“Are you going to tell me or am I going to beat it out of you?”

“Costis, why don’t we go—”

“Now,” said Costis. “Here.”

“If you insist—”

“I do.”

“They think the assassination was a fake. Maybe the assassins were real, or maybe even they were faked. What they really think is that you and Teleus killed the men who attacked the king and he’s taking the credit.”

“They think he lied?”

“After all, he is a l—”

“THEY THINK I LIED?”

Costis turned away then, and Aris jumped to catch his arm. Costis shook him off, already starting back down the alley the way he had come, toward the mess hall, but Aris knew his friend too well. He grabbed him again and this time held him harder.

“What are you doing?” Costis said, trying to pull free.

“What are you doing?” Aris asked, refusing to release him.

“I am going to tell people I am not a liar, and I am going to beat the life out of anyone who says I am.”

“No, you aren’t,” Aris said. “Really, you aren’t. You won’t convince anyone that way.”

“Then how do I convince them?” He stared at Aris, his gaze sharpening, and Aris backed away. “What about you?” Costis said. “You were there. Why didn’t you tell them?”

“I wasn’t there,” said Aris. “Not when the assassins died. By the time I got there with my squad, it was all over.”

“But you believe me.”

“Of course I do,” said Aristogiton.

Costis raised his hands to Aris’s chest and pushed him away hard. He rebounded off the wall nearby. “No. You don’t,” Costis said bitterly.

“I hadn’t talked to you since the attack,” said Aris, as angry as Costis. “How was I to know? Costis, you owe him. You knocked him flat on his back, and he let you off. How was I to know,” he said again, “that he didn’t call in his debt and that you didn’t let him get away with it because of your confounded asinine patron sense of honor?”

“You should have known!” Costis was shouting and made himself stop. He didn’t know up from down anymore. He didn’t know right from wrong and couldn’t make sense of the simplest events. He’d been nothing but blindsided by every tortuous twist in his life since the Thief of Eddis became king. Why should he expect Aris to know more? “I apologize. I am very sorry.” He stepped away.

“Costis, wait.” Aris clutched at his sleeve. Costis shook him off, and this time Aris didn’t try to hold him.

In the morning, Costis was summoned to the office of the captain. Tersely, Teleus informed him that he was a squad leader again. He would have a squad, although not the same one as he had had before, nor in the same century. His belongings would be moved from his quarters near the other lieutenants to the rooms above the dining hall in one of the barracks. Just as tersely, Costis accepted his assignment, was dismissed, and headed for the door.

“Costis,” Teleus called him back. “If you show them that you are angry, it will only make every wild rumor that much more believable.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Costis. “I will try to remember.”

Costis didn’t announce his outrage to the Guard in a speech at dinner, but he met every sympathetic look with a challenging glare, daring anyone to suggest to his face that he was a liar. The squad Teleus had scripted for him had older unassigned men and a few trainees just out of the recruitment barracks. The older soldiers brought the trainees up to date, and they watched Costis with round eyes for the first few days. Costis might have been in a foul mood, but he was also fair, and they gave him no trouble.

On his off-duty nights Costis found he didn’t care for the company of the other guards and took himself down to the wineshops in the city of Attolia. Three times he ended up in fights. He must have acquired some particular curse, because what should have been a business of a few punches thrown turned to knives and broken furniture. The third time, he was picked up by the watch and taken before Teleus, who eyed him as if he were a stranger, and reminded him that he could be broken back to line soldier or dismissed from the Guard if he was a disgrace to his rank.

Costis tried to take the warning to heart, but was somehow fighting again the next day. He was outside a wine bar when two drunks accosted him, pretending to be veterans and demanding that he honor their service by buying them another bottle of wine. It was a common pitch, and Costis brushed by after refusing. The drunks took offense, and Costis would have come to a sticky end if a passing stranger hadn’t intervened. One of the drunken men grabbed Costis by the arm, while the other pulled a wicked beltknife from his tunic. Fortunately, the stranger was there to drop a stool from the wine bar onto the head of the knife-wielding assailant. When the drunks saw their advantage was gone, they quickly lost interest in the fight and stumbled off. Costis thanked the stranger, who looked at the crowd that was gathering and suggested that he and Costis should both slip away as well, before they found themselves explaining the event to the city’s watchmen. Costis thought it was a wise suggestion and managed to blend in with the crowd and head back to the barracks without another reason to be called before the Captain of the Guard.

Sitting on his bed, unlacing his sandals, Costis admitted to himself that he had been spoiling for a fight. Every day he’d told himself that the king didn’t need him anymore and so had dismissed him—there was no insult in that. He had been valuable to his king, and he should be happy knowing that much. Kings are kings and incomprehensible. Eugenides had revealed that in the palace garden. Costis misunderstood. That was all. He reminded himself that he was better off than the king’s attendants, who were laughingstocks for their persisting wariness and deference to Eugenides. No one believed the warnings they’d sounded after the fall of Erondites. If the members of the court were more cautious in dealing with the king, it was because they believed that he was now the instrument of the queen. To the court, Costis had heard, the king seemed as harmless as ever and the attendants looked ridiculous. Costis should be happy he was spared that. He went to bed wishing he believed everything he told himself.

Aris meanwhile paced in his own tiny quarters not far away. He was still serving in the palace, while Costis was not. Their working paths never crossed, and Costis always seemed to have disappeared into the city when Aris was looking for him. Aristogiton wanted to know who had first started the rumor that the assassination had been faked. He was afraid that he already knew, and that it was Laecdomon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE Queen of Eddis sat at a desk scattered with papers. There was ink on her fingers and a smudge on one cheek. She looked up from her work and smiled when the Magus of Sounis was introduced to the room. “How is my honored prisoner?” she asked.

The magus wrapped his robes tighter and sat in the chair by the desk. “I am enduring my captivity very well,” he said. “But I cannot find a morning chill refreshing, and I would like to return to my nice warm country.”

“You know that you may go when you like,” said Eddis.