“The ambassadors of several states have conveyed their sovereigns’ offers to improve megarons on our coast and to move their soldiers, under their own command, into the fortified positions,” said Eugenides. “As opposed to loaning us the money to fortify our own borders.”

“What we have received most,” said Attolia, “is lectures warning us not to be provoking, that we risk losing the support of the sovereigns on the Peninsula and the Continent.”

“If the Medes are going to attack, what point is there in not being provoking?” asked Sounis.

Attolia replied. “So long as the emperor publicly denies any animosity and continues to send an ambassador to my court and yours, the Continent can continue to do nothing.”

“But why?” asked Sounis. “Why the wishful thinking?”

Eugenides shrugged his lack of an answer. “They may be too busy with instability closer to home.”

“So we walk on eggshells?” said Sounis. “Hoping that if the Mede does attack, the Continent and the greater Peninsula will come to our aid in time rather than allow the emperor a foothold on this side of the Middle Sea?”

“Indeed,” said Attolia. “And we pray that no one on this little peninsula of ours will offer them the foothold for free, which your rebels may be doing as we speak. You and your magus in your overcautious treaty writing are wasting time you don’t have. You need to find your most significant adversary, and you need to destroy him, annihilate him root and branch. If you can capture him alive and have him publicly ganched, so much the better.”

Sounis looked away.

Eugenides looked into his wine cup. Eddis met Attolia’s gaze, but offered her no support.

Her chin up, Attolia said, “You think I am overly harsh. You inherited your throne free and clear. And you”—she turned on her husband—“took one readymade. Sounis has little in common with either of you.”

“He is an appointed heir,” said Gen, speaking into his folded arms, as he reclined back on his couch with the toes of his boots tapping.

Attolia shook her head. “They will deny that in a heartbeat, making sparks from his father’s illegitimacy if they choose.”

Gen said blandly, “It isn’t Sophos who is illegitimate.”

“He has the magus,” said Eddis, turning the conversation back to the point.

“The magus is not much beloved in Sounis these days,” Attolia responded.

“There is my father,” said Sounis.

Attolia looked at him. “And are you certain he will support you when he learns that you have sworn loyalty to Attolis?”

Sounis said nothing, staring down at his wine.

Later they rose together and made their way toward one of the larger throne rooms where there would be music and dancing. The kings of Attolia and Sounis fell a little way back.

“Is she right?” Sounis asked bluntly.

Attolis shrugged. “She is right that I took the throne she secured. Eddis has her barons in the palm of her hand, and they would follow her cheerfully through the gates of the underworld, but Attolia is not wrong that my cousin inherited her throne on the strength of my father’s right arm. He swore that she, and no one else, would be crowned. Only Attolia has faced a revolt in her own house.”

“Then you think I should take her advice?”

“I know that if you don’t look for an alternative, Sophos, you certainly won’t find one.”

The next day, as Sounis crossed a spacious flower-filled courtyard, Ion asked him if he would like to take a seat on a bench in the cool colonnade that overlooked the garden.

“Perhaps Your Majesty would like to rest a moment?” Ion suggested. Sounis was on his way to another appointment with his tailors, and not looking forward to it. He’d thought they were finished with their work, but Eugenides had ordered an armored breastplate—out of sheer perversity, Sounis was certain. The tailors wanted to be sure the fabric of the embroidered coat he would wear under the armor wouldn’t bunch or chafe. Sounis had little patience left for the tailors, and he said yes, he would like to delay just a moment to look at the flowers.

He was grateful for all that had taken place in Attolia. He could have been in a dungeon, or still at work in Hanaktos’s fields, or dead, for that matter. He wasn’t. He was sitting with an appearance of ease in the shade, but he was growing desperate to return to Sounis. He had been weeks in Attolia without news of his mother or sisters. His father had reached the border with Melenze; he knew that much but could only guess at the activity of his rebel barons. The queen’s warning about the passage of time had been unnecessary. Sounis’s every worry pricked him like the tailors’ pins. He sat for a moment to pick through them and to consider the queen of Attolia’s troubling advice.

Ion had wandered down the colonnade to give the king of Sounis his privacy. Or so Sounis had assumed. When he caught a glimpse of bright fabric moving between the garden beds opposite, he leaned forward and tracked its progress. The woman was moving toward the corner where Ion was waiting. When Ion stepped from the colonnade down into the garden, he disappeared from sight, but Sounis’s ears were good, and he heard the murmur of greeting.

Sounis sat back with a smile. He was jealous. Were it not for the inconvenient meeting he was presently avoiding, he would have been walking with Eddis in the far more spacious and private gardens behind the palace. His smile faded the instant he saw the ambassador for the Mede Empire approaching from the opposite direction.

“Please, Your Majesty,” said the Mede politely, “do not rise. I have no desire to interrupt your contemplations.”

“Won’t you join me?” said Sounis diplomatically, his heart sinking.

“If you can spare a moment of your time?” Wrapping his robes around his knees, Melheret settled beside him on the stone bench.

“Certainly,” said Sounis. Impossible to say no when he was already sparing the time on his own self-indulgence.

“The king of Attolia keeps you close,” said the Mede, by way of an explanation for his unusual approach.

“He is a good friend,” said Sounis.

“Or perhaps just a jealous one,” said Melheret gently. “His invitations take precedence and leave little room for you to confer with others…others who may have information of great use to you.”

Sounis wondered if he was supposed to be surprised. Of course the constant meetings with the Attolians prevented even more awkward meetings with the ambassadors of the Peninsula and the Continent. Sounis had sent the magus to deal with those ambassadors, with careful instructions to make no commitments. The Mede he had meticulously avoided since their first exchange over the remchik.

It was as Attolia had said, one didn’t want to make a misstep and start a war. Sounis wanted nothing to do with the Medes, but no sensible ruler offended another’s ambassador on purpose. He just hoped his uncharitable opinion of Melheret didn’t show.

“You don’t like me, Your Majesty. I see my cause is lost.”

Oh, gods, save me from having to protest my undying affection for the Mede, thought Sounis. “No, Ambassador, not at all,” he said aloud. He might as well put his worries to good use. “I am unsure of my course, I will tell you. I—” He stopped short of saying he was still tracing designs in the plasterwork at night instead of sleeping. “Truly, I do not know what is for the best. Attolia counsels violence and I—I want to believe that I can bring my barons together peacefully, that I can convince them to honor me as their king without defeating them first. The cost to my countrymen in gold, in lives, will mean that even as I win, I will count it. It will be years before Sounis can recover what it has lost.” To say it aloud was to be overwhelmed by it; waging a war to make peace seemed a sick sort of joke played by the gods.