“Take it.”
“As you wish, My Queen,” said the captain, sounding as stunned as Costis felt.
“You wanted a sparring partner this morning?” the queen said, turning back to Eugenides.
“I did.”
“Costis will serve you well,” she said, and swept out of the room. The rings slid again across the rod. The leather curtain dropped, and the only sound was that of the many receding footsteps in the hall.
Costis was still hunched over, blinking his amazement into the darkness of his hands cupped over his eyes. When the crowd of footsteps had reached the stair at the end of the hall, he finally lowered his hands to the floor on either side of his knees. He rested them gingerly on the wood boards, as if there had been an earthquake and he wasn’t sure it was over. He sat up slowly. The earthquake wasn’t over. The king still sat on the stool, his legs still stretched in front of him, still crossed at the ankle.
The king rubbed his face with his hand, pausing to finger gently the bruise beside his mouth.
He said at last, “That was terrifying, but I suppose you are used to excitement?”
Costis stared at him blankly.
“She wouldn’t hang Teleus. She doesn’t have anyone to replace him.”
As if the king had risked Teleus’s life in an effort to save Costis, instead of failing in an attempt to eliminate one of the queen’s most powerful supporters. Costis knew what he had seen.
“I told you she wouldn’t take the farm.” Eugenides smiled, entirely without royal dignity, and left.
“Do you still wish you’d hanged me?”
She hadn’t heard him come in, but he had moved an inkpot on her desk, sliding it across the wood so that she would know he was there before he spoke. He was considerate in every detail. She didn’t turn.
“Men’s necks have been broken by a single blow,” she said.
He tossed a cushion to the floor and stepped around her to settle on it, sitting cross-legged near her feet. “I can’t keep on apologizing,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked, over his head.
“Well,” he said pensively, “I think you would be bored.”
It was vain to hope that he might cease to have things to apologize for. “What happened?” she asked coldly, and Eugenides hunched his shoulders and minded the fringe on the pillow under his ankle, laying each thread out straight.
“I was angry at Teleus. Costis came to his rescue.” He scattered the fringe back into a tangle. “I thought you were going to hang poor Costis.”
“I would have if you hadn’t chained him so neatly to Teleus.”
“Like an anchor to drag him down,” the king agreed.
“I thought that we had an agreement about Teleus.”
“We did. We do,” the king assured her.
“So you risk him to save the life of a treacherous, worthless guard?”
“You called Costis your loyal servant earlier.”
“He was a loyal servant earlier. He is no longer. You will not rehabilitate him with me.”
“Of course not,” he said humbly.
She released a sigh of frustration and asked reluctantly for the truth. “Were you lying?”
“I never lie,” he said piously. “About what?”
“The sand, the snake.”
For a young man who never lied, he seemed surprisingly unoffended by the question. “You should ask Relius. Your Secretary of the Archives has suspected something for weeks and has all but turned himself inside out trying to find out more.”
“Then why didn’t you speak?”
“I don’t want the kitchens purged, or the guards.”
“You want to save people from punishment they deserve?”
“Oh, no,” said the king, “I only want to be sure that those that deserve it the most are the ones punished.”
“Say the word, then, and they will be.”
He only shook his head and she gave up for the moment.
CHAPTER THREE
COSTIS woke earlier than usual the next morning, when one of the barracks boys knocked on the frame of his door.
“Captain’s orders,” he called. “Everyone not on duty is to be on the parade ground in full uniform at the dawn trumpets.” Costis could hear the same orders repeated down the hall by another boy.
“I’m supposed to spar with the king,” he said groggily.
“Captain said to tell you not today, that he has asked the king to begin training tomorrow.”
“All right, thank you,” Costis said, and the boy moved to the next door. Costis pushed aside his blanket and got to his feet. Aris had helped him set his room in order the night before, and everything was back in its place. The bits of broken wine cup were swept into a pile. The king’s empty wine amphora still sat on the table with the remaining wine cup. When he had time, Costis would have to carry them back to the palace kitchens or send them back with a boy.
Costis got dressed. He pulled on his undershirt and a leather tunic, a leather kilt under the chain skirt that hung from his waist. He had guards for his shins and shoulders and a breast and back plate that hung from his shoulders and buckled together under his arms. Aris had brought back his kit the night before. He’d agreed with Costis that the king would exact his revenge in their sparring session this morning, but evidently the king would have to wait.
Costis belted on his sword after he had pulled it from its scabbard to check its edge. The chain at the collar of his cloak hooked to his shoulder guards, so that the cloak hung down his back without tangling his arms. He had no gun, because he wouldn’t be on duty. Each soldier owned his own sword, but the guns belonged to the queen and were locked in the armory. Only guards on duty with the queen carried them, and they collected them before going on watch and returned them when their duties were completed.
When he was dressed, Costis went downstairs and out to the court that lay between the barracks. There were other guards there, but no one spoke to Costis. They looked away and stepped back as he walked up to the fountain. He splashed a little water on his face and used the dipper to get a drink, careful to keep his face turned away from the other guards, as if there were something fascinating on the far side of the narrow court. He went back into the barracks to find his squad and make sure they would be ready at the parade ground by the appointed hour. Diurnes in particular was sometimes slow to move in the morning.
This morning, however, his men were up and ready, waiting for him and looking him over in speculation. He had only to nod a greeting and then lead them toward the parade ground. Costis’s squad was in the Eighth Century. When the dawn trumpets sounded from the walls, he was in line, beside his squad, one of more than a thousand men standing in orderly blocks across the parade ground, waiting for their captain.
Teleus didn’t keep them waiting long. He signaled, and the centurions one by one called their ranks to order. When they were finished, the only sounds to be heard across the wide parade ground were the distant calling of birds and the muffled noises of the city waking on the far side of the palace walls. On the parade ground, no one moved or spoke until Teleus raised his voice to shout, “Costis Ormentiedes.”