“I see. Then you will bear the messages yourselves,” said the queen, giving her orders quickly. “The Mede outside the door has been ordered to let no one in. He seems to have let the lieutenant out without a squeak, but the rest of you will have to wait here until I leave, as I will do soon. I am going to bathe.”

She turned to her attendants. “Is my bathwater hot?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“See to it then,” she ordered.

In the warm bath she thought of Nahuseresh, so cultured and so confident, in every way prepared to be an excellent king for a minor addition to the Medean Empire. He thought well of her. She knew he appreciated her ruthlessness. He’d complimented her on her choice of military advisors as her land and sea war with Sounis had progressed. She’d been careful to take Nahuseresh’s own advice, when she could, to reinforce his impression that she took advice from others. That had probably been to the cost of the barons whose bodies hung from Ephrata’s walls. No doubt Nahuseresh had thought he was eliminating any advisors who might tempt her away from the role of queen to his king.

Her attendants waited with warmed robes as she stepped out of the bath. There was no chattering gossip. They all waited, no doubt, for her to ask about the missing attendant. She sat in a chair to have her hair combed. Aglaia tugged at the queen’s ear and started to slide a wire through the lobe with a golden bee swinging from its lower loop.

“Not those,” Attolia said sharply.

In the megaron Eugenides sat on the stone floor with his knees pulled up, leaning back against a red painted pillar. His eyes were closed. Like the other Eddisians, he was wet through, and from time to time a shudder shook him, as if a ghost had walked over his grave. The high collar of his uniform tunic hid any marks on his neck. Teleus, standing with the queen at the side entrance to the megaron, pointed him out as he explained to the queen, with Nahuseresh standing nearby, that the lieutenant, in passing, had noticed that the Thief was quietly being strangled in the chains of the prisoner just behind him. The prisoners had been chained in rows and then ordered to sit on the stone floor. The lieutenant, in haste to save the Thief for Her Majesty’s pleasure, had kicked the other prisoner in the head.

“Very good.” Attolia praised Teleus and his lieutenant. “I would have been sorry to lose him.” She stepped across the painted floor of the megaron and stood in front of the Eddisians, tapping her foot impatiently. She wanted the Thief to open his eyes. He looked half dead and probably was.

Hissing in annoyance, she moved between the prisoners, carefully stepping over their chains. Bending over Eugenides, she grabbed his head by the hair above his forehead and twisted. Eugenides’s eyes opened, and his feet thrashed in panic. Looking up at her, with her face filling his field of vision, he stopped moving as if suddenly paralyzed.

“Goatfoot,” she said, “do you understand what is going to happen to you?”

His mouth hung open, and he closed his eyes a moment, then opened them to go on staring at her. “Yes,” he said at last, his voice breathy and hoarse.

“Good,” said Attolia, and dropped him to walk away through the prisoners without a backward glance. “I want to send a message to the queen of Eddis,” she said to Nahuseresh, walking across the room to seat herself on her throne. There was no seat for Nahuseresh. Attolia’s servants never provided one except at Her Majesty’s explicit command, but Nahuseresh didn’t choose to impede the process of the queen’s revenge by sending for one.

“Your messengers have been sent to the capital to order the palace secured against traitors,” he explained.

“Nor would they know where to reach Eddis quickly,” said Attolia. “We are only assuming that she is with her army. She may be elsewhere. It is better to use someone else. Teleus, you say your lieutenant kicked one of the prisoners in the head?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is he conscious?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty.”

“Well, let’s have that one, then.”

The guards brought the Eddisian she’d chosen to stand before her. As she’d guessed, it was the gray-haired man who’d fought beside Eugenides on the mountain.

He moved a little stiffly and screwed up his eyes like a man with a headache. He was a little taller than average, but not noticeably so, a little heavier, but not stocky. His closely trimmed beard was gray, as was most of the hair on his head. Attolia gathered, when Nahuseresh made no comment, that he saw nothing exceptionable about her choice.

“You are a soldier?” There was no sign of rank on his tunic.

“I am, Your Majesty.” His words were a little slurred. The kick had been a solid one.

“You don’t seem to have risen far for your years.”

“Maybe I’m not ambitious.” The man shrugged.

“Maybe you should drink less,” the queen suggested. The man narrowed his eyes at the insult but didn’t contest the implication that he was a drunk.

“Will you carry a message for me?” the queen asked.

“I can hardly decline, Your Majesty,” answered the prisoner.

Attolia wondered what Eugenides had said to him in the few minutes they’d had before the man had been dragged from the rest of the Eddisians to stand before the queen.

“Tell your queen that I will not return her Thief a second time.” The prisoner just looked up at her dully. She couldn’t know how much he understood. How hard had the lieutenant kicked him?

“What remains of his life, he spends with me, do you understand, messenger?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty.”

“Eddis sent her Thief to steal me from my throne and bring me back as her puppet. I think Eddis does not understand my attachment to my allies the Medes.” She carefully did not look at Nahuseresh. Her voice was hard. She leaned forward in her seat, the fabric of her long skirts bunched in her hands as if she were holding the prisoner’s attention with them. “When he thought I was safely distant from any rescue, her Thief proposed life or death to me and let me choose my fate. I am in my own megaron and have an answer to the Thief’s proposal. Do you know what my answer is?”

“Yes,” the prisoner said.

“Yes,” the queen repeated after him, enunciating the word clearly. “You may tell the queen of Eddis.”

She nodded to the guards, who took the man by the arms, pulling him backward toward the door of the megaron. She waited until they’d almost reached the door. “Tell Eddis,” she said, and the soldiers stopped. “Tell Eddis that if she asks nicely, she might save her Thief some suffering. Tell her she can send a message back to me so long as she sends it with you. And tell her it must arrive by the seventh hour of tomorrow morning. No later . . . on pain of death.” She smiled. She turned to her guard captain. “Teleus, see him escorted to the forward edge of our army at the pass.”

Attolia flicked Nahuseresh a glance below her narrowed eyelids. “Now we wait,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile of delighted anticipation as her guards conveyed the messenger out the door.

“Wait for what?” the Mede asked.

“Hmm?” Attolia focused herself on the present. “Good heavens, I don’t know,” she said. “Eddis produces such lovely threats when her Thief is concerned. I can hardly guess what she might come up with now.”