“He is a thief, his wife, a murderess. I ask again, are these allies for Sounis?”

Sounis nodded agreeably and watched the room spin. He thought of a number of things that he could say, but decided that the wisest course would be to say nothing at all. “What is the flavor in the remchik?” he asked.

“It is made with sreet oil.”

“It’s very good. If you will excuse me.” He stood, nodded again to Melheret, and left. Ion waited for him outside Melheret’s rooms and silently led him away.

At his own door, Sounis said to the attendant, “I am sorry to keep you away from your king.”

“As you have noticed,” said Ion, “he will not have missed me. We are merely for ornamentation, like the king’s coats, his boots, and his embroidered sashes.”

Sounis said, “Gen’s very fond of his boots,” and then, when Ion smiled painfully, wished he hadn’t.

“Not even that, then,” Ion murmured as he opened the door to Sounis’s suite of rooms. “Verix is waiting for you and will attend you until morning.”

While Sounis accepted Verix’s help in getting undressed and crawled into bed to sleep off the remchik, the king of Attolia was visiting the queen in the royal apartments.

“He has had his meeting with the Mede,” he said moodily.

She answered, “You know I do not see the wisdom of pushing him into Melheret’s arms.”

“If I am taking his country, I’ll take it. I’m not going to charm it away.”

“You’re being a fool,” said Attolia. She was sitting on a low-backed chair as Aglaia removed the pins from her carefully braided hair. There was more she would have said, but she held her tongue. Not because Aglaia was there but because she doubted words would have had any effect.

“No one would argue with that,” said Eddis to the magus. She had invited him to her apartments while Sounis met with the king of Attolia. On the far side of the palace from the queen of Attolia, the magus had unwittingly echoed her opinion of Eugenides.

Eddis said, “If I bite my tongue anymore with the two of them, it will come off.”

“How embarrassing,” murmured the magus, and Eddis snorted indelicately.

“I’ve missed you since you left,” she said. “I am very glad you survived the return to Sounis. I don’t suppose Sophos’s uncle welcomed you with open arms.”

“He did not,” said the magus. “But I have always been useful to him. He assumed, as I did, that Sophos had died in the kidnapping attempt and that my loyalties would no longer be unfortunately divided.” He thought of the dead king, who had sweated his life away, leaving no one to regret his end. “I admit that my faith in his invitation was not perfect, but I am glad I accepted it. He was an astonishingly angry man, but he had many admirable qualities.” He glanced up at Eddis and said, “He could be quite charming.”

“Agape might have made something of him,” said Eddis. “I could not. Have you met Relius?”

“Oh, Relius and I know each other well.”

“I meant face to face,” said Eddis, and it was the magus’s turn to smile. Relius had been the queen of Attolia’s master of spies, and he and the magus had crossed paths in the past.

“You confuse me with Sounis’s baron Antimonus,” said the magus. “It was he who was the official spy master. Relius and I were not adversaries.”

“Oh,” said Eddis, and followed it with “hmm.”

“I have indeed been introduced to the former secretary of the archives,” said the magus repressively.

“What do you think?” asked Eddis.

“Damaged,” said the magus. “Attolia will not be able to use him again.”

“I think he is more valuable now as a friend to them both than as spy master, but I agree that the Medes won that round.”

“Let us hope they win no more,” said the magus, setting down his glass and rising. “I must return to my king.”

“One last thing,” said Eddis. “Eugenides asks you to bring Sophos to training in the morning. Gen has invited Melheret to spar.”

“Why didn’t Attolis ask Sounis himself?” asked the magus, then lifted his eyes to the heavens. “Never mind, I know why. Yes, I will bring my king in the morning.”

Sounis was fully dressed but not fully awake. The magus had roused him at dawn and explained the king’s invitation, but he was still rubbing his eyes, trying to rid himself of the vestiges of sleep and the remchik when he heard noises out in the reception room. He expected Verix and another attendant but found the king of Attolia and his entire retinue when he opened his chamber door.

Attolis engaged him with a wave and turned away. Sounis followed, the magus behind him, like obedient ducklings to the passageway outside the apartments. As he moved up beside Eugenides, Sounis said, “Chilly this morning.”

“Is it?” asked the king, and Sounis dropped the attempt at conversation.

The men walked in silence to the practice field, where they found a crowd of Attolians and Eddisians idly waiting. The captain of the Royal Guard crossed the open court to meet them. He was a prickly man, and Sounis sensed a nonspecific disapproval, for Eugenides, the training, the morning, the sun in the sky, Sounis wasn’t sure what. Gen nodded at him and, by the simple expedient of pointing at one man after another, arranged partners for warm-ups and sparring.

The Mede made them wait. When Melheret arrived, he warmed up on his own, and when he was willing, he wandered across the open field to where Gen was practicing with a member of his guard. Wearing only his trousers and thin tunic, he appeared fit and comfortable with his sword.

When the king of Attolia and the Mede began to spar, both proceeded cautiously. Then the Mede started to press, and Eugenides responded, just barely keeping up. The Mede grew more confident and pressed harder. Suddenly Gen surged in with a rapid set of strokes that appeared momentarily overwhelming, but he was rebuffed. He fell back, and the sparring went on. Each time Gen escalated, the Mede was just that much better, that much faster, and Gen was again on the defensive.

Sounis stood beside the magus on the edge of the watching crowd and tried not to wince. Melheret was making only a minimal effort to keep a diplomatic face on the exchange, and it was clear that Gen was both angry and embarrassed.

This was not the easygoing, sarcastic friend he remembered, nor the emotionally distant king. This was a Gen oddly impotent in anger, and it was uncomfortable to watch him trying and failing to outlast the Mede. Sounis looked away. The Eddisians around him were watching with impassive intensity; the Attolians, with amused glances.

Midway through the match, Eugenides began using his hook to deflect thrusts from his opponent.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

“Not at all,” said the Mede, but held out a hand and accepted a blunted dagger from someone in the crowd as his own second weapon. Gen continued to be overmatched.

Finally, when it was clear that Eugenides was never going to do the gracious thing and admit defeat, Melheret stepped back. “Your Majesty, I must beg you to excuse me,” he said. “I am afraid other duties call.” He bowed with mocking deference.