yarrr, ye scurvy boy-king, halt ye whinin'

Attolia turned to begin climbing again. She declined to look back at Eugenides. She climbed ferociously, spending her anger on the stairs. Eugenides followed, listening as her breath grew more labored, waiting for her to get tired and slow down. Having set the pace, the queen refused to reduce it. Struggling to breathe without panting, she kept climbing.

"Your Majesty," Eugenides said.

The queen stopped and swept around to stare down at him.

Eugenides had spoken before he'd thought of anything to say. He only wanted her to stop, hoping that when she began the climb again, she would go more slowly. He looked up at her, tongue-tied by her beauty and her scorn.

"I thought you might like the earrings," he said lamely.

It was as if he could hear the blood moving through her and could hear her flushing with rage.

She said venomously, "I might like the earrings? As much as I would like to marry a half-grown boy? A one-handed goatfoot?" She used the lowlanders' slang for the mountain people of Eddis. "When I am actually willing to marry you, I will wear your earrings. Don't wait for it, Thief."

She turned her back on Eugenides and started climbing as fast as before.

"Your Majesty," he called.

"What now?"

"It's a long climb," he said, very subdued. "If you keep going like that, you're going to die of apoplexy before you reach the top."

"I'm sure I wouldn't be the first you drove to apoplexy," snapped Attolia, but resumed her climb at a slower pace. Eugenides followed, still a safe distance behind her.

from The Queen of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner