Eddisian soldiers carried the litter. They’d taken it from the Attolians at the base of the mountain and carefully lifted it up the winding road that followed the old watercourse of the Aracthus River. The Attolians walked beside it, and her ambassador and his party walked behind. Meeting her gaze as they entered the courtyard, the ambassador shook his head slightly, warning her to expect the worst. He’d sent her word already of events in Attolia.
When his messenger had delivered the ambassador’s news, Eddis had ordered the room emptied and had stayed to sit by herself on the throne. When the daylight falling in the skylights had faded, a servant had come with a taper for the lamps, but Eddis had sent him away. There was no formal dinner that night. The court dined in its private rooms, and finally the most senior of her attendants had come to coax the queen to bed.
“There’s nothing you can do, my darling, sitting here in the dark. Come to bed,” Xanthe had said.
“I can think, Xanthe. And I need to think a little more. I’ll be up soon, I promise.” And Xanthe had gone upstairs to the queen’s chambers to wait patiently as the night passed.
In the morning Eddis had spoken privately with her ministers and then waited, knowing Attolia would send Eugenides home when she was done with him and not before.
The litter was a fine one, used no doubt to carry an Attolian noble through the narrow streets of Attolia’s older cities. It had doors that slid closed and locked to keep the ornamentations and fabric of the interior safe when the litter was not in use. They had also served to keep the Thief locked in until he reached Eddis. This had hardly been necessary, but the Attolian guards sent with the litter had been ordered to take no chances and to hurry.
They’d turned the litter over to the Eddisians and followed it up the mountain to see its contents delivered. Once the litter had been lowered to the ground, the ranking officer among the Attolians stepped forward to slide back the curtain that screened the interior. “He’ll need a hand getting out,” he said, and another of the Attolians choked on a laugh. The officer reached in and, grasping Eugenides by the back of the neck, slid his unconscious body off the cushions and onto the sun-warmed stones of the forecourt.
“Our queen said to tell you this is how we treat thieves in Attolia, and she awaits the water of the Aracthus,” said the Attolian, but the sly expression on his face faded as the queen stared at him impassively. From where she stood she couldn’t know if the Thief was alive or dead, and she didn’t look as if she cared. The Attolian lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck where his hair was prickling, realizing he may have been sent on this errand because his guard captain didn’t care if all that returned was his head.
“Galen,” said the queen, but the palace physician was already stepping forward with his assistants.
“He’s alive still,” said Galen, after checking for a heartbeat. He started to pick the boy up, but the minister of war tapped his shoulder and stooped himself to gather Eugenides in his arms and carry him inside. The crowd parted to allow him to pass, onlookers catching a single glimpse of Eugenides’s face and then swiveling to eye the Attolians.
The Attolians shifted from foot to foot and drew themselves together. Eddis summoned her steward. “These men will want to eat before they start down to Attolia,” she said quietly. “See that they are fed and paid for the service they have rendered us in returning our Thief.”
The Attolians exchanged nervous glances, concerned that their payment might be fatal, but beheading them was something Attolia might do, not Eddis. They would each receive a silver griffin and a good meal before being escorted to the border.
To the senior Attolian, the queen said, “Tell Attolia I have freed the waters of the Aracthus. They will flow by sundown.” The message was for formality’s sake. News of the water flow would reach Attolia long before the messengers did. Eddis turned, and the crowd, which hadn’t regrouped entirely after the passage of the minister of war, parted again for her and then trailed silently after her into the palace.
Eddis seated herself on her throne. “Where’s the messenger?” she said, and one of the soldiers charged for that day with the duty of carrying the queen’s messages stepped forward.
She noted that he was one of her first cousins, which suited her.
“Crodes,” she said, “carry me a message to the engineer at the reservoir telling him to release the waters of the Aracthus this evening as we agreed. Then go on to the officer in charge of the bridge at the pass.”
The country of Eddis lay in the mountains between the two countries of Sounis and Attolia. Through the Hephestial Mountains there was one pass to carry trade between the two lowland countries. It had been carved by the Seperchia River as it cut through the softer limestone of the coastal mountains on its way from Attolia to Sounis and the middle sea. All traffic between Attolia and Sounis climbed the mountain pass, crossing several bridges in the process, the most important being the Main Bridge, which spanned the chasm of the Seperchia near the top of the pass. On one bank there was no traversable path to Attolia, and on the far bank there was none to Sounis. All traffic bottlenecked at the bridge, and Eddis controlled it.
“To the officer at the bridge,” said Eddis. “My compliments to him for his well-performed duties, and he will detain the next ten Attolian traders and their trade caravans. He is to confiscate everything but the clothes on their backs and turn them loose. If they protest, tell them they may apply to their queen for compensation.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty.” People in the room turned to look at the Attolian ambassador. “It is my obligation to assure you that news of this will not be well received by my queen.”
“I expect not,” said Eddis, and turned back to her messenger. “Crodes,” she said, “tell him the next ten large caravans.”
Politically the loss of Eugenides’s service was severe. Sounis was still eager to expand his borders, and only his fear of assassination kept him in check. But Attolia hadn’t had merely a political loss in mind. If she’d wanted Eddis to be without the Thief’s services, she could have executed him. She meant to hurt Eddis at every level, and she had succeeded. A hundred caravans of merchandise couldn’t repair the damage. Sighing inwardly, Eddis excused herself and went upstairs to see her Thief.
The library was empty, but the connecting door to Eugenides’s study and bedchamber was open. Eugenides lay on his bed, and Galen, the palace physician, bent over him. He straightened as the queen entered.
“He’s unconscious?” Eddis asked, standing by the bed.
“He’s drugged,” said the physician. “We got some lethium drops into him.” He was glad she hadn’t come earlier. Eugenides was feverish and hadn’t recognized anyone when he’d wakened. They’d had to hold him down and force the lethium into his mouth. There’d been no way to measure what had gone in and what he’d spat out again.
“How is his arm?” the queen asked.
The physician shook his head and gestured to the filthy bandages. “I haven’t gotten to his arm. I assume it was well cauterized or it would stink more.” The physician pushed the hair off Eugenides’s forehead. “His head isn’t broken, although clearly it might have been. You can see the bruising on his forehead, but if he’d cracked his skull, he’d probably be dead already. I’m more worried about his right eye, which is infected. See the grit on his eyelashes.” The physician pointed it out, sweeping his finger above the lashes, careful not to brush them.