“Enough!” Cried Vitor Kors. “I no longer intend to listen to this nonsense! What are you blaming me for? You are all right, and no one forces you to wear rings!”

“Yes, with me, it’s all right, relatively… but I'm sorry, this is not your merit! This is a happy coincidence. Gift of the Gods! Looking at Nikto, I imagined how my life could have developed, if I had been born so light. Where would I be right now? Surely also rotted in someone's castle as a slave! Yes, I’m very lucky, but even they humiliate me! Unobtrusively make it clear. Remind.”

“Who?!”

“Never mind! I'm fine, yes. What about mom? What about brother? It's your fault! There was no need to drag her into our world! You know, Nikto, after all, also had a “white” girlfriend, her name was Rosa, it seems. But he sent her upwards, saved her from such a slave life. Maybe you’ll say that he didn’t love her enough?”

“Are you now retelling the play of Donatella Valerie?”

“Yes, I am. Because he told her this story about himself. Why didn't he stay with Rosa? Maybe because he understood that he would not have life in this world, not him, not their children. And I don’t blame you, don’t look at me like that. You were young and everything is clear. It's just… you blame yourself more than I blame you! Only you blame yourself because you didn’t save her, but you have to blame yourself because you took her from the Upper World initially!”

“I didn't take her! Everything was mutual, and the children… we were so happy when she realized what was waiting for you…”

“Don’t…”

“We didn’t think about anything, you are right, we were just happy. Unacceptably happy! And you… you were born dark, understand? There were no problems, and we didn’t think. And… I wanted a son, and she, she wanted to give me a son. We didn’t think about what he would be, light or dark, or rather, we were probably sure that he would be like you – dark.”

“You wanted a son… well, today you will finally get him! And you’ll try to explain to him why you put him in the trash in absentia, or as you say: “human waste”, and made him a slave.”

“Nikto is not my son! My second child is dead! And I'm not even sure that it was a boy! There’s some dubious similarity, as it seemed to you, even if it is, it doesn’t mean anything!”

“All the whites are alike, alike, yes… I know.”

“You cannot judge the similarity of a portrait.”

“You will see him yourself. This is the best evidence, although everything else converges as well. And the place where he grew up is exactly where your garrison stood.”

“He fooled you.”

“Because he is the son of the devil, yes?”

“Yes!”

“Isn’t it funny for you yourself to repeat this stupidity?”

“No. It’s not at all funny!”

There was a knock on the door:

“Arrested delivered, sir.”

Karina stood up abruptly:

“I'll leave now.”

“Wait! I just wanted to tell you, Karina… you shouldn't blame me… you… you just haven't loved like that yet, that much. You didn’t fall in love. When you love, you don’t think about anything! You just want to be with this person and it doesn’t matter if he is “white” or “not white”, from your world or from someone else's! It doesn’t matter what is happening around, just you are together, that’s all. It’s hard for you to understand me, because you didn’t love anyone like that, for real, then I would look at you! When you love nothing is important, everything becomes unimportant! You are capable of folly and stupidity…”

“And you tell me that?!”

Kors grinned sadly.

“It's hard to imagine me falling in love and reckless, but I was young. I was different! It was so long ago, and love… Love… It explains everything. Yes, maybe it makes you make mistakes, but it justifies everything. And everything pays off!”

“And… and is it more important than duty?”

“And where is the duty?! What are you talking about? What do you mean? If you're talking about Prince Arel and his notes, again, no! This is not love! This is your whim, and it doesn’t mean anything!”

“I'm not talking about Arel…”

“Karina? Karina! What's the matter? Where are you going?!”

Chapter three

Vitor Kors and Nikto

       The convoy, habitually following a long-established rule, roughly pushed Nikto into the room. Here, Vitor Kors usually conducted interrogations of the accused.

Lame Nikto stumbled and nearly fell, moreover, one of the guards forcefully pushed him in the back, and the other indifferently hit the legs with a stick.

Vitor Kors, watching this picture, barely restrained a smile and only shook his head. The guards laughed, they were amused by the awkwardness of Nikto and the fact that he stumbled.

“On your knees,” one of them growled, pressing Niktoon his shoulders, bending him to the floor. Nikto obeyed.

Having thus put the prisoner on his knees, they removed the bag from his head, but Nikto didn’t raise his head, didn’t look at the one to whom he had been brought.

Vitor Kors made a sign with his hand, and one of the soldiers with a stick raised the chin of Nikto up so that his face could be seen. Nikto closed his eyes, a light slanting fringe fell on his forehead, a mutilated cheek as usual was covered by part of the mask.

Vitor Kors looked at the portrait in a gilded frame, and looked at Nikto. He was silent. The pause was delayed, and the guards looked perplexedly at their master, waiting for further orders. Finally, catching the questioning glances of his subordinates, he shook his head, as if driving away the obsession, and rose abruptly from the table.

“Well, well…” He said, somewhat bewildered. He went to Nikto, looking at him very carefully. Walked around.

Nikto’s hands were closed in handcuffs behind his back.

“Free his hands, make him go,” Kors ordered.

The guards immediately began to obey the order. They stopped holding Nikto’s head in a tilted position, and he immediately lowered it down, a mass of white hair covered his face.

And Kors involuntarily looked at the beautiful, clear that good and expensive boots on Nikto’s feet. The new, not worn out sole was lined with shiny steel plates.

The convoy commander, whose name was Nolan, noticed the look of his boss, and nodded in understanding.

“I also noticed,” he said, “great boots!”

“Yeah! Dressed like a master, not a slave,” Kors agreed with a grin.

He stepped with the tip of his boot on the tip of one of Nikto’s braids lying on the floor. He saw that on the one side Nikto had two braids, and on the other – only one.

“Why three braids, not four or two?” He asked.

“What?” Nikto said quietly and a little surprised, he tried to turn around, but the soldiers didn’t allow him.

“And here it is, under his hair,” Nolan roughly lifted part of Nikto’s hair. “It’s short, as if cut off,” he grunted.

“I earn money by honest labor,” Nikto said, as if through force, “I fight at the Coliseum, and with that money… with this money I buy boots.”

The guards and Kors laughed.

“No need to make excuses,” Kors continued to smile, “no one currently blames you for anything. There is nothing wrong with being well dressed. I even like it!”