Servants brought bathwater, while an attendant helped me out of the breastplate and clothes. Unfortunately, he also helped himself to your letter, which I had tucked against my chest.

“Give that back,” I said angrily. But by this time I was half undressed and in no good condition for browbeating anyone. He regretfully refused to return it to me, and I was helpless. We both knew it. There was no reason to blame the attendant, but I did. I quite frankly hated him. I hated them all passionately.

I sat in the hot water and sulked, ignoring the servants while they meticulously unpacked my luggage, taking out and keeping every parchment and paper that contained anything written, and the blank paper and writing supplies as well. Attolia’s box was resting on a table in plain sight. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the attendant opened it, removed the gun and the bullets and bullet mold. I looked away as he lifted the divider to examine what was underneath. I tried not to hold my breath as he considered whatever was there, but didn’t touch it, then replaced the pistol and lowered the lid.

So he knew what was in the box, but I didn’t, though I could guess it wasn’t parchment or paper, or he would have taken it. I had opened the box a number of times, even removed the pistol and slid my fingertips across the felt board divider, wondering fiercely what message the king of Attolia had sent me, but I had not looked to see it for myself. I hadn’t yet decided what I would do with Attolia’s gift or her advice. I wanted too much to believe that there had to be a better way to lead people than through intimidation. Gen had as much as said so when he urged me to look for alternatives.

Whatever was in the box, the servant had left it, with the gun and its bullet mold on top. What a strange world it is, where prisoners are left their weapons and the written word is a mortal danger.

I had an excellent dinner and wine in the company of Brimedius and Akretenesh, who were carefully assessing me. A sullen temper in no way impeded my appetite.

I am not Gen. I cannot tell a convincing lie. He and I had agreed that I was foolish to try when every thought that crosses my mind seems to appear on my face for all to see. Gen counseled that honesty would be my best policy, so I let Akretenesh see the truth: that I was wholly in his power and bitterly unhappy about it.

I did not conceal my scorn as Akretenesh explained the regrettable chain of events that had driven a wedge between me and my barons, all of it the fault of my uncle who was Sounis. As Melheret had, Akretenesh offered himself, and the Mede Empire, as a neutral negotiator. I said no, thank you.

When I asked about Hanaktos, Brimedius assured me that there had been a misunderstanding. The rebels knew that my father had supported an alliance with the Mede, and an end to the war with Attolia, and they would never have condoned an attack on him. He suggested that Hanaktos’s breach of the laws of hospitality was an unhappy accident. “My King,” he said sadly, “Hanaktos tells us that your father’s men attacked first.”

“Because Hanaktos meant to kill them all!” I said.

“Perhaps, My King, it was all a mistake?” Brimedius said.

I think my face must have made it clear what I thought of that. “And my abduction?” I asked pointedly.

Brimedius nodded apologetically. “For that we must beg your forgiveness. It was not our intent to precipitate so destructive a conflict, nor to inflict such a grievous insult on the person of Your Majesty. We hoped to make a king of you a little early, that is all.”

“Well, that at least you have accomplished,” I said.

Brimedius was sadly disappointed in me. I looked mulishly back, as truculent as I had ever been when faced with someone’s disappointment.

“I would like to see my mother and my sisters,” I said, but it seemed that was not to be permitted yet.

“Perhaps in the morning,” Akretenesh said.

Brimedius diverted my protest, asking hastily if my attendant pleased me, and I said he was well trained, but that I wanted my papers back. The baron deferred to Akretenesh, who said no. I sulked.

At the end of the meal the Mede pulled out a folded and much-handled piece of vellum. I sat up. It was your letter.

“You are a man of your word, Your Majesty?”

“Enough that I am offended you ask, Ambassador,” I said angrily.

He unfolded the parchment. “I have read this several times.” He smoothed it out on the table between us and looked up at me, watching my face. “It appears in every way to be a personal missive between you and…someone who cares for you.”

“She is the queen of Eddis,” I said stiffly, annoyed at his dismissive tone.

“I mean no offense,” he told me. “On the contrary. It goes against my grain to withhold something personal. I would no more deny you this than I would deny you any of your property. You have seen, I hope, that we make no attempt to remove from you your possessions. Even your weapons. I am sure that in time our mistakes will be behind us. We will start fresh. This is your property, and I would like to return it to you, if only I could.” He smiled disarmingly, and I gritted my teeth and wondered what he was going to demand of me in exchange for this piece of writing and wished he would get on with it. “…if I could have your word that there is no secret message here.”

My surprise showed on my face. What possible message did he think could be secreted in a half-page love letter?

“Ah,” he said, and was evidently satisfied because he slid the parchment across the table to me. I folded it and slid it inside my shirt.

He inclined his head graciously.

I tried to do the same.

So I began my second captivity. This time with good food, and a soft bed, and regular bathwater, and companions infinitely more despised. Brimedius soon disappeared back to his army, which was penning in whatever was left of my uncle’s men near the pass into Melenze. Brimedius’s wife had greeted me formally when I first arrived, but I never saw her again. I saw only the Mede and various servants and a few members of Brimedius’s guard.

My attendant had a name. Of all ridiculous things, it was Ion.

“Is that a problem, Your Majesty?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” I said. “What’s your family name?”

“I am Ion Nomenus, Your Majesty.”

“I will call you by the patronym, then, if you do not mind,” I said.

“Anything that pleases you, Your Majesty.” He was the model of good manners, then and for the rest of our time together. He brought me my food and would have helped me dress and undress if I had let him.

“I’ve grown more comfortable doing it myself,” I told him, and so he contented himself with unpacking and refolding my fancy clothes.

“I had a number of books,” I said, and he apologized that they would not be available to me. I observed that the written word in all its forms was forbidden, but he said no, he could bring me books from the megaron’s collection, if I would like. I said that I would, and asked him to look for a copy of Mepiles’s Lamentations. I thought it might give me some perspective.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AKRETENESH dined with me every day, chatted about this and that, presented himself to me as a reasonable man, a potential ally, a resource. Every day I asked about my mother and sisters. After the first few days he didn’t even offer excuses, just smiled sadly and turned away. If I lost my temper and swore at him, I got nothing. If I was polite, he gave me a tidbit about their health or their activities of the day before: They had gone into the garden, or they had walked by the riverside, Ina had said this or that. Unspoken was the understanding that my behavior affected their freedom as well as my own. On the contrary, I was assured over and over again that I was no prisoner but an honored guest.