To Eddis, the king said, “There will be land grants in Sounis and Attolia to the veterans of this war.” She nodded as well, knowing that the offer of good land would empty her mountain country. To the king of Sounis, he said, “Take the magus. He was born for this,” and they all laughed.

The king did not say, did not need to say, that he must be absent. He would remain in the north as long as necessary for them to forge an agreement, though it meant he could not be with his queen.

That was how, with his knees covered in mud, Eugenides united the three countries into one.

Chapter Thirteen

Even in Stinos’s protected harbor, the Etisian winds blowing across the decks of the Ruby, the Diamond, and the Sapphire made the rigging hum. The tops of all the waves were white, and the few clouds in the sky scudded past like runaway sheep. With the wind behind them, the Ruby and the Diamond would carry Eddis and Attolia and Sounis back to the city of Attolia in days, not weeks.

The king had accompanied the travelers out to the ships. As he said his farewells, Eddis drew him close. With the wind blowing her words away, only he heard them.

“Gen,” she said. “Be careful.”

“Of course,” he promised.

“I dreamed of the eruption again last night,” she told him, and he sobered.

Eddis nodded. She too had thought that the gods would be pleased by the unification of the three countries. “Do not offend the gods,” she warned him, though neither of them could guess what that might mean.

Once the ships had left the harbor, we set out to drive the Medes north along the Attolian coast toward Roa, fighting their rear guard in skirmishes, hunting through the woods for deserters who meant to hide and turn bandit rather than go back to the empire. It was an ugly business, and Sejanus died before we reached the border. It was a gut wound that quickly turned septic. I wished for the royal physicians, either of them, but the healers in the hospital tent assured me that there was nothing even Galen or Petrus could have done.

I sat next to Sejanus, washing him in lavender water as the fever set in, promising him I would write to his mother, that I would write to his brother Dite, that I would forgive my own brother, Juridius. As his thoughts wandered back in time, he told me about his brother Pheris, about the games he would devise pitting his agile mind against his brothers’ and sister’s agile bodies.

“Your mother wasn’t always so ruthless,” he said. “It was Pheris’s death that hollowed out Marina’s heart. We have weak hearts, the Erondites.”

No, not you. It was your stupid head that got you into trouble.

He smiled, but as the fever burned, he grew more anxious, worrying over the past. He plucked at the blanket with his hands and turned his head fretfully. I struggled to soothe him; there was little I could do. As I replaced his pillow for the hundredth time, the king came to the doorway of the hospital tent. He hooked a foot through a campstool and slid it near to Sejanus’s cot. Staying there some time, he spoke quietly with Sejanus.

My uncle asked about Dite and learned for the first time that his older brother was the music master in the court of Ferria.

“He is free to come home whenever he chooses. He might not, though,” the king warned gently. “He’s very happy there.”

“He is?” Sejanus asked, his voice thready.

He hadn’t known. His only contact with the world had been messages smuggled in by his father, and his father had never mentioned his other living son, hadn’t cared what had become of him.

The king said, “Juridius is with him. When he is ready, he too may come home.” They talked about the Erondites estate and what part of it Sejanus would choose to be in my hands. Before he left, the king bent over my uncle, brushed his hair gently aside, and kissed him on the forehead. Sejanus, much eased, died a few hours later.

When the ashes of his pyre had cooled, I climbed onto my pony to catch up with the king. On the road I passed companies of soldiers marching back toward Attolia. The Medes’ inclination to fight dropped with each mile they retreated, and more and more of our soldiers were being released to return home. I stayed the nights in whatever camp I found convenient. I was easily recognized and welcomed, a marvel to me then, and even now. At some point, as the king already had, I crossed the border into Roa.

Harrying the Medes, the king had not hesitated to enter Roa uninvited. He was not at all surprised, though, when he reached the small harbor town of Nedus, to find a party waiting for him, sent by the king of Roa. In the strictest terms, the spokesman warned Eugenides off from further trespassing lest he risk creating ill will.

“Me create ill will?” said our king.

“Indeed,” said the spokesman, a weedy man, with his long hair blowing in his face, making it difficult to take him seriously. “I remind you that there are treaties between Roa and Attolia!”

“There were treaties between Roa and Attolia when your king allowed the Mede army to march past him without a peep.”

“It is not for you to say how the Mede will be treated on land that does not belong to the Attolians.”

“That is certainly true,” the king conceded.

“Then we shall tell our king that you are turning back,” the spokesman said.

“You can tell His Majesty whatever you like,” said our king cheerfully. Then he rode past them into the town.

The Sapphire had recently reached the harbor after beating its way north against the wind. Her captain was waiting at the gangplank to welcome the king on board.

“Their Majesties?” the king asked him, cutting short the ceremonial greetings.

“All have safely reached the city,” the captain assured him. “Her Majesty who is Eddis has decided to remain in Attolia at the request of the royal physicians.” When he saw the concern in the king’s face, he added, “The physicians would like to attend both of Their Majesties.”

“Getting along like a house on fire, are they?”

“Evidently,” said the captain.

The king did not appear any less worried, but they moved on to discuss unloading the supplies on the ship and how best to bring the wounded on board before it sailed south again. When they had finished their arrangements, the king rode back to his army. He was unsurprised to find the Roans still milling in confusion outside the town. They felt their message had not landed as it ought to have.

They tried to deliver it again, but the king waved them away, saying. “I will pursue the Medes until they are no longer a threat. Offer them your support or don’t, as you like. I think you will find you have welcomed poor guests into your home. As for broken treaties, tell your king to think very carefully before he raises that issue with me.”

When the Sapphire had departed, the king left a garrison to secure the harbor, and we carried on along the coast of Roa.

Late one night as I was longing for the cot that was set up and waiting for me in the tent I shared with Ion, the king and Ion and I were listening to Pegistus and Trokides argue over the council table. These were the two generals that Attolia and Eddis had tasked with the campaign to rout the Medes, under the nominal supervision of the high king. Eddis had lost her senior general, Xenophon, as well as her minister of war in the battle for the Leonyla. Sounis had wanted his magus with him for the negotiations in the capital and had sent his father to the capital of Sounis to supervise matters there. While there were other candidates, Trokides was a reliable soldier and Pegistus a careful planner. If neither of them was a cunning strategist, chasing the Medes had not called for great military innovation.