Orkestres helped stretch their legs before he corrected the curves of their tumbles and guided them through their work-out, and Dora mixed myrtle and lemon oil to rub into sore joints, and to keep them supple. That half-moon before the High King’s feast was the happiest time Nikko had ever known. After the exercises and the practice dances, they would sit together, the five of them, with sweet olive wood burning on the hearth, eating from the trays the servants had brought from the palace cooking courtyards—venison with almonds and figs, quails stuffed with grains and herbs, date breads and pomegranate pastries. For the first time Nikko talked of his childhood, how he had fetched his sister from the mountain, making them both outcast among their own people. To his surprise Orkestres spoke of his youth too. For some reason he had never thought of Orkestres as a boy. He had forgotten Orkestres was the son of a palace acrobat, and had trained with his father for years. ‘What happened to him?’ asked Nikko.
