Shapers of Darkness

Chapter Eight

Dantrielle, Aneira

It had been a dangerous endeavor from the beginning. Tebeo, duke of Dantrielle, had drawn upon all his powers of persuasion to convince Brall of Orvinti to join his cause, and even that would not have been enough had it not been for their close friendship. By trying to convince the dukes of Aneira’s other southern houses to stand together in resisting Solkara’s push toward an alliance with the Braedon empire and war with Eibithar, they risked being branded as traitors to the realm. But both men believed that this war was a mistake, that the realm’s true enemy was not their neighbor to the north, but rather the Qirsi conspiracy. So, early in the planning, they had decided to ride to the other houses and speak of rebellion with their fellow dukes.

In the end, Brall and Tebeo determined that they were best off traveling separately, Brall speaking with the new dukes in Bistari and Tounstrel and Tebeo riding to Kett and then to Noltierre. Even before word reached them of Numar’s rush to muster new men into the royal army, they had known that their time was limited. By dividing their tasks and pushing their mounts, the two dukes hoped to forge alliances with the four houses in question before the end of Amon’s Turn. With any luck, they thought, they might be able to dissuade the regent from this foolhardy war before his preparations had progressed too far.

Tebeo returned to his castle in Dantrielle more encouraged than he ever thought possible. His discussions with the dukes of Kett and Noltierre had gone perfectly. Due mostly to the untimely deaths of so many of the realm’s dukes during the past year, Ansis of Kett now ranked as one of Aneira’s oldest dukes, though he was quite a bit younger than both Tebeo and Brall. Like his father before him, Ansis had long been friendly with both men, and also with three of the late dukes-Chago of Bistari, Bertin the Elder of Noltierre, and Vidor of Tounstrel. Perhaps because the duke of Kett had always been the youngest of their group, Tebeo still found himself thinking of Ansis as a boy, a young noble so new to his power that he needed guidance from Tebeo and the others. Seeing the duke in his own castle, however, surrounded by his beautiful children and giving orders to his guards in their black-and-brown uniforms, Tebeo realized that he had been doing the man a disservice. Kett might have been no more than a middle-tier house, but her duke had grown wise with the years, and he was as brave as any man in the kingdom.

“You saved me the trouble of sending a messenger to Dantrielle,” the duke said, the night Tebeo arrived at his gates. “I had intended to deny Numar’s newest request for men, and I had thought to let you and Brall know, so that when the Solkarans marched on Kett, I might face them with more than just my army.”

Coming from another man, it might have sounded like an idle boast. But Tebeo had little doubt that Ansis meant what he said.

“Then you oppose this war as well,” he replied, hearing the relief in his own voice.

“Of course. I have no affection for the Eibitharians, but neither do I wish to find myself riding to battle with the emperor of Braedon. My father always thought Harel too vain and foolish to be an effective leader. I can only imagine what he would have said had Farrad or Tomaz suggested an alliance with the empire.”

“Will your men stand against the royal house if it comes to war?”

“Yes,” Ansis said. “The men of Kett would give their lives in defense of the realm, but they have little affection for the Solkarans. I’d rather avoid a civil war-I know you and Brall feel the same way-but we’ll fight beside you if we must.”

Eager to be on his way, his confidence bolstered by Ansis’s pledge of support, Tebeo left the following morning for Noltierre. Bertin the Elder, who led the southern house for nearly thirty years until dying a few turns before, a victim of Grigor of Renbrere’s poison, had been one of Tebeo’s closest friends. Indeed, with the exception of Brall, Tebeo trusted no other noble in the land as completely as he had the old duke of Noltierre. Judging from the welcome he received upon reaching the black walls of the city, it seemed that the new duke, Bertin the Younger, knew that his father had valued their friendship just as much. Most of the Noltierre army stood outside the city gate, swords raised in salute, as a herald played “The River’s Blood,” the Dantrielle war anthem. Bertin, the image of his father with a square face and dark eyes, broad shoulders and long legs, sat atop a white mount as Tebeo rode to the gates. The two men dismounted at the same time, and then, rather than embracing Tebeo as he would a brother, the younger duke dropped to one knee, bowing as he might have to his father. An instant later his soldiers did the same.

Tebeo would have preferred a more restrained welcome; he was plotting against the regent, and no doubt House Solkara had servants throughout the realm who would notice this spectacle. Still, he couldn’t help but be moved by Bertin the Younger’s greeting. There seemed no point in cutting short the formalities. Best to allow them to go on as if this were nothing more than a visit born of Dantrielle’s long-standing friendship with Noltierre, and the courtesy shown customarily to new dukes.

Eventually, when the introductions had been completed, Bertin and his first minister led Tebeo’s company through the gates and the narrow lanes of Noltierre, to the great castle with its soaring black towers. Once in the outer ward of the fortress, they went through a second set of introductions, so that the duke’s mother, Bertin the Elder’s widow, could greet Tebeo and his minister. From there they went directly to the duke’s great hall, where they partook of a grand feast prepared by Noltierre’s renowned kitchenmaster.

It was nearly dusk before Tebeo finally had the opportunity to speak with the young duke in private, and even then he had to ask his first minister, Evanthya ja Yispar, to request a private audience with her counterpart. Noltierre’s minister, who had served Bertin the Elder for more than a decade, was reluctant to leave the two dukes, but Bertin insisted. The young duke even went so far as to send his servants from the hall, so that at last, he and Tebeo were alone.

“What’s happened?” Bertin asked, once the servants had gone.

Tebeo smiled at the directness of the question. It was so like something the elder Bertin would have done.

“You think me rude for asking so bluntly.”

“Not at all. But I am reminded of your father.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I don’t mean to be impolite, my Lord Duke-I’m pleased to have you here. But I’m not so young as to believe that you came simply to wish me well or even to pay respects to my father.”

Tebeo had been raising his goblet to drink, but now he returned it to the table, taking a slow breath. Bertin the Elder would have leaped at any chance to oppose House Solkara, but Tebeo couldn’t be so certain about the young duke. This was a dangerous time for him; had it been Tebeo’s place to offer counsel, he certainly wouldn’t have advised the man to take up arms against the royal house. But he hadn’t come to give guidance.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve come to speak of the regent’s plans for war and his pursuit of an alliance with Braedon.”

“And are you here to speak on Numar’s behalf?”

Tebeo grimaced. “Hardly.”

“Good. Then I’m more than happy to listen.”

Truly his father’s son.

Bertin eagerly pledged all the resources of his house to Tebeo’s cause, even going so far as to offer to march with Tebeo back to Dantrielle three days hence.

“No,” Tebeo said. “For now you should see to the safety of your people. Numar will hear of my journeys to Kett and Noltierre, just as he’ll learn of Brall’s discussions with the dukes of Bistari and Tounstrel. And I’m certain he’ll know the reason for them soon enough, if he hasn’t divined our intentions already. I don’t know yet how he’ll respond, but he may choose to strike first at those who support us. Increase the guard on your city walls, and make certain the castle is provisioned for a siege.”

“What if Numar strikes instead at you and Lord Orvinti?”

“We’ll send word.” He smiled. “Along with a request for aid.”

The young duke merely nodded, grim-faced and earnest. “And you’ll have it.”

Back in Castle Dantrielle several days later, on the tenth morning of the waning, Tebeo still recalled how his gratitude for Bertin’s pledge of support had been tempered by his fear that he was leading the young man and his house to their doom.

Everything now depended on whether Brall had succeeded in convincing Silbron of Bistari and Vistaan of Tounstrel to join them as well. With the duke of Orvinti expected to arrive at his gates within the next few hours, Tebeo could barely keep himself still. He had guards posted on the southern ramparts, watching the road from Tounstrel for any sign of Brall’s company, but still he had climbed the tower three times that morning hoping to glimpse the riders himself, shielding his eyes from the sun and straining to spot any sign of Orvinti’s blue, white, and green banners.

He was on his way to the tower stairs to check the road yet again, when he heard the gate bells ringing in the city. At first he assumed that these were the midday bells, but when Evanthya appeared in the corridor, her cheeks flushed, and a small smile on her lips, he knew that Brall had arrived, and with him his first minister, Fetnalla ja Prandt. Tebeo had known for some time now that Fetnalla and Evanthya were lovers, and though another duke might have been troubled at the thought of his first minister sharing a bed with a Qirsi from another house, his close friendship with the duke of Orvinti allowed him to be somewhat more lenient.

“They’re on the road?” he asked before his first minister could speak. For once he was as eager for the arrival of Brall and his company as she.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have an honor guard sent to greet them. Instruct the soldiers to ride forth from the gates before Brall reaches the city walls. They’re to accompany the duke to the east entrance so that he and the minister can enter the castle without crossing through the city. No doubt Numar has spies in the city, perhaps even in the castle, and I’d like them to see as little as possible.”

“What of the bells, my lord?”

“They can’t be helped. Anyone watching us would think it strange if they didn’t ring at the approach of so many riders.”

Evanthya nodded. “Yes, my lord.” She turned and hurried toward the stairway.

Tebeo returned to his presence chamber to await Brall’s arrival. It seemed but a matter of moments before Brall reached the chamber, accompanied by both Fetnalla and Evanthya. Orvinti’s duke looked as he always did, hale and tall, with broad, kind features and hair as white as a Qirsi’s. His clothes were travel-stained, his face ruddy from the sun and wind. He grinned as he strode across the chamber to grip Tebeo by the shoulders.

“How is it you convinced me to ride from Bistari to Tounstrel?” he asked. “And how is it we agreed to meet here rather than in Orvinti?”

“You miss your castle, my Lord Duke.”

“My castle, my bed, my wife. I’m road-weary. We’re too old for this nonsense, Tebeo.”

“Actually, I found my ride quite invigorating.”

Brall frowned. “You’re younger than I am.”

“Not by much.”

“By enough.”

Tebeo smiled again, but regarding him more closely, the duke could see that there was more to Brall’s complaints than mere jesting. His friend looked tired, and not just physically. It seemed his journeying had taken a toll.

“I know that it’s no substitute for your home, Brall, but whatever hospitality Pelgia and I have to offer is yours.”

“I’m grateful, my friend, and I hope you’ll thank the duchess for me. You and Pelgia have always made me feel welcome here. But I think I’ll stay only the one night. I’m ready to be back in Orvinti.”

Tebeo indicated a chair with an open hand. “Please sit.” He glanced at the ministers. “The two of you as well. We have much to discuss.” He turned to his servants. “Food and wine for the duke and his minister. In fact, for all of us. We’ll take the midday meal in here.”

Both servants bowed and left them.

“You spoke with Silbron and Vistaan?” Tebeo asked, facing Brall once more.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Vistaan is with us. He blames all the Solkarans for Vidor’s death, though he knows that only Grigor was responsible. He wants no part of Braedon’s war, and even if he did, I don’t think he’d allow his men to march with the royal army.”

“That’s good news.”

Brall gave a small shrug. “I suppose.”

“You have doubts?”

“Tounstrel is the weakest of Aneira’s houses to begin with, and I’m not convinced that Vistaan is ready to lead his army into war. He still grieves for his father.”

“I’d expect no less.”

“Of course. But in many ways he’s too much like Vidor for his own good. He’s younger than his years and stubborn to the point of foolishness. He’s bent on vengeance; it almost seems an obsession. I fear that he’ll do more harm than good as our ally in this cause.”

“Yet, we need him.”

“Yes, we do, even more than you know.”

Tebeo felt his stomach tighten. “Silbron?”

Brall shook his head. “He has no desire to oppose the regent.”

“Damn!” Tebeo looked away. He had never thought that he would be so avid for civil war, but after his successes in Kett and Noltierre he had come to believe that they could stop Numar’s war, that they might even be able to wrest the crown from Solkara if the regent refused to heed their calls for peace. “So it’s over, before it’s even begun.”

“Perhaps not,” Brall said. “He won’t oppose Numar, but neither will he stand with him against us. Lord Bistari intends to remain above the fray.”

“He told you that?”

“Those were his words. I believe he’s taken a lesson from the Thorald clan in Eibithar. As the second-strongest house in Aneira, Bistari has the power to tip the balance in this conflict one way or another. By remaining neutral, Silbron leaves the outcome of any civil war very much in doubt.”

“You think he seeks to prevent such a war?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps he expects we’ll fight anyway, and when we’ve destroyed each other, Bistari will be left as the realm’s preeminent house.”

“And the throne will be his.”

Brall shrugged a second time.

It made sense. Tebeo found himself surprised that the boy had managed to conceive such a plan on his own. His father, whom Tebeo had considered a good friend, had never been so clever when it came to matters of state.

“Do you think this was his idea?”

“I believe he’s been speaking with his mother. Ria was present during many of our discussions, and I saw them speaking in private just after our first audience.”

Tebeo shook his head. “This becomes a far more dangerous proposition without Bistari.”

“Yes, it does.” Brall started to say more, but at that moment the servants returned, bearing platters of food and flagons of wine. It took some time for the food to be arranged, the wine poured. But eventually, after they had begun to eat, the duke faced Tebeo again, a morsel of dark bread in his mouth.

“What of your travels?” he asked.

Tebeo described briefly his conversations with Bertin and Ansis. “They’ll stand with us, though neither the army of Kett nor the army of Noltierre is likely to strike fear in the hearts of the Solkarans.”

“Perhaps not. But that gives us five houses in all, against only three on the other side.”

“Solkara isn’t just another house,” Tebeo said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that. And after Bistari, Mertesse is the strongest of the dukedoms.”

Brall raised a finger. “It was once. But with Rouel dead, and Rowan’s army still suffering from its losses at Kentigern, Mertesse is no stronger than Orvinti, or Dantrielle for that matter.”

Tebeo wasn’t certain that he believed this. It had been nearly a year since the failed siege of Kentigern Tor. The army of Mertesse had to be near full strength again. Perhaps the newer soldiers lacked training, but so large an army could not be dismissed lightly. “I’d feel better if Bistari was with us.”

“So would I. But she’s not, and I won’t allow Silbron’s neutrality to force me into an alliance with the empire.”

“Did Silbron say if he would be sending men to the royal army?”

Brall shook his head. “I pressed him on the matter, but he told me nothing. To be honest, I’m not certain that he’s decided.”

“It’s a question of some importance. If Numar is only getting men from Mertesse and Rassor, he’ll have trouble mustering an army large enough to stand against us. With recruits from Bistari he becomes far more powerful.”

“I’m not sure that I agree,” Brall said. “Even if Silbron sends men to Solkara, Numar won’t have a force large enough to wage war against both Eibithar and us.”

“I’m not worried about Eibithar. And Numar won’t be either when he realizes that we’ve lined up the other houses against him. He’ll be determined to destroy us-he won’t care about anything else.”

“You didn’t argue thus when last we spoke. You seemed to think that we could avoid civil war entirely, as long as enough of us stood against the royal house.”

Tebeo nodded, knowing that his friend was right.

“I guess I’m not as confident of that as I was, particularly in light of Silbron’s refusal to join us.”

Brall said nothing, though he seemed to consider this for some time. At last, he turned to the ministers, who had kept silent throughout the dukes’ discussion.

“What say the two of you?”

Fetnalla looked up from her food. “My lord?”

“Does Bistari’s refusal to join our cause render us too weak to stand against the regent?”

The first minister shook her head, her pale eyes straying to Tebeo’s face for just an instant. “No, I don’t believe it does. Mertesse and Solkara may be powerful, but their combined might is no greater than that of Orvinti, Dantrielle, and Noltierre. And with Tounstrel and Kett joining us, I believe we have the advantage. I don’t think the regent will risk a civil war with such a force arrayed against him.”

Tebeo was watching his minister, who continued to stare at her cup of wine, as if it were a gleaning stone. She was smaller than Fetnalla, and some might have thought her less graceful than Brall’s minister. Tebeo had heard Evanthya compare Fetnalla to a pale heron, and it was an apt description. Evanthya was plainer, not as long of limb, or fair of face. But in the years Evanthya had served Dantrielle, Tebeo had come to realize that she was as courageous as any man in his army, and as intelligent as any noble in the land. “Evanthya?” he asked now.

She pursed her lips briefly. Clearly the duke had placed her in a difficult position, asking her if she agreed with Fetnalla when it seemed plain that she didn’t. But in this instance the needs of House Dantrielle outweighed any consideration he might have given her feelings.

“I have to disagree, my lord,” she finally said.

Tebeo saw anger flash like sorcerer’s fire in Fetnalla’s eyes, but he couldn’t say if Evanthya noticed.

“If we’re to have any hope of standing against the regent,” Evanthya went on, “the army we command needs to be far stronger than that of the royal house. It’s not enough to lead a force that’s merely a match for Numar’s. Time and again the Solkarans have shown their willingness to fight when others might have thought better of it. It’s one of the reasons their supremacy has lasted so long. Regardless of whether you think them brave or foolhardy, they are ruthless. Unless he knows for certain that he can’t prevail, Numar will fight. And even should we manage to win, I fear what such a conflict would do to the realm.”

“For one thing, it may end the supremacy you fear so much.” Fetnalla was glaring at her. Tebeo had never seen Orvinti’s minister look so angry. “By fighting the Solkarans we give Bistari the opportunity she needs to take the crown, and we keep the realm from entering into this alliance with the empire. Surely these are reasons enough to fight.”

“I must say, First Minister,” Tebeo said, eyeing Evanthya, “I’m surprised to hear you argue as you do now. You were the one who convinced me to begin this process.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Now you regret doing so?”

His minister shrugged. “I fear for the realm, my lord. And with Bistari remaining neutral, I fear for your life and that of Lord Orvinti.”

He held her gaze for another moment, then nodded. “Very well, Evanthya. Why don’t you and Lord Orvinti’s first minister leave us for now. I wish to speak with the duke alone.”

She stood, as did Fetnalla. “Of course, my lord.”

The ministers bowed and left, and Tebeo waved one of the servants over and had the boy refill his goblet.

“It seems that I can say to you much the same thing that I just said to Evanthya.”

Brall raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

“When I journeyed to Orvinti a turn ago, you were the reluctant one, telling me that it was folly to stand against the Solkarans. Now you’re as eager for civil war as Numar is to attack Eibithar. And what’s more, you’re arguing as Fetnalla does. I thought you didn’t trust her.”

“I’ve been riding about the realm for nearly an entire turn, arguing against this war and risking my life and my dukedom so that we might prevail in a conflict with the regent. When last I saw you, I might have been reluctant, but I’ve given too much to this cause to abandon it now.” He looked away, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “To be honest, I’ve found myself imagining Aneira under the rule of House Bistari, or Dantrielle, or even Orvinti, though I never would have thought it possible that I could entertain such ambitions at my age.”

“You’d make a fine king, Brall. I’ve always thought so.”

He dismissed the compliment with a vague gesture. “The point is, I’ve seen in my mind what Aneira could be without the Solkaran Supremacy, and I’m drawn to the possibilities.”

“And your first minister?”

“I’m still not certain that I trust her. But in this instance we happen to agree.”

“If she is deceiving you then agreeing with her on a matter of such importance could be dangerous.”

“So am I to ignore all the counsel she offers? Or worse, am I supposed to listen to her advice and then always do the opposite? It wouldn’t take her long to turn that strategy against me.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would,” Tebeo said, grinning. “I just want to be certain that you’ve considered all the implications of what you’re proposing.”

“I have,” Brall said gravely. “I don’t want war with the royal house any more than I want war with Eibithar. And despite what your first minister said, I still hold out some hope that when Numar sees five of his dukes standing against him, he’ll relent. But if he doesn’t, I believe we can withstand Numar’s assault even without Silbron’s support, and I think that a civil war is preferable to this alliance with the empire, particularly if we can manage to wrest the crown from Solkara.”

Tebeo heaved a sigh and nodded. “Very well.”

Brall raised his cup, and Tebeo did the same. “To peace,” Orvinti said.

“To peace.”

They drank and Brall balanced his goblet on the arm of his chair as he so often did. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Should we send word to the regent of our intention to oppose the war?”

“We won’t have to. He’s asked for men, and we’ve refused him. I doubt we’ll have to wait long before he brands us as traitors and threatens to lay siege to our castles.”

“He can’t attack all of us.”

“No, he can’t. I imagine he’ll begin with me.”

Brall frowned. “Why with you?”

“Because when he came here last, I made it clear to him that I opposed his war. He has to destroy your house or mine-Kelt, Tounstrel, and Noltierre are too small to matter much. And when all else is said and done, he knows that Dantrielle will be the easier castle to take.”

Brall’s expression had sobered, and there was sympathy in his blue eyes, as if he had only just realized why Tebeo was so averse to a civil war. “My army is yours, Tebeo. You know that.”

“I do, my friend, and I thank you. Ean knows, I’m going to need it.”

They walked through the corridor in silence, taking the first set of stairs down to the castle ward, and then making their way to the gardens. Fetnalla would rather have gone directly to Evanthya’s bedchamber, but she knew her love too well to expect that. They had been on opposite sides of the discussion in her duke’s presence chamber, and after their fight in Solkara in the days following the death of King Carden the Third, Fetnalla sensed that Evanthya would be afraid she was angry with her again.

And she was, though not nearly so much as she might have been had she still cared whether or not her duke trusted her. She needed for both dukes to oppose the regent; the Weaver was expecting them to do so, and if by some chance Evanthya’s doubts held sway, he would blame Fetnalla, at least in part. But in this instance, her duke agreed with her and would do his best to convince Tebeo regardless of what Evanthya counseled. Fetnalla wished only to forget about wars and alliances for a time, to put aside all this talk of Eandi politics, and be with her love. It had been far too long since last they had lain together; during Evanthya’s most recent visit to Orvinti, Fetnalla had been too consumed with her fears of the Weaver and her resentment of Brall’s suspicion to give in to her desires.

All that was now in the past. She had cast her lot with the Weaver, and was at peace with that choice. Brall’s doubts were an inconvenience, nothing more. They made it a bit more difficult for her to do the Weaver’s bidding, but they also reminded her each day of why she had chosen the movement over the courts. Beyond the Qirsi cause, she cared only for Evanthya. And she needed desperately to renew the passion and love they once had shared.

For the time was coming when the Weaver would reveal himself and the Qirsi he commanded would move to crush the Eandi courts. Qirsi who had yet to pledge themselves to his cause would have one last chance to choose: they could serve the Weaver or die with their nobles. Were she forced to make that choice on this day, Evanthya would choose to die with Tebeo. Fetnalla was certain of it. Which meant that in the days remaining until the Weaver’s war began, she needed to convince Evanthya that their love was more important than their service to the dukes. It would take some time, perhaps more time than Fetnalla had, but she had to try.

“You’re very quiet,” she said, as they crossed through the ward.

“No more so than you.”

“You fear that I’m angry with you.”

“Aren’t you? I disagreed with you in front of Brall. Again.” Evanthya glanced at her for but a moment. “I saw the way you looked at me in there. You can’t tell me that you weren’t furious.”

“I don’t know about furious. I might have been a bit angry, but only for an instant, only because I feel so strongly that this alliance with the emperor is wrong.”

“It seemed like it was more than that.”

Fetnalla smiled. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry. You know me, Evanthya. I hate to lose an argument, any argument. I get very passionate when I care about something.” She slipped her hand into Evanthya’s as she spoke, drawing a smile from the woman and making her cheeks color.

“I can hardly find fault with you for that.”

A pair of guards stepped away from the nearest of the castle gates and started walking in their direction. Immediately, Evanthya pulled her hand away. The soldiers didn’t appear to notice anything.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to speak.”

Evanthya cast a quick look her way. “I’d like that,” she whispered. “Maybe later, after the evening meal.”

“Must we wait?”

“I think we should. I expect our dukes will call us back to the presence chamber before too long.”

“What does it matter if they do? They both know about us.”

“Yes, I know. But I’d feel more comfortable if they didn’t have to send guards to my bedchamber to find us.”

Fetnalla considered arguing the point further, but didn’t. Evanthya wasn’t going to change her mind, and if this grew into a fight, it might be several turns before they were to have another opportunity to be together.

“All right,” Fetnalla said. “What would you say to a walk through the city then? It’s been some time since I last came to Dantrielle, and you know how I love the marketplace here.”

“That sounds lovely as well, but as I said, I expect our dukes to summon us back to the castle before long. We should be here when they do.”

“Why? They sent us away. Why should we concern ourselves with them all the time when they obviously don’t give a thought to us?”

Fetnalla regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Fortunately, however, Evanthya still recalled how Brall mistreated her in the past.

“Is he still so suspicious of you?” she asked, concern in her bright golden eyes. “I had hoped matters might improve. You and he do agree when it comes to opposing the regent.”

“Yes, we agree, but that can’t undo so many turns of mistrust.”

“I know that. But you’re not going to regain his trust by defying him either. If we go off to the city, and then they summon us back to my duke’s chamber only to find us gone, it will do nothing to improve matters between you and Brall.”

She sounded like the worst kind of Qirsi servant, a lackey to the Eandi court who cared more for the noble she served than for her own people. Fetnalla had to bite her tongue to keep from saying as much. She could only imagine how the Weaver would have responded hearing Evanthya speak so.

“You think I’m wrong,” Evanthya said, after a lengthy silence.

“I think it’s possible to worry too much about offending our dukes, even Brall.”

“Maybe. But with the realm on the cusp of civil war, I think it best to err on the side of restraint.” The guards had passed, and after glancing about to make certain that no one was watching them, Evanthya took her hand once more. “We’ll be together later. I promise.”

Fetnalla nodded, made herself smile. She couldn’t help thinking, though, that winning Evanthya over to the Weaver’s cause would be nearly impossible.

As it happened, the dukes did summon them just before the ringing of the prior’s bells. The ministers returned to the presence chamber, where they spoke with their dukes and Dantrielle’s master of arms about strategy for the civil war. With Evanthya possessing mists and winds, and Fetnalla being a shaper, both of them would be expected to play important roles in any battles fought against the Solkarans. In the midst of the discussion, Fetnalla realized that she didn’t know what the Weaver wanted her to do if Brall called upon her to wield her magic on Orvinti’s behalf. She would have to ask when next he walked in her dreams.

Once more, they took their meal in the presence chamber, their conversation continuing well past sunset and nearly to the ringing of the gate close. When finally Tebeo stood and stretched, giving them leave to go, Fetnalla feared that Evanthya would be too tired to do more than go to sleep. To her surprise and pleasure, however, the minister took her hand outside the presence chamber and led her back to her bedchamber.

Once there, they fell into each other’s arms, kissing deeply before slowly, gently undressing one another. After that, Fetnalla lost all sense of time. Thoughts of the Weaver and his war faded from her mind, leaving only the cool smoothness of Evanthya’s skin, the taste of her lips, the moist warmth she found between her love’s legs. The urgency of her own hunger seemed to be matched by Evanthya’s as the woman’s mouth traveled her body. And when they had sated themselves, their pulses easing, their limbs entangled beneath the candlelight, Fetnalla pulled away, intending to dress and return to her chamber.

“Not yet,” Evanthya whispered. “Lie with me for a while.”

She hesitated. The Weaver hadn’t entered her dreams in some time, and she expected that he would soon, perhaps this night.

Evanthya’s fingers wandered gently over her back.

“All right,” she said, lying back down. “Just for a while.”

It began to rain, slowly at first, then harder. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“A storm in Amon’s Turn,” Evanthya murmured sleepily. “Just like the day we met. Remember?”

“Of course,” she whispered. It seemed like a lifetime ago. They had been so young, so devoted to their dukes and the realms they served. How could she have changed so much, and Evanthya not at all?

She lay in the bed, listening to the rain, and to the rhythm of her love’s breathing, which slowed gradually as sleep came to her.

Fetnalla didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep as well until she found herself on the Weaver’s plain. A cool wind brushed her skin and she remembered that she was naked.

Not now, she thought. Can’t this wait until tomorrow night?

To which the Weaver’s voice replied, “Why should I wait?”

Usually she had to walk a distance to find him, but on this night the Weaver appeared before her immediately, the brilliant light behind him burning her eyes.

“You’re not alone, are you?”

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Dantrielle’s minister is with you?”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“Are you any closer to turning her?”

She had already felt what he could do to her if she angered him, and so she didn’t dare lie. “No, Weaver, not yet.”

“You still think it’s possible, though.”

“I want to believe it. I’m not ready to give up yet.”

She saw him nod. “A good answer. Very well. Tell me of your duke and his plans to defy the regent.”

“He remains convinced that the war with Eibithar is a bad idea. He fears a civil war, but he believes that with the support of the other houses, he can prevail against the Solkarans.”

“Tounstrel and Bistari are with you?”

“No, Weaver. Only Tounstrel. Bistari’s new duke refuses to take sides in the matter.”

“Ah,” the Weaver said, nodding again. “He aspires to the throne.”

“That’s what the dukes think.”

“Did Dantrielle win over Kett and Noltierre?”

“Yes, Weaver. In all, five houses have pledged themselves to stand against the regent.”

“Good. Very good. Bistari might have tipped the balance too far. I’m pleased.”

She lowered her gaze. Already she had learned what the Weaver expected of her. “Thank you, Weaver. I wanted to ask you, when war comes, shall I wield my power on my duke’s behalf?”

“You’ll have to. If you refuse, you endanger yourself and the movement. But if your duke is like most Eandi, he knows little of Qirsi magic. You can use your powers on his behalf without using them well. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“Good. I’ll leave you now, since you’re with the minister.”

“Thank you, Weaver.”

“Time runs short. You know that. If you don’t turn her soon, it will be too late. We’ll have no choice but to kill her.”

He may as well have reached into her chest and taken hold of her heart.

“Yes, Weaver,” she managed, and woke.

The candle flame beside the bed flickered and danced. Evanthya was sitting up, staring at her, a single crease like a scar in the middle of her forehead.

“You were dreaming.”

Fetnalla’s throat felt dry. “Was I?”

“Yes, and you spoke in your sleep.”

She pulled up the bed linens, covering herself. “What did I say?”

“It was hard to make sense of it. But you said something about a Weaver.”

“A Weaver.” She tried to make herself laugh as she said this, but it came out sounding breathless and desperate to her own ears.

“What was it you were dreaming about?”

“Honestly, Evanthya, I don’t remember.”

“Was it a vision?”

Fetnalla shook her head. “I’d remember a vision.”

Evanthya looked as if she wanted to ask more, but Fetnalla didn’t allow her the chance.

“What’s the hour?” she demanded, kicking off the linens and swinging herself out of the bed.

“I’m not certain.”

She began to dress. “I should return to my chamber.”

“Have you had this dream before, Fetnalla?”

“I told you, I don’t remember it. How should I know if I’ve had it before?” She winced at what she heard in her voice. Even in the dim light, she could see the hurt in Evanthya’s eyes, the color seeping into her cheeks.

“You seemed frightened,” her love said, low and sad. “Whatever you were dreaming seemed to terrify you.”

It did. He’s going to kill you. Fetnalla stopped buttoning her shirt and sat beside her on the bed. “We all have dreams that scare us, Evanthya. You can’t tell me that Shyssir has never brought demons to your sleep.”

“Of course, but-”

“It was a dream, that’s all.” Fetnalla kissed her lightly on the lips. “I promise.”

Evanthya gazed at her for several moments, then nodded.

She stood again and finished dressing. “I have to go, but we’ll have breakfast together in the morning. All right?”

“All right.”

She bent to kiss Evanthya again. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you.”

Fetnalla turned and let herself out of the chamber. She could feel Evanthya’s eyes upon her as she opened and closed the door, but she dared not look back for fear that she’d weep. She could almost feel her love’s lips still, warm and soft. But she could only hear the Weaver’s voice.

Time runs short. .

He hadn’t said the one thing she feared most. He didn’t have to. She knew it, just as she knew that Ilias would follow Panya into the sky, and a tide once high would soon ebb. When it came time to kill Evanthya, she would have to wield the blade.