A Conspiracy of Kings (20 page)

“You are no butchering monster, Your Majesty,” said
the Mede. “Anyone can see that. If you will forgive me, let
me say how I honor you. No, do not blush; you must accept your
compliments.”

Sounis’s head was bowed but not to hide a blush. “I
pray the gods will guide me on my path,” he said, wishing
that a convenient hole would open in the stone pavers under his
feet and that he could drop through it, or better yet, drop
Melheret.

“You are a man of good faith, and I know you will not
offend the gods,” said Melheret. It was an obvious preamble
to a larger point, but fast-approaching footsteps announced Ion,
who swept up to where they were seated.

“Ambassador,” he said, with diplomatic calm,
“I must have forgotten your appointment with His Majesty;
please forgive me, and let me ask you to arrange another. His
Majesty is due to be on his way to his tailors now.” He
looked at the Mede with steely determination, and the Mede,
unruffled, rose to his feet.

“Please forgive my forwardness in greeting you here, Your
Majesty. I have had news from Sounis that I wished to impart, but
now is not the time.”

Ion watched him go with what looked like loathing. Then he bowed
to Sounis. “Your appointment, Your Majesty?”

“Please.”

Sounis followed his borrowed attendant back to his rooms,
thinking over what Melheret had said in parting, that he had news
from Sounis. It was bait, and Sounis would have to decide if he
would take it. If he did, it would mean another meeting, arranged
in a more official way, with the Mede. If he met with the Mede, he
might then be expected to meet with all the ambassadors, the
prospect of which gave him a headache. He was beginning to think he
would never leave Attolia.

“Ion.”

“Your Majesty?” said the attendant. He had delivered
Sounis to his own anteroom and had asked permission to withdraw.
“Is there something else you require?”

“A word,” said Sounis. He walked through his
reception room, where his tailors waited, to his bedchamber without
looking back to see if Ion followed.

“Close the door,” he said.

When he heard it shut, he turned around.

“Your Majesty, I apologize,” Ion said.

“Did you arrange the meeting with Melheret?”

“No.”

Sounis waited.

“I did arrange the meeting with Zenia that the ambassador
used to his advantage, and I will have to inform the
king.”

“And what will he do?”

“Send me away,” said Ion. “This is one too
many mistakes to forgive.”

“You would prefer to stay?”

Ion shrugged at the irony of his situation. “I
would.”

“You could apologize,” Sounis suggested. “He
has a soft spot for idiots. He’s always been very kind to
me.”

Ion shook his head. “I do not think he has any such soft
spot for me, Your Majesty.”

“Ion,” Sounis said, coming to a decision even he
found surprising, “tell him that if he releases you, I would
like you to accompany me.”

“Accompany you?”

“To Sounis, as my attendant,” he said.

Ion’s eyebrows rose. “You do me an honor I
don’t deserve, Your Majesty.”

Sounis’s insecurities nibbled at him. It was an honor Ion
probably didn’t want, either, but Ion unexpectedly smiled.
“I would be gratified to serve Your Majesty,” he said
sincerely.

“You would rather serve Eugenides,” said Sounis.
“Only tell him so, and I will have to find someone else to
keep an eye on all my new finery.”

The dinner the next night was formal, all the court at tables,
with Sounis and Eddis and the Attolias at the head table with the
magus and Eddis’s ambassador. All the other ambassadors were
carefully placed beyond the range of polite conversation, to
Sounis’s relief. He had declined to meet again with the Mede.
At last the talking was done, and the court dined in celebration of
a treaty concluded between Sounis and Attolia.

Conversationally, Eugenides said, “What are you doing
rescuing my attendants from their own folly?”

“Did you let him go?”

“I’m still thinking about it, shocked as I am to
find you raiding my overelegant lapdogs for your own
companions.”

“I astonished myself,” said Sounis. “I might
perhaps have been prejudiced in my earlier judgment of
them.”

Eugenides popped a grape into his mouth and said seriously,
“I will rethink my own judgments, then.”

Sounis reached for a serving platter set in front of them both.
When Eugenides cleared his throat sharply, Sounis pulled his hand
back as if he expected to be bitten.

“Fetch the king of Sounis some lamb,” Attolis said
over his shoulder, and someone hurried away to do his bidding.
Sounis noticed then that the food on the platter was all cut into
bite-sized portions.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t
realize it was reserved for you.”

The king was smiling out at the room. “It is,” he
said calmly.

“I seem to remember once sharing my oatmeal with
you,” Sounis remarked.

“I seem to remember
stealing
your
oatmeal,” said the former Thief of Eddis, “but it
didn’t have sand in it.”

“Sand?” said Sounis, taken aback.

“Sand, and if my queen notices, she will have someone
flayed.”

Attolia was looking their way. Sounis hastily dropped his eyes
to his plate. Gen was relaxed against the back of his chair,
entirely at his ease. “There is still someone in the kitchen
who adores the queen, dislikes Eddisians, and hates me,” he
said.

“She just hasn’t met you, I am sure.”

“She has, actually,” said the king of Attolia.

Attolia’s eyebrows were descending as she scrutinized the
king. She looked from the platter to his face, and back again. She
looked at Sounis. Eugenides sighed and reached for the lamb. To
allay her suspicions, he was going to have to eat some of it.

“Let me fall on that blade for you,” said Sounis,
and served himself.

“You are a prince among men,” said Eugenides.

“A king,” Sounis corrected him with his mouth
full.

In the morning the great plaza in front of Attolia’s
palace was emptied of booths and vendors and all their wares. No
king departs without ceremony, and the stones were swept of straw
and manure, and a dais built, before the morning mist had burned
away.

There were prayers by the priests and priestesses of various
temples to old gods and new ones. The king of Attolia was known for
his dedication to his gods, but careful to make no move to offend
any others. The high priestess of Hephestia, a massive woman
swathed in red, came last to bless the men who were to be sent to
Sounis to fight.

Eddis, sitting on the dais, on a borrowed chair that was far
more elegant than the throne she used at home, admired the
priestess. She was Attolian by birth and had risen to be high
priestess of what was a minor temple in the city. Overnight she had
become quite powerful, with a new temple rising on the acropolis
above Attolia’s palace. She had great wealth at her
fingertips and access to the king’s ear. She could have used
that power to diminish other priests and priestesses, but she had
chosen not to. When she called out the blessing on the soldiers
before her, Eddis could hear the Goddess in the priestess’s
voice and wondered if others around her heard it as well. Eddis
knew that Eugenides did and that it never failed to spark unease in
him. Eddis was tired, and the Goddess’s voice made her long
for her mountains. She, too, had spent sleepless nights unmaking
and remaking her plans.

When the invocation was complete, Sounis walked back to the dais
to take his leave and accept a parting gift from Attolia.

As the horses and men waited, one of her women brought it
forward: a small wooden casque with a bowed top and a plain brass
latch. Sounis was as hesitant as anyone who receives a gift and is
unsure whether to open it immediately or not. The queen’s
companion, versed in the moment, turned the case in her hands and
lifted the lid. Inside the case was a dueling pistol, a
king’s weapon, wheel-locked, chased in gold. Eddis had seen
it earlier that day. When Sounis lifted it out and tipped his head
over the locking mechanism, she knew he was reading the letters
inscribed there:
Onea realia
. “The queen
made me.”

Sounis thanked the queen prettily, years of training providing
the appropriate words. As he went to replace the pistol in the box,
he paused. There was a tab to lift the bottom of the box and
clearly room to store something underneath. Keeping the gun in his
hand, he reached with the other, but Gen forestalled him, holding
the inset bottom of the box down with a single finger.

“You have heard my queen’s advice. My gift is below.
Would you wait to see it until you have decided what you will do
with hers?”

Sounis nodded and returned the gun to its place. He took the box
in his arms and hefted it, judging what he could from its weight,
like a child with a present. It was heavy enough to be a
substantial amount of gold. He handed the box to the magus, who
handed it in turn to someone else, to be packed.

“Your destination?” Eugenides asked.

“Brimedius, to free my mother and my sisters.” He
and Eugenides had talked through his strategy in the tavern. It had
been their one chance for a private exchange. “Then on to the
pass to Melenze, to my father.”

“Fare with the gods, and be blessed in your
endeavors,” said the king of Attolia.

Sounis bowed first, then embraced the king, and they kissed.
Moving on to Attolia, with just a shade of deliberation, too slight
to call a hesitation, he embraced and kissed her as well. Then he
stepped before Eddis.

No ceremony was ceremonial enough without the appropriate
clothing, and Sounis was wearing his best, his embroidered coat
with the shining breastplate on top that Eugenides had commissioned
for him. Eddis was just thinking of how much older he looked, with
his finery and his scars and his appropriately solemn expression,
when he met her eye. His stern gaze dropped. Sucking in his scarred
lip, he cast her a sheepish smile.

The pain was as unexpected as a thunderclap in a clear sky.
Eddis’s chest tightened, as something closed around her
heart. A deep breath might have calmed her, but she couldn’t
draw one. She wondered if she was ill, and she even thought briefly
that she might have been poisoned. She felt Attolia reach out and
take her hand. To the court it was unexceptional, hardly noticed,
but to Eddis it was an anchor, and she held on to it as if to a
lifeline. Sounis was looking at her with concern. Her responding
smile was artificial.

“I will look forward to hearing of your future
adventures,” Eddis said. It was stiff, and he looked
disappointed. She did not release Attolia’s hand, subtly
discouraging an embrace, so Sounis bowed instead. His polite
expression returned. He bade her farewell and then went back down
the steps to his men. The usual discordant shout of commands and
the clatter of hooves and weapons and wheels against the plaza
followed before the king and his retinue were finally departed.
Throughout, the queen of Attolia never let go of Eddis’s
hand.

When Sounis was gone, and the rest of the royal guard was
dismissed, Eddis left the plaza and went directly to the highest
part of the palace, from which she could catch a glimpse, even if
it was just dust rising above the road, of Sounis, as he drew
farther and farther away. She would have gone to her room and
locked herself in, but it would have been recognized as highly
irregular. On the roof, she was not alone, but only her attendants
were nearby, and it was not so unusual as to cause talk. It was as
much privacy as she was likely to find without drawing attention to
herself.

She heard the king of Attolia arrive. She didn’t turn, and
sensed rather than saw him draw near. From behind, his arms closed
around her, and she was wrapped inside the long cloak he wore. When
she grasped its edges, he used his hand to reach up and adjust the
cloth of the capacious hood, creating a space no larger than the
two of them.

“Did you send Attolia to me at the farewell?” Eddis
asked.

“Not I,” said Gen quietly. “The magus. I
thought you knew that you loved him—the two of you have been
like magnets drawing ever nearer to each other since you
met—but the magus was concerned. He thought the grief of
leave-taking might surprise you.”

“I feel very stupid.” She leaned back into his
embrace. “‘I will look forward to hearing of your
future adventures.’” She shook her head in disgust and
sniffed. “I should have had something better to say,
something…more appropriate.”

He couldn’t disagree. Sounis had clearly hoped for some
message of her affection to carry with him. “You could write
him a letter,” he said. “A fast horse will catch him
before he reaches the pass.”

“It’s not a letter I want to send after him,”
she said. “It’s fifteen hundred crossbowmen and a
thousand pikes.”

“You helped pick the numbers.”

She sighed. “I was still sensible then. I am less so
now.”

“He wouldn’t thank you for a company of
nannies.”

She looked out over the parapet. “Will he forgive
us?”

“You aren’t stealing his country.”

“Neither am I helping him keep it.”

“Helen,” Gen said, “you sent me to
Attolia.”

She stiffened.

He held her tight. “We do what we must, but we are not
defined by our circumstances. Sounis will not change.”

“Did you warn him not to offend the gods?”

“There was no need,” said Attolis, smiling.
“He couldn’t offend the gods with a pointed
stick.”

W
E left Attolia with horses underneath us and all the
provisions we had missed on our previous journey. We had an escort
fit for a king, and we moved no faster than the magus and I had
traveled on foot. Your letter reached me before we got to the pass,
and I read it over and over until I had it by heart.