Each time we sat waiting, I felt the pull of the garden. It called to me with the acrid scent of the cemphora bushes released in the sun’s warmth, the sound of water pattering in fountains out of sight, the birds chittering in the trees, the wasps that came to collect any crumbs left from the royal breakfast, and the bees that buzzed in the potted plants before heading off in the direction of the kitchen gardens.

With the invisibility I’d felt at the Villa Suterpe settling around me, I inched farther and farther away from the other attendants. One day I crouched down near the guards to lay out my patterns, and on the next visit to the garden, I chose a step halfway down the stairs. Then I moved to the very bottom of them. Finally, holding my breath, I stepped as quietly as I could across the gravel and slipped between the cemphora bushes on the other side. I waited there for an outcry. When there was none, I took a deep breath and moved farther into the garden, sticking to the spaces between the hedges instead of traveling the noisy gravel paths. I didn’t go far, meaning to return before any of the attendants noticed I was gone, but I lay down in the soft dirt and inhaled the smell of bark and leaf and flower, feeling as if I was breathing freely for the first time since I’d come to the palace. Then I fell asleep.

When I woke, I was in a panic, with no idea how much time had passed. Afraid the king had already returned to the terrace and my escape had been discovered, I hurried back to the stairs. Stepping in haste between the cemphora bushes, I tripped over the stones edging the path at the base of the terrace stairs and landed face-first in the gravel. The guards looked down at the sound, then turned away, entirely uninterested. As my heart slowed its racing, I limped up the steps, brushing the sharp little rocks off my stinging palms, and settled near the other attendants. Their conversation continued uninterrupted. The king returned a few minutes later, and we went on to his next appointment.

After that, if the king went into the garden, I followed soon after. I did not dare go as far as the kitchen gardens to watch the bees, but thoroughly explored the secret spaces between the hedges and behind the planted beds that only the gardeners knew.

I was lying on my stomach, with my chin propped on my good hand, watching a determined ant arrive home from a long journey between the bushes when I heard “Your Majesty? Your Majesty?” float through the air, and realized my time had run out. I sighed in frustration.

“Duty calls, Pheris,” said the king, behind me.

Taken completely by surprise, I dragged myself around to look for him.

“Or at least, Sotis does,” he added.

He was sitting not far away, with his back against the trunk of a tree and his legs splayed in front of him. He’d been watching me through the leaves. He continued to watch as I struggled to my feet; then he got up, almost as slowly. We dusted off our clothes.

“Now I know why we are both such a mess after these visits,” he said. He still had dirt down one leg of his trousers, and I squatted beside him to wipe it off. He thanked me very seriously and led the way, moving no faster than I did, out to where his attendants were impatiently waiting.

That evening, he informed Hilarion that he wanted me to see a tutor. Hilarion laughed.

“Find one of the indentured who’d like a break from the taxes,” said the king.

“Your Majesty is joking?”

He wasn’t joking. I began weekly visits to meet a tutor in the palace library. Medander or Xikos or Philologos would escort me until I decided that the chance to move through the palace alone was worth the risk of revealing that I could find my own way. I had no such internal debate about revealing myself to the tutor. Melisande had taught me too well.

Every week my tutor showed me my letters and every week I pretended not to recognize them. I have deliberately omitted his name here. It was not his fault that I was a poor pupil, nor his fault that I was soon as sick of him as he was of me.

To my continuing surprise, I had not died. That did not mean I expected to live. I was not meant to be my grandfather’s heir, and I did not delude myself that I was beyond his reach. I might dream of being sent home to the Villa Suterpe—to the familiar outbuildings, the wooded hill behind the stable, the pond at the edge of the kitchen garden—but it was only ever a dream. I did not expect to ever learn what had become of the bees that swarmed the day I was taken away, or whether the red mare had borne twin foals. My brother Juridius was the one meant to inherit. My grandfather intended to kill me himself, or have me killed. That is how one disposes of an unwanted heir.

When the king informed his attendants that he meant to visit the temple heights and address the Great Goddess, they said they would arrange for horses.

“I’ll walk,” he said.

“Your Majesty—”

“I remind you, Ion, that I am in the pink of health.”

This was not true. He’d been feverish a few days earlier and was pretending it hadn’t happened.

Ion did not argue, only pointed out how impressed the citizens would be to see their king ride past.

I thought he might be teasing the king about his birthday gift from the queen. Checking the expression on the king’s face, I was certain of it. Step by step, the wiser of the king’s attendants rehabilitated themselves, Ion, Hilarion, and Cleon risking the occasional needling humor that amused him, while Philologos, deeply ashamed at having followed Sejanus’s lead instead of his own conscience, deliberately set aside his self-doubt and took on more responsibility. Lamion, Dionis, Verimius, Sotis—more followers than leaders—did as they were told and took their futures as they came. Medander and the two brothers, Xikos and Xikander, had burned their bridges, or so they must have thought. While they, too, did as they were told, it was always with a hint of derision or contempt. The very same words that were companionable from the lips of Ion or Hilarion were insulting from the three of them.

The court seemed to have accepted the explanation that the king had kept his wayward attendants in deference to their powerful families. I think the king was more forgiving than they realized. There was always a deep conflict in his nature between his ruthlessness and his compassion. Neither characteristic was ever dominant for long.

“You are no doubt right, Ion,” the king said. “Were I going to inspect the construction of the temple, I might even agree. As I approach the Great Goddess in search of wisdom, I’ll walk the Sacred Way, as a humble petitioner should.”

“A humble petitioner, Your Majesty?”

“One can imitate a humble man without being one, Ion. You should try it sometime.” Bowing deeply to hide a smile, Ion went to make the arrangements.

At home, the stable hands had always driven me away from the horses, swearing they would go lame if I touched them. I had snuck back whenever I could, wondering what it would be like to sit on their backs. Secretly, I agreed with Ion that it would be more impressive for the king to ride.

Early the next morning, the king, with all of his attendants, crossed the plaza toward the Sacred Way. It was a long journey around the palace and then back and forth up the hill to where the temples overlooked the city, a sign of the Attolians’ wealth and power as much as their piety. I was tired when we reached the heights, though not nearly so much as I had been the first time I’d made the climb.

The workers had been given the day off and the area around the temple was deserted, the double wooden doors to the treasury closed and unwelcoming. When the king nodded, Lamion and Xikos pulled on the doors’ bronze rings, putting their backs into it, slowly swinging them open to let the sun pierce the darkness within, revealing an acolyte standing with her hands raised as if to welcome the light.