Peithon forced a smile. ‘Here is your silver. I am pleased you have brought this to my attention. Never fear, Alastor. This misunderstanding will be cleared up.’

‘Lord.’ The steward bowed and departed.

Peithon wondered if he had left any loose ends. He had carefully cultivated strong alliances with the merchants, who stood to benefit as much as he did from their arrangements. He murmured names and considered each man in turn. Who would betray him? Who would stand to benefit?

He decided it was time to see the king.

Peithon found the king and his queen out on the Orange Terrace, sitting on the stone benches and staring out to sea. Their heads were close together; they stopped speaking when he approached.

Markos smiled and stood, fixing a warm expression of welcome on his closest adviser. Although stooped, he still had the frame of a warrior, and there was no thinning of his thick, curly white hair. His matching beard covered his mouth but didn’t hide the small scar on his left cheek.

Peithon remembered when the king had taken that wound, long ago in the war against Tanus. Once they had both been young men, strong and invincible, with the athletic builds of the world’s finest warriors. Markos had been ten years Peithon’s senior, but a strong friendship had grown. He remembered how close they had been then.

Now Markos’s shoulders were hunched while Peithon’s muscle had run to fat. Time had passed. This world was a different place.

‘Peithon,’ the king said. ‘Please, sit with us.’

The queen didn’t stand, nor did she speak or smile. Over time Thea had poisoned the king against Peithon, and she now had her husband’s ear, whispering slurs against him, the king’s most loyal companion. Peithon felt rage build within him, both at Thea and her policy of befriending the disgusting creatures who had robbed him of a bride, and at Markos, who appeared to have forgotten the strong bond they once shared. He suddenly wanted to hurt them, to make them acknowledge that he deserved to be more than a glorified merchant.

Peithon remained standing. ‘King Markos, Queen Thea, I heard the news. The sacking of Orius was only the beginning, I fear.’

‘Word travels fast,’ Thea murmured.

‘You won’t sit?’ Markos asked, returning to his seat.

‘No, sire. It seems that I have many tasks ahead of me if we are to prepare for what might come.’

‘Yet still no word from Dion,’ Thea said, gazing out to sea. ‘It has been weeks since he left on his foolish quest.’

‘We all fear for him,’ Peithon said. ‘We must assume he is safe.’

‘So what are your thoughts, Peithon?’ The king turned his steady gaze on him.

‘They are going to return to attack Phalesia. I have no doubt.’

The king’s eyes widened with surprise at his conviction.

Thea frowned. ‘All we know is that they raided Orius.’