The Queen of Attolia (The Queen's Thief #2)

by Megan Whalen Turner

She doesn’t storm,” he said, looking away into empty space. “When she’s angry, she sits, and when she’s sad, she sits. If she was ever happy, she’d just sit, I think.” It was more than he had said for days, and when he was done, he closed his eyes.

“Your queen’s entire two-word answer: ‘War, then.’

“You said I should do something.” Eugenides smiled in the dark, twisting the knife of his revenge a little deeper into the magus. “I did?” “As you were leaving, after your extremely edifying visit in the spring. You said, ‘You could still do something.’ Your exact words.” “I meant talk your queen into surrendering, not destroy our navy in its own harbor!” the magus shouted.

I knew which one planned the retaking of Thegmis, I could kill him and cripple her. She’d offer us anything then, desperate for help.”

how are you this dumb. is it the beard oil

She recalled the Thief as he reached the steps up to the door. “My Queen?” He turned back, unsure what she required. “Only for that,” said Eddis. Eugenides smiled and bowed his head. “My Queen,” he said again, perhaps for the last time.

“Tell your queen that I will not return her Thief a second time.” The prisoner just looked up at her dully. She couldn’t know how much he understood. How hard had the lieutenant kicked him? “What remains of his life, he spends with me, do you understand, messenger?”

“That’s true, a girl brought me dinner,” Eugenides said thoughtfully. “She was very pretty.” After a pause he added, “And very kind.” Eddis had heard of the conversation between the Thief and Attolia on the relative merits of beauty and kindness. She winced at the intended rebuke, but Attolia only pressed her lips together in a thin smile and said, “It’s not too late for you to end up chained to a wall.” “Oh, someone would rescue me,” Eugenides said, rolling his eyes innocently. “And while I was there, that lovely girl could bring my dinner. I think,” he said, with his head propped by his arm, looking into the middle distance, “I think when I’m king”—he repeated himself slowly—“when I am king, she can be my first mistress.” Attolia snapped, “You have any mistresses and I’ll cut your other hand off.” Beside her, Eddis stiffened. Attolia raised her chin to meet the look that her seneschal had said would melt lead. Eddis opened her mouth, but before she could put her thoughts into words, Eugenides laughed. Laughing, he dropped his head onto the bed; then he looked up to grin at Attolia. She looked back at him, and her cheeks flushed. She said, with sincerity, “You are a poisonous little snake.” “Yes,”

If the longing inside her for kindness, for warmth, for compassion, was the last seed of hope for her, she didn’t know how to nurture it or if it could live.