Free The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner Page B

the edge of the short cot, he stared at the ceiling. His expression of distaste was the one he had to be careful to keep off his face when on duty.
    “So you think the promotion is permanent?”
    Costis reconsidered. “No. He can’t really mean to leave me as a lieutenant. It’s all pretend and mockery, not a real promotion. I suppose he will get tired of thiseventually and I will be demoted back to squad leader. Or line soldier.”
    “Or dismissed from the Guard.”
    Costis rolled his eyes to look at his friend. Aris had said aloud what Costis had been trying not to think.
    Costis shrugged, not an easy thing to do when partly upside down. “If he’s going to do that, I wish he’d do it and get it over with instead of leaving me halfway to nothing, waiting and waiting for the fatal blow. Maybe he’s waiting until boredom kills me…or I kill ex-Lieutenant Sejanus.”
    “What? Kill our brave and clever and beautiful Sejanus?”
    “With my bare hands,” said Costis. “If he points out one more tarnished buckle or loose thread on my uniform to the king, I am going to pop his eyeballs out with my thumbs, and I don’t care how beautiful he is or how clever.”
    Aris chuckled. “Careful…remember, he’s an idol to us all.” Sejanus was wealthy and influential, and generous with his spending money. As lieutenant, he had had the admiration and envy of most of the Guard.
    Costis lifted his head to drink the last of the wine out of the cup he’d been dangling over the edge of the bed, the rim pinched in his fingers. When the wine was gone, he lowered his arm to set the cup on the floor. “He’s funny,” Costis admitted. “He can make you laughso hard it hurts.” He yawned suddenly and rubbed his face with the heels of his hands, pushing his fingers into his hair and pulling on the curls until his scalp protested. Gods, he was tired. “But underneath the jokes and the gibes and the playacting, there’s nothing there but…spite. There isn’t anything he won’t laugh at.”
    He looked at Aris. “Did you know that already?” he asked.
    “I admire him,” said Aris. “I haven’t ever liked him.” Aris shrugged. “That might be sour grapes. I am sure he doesn’t like me.”
    “Sour grapes for me, too, then,” said Costis. “You, me, and the king.”
    Aris made a face at the company he was in.
    Costis smiled. “You do have to admire him. Sejanus, I mean. Not the king, of course. He tells Hilarion, who supports the queen, that any attack on the king, even so much as a mismatched stocking, is a blow for the queen. The next day, he might tell Dionis, whose family has never supported the queen, that to ridicule the king will shame the queen as well, and somehow he is perfectly convincing.”
    “They don’t notice that he has no loyalty to either side?”
    “They don’t care.” Costis stopped to think. “Or they are afraid of the wrong side of his tongue. He can make anyone who crosses him sorry. Philologos doesn’t like all these pranks. He’s his father’s heir, not some wildyounger son, but Sejanus pulls everyone’s strings like a puppet master.”
    “Does he pull the king’s strings?”
    “The king?” Costis yawned again. “Well, he fights more than the others. He is always trying to balk Sejanus, but I swear half the time he doesn’t realize he’s doing exactly what Sejanus wants. And when he does spike him, it is by accident. Sejanus spent all night setting up some prank in the music room, and the king chose that day to walk in the garden.”
    “How angry was Sejanus?”
    “Oh, he laughed. He always laughs, even when the joke is on him.”
    “What does the king do, when the joke is on him?”
    Costis put one hand over his eyes. “First he pretends not to notice, but you can tell how angry he is because his face gives away everything. Then he summons the poor stupid guard Costis Ormentiedes and makes him wish he’d never been born.”
    “Poor Costis,” said Aris.
    “Poor Costis