A Conspiracy of Kings by Megan Whalen Turner Page B

excuse for a prince that I
had always been. Quite likely I would fail to be of any use at
all—to my father or anyone. When the rebelling barons were
put down, I would see my uncle marry and produce an heir far
superior to me, and I would be despised as useless and unwelcome
even in my own home. That was what I was choosing.
    I wonder if people always choose what will make them
unhappy.
     
    In the evening we walked back to the barracks. We ate our late
meal as the light began to fade from the sky. Up in the megaron,
guests would be gathering to dine. As the other men were settling
down, tired from a day of hard work, I picked through the small
collection of shells and rocks that I had found while at the shore
and selected my favorites. Then I wrapped them in a rag I was using
as a pocket and tucked them into the waist of my pants. Curious,
the other men grew still and watched. Standing, I turned to Ochto
and said, “I’m going.”
    Ochto started to give a puzzled assent, then realized I
wasn’t stepping out to relieve myself before bed.
    “You can’t get far, Zecush,” he said.
    “I’m not going far.”
    He looked up toward the megaron and over at Dirnes. He must have
heard of my comment on the road earlier in the day. “We
don’t get to choose our masters.”
    “I do,” I said.
    “And why would I let you go?”
    I swallowed. “We all have to make choices, Ochto.
I’m sorry.”
    He stared at me. With a word, or just the wave of his hand, he
could stop me. The men in the barracks would jump up and seize me.
The chain for the bracelet that was still on my wrist was right by
his hand. His cane of office hung by the door.
    He also knew that I could have walked away without saying
anything, as if on my way to the latrine, and he wouldn’t
have had any hint that I was gone until it was far too late.
    He shook his head slowly. “You were never a slave,”
he said.
    “Berrone bought me for gold,” I said honestly, but
Ochto shook his head again.
    “Gold doesn’t make a slave, and it doesn’t
always buy one. You stop work every time a woodcock sings.
I’ve watched you move the mother scorpion out of the way when
you should be setting stones in a wall and waste half a morning
watching a grasshopper. You have no sense. What will you do out
there in the world, Bunny?”
    “Whatever the gods and the king ask of me,” I
said.
    “Ah,” said Ochto. “He is our baron, but he
never was yours, was he?”
    “Indeed, he is not,” I said. “You still have
to choose.”
    “I know nothing of the business of gods and kings,”
said Ochto, and he looked away. I waited for him to turn back, then
realized that he had made his decision.
    There had been no sound in the barracks. I turned to nod
farewell to the men who had been my companions and found them also
looking away. Swallowing a rock in my throat, I turned back to the
door.
    “Should we come?” Luca’s voice rose
sardonically. He sat at the far end of the room, with one knee
pulled up and caught in the circle of his arms. He spoke, but he
still didn’t look in my direction.
    My own eyes dropped toward the floor. “Believe me, that if
I were you, Luca,” I said, “I would stay right
here.”
    In the twilight I headed up the path to the stables and from
there to the kitchens. They were a bustle of activity, and I had no
trouble slipping in unnoticed. I sidled up to one of the houseboys
and followed him until an opportune moment when he was alone in the
corridor between the kitchens and the main rooms of the
megaron.
    “Lend me your shirt for a minute,” I said.
    “Why?” He recognized me. I was familiar enough that
he wasn’t frightened, just puzzled.
    “Because if you don’t, I’m going to hit you
really hard and take it anyway.”
    He looked around for help, but we were alone.
    “Better make up your mind quick,” I said, and lifted
my fist. He loosened his laces and pulled the shirt over his
head.
    Wearing only his undershirt, he said,