“And he’s wellborn, and he’s too stupid to be promoted on his own, but if I’m promoted, and with me goes my squad . . .”

“Then Legarus serves honorably in the Third, and has a ready access to the palace—and probably someone in the palace.”

Aris said, “Yes, I think that’s it, but I have no sticky notions of honor, and you won’t hear me complaining because I have undeservedly been made squad leader in the Third. On the contrary, I intend to celebrate.” He lifted the amphora he held in his hand. “While I am celebrating, you can drown your sorrows,” he told Costis.

“I would be delighted,” said his friend.

Much later, he asked Aris a question that had been preying on his mind. “Do you think the Thief wanted to be king?”

“Of course,” said Aris.

Costis, taking this as a straight answer, was unprepared when Aris added, “Who wouldn’t want to be married to the woman who cut off his right hand?”

Costis looked up, startled.

“Everyone talks as if it’s a brilliant revenge,” said Aris, “but I’d rather cut my own throat than marry her, and she hasn’t chopped any pieces off me.”

“I thought—”

“I was her loyal guard? I am. I would march into the mouth of hell for her. I will never forget that I would be bending over a tannin vat now and for the rest of my life if not for her. I might have been a soldier under her father and have marched myself into the ground and died choking on my own blood in the dirt and never have been even a squad leader—not me, not the son of a leather merchant. Look at me now, with a squad in the Third. Miras guide us, I worship her. But I am not blind, Costis. I feel about her the same way every member of the Guard feels. She is ruthless.”

He leaned forward, pointing a finger in Costis’s face. “And it is a good thing she is, because she wouldn’t be queen if she weren’t. She is brilliant and beautiful and terrifying. It’s a fine way to feel about your queen, not your wife,” he added.

Costis blinked.

“There isn’t one womanly bone in her body, and you cannot believe any man in his right mind would want to marry her. If the Thief had wanted to be her husband, he would have forced the issue of heirs. He hasn’t, has he? If you ask me,” Aris continued, “it was Eddis’s plan all along. I hear men dismiss her as just a woman, and I think we of all people should know better. If she weren’t every bit as brilliant and as ruthless as Attolia, there would be a king in Eddis. I will bet any price you name that the Thief was as loyal to his queen as we are to ours.” Aris shrugged. “So Eddis sent him to be King of Attolia. Poor bastard. I’ll stick to marching into the mouth of hell, myself.” He looked at Costis and shrugged again. “Just my opinion. I’ll go back to my wine.”

Costis, looking down into his own wine cup, shook away thoughts of the king.

“Not your business anymore,” said Aris.

“Not my business,” Costis agreed.

The queen was agitated, but no sign of it showed as she stood at the table sorting the papers that lay on it. “There was no need to ask Teleus who was in command in the border forts in the northeast. You already know.”

“I do?”

“You were provoking him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“And you asked me to recall Prokep from his fort ten days ago so that you could meet him.”

“Did I?”

The queen shook her head. It had been an awkward meeting between herself and the king and Teleus, with Teleus as stiff as a poker and Eugenides draped in his chair like a cat. The king had asked Teleus who was in charge of the forts on the border with Magyar and when the general in charge of the region would next be in the capital to deliver a report on his charge. Teleus had answered every question with barely veiled contempt, but had agreed to keep Costis on light duties until the king had made up his mind about a suitable transfer.

The queen began packing papers into a diplomatic pouch. “I wish you and Teleus got along better.”

“I wish Teleus weren’t an idiot.”

If the queen heard him, she gave no sign, only finishing with the pouch and then setting it aside.

In the mountain country of Eddis, the days were shorter than in coastal Attolia. The lamps in the palace had been lit and the late summer evening was almost over when the Queen of Eddis summoned Sounis’s magus, who was officially her prisoner. The magus had just returned the day before from an unsupervised exploration of the hinterland, where he had been collecting differing versions of various folktales from people in isolated communities. Queen and magus shared a fondness and a respect for Eugenides, the former Thief of Eddis. Once the magus was seated and had a cup of wine near to hand, the queen handed him the most private report from her ambassador to Attolia, Ornon, and waited patiently while he read through it.

“I see,” said the magus. “I did wonder why your ambassador’s assistant was returned so precipitously. I assumed it was Gen who gave him that black eye. It must have been beautiful when it was fresh.”

“No, that was Ornon,” Eddis informed him dryly. “As you see, the assistant took it upon himself to try to force Gen’s hand.”

“I can see that he failed,” said the magus, turning the paper to read the sentences that crossed the page. “But I am not sure I understand the significance of the bridge.”

“Cletus and Anacritus are both allies of the queen’s. They pay ruinous fees to a third baron, Minos, for use of the only bridge across that gorge for miles. Anacritus needs it to get to his pasturage, Cletus’s people must use the bridge if they are going to get any of their produce to market. Neither can afford the labor to build a bridge himself. Attolia has wanted to build one for years, but hasn’t been able to do so without showing blatant favoritism that would enrage Minos, technically also a supporter of hers.”

“Now you are building a bridge for her?”

“Ornon had no choice,” Eddis said with a hint of irony, “but to graciously offer the labor of the Eddisian garrison.”

The magus nodded. “So the Baron Minos has no grounds for complaint and the Barons Anacritus and Cletus, who found the garrison of Eddisians a burden—”

“—are now deliriously happy,” Eddis agreed.

“Gen still looks inept,” observed the magus.

“And Ornon’s assistant is home with a black eye,” Eddis finished. “A success all around, unless you are the former assistant to our Ambassador to Attolia.”

The room was a small one, the paintings on the walls all around it and the delicately carved screen that formed the low ceiling making it seem even smaller. There was no place to sit but the floor and no place to rest the lamp, so Sejanus had been standing for some time when his father arrived.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “We should not meet.”

Erondites grunted. “I want a report.”

“I am a success.” Sejanus shrugged; the lamp in his hand moved, and the shadows flickered wildly around the room. The satyrs on the wall seemed to dance and leer. “There is not one attendant who has not disgraced himself and the king. He is ready to purge them all.”