I wasn’t surprised that he had brought a small army to Sounis. It was just what I expected of him, but I didn’t want them tramping through the sacred precinct of Elisa. He assured me that we would leave his soldiers in Tas-Elisa, the nearby port town that served the sacred site. That, too, was just what I expected of him. On the one hand, he wanted to do nothing that would compromise my legitimacy as king, and on the other, the road from the port was one of only two serviceable roads to Elisa. I wondered how he would close off the other.

Once Akretenesh was confident that I understood that my only hope of becoming king was through his intervention, he had sent a message to Baron Brimedius, who in turn sent word to one and all to come to the sacred meeting. Akretenesh could have installed me by force, but he wanted no messy disagreements about legality to arise later. He wanted me legitimated by the council of the barons, so that all authority would rest in me, and I would rest securely in the palm of his hand.

He seemed confident of success. To be confirmed, I needed a golden majority, two-thirds of those present, plus one more baron. Akretenesh controlled the rebel votes, though we continued to maintain the pretense that he was a neutral mediator. As the magus and my father had lost ground in the spring campaign, their allies had parted company with them, but that still left more than a third of the barons not directly under Akretenesh’s sway. My father’s loyalists could still disrupt the vote, but the ambassador didn’t seem worried.

He had to believe that my father would support me, no matter how clear it was that I was to be a puppet of the Mede. He probably had good reason. Given my father’s opinion of me, he might prefer the arrangement.

On the road Akretenesh brought up the subject of a regent. I was very young, and I had been in seclusion on Letnos for some time, he said; my barons did not know me well and would be more comfortable if a reliable man were to serve as my guide. I was not surprised. Arrangements have always been made before the meets to secure votes. A new king will promise a minister’s position to a baron or offer a smaller office to the baron’s nephew or son. It’s done all the time. Akretenesh had been informing me delicately of who my ministers would be, and I was listening for the name Hanaktos. It hadn’t come up yet. When he raised the issue of a regent, I thought I knew why.

“Baron Comeneus, Your Majesty, would be a fine man for the office.”

I was surprised. Akretenesh thought I was reacting to the idea of a regent and was prepared to soothe my ruffled feathers. When soothing, Akretenesh was at his most infuriating. It was better to ignore him, and I did, concentrating my thoughts on Hanaktos. Had I overestimated his importance to the Medes? Was Comeneus truly the leader of this rebellion, and Hanaktos only a follower? It was Hanaktos’s man who had carried out my abduction, it was done at his orders, and I was taken to Hanaktos afterward. How could he not be one of the rebellion’s leaders? But why wasn’t he in line for some repayment, a minister’s position, if not prime minister? Perhaps Akretenesh had set him aside.

Akretenesh went on assuring me that I would be a fine and powerful king someday, and I went on ignoring him as I turned this idea over and over in my head.

There are five roads into the sacred city of Elisa, which sits high in the hills above the sea. Three come from inland and two from the coast. Of the coast roads, only one is of any use. It runs between the port of Tas-Elisa and the sacred site. The other coast road ends in Oneia, which is just a scatter of houses on an exposed cliff top with a narrow slice of stony beach at its foot.

Of the inland routes, the widest is the King’s Road, which leads to the city of Sounis. It comes into the sacred site from the opposite direction of the Tas-Elisa Road, so if one wants to go by land from Tas-Elisa to the city of Sounis, one must first climb all the way up to the valley in the hills and then go down along the King’s Road from there.

The other two routes come over the hills from behind Elisa and are mere tracks. They might be as wide as a wagon, but you couldn’t move one on them. No doubt, on the inland side of the hills where they were wider, they were lined with the camps of armies that had been left there by the barons as they came to the meet.

Tas-Elisa is a small town with a reasonable harbor and several far more serviceable roads out to the hinterlands. It was half a day’s ride from there up to Elisa. As good as his word, Akretenesh billeted his men outside the town. He would have his men ready to hand if the truce was broken, and he also neatly blocked anyone else who might intend to bring an army through that way.

There was only one other route sufficiently wide enough to move an army quickly into Elisa.

“And the King’s Road?” I asked.

“Baron Hanaktos will leave his men there,” said Akretenesh.

We arrived at Elisa as the sun set. The great theater sits in a natural curve of the hills, and the best view of it from a distance is on the coast road. No one knows when Elisa’s slopes were first terraced and lined with marble seats, but the temple keeps lists of the plays performed here during the spring and fall festivals, and they go back hundreds of years, all the way back to when the plays were performed in the archaic language on the open orchestral ground in front of the seats.

There is a stage now, built over rooms for storage space and costume changes, but the actors still come down to the open space in front of the seats. Each play has some special speech set there to take advantage of the miracle of Elisa’s design. Standing in the right place, an actor can speak his lines in a whisper and be heard all the way to the back rows of seats.

If I had my say, all the plays would be performed in the old way, and there would be no stage. The building across the open side of the amphitheater spoils the view across the valley and over the lower hills between Elisa and the sea. I admit, though, that I am as delighted as anyone else when an actor in the role of a god is lowered onto the stage and even more so when he disappears through a trapdoor and then emerges from the doorway below to continue his lines. Those sorts of effects cannot happen with only the open ground to perform on.

Scattered at the base of the amphitheater in no particular order are the rest of the buildings: dormitories, villas, temples, and a stadium all hidden among the trees. Below them is the town. During festivals, the overflow of the crowds lived in tents, but there would not be so many for the barons’ council. I was certainly not headed for a tent. We rode directly to the king’s compound, where we were met by the steward and servants who were waiting to pay their respects.

I was sick with trepidation—and this at the necessity of meeting the servants, never mind my barons. But these weren’t the lackeys at Brimedius; they were people who knew me as the heir of Sounis. I had come here every year for as long as I could remember to see the plays. I could measure my chance of success in their reaction when I arrived. When I climbed down from my horse, I wasn’t sure my knees would hold me. I would rather be beaten again at Hanaktos’s whipping post than relive that introduction.

The steward was very polite. He welcomed me in exactly the words I had heard him use to my uncle, while I listened for the contempt I was afraid I would hear in his voice. When he was finished, he and all the servants bowed together. Then he introduced the senior members of the staff. I knew many of them and said gracious things and tried to memorize the names I did not know. I was looking to see some sign that they despised me, and not seeing it, I was convincing myself that I was blind. I was honestly grateful when Akretenesh suggested that I was fatigued and might wish to have a bath while my rooms were readied.