“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“You said you ‘wasn’t stealing nothing.’ That’s a double negative, which implies you were stealingsomething. Do you see?”
I frowned. “You tryin’ to trick me?”
If anyone in the kitchens had heard me speaking this way, I wouldhave been struck. But the girl’s face remained calm as she watched me, head tilting to one side. She reminded me of the cats I saw patrolling the storerooms, movements sleek, eyes clever.
Did that make me the mouse?
“I am not tricking you. I am simply trying to help you be a better liar.”
“I’m no liar.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
She smiled then, and it was unlike any I had ever seen before. It was not the quiet smiles of my father or my mother’s tired half smiles. It certainly wasn’t the silly, gap-toothed grins my brother offered. No, her smile was like a secret caught around her lips, making me want to lean in closer.
As if sensing this thought, the girl turned and walked away from me. I watched her graceful strides, gown swishing around her bare feet as she approached the table where the discarded sword lay. She ran an absent finger along the length of the blade.
“So whatareyou doing here?” she asked.
“The king sent for me.”
“To eat his food?” She threw me a glance, her eyes brightening just like my brother’s did whenever he teased me.
I tried to think of a smart response, but the girl made me feel like a worm pinned beneath a stick, wriggling and helpless and stupid.
“For the king’s brother,” I said, lifting my chin a little. “Hechoseme.”
Something changed in the girl’s face then, like a shadow had fallen across it.
“Has the king’s brother summoned you before?” she asked. I shook my head. “Do you know why he has summoned you?”
“No,” I admitted, picking at a loose thread in my tunic. “It made Mama cry though.”
“It did?”
I shrugged. “Mama cries a lot.”
“You should go,” the girl said. “If you leave now, I can tell the kingyou were unwell, and I dismissed you.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because you do not want to be here.”
“I do,” I shot back. “And the king wants me here too. I’ve been chosen.”
A voice sounded from the hallway then, making us both flinch.
“I told you to bring the girlafterthe princess had been dismissed.”
“My sincerest apologies. I did not realize your daughter was still in your company, Master Icarius.” Acte’s voice trailed behind, though she sounded different. Sweeter, softer.
My back straightened as two men entered the room. I recognized one of them immediately, for though he was wearing a simple, sweat-stained tunic and tattered sandals, the king of Sparta was unmistakable.
He reminded me of the oak trees bordering the palace grounds, thick and broad and gnarled. He looked older than I expected, his gray hair cropped short, face worn. His right ear had been claimed by a scar that sliced across his face, disappearing beneath his beard. He looked more warrior than king, though in Sparta, they were often one and the same.
Beside the king was the man I guessed to be his brother, Icarius. He was tall and narrow, as if someone had taken the king and stretched him taut. Icarius wore robes of rich purple, like the gray-eyed girl, and his fingers were weighed down by jewels, chest glinting with golden pendants. Like the rest of him, his face was thin and pointed, chin dappled with a patchy beard. Unlike his brother, not a single scar marked his skin.
