The flat top of the hill was scattered with the bodies of dead men in the uniforms of Sounis and Eddis. The outposts of both armies had met here. As I stood staring, I thought, These are my dead. All of them. The battle hadn’t been unanticipated or forced on me, as the raid in the villa had been. I had chosen it. These men, Eddisian and Sounisian alike, had died for my decisions.

When the magus stepped from the bushes toward the back part of the hill, I was more than horrified. I was perilously close to distraught.

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” I shouted. “Get back!” When he ignored me, I was almost weeping. “If they catch you, they’ll kill you.” The magus just walked closer and grabbed me in his arms to hold me tight. When he pulled away and looked into my face, I knew that he would tell me that I was Sounis and that I needed to pull myself together.

“Your uncle,” he said, “in all the years I saw him rule, never had a moment of self-doubt. Never a regret for a single life lost. Do you understand?”

I understood that I didn’t want to be my uncle.

He patted me on the back and disappeared into the bushes, to work his way down the hill. Instead of continuing toward the Eddisians, he must have turned toward the trees as soon as I had fallen. He’d left his horse and worked his way back along the hillside toward me. I could only pray that the gods would lead him safely back to the rest of the troops. I turned around to face the people climbing up the open face of the hill. They had seen me fall. So long as I, too, didn’t try to hide in the bushes, no one would look there for the magus. I drew my sword.

When the first men of Sounis reached the top of the hill, I shouted clearly, “I am the king of Sounis,” on the slight chance that the silvered breastplate with the Sounis colors in velvet underneath didn’t identify me clearly enough. I raised my sword as they approached, but there was little I could do to stop them from surrounding me at a safe distance. We waited then for the baron of Brimedius to arrive. He came puffing up over the edge of the hill just ahead of the Mede I’d met in my father’s tent, Akretenesh.

“What a surprise to see you here,” I said to him, not surprised at all.

“Your Majesty,” said the Mede as he bowed very low, “you are among friends here. It is a misunderstanding, a sad misunderstanding that has taken place.” He looked at the dead men and shook his head. I wanted to throw my sword at him, but there wasn’t much point. Instead I offered it to Brimedius, who politely handed it back, and we all went down the hill.

And so by late afternoon I was in Brimedius, almost exactly as I’d originally planned.

Our pack animals had been abandoned during the fighting, as had our horses. They were collected up by Brimedius’s men, and I had my luggage with me when I arrived: my new clothes, my books and papers, my traveling writing desk, and the small case holding Attolia’s gift. All of them were trundled up to a guest apartment.

Servants brought bathwater, while an attendant helped me out of the breastplate and clothes. Unfortunately, he also helped himself to your letter, which I had tucked against my chest.

“Give that back,” I said angrily. But by this time I was half undressed and in no good condition for browbeating anyone. He regretfully refused to return it to me, and I was helpless. We both knew it. There was no reason to blame the attendant, but I did. I quite frankly hated him. I hated them all passionately.

I sat in the hot water and sulked, ignoring the servants while they meticulously unpacked my luggage, taking out and keeping every parchment and paper that contained anything written, and the blank paper and writing supplies as well. Attolia’s box was resting on a table in plain sight. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the attendant opened it, removed the gun and the bullets and bullet mold. I looked away as he lifted the divider to examine what was underneath. I tried not to hold my breath as he considered whatever was there, but didn’t touch it, then replaced the pistol and lowered the lid.

So he knew what was in the box, but I didn’t, though I could guess it wasn’t parchment or paper, or he would have taken it. I had opened the box a number of times, even removed the pistol and slid my fingertips across the felt board divider, wondering fiercely what message the king of Attolia had sent me, but I had not looked to see it for myself. I hadn’t yet decided what I would do with Attolia’s gift or her advice. I wanted too much to believe that there had to be a better way to lead people than through intimidation. Gen had as much as said so when he urged me to look for alternatives.

Whatever was in the box, the servant had left it, with the gun and its bullet mold on top. What a strange world it is, where prisoners are left their weapons and the written word is a mortal danger.

I had an excellent dinner and wine in the company of Brimedius and Akretenesh, who were carefully assessing me. A sullen temper in no way impeded my appetite.

I am not Gen. I cannot tell a convincing lie. He and I had agreed that I was foolish to try when every thought that crosses my mind seems to appear on my face for all to see. Gen counseled that honesty would be my best policy, so I let Akretenesh see the truth: that I was wholly in his power and bitterly unhappy about it.

I did not conceal my scorn as Akretenesh explained the regrettable chain of events that had driven a wedge between me and my barons, all of it the fault of my uncle who was Sounis. As Melheret had, Akretenesh offered himself, and the Mede Empire, as a neutral negotiator. I said no, thank you.

When I asked about Hanaktos, Brimedius assured me that there had been a misunderstanding. The rebels knew that my father had supported an alliance with the Mede, and an end to the war with Attolia, and they would never have condoned an attack on him. He suggested that Hanaktos’s breach of the laws of hospitality was an unhappy accident. “My King,” he said sadly, “Hanaktos tells us that your father’s men attacked first.”

“Because Hanaktos meant to kill them all!” I said.

“Perhaps, My King, it was all a mistake?” Brimedius said.

I think my face must have made it clear what I thought of that. “And my abduction?” I asked pointedly.

Brimedius nodded apologetically. “For that we must beg your forgiveness. It was not our intent to precipitate so destructive a conflict, nor to inflict such a grievous insult on the person of Your Majesty. We hoped to make a king of you a little early, that is all.”

“Well, that at least you have accomplished,” I said.

Brimedius was sadly disappointed in me. I looked mulishly back, as truculent as I had ever been when faced with someone’s disappointment.

“I would like to see my mother and my sisters,” I said, but it seemed that was not to be permitted yet.

“Perhaps in the morning,” Akretenesh said.

Brimedius diverted my protest, asking hastily if my attendant pleased me, and I said he was well trained, but that I wanted my papers back. The baron deferred to Akretenesh, who said no. I sulked.

At the end of the meal the Mede pulled out a folded and much-handled piece of vellum. I sat up. It was your letter.

“You are a man of your word, Your Majesty?”

“Enough that I am offended you ask, Ambassador,” I said angrily.

He unfolded the parchment. “I have read this several times.” He smoothed it out on the table between us and looked up at me, watching my face. “It appears in every way to be a personal missive between you and . . . someone who cares for you.”