“I astonished myself,” said Sounis. “I might perhaps have been prejudiced in my earlier judgment of them.”

Eugenides popped a grape into his mouth and said seriously, “I will rethink my own judgments, then.”

Sounis reached for a serving platter set in front of them both. When Eugenides cleared his throat sharply, Sounis pulled his hand back as if he expected to be bitten.

“Fetch the king of Sounis some lamb,” Attolis said over his shoulder, and someone hurried away to do his bidding. Sounis noticed then that the food on the platter was all cut into bite-sized portions.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was reserved for you.”

The king was smiling out at the room. “It is,” he said calmly.

“I seem to remember once sharing my oatmeal with you,” Sounis remarked.

“I seem to remember stealing your oatmeal,” said the former Thief of Eddis, “but it didn’t have sand in it.”

“Sand?” said Sounis, taken aback.

“Sand, and if my queen notices, she will have someone flayed.”

Attolia was looking their way. Sounis hastily dropped his eyes to his plate. Gen was relaxed against the back of his chair, entirely at his ease. “There is still someone in the kitchen who adores the queen, dislikes Eddisians, and hates me,” he said.

“She just hasn’t met you, I am sure.”

“She has, actually,” said the king of Attolia.

Attolia’s eyebrows were descending as she scrutinized the king. She looked from the platter to his face, and back again. She looked at Sounis. Eugenides sighed and reached for the lamb. To allay her suspicions, he was going to have to eat some of it.

“Let me fall on that blade for you,” said Sounis, and served himself.

“You are a prince among men,” said Eugenides.

“A king,” Sounis corrected him with his mouth full.

In the morning the great plaza in front of Attolia’s palace was emptied of booths and vendors and all their wares. No king departs without ceremony, and the stones were swept of straw and manure, and a dais built, before the morning mist had burned away.

There were prayers by the priests and priestesses of various temples to old gods and new ones. The king of Attolia was known for his dedication to his gods, but careful to make no move to offend any others. The high priestess of Hephestia, a massive woman swathed in red, came last to bless the men who were to be sent to Sounis to fight.

Eddis, sitting on the dais, on a borrowed chair that was far more elegant than the throne she used at home, admired the priestess. She was Attolian by birth and had risen to be high priestess of what was a minor temple in the city. Overnight she had become quite powerful, with a new temple rising on the acropolis above Attolia’s palace. She had great wealth at her fingertips and access to the king’s ear. She could have used that power to diminish other priests and priestesses, but she had chosen not to. When she called out the blessing on the soldiers before her, Eddis could hear the Goddess in the priestess’s voice and wondered if others around her heard it as well. Eddis knew that Eugenides did and that it never failed to spark unease in him. Eddis was tired, and the Goddess’s voice made her long for her mountains. She, too, had spent sleepless nights unmaking and remaking her plans.

When the invocation was complete, Sounis walked back to the dais to take his leave and accept a parting gift from Attolia.

As the horses and men waited, one of her women brought it forward: a small wooden casque with a bowed top and a plain brass latch. Sounis was as hesitant as anyone who receives a gift and is unsure whether to open it immediately or not. The queen’s companion, versed in the moment, turned the case in her hands and lifted the lid. Inside the case was a dueling pistol, a king’s weapon, wheel-locked, chased in gold. Eddis had seen it earlier that day. When Sounis lifted it out and tipped his head over the locking mechanism, she knew he was reading the letters inscribed there: Onea realia. “The queen made me.”

Sounis thanked the queen prettily, years of training providing the appropriate words. As he went to replace the pistol in the box, he paused. There was a tab to lift the bottom of the box and clearly room to store something underneath. Keeping the gun in his hand, he reached with the other, but Gen forestalled him, holding the inset bottom of the box down with a single finger.

“You have heard my queen’s advice. My gift is below. Would you wait to see it until you have decided what you will do with hers?”

Sounis nodded and returned the gun to its place. He took the box in his arms and hefted it, judging what he could from its weight, like a child with a present. It was heavy enough to be a substantial amount of gold. He handed the box to the magus, who handed it in turn to someone else, to be packed.

“Your destination?” Eugenides asked.

“Brimedius, to free my mother and my sisters.” He and Eugenides had talked through his strategy in the tavern. It had been their one chance for a private exchange. “Then on to the pass to Melenze, to my father.”

“Fare with the gods, and be blessed in your endeavors,” said the king of Attolia.

Sounis bowed first, then embraced the king, and they kissed. Moving on to Attolia, with just a shade of deliberation, too slight to call a hesitation, he embraced and kissed her as well. Then he stepped before Eddis.

No ceremony was ceremonial enough without the appropriate clothing, and Sounis was wearing his best, his embroidered coat with the shining breastplate on top that Eugenides had commissioned for him. Eddis was just thinking of how much older he looked, with his finery and his scars and his appropriately solemn expression, when he met her eye. His stern gaze dropped. Sucking in his scarred lip, he cast her a sheepish smile.

The pain was as unexpected as a thunderclap in a clear sky. Eddis’s chest tightened, as something closed around her heart. A deep breath might have calmed her, but she couldn’t draw one. She wondered if she was ill, and she even thought briefly that she might have been poisoned. She felt Attolia reach out and take her hand. To the court it was unexceptional, hardly noticed, but to Eddis it was an anchor, and she held on to it as if to a lifeline. Sounis was looking at her with concern. Her responding smile was artificial.

“I will look forward to hearing of your future adventures,” Eddis said. It was stiff, and he looked disappointed. She did not release Attolia’s hand, subtly discouraging an embrace, so Sounis bowed instead. His polite expression returned. He bade her farewell and then went back down the steps to his men. The usual discordant shout of commands and the clatter of hooves and weapons and wheels against the plaza followed before the king and his retinue were finally departed. Throughout, the queen of Attolia never let go of Eddis’s hand.

When Sounis was gone, and the rest of the royal guard was dismissed, Eddis left the plaza and went directly to the highest part of the palace, from which she could catch a glimpse, even if it was just dust rising above the road, of Sounis, as he drew farther and farther away. She would have gone to her room and locked herself in, but it would have been recognized as highly irregular. On the roof, she was not alone, but only her attendants were nearby, and it was not so unusual as to cause talk. It was as much privacy as she was likely to find without drawing attention to herself.