Carrick leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. His pale eyes were shadowed in the firelight, their expression unreadable.
He waited, scrutinising the boy's face. It wasn't always easy for him to read the subtleties of human expression, and even more so with this one.
"You're a damphir, I know. And I know why you were enslaved. You betrayed your own blood. Worse, you betrayed mine. Your father and I were not kin, but he was my kind. In Sparta, we held traitors are the worst criminals. Their names lived in infamy long after their flesh had turned to dust. Do you thnk your name will live on, boy? As a sad little Ephialtes who was blessed by the gods with vampire blood, but was condemned to lived out his days on his knees?"