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

She considered the empty hills around the city and the rows of empty stumps. "It would be pretty," she said aloud, "covered in trees." She told Kilmun, "Very well, cover the hills with olive groves, and I will bring the peace they need to live. But you will have to free the first captive that you see when you leave the temple, and never let the moonlight find you telling a lie. Failing that, your olives will be razed and your city, too."

Kilmun agreed. He waited out the night at her altar, and, in the morning, walked back down the sacred path. The sun was not yet over the horizon, and the road was still dark between the trees. He heard a shout and rushed into the bushes, where he saw a slave -

"I knew I'd be in this story somewhere," Eugenides interjected.

"Oh, no," said Phresine, "this was a humble slave."

"Ouch."

"Though very courageous."

"Not me," whispered Eugenides to his pillow.

from The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner