“We have much to discuss,” said Eugenides, and passed by her to enter the council tent.

Chapter Nine

He lowered himself into his seat and leaned back by inches. He closed his eyes, but his expression remained hard as stone. Eddis, Attolia, and Sounis did not take their seats beside him. They stood by as the tent filled with silent men. The king had returned from the enemy, but no one here was cheering. Uneasily, they waited.

When Eugenides opened his eyes, he announced into the silence, “The powers of the Continent have led us here with moon promises. There are no reinforcements coming to Stinos.”

As the men in the tent looked at one another in horror, I followed the king’s line of sight. He was watching the Brael. By the time I turned my eyes back to the king, he had seen all he needed. Until that moment, I don’t think he’d truly believed the Braels had betrayed us.

I don’t know if Fordad would have admitted the truth or denied it. Eugenides slowly shook his head, and the ambassador remained silent.

In the tightly packed tent, a space opened between Fordad and the doorway. He bowed and left, looking neither to the left or the right, passing Petrus at the doorway as he entered with his carrying case of remedies. As Petrus headed for the king, the space made for Fordad began to close, and Petrus was brought to a halt.

Eugenides was searching the men standing around his council table, noting who was there and who was not.

He said, “Hilarion. Who else?”

Petrus answered for the dead. “Xikos. Perminder. Sotis will not live long.” He paused, hating to say it, but knowing the king was waiting. “Philologos.”

Poor Philo, who everyone had tried to protect, had been riding beside the king. The bomb hidden in the cairn of stones had killed him instantly.

“The guard?” Eugenides was emotionless.

Teleus, captain of the guard said, “Clovis is dead, and all of his squad. Treagus and most of his squad as well. Legarus and Trulo from Aristogiton’s.”

Eugenides nodded. “We will avenge them. Marshal the men to attack at dawn. They must be ready as soon as there is light to see.”

Barons, generals, the other royal councilors anxiously turned to Attolia, to Eddis, to Sounis, their trusted military leaders, only to find Eugenides’s adamantine conviction reflected in all three faces.

“Your Majesty.” It was my grandfather Susa, a braver man in that moment than ever before. “We all want vengeance, but if it is true that the Continent has abandoned us, we cannot be foolish.” Almost begging, he said, “We must retreat, Your Majesty, not attack.”

Eugenides didn’t answer. He appeared to be waiting. “Brother,” he murmured, “a single spark will do.”

Through the open front of the tent, light flared in the black night, larger than campfires, larger than bonfires. There was a sound like a thunderclap, loud but distant, rolling through the air. More explosions followed the first; flames as high as the trees shot into the air, thunder boomed again. The king didn’t even turn his head.

“The Medes’ powder stores,” he said.

We could hear a sound like men screaming, though men’s voices could not have carried so far.

“The elephants,” said the king. He rested his head wearily in his hand. “They are stampeding through the camp.”

“That will wake Bu-seneth,” Trokides said bitterly.

“No,” said the king. “Bu-seneth woke earlier. Nothing will ever wake him again.”

I was not the only one who shuddered, though I was the only one who had seen the Mede general on his back with his throat cut, his tent reeking of blood and ashes, the small triangular knife from the king’s pocket sunk in his chest, pinning a singed scrap of vellum in place. All that was left of the surrender was the deceptively docile signature of Eugenides.

“The Mede keep an orderly camp. It was easy to find their officers. I am sorry I could not find Nahuseresh or Erondites. Nahuseresh says I am a bastard, not a king.” I saw Attolia follow his gaze, this time to Eddis, as the king continued. “A Thief and not a king. He wanted to know what I can steal now, and I look forward to showing him.”

To Susa, he said, “We will have no better chance than this.”

Susa bowed deeply. “We will marshal the men, Your Majesty.”

In silence, everyone else bowed, first in the direction of the king, then to Attolia, Sounis, and Eddis, before they headed to their tasks. Then those three took their leave as well. Sounis bent to say something to Eddis and then followed his father away to rouse the Sounisians. No one spoke a word until Petrus screwed up his courage and stepped forward.

The king said, “Not now.”

Petrus girded his loins. “There may be no time later for the proper care of the wounds,” he said. He meant that the king would put him off right up until the dawn when he rode into battle.

The king shook his head again, and mild-mannered Petrus gave in. He withdrew, and I knew why. Even I did not want to be near the king. I followed Attolia and Eddis as they withdrew from Attolia’s tent. The maps and markers, the campaign tools were all in the council tent with the king, but there was a campaign desk with paper and pens to lay out their battle plans. Attolia ignored it. She turned to face Eddis.

“Once, when I said he had saved me, you said I had saved him. From what?”

Eddis didn’t need to answer. Saved him from becoming the Thief, the murderous figure sitting alone with his dead.

Attolia said, “Gen’s father didn’t want him to be the Thief. But it was his father who gave him the gold to go after Hamiathes’s Gift.” Each step led to the next. “His father didn’t care about a mythical rock; he just wanted his son out of Eddis.”

“Yes,” said Eddis.

“Because your council had just voted to kill him.”

“Yes,” said Eddis again.

“They have always been afraid of him.”

“Afraid of what he would become.”

“And you? Have you been afraid?”

Eddis was amused. “No.” She shook her head.

Attolia didn’t believe her. “But you’ve always known he could take your throne.”

“No.” Eddis’s amusement gone, she said fiercely, “What I have always known is that I am the last Eddis, that my country will not outlast my lifetime. That it will be destroyed in the fires of the Sacred Mountain or overrun by invaders, or it might become part of a new country, under a new king, with a new name. Which would you hope for if you were me?”

“I don’t understand why you don’t hate him,” said Attolia.

“The same reason you don’t and Sophos doesn’t, because of who he is,” Eddis said softly.

“And who is he now?” Attolia cried, and Eddis took the stricken queen in her arms, pulling her close to comfort her.

“He is still our Gen, Irene. He can bear his god a little while without losing himself.” A movement outside the tent caught her eye, and she said with forced lightness, “And look there, Emipopolitus’s enemies have united against him.”

Attolia opened her eyes to see that mild-mannered Petrus had not given up; he’d gone to his rival and recruited his aid. By the light of a single lantern, he and Galen were approaching the council tent together.