These were not the royal apartments with layers and layers of social defense, anterooms, audience rooms, and more anterooms, between the guardroom and the queen’s most private space. The queen had not vacated the king’s apartments, and Eugenides had evidently declined to move into what were traditionally the queen’s rooms. If he had, his rooms would have connected through interior doors to the king’s suite and nighttime traffic between the rooms would have been a matter for speculation and not public record. As it was, the king could not visit the queen without an embarrassing trek through a roomful of his guards and attendants, down a corridor, and along the same public path past the queen’s guards and her attendants. It was well known that this had never happened. The king rarely visited the queen’s apartments and only during the day. The queen had never been in these apartments.

“You may go if you like, Costis,” the king called from the inner room. “But don’t be late getting back for the afternoon court.”

The door closed and Costis was left standing. He looked helplessly at the lieutenant, who stared back with an appraising look. He looked over Costis’s shoulders at the veterans in the squad behind him. The hair on Costis’s neck crawled as the veterans offered their silent report. It may have been positive; the lieutenant smiled and told Costis that he was off duty.

“Then I just leave?”

“That is so. Be sure to get back in time to escort him from here to the afternoon court. I’ll make sure one of the men on duty in the afternoon tells you where to stand in the Audience Hall.”

Only as Costis stepped into the passage outside the king’s apartment did he realize he had no idea how to get out of the palace. He looked over his shoulder at the guards outside the king’s door. They looked blandly back, and Costis wasn’t fool enough to ask directions. Taking a deep breath, he decided to retrace his steps to the main part of the palace. Once there he would be on familiar ground.

He found that he had memorized most of the route. It twisted and turned so often that at last, curious at its convolutions, he stopped to explore a little in the passages around him. By happy chance, he found a wide corridor that led directly to the center of the palace. Relieved, he headed for the barracks to look for Teleus.

He spent most of his precious time off duty searching for the Captain of the Guard without finding him. Giving up at last, he snatched some bread out of the mess hall and headed back to the king’s apartments, only to be stopped at the entrance he had chosen to the inner palace. No one had questioned him on the way out, but to readmit him, they demanded authorization. When he explained, they looked at him doubtfully, but sent word to the lieutenant assigned to the captain’s office. Teleus must have left instructions because the messenger came back with authority for Costis to pass, and the guards sent him on his way.

By the time Costis finally reached the king’s apartments, he was late. There was no time to get instructions about where to stand. Costis had no sooner stepped into the guardroom than the king swept out and Costis had to follow.

The afternoon court was held in the Audience Hall in the center of the palace. Costis had seen Attolia’s throne room before, but not often enough for it to have lost its effect on him. Eugenides didn’t seem to notice the mosaics or the towering columns several stories tall that supported the roof.

The titular King of Attolia dropped onto the throne beside the queen’s and smiled at her. “It’s not my fault I am late,” he said with childish delight. “Costis didn’t come back after he ate. I waited and waited.”

Attolia declined to respond. Costis, obeying the hissed instructions of a chamberlain and the helpful wave of one of the other guards, found a place to stand against the wall and watched the business of the state. The queen directed everything. No one addressed the king, and he never spoke. Costis’s interest waned, and he grew bored but was careful to keep the expression on his face attentive. The king didn’t bother. In fact, during one baron’s particularly drawn-out accountings of his tax payment, the king leaned his head back and closed his eyes, to all appearances asleep.

Finally the court session drew to a close. Those who hadn’t been heard would have to come the next day. The king and queen rose. They were surrounded by their attendants and guards and escorted away. In the corridor, they paced along, side by side.

“You can speak during a court session,” the queen pointed out, in a dry voice.

“I can,” agreed the king. “I thought about telling Artadorus he needed a haircut.”

“That would have been impressive, not only speaking, but speaking in your sleep.”

“I was listening,” the king said, aggrieved. “I closed my eyes to listen better.”

“What did you hear?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “That’s why I was listening so closely. I may have to ask the baron to repeat some parts of his report on his grain tax.”

“I am sure you can arrange an appointment.”

“I am sure I can, too.”

Dismissed at last, Costis returned to the barracks. As exhausted as if he’d spent the entire day in a battle, he staggered upstairs and along the narrow hall to his tiny but private quarters. The leather curtain that served as a door was pulled back. The room was empty, stripped of every single possession; even the thin mattress on the bed was bare, his blankets missing. Feeling utterly defeated, Costis sank down on the three-legged stool the king had occupied the day before and wondered what he was supposed to do next.

He hadn’t sat there long when a barracks boy arrived.

“Captain’s orders are that you are to attend him immediately.”

Costis thanked him and turned his steps wearily back down the stairs and across the grounds to the collection of rooms that included Teleus’s office and his quarters. A narrow staircase climbed an outside wall to a small landing and a door. Costis knocked.

Teleus was at his desk writing. There was a tray near his elbow holding bread and cheese as well as an amphora and a wine cup. Relius, the Secretary of the Archives, sat on a stool nearby with another wine cup in his hand. He nodded to Costis. Costis suppressed the shudder that went with a chill down the back of his neck. Teleus continued to write. Costis waited.

“He’ll try again, you know,” Relius said to the Captain of the Guard, continuing the conversation Costis had interrupted. “When he is more sure of himself, he will move against us both.”

“If we are valuable servants of the queen, she will preserve us, as she has so far,” said Teleus, checking a schedule and re-inking the nib of his pen.

“And if we are not valuable?” Relius asked.

“If we are not valuable, why should she defend us?” Teleus asked.

Relius sighed. “No one could doubt our value,” he said, “but no man is indispensable. I taught her that myself. Many years ago.” He sipped his wine. “You could leave,” he suggested to Teleus.

The captain looked up from his work. “So could you,” he responded. “But you won’t, and neither will I.” He went back to his writing.

Relius stood and placed his wine cup on the tray. He arranged his clothes, easing the creases from the expensive material. He took a moment to smooth his already perfect hair. Then he patted Teleus’s shoulder, smiled at Costis without speaking, and left. Costis waited.