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After the dance I crept back to my closet and put down the pallet which had been left propped against the wall. I was still exhilarated, my head full of music and the marvel of the rooftop dance, and that night for the first time in weeks I had no bad dreams.

I woke early. In the palace I had been accustomed to go to my lesson with Relius at dawn, and unconscious habit must have prevailed. I dressed and made my way to the palace dining room, where the servants and less exalted visitors ate, to see if the kitchen had recovered from last night’s banquet.

Most of the people eating a very early breakfast were the kitchen staff themselves. I took my plate over to the long benches and sat down near two of the younger servants. The kitchen staff were generally polite enough with me, and though the younger ones liked to tease me, it was in a friendlier fashion than the kings’ attendants were used to.

Iole kindly brought me coffee and sat down too.

“I’m glad you made it back safely, Pheris,” she said. “Is it true that the king and queen danced on the roof last night?”

I smiled and nodded. It was true, and it was true that I had danced with a goddess, even if no-one else knew.

“It’s Baron Erondites now, isn’t it?” said Stroix. “Shouldn’t you be off a-baroning somewhere?”

I shrugged. I knew he wasn’t being serious, but in any case I could hardly give any explanations on the small slate I carried slung on a cord round my neck. I pointed at the three of them and waved at the palace around me, and they talked a little about which of the cooks had gone with the army, about the anxious time when the capital waited for news from the fighting, and rather more about the queen and the new babies.

“And now with the king back too, everything will be better,” said Elpida confidently.

“Except the whole palace is full to bursting, with the Sounisians and the Eddisians,” sighed Stroix. “We’ll be run off our feet for days.”

It was good to get back to their easy company and the familiar grumbles.

Back in the attendants’ apartments I went to look out some suitable clothes for the king. Ion had left the dance with his wife, but he was there in the waiting room as if nothing momentous had happened. He nodded to me and turned towards the door to the king’s bedroom. “It’s a little early, but we’ll see.”

Polemus was the only other attendant there. He had slept on the couch outside the king’s door, doing night duty, and he looked like it.

He regarded me with disgust. “Of all those who might have returned from the war and did not, Ion, you had to bring back the little monster,” he said.

Ion looked at me. “He’ll do well enough. And he’s Erondites now.”

“Why should I care? The old baron is dead.”

“The king might care. Watch your tongue. Pheris, get a tie for your hair and I’ll braid it. You can’t attend the king like that.” Now we were back in the palace, he meant. Ion and I had been attending the king for weeks during his stay in the new Roan territory. I wondered what Eugenides would think about returning to formality and ceremony.

I had taken my few belongings with me to the fighting, and they were still in my pack, but they were reasonably clean, if somewhat shabby and salt-stained. I found a hair tie and scuttled back.

Cleon wandered in behind me. “We had most of the news,” he said. “You know there are only the two of us now beside yourself, Ion?  Did I say that Drusis went home after we heard of his brother’s death? And Xikander is gone too. I can’t see him coming back.”

I knew Cleon had fought for Susa, alongside his brother: the family looked to Susa. Polemus had also left to join his family, but I didn’t know what happened to him, except he had returned, like Cleon, with the troops who did not harry the Mede into Roa. Both of them seemed to have escaped injury, at least.

Ion sighed. He was the senior attendant now, and I could see the weight of responsibility settling on him. While many people regarded the attendants as simply a decorative entourage of the king or an opportunity for the barons to push younger sons or nephews into favourable positions at court, in reality a fair amount of administrative work was involved. As well as the daily tasks I was familiar with, the senior attendants were the intermediaries between the king and the rest of the palace, particularly the seneschal, cook, master of ceremonies, guard captain and stable master, working with the queen’s attendants who of course were doing the same for Attolia.

“We’ll talk later. Pheris, come with me now. Cleon, you and Polemus attend this afternoon.”

“I don’t think he’s in there anyway,” said Polemus. “And we can’t manage with three. You’ll have to talk to him, Ion,” he went on obstinately. “You’re senior now, it’s your job.”

“No doubt there will be changes,” said Ion. “I won’t start by being late.”

I hurried after him. Behind us, Polemus was already making snide remarks about new husbands and new babies. I had forgotten how much I disliked him.

The king was there, sitting on the edge of the bed in his nightgown examining his boots. The servants had tidied the room and taken away the previous evening’s finery, so he couldn’t dress until his attendants brought his clothes.

I expected to be scolded, but he looked at the two of us and seemed relieved, possibly because we had been acting as his attendants since the explosion, me helping with the straps which held his arm and assisting with his dressing where another hand was necessary, and Ion combing and braiding his hair and discussing the needs of the day ahead. Neither of us was likely to attempt to discuss the previous evening or try to insist on traditional formality.

Ion had a list of people who had requested an urgent audience with the king.

“Gods, Ion, I hope most of them are sleeping off last night’s excitement, because I don’t want to talk to any of them.”

Ion smiled. “The queen has sent to say breakfast is to be served on the terrace.”

“I know. At least we’ll be eating on dry land.” Stamping his feet into his boots, he stood up to lead the way out, and we prepared to follow. He turned to me.

You danced with a goddess.

He shook his head, marvelling. Obviously he remembered the night perfectly well, though he had signed so Ion wouldn’t understand.

I smiled and shrugged. I hardly believe it either.

Looking at the breakfast table laden with carefully arranged food, I thought I could probably bear to be back in the palace after all. The queen was sitting surrounded by her attendants, and two nursemaids watched over the babies, both of whom seemed to be asleep, to my relief. The sun was already bright, and the terrace overlooked the gardens, where hopefully I would soon have a chance to walk again.

The king picked up an orange and contemplated it thoughtfully. He turned to look at me, and I prepared to duck, but he decided instead to eat it. We had not seen much fruit in the past few weeks, but supplies had obviously reached the palace, however much the country had suffered from the war.

“Local fruit is easy enough at this season,” said the queen, guessing Eugenides’ thoughts. “The farmers are back; it has only to be picked. Other food has been more difficult, of course, but prices are finally coming down now we no longer have to supply the army, and we’ve been able to ship in grain from Sounis.” She surveyed the table. “Of course some of this is left from last night. They made a special effort for your return.”

“So I should hope,” said the king complacently. “The Roans were less than generous about supplying us. Of course,” he added, “the Mede had taken much of their stores.”

“Taken, or bought?”

“Bought, apparently. But when it comes to it you can’t eat coin. There’s been a lot of fish.”

“I hope this new territory will prove useful for more than just fish.”

“It will,” said Eugenides. “It consolidates all the land to where the Lusimina flows from the mountains and gives you control over the Leonyla valley. The new fort will be extra protection for Stinos, and you can think of improving the harbours at Nedus or Mesithilia to make a more useful port there as well.”

Attolia knew all this, of course. “Nonetheless it will be difficult to persuade some of the ministers that the money is worth spending. Not to mention the greater patronoi.”

“Ion tells me some of both have requested meetings. I shall refer them to you.”

“Coward. But they can’t be allowed to try to use you against me. We should speak to them jointly.”

“Or at least get our story straight,” said the king. “I can deal with them if I know what you want to say.”

“That’s all very well, but you should spend time with the children as well.”

“When I get the chance,” said the king, scowling at Ion. “And maybe when they’re not sleeping all the time.”

Ion in turn smiled at the queen.

“Thank you, your Majesty, for allowing us the apartment, especially when the palace is so full.”

That explained it. The queen had given Ion and Zenia a room in the palace. Which left me alone with Cleon and Polemus. At least I had my closet.

“Where are those slugabeds anyway?” said Eugenides. He looked round. “Pheris, go and roust them out.”

 I knew where Sounis and Eddis would be accommodated, so I made my way through the palace until I came to the guards on the door. Luckily they knew who I was, and when I indicated that I wanted to go in, one of them tapped at the door. A young man in the livery of Sounis appeared.

“One of the king’s attendants for you,” said the guard briskly. “He can’t speak.”

The attendant looked at me. “Is this a joke?”

The guard, fortunately, was polite. “It might be the king’s joke. He can be like that. But yes, this is one of the king’s attendants. I’d suggest you let him in.”

Trying to be helpful, I mimed writing a message, reaching for my slate, but the attendant stepped back anyway. I followed him into the outer lobby.

“All right then. Wait here.” He vanished into the inner room without waiting for me to write anything.

Eventually Sophos emerged, followed by the attendant.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Not so much a joke, Sontos, as a reminder. No need for a message.”  He turned to me. “Hello, Pheris, I’m glad to see you back at work. Please advise their Majesties that we did indeed receive their invitation to breakfast and will be joining them shortly. You might perhaps also mention that the queen of Eddis prefers a later start to the day at present.”

I bowed politely and left, smiling.

By lunchtime it almost felt as if we had never been away from the palace. Eugenides was full of energy and dealt briskly with ministers, ambassadors and barons, boasting that he could get through at least half Ion’s list that morning. Ion kept discreet notes for the king, while I was sent to fetch papers, maps or people as required. Eugenides had not forgotten his new fluency with my signs, and found them a useful way of giving additional private instructions when he wanted to. Ion had also learned a little in the past few weeks, though he never attempted to sign himself.

Lunch was also taken on the terrace, and was a little more formal than breakfast, except that Eddis sat bolstered by cushions with her feet on another chair while Sophos hovered attentively. Eugenides talked about the arrangements he had made for the returning soldiers and those left at the new fort, and heard about the tentative plans for making the Charter of the Three States a reality.

Eddis declared she was more comfortable on the terrace, where there was a reasonable breeze, and accordingly the table was cleared so the monarchs could continue their discussions.

Polemus and Cleon came to attend. Ion went back to write up his notes, while I crossed the courtyard to check on Snap, who had travelled back on the Sapphire with us, and see my friend the stable master, who had come back overland with those soldiers who had not remained in Roa.

“Your pony’s doing fine, pleased to see her friends again I reckon,” he said. “Come in and see my wife. She’s been baking.”

Later that afternoon I made my way back up to the attendants’ apartments, carrying a packet of small cakes Taria had given me. The palace was busy with visitors, and the corridors were filled with servants, attendants, messengers and guards as well as courtiers. As I came to the ceremonial staircase leading to the royal apartments there was a commotion ahead and two young pages ran down the stairs ahead of me, eeling through the crowd, apparently fleeing the two older pages who hurtled after them, far less inconspicuously. One of these older boys caught my shoulder and I stumbled forward, dropping the package and spilling cakes across the floor. He grabbed at my arm.

“Out of the way, idiot!” He slammed me back into the wall, and I tried to avoid his fist, but the other pursuer pulled him off.

“Not here!” There were too many people about. In any case I thought they would probably not hurt me badly; I was only too recognisable as the king’s youngest attendant.

He contented himself with giving me a sharp kick in the shins. “He did that deliberately.”

“Of course he didn’t, you fool! But it’s too late now anyway.” They trod the cakes into the floor and went off, giving up the chase. I went to find a servant with a broom, trying not to limp more than usual.

******

Back in the apartments I decided to change my shirt, which undeniably smelled of horse. I heard Cleon and Polemus return, and went to find out the arrangements for the evening’s attendance. It seemed the king had sent his attendants away after the afternoon meeting, wanting to spend time with the queen and the babies.

Seeing me, Polemus pushed past me into my closet, took my slate from where it lay on the pallet, and dropped it out of the ventilation window into the airshaft.

I flung myself at him, absolutely furious. “Gods, Polemus, what are you doing?” said Cleon, drawn to the commotion. He pulled me away.

“He attacked me, you saw that!”

“What, for no reason at all?”

“I threw that slate out. He’s precious little use anyway, but without it he’s completely worthless. It’s no good trying to go on like this, Cleon, the king has to get more proper attendants!”

“And you thought this would be a good way of showing him that?” Cleon gave Polemus a hard buffet around the head. “All right, Pheris, we can get you another slate.” He shoved Polemus along the passageway. “Ion, talk to this idiot.”

I ignored them, turning back into the closet. I was trying not to cry. All my fears about the changes in my life were filling my head, and I couldn’t seem to breathe. I had been trying to make myself more useful, and almost convinced myself I was succeeding, but when I thought of this afternoon’s incident and how helpless I was, and what a pathetic attendant I made even with my slate, I knew Polemus was right. The king would send me away, would pack me off to my unknown Erondites family and tell me to be a baron. I would have no protection at all outside the palace, and I would be completely vulnerable to attack from any grasping greedy baron who thought they could use me or kill me for political gain. And I would never see the king again.

Stop it, Pheris. You’re being ridiculous. It’s a slate. There are other slates. And you have to be a baron eventually.

I thought about ways to kill Polemus.

I went to wash my face and make a plan. Probably not to kill Polemus, though I would certainly make him suffer.

I went back to see if Ion had done my work for me, but he was alone.

“You and I will attend the king this evening,” he said. “We’ll draw up a schedule tomorrow.”

He checked me over to see I was neat enough, and we went to assist Eugenides to dress for the evening meal. Fortunately there was no formal entertainment that night and I got back to the waiting room at a reasonable hour. Polemus, playing cards with Cleon, looked up as I came in.

“All right, Pheris? You understand, don’t you? We need to get some proper arrangements sorted out. You’re not really an attendant.” At least he didn’t call me monster.

I understood he was a stupid, thoughtless, lazy excuse for a king’s attendant. Ion and I had been Eugenides’ sole attendants for weeks, ever since the explosion, through the end of the fighting, in Roa and on shipboard: a long, difficult time for everyone. I felt as if I had been a naïve child before the war, before I saw what war meant, saw the death and despair, and before I followed the king into the Mede camp. Now I was a baron and beginning to understand how much I had to learn and how unprepared I was. But as an attendant I was less useless than some.

I glowered at him and went to bed.

Between the aches and pains from the pages that afternoon and my troubled mind I slept badly. Eventually I dressed and went out. I crept past the attendant on night duty – Polemus again, I was not displeased to see – and the guards acknowledged me silently. Outside it was growing lighter, and I thought I would go and talk to Snap, if no-one else was around to stop me.

I had calmed down a little. I knew someone would get me a new slate eventually. But I didn’t want the king or anyone else important to notice how useless I was without it and perhaps decide it was time to make me into a baron. I wanted to stay at the palace, at least for a while. I needed a breathing space and a chance to get to grips with my new situation. I also didn’t want Polemus to get in more trouble than I already planned for him. I had decided he was mostly stupid rather than completely malicious. I’d  forgotten how much bullying and casual unkindness I used to experience in the palace. I wasn’t going to tolerate more of that, certainly not from the likes of Polemus.

Snap greeted me, surprised by such an early visit, and I rubbed her head the way she liked. My thoughts were still whirling insistently. My first tutor had given me my slate, and I wasn’t sure where to find another, especially since it would need a hole punched for the cord. Or perhaps a frame or maybe a bag to hold it would do. But then the bag would need a cord as well. In the meantime I could carry paper, of course, but not ink. Parchment would be better, if I could get some, because I could scratch messages with a stylus, but it was hardly ideal.

I wondered where the airshaft ended, and if the slate could have survived being dropped through, but it wasn’t light enough to go looking.

Snap nudged me, looking for treats which I didn’t have. A couple of stable boys arrived, greeting me casually, and I thought the stable master might be up by now, who might know how to help, except I had no way to explain the problem.

In the end I went back to my closet and wrote out a couple of sentences on paper that I could show to him, or perhaps Teleus. I had thought of Kamet, who had been so kind to me, but I was shy, and also wasn’t sure he would know the palace well enough. I could ask Teleus, if I nerved myself. He would help in a disinterested way and not make any fuss. But back in the palace he was very much the captain of the royal guard, rather than Relius’ lover who liked to tease me and had grieved with me. Probably Marcius would be best. And his wife would be kind and make me breakfast and talk about her daughters and grandchildren and maybe give me a hug.

Grow up, Pheris.

I went to get my breakfast in the servants’ dining hall.

Someone thunked a plate down and came to sit next to me. It was one of the two young pages from the previous day. His friend came to sit on my other side.

“Pheris, isn’t it?” said the first boy. “That’s Austus, I’m Tarus.”

They were probably only around my age, maybe even younger. I sighed and indicated I couldn’t speak.

“We know that,” said Austus. “You’re quite famous around here, you know.”

Stroix brought my coffee over. “Watch out for these two,” he said to me with a grin, and went off again.

“How do you do that?” said Austus in mock amazement at Stroix’ kindness.

I tried to mime my imbalance and deficient liquid carrying skills, and they laughed.

“Hey, thanks for yesterday. Those two are a menace.”

I grinned and nodded.

“They didn’t give you too much bother, did they?” said Tarus a little anxiously.

I shook my head, frustrated beyond measure by the lack of any means of communication.

“Can’t you talk at all? How do you manage?”

I mimed again.

“You have signs? Like secret signs, not like the military ones? That’s brilliant! How do you say coffee? Bread? Cakes?”

They experimented, laughing.

“But what do you do if it’s someone who can’t read them? I guess the king can read them, that’s amazing. But what about us?”

Then I showed them the first sentence I had written out earlier.

“You lost your slate?”

I took chalk from my pocket and did more dumb show.

“I get it,” said Austus, “you have a slate like when you learn to read.”

I turned the paper over and tried using the chalk, feeling a bit of an idiot for not thinking of it before.

It wasn’t ideal. Soptis and Tersos are famous too took up a lot of the page, but it made them laugh again.

“So maybe it’s not just because we are the queen’s okloi pages,” said Tarus.

I made a sympathetic face. I was sure that was not fun. I didn’t know the queen had taken on okloi pages, but it made sense; it was an ambition of hers to improve opportunities for the okloi.

“When will you get another slate? Will you teach us your signs? What happened, did it get broken?”

Dropped in airshaft.

Their turn to wince.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t an accident,” said Tarus. “Maybe we could find where it comes out? Would it be broken though?”

I realised it was time to go.

Sorry, work, I wrote.

“Yes, us too,” said Austus, not sounding terribly concerned about it. “When are you free again? We could look for the slate.”

“You’d think an airshaft would go up, not down,” said Tarus thoughtfully.

“Yes, idiot, but there must be a base level!”

I grinned, thinking about asking the king, who might well know. His attendants were aware there were secret passages in the palace, but a discreet pretence of ignorance was maintained. For many reasons, it was better not to enquire.

I went to the king’s dressing feeling much better, even smiling a little, because Austus had given me an idea. When there was an opportunity I wrote another sentence on my paper, and later I showed it to Imenia.

“Oh dear, did you break your slate, Pheris? Yes, I can certainly have a look around the nursery for you.”

At lunchtime she gave me a largish slate in a wooden frame, complete with a piece of sponge, a pencil strung on the frame, and a bag to keep them all in.

“Look after this, won’t you. They’re not cheap, you know. Here’s some cord you can attach to the bag if you like.”

I nodded and thanked her, grateful and relieved. I could easily sling the bag around me, leaving my hands free. The king hadn’t said anything that morning and had sent me on an errand or two, and I had managed without too much embarrassment, but now I could be more efficient again.

After the king’s meal I was again free. I got my own lunch and went to sit on the low wall outside the kitchen door, a sunny spot popular with many of the servants. Coming across the yard to get his own meal, Cleon stopped and casually told me that Ion had put Polemus on night duty for a week. I showed him my new slate and he nodded.

“Good. Ion says you’ve been helpful. We’ll see how it goes, I suppose. He wants us for five minutes before the king’s dressing tonight, so make sure you’re there.”  He went off. The senior attendants preferred the less dusty setting of the dining room and the company of the queen’s indentured, who were fellow patronoi.

I went through the yard to the kitchen gardens, looking for snails or other potentially useful creatures for my revenge on Polemus. The new slate bag would come in handy, I thought.

That evening, Ion called us into the waiting room.

“Eddis and Sounis are leaving tomorrow. Apparently they want to be in Sounis for the birth.”

“So? They’d better get moving then,” said Cleon, who was not noted for his sensitivity.

“Eddis told the king the goddess had spoken to her.” Ion, always discreet, didn’t add any detail. “The winds are favourable; the Sapphire is ready; they’ll take ship and be in Sounis in days. There’ll be no formal farewell. Pheris and I will attend this evening, then in the morning we’ll all ride with the king and queen when they escort Eddis and Sounis to the ship. Their attendants will go with them. The rest of their patronoi will follow by land. The kitchens and guards have been told. Pheris, you know Marcius, make sure he knows all these details.”

I nodded, hiding a smile. The stable master could be irascible if he was asked to ready several dozen horses at a moment’s notice. But I thought perhaps my plans for Polemus would have to be put off for a day.

At the king’s dressing that evening Eugenides took less interest than usual in his clothes. “Just get me a different coat, Pheris, there’s no formality tonight.”

I wondered how long it would be before he was arguing again with Ion about the dullness of the clothing required to match his dignity. I fetched a fresh shirt and sash as well in case he changed his mind, or Ion insisted his dignity required it.

When I returned he was discussing the arrangements for the morning with Ion.

“Sounis is leaving one of his attendants for us. A new Perminder.” Ion nodded soberly. There had been so many deaths, and so many pyres. Uncounted men from the Little Peninsula had been lost or wounded. Of the king’s attendants Hilarion, Philologos, Lamion, Sotis, Xikos, Verix and Perminder had all been killed, either by the explosion or subsequent fighting. Motis and Dionis died at Naupent. Two shiploads of wounded had been sent back to Attolia, while many less seriously hurt travelled by wagon, and the king himself carried the dreadful reminders of Bu-seneth’s torture. The rejoicing over the charter and the birth of the children had made a break with the horrors of the war, but the loss and sorrow remained, and the nightmares.

“There are nursemaids everywhere I turn. I don’t want dozens of you constantly underfoot.” Or worse, fomenting treachery, I thought. “And enough young men have died in my service.” I bit my lip, and even Ion winced.

“We may need one or two more men,” said Ion tentatively.

“We’ll see,” said Eugenides, and Ion sensibly left the matter.

On our way out of the king’s bedroom later that evening Ion stopped me.

“Pheris. You are a senior attendant, and you may do as you wish, naturally, but I strongly suggest you do not persecute Polemus. He is thoughtless, unintelligent and fundamentally lazy, but we have to work with him.”

I was astonished. I respected Ion, of course, who had been kind to me in his own way, and I had come to know him better recently, but I had not thought of him as a particularly observant man. I knew I was higher in rank than the others, but had never considered this might have any practical advantage. And people almost never appealed to my better nature. Hardly anyone would consider I possessed such a thing.

I must have looked as dumbfounded as I felt.

“Had you not realised? You are a baron, and you outrank every one of us, as indeed you did before as Erondites’ heir, though you were too young to understand. I’m senior attendant now, and I’m going to make Cleon my second, since he has the experience, and while we don’t know what the king intends for you I doubt you’ll be an attendant forever. Nevertheless you are a senior. And you should move out of that closet.”

He left for his own apartment, and I went to my bed, still somewhat dazed.

Sadly I discovered that despite my best efforts at fastening up the bag nearly all the snails had escaped.

******

The next day I was pleased to see Tarus and Austus again at breakfast and went to join them. I showed them the new slate.

Got it from the palace nursery, I wrote.

“It is rather stylish,” said Austus with a grin. “If a bit sticky.”

I grabbed it back. Sorry! It’s snails.

“Snails? In the royal nurseries?” said Tarus, a little shocked.

I grinned and explained how I had used the bag. They can move faster than you might think. One got as far as the king’s coats.

It took me the rest of breakfast to write out the story. They laughed quite a lot, and we were all nearly late for our duties.

******

Cleon and I had hastily cleared a cell for the new Sounisian attendant, who was the young man I had met previously. He was extremely polite, even to me, but very new to attending.

“Just as well,” said Cleon to me privately. “Any experienced attendant wouldn’t think much of these cells.” There was a rumour the queen intended to have the royal apartments remodelled, and that the guards would have their own waiting room. Whether it was true or not, it gave me an excuse to avoid moving, for the time being at least. I didn’t want the others mocking me because I continued to write my journals, carefully copying the notes I had made during the fighting into the journals Relius had given me, even though no-one would read them now.

I was glad to have the friendship of the two pages, and I thought they liked having someone their own age to sympathise with their situation. The queen had appointed four okloi pages, but the other two were a year or so older, Tarus and Austus being the youngest of all the pages. The page master was not in favour of innovation and did little or nothing to discourage bullying.

They were philosophical about it. “We’ll get bigger,” said Tarus. “And there’s things we can do, now you’ve given us some ideas.”

“Yes, Pheris, you’re a bad influence,” said Austus. “And at least we get to go home when we want.” As with the king’s attendants, there were few restrictions on the pages outside their duty hours, although they had to inform the page master if they left the palace. “When can you escape? Are you working every evening still?”

******

That summer after the war brought changes in many lives. The king and queen of Attolia were now extraordinarily popular, as peace returned, the markets were filled with goods and the normal life of the capital resumed. With the birth of the children and the signing of the charter the future of the Little Peninsula seemed unusually secure.

Political alliances in all the Middle Sea were shifting as countries reacted to the defeat of the hitherto invincible Mede, whose empire was increasingly riven by internal conflict following the rumours of the emperor’s ill-health. As annux of the Little Peninsula, the king was negotiating a new relationship with several neighbouring countries, while the queen concentrated on economic recovery and the necessary adjustments with Eddis and Sounis.

I remained in the palace, but I felt more secure and confident now than before the war. In my free time I rode Snap up to the temple complex above the palace or down to the sea without worrying too much about being harassed. My relationship with the other attendants was easier: no-one taunted or threatened me much now. And I had friends my own age. They quickly learned to sign: it felt like our own private language. Sometimes we managed to go out of the palace together; to their homes; to the games; to watch the horse races; or down to the docks, where Austus, whose family were wealthy shipowners, talked knowledgeably about the ships and asked me about the Sapphire.

I showed them the draft of the letter I was trying to write to my Erondites grandmother, the old baron’s widow, as I had promised Sejanus. Even if they couldn’t offer much advice, it was good to hear that I wasn’t saying anything completely ridiculous. I had very little experience of writing letters.

Susa came to tell me that my father was dead; an infected wound suffered in the fighting. I nodded and thanked him, but I couldn’t think of anything more to say and he didn’t seem to expect it. It had happened weeks before, and Susa had not been there: I supposed Marina had lit the pyre.

I told the king I’d written to my grandmother. “Good,” he said. “That should deflect Susa for a while.” He told me Susa had been to see him, suggesting that he took me under his wing. “Encroaching,” said Eugenides. “He knows very well that you’re to be brought up here in the palace.”

The king himself had written to Dite, he said, which was a relief to me because I felt that it excused me from another awkward letter. I didn’t know Dite at all, and I had no idea how to send a letter to Ferria.

Then there was the morning when Cleon and I went in for the king’s dressing and Eugenides was standing in his nightgown reading. A messenger must already have come to the king; a very unusual and potentially worrying occurrence.

He looked up. He folded the message again and gave it to me. “Pheris. Fetch Teleus. Run.”

I did my best. I knew where Teleus would be at this early hour, probably why Eugenides had sent me rather than Cleon – walking out to the guards’ training yard, making sure all was ready for their morning training. His presence was hardly required, of course; the centurions were responsible for organising their men at early practice; but Teleus felt it important to oversee his men whenever possible.

I caught him just before he reached the yard.

Urgent. From the king.

He turned back into his quarters, and I followed in case there was a reply.

He read the message and sat suddenly on the edge of the bed.

“Pheris!” He looked up, caught my arm and pulled me to sit beside him. “Oh, Pheris.” He held the message out and I read it, Teleus’ arm heavy around my shoulder.

I read it again.

Teleus hugged me, and I leaned against him. It was hard to take in.

He’s really alive?

“I don’t think there’s any possible mistake,” said Teleus. He too was rereading the message over and over.

The door was closed. I cried on Teleus’ shoulder, and he on mine.

“It’ll be a while before he’s back,” said Teleus.

I hope he is well.

“Yes. A difficult time,” said Teleus, who had never treated me as a child. “We can hope.”

Months of imprisonment, for a man who had already suffered in Attolian dungeons. We looked at each other, not needing to say anything more.

Then we stood up, and I led him to the king.

Eugenides was dressed, and Cleon had gone. The queen was there, dressed but with her hair still in its nighttime braid. She held out her hand for the message impatiently, almost snatching it from Teleus.

“I did come to tell you,” said Eugenides in self-justification. “This is all we know. The message came in overnight with the courier, but the ship had been delayed in the Neutral Islands.”

“So we have no idea whether he has been released yet.” The queen turned to me. “Pheris. Tell the Pent ambassador to attend me immediately.”

“After breakfast,” suggested the king, and directed me to the desk. “Teleus, you’ll eat with us.”

 I found pen and paper to write a suitable formal message, while the queen looked around for an attendant.

“Pheris will make the arrangements and let Phresine know,” said the king. “Perhaps you might like to finish dressing.” He reached out to touch her hair.

“Yes, yes, very well,” said Attolia.

Then she looked at me and smiled.

“Relius will see a change in all of us, but most of all in you, Pheris.”

Embarrassed, I took the message and hastened out to deliver it.

Behind me, I heard the king’s voice, which he didn’t bother to lower.

“Yes, who knows, one of these days he might even be quite a useful attendant.”