“And,” Aulus insisted, “you keep your pet Costis with you. If you break your promise to rest easy, he will send a message to the queen, who will pass it to Ornon, who will send for us.”

He looked at Costis to see if he accepted the responsibility. Costis, in turn, looked at the king. The king said, “I thought you and Boagus were heading for some unnamed post in the hinterlands.”

“Soon,” Aulus assured him.

The Eddisians left at noon. Costis stayed. The king smiled at him occasionally, but otherwise ignored him. He read papers and wrote things out on a lap desk. He called in people to speak to him, and when he did, he sent Costis into the anteroom and asked him to close the door. He called Costis his watchdog when the queen visited. The queen actually smiled at Costis, which warmed Costis right down to his toes.

After another solitary meal, Costis went back to his closet and to bed. He woke in the dark to knocking on the door. The king was leaving and, in keeping with his promise, had sent for Costis.

Relius was relieved. The king was apologetic.

“I couldn’t be here last night,” the king said as he settled onto the stool.

“Teleus told me this afternoon that you had Eddisian visitors.” One night apart had elided their community, and the exchange of small talk was awkward.

“One particularly large one sitting in my room all night. How is your hand?”

“Fine,” Relius answered automatically, then flinched. His hand hurt, the swelling gross, though the bones were now set. At least it was still on the end of his arm. The king’s hand was gone.

“Relius,” the king spoke softly. “I should have been here last night. I am sorry.”

“There is little reason for you to take such care, Your Majesty.”

The king put his hand on Relius’s shoulder, his only hand, Relius couldn’t help thinking. “You’re being stupid. She was within her rights. So were you.”

“How can you think that?” Safely dead.

“Well, it’s something like a tenet of my profession. When you fail, and failure is inevitable, you pay the penalty.”

“But me you pardoned.”

“You aren’t a member of my profession.” It was too glib. He sighed. “Maybe I should have said that if you fail, you must be willing to pay the penalty. You were willing, Relius. That’s what I went to that cell to find out. As to the actual payment of penalties, you have no idea how many times my cousin, who is Eddis, rescued me from well-deserved agonies. What else did you and Teleus talk about?”

Relius let him change the subject. “He’s angry about Costis.”

“I’m not happy myself.” The king checked to see if their voices carried to the far side of the room. “So, I have something to ask you.”

In the morning, Costis was cautiously optimistic. Even with the midnight excursion, the king seemed better. The circles under his eyes had faded, and his color was improved. In the afternoon, he was sitting in the sun at the window warmly wrapped in an embroidered robe when the queen arrived. Costis stiffened to a more precise form of attention, but the king didn’t appear to notice the opening and closing door. Attolia brushed her hand along his shoulders, and he turned to smile at her, but then turned back to the view.

“Homesick?” she asked.

“Thinking of Sophos.”

“I see.”

“Is there news?”

Attolia shook her head, dropping gently into a chair beside him.

“Ornon said there would be if he were alive.”

“Most likely,” said Attolia. “You were fond of him?”

The king shrugged. “He was very likable—Eddis would have married him.”

“Do you know whom she will marry now?”

“Sounis, I suppose.”

“But she hates Sounis,” said the queen.

“She is the Queen of Eddis. Queens make sacrifices.”

Attolia was quiet, then. “She would have been happy with Sophos?” she asked softly.

“I think so. They had exchanged a number of letters.”

“I never understood why she didn’t marry you.”

The king settled further into the seat with a snort. “Maybe the prospect of being driven out of her mind put her off,” he said.

The queen smiled. “What did she see in Sophos, then?”

It took the king some time to find an answer. “He was kind,” he said at last.

“And you’re not?” Attolia responded sharply.

Finally the king turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. He shook his head.

“No,” she observed thoughtfully. “You aren’t, are you?” Then she dropped her eyes in a mocking imitation of demurral and said, “You’ve always been kind to me.”

The king laughed out loud. He held out his arm, and she leaned against him.

“What a lie that was,” he said.

Of course, the king was kind. Costis would be dead if he weren’t. And the queen wouldn’t love him, if he was unkind to her. Costis was puzzling through the convolutions of human relationships, which were so unlike the neatly arranged patterns in a fireside story, when a light touch at his sleeve made him turn. Phresine was trying to close the door. He looked from Phresine to the king and queen and, flushing, stepped back into the anteroom. Phresine pulled the door closed, leaving the king and the queen alone.

Costis didn’t see the king again until the next morning. He arrived at the bedchamber door just as he had the day before, and found two of the king’s attendants, Ion and Sotis, waiting there. Ion opened the door, and smiled unpleasantly as Costis passed through. Sotis cleared his throat to announce Costis’s arrival, and the king looked up from the papers he was reading. He was fully dressed and sitting on top of the bedcovers.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

It was like a kick in the gut, leaving Costis dumb, and he hesitated in confusion.

“I don’t need you. I am officially recovered,” the king said. “You can go back to your regular duties.” After a moment he looked pointedly at the door behind Costis, and numbly, Costis withdrew. Ion closed the door behind him, and in the anteroom, Sotis assiduously studied the braid on his cuff as Costis passed by.

Between the anteroom and the queen’s guardroom, Costis considered what his “regular duties” were and decided he didn’t have any. Certainly he didn’t have any that involved remaining at loose ends in the queen’s guardroom under the hostile gaze of its veterans. He went through the guardroom and all the way through the palace, back to his own room without stopping. He flung off his armor, kicking the breastplate under the bed and then cursing the pain in his toes. Breathing heavily, he forced himself to drag the breastplate back out and hang it carefully in its accustomed place, and tidied away the rest of his duty armor. Then, in less formal dress, he went to the mess hall. Perhaps his mates would be less hostile than the veterans.

If anything, they were worse than hostile. Their unexplained pity had grown thicker and more difficult to ignore. Feeling more angry instead of less, Costis went to find Aristogiton and cornered him in an alley between two of the barracks buildings as he was coming off duty.