entrances.
The king followed the path that ran along the balustrade. A summer wind twisted dust into spirals that blew against the stone wall below the garden and disintegrated as the wind was deflected upward. Some of the dust rose as high as the garden and made Costis’s eyes burn. The king turned away from the wind toward the maze. Waiting there, in the space before an archedentryway, were a squad of guardsmen, the Guard Captain, and, surrounded by the guards, Erondites the Younger.
Costis knew him on sight. Dite’s path had crossed the king’s before, and Costis had seen him often. He was much like his brother, Sejanus, though he wore his dark hair long and curled in the fashion of the elite young men of the queen’s court. He was elegantly dressed in an ornamented open coat, but he had his hands in his pockets, and looked simultaneously contemptuous and afraid.
“Hello, Dite,” said the king. Costis was behind him, and could only hear the smile in Eugenides’s voice, not see it in his face. Costis winced. The king had found someone else lower in the pecking order than Costis himself. He had needed only to ask Relius, the Secretary of the Archives and the queen’s master of spies, who wrote “The King’s Wedding Night.” Relius would have known who was responsible for publicly insulting the king.
“I thought we should talk,” said Eugenides.
Costis exchanged glances with the guard beside him, then looked away.
“About what, Your Majesty?” Dite was going to try to brazen it out. Costis wished he wouldn’t. It was only going to make a scene that promised to be very, very ugly take even longer. Dite was a fool. He might have been immune, as the heir to a powerful baron, buteveryone knew he wouldn’t get any protection from his father. And if his own father wouldn’t bring a complaint to the throne about the treatment of his son, no one else could.
“Why, about that very amusing song you wrote.” Before Dite could deny it, the king turned to Teleus. “You have guards at the rest of the entrances. You’ve cleared it?”
Teleus nodded, and the king turned back.
“We can have a private talk, Dite.”
“I still don’t know what about, Your Majesty.”
“Well. The errors in your representation, for a beginning. There were a few, you know. I’m sure you’ll want to present a factual account once you hear the details.” The king paused, to be sure he had Dite’s full attention. He did. He had the undivided attention of every man around him. “She cried.”
Dite recoiled. “Your Majesty, I don’t—”
“Want to hear this? Why not, Dite? Don’t you want to put it into your song? The queen wept on her wedding night. Surely you can find rhymes for that? Walk with me, and I can tell you more.”
“Your Majesty, please,” Dite said, shaking. “I’d rather not hear more. If you would excuse me.” The whole court knew he was in love with the queen. The whole country knew it. He took a step backward, but Teleus stood directly behind him and blocked any escape.
The king slid an arm that ended in a shiny silver hook to the middle of Dite’s back and gently but firmly forced him through the archway. “Walk with me, Dite,” he insisted.
Costis was left with the rest of the guardsmen, breathing unevenly through teeth that were clenched so hard they hurt.
“Bastard,” someone behind him hissed.
“He should worry about being assassinated,” said another man.
“Steady,” said Teleus.
“Captain…,” the guard protested.
“Shut up,” Teleus snarled.
No one spoke after that.
Dite and the king walked for half an hour in the garden. When they returned, Dite looked subdued, but surprisingly calm.
Once through the archway, he turned and dropped to his knees in front of Eugenides, who said amiably, “Get up, Dite.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Have lunch with me tomorrow?”
Dite looked up from a surreptitious check of the dirt smudges on the knees of his fine
The king followed the path that ran along the balustrade. A summer wind twisted dust into spirals that blew against the stone wall below the garden and disintegrated as the wind was deflected upward. Some of the dust rose as high as the garden and made Costis’s eyes burn. The king turned away from the wind toward the maze. Waiting there, in the space before an archedentryway, were a squad of guardsmen, the Guard Captain, and, surrounded by the guards, Erondites the Younger.
Costis knew him on sight. Dite’s path had crossed the king’s before, and Costis had seen him often. He was much like his brother, Sejanus, though he wore his dark hair long and curled in the fashion of the elite young men of the queen’s court. He was elegantly dressed in an ornamented open coat, but he had his hands in his pockets, and looked simultaneously contemptuous and afraid.
“Hello, Dite,” said the king. Costis was behind him, and could only hear the smile in Eugenides’s voice, not see it in his face. Costis winced. The king had found someone else lower in the pecking order than Costis himself. He had needed only to ask Relius, the Secretary of the Archives and the queen’s master of spies, who wrote “The King’s Wedding Night.” Relius would have known who was responsible for publicly insulting the king.
“I thought we should talk,” said Eugenides.
Costis exchanged glances with the guard beside him, then looked away.
“About what, Your Majesty?” Dite was going to try to brazen it out. Costis wished he wouldn’t. It was only going to make a scene that promised to be very, very ugly take even longer. Dite was a fool. He might have been immune, as the heir to a powerful baron, buteveryone knew he wouldn’t get any protection from his father. And if his own father wouldn’t bring a complaint to the throne about the treatment of his son, no one else could.
“Why, about that very amusing song you wrote.” Before Dite could deny it, the king turned to Teleus. “You have guards at the rest of the entrances. You’ve cleared it?”
Teleus nodded, and the king turned back.
“We can have a private talk, Dite.”
“I still don’t know what about, Your Majesty.”
“Well. The errors in your representation, for a beginning. There were a few, you know. I’m sure you’ll want to present a factual account once you hear the details.” The king paused, to be sure he had Dite’s full attention. He did. He had the undivided attention of every man around him. “She cried.”
Dite recoiled. “Your Majesty, I don’t—”
“Want to hear this? Why not, Dite? Don’t you want to put it into your song? The queen wept on her wedding night. Surely you can find rhymes for that? Walk with me, and I can tell you more.”
“Your Majesty, please,” Dite said, shaking. “I’d rather not hear more. If you would excuse me.” The whole court knew he was in love with the queen. The whole country knew it. He took a step backward, but Teleus stood directly behind him and blocked any escape.
The king slid an arm that ended in a shiny silver hook to the middle of Dite’s back and gently but firmly forced him through the archway. “Walk with me, Dite,” he insisted.
Costis was left with the rest of the guardsmen, breathing unevenly through teeth that were clenched so hard they hurt.
“Bastard,” someone behind him hissed.
“He should worry about being assassinated,” said another man.
“Steady,” said Teleus.
“Captain…,” the guard protested.
“Shut up,” Teleus snarled.
No one spoke after that.
Dite and the king walked for half an hour in the garden. When they returned, Dite looked subdued, but surprisingly calm.
Once through the archway, he turned and dropped to his knees in front of Eugenides, who said amiably, “Get up, Dite.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Have lunch with me tomorrow?”
Dite looked up from a surreptitious check of the dirt smudges on the knees of his fine
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