The attendants did fruitlessly throw themselves at the railing, but he was out of their reach. Ignoring them, he continued on along the rafter, leaning gracefully to step around the trusses where they dropped from the roof in diagonals to join the rafter.

“He’s a lunatic,” someone muttered. “A raving lunatic.”

Costis wasn’t sure. He knew what he’d heard on the rooftop, even if he didn’t believe it. Even if he woke the next day believing it had all been a dream. The next day, he thought, when he would no longer be a member of the Guard.

“Your Majesty,” Costis said again, more loudly than the attendants. The king turned, swaying just a little. He put his hand to the truss slanting down beside him.

“Yes?”

“You said you owed me something better than death by falling roof tile.”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask for something?”

The king appeared to think. “You can ask,” he said. “I’m king, Costis, not a genie. I don’t grant wishes.”

“Come to sword training with the Guard in the morning.”

The king peered at him as if he were having difficulty seeing. “Costis? Do you have any idea what my head is going to feel like in the morning?”

“You said that you would speak to Teleus tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Why?” asked the king, suspicious.

“Your side has healed. You need the exercise.” When the king continued to look dubious, he added, “Because I am asking.”

“All right,” the king said at last. “All right, I will be there. Yech,” he muttered as he moved away.

Costis and the attendants watched, hearts in their mouths, as he crossed the atrium. No one moved or spoke until he reached the far side and pulled himself up onto the balcony there. Costis swung then, to face the attendants.

“That is my price,” he said. “You get him to sword training in the morning.”

“Do you know what he’s going to be like in the morning?” one asked.

“Costis . . . we can’t just . . .”

“You can,” he insisted. “I’ve seen you badger him. Every one of you.”

“That was before.”

“Then you’ll just have to pretend nothing has changed. Get him to sword practice in the morning.”

They wavered.

“When I said, name your price, I was thinking of silver,” Hilarion admitted.

“I wasn’t.”

“All right,” he capitulated, “if that is your price, but you are obviously a lunatic, too.”

They turned back through the doorway and made their way to the staircase. Costis stopped on a landing one flight down and watched the attendants and the squad of guards continue. He went back to his room, getting slightly lost on the way.

In the morning, he was up and dressed early. He went down to the mess hall, which was empty, and fetched himself a piece of a loaf from the day’s baking. He was one of the first men on the training ground. The other guards stretched and chatted with one another. They ignored him. He paced, and tried not to look anxious. If the king didn’t come, he would have to face the awkwardness of training alone. He’d already discovered that no one would spar with him. Having shown up this morning, he knew his pride wouldn’t let him leave without some semblance of practice. He prayed the king would come.

He had slept badly, waking off and on through the night haunted by the voice he’d heard on the parapet. In the morning light, the whole episode seemed part of one muddled nightmare. Costis preferred it that way.

At last the king came. He came late, with his face still creased from sleep, when the training ground was filling and guards had settled into pairs and begun sparring throughout the courtyard, except in the empty space where Costis waited by himself. The first thing the king did was walk to one of the fountains along the wall and stick his face into it. He shook his hair off his face, flicking drops of water sparking into the air. Then he crossed the open square to Costis, leaving his attendants behind.

“Shall we start with the first exercises?” He was looking down at the button on his cuff. It was undone, and he was awkwardly holding his sword and trying to button the cuff at the same time.

“I don’t think so,” said Costis, and when the king looked up, Costis swung at his head.

Costis wasn’t close, and the king jumped back. The sword passed harmlessly in front of his nose.

“Costis, what do you think you are doing?”

“Sparring, Your Majesty.”

“Most people cross swords before they spar and they say something introductory like ‘Begin!’ before they swing.”

“We can cross swords if you will put yours up, Your Majesty.”

“But I don’t want to spar.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Costis said, and swung again.

The king jumped back again. He still hadn’t gotten his button through its buttonhole.

“Dammit, Costis, have you lost your mind?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“I am not going to spar with you.”

“Then I am a dead man, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?”

“Your attendants will have me arrested if this doesn’t start to look like a sparring match soon. They are headed this way.”

The king glanced briefly around. The guards on either side had stopped sparring and were standing to watch.

“I’ll hang, Your Majesty,” said Costis, cheerfully. “Assuming I’m not tortured.”

“And you are thinking I wouldn’t want that to happen?”

“I know you don’t.”

“Only because I have another job for you to do.”

Costis smiled.

The king scowled. “This is extortion.”

Costis lifted his sword up. The king didn’t want him to die, and not because of an errand that needed doing. The king had dismissed him in order to protect him from the reprisals of the powerful. The king wasn’t going to let him hang. Last night’s bizarre episode was forgotten. Only the memory that he hadn’t been betrayed by the king mattered. Costis felt wonderful.

A moment later the sword he’d been holding clattered to the ground. Costis looked from the sword to his stinging fingers and back to the sword.

“There,” the king said nastily. “We’re done. I’m going back to bed.” The attendants had paused. More people were staring.

“I don’t think so, Your Majesty.” Costis picked up the sword and raised it again.

There were a few exchanges this time before the king’s sword slid over the top of Costis’s guard and the flat side of it smacked him on the cheek.

“You drop your point in third,” said Eugenides.

Costis flushed, remembering the king’s comment at their first practice together. He had sparred for weeks with the best swordsman he’d ever encountered in his life and was no better for it because he’d dismissed the king’s advice.

“Done now?” the king asked.

“No, Your Majesty.”

The king sighed. He backed a few steps. Watching Costis warily, he popped his sword between his teeth, and giving up on the buttonhole, he rolled up his sleeve before he spat the sword back into his hand.