The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner Read Free Book Online Page B

staircase climbed an outside wall to a small landing and a door. Costis knocked.
    Teleus was at his desk writing. There was a tray near his elbow holding bread and cheese as well as an amphora and a wine cup. Relius, the Secretary of the Archives, sat on a stool nearby with another wine cup in his hand. He nodded to Costis. Costis suppressed the shudder that went with a chill down the back of his neck. Teleus continued to write. Costis waited.
    “He’ll try again, you know,” Relius said to the Captain of the Guard, continuing the conversation Costis had interrupted. “When he is more sure of himself, he will move against us both.”
    “If we are valuable servants of the queen, she will preserve us, as she has so far,” said Teleus, checking a schedule and re-inking the nib of his pen.
    “And if we are not valuable?” Relius asked.
    “If we are not valuable, why should she defend us?” Teleus asked.
    Relius sighed. “No one could doubt our value,” he said, “but no man is indispensable. I taught her that myself. Many years ago.” He sipped his wine. “You could leave,” he suggested to Teleus.
    The captain looked up from his work. “So could you,” he responded. “But you won’t, and neither will I.” He went back to his writing.
    Relius stood and placed his wine cup on the tray. He arranged his clothes, easing the creases from the expensive material. He took a moment to smooth his already perfect hair. Then he patted Teleus’s shoulder, smiled at Costis without speaking, and left. Costis waited.
    At last Teleus put down his quill. “You were a year younger than the age limit when I accepted you. I made an exception for you, do you know why?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Another year on your uncle’s farm might have ruined you, and I didn’t want your skills to be wasted. They have been, though, haven’t they? You threw them away.”
    “I am very sorry, sir.”
    “I’d like to think a desire for justice temporarily evicted common sense, but it’s hard to justify attacking someone so incapable of defending himself, however contemptible he may be and,” he added, “howevermuch your comrades might congratulate you for it.”
    Costis opened his mouth, but found no words to speak, and anyway, Teleus held up a hand.
    “Your gear has been shifted to one of the lieutenant’s quarters. The boy will show you which one.”
    “Sir, I don’t understand.”
    “What don’t you understand, Lieutenant?”
    “How can I be a lieutenant, sir?”
    “Because you have been promoted by the king’s whim, far beyond your merits. If the king succeeds in eliminating me, you might be the next Captain of the Guard. It’s a joke, Costis. You are a joke. If you don’t want the king’s joke to be a success, then do your duty, and do it well. No doubt there are other men he will attempt to destroy. We don’t have to make it easy for him. Here is your schedule.” He pushed a paper across the desk. “You will have all the regular duty of a lieutenant as well as dancing attendance on the king. I am damned if I am going to have a lieutenant that doesn’t actually serve as one. Dismissed.”
    Out on the steps, Costis stopped to look at the schedule. He stared at the sheet in consternation. The king hadn’t needed to hang him; he would be dead of exhaustion within the month. He almost turned back to Teleus, but there was no point. His feet carried him slowly down the stairs to the barracks boy who was waiting to show him to his new quarters.

C HAPTER F OUR
    I N the morning, Costis got a better idea of what the captain had meant when he had said that the king’s sense of humor was playing itself out. Costis thought it was not humor so much as sheer vindictiveness.
    The training session with the swords was as tedious as the day before. With long, painful pauses, they practiced the early exercises over and over. Afterward, Costis hurried to clean himself in the baths and then went to present himself in the king’s