More bothersome were the phantom pains he still had in a hand that was no longer there. He woke sometimes in the night to an ache in his right palm where he’d injured it trying to escape Attolia. The injury had never had a chance to heal. Eugenides expected the pain of it would plague him until he was dead. He didn’t like to think about the missing hand, but he sometimes caught himself reaching with his left hand to rub his right when it felt sore.
Grumbling again, he pushed his stocking feet into boots that he’d had made when he found his old boots had gotten too small over the previous winter, hung his sword belt and sword over his shoulder, and took himself down to the armorer’s courtyard, where trainees and soldiers alike were stretching their muscles and checking their weapons before beginning their exercises. The armorer’s forge was open on two sides to the courtyard, and Eugenides went there to drop his sword on a bench.
The armorer nodded. “You’ll need a new one,” he said. “Balance won’t be right in that.” The courtyard had fallen silent.
“Do you have a practice sword I could use?” Eugenides asked, his back to the silence.
The armorer nodded and pulled one down from the racks on the wall.
As Eugenides took the sword, someone stepped into the shed behind him, and he turned to see his father.
Eugenides nodded a greeting. His father waved him out onto the training ground. As they walked together, Eugenides noticed his father’s stare.
“Do you think she’ll not notice?” his father finally asked.
“Notice what?” said Eugenides innocently.
“Her missing fibula pin with the rubies and gold beads pinning up your sleeve.”
“Garnets and gold beads.”
“The man said they were rubies.”
“They say there’s no hope for liars and fools in this world.”
“And where does that leave you?” his father asked pointedly.
Eugenides laughed. “In possession of the queen’s garnet fibula pin, and serve her right. I told her not to wear it with that orange scarf from Ebla. Is it always so quiet down here?” he asked.
Busy noises filled the open court, and the grim smile of the minister of war passed almost too quickly to be seen.
“You’ll start with the basic exercises.”
“If you say so,” Eugenides said, radiating reluctance.
“I do,” said his father.
Much later, covered in sweat, Eugenides was cursing comfortably. The stiffness of the horseback ride had been replaced by more current aches and pains. “I’d forgotten how much I hated this,” he said.
His father replied, “If you wouldn’t overwork yourself the first day, you might be less sore.”
Eugenides looked up at the sky, where the sun was clearing the top of the palace’s high wall. “It’s late,” he said, surprised. The courtyard around them was empty. Even the armorer had banked his fire and disappeared. “No wonder I want my breakfast.”
The minister of war shook his head. He’d known from the first that his youngest son, for all his complaints, had the concentration and the patience to be a great swordsman. They were the same virtues Eugenides’s grandfather had admired in him. The minister of war still regretted, privately, that his son hadn’t been willing to be a soldier and had to remind himself that Eugenides might still have lost his hand. Neither profession was a safe one.
When the queen met with her council in the map room, Eugenides attended. There were surprised looks from the members of the council, most of whom were unaware that the Thief’s reclusion had been a sham. As it was no longer possible to pretend that he was not at her service, his queen had asked him to hear the advice of her counselors for himself, rather than repeated secondhand. His official duties, however, were nebulous. He was not a minister and did not sit at the table. He settled into a seat against the wall.
By leaning forward slightly and looking between two of the men seated at the table, Eddis could watch him. Halfway through the meeting, he leaned his chair back against the map painted on the wall behind him and closed his eyes.
The maps depicted Sounis and the islands off the coast. Eddis and Attolia were represented, as well as more distant countries. The farther the countries from Eddis, the less accurate the maps. They had been painted more than a hundred years earlier and were more decorative than useful. The more useful maps were painstakingly inked on large sheets of vellum and laid out on various tables around the room.
The queen rubbed her temples and summarized the reports before her. “The cannon will not be delivered to Sounis. He has heard about the magus and knows that it was not Attolia that sabotaged his navy. His soldiers tried to seize the last delivery of grain and supplies just inside the pass. They couldn’t recover the wagons, so they ran them into the river there. I am sorry we couldn’t get those supplies up the mountain, but we have the other shipments, and we will keep the cannon.”
She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair and went on. “Sounis is going to empty his treasury to buy ships. Without our cannon, I don’t know how he will arm them except to look for an ally who will provide both ships and firepower. We can hope he won’t find one.
“Attolia has taken every advantange of her naval superiority over Sounis. I am sure you have all heard the rumors that she has retaken Chios and Sera. She’s taken Thicos as well. We could hope that this would keep her happy, but there’s no sign that she’s moving her army away from the base of the pass. The peace emissary we sent was rebuffed. There will be no trade with Attolia or with Sounis, and we can expect a hard winter.
“The late-summer windstorms will be here soon. After that, with the navies in harbors, I think we’ll need to be prepared to defend ourselves on all fronts until the winter snows close the pass.”
“The neutral islands?” someone in the council asked. “Will Attolia seize those as well?”
“It depends on how well her naval battles go and how strong she’s feeling. A neutral territory is an asset to both sides if they are evenly divided; it’s a safe harbor they don’t actually have to defend. If Attolia continues to have the upper hand, she may seize the neutrals. They’ve been warned not to resist, and we’ll hope for the best.”
“And the pirates?” another counselor asked.
“Neither side has the resources right now to patrol the sea lanes. Piracy is continuing to grow at a rate that I am sure surprises no one here.” There were a few chuckles from around the table. They weren’t surprised.
One by one, the ministers presented their reports on the distribution of the grain, the consumption of resources, the disposition of the armed forces, and the other vital statistics of her nation. When the meeting was over, they stood, bowed courteously, and left their queen to consider the information.
Eugenides remained, his chair still tipped back and his eyes still closed. Eddis sat watching him. His eyebrows were drawn together, and there was a sharp crease between them, which meant that his arm probably hurt him. He never mentioned any discomfort and snapped if anyone asked him about it. Otherwise he had grown very polite and very withdrawn. He rarely began conversation on his own, and people hesitated to speak to him when the crease in his brow deepened to a scowl, betraying the pain his arm caused him on bad days.
Eddis wasn’t sure that Eugenides still dedicated offerings to his god. Certainly no one complained to her anymore of missing earrings or other baubles. Eddis had noticed her fibula pin reappearing on Eugenides’s sleeve, but that had disappeared before he left for Attolia the final time. Eddis had heard several people, out of the Thief’s hearing, lamenting the loss of his acerbic comments on the court but found that she missed his grin more. He still smiled from time to time, his smiles sweeter for their infrequency, but he no longer grinned.
She sighed. “Attolia has an excellent advisor,” she said.
Eugenides opened one eye and then closed it again.
“Who?” he asked.
“The Medean ambassador. I’m sure he told h
er to take Thicos and to attack Cymorene. It’s not of much strategic importance to her, but it will be to the Medes if they control a territory on this side of the Middle Sea. Evidently, Attolia and the Mede are as close as you and I are rumored to be.”
“Ornon said she would have hanged me but for him,” Eugenides said. Ornon was the ambassador Eddis had sent to Attolia on her Thief’s behalf.
“You don’t remember yourself?”
Eugenides shook his head. “That part’s very hazy,” he said.
Eddis didn’t ask what memories were clearer. She could guess.
“I suppose I am indebted to him, then,” she said.
The front two legs of his chair dropped to the floor abruptly, and he opened his eyes to glare at her. She’d offended him.
“Am I supposed to wish that you were dead, Gen?” she asked.
They stared at each other. Finally he raised his chin and said, “No, you are not supposed to wish that I were dead, and no, you are not supposed to feel indebted to that Mede bastard, and no, I don’t need a lecture on self-pity, and I don’t want to hear about all the people in this country who lose their hands or their feet to frostbite every winter.”
He propped his chair back against the wall behind him and crossed his arms, looking sullen.
“Touchy today, Gen?”
He sighed. “Oh, shut up.”
“How many people in a given winter lose a hand or foot to frostbite?” she asked gently.
“Not that many. Usually it’s just the fingers and toes that go. Quite a few of those, though.”
“Galen told you?”
“Mmm-hm.”
“How tactful of him.”
Eugenides smiled painfully. “I asked him.”
Eddis smiled painfully back.
“What are you thinking when you look like that?” Eugenides asked.
“I’m thinking of murdering the queen of Attolia,” Eddis admitted.
Eugenides stood up and turned his back on her to look out one of the deeply set, narrow windows. “I hate that Mede,” he said.
“Gen, it was Attolia that cut off your hand, wasn’t it?” Eddis asked.
Eugenides shrugged. “Would we be at war if I had been hanged?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Eddis. Truthfulness made her add, “Maybe.”
“Can you deny this started the war, then?” Eugenides held up his mutilated arm.
“No.” Eddis had to concede the point. “But as I said, Attolia cut off your hand.”
“Because of the Mede,” Eugenides answered. “If he hadn’t spoken, she would have hanged me. Ornon had her angry enough to have me drawn and quartered and be done. Not,” he added, truthful in turn, “that I would have enjoyed being drawn and quartered.”
“And could the Mede have known he was inciting a war?” Eddis asked.
“Oh, yes,” said the Thief.
Eddis was quiet, looking down at the table in front of her, covered with reports on casualties and the cost of the war with Attolia. “Then I will not consider myself in his debt.” She looked over the stacks of paper that detailed her remaining resources, the size of her army, the supply of food, the ammunition. “He’s got troopships sailing in the straits,” she said. “They are like crows waiting to fall on the bodies. I wonder if Attolia knows.”
Attolia knew. She’d known before they left their own harbor that they were being provisioned to patrol her coast. She knew how many of them there were and how heavily they were manned and how many cannon they carried. She knew that her barons were as well informed. They were quiet these days, like little birds hiding in the shrubbery when the fox passes by. She was fortunate, she also knew, that the Mede emperor had sent her an ambassador who was physically as well as politically attractive. Her court knew she had short patience for flattery, and she rarely heard it, but Nahuseresh’s she accepted with smiles, delighting in the compliments he showered on her. Better than his compliments was the consternation on the faces of her barons as they watched her dipping her eyes at him and looking up from under her lashes, just the way she had seen her youngest attendants flirting with their lovers. Attolia was enjoying the Mede’s company very much. She was happy to have him think her a womanly instead of a warrior queen. When he escorted her, she was receptive to his verbal sallies, a complacent object of his suggestive caresses as he linked arms with her and held her a little closer than was appropriate. She hoped no one told Nahuseresh how she’d treated the last person who’d tried to flatter her, though perhaps if someone did, the Mede would only be more confident of his appeal.
Her attendants all agreed with her assessment of the Mede’s physical appearance. She listened to their chatter in the mornings and the evenings as they dressed her and arranged her hair. Attolia permitted them their gossip so long as they were discreet. She enjoyed their chatter, though she never took any part.
“They say the Mede has ordered a new tunic woven with gold in the thread and precious stones sewn in around the collar.”
“They say he has several sets of emeralds and his valet sews them onto whichever clothes he chooses in the morning.”
“He should buy some other stones,” Phresine said. She was the oldest of the queen’s attendants and sat by the window with a needle pinched in her lips while she arranged the hem she was darning in one of the queen’s dresses. She took the needle out. “Something that goes better with rubies,” she said, glancing over at her queen, whose rubies were being carefully braided into her hair.
It was a daring attendant who risked a sly gibe at her mistress, but there could be no doubt that Attolia smiled on the Mede, that she permitted him to hold her hands at greetings a trifle longer than was proper, that he called her “dear queen” and sometimes just “my dear.”
“Something that goes better with his beard,” said one of the younger women with a titter. Her rash words provoked an uncomfortable silence. The attendants looked to their queen.
“Chloe,” said Attolia.
“Your Majesty?”
“Go fetch something for me.”
“What would you like, Your Majesty?”
“I don’t know. Go find out.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chloe whispered, and hurried away.
The talk turned to safer topics after her departure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE COUNTRY OF EDDIS PRAYED, and as if in answer, the Etesian winds came late. Sounis used what remained of his navy to ferry his army out to the islands to defend those that he could. Attolia attacked relentlessly and secured one island after another. The Mede whispered advice in her ear, and she listened carefully. She had always been a careful listener, and it was easy for the Mede to see evidence of his advice carried out. He was an astute general, and Attolia appreciated that.
“Does she know about the ships?” Kamet asked him.
“I doubt it,” said the Mede. “What intelligence she has she directs toward her barons, trying to keep them on their leashes. She has very little vision outside her tiny country, and doesn’t seem much interested in the affairs of the wider world. I begin to think she owes her throne to the very barons she suspects of treason. I don’t know who else keeps her in power.”
“You will ask her about an embassy on Cymorene? We will need that as a staging ground.”
“I have asked her already. She is wary and has put me off, but I will win her over in time. It will be no trouble to convince her that the embassy will be small and harmless, existing only to supply the occasional messenger ship between our benevolent empire and hers.”
“We still need cause to land here on the mainland.”
“We’ll have it,” said the ambassador. “There is no need to hurry, and once we are fixed here, we will be unmovable.”
When the Etesians finally came, Sounis withdrew his troops from the islands, leaving them to defend themselves in the unlikely event that Attolia would risk her own navy by attacking during the season of windstorms. He collected his navy in his safest harbor
s and turned his attention toward his land-based enemy, Eddis. Attolia did the same.
The mountains defended Eddis better than any army could have, but there were gaps in their protection. The Irkes Forest was a stretch of pines that covered one of the gradual rises into the mountains. “When Sounis had tried to move an army through the forest, Eddis had threatened to burn the trees around them. Sounis had withdrawn. With the sea war temporarily stalled, Sounis returned to the Irkes and burned it himself and then advanced through the ashes.
The mountains were more uniform on the Attolian border. The newly forged cannon at the pass prevented Attolia’s army from attacking there. The only other access for an army was the canyon where the Aracthus River had once cut its way down the mountainside to join the Seperchia. When the Hamiathes Reservoir had been constructed, the river had been diverted to a new course and joined the Seperchia farther downstream. The former riverbed and the road that ran along it were defended by a heavily fortified gate at the bottom of the mountains, and that gate was further defended by the chasm of the Seperchia River between it and Attolia.
Unable to move an army into Eddis, Attolia sent small raiding parties up the side of the mountain under cover of darkness to attack farms in the isolated mountain valleys. Many of the farms were deserted, the men fighting in Eddis’s army, the families moved to the safety of the capital city, leaving the farms to be burned out by Attolia’s raiders.
The overabundance of sheep that had crowded the capital the winter before was gone, many of them moved back to the pastures of the coastal provinces, but many more of them slaughtered to feed the population. Offerings burned in every temple as the people prayed for the rains to come to wash their enemies off the mountains and the snows to lock them out for the winter.