Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Five

Dantrielle, Aneira, Elhir’s Moon waxing

Most years, the beginning of Elhir’s turn brought warm days and clear nights to the southern Forelands. Usually the snows maintained their icy grip on the northern kingdoms through at least the waxing of the god’s turn, but in the south, frigid winds gave way to temperate breezes and the hard blizzards of the cold turns were replaced by gentle rains that presaged the coming of the planting.

Not this year. There had been a pleasant day or two at the end of Eilidh’s turn, but with the first days of the new waxing, the snows returned like a vengeful army, battering at the castle gates and shuttered windows with howling winds, and burying the wards and surrounding city under mounds of drifting snow. Neither the tapestries that hung on Evanthya’s walls nor the bright blaze in her hearth that the servants fed constantly could keep the chill from her chamber. She had never paid much heed to the passing of the seasons. Living in Dantrielle, where the turns of the snows were mild and even the hottest days of the growing turns were cooled by the soft breezes that drifted among the shadows of Aneira’s Great Forest, she never had cause. This year, however, the snows had seemed interminable, the wait for a true thaw excruciating.

Perhaps it had been too long since she last held Fetnalla. Perhaps she just longed to leave Dantrielle for a time, to escape the suspicions of her duke and the pall that had settled over the castle since the death of King Carden the Third and the selection of Numar of Renbrere as regent for the late king’s daughter. Or maybe, now that she had purchased the death of the traitorous minister from Kentigern, thus striking a blow at the Qirsi conspiracy, she so thirsted for more blood that she could not wait for the warmth of the growing.

Beginning the very day she received the assassin’s cryptic message telling her that the traitor in Mertesse had been killed, Evanthya had been of two minds about what she and Fetnalla had done. From the moment she paid the assassin at the Red Boar Inn in Dantrielle city, the minister had wondered if they had been justified in killing the man, if indeed such an act could ever be forgiven, no matter the justness of their cause. She knew the dead man’s name now. Shurik jal Marcine. She had learned it soon after the arrival of the assassin’s note, as word spread southward of the man’s mysterious death, and it served only to deepen her doubts.

But even as she wrestled with her guilt, Evanthya also found herself wanting desperately to continue her private war with the conspiracy, to open a new front somewhere in the Forelands. Like a battle-crazed warrior, she was suddenly avid for more violence. A part of her, deep in the dark recesses of her mind, wondered if she might even take up a weapon herself. According to what she had heard whispered in the marketplace among traveling merchants, the traitor died at the hands of a drunken lutenist who also was killed in their struggle. Evanthya knew better of course, but though she shuddered just to think about it, she could not help being curious as to how the singer had made it appear so. How did one kill two men and escape blame for both murders? What kind of person devoted his life to mastering such a dark art?

Upon hearing from the assassin, Evanthya sent a missive to Fetnalla in Orvinti, informing her of their success. Her love’s gold had paid for the assassination and Shurik’s murder had been as much Fetnalla’s idea as her own. Truth be told, Fetnalla had been more eager than she for the man’s death. But would she be satisfied at having purchased Shurik’s death, or would she, like Evanthya, see this as but an opening salvo in a far longer struggle? Evanthya had yet to receive any response, and with each day that passed she grew more impatient. In the last day or two, she had come to a startling decision: no matter what Fetnalla wrote in her reply, Evanthya intended to proceed with her war on the conspiracy. She didn’t know where she would find the gold to pay another assassin, or how she would choose her next target, but she could not sit by idly and allow the conspiracy to destroy the Forelands, not after having tasted success.

There was an irony here, and bitter though it was, she still managed to find some humor in it. Despite the role she had played in Shurik’s death, and notwithstanding her resolve to send other conspirators to the Underrealm, her duke still suspected her of being a part of the conspiracy. Tebeo’s doubts about her loyalty were not nearly so deep as those the duke of Orvinti openly expressed about Fetnalla, but they rankled nevertheless. And she knew-a deeper irony-that as she plotted her next assault on the Qirsi traitors, she would only fuel her duke’s fears.

He hadn’t yet turned from her entirely-nor, to his credit, had Brall of Orvinti turned from Fetnalla-but across the Forelands Eandi nobles who had lost faith in their Qirsi ministers were barring the advisors from their chambers or banishing them from their castles entirely. It seemed only a matter of time before Tebeo and Brall did the same.

On this morning, though, her duke had summoned her to his chambers as he always did, just as the midmorning bells rang in the city, their echoes softened by the winds and snow. When Evanthya entered the duke’s room, she found him pacing, which he often did when agitated. In the past few turns he had been agitated nearly all the time.

“Good day, my lord,” she said, trying to keep her voice bright.

He looked up at her briefly and grunted a greeting. She could see his jaw clenching, and his short, round frame moved jerkily from one end of the chamber to the other. Tebeo was prone to worry, but she hadn’t seen him this unnerved since Bohdan’s turn when Carden died, beginning the chain of events that led to the poisoning in Solkara, the execution of Grigor of Renbrere, and the selection of Numar as regent.

“Has something happened, my lord?”

“There’s a message,” he said, nodding toward his writing table without breaking stride. “You’re welcome to read it.” Evanthya crossed to the table and unrolled the scroll. “There’s not much to it,” he went on as she read. “Numar is on his way here. He should be arriving by midday, although I wouldn’t be surprised if this weather slowed his company a bit.”

Evanthya frowned as she read the curt message. This day at least, she understood her duke’s concern. These were unsettling tidings.

“Strange that he would have been abroad for Pitch Night.”

The duke nodded. “I agree. To say nothing of his decision to leave Solkara before the snows ended.”

Few nobles chose to travel during the snows, and fewer still left their castles just before Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone in the sky. Each Pitch Night carried with it a dark curse or omen-legend held that on Pitch Night in the turn of Eilidh, the goddess of fire, which had been just two nights before, a blaze that was allowed to burn out could not be relit until morning. Even if Numar dismissed the moon legends as mere superstition, as some men did, most commoners did not. The soldiers in his company would be reluctant to leave the safety of their homes for Pitch Night. Apparently, whatever had drawn the regent from Castle Solkara could not wait.

“Perhaps he was fooled by the warm days at the end of the last turn.”

“I’d thought of that,” the duke said. “But still, to leave before the new moon. .”

“You think he intends to ask for more men?”

Tebeo shrugged, then nodded, his mouth twisting with disapproval. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” Since Numar’s investiture, Tebeo and his allies in Orvinti and Kett had been alarmed by overtures made to the regent by Harel the Fourth, emperor of Braedon. Harel seemed to be preparing the empire for a naval war with Eibithar, and they feared that Numar would allow Aneira to be drawn into the conflict.

“It might be something else,” Evanthya said. It might be something more. “He could have ordered you to send more men without even leaving his chamber in Solkara. Carden did it all the time.”

“I’d considered that as well. It may be that war is even more imminent than we’d thought.” He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head, looking like a parent who worries over a wayward child. “In any case, First Minister, I want you to prepare the castle for his arrival. He may be regent in name, but in all ways that matter he is Aneira’s king. We must welcome him appropriately.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The regent had given them little notice, and for the next few hours, Castle Dantrielle bustled with activity. Servants scrubbed the walls and floors of every corridor and prepared the castle’s great hall for a feast. Soldiers polished their swords and helms under the watchful eye of the master of arms before gathering in the snowy ward to rehearse their formal reception of the regent. Men and women ran to and from the kitchens as the smell of roasting meat and baked bread drifted through the wards and hallways. Other laborers cleared snow from the stone paths in the castle courtyards. Like her duke, Evanthya had hoped that the weather might keep the regent from arriving when his message said he would-she would have liked another hour or two to ready the castle. As it happened, however, Numar reached Dantrielle just when his message had said he would, despite the wind and snow. The midday bells began to ring as the final touches were put on the great hall, and they continued to toll long after they should have stopped, announcing Numar’s approach to the gates of Dantrielle city.

Immediately the duke and duchess rode toward the main gate, with Evanthya just behind them. The introductions in the city would take some time, giving the underministers time enough to see to the completion of preparations.

Tebeo’s worries still obviously weighed heavily on his mind, but the duke did seem pleased by the work his servants had done during the morning. As they rode to the gate, he favored Evanthya with a rare smile.

“Well done, First Minister. I wouldn’t have believed we could be ready in time.”

“Thank you, my lord. All who serve you worked quite hard this morning. I had only to direct them.”

The duchess turned at that, smiling as well, snow clinging to her black hair. “I, of all people, know what it is to direct them, First Minister. You’re to be commended for what you accomplished today.”

Evanthya inclined her head, accepting the praise. “You’re too kind, my lady.”

Word of the regent’s visit had spread through the city and in spite of the wind and cold, the people of Dantrielle had already begun to line the city lanes to greet him. Seeing their duke and duchess now, the people cheered. Just as they crossed through the marketplace in the center of the city, Evanthya heard horns blowing from the gate. Numar had reached the city walls. The three of them spurred their mounts to a gallop and came to the gate just as the heralds concluded their flourish.

Numar sat atop a white horse, his cloak-red and gold, lined with black fur-caked with snow at the shoulders. He had thrown back his hood so that his wheat-colored hair was stirred by the icy wind. He wasn’t as broad as Carden had been, or even Grigor, and his face was too kind and youthful to make him appear truly formidable. But there was a simple elegance to his every move, a grace that his older brothers lacked, the two who had died as well as the one who remained. He looked like a king, and something in his manner told Evanthya that he thought of himself as such. That could be a dangerous thing in a regent.

“Lord Renbrere,” Tebeo said, swinging himself off his mount and taking a step forward. He bowed to the man. “Be welcome in Dantrielle. Our city, and our castle, are offered for your comfort for as long as you choose to honor us with your presence.”

Tebeo had often told Evanthya that he depended upon her memory for names when it came to greeting nobles from other courts, but in this case she would have failed him; she had been ready to call the regent “Lord Solkara.’ That title, however, belonged to Numar’s lone surviving brother, Henthas, who, as the older of the two, inherited the dukedom from Grigor. Because of Henthas’s reputation for ruthlessness, however, the other dukes of Aneira had not trusted him with the regency and had turned to Numar instead. When Carden, the oldest of the brothers Renbrere, was still alive, Grigor and Henthas had been known as the Jackals, Numar as the Fool. In the turns since, Numar had proven himself a thoughtful, intelligent man. But Henthas, the new duke, still appeared to be every bit the Jackal.

“Lord Dantrielle,” the regent answered, dismounting in turn. “It is you who do me the honor with this most gracious greeting.”

He stepped to where Tebeo stood and the two men embraced.

Glancing up at the rest of the regent’s small company, Evanthya saw that Pronjed jal Drenthe had come as well. This surprised her, thought she couldn’t say why. Pronjed had served as archminister under Carden and continued to serve the kingdom in that capacity. It wouldn’t have been at all unusual for a king to bring his minister on such a journey, but at least nominally the archminister served Kalyi, the young queen. Evanthya couldn’t help thinking that the minister belonged with her rather than with Numar, and once more she was struck by the degree to which the regent seemed to consider himself Aneira’s rightful leader. In point of fact, Tebeo enjoyed greater status in Aneira’s courts than Numar. He was a duke, while the regent, by grace of his birth and his position in House Solkara, was only the marquess of Renbrere. But Numar’s appointment as regent changed everything, bestowing upon him power and rank that had nothing to do with bloodlines. He was, in essence, a creation of Aneira’s Council of Dukes, one who now controlled a vast army and great riches, the like of which even the realm’s most powerful dukes could only dream.

The archminister was watching her and she nodded to him, feeling vaguely uncomfortable even as she made herself smile. It remained to be seen if Numar controlled this man as well. Fetnalla trusted Pronjed and had built something of a rapport with him during the days just before and after Carden’s funeral. Evanthya, however, thought him dangerous, perhaps even a traitor. At each of their previous encounters Pronjed had given every indication of disliking her and now he nodded to her in return, but his expression did not change. A moment later he returned his gaze to Numar and Tebeo.

The formal introductions went quickly, both men hurrying through them to escape the storm. In a short while they were riding back through the city to the castle, acknowledging the cheers of the men and women who lined the city streets.

After the horses of the regent’s party had been left in the able hands of Dantrielle’s stablemaster, and the small contingent of Solkaran guards was housed with Dantrielle’s men, Numar and Pronjed accompanied the duke and Evanthya back to Tebeo’s chamber. The wood in the fire had been replenished, and the room glowed with a bright, warming blaze. Numar and Tebeo took the two large chairs by the hearth, while Evanthya and the archminister remained standing, Pronjed near the duke’s writing table, she closer to the fire. Pronjed was watching her again and Evanthya, uncomfortable under his gaze, tried to keep from glancing his way.

Two servants were placing food and hot tea on the low table before the two nobles, and a strangely expectant silence enveloped the room. Once the servants were gone, Numar leaned forward and took a sip of his tea. Then he sat back, smiling at the duke.

“You’re wondering why I’ve come.”

“Yes, my lord. Given the weather and how early it is in the new turn, I’ve feared the worst.”

“War, you mean?” the regent said with a small laugh. “No, it’s nothing that dire. At least not yet. Actually, Lord Dantrielle, I’ve been abroad for some time now. I’ve just come from Orvinti, and Bistari before that.”

“My lord?”

“After all that happened following Carden’s death, in particular the poisoning and the decision of the dukes to pass over Henthas in my favor, I thought it best to speak privately with all of Aneira’s dukes. To reassure them. I may only be regent, but for the next several years, I’ll be leading this kingdom, commanding her armies and protecting her people. With your help, of course. I thought it best that we take the time to become better acquainted.”

Tebeo eyed the man with unconcealed surprise. “A most noble endeavor, my lord. I never. .” He hesitated, as if uncertain as to how he should continue. “All leaders should think as you do.”

Numar smiled. “You never thought a Renbrere would do such a thing. Is that what you were going to say?”

Tebeo’s round face shaded to crimson.

“It’s all right, Lord Dantrielle. Your friend Lord Orvinti was as astounded as you are. And the new duke of Bistari nearly choked when I told him why I had come.”

Tebeo laughed. House Bistari and House Solkara had been bitter rivals for centuries. Any gesture of friendship between them would have been cause for astonishment.

“You intend to go to all the dukedoms, my lord?”

“In time, yes. I’ll return to Solkara from here. When the planting begins I’ll ride north to Mertesse. The lesser houses can wait, but I wanted to visit our most powerful houses as soon as possible.”

Tebeo gave a modest smile. “Again, my lord, you honor us.”

“I merely point out what we both know to be true, Lord Dantrielle.” The regent paused. “May I call you Tebeo?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“One of the things my eldest brother never understood, Tebeo, is that in order to rule Aneira, a king must seek to unite its most powerful houses. As it happens, my father, as great a ruler as he was, never understood this either. Both of them remained so committed to Solkara’s foolish feud with Bistari that they never allowed our kingdom to realize its true promise.”

Tebeo shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “Its true promise, my lord?”

“Yes. Right now Aneira is considered a secondary realm in the Forelands. Oh, most would say that we’ve a more formidable army than Caerisse or Wethyrn, but when compared to Braedon or Eibithar, or even Sanbira, we’re seen as a lesser power.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I’m not certain that I agree with you.”

Numar raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“No one doubts that the Eibitharians hate us as much as we hate them. Yet they’ve done nothing to provoke a war. In fact, it seems to me that they’ve tried their best to avoid any conflict with us in recent years. Why would they do this if they thought us weak?”

The regent gave a brittle smile. “You don’t like to speak of war, do you, Tebeo?”

The duke’s gaze remained steady, though his face appeared to pale slightly. “No, my lord, I don’t. Regardless of how strong we are, Aneira is surrounded by hostile realms. I fear that any war with Eibithar would be harmful to our kingdom.”

“What if we had the support of the empire? What if we could prevail upon the king of Caerisse to join our cause? We wouldn’t be surrounded then.”

Evanthya glanced at Pronjed, who was gazing at the fire, his face impassive. After a moment, as if sensing her eyes upon him, he looked her way, but she could gauge nothing from his expression.

“It seems you’ve given this a good deal of thought, my lord,” the duke said, his voice low.

“As leader of the kingdom, I have little choice but to think in such terms.”

“Does the emperor of Braedon continue to make overtures regarding an attack on Eibithar?”

“Harel has made it clear to me,” Numar began, seeming to choose his words with care, “as he did to my brother before me, that the empire views a conflict with Eibithar as inevitable. The two realms are party to so many disputes that a negotiated peace is out of the question. I suppose we could simply stand by and await the outcome. But if Eibithar manages to prevail, then our most bitter enemy in all the land will also be the preeminent power in all the land. Or we could join with Braedon, ensuring her success, and sharing in the spoils of that victory.” The regent shrugged. “It seems an easy choice to me.”

Tebeo looked deeply troubled, but he nodded and murmured, “Yes, my lord.”

“Brall agreed with me, Tebeo. And even Bistari’s new duke admitted to seeing the logic in this approach, though he reserved his judgment for now.”

“What of the queen, my lord? Does she agree as well?”

Numar seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “The girl? You expect me to consult with her on such matters? She’s but a child.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I meant the queen mother. Chofya.”

Carden’s widow, the daughter of a lesser noble whose beauty had attracted the eye of the young lord, much to the chagrin of his father, who had intended to marry Carden to the daughter of a more powerful house.

“Chofya,” Numar repeated, his expression darkening. “To be honest with you, Tebeo, I saw no need to discuss the matter with her either. She cares for the girl and she manages many of the social affairs of the dukedom, for which my brother Henthas has neither patience nor aptitude. But she is no statesman.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

The regent smiled, and again it looked forced. “Perhaps I should retire to my quarters for a time. My ride has left me weary, and I sense that our discussion is not going as either one of us might have hoped.”

Numar stood, as did Tebeo, who bowed to the regent as he had at the city gate. “I hope my lord finds his quarters satisfactory.”

“I’m sure I will. The hospitality of House Dantrielle is legendary throughout the realm.”

“Thank you, my lord. We will feast in the great hall this evening, at your convenience, of course.”

Numar was already striding to the door. “I’ll look forward to it.” He stopped, with his hand resting lightly on the door handle and turned to face the duke again. “Would Chofya’s opinion truly have mattered to you, Tebeo?” he asked. “Would you trust her judgment more than you would mine?”

Evanthya held her breath, her eyes flitting from the regent to her duke and back again. She sensed that their conversation had taken a most perilous turn. Tebeo seemed to understand this as well, for he cleared his throat, his gaze straying to her face for just an instant.

“No, my lord, I wouldn’t,” he said, facing the regent again. “As you observed before, I’m discomfited by discussions of war. Given the choice between going to war and maintaining the peace, I would invariably choose the latter. No doubt this makes me a poor leader, one who is far better suited to running a dukedom than an entire kingdom. I merely asked about the queen mother because I wished to know if any others in the realm share my concerns. I meant no offense.”

Numar smiled again, and this time it appeared genuine. “Then I’ll take none and will look forward to dining with you and the duchess this evening.”

He pulled open the door and left the chamber, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. Pronjed started to follow, then hesitated, turning once more to face Evanthya.

“May I have a word with you, First Minister?” He glanced at the duke. “With your permission, of course, my lord.”

“What?” Tebeo said, obviously distracted. “Oh, yes. That would be fine.” He waved a hand vaguely toward the door. “You may accompany him back to his chamber, First Minister.”

I’d rather not. “Yes, my lord.” She followed the archminister into the hallway, pulling the duke’s door closed behind her.

They began to walk toward the west end of the castle, where the guest chambers were located, neither of them speaking.

“Why don’t we walk in the ward?” Pronjed said at last.

Evanthya nodded and led him down the winding stairway of the cloister tower and out into the swirling snow. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and lowered her head against the storm.

“Your duke took a great chance just now,” the archminister said, raising his voice so that it would carry over the wind that keened like a demon among the castle walls. “The men of Solkara have little patience with those who would question their decisions. I don’t know whether to ascribe your duke’s actions to courage or folly.” She glanced at him and he grinned, looking gaunt as a cadaver. “Perhaps we should call it both.”

“Perhaps we should call it honesty, Archminister. My duke is a man who is not afraid to speak his mind, even to those who might be disturbed by what he has to say.”

“A trait he shares with his first minister.”

“I’m not certain I know what you mean,” she said, the lie coming to her easily. In the days after Carden’s death, Evanthya had argued forcefully against accepting Grigor, the eldest of the king’s surviving brothers, as Aneira’s new ruler, though she knew that defying him might lead to civil war. Pronjed never said anything to her, but she had seen the venom in his yellow eyes when he looked at her, and she knew that he had spoken to Fetnalla, hoping to convince her that Evanthya’s approach would lead Aneira to ruin.

“Of course you do. You were willing to oppose Grigor no matter the consequences for yourself or your duke. And as it turns out, you were right. A man who could resort to poisoning the queen and her Council of Dukes would have been capable of even greater atrocities once on the throne. We owe you a great debt, First Minister.”

“Thank you, Archminister.” It was the last thing she would have expected him to say. This was part of what made him so dangerous. He could be charming when he wished to be. Walking with him now, Evanthya had to remind herself that Fetnalla believed Pronjed might possess delusion magic-a powerful Qirsi magic that allowed him to bend the minds of Eandi to his purposes and to lie without fear of detection to other Qirsi. Fetnalla and her duke had even surmised that the archminister had used this power to make Carden take his own life. If he’s flattering you he must want something. The warning echoed in her mind, as if Fetnalla were shouting the words to her all the way from Orvinti.

“What is it you want of me, Archminister?”

“Want of you?”

Evanthya actually smiled. Delusion magic or not, he could be rather transparent at times.

“Never mind that you asked me to speak with you, the fact is that you’ve never cared for me, nor I for you, your compliments notwithstanding. So I ask you again, what do you want?”

He smiled in return, a cold, thin smile that actually struck her as being more guileless than any other expression she had seen on his bony features that day.

“Very well, First Minister. I want to know how far your duke will go in opposing the regent’s plans for war.”

Evanthya felt her stomach tighten. “Is a war imminent?”

“What do you think? Would a Solkaran leader travel this far in the midst of the snows merely in the interest of building good relations with his dukes?”

She said nothing, her silence an admission that he must be right.

“Would Lord Dantrielle withhold men from the royal army?”

“You know I can’t answer that,” she said quietly. “Even if I knew the duke’s mind, which I don’t, I couldn’t tell you. You’re the regent’s man.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

Evanthya looked at him sharply.

“I was Carden’s archminister,” he told her, “and Chofya’s after that. But I’ve never seen myself as belonging to the Solkarans. I’m Qirsi, First Minister, as are you.”

“But you’re here with the regent.”

“Yes, and I still don’t know why.”

Evanthya hadn’t expected him to be so blunt, and she found herself wondering if he was deceiving her. Did delusion magic work on other Qirsi if they were aware of its use?

“I don’t think the regent trusts me,” Pronjed went on. “If I had to guess, I’d say that he brought me along because he felt safer knowing where I was and what I was doing. I don’t believe he trusts the queen mother either-that’s why he responded as he did to your duke’s question about her. He knows that I supported her against Grigor, and he fears that she and I will plot against him as well.”

“Then do you ask about my duke’s intentions on her behalf?”

“No. As I told you, I’m Qirsi before I’m anything else. I ask you, Qirsi to Qirsi, because I want to be prepared for all contingencies.”

Qirsi to Qirsi. She had heard it said that members of the conspiracy spoke to each other in this way, placing their devotion to the Qirsi people above all else. Was that what he had in mind? To turn her to the Qirsi conspiracy?

“Can’t you tell me anything?” he prodded again.

“As I’ve already explained, Archminister, the duke has told me nothing. I have no knowledge of his plans.”

“But you know him. Even without knowing his mind, you know his tendencies, what he’s capable of doing. I’m not asking you to betray Tebeo’s confidence. I merely wish to know if you think that his desire for peace is more powerful than his fear of defying the regent.”

She stopped, turning to face him as a gust of wind whipped her white hair about her face. “Forgive me for saying so, Archminister, but I believe you are asking me to betray Tebeo’s confidence. You would never think to ask me such questions in front of the duke, nor would you tolerate such questions from me as they pertained to the regent or the queen mother.”

“Actually, you’re wrong about that. As a servant of House Solkara I couldn’t tell you anything. But speaking with you in private, Qirsi to Qirsi, I’ll answer any question you ask me.” He grinned, adding, “Within reason, of course.”

Evanthya just stared at the man, uncertain as to whether to believe him.

“How soon will this war be starting?” she finally asked.

“Very soon. Perhaps within half a year. The regent awaits word from the emperor, but already he’s making plans to expand the army so that it’s half again as great as it is now.”

“Doesn’t the regent understand that by attacking Eibithar, we risk drawing every realm in the Forelands into the conflict?”

“I believe he does. Despite what others have said about him in the past, he’s no fool, and even Harel, who may well be a fool, must realize where their attack on Eibithar will lead.”

“And yet they make their plans anyway?”

The archminister raised an eyebrow. “That should tell you something.”

Evanthya nodded. “They’re that confident.”

“Yes. Whether they have cause to be is open to debate, but there’s no doubt that they expect to prevail, no matter the scope of the conflict.” He paused, eyeing her closely. “So, First Minister, in light of what you know of your duke, faced with the prospect of this war, will he defy the regent, or will he commit Dantrielle’s men to the effort?”

Evanthya looked away, taking a long breath. She could hardly refuse to answer him now, not after he had answered her questions so directly. It seemed to the minister that Pronjed had led her here, knowing all along that he could compel her to reply, and once more she wondered if he had been using magic to cloud her perception of the truth.

“I can’t answer with any certainty,” she said at last, feeling as she spoke that she was betraying the duke’s trust. “But if forced to guess, I’d say that he’ll send men as the regent asks. My duke values peace, but he is Aneiran above all else. He won’t allow men from the other houses to fight and die without adding Dantrielle’s army to their cause.”

Pronjed appeared to weigh this. “And if any of Dantrielle’s allies considered defying House Solkara-the new dukes in Tounstrel or Noltierre, for instance-would Tebeo be able to prevail upon them to commit their armies as well?”

It struck her as an odd question. “Do you expect the southern houses to oppose you?”

“I expect nothing, First Minister. But as I told you already, I must prepare myself for every possibility.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with this, Archminister. I know little about the dukes in question. As you must know, Tebeo was quite close to Bertin of Noltierre and Vidor of Tounstrel. But he only met their sons on a few occasions, and the younger men keep their own counsel. Even if Tebeo tried to sway them one way or another-and I’m not certain that he would-I don’t believe they would be moved.”

Evanthya frowned slightly, realizing that she had answered his question after all. She hadn’t sensed him using his powers on her, but the effect had been much the same. She couldn’t decide which notion she found more disturbing, that he might be able to use his magic against her without her knowledge or that he could turn her to his purposes so easily without using any magic at all.

Another gust of wind swept through the ward, making the snow whirl and dance like tiny, frenzied wraiths.

Pronjed cast a look back toward the great hall and the tower from which they had come. “Perhaps we should return. The storm seems to be worsening.”

“Yes. And you’ve learned all that you had hoped from our conversation.”

Pronjed faced her again, his eyes, the color of sand on the Wethy shores, locking on hers. “Do you feel used, First Minister? You shouldn’t. This was a profitable exchange for both of us. You probably know more about the regent’s intentions than any other first minister in Aneira.” A thin smile touched his lips and was gone. “I do hope that you use the knowledge wisely.”

He turned again and started back the way they had come, leaving Evanthya little choice but to follow.

I intend to use it wisely, you bastard. I’ll tell Fetnalla and every other first minister who’ll listen to me. Maybe my duke and I can stop this war after all.

The rest of their visit to Dantrielle went just as Pronjed had anticipated. Or rather, just as the Weaver had said it would. The archminister had ideas of his own as to how they ought to proceed from here, but after nearly destroying the Weaver’s plans with his decision to kill Carden a few turns before, and nearly getting himself killed in the process, Pronjed kept such thoughts to himself. For now at least, he would follow the Weaver’s instructions without deviation. There had been a time when Pronjed believed himself essential to the movement. He knew better now. One day he would assert his influence again-when the Weaver’s plans bore fruit, he would need trusted servants to run the various realms of the new Qirsi empire, and Pronjed had every intention of being one of those fortunate few. But during the next few turns he needed to repair the damage he had done to the Weaver’s trust.

On the third morning since their arrival in Dantrielle, Numar, his small company of soldiers, and the archminister gathered in the castle’s lower ward, mounted their horses, and, accompanied by the duke, duchess, and first minister, began to wend their way through the city streets.

He still sensed a residue of the tension that had clouded much of their stay in Tebeo’s castle, but he could see as well that both Eandi men were trying to end their encounter cordially, Tebeo, no doubt, out of fear of the Solkaran temper, Numar out of his desire to appear reasonable until he had gathered enough power to let his true nature show.

The evening before, after avoiding any discussion of the coming war for more than a day, the regent had returned to the subject once again, asking the duke if he could foresee any circumstances under which Dantrielle might allow its army to join with those of the other houses to wage war against the Eibitharians.

Tebeo’s first minister glanced at Pronjed, looking uncomfortable, as if the question itself had revealed to all the substance of their discussion in the ward. The duke, however, did not appear to notice. He had been sipping from his wine goblet and now he placed it carefully on the table and glared at the regent, firelight reflected in his dark brown eyes.

“With all respect, Lord Renbrere,” the duke said, his voice shaking with anger. “I find your question insulting. It presumes that I would keep my house from fulfilling its duty to the realm and the Crown.”

“I meant no offense, Tebeo, but after our conversation the day I arrived-”

“The men of Dantrielle have fought and died in every war ever waged by this realm,” the duke broke in, leaning forward, his hands resting on the table. “We have acquitted ourselves nobly over the course of Aneira’s history. I would even say admirably, and while I am not a boastful man, my lord, I assure you that I would willingly compare Dantrielle’s performance in this regard with that of any house in the kingdom, including Solkara. For I have every confidence that Dantrielle would not suffer for the comparison.”

At last the duchess laid a hand on Tebeo’s arm. Glancing at her, the duke’s face colored and he sat back, lowering his gaze.

“Forgive me, my lord. I’ve said too much.”

“Not at all, Tebeo. I admire a man of passion. I only wished to know if we could count on you. Obviously, we can.”

The duke continued to stare at his hands. “I must add, my lord, though I risk angering you by doing so, that even as the soldiers of Dantrielle have shown their valor in defense of Aneira, when her dukes have seen the land being led toward a foolish and destructive war, they have never shied from saying so.”

Numar bristled. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes, my lord, it is.”

Abruptly the regent was on his feet. “How dare you speak to me so!”

“You forget, Lord Renbrere, that while you may be regent, I am a duke and you but a marquess. Further, sir, you are in my castle. If you speak to me thus, I will not hesitate to respond in kind.”

The regent straightened, the corner of his mouth turning up in a bitter smirk. “I may be but a marquess, Lord Dantrielle, but I speak for the queen and for House Solkara. I assure you that my words carry as much force as Carden’s ever did.”

The two men stared at each other for some time, and at last it was Tebeo who looked away. “I don’t doubt that they do, my lord. Forgive me if I spoke rashly.”

Numar smiled benignly, but Pronjed saw the satisfaction in his eyes. “As I said, I admire passion, misguided though it might be.”

The meal had almost ended and though both men seemed intent on not allowing the evening to end in anger, it was but a few moments before Numar excused himself from the great hall and returned to his chamber.

He said little to Pronjed as they walked through the corridors and he did not ask the archminister to join him in his quarters before retiring for the night. Pronjed hadn’t been entirely honest with the first minister when they spoke in the ward, but he had meant what he said about Numar’s mistrust of all he did. As far as he could tell, the regent viewed him as Chofya’s man. No doubt he always would.

Numar had the archminister awakened early in the morning, and the regent did not linger long in the castle before departing. The duke and duchess offered to serve them a formal breakfast, but Numar asked only that they be given provisions for their ride back to Solkara.

Tebeo and Numar did not speak as they rode through the streets of Dantrielle. When they reached the gate and dismounted to say their farewells, however, the duke bowed to Numar, then straightened, clearing his throat.

“I hope the good relations Dantrielle has enjoyed with House Solkara will not suffer for my reckless words. I know little of what you and the emperor have discussed, my lord. It was not my place to make judgments.”

“Don’t trouble your mind with it further, Tebeo,” the regent said, though his voice was tight. “Our houses have worked together for centuries, making Aneira great. Surely a friendship as old as that can weather a storm or two.”

The duke smiled. “My lord is too kind. May your journey home be swift and safe.”

Numar smiled, though it appeared forced, and began to leave the city. Pronjed bowed to the duke, murmuring a quick, “My lord.” Then, glancing at Evanthya, he nodded, and steered his mount through the gate.

For the balance of the morning the company from Solkara made its way through the Great Forest in silence, Pronjed riding just behind the regent. Around midday, however, as the sun finally burned through the dark clouds that had hung over the land for so long, Numar slowed his mount so that the archminister could ride beside him.

“A most interesting visit.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Did you learn anything of value from the first minister?”

“Very little.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

Pronjed glanced at the regent, who was gazing at the road ahead.

“Of course, my lord. I serve House Solkara, and though your brother may be called duke, only a fool would fail to see that you lead us.”

A grin flashed across the regent’s face and was gone. “An interesting choice of words, Archminister.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell me about the woman.”

Pronjed shrugged. “She’s protective of her duke and wary of Dantrielle’s rivals.”

Numar laughed. “Solkara and Dantrielle are hardly rivals. The Solkaran Supremacy is well over four centuries old. We haven’t truly been rivals since the earliest days of the kingdom.”

“Perhaps not to the Solkaran mind, my lord. But with all that’s happened in the royal city over the past few turns, some of the other houses perceive weakness in the throne.”

“You can’t honestly think that Dantrielle has designs on the crown. He’d be a fool to challenge us.”

It had to be done carefully. There were soldiers all around them and though they rode at a respectful distance, they would notice anything unusual.

“And yet, I believe that in questioning the wisdom of the coming war, Tebeo has, in effect, declared his intention to defy you.” As he spoke the words, Pronjed reached out with his magic to touch the regent’s mind. He didn’t push hard, as he had when he forced Carden to plunge the dagger into his own chest. Rather, this touch was as light and gentle as a warm breeze in the growing turns. It was so soft that Numar never realized what had happened. He simply heard Pronjed’s words and believed them as if he himself had spoken them.

“I fear you’re right,” he said, nodding sagely.

Pronjed nearly laughed aloud. He had convinced Evanthya to oppose the war, and to counsel her duke to do the same. He hadn’t even drawn upon his magic for that. He had wounded her pride and then made her believe that he wanted Dantrielle to support the war. She would do all she could to oppose him.

And now, with what he had just done to Numar, he had ensured that Tebeo’s reluctance to send his men into battle would be seen as treason in Solkara. He still had to win back the Weaver’s trust, but if all in Aneira went as he thought it would, that would prove easy enough. He had long been one of the Weaver’s most valued chancellors and in time he would be again. In the end, the Weaver would see fit to give him charge of whatever realm he wanted.