Return of the Thief by Megan Whalen Turner

Author:Megan Whalen Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greenwillow Books
Published: 2020-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The next morning the king appeared to be deep in thought as he sat with his feet hooked around a stool and his head tipped forward to let Ion clip his hair. His attendants were no longer willing to let him go even to the practice field without a nicer pair of pants, an embroidered shirt, an earring in his ear. They would have powdered his hair with gold every day if he had let them. The magus watched with amusement, having come to the bedchamber to see the king prepared for the day.

Ion stepped back to study his work. “I still say it would be handsome if you let it grow long, Your Majesty.”

Ion’s careless remark caught the king’s wayward attention. His head came up. He snapped, “Teach me how to braid it with one hand, Ion, and I will grow it to my knees.”

Ion flushed and apologized.

Waving the apology and his attendants away, the king stood to leave. As he went, the magus, immune to protocol, walked along beside him. Once they were in the passageway, he said, “Still wishing for your lost hand back, Gen?”

The king, having taken Ion’s comment so badly, was unoffended by the magus’s disapproval. He shrugged. “I miss it. I’m sure everyone has something about themselves they’d like to change—to dance better, sing better, be stronger or taller.”

Xikos snickered. The king’s occasional touchiness about his height was well-known.

The king must have heard, because he said, “In Xikos’s case, be smarter than a burnt stick.” Everyone else snickered. As he started down the stairs, the king continued, saying, “But if I hadn’t lost the hand, I’d be another person entirely by now. Wishing for the hand back would be like wishing the man I already am to be replaced by some stranger. It would be wishing my own self out of existence, and who would want that?”

“Nicely reasoned,” said the magus critically. “Now tell me why you’re still snapping at your attendants.” He halted, midstep. “Oh, Gen,” he said ruthlessly. “It’s vanity.”

The king had also stopped. He hung his head. The magus laughed and laughed.

“How unfair to blame poor Ion,” he pointed out.

To everyone’s amazement, the king conceded. He said to Ion, standing above him, “Ion, I’m sorry. I was an ass and I apologize.”

Startling both the magus and the king, Ion practically leapt down the stairs. He put his arms out to blockade the way.

“Your Majesty, are you ill?” he demanded.

The king stared.

“You have been quiet this morning, and now you are being amenable.”

“And I am never quiet or amenable unless at death’s door?” said the king. “Thank you for that indictment of my character, Ion. No, I am not ill.”

Ion looked doubtful.

“By my god, I swear I am as healthy as a horse,” said the king, holding up his hand. He was smiling. Ion still didn’t move.

“It’s going to be a difficult day, Ion,” the king said more seriously. “That’s all.”

Ion was suspicious but had to let him pass.

The training court where the king practiced in the mornings was empty of Attolians when we arrived.

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