But the king caught the expression on the guard’s face and turned his head slowly to look over one shoulder at Teleus. He looked back at his opponent. “Did he tell you to give me an easy match?”

The confused guard shook his head.

The king shook his head. “Oh, no, no, that won’t do. I’ll have to make you the same offer I made the captain. Beat me, and the queen won’t reduce the Guard; lose to me, and she’ll cut the ranks in half.”

The man looked in panic from Teleus to the king.

“He still wants you to go easy, doesn’t he? That’s what he’s saying behind my back. What are your brothers saying? What does the Guard think?”

“Pound him!” someone safely anonymous shouted from the back of the crowd.

The king nodded. “Come on, Damon. I know what you can do. I may be tired, but nothing less than your best is going to be enough.”

Damon attacked. Laughing, the king retreated. Damon attacked again, and they settled to the business of thrusting and parrying, and if Damon had meant to give the king an easy fight, his intentions were soon swept away as the king leaned in as they closed over the practice swords and whispered something in his ear. No one could hear what he said, but its effect was galvanic.

Damon was a better swordsman than either Costis or Aris. The king wasn’t using his flashy technique. He parried and attacked carefully and precisely, wasting no energy. He hung back occasionally to catch his breath, and he began to favor his left leg just a little.

Damon pressed him, but the king always slid away. Then the king attacked with a sequence of moves that forced him back and back, barely parrying as the king swung and swung again and missed.

“Dammit,” said the king, retreating. “I thought I had you.”

Damon smiled. “I thought so, too.”

Eugenides sighed dramatically. “Oh, press on, then,” he said as he raised his sword. He was too tired to press an attack fast enough to touch Damon, but Damon wasn’t good enough to get past the king’s defense. The king began to twit him as the attacks failed. “That didn’t work last time either. Are you going to try it again?” Frustrated, Damon was driven to overextend himself, and the king disarmed him. He stood ruefully as the king tapped him on the head and said, “Done.”

Sticking his sword under his right arm and pinching it there, Gen used his hand to push the sweat-damp hair off his forehead. Then he walked with Damon toward the wall fountain, trailing the wooden sword so that its point dragged on the ground, bumping along behind him. They had taken no more than a few steps together when a voice called from behind them. The king turned.

“Laecdomon. Of course. How could I have forgotten you?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty. I hope that now that you have remembered me, you won’t forget me again.”

The guards fell silent. Teleus stepped forward, opened his mouth to speak, but the king shooed him away. Teleus had to content himself with a threatening look, which Laecdomon pretended not to see.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll forget you, Laecdomon. I’ll make you the same offer I made your colleagues. Beat me, and I will not reduce the Guard,” said the king. He made a face and lifted the sword crosswise to his mouth and bit down on the blade, leaving both hands free, and swung his arms as if to relieve tired muscles. He spat the sword back into his hand.

“You’d have a wider smile, Your Majesty, if you did that with a real sword.”

“It has not escaped my attention that everyone here objects to the way I handle a practice sword. Perhaps you’d like to tell me why?”

“The essence of the practice sword is to help you acquire the use of the real sword. If you don’t treat it like a real sword, Your Majesty, you thwart its purpose. Here in Attolia,” he said condescendingly, emphasizing Eugenides’s foreignness, “we are taught to treat a practice sword with all the respect of a real weapon, so that no thoughtless mistakes are made.”

“Oh,” said the king, sounding amused, “in Eddis, we learn to keep track of the weapon we have in our hand.”

He raised his sword. “Ready?”

“Ready,” said Laecdomon.

“Begin.”

“Captain?” Costis asked, worried.

Teleus shrugged. “I am not in charge here, Costis. If he chooses to walk into a trap with his eyes wide open, I have no authority to stop him.”

Anxiously they watched the match.

The guards around the two men were silent and uncomfortable. There were no heckling comments and no shouts of support for Laecdomon. Everyone knew that there was more at stake than a sparring match, but something in Laecdomon’s attitude discouraged any supporters. For the sake of the Guard, they didn’t want the king to win, but they found it hard to root for Laecdomon either, so they stood silently and watched.

The king, favoring his left leg, spun on the right foot as Laecdomon circled.

“Captain,” a nearby lieutenant said in an undertone, “Her Majesty is here.”

The queen and her attendants had entered the training yard. She was not the only onlooker that had arrived. Most of the court seemed to have gathered. They lined the terrace above the training yard and were gathering on the walls that overlooked it. Costis looked at Teleus in growing apprehension.

Teleus crossed toward the queen. She was directing servants to place a dais and a chair. As they became aware of her, the men in the Guard opened their circle to give her an unobstructed view. As Teleus approached, she sat in the chair and calmly arranged the folds of her gown. Her attendants gathered behind her. The king’s attendants drifted to flank them. Teleus bent down in order to speak to her quietly.

Her raised hand forestalled him. She waved Costis to approach.

“This was your idea?”

“No, Your Majesty. I mean, yes, I asked the king to spar. I had no idea this would happen.” With an effort he avoided indicting Teleus with a glance.

“People do frequently seem to be surprised once my husband is involved.”

“Your Majesty,” said Teleus, “you must stop this.”

“I? By what authority would I command the king?”

“He would stop if you asked,” Teleus insisted.

The queen shook her head.

“Then I will stop it,” said Teleus, and he turned.

“Captain.” The queen’s voice was soft, but Teleus turned back, subdued.

“He’ll be killed,” he warned.

“We must hope not.”

“He’s tired. He’s injured. Laecdomon can kill him with one stroke. Let me arrest him before it is too late.”

“Arrest the king?”

“Arrest Laecdomon,” Teleus almost snapped, not appreciating the queen’s humor.

“Arrest him for what? What proof do you have that this is anything but a sparring match?”

“Let me arrest him, and I will drag the proof out of him.”

The queen shook her head.

“Why not?” Teleus asked helplessly.

“Because the king will not quit, Teleus,” said Ornon as he joined them. “You must have noticed,” he said. “He whines, he complains, he ducks out of the most obvious responsibility. He is vain, petty, and maddening, but he doesn’t ever quit.” Ornon shrugged. “Ever.”