“He may not quit, but he will lose.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t place my money on it. I’ve seen him suffer setbacks.” Ornon looked at the queen and away. “I have never seen him, in the end, lose. He just persists until he comes out ahead. No match is finished for him until he has won.” Ornon shrugged expressively. “He won’t quit, and he won’t thank you for interfering.”

There was a shout, and they turned back to the match. As Costis had done, the king was retreating. Laecdomon advanced, striking fast with his sword, driving the king back faster and faster. Finally the king responded. There was a furious interchange, and a sword spun in the air and hit the ground. For a moment there was no way to know whose sword had dropped. Then the two men separated, and everyone could see that Laecdomon was still armed.

Ruefully the king held up his hand.

Holding his breath, Costis hoped that it was just a sparring match after all. Laecdomon shook his head. Eugenides smiled.

“Your Majesty!” Teleus shouted, and indicated the crossbows aimed at Laecdomon. Costis hadn’t seen them come, but they were the obvious solution. The king shook his head.

“You could default, Your Majesty,” Laecdomon suggested with contempt.

“I think not,” said the king, covered in sweat and breathing deep with exhaustion. “Though when you are finished, you may have to deal with my queen. You knew that when you started, didn’t you?”

Laecdomon shrugged carelessly.

Eugenides shrugged as well. “According to the practice in Eddis, I cannot back up, so I will not here. Strike your best, Laecdomon.”

With a sneer and perfect form, Laecdomon drew the sword back and swung for the king’s head. Costis was not the only one to cry out, but the blow never landed. Without risk to his fingers from the edgeless weapon, the king grabbed for the blade of the sword, snatching it from the air and from Laecdomon’s surprised grasp. He spun all the way around on his good leg, at the same time shifting his grip to just below the hilt. A heartbeat later the only sound in the stunned silence was the choking gasp as Laecdomon’s breath was forced out of his lungs by the hilt of his own sword driven hard upward under his ribs.

Laecdomon collapsed like an empty wineskin. The king dropped the sword beside him. It rattled in front of his face.

“You forgot,” said the king, into the silent air, “that it’s a wooden sword.”

Somewhere in the pack, a guard cheered, and the rest of the Guard joined him. The courtiers lining the walls began cheering as well. It was all quite deafening, thought Costis, looking up at the women waving their scarves, the open mouths of the aristocrats and soldiers alike.

Eugenides didn’t respond. He limped slowly over to his own wooden sword and stooped awkwardly to pick it up. Trailing it on the ground behind him, he limped toward the queen, and the courtyard quieted as he approached and was silent again as he dropped to his knees before her and laid the sword across her lap.

“My Queen,” he said.

“My King,” she said back.

Only those closest saw him nod his rueful acceptance.

He lifted his hand to brush her cheek softly. As the entire court listened breathlessly, he said, “I want my breakfast.”

The queen’s lips thinned, and she shook her head as she said, “You are incorrigible.”

“Yes,” the king agreed, “and I have a headache and I want a bath.”

Teleus stepped forward. “Perhaps His Majesty would like to visit the Guard’s bath. It is closer, and he would be welcome.”

The king had to consider. “Yes,” he said. “That would be nice. Followed by breakfast.”

Gravely, Teleus offered a hand to help the king to his feet. The queen smiled at them both. Costis could feel the grin he couldn’t hide spreading across his face. He looked around at everyone smiling and knew why they did: because Eugenides was King of Attolia.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COSTIS washed himself gently in the tepidarium and limped to the steam room. He climbed to the upper bench and relaxed with a flinch and a sigh against the wooden slats behind him. The king had not arrived. The guards were free to talk as they chose. Costis listened with his eyes closed. His smile faded when he recalled the king’s response when invited to join the guards in their bathhouse. He must have known the offer was an honor since only the guards were admitted here, but Costis had seen the king hesitate.

The door to the steam room opened, and Costis, seeing the king flanked by Teleus and his lieutenants, understood why. It would be ridiculous to come into a steam room dressed in clothes, or for that matter, wearing a metal cuff and hook on the end of your arm. So Eugenides was as naked as anyone else, but no one else used clothes as a disguise, and none of them was as naked, therefore, as the king.

He chose Mede coats with the long bell sleeves because no fighting man who’d seen the muscles in the king’s wrist would have underestimated him the way the Attolians had. His other wrist with no hand at the end of it appeared oddly narrow and delicate. Costis tried not to stare and found himself looking instead at the king’s scars. The long line across his belly was an angry red, but there were other marks: ragged tears around his knees and elbows, and lighter shining bands around his ankles that could only be the mark of fetters, as well as the various lines left by edged blows on his chest and arms, and one long one on his thigh. There were also a number of bruises, some newly purple and black and some fading almost to nothing. Costis wondered where they could have come from.

Costis and the guards beside him shuffled aside to leave space for the king and Teleus on the upper bench, where the steam was hottest. When the king crossed to stand before the empty space, the guards could see that the muscles in his legs jumped with fatigue and his expression, when he looked at the steps up, was daunted. Teleus, already climbing, turned back to offer him a hand. Eugenides accepted the offer, and Teleus hauled him upward and dropped him onto the hot bench.

The king cursed and sighed as he leaned back. He turned his head toward Costis and explained the bruises easily. “Ornon never hesitates to hit me with a wooden stick,” he said.

He hadn’t kept in training by doing simple exercises. Moving through the palace as he chose, he must have practiced secretly with the Ambassador from Eddis.

“Don’t be misled, Costis,” said the king. “The beginning exercises are always important.”

Flushing, Costis looked away. Across the room, someone bolder than Costis asked, “Did we give you all of those scars?”

The king opened his eyes and looked down at himself as if considering the scars for the first time. “I thought it was only the dogs that bit me, Phokis. Was it you, too?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Phokis said hastily, and his mates laughed at him.

“Thank gods I don’t have to hold that against you,” said the king. “Nor the permanent decorations around my ankles and my wrist. Those came courtesy of Sounis.” He held up his hand to look at the white patches that ringed it. “They were a nicely matched set, too, but that’s ruined now.” His evident lack of any distress about the result of his encounter with the queen left the guards gaping.

“This could have been one of you, though,” said Eugenides, running his finger along a short white ridge near the hollow of his shoulder. He looked at Teleus. “Was it?”