by DAVID B. COE
The more Tebeo and his first minister spoke of the regent and his war, the more uncertain the duke grew, until he found himself advocating points of view with which he did not agree.
Evanthya, who knew him too well, seemed to sense her advantage, for after a time, she began to smile. When Tebeo stated that Aneira’s alliance with Braedon outweighed all other concerns, even his desire for peace, she actually laughed.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know that you don’t truly believe that, not unless you received word during the night that Harel has died and been replaced by a new emperor.”
He winced. “You shouldn’t jest about such things, First Minister.”
“My apologies, my lord. But the fact remains that you think Harel a poor leader and a dangerous ally for the kingdom. You’ve said as much to me several times in the past.”
“You’re right, I have. And I suppose I still feel that way.”
“Then why do you argue as you do?”
“Because I have no desire to stand alone against Numar. As it is, after what I said to him while he was here, I’m fortunate that he’s a generous man. He could easily have taken offense and he might still decide to punish Dantrielle for my impudence. I can’t risk angering him further.”
The minister regarded him in silence briefly, her brow furrowed, as if she were struggling with something. Then, appearing to come to a decision, she asked, “What if you didn’t have to stand against him alone?”
“What?”
She licked her lips. “When I spoke with the archminister, he asked me if I thought you could prevail upon the southern houses to support the war if they proved reluctant.”
He gaped at her, not quite believing that Pronjed would think to ask her such a question. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
She lowered her gaze. “I was afraid to, my lord. Just as you fear Numar, I fear the archminister. Fetnalla and Lord Orvinti suspect that he may be a traitor, that he may even have used mind-bending magic to kill the king. If he learned that I had revealed to you anything of our conversation, he . . . he might seek to do me harm.”
“How?” Tebeo asked, eyes narrowing. “Do you think he’d try to kill you?”
“Not directly, my lord. But he might accuse me of treason. These are difficult days for Qirsi and Eandi alike. It requires only a well-placed word to destroy the reputation of a minister.”
The duke nodded. That much at least he could understand. “Do you think he expects the southern houses to resist the war?”
“He told me he was merely preparing himself for all possibilities. But I don’t think he would have asked the question unless he thought it likely.” She hesitated, her bright gaze dropping once more. “He asked as well if I thought you would resist”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all, not after my conversation with Numar.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I thought you would send however many men Numar requested, that you were Aneiran before all else.”
It was the only proper response she could have given, but still he was relieved. “Thank you. And what about his other question? How did you answer that?”
“I wasn’t certain what to say, my lord. I told him that you were not as close to the new dukes in Tounstrel and Noltierre as you had been to their fathers, and that you didn’t have as much influence with them as the question implied.”
Tebeo frowned. “Frankly, First Minister, that’s more of an answer than such a question deserved.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Still, it’s close enough to the truth, and it doesn’t give Numar much hope that I can act on his behalf if Vistaan and Bertin the Younger refuse to comply. Under the circumstances, things could be far worse.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She opened her mouth to say more, then stopped herself, taking a breath and playing absently with the satin edge of her robe.
“Out with it, Evanthya. If there’s more to your conversation with Pronjed I’d best know it now.”
Still she paused, seeming to search for the correct words. “I’m not entirely certain that he was asking these questions on the regent’s behalf, my lord.”
He had thought that nothing more could surprise him, that between Numar’s unexpected visit and the archminister’s blunt questioning of his first minister he had been inured to shock. But this was too much. “Explain.”
“He told me that he didn’t think the regent trusted him and that Numar only brought him to Dantrielle and the other dukedoms because he didn’t trust the minister enough to leave him alone in Solkara.”
“Do you think the regent fears for the queen?”
She shook her head, playing now with a strand of white hair. “No, I think he fears Chofya and Pronjed’s ties to her.”
At that the duke felt a surge of hope. “Did Pronjed indicate that he still remained loyal to her?”
“Not really, my lord. He told me that he was asking me these other questions on no one’s behalf, but rather as one Qirsi to another.”
Just as quickly, the duke’s hope vanished to be replaced by a feeling of coldest, deepest dread. “What does that mean? Do you think he’s with the conspiracy?”
“I think it’s possible. It’s also possible that he thinks I am, and that he hoped to determine this for certain.”
“Why would he think you were a traitor?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he could see from the way she regarded him that he had failed.
“You of all people should know the answer to that, my lord.” She gave a sad smile. “With all that’s happened in Aneira and throughout the Forelands, all Qirsi are suspect. Traitors seem to lurk in every corner, be it in Solkara, or Orvinti, or here, in Dantrielle.”
Tebeo nodded again, but said nothing.
“I’ve told you this before, my lord, and I’ll say it again. I have not betrayed you, nor do I intend to. But I believe this war must be stopped before it begins. It will bring ruin to the realm, perhaps to all the Forelands.”
“Do you know this? Have you gleaned something?”
Evanthya shook her head. “No, my lord. This is my opinion, it’s not prophecy.”
He almost wished it had been a vision. A part of him felt just as his first minister did. But Dantrielle would fare no better if her duke was labeled a traitor and her castle besieged by the royal army. At least in this war, his people might have a chance to prove their mettle or die loyal subjects of the kingdom. The alternative was unthinkable.
“I share your fears, Evanthya. You know I do. But you’re asking me to exchange one war for another. If I defy House Solkara it will put us on a path to civil war, a hopeless war at that, and one that will be no less ruinous for the kingdom than this alliance with the empire.” He shook his head. “I can’t do it.”
“You could at least speak with Lord Orvinti, my lord.”
“To what end? The regent told us that Brall supports this war.”
“Of course he did, my lord. What else would he say? But what if Lord Orvinti feels as we do, and only said what he did to avoid angering Numar? What if Bertin the Younger and Vistaan of Tounstrel do the same? The dukes chose Numar over Henthas because they didn’t want a kingdom governed by fear and the threat of violence. Yet isn’t that what we have?”
“Numar isn’t Henthas!” the duke said, flinging the words at her like a blade.
Evanthya looked away. “No, my lord.”
She didn’t deserve his anger. As with so many things, she was right about this. He feared the coming war, but had been compelled to pledge his support by a regent he feared even more. And Dantrielle was one of Aneira’s stronger houses. If Numar could force his compliance, couldn’t he do the same to the dukes of Kett and Noltierre, Rassor and Tounstrel?
“Have you received word from Fetnalla since the regent’s visit?” he asked. “Do you have any reason to believe that she and Brall have similar doubts?�
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“I’ve heard nothing, my lord. For all I know, the regent was correct in saying that he had Lord Orvinti’s support. But if I may be so bold, even if Lord Orvinti is in favor of this war, as you seem to be, it strikes me that you would benefit from such assurances right now.”
“I probably would. But assurances can be conveyed by messenger. If we’re to discuss defying the regent, we’d best do so in Orvinti.”
Evanthya met his gaze again, her bright yellow eyes dancing like torch fire. It took the duke a moment to remember that she and Brall’s first minister were lovers. A journey to Orvinti meant more to her than just an opportunity to press her argument again.
“Then we’re going?” she asked.
“Yes. But hear this, First Minister: if Brall truly supports the war, this is over. There will be no correspondence with Noltierre or Tounstrel on the matter.”
“Of course, my lord. Without Orvinti we can’t stand against House Solkara.”
They held each other’s gaze for another moment before Tebeo sent her off to prepare for the journey. But long after she had left him, he continued to shake his head at the memory of this last comment. Notwithstanding her kind manner and reasoned thinking on matters of state, there were times when Evanthya spoke of war and rebellion with chilling indifference.
They rode at dawn the following day, steering their mounts into the teeth of yet another icy storm. Tebeo could not remember the snows lasting this long in past years. It almost seemed that the gods themselves were trying to keep the land’s armies from marching to war. The duke kept his company small, much as Numar had. Evanthya rode with him of course, as did eight of his finest soldiers, four swordsmen and four archers. Brigands tended to move south during the colder turns and though some of them might have come north again, fooled by the brief warm spell that had come at the end of Eilidh’s waning, most would not be haunting the roads again for another turn or two. Eight men would be more than enough.
He had sent a message ahead, informing Brall of his impending visit and telling the duke to expect him within the first five days of the waning. He hadn’t waited for a response, nor did he expect the messenger to find him again in the forest. Such was the nature of his friendship with Brall that no reply was necessary. Both the duke and Pazice, his wife, would have welcomed them even without such a courtesy, just as he and Pelgia would have opened their home to Brall. But in this case Tebeo reasoned that the nature of his visit would be enough of a surprise. There was no need to compound the matter by arriving unannounced.
They traveled swiftly despite the weather—or perhaps because of it. No one in the company had any desire to linger on the road. By midmorning on the sixth day, they had come within sight of the Hills of Shanae, rising above the Plain of the Stallions and gleaming with fresh snow. It would be another day before they reached Lake Orvinti and Brall’s magnificent castle, but seeing the hills, the duke felt his spirits rise. Even faced with the prospect of war, he looked forward to speaking with his friend. Brall had his faults. He could be arrogant at times, and he was even more likely than Tebeo to take a position in the Council of Dukes based not on what he believed but rather on what he thought the majority of dukes wanted. But he could also be thoughtful and uncommonly clever. And Tebeo knew that when the two of them spoke privately, he could depend upon Brall to be entirely honest with him. With Bertin and Chago dead, he could not say the same about any other noble in the realm.
The Plain of the Stallions remained a wild stretch of land, mostly devoid of towns and villages. A few farms could be found on the expanse, particularly in the regions just south and west of Lake Orvinti and just north and west of the Tall Grass River, but except for falcons and ptarmigans, wild dogs and, of course, the herds of horses for which the plain was named, there was little to be found between Dantrielle and Brall’s castle. For this reason, and despite the fact that it added several leagues to their journey, Tebeo and his company followed the Rassor along its south bank. Even on the river, there weren’t many towns. But there were a few, and every night of their journey they were able to find shelter.
On this night, because they were so close to the ducal city, the village was larger and the inn more comfortable than any they had encountered since leaving Dantrielle. Their meal, a spicy mutton stew and the black bread and light wine for which western Aneira was renowned, reminded Tebeo of nights spent in Bistari when Chago used to regale the other dukes with tales of his father’s blood feud with Farrad the Sixth of Solkara. Long after his soldiers had gone off to bed, Tebeo remained in the tavern’s hall, sipping wine and filling himself with fine food. Evanthya, who had long since stopped eating, stayed dutifully by his side, playing idly with her goblet. They had spoken little on this journey, and Tebeo wondered if she were merely anticipating her reunion with Fetnalla or distracted by weightier matters.
“It seems in recent turns that we don’t often speak unless we’re arguing,” the duke said at last, draining his goblet and motioning to the serving girl for more.
“Yes, my lord. I’ve noticed that as well.”
“I suppose I’m to blame.”
“No more than I am, my lord.”
Tebeo gave a small, dry laugh and shook his head. “Your courtesy is admirable, First Minister, but we both know better. You believe that I don’t trust you, that my fear of the conspiracy has made me wary of all Qirsi, even those who serve me well.”
Evanthya started to respond, no doubt to deny that this was true, as a good minister should, but the duke stopped her with a raised hand.
“Please don’t, Evanthya. The truth is, I don’t trust you, at least not as I did. I don’t really think that you’ve betrayed me or my house, at least not in the customary sense. I’m not even certain that you’re capable of such a thing. But I find myself wondering now about matters that never concerned me before. Do you serve House Dantrielle out of loyalty or because doing so brings you gold? Is the courtesy you show me genuine or is it a mask you wear to conceal your contempt for me?” The serving girl returned with more wine, which the duke accepted with a quick smile. He watched her as she returned to the bar, then took a small sip from his goblet. Turning his gaze back to the minister, he felt a sudden ache in his chest.
She was crying, silent tears coursing down her pale cheeks.
He hadn’t thought to wound her with his words. On the contrary, he had hoped to begin to bridge the rift that had grown between them. Only now, seeing the pain written on her thin face and thinking of what he had said, did it occur to him that his admission might hurt her. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much wine.
“First Minister, please. I—”
She shook her head so that tears flew from her face, staining the wooden table like raindrops on castle stone. “I’ve known you felt this way for some time,” she said. “I merely chose not to think about it. Perhaps it would be best—” She stopped, stifling a sob. “Perhaps I should leave your service now, before we reach Orvinti.”
Tebeo closed his eyes, wincing. What a fool he was. “I don’t want that,” he told her. “I rely on your counsel, Evanthya. I need you now more than I ever have.”
“How can you accept my counsel when you imagine me hating you, when you look for lies in my every word and gesture?”
“That’s not what I said.”
She swiped at the tears on her face. “It’s close; close enough, anyway.”
“Then I misspoke.”
“Did you, my lord?” She sounded angry, as if her pain had suddenly given way to rage. “It seems to me those were the most honest words you’ve spoken to me since the king’s death. You, Lord Orvinti, the regent—all of you see white hair and think ‘traitor.’ ”
“You liken me to Numar?”
“Yes, my lord. Just as you liken me to the archminister.”
“We have cause to be frightened, Evanthya. You yourself have spoken many times of the dangers of the conspiracy.”
“Yes, I have. But I should not be branded a tra
itor because other Qirsi have betrayed their lords. Would you expect me to accuse you of poisoning my wine tonight simply because Grigor poisoned the Council of Dukes in Solkara?”
He rubbed a hand over his brow. “Of course not.”
“My people have had to endure accusations of this sort for centuries, simply because the Qirsi wars ended with Carthach’s betrayal. The Eandi see us as a race of traitors, and no matter what we do, no matter how ably we serve in your courts, you’ll always see us that way.”
“Is it any wonder, First Minister? When Brall and I speak of ourselves, it’s always as Aneirans, or as men of our houses. But the Qirsi speak always of themselves as a race first. You’re Qirsi before you’re anything else. You may serve Dantrielle, you may live in Aneira, but you think of yourself as Qirsi.”
“That’s only because you won’t allow me to be anything else! I am Aneiran, and I would give my life for House Dantrielle, whether you believe it or not. But when you look at me, you don’t see an Aneiran. You see white hair and yellow eyes. You see me raising mists or whispering magic words to my mount. We’re a race of sorcerers. All of the Qirsi share that, just as we share the physical traits that make us so strange in your eyes. So yes, in some small way we may feel a bond to other Qirsi, regardless of what house or realm they serve. But what choice do we have when you won’t truly accept us as one of your own?” She shook her head, raking a rigid hand through her fine hair. “Still, it’s one thing to feel such a kinship, it’s another entirely to band with a handful of traitors simply because they happen to wield magic like mine. I hate the conspiracy, not only for what it’s done to the Eandi but also for what it’s done to me.”
“And what is that?”
She opened her arms, as if it should have been obvious. “This argument, your distrust, the ache in my heart every time I have to take care choosing a word for fear of raising your suspicions again. I hate all of it! And I hate them for doing this to me! If you only knew—”
She broke off, looking away as tears poured from her golden eyes once more.
