“Gen?” said Attolia, suddenly afraid. Phresine’s arms were reaching for the princess as the king drew the baby away.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s only that I can see now what my grandfather must have seen, what every Thief before me has seen.” With growing confidence, he shifted the bundle onto his other arm and used his finger to brush the baby’s cheek. Smiling again, he said, “She is Eugenia, and if she falls, her god will catch her.” Less solemnly, he added, “I could pitch her off the roof to show y—”

“No.”

“It’s what they do in Eddis. Of course, they wait until there’s been a heavy snowfall, but—”

“No!”

“Do you mind?” he asked, his voice serious again, because Attolia believed in his gods, worshipped his gods in their temples, but she did not love them.

“I do not mind,” said Attolia, equally serious until she added, “She cannot be more trouble than her father.” She tucked the blanket a little tighter around the child in her arms. “Hector,” she affirmed for her son. “And Eugenia,” for her daughter.

“A king and his Thief,” said Eugenides.

That evening in the megaron, as the tables were being pushed back after dinner, one of the musicians played a scatter of notes on his pipe. They were the opening notes of an Eddisian line dance and easily recognized, even as the music master was frantically hushing the player.

The king, who’d been half asleep, sat bolt upright.

“Dance with me?” he said to Attolia.

Puzzled, Attolia agreed. They always led the first dance.

“Splendid,” said the king. “I was afraid I’d have to ask Eddis and she’s as big as a house.”

“You would have to put me in a wheelbarrow and roll me around the room,” said Eddis.

“Oh, but we aren’t dancing here,” said the king. He jumped to his feet and headed for the musicians.

The music master was bowing and apologizing. “I’m so very sorry, Your Majesty. It won’t happen again. It was entirely inappropriate.”

“No, it wasn’t, and it will happen again, but not here,” said the king. “Pick up your instruments, all of you, and follow me. Everyone, follow me,” he said to the gathered patronoi of Eddis and Sounis and Attolia, and they did. They paraded after him up the ceremonial staircases and along the passageway that led to the narrower stairs that in turn led to the roof—even Eddis, with Sounis hovering near her like an anxious sheepdog.

The sun was just setting, the sky was blue and gold, and all the clouds were blushing pink as people poured out onto the guard walks that surround the roofs of the palace. There was plenty of room. The king pointed out a convenient space for the musicians and waved to everyone else to take their places. Holding the queen’s hand, he picked his way up the tiled roof of the ceremonial hall to the peak. Attolia, accompanying, was as surefooted as the king. Once at the peak, they waited for the music master to bring his players to order, and when the musicians began to play, Eugenides and Irene danced.

Effortlessly they performed the steps of the traditional line dance, moving forward and back, along the ridge of the roof, careless of the steep slope on either side. At the end of the dance, the king released Attolia and bowed as she courtesied. Then he descended to catch Eddis by the hand. Eddis protested, he cajoled, and together they climbed up the roof. Attolia, meanwhile, had taken Sounis by the hand and led him up as well. He looked far more anxious than the other three, but as the musicians played, the four of them danced gracefully to the music, and then they descended, each to select a new partner.

Everyone else was dancing on the flat guard walks—Ion and his new wife smiling at each other, Celia and Lavia laughing. Phresine danced with Trokides. Baron Anacritus danced with his wife and then with his lover, while his wife was dancing with the king. Much to my surprise, Chloe had singled out the magus, who seemed very pleased at the attention. Costis was dancing with his younger sister when I saw Kamet approach Teleus, who’d propped himself against a crenelated wall.

The captain refused to dance, his grief for Relius so all-encompassing that even the king handled him gently. It would be many long months before Meleo the Gant succeeded in subduing his southern neighbors and before the Pents, sensing the coming changes in their alliance with the Braels, changed tack with the Lesser Peninsula. Dropping their demands for an apology from the king, they would release the prisoner they’d secretly held and send him home. Teleus and I would cry happier tears together then.

That night, as we celebrated the return of the high king and the new charter that unified the Peninsula, I am not sure how many saw the handsome young men with goat feet, the celadon-skinned women with leaves and flowers in their hair moving from partner to partner. Anacritus danced with a woman covered in silvery scales. An imposing figure in a flowing blue robe bowed stiffly to the king before offering a hand to Attolia. Relinquishing her, the king turned with a smile to dance with a woman whose skirts billowed as if in a wind that touched nothing else.

When Moira descended from the rooftop to offer me her hand, I shook my head, gesturing to my bent leg.

“Pheris, how foolish,” said Moira, “to think that means you cannot dance.” When she held out her hand again, I took it.

After a time, the light left the sky and the darkness settled in, the musicians fell silent, and the king led us down from the rooftop. Peace stole over the palace and the long day was over. The three countries, Sounis, Eddis, and Attolia, were one, and the gods were pleased.

THE END

Alyta’s Missing Earring

“Eugenides,” said one of the fates.

“What?”

“We know you are lurking. What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” said the god of Thieves. Then he shrugged. “Hiding.”

“From whom this time?”

“Alyta.”

All three fates lifted their heads in surprise. Alyta, though the daughter of the storm god, was one of the gentler goddesses.

“She wants a favor,” said the god of thieves.

Sphea, the spinner, nodded in understanding. The gods and goddesses often came to the half-bred mortal son of the Earth, asking him to use the gifts given to him by the Great Goddess on their behalf.

“What could Alyta need stolen?” Metiri asked as she measured out a length of her sister’s spinning.

Eugenides waved his hands, as if pestered by gnats. “Whatever it is, I am not stealing it. I already told her that.” He drew close to Hega, looking over her shoulder at the pattern on her loom. “I thought there would be more red,” he said.

Hega snorted.

While the weaver’s fingers were occupied elsewhere on her loom, the god of Thieves deftly shifted several of her threads. When Hega moved her fingers back, she felt the change.

“You’ve made a knot,” she complained.

“Just a twist,” said Eugenides. “A little one.”

“And look, these threads are out of order now. I will have to unweave this whole section, and Sphea’s new yarn will have to wait.”

“Then let it stay,” Eugenides suggested. Whispering in her ear, he said, “It looks better, this. Doesn’t it? Say it does.”