The rest of the barons could not see Susa’s malicious smile, only the king and his attendants. When the king stood to say in Susa’s face, “I am not going to apologize to that mealy-mouthed, self-dealing, bootlicking Pent,” Susa, with his thinning white hair and his stooped shoulders, looked the part of a wounded mentor, and the king looked ever more ridiculous.

“If the barons are unanimous—” Susa began again, ready to repeat his entire lecture, daring the king to stop him.

The king looked from baron to baron. A more experienced ruler, presented with two disastrous options, might have delayed, might have worked to divide his opponents in careful negotiations. The king was not that cautious ruler. Attolia had been prescient when she warned Eddis that he could be pushed only so far.

“The Medes advance, and all of you are still more concerned about guarding the wine in your own wine cups!” he said. Some of the barons had the grace to look ashamed. “Susa has laid out the problem. I have a solution! If you truly think the king may not oppose his united barons”—he paused while he lifted his hand to his mouth and used his teeth to pull the seal ring off his finger—“find yourselves another king.”

He slammed the ring down on the table and stormed out of the room, sailing right past the dithering young men between him and the door.

He left too quickly to be called back, left the barons too stunned to speak, even Susa, all of them staring at the ring on the table, even Erondites taken by surprise. They should have known better. They knew the king was impetuous, knew how much he chafed under the demands of the throne. They had meant to push him into doing something ill-considered, and he had. Desperate to know what the stammering barons would say next, I hesitated as the retinue of the king was vanishing out the door. Knowing that if I fell too far behind, I would never catch up, I cursed and started after Philologos, chasing him all the way to the king’s apartments.

At the door to his bedchamber, the king turned on us, his attendants and his guard. “Why are you still following me?” he asked.

“Where should we go, Your Majesty?” asked Hilarion as we stood shifting from foot to foot.

“Don’t call me that.”

“But, Your Majes—”

He shook his head. “Merely a Thief, far from home,” he corrected Hilarion. “Or I suppose prince, but no one has ever called me that. Consort?” He appeared to be thinking aloud. “Attolia has never had Continental titles, but Sounis has them. Maybe Irene will make me a duke. At any rate, I have no authority, no responsibilities, and no longer any need for attendants.”

“Your Majesty, no.”

“No ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Yes.’ You can all go away, go hunting, go to town for a drink, do anything you want.”

“What will you do, Your Majesty?”

“I don’t know,” said Eugenides, and seemed to mean it. He looked back over his shoulder. “Pack?” he said.

“You will not leave!” Philologos cried.

Eugenides’s vicious humor dimmed a little. He had not considered what might come after so strenuous an abdication, that the council might take it at face value, that he might have to leave Attolia. “Philo, the council may be voting to exile me as we speak.”

“What of the queen?” Philologos said in a choked voice.

Eugenides stared into the future. “I don’t know. It’s not up to me anymore.”

He stepped into his room and closed the door in our faces.

“What in the name of all the gods happened?” asked Ion, and Hilarion explained. When he was finished, Ion said, “Someone has to tell the queen.”

“She probably knows already.”

“Even so, we have to send a messenger.”

Hilarion ran his hands through his hair, clearly not relishing this. “You and I will go. The rest of you stay here. Make sure he doesn’t leave.”

The other attendants, all of them having arrived in the waiting room, stared at each other and back at Hilarion. How could they stop him from leaving?

“Send to the stables. Warn them not to give him a horse. Tell the guards they aren’t to let him out of the palace.”

“Are you out of your mind, Hilarion?” asked Lamion. “What guard is going to tell the king of Attolia he can’t leave his palace? And don’t tell me it’s not his palace if he is not king, because this is nonsense.”

Hilarion just looked at him helplessly.

“We’ll talk to the queen,” said Ion, trying for calm. “Tell the stables to delay if they can, that the queen does not want the king to leave the palace.”

That was a good thought.

“You can’t give orders in the queen’s name,” Xikos pointed out.

“Go to the queen,” Dionis said firmly. “Stop talking and go now.”

Hilarion and Ion hurried away and the rest of us sat, the other attendants fearing for their country, while I wondered: if Eugenides truly left Attolia, what would become of me, the unwanted, unwelcome heir of Erondites?

It was an hour or more before Hilarion and Ion were able to convey their message, before the queen rose from her devotion at the altar of Ula, heard their recounting of events, and returned to the palace. Imenia came to the door of the king’s apartments, bowed her head to Philologos, the highest-ranking attendant present, and said, “Her Majesty observes that it is late in the day to start a journey and suggests that His Highness rest for the afternoon and await the council’s direction.”

Philologos swallowed.

“Will you convey Her Majesty’s message?” she prompted.

Philo nodded. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, and Imenia went away again.

After rubbing his shoulders like a man who’s chilled to the bone, Philologos went and knocked on the king’s door.

Eugenides opened it right away. When Philo gave him the queen’s message, he tilted his head to one side while he considered it. “Her Majesty is quite right, as usual. If she asks for me, please tell her I’ll be reading on one of the porches.” He stepped to his desk and scooped up the book of poetry that the king of Sounis had given him for his birthday. With it tucked under his arm, he headed for the passageway. Over his shoulder, he said, “You all can stay here,” before his eye fell on me. “Oh, Pheris, don’t be so woebegone. You can come with me if you like.”

So I tagged along as he told the guards standing outside his door that they could return to their barracks. They didn’t. They just anxiously trailed along as the king went looking for a quiet place to read. When people we passed stopped and bowed, Eugenides only waved at them, waggling his fingers as he passed, saying, “Never mind all that.” Straightening uncertainly, they stared after him.

We ended up on one of the porches near the Comemnus tower. The day was still hot, but the porch was in the shade. There was a couch with a backrest and several stools scattered around. The king lay down and adjusted himself, then opened his book.

“Wish I’d thought to get some wine from the palace kitchens,” he said.

“I’ll get that for you, Your Majesty,” said Hilarion from the doorway.

I hadn’t realized he too had been following, but Eugenides didn’t seem to be surprised.