he was alive. Kassandros had decided, in the end, to borrow Andreas and Cyprian from Lucius, at least for right now, that they could help Dimitrios along the healing process, as Kass had been quite serious about that not being allowed to walk thing.
And then, of course, Victoria. She still hardly remembered her own name, truth be told. She kept asking where Atenra was, remembered enough to be concerned about him, but didn't remember why, or who he was. It was a process, her healing, and she may never quite remember everything. Still, she had Sepheres, now. Perhaps she could help Kassandros teach him to be a person, instead of just a plaything. In the interim, he could read and write in Dalmascan, and Kassandros found it useful for his paperwork pile. Between keeping track of the house's affairs, he had those of the syndicate to manage, too. Kassandros was always swamped in paperwork.
And someday, Sepheres would go home, really home, to Saqqara, the glittering golden Western Free City, where he'd be loved and, with any luck, someday, find happiness. Victoria would likely go with her son, merely because he was her son. The Kenleighs would go back to House Cassimer. And Sandalio and Leon, someday, Kassandros intended to free them. And like always, Kassandros would be alone again, like always he was, eventually. It wasn't like it wasn't his own fault. He didn't really have room to complain. But it was easier, this way, never to get attached, never to let them get attached, so that when the time came, there'd be nothing clinging to him when he died. Kassandros wanted to die alone. He didn't want to live that way, necessarily, because he'd long ago learned he needed people, but he didn't want to die with people still wishing he'd live.
It was just a short trip, down the road to House Asheron, and he'd come by himself this time, like usually he did. Livia had likely just discovered Alcides was back in her estate, not that she minded it. He wondered if she'd told him. Probably not. That might be something to bug her about, if nothing else. It was obvious, even to him, that the two harboured feelings for one another, and neither had ever admitted it to the other. Kassandros thought this was sad, in its way. He skirted around the gate, which was, surprisingly, almost always open, let himself in the entryway. He was around so often, he was recognisable to most in House Asheron, and he wasn't worried about running into any trouble.
He made his way through the halls, one hand's fingers absently running along the stone walls. He was safe here, merely by virtue of Livia's stable of blood fighters being quite skilled at keeping threats out of House Asheron's lands, and he was, perhaps, notably more relaxed here. He was getting to be nearly the same, in his own house, finally. There was always someone out to kill him, and he knew where the majority of these assassins were coming from - he couldn't prove it, though, and really, he wasn't interested in going head to head with Marcus Cassimer, either. That was, he thought, a battle he'd lose, at the moment, and probably quite spectacularly.
Ah, here was the study. He almost passed it, but redirected, meandered in. She didn't have company, so he settled into a seat. "Been a few days," he said, as he did so. "Anything interesting going on?" It was worth asking.