‘He has never pretended otherwise,’ said Damen.
He looked at her, alone on the low couch. He couldn’t help but remember the day they met. She had been presented to his father, daughter of a minor noble from Aegina, and he had been able to look nowhere else. It was three months of courtship before she was in his arms.
He said, ‘You chose a man who was bent on destroying his own country. You chose my brother, and look where it’s left you. You have no position, no friends. Even your own women have turned on you. Don’t you think it’s a shame things had to end this way between us?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Kastor should have killed you.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BECAUSE HE COULDN’T put Jokaste in a sack and carry her bodily across the border into Kastor’s territory, the journey presented certain logistical challenges.
In order to justify two wagons and an entourage, they would be pretending to be cloth merchants. This disguise was not going to stand up to any serious scrutiny. There would be bolts of cloth in the wagons. There would also be Jokaste. Stepping out into the courtyard, she looked at the preparations with the sort of calm that said she would cooperate wholly with Damen’s plans, and then, given the first opportunity, smile and wreck them.
The real problem was not even the disguise. It was getting past the border patrols. ‘Cloth merchants’ might help them travel unimpeded inside Akielos, but it would not get them past border sentries. It would certainly not get them past border sentries who—Damen was quite sure—had already been alerted to the possibility of their coming by Jokaste. Damen spent two fruitless hours with Nikandros trying to plot a course that could sneak two wagons across the border without alerting patrols, and another fruitless hour alone staring at the map, until Laurent wandered in and outlined a plan so outrageous that Damen had said yes with the feeling that his mind was splitting apart.
They were taking the best of their soldiers, those elite few who had excelled in the games: Jord who had won short sword, Lydos of the trident, Aktis the spear thrower, the young, triple-crowned Pallas, Lazar, who had whistled at him, and a handful of their best spear throwers and swordsmen. Laurent’s addition to the expedition was Paschal, and Damen tried not to think too deeply about the reasons why Laurent thought it necessary to bring a physician.
And then, ludicrously, Guion. Guion could use a sword. Guion’s guilt made him more likely to fight for Damen than anyone else. And if the worst happened, Guion’s testimony had the potential to bring down the Regency. Laurent had said all of this succinctly, and told Guion, in a pleasant voice, ‘Your wife can chaperone Jokaste on the journey.’
Guion had understood more quickly than Damen. ‘I see. My wife is the leverage for my good behaviour?’
‘That’s right,’ said Laurent.
Damen watched from a second-storey window as they gathered in the courtyard:
two wagons, two noblewomen, and twelve soldiers of whom ten were soldiers and two were Guion and Paschal in metal hats.
He himself was dressed in the humble white cloth of a traveller, with a wrist-gauntlet of leather strapped over the gold cuff. He was waiting for Laurent to arrive in order to discuss the finer points of his ridiculous plan. Damen picked up a glazed pitcher of wine in order to pour it into one of the waiting shallow cups.
‘Did you learn the rotation of the border patrols?’ said Laurent.
‘Yes, our scouts found—’
Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton.
Damen dropped the pitcher.
It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor.
Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him.
‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen.
‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent.
Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table.
‘Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we’ll know when to approach,’ said Laurent.
Laurent sat down.
‘We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.’
It was even shorter sitting down.
‘Damen.’
‘Yes. Sorry,’ said Damen. And then: ‘What were you saying?’