by DAVID B. COE
He hadn’t been fair with her, not for several turns. He could see that now, though he didn’t know how to win back her friendship. “If I only knew what?” he asked, his voice as gentle as a caress.
“Nothing.”
“Please, Evanthya.”
Their eyes met for but a moment before she looked away again. “If you only knew how much I want to defeat them,” she whispered.
“We have that in common, don’t we?”
She shrugged, still not looking at him “I suppose we do,” she said, sounding unconvinced.
“I know it’s not much, but perhaps it’s a place to start. I don’t want you to leave Dantrielle, Evanthya, not only because I depend upon you for counsel but also because I’ve grown quite fond of you over the years. Pelgia and I both have.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. Her fingers were slender and small, almost like those of a child. These hands can raise a gale that would topple oaks. She didn’t take hold of his hand in return, but neither did she pull hers away. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he went on. “You’re right about us, the Eandi, I mean. We do see you as different, as not sharing our devotion to the kingdom. We should know better by now, but we don’t. That’s what makes this conspiracy so insidious and also so cunning. It strikes at our weakness, our inability to see beyond the differences between us, our inability to think of you and your people as anything more than failed invaders who were undone by treachery. We’ve made it too easy for them.”
Evanthya grimaced slightly. “You’re not alone in that. For every Eandi lord who assumes that his minister has betrayed him, there are three ministers who think the same of their colleagues.” She looked up. “The conspiracy has brought out the worst in all of us, my lord. As you say, that’s what it makes it so dangerous.”
“All the more reason to defeat it, then, First Minister. I’d be honored to fight this battle beside you.”
The woman actually smiled, wiping away her tears again.
“Forgive me for what I said, Evanthya. I’m frightened by the conspiracy—I prefer an enemy I can see. But I didn’t wish to hurt you, nor do I want to drive you away.”
She took a long breath, her eyes meeting his for just an instant before flitting away again. After some time she nodded.
They returned to their rooms a short time later and rose the next morning to complete their ride to Orvinti. The air had grown warmer overnight, but it rained on the company throughout the day. When finally they followed the road around the south end of Lake Orvinti and into the castle, all of them were soaked and shivering.
The duke of Orvinti was not a man to waste time on formalities, and he soon had all of them taken to their quarters, where they could change clothes and warm themselves before being fed. Orvinti’s duchess joined the two dukes and their ministers for the meal, but left them after the final course was served, claiming to be weary. Tebeo knew better. Unlike his own wife, Pazice had little interest in matters of state, but she knew enough of such things to understand that Tebeo’s visit was unusual, and that the two men wished to discuss whatever had brought him to her home.
Once the duchess was gone, Brall stood, glancing first at Tebeo and then at the first ministers. He looked just as he always did, tall and hale, youthful for his age despite the shock of thick silver hair that hung over his brow. If he still suffered any lingering effects from the poisoning in Solkara, he showed no sign of it. His broad face may have had a few more lines than Tebeo remembered, but his eyes were still clear and as blue as the sky in the harvest turns.
“Shall we return to my chambers and talk there?” he asked, gesturing with a meaty hand toward the door of the hall in which they were sitting.
“Why don’t we speak alone tonight, and allow our ministers to renew their friendship? The four of us can meet tomorrow.”
Evanthya favored him with a smile of such profound gratitude that the duke felt his cheeks coloring. Brall, on the other hand, did not look at all pleased. When Fetnalla looked at him, however, a question in her yellow eyes, he nodded his assent.
When the ministers had gone, and the two dukes began to wind their way back through the dim corridors to Brall’s quarters, the tall duke cast a dark look at Tebeo. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Give Fetnalla and Evanthya leave to go.”
Tebeo gave a small shrug. “I wished to speak with you in private, and I saw no harm in allowing them to have their privacy as well.” He didn’t think that Brall knew of the ministers’ love affair, but apparently he had given offense where none was intended and he didn’t wish to compound his error with lies.
“There is harm in it,” Brall said harshly. “You might as well give them leave to plot against us.”
“You’d rather they were party to our conversation?”
“At least then we could watch them, make certain we know what they’re doing.”
Tebeo gave a small laugh. “And would you also have us stay up through the night, so that our slumber doesn’t give them opportunity to weave their conspiracies?”
Brall just stared at him, his expression unchanged. “Make your jokes, my friend. But I assure you, in this castle, my sleep does not afford the Qirsi any opportunities.”
It took him a moment. “You have her watched?”
“Of course I do. You should do the same with Evanthya. These times require no less of us.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“But I am. Haven’t you been paying heed to all that’s happened in this kingdom since the harvest? Haven’t you been listening to the tidings brought to your city by merchants and the festivals? The conspiracy is real, Tebeo. It’s not just rumors anymore. Nobles are dying, not just here but all through the Forelands.”
“But to have her watched, as if she were already a known traitor . . .” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do such a thing.”
“So instead you wait until their treachery is revealed. That’s the fool’s way, Tebeo. That’s what Chago did, and Carden, and who knows how many others who are already in Bian’s realm.”
They came to Brall’s chamber and stopped before the door. Guards stood on either side of the door, both dressed in Orvinti colors, blue and green. Brall pulled a key from within his ducal robe, unlocked the door, and indicated with an open hand that Tebeo should enter. In all his years as duke of Dantrielle, Tebeo had never locked his chambers.
Tebeo and Brall sat in the large chairs in the center of the chamber while a servant threw a pair of logs into the hearth and squatted to stir the glowing embers.
“I suppose you have guards watching her?” Tebeo asked.
“Guards, servants. Occasionally I use some of Pazice’s ladies.” He glanced at the servant. When he began again, he had lowered his voice to a whisper. “Pazice knows nothing of this, and I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell her.”
“Of course.” He sat still a moment, watching as the servant tried to rekindle the fire. “So, has Fetnalla done anything . . . unusual? Have you any reason to believe that she’s betrayed you?”
“Not yet. But she may have some idea that I’ve been keeping watch on her. It may be that I’m keeping her from joining the conspiracy.”
I think it more likely that you’re driving her to it. He didn’t say this, though he wanted to. Theirs was a strong friendship, but still Brall would have taken offense. Tebeo had never seen him so suspicious of anyone, not even the Eibitharians. Moreover, it occurred to him that if Fetnalla was under constant observation, Brall was about to receive tidings of a different sort. Best he hear it first from Tebeo.
“There’s something I should tell you, Brall. If your watchers are doing their jobs properly, you’ll learn of it soon enough, but since I’ve known for some time now, I ought to be the one to tell you.”
Brall narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what?”
Tebeo took a breath, watching as the servant finally lit the blaze and left the chamber. The Brall he knew a year ago woul
d have been surprised, by what he was about to say. He might even have disapproved, though he would have had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself. But Tebeo wasn’t certain how the man before him would respond. Distrustful as he was of his own minister, and frightened as he seemed to be of all Qirsi, there was no way to know for certain.
“What is it, Tebeo? You’re scaring me.”
“It’s nothing really. Fetnalla and Evanthya are . . . they’re in love.”
The man’s brow creased. “What?”
“Our first ministers—”
“Do you mean in love with each other?”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Are you certain it’s not a trick, a story they’ve told you to hide something else?”
“Brall, please! Stop imagining traitors at every turn and think for a moment! If our ministers wanted to plot against us, and wished to find time alone to do so, they would simply claim friendship and have done with it. They certainly wouldn’t go to this length, not when it’s bound to draw more attention to them rather than less.”
Orvinti eyed him a moment, looking angry. Then he gave a small nod and glanced at the fire.
“So they’re lovers,” he said, a look of distaste twisting his features.
Tebeo smiled. “Yes.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since around the time of Carden’s funeral.”
“She told you?”
“I guessed.”
Brall raised an eyebrow. “You guessed?”
“I could tell from the way Evanthya spoke of your minister, from the way she behaved when they were together.” He grinned. “I may be old, but I still remember what it is to be in love.”
The silver-haired duke shook his head. “If I had your eyes, I’d never wonder again about Fetnalla’s loyalty.” He paused briefly, watching the blaze. “Do you approve of this love?”
“I’m not certain it’s my place to approve or disapprove. If Fetnalla served another duke I might be uncomfortable with it, and I did tell Evanthya that if ever you and I had a falling-out, their affair would have to end or she would have to leave my service. But as matters stand now, I see nothing wrong with it.”
“The prelates would tell us that it’s . . . unnatural.”
“Probably. In certain respects I remain a man of the Old Faith. Besides, they’re Qirsi. They worship in the sanctuaries, not the cloisters. They should be governed by the old teachings.”
Brall shrugged. “You may be right. Just the same, I’d prefer you didn’t mention this to Pazice either.”
“Careful, Brall. You’re accumulating secrets in your old age. You know the saying: a man who keeps his own counsel is doomed to suffer from bad advice.”
For the first time since Tebeo’s arrival in Orvinti, Brall smiled. “My old age? You’ve got nerve calling me old, Dantrielle. What are you, three years younger than I am?”
“Actually, it’s four.”
Brall gave an exaggerated nod. “Ah, four years, then.” He laughed, as did Tebeo. After a few moments their laughter subsided, and Brall fixed his gaze on the duke, his expression growing grim once more. “Why are you here, Tebeo? What’s happened?”
“The same thing that happened here. Numar’s visit.”
“I should have guessed. You’re concerned about the alliance with Braedon.”
“Of course,” Tebeo said. “Shouldn’t we all be? This war could be a disaster for Aneira and all the Forelands.”
“It could also be our greatest triumph.”
Tebeo felt a dull ache in his chest. He had expected Brall to balk at the notion of defying the regent, but he never imagined that his friend might actually be eager for battle. Not that he could fault the man for what he said. Tebeo had argued much the same point with Evanthya in the wake of Numar’s visit.
“Is that really what you believe?” he asked.
Brall exhaled through his teeth. “I certainly wish it was. I don’t think much of Harel and I’ve no appetite for war. We’ve just lost Chago, Bertin, and Vidor. I’ve had enough of funerals for a lifetime.” He gave Tebeo a long look. “But surely you didn’t come all this way merely to exchange opinions on an ill-advised war.”
“No,” Tebeo said, shaking his head. He told Brall briefly of his unpleasant encounter with the regent and his lengthy discussions with Evanthya. “I came at the minister’s urging,” he concluded. “She believes that I should try to convince you, Bertin the Younger, and Vistaan to defy the regent when he asks for men for the war.”
Brall’s eyes widened. “We’d be trading one war for another.”
“I know.”
“Yet you came anyway.”
“Not to convince you but rather to ask your opinion.”
“My opinion? She’s mad. Or she’s a traitor.”
Tebeo gave a small smile and shook his head again. “She’s neither. She may be young, perhaps a bit reckless, but she’s loyal, and I fear she’s right about this.”
“No, Tebeo, she’s not! The royal army would crush us in no time. It would be a futile gesture, one that would bring disaster to all of our houses.”
“Perhaps not. I’ve been thinking of this since I left Dantrielle. The four of us might not be able to withstand Numar’s assault, but if Bistari were to join us, and Ansis of Kett, we’d have a chance.”
Brall appeared to consider this. “Have you spoken with Silbron?”
“No. I won’t mention it to any of the others unless you agree to join me.”
Brall grinned again. “Afraid to swing alone, eh?”
“Chago would have agreed to this in an instant, but no one hated the Solkarans more than he did. Silbron isn’t like his father. He’s more ambitious, and more sensible. I believe he wants Bistari to reclaim it’s place as one of Aneira’s leading houses and the only way to do that is to end Bistari’s feud with House Solkara.”
“Then he’ll be reluctant to stand with us.”
“That’s why we need Ansis. If we have Kett and Bistari, there will be no war. Numar would have to lead the royal army against six houses. He’d only have Rassor and Mertesse by his side, and Mertesse is still recovering from its failed assault on Kentigern Tor. We could actually stop the attack on Eibithar without plunging the land into civil war.”
Brall put a finger to his lips, looking thoughtful. “That might actually weaken the Solkarans.”
“Exactly. Silbron doesn’t want to anger Numar so long as the regency remains powerful. But if he sees this as a way to weaken the Solkaran Supremacy, I think he’ll leap at the chance.”
“Then we’re still talking about leading the realm to civil war. Perhaps not immediately, but that’s where this is headed.”
Tebeo faltered, though only for an instant. “I suppose it is. I’m willing to risk that. This is no time for the Eandi realms to be weakening themselves by fighting foolish wars. That’s exactly what the conspiracy wants us to do.”
“Are you sure?” Brall asked. “It seems to me that the conspiracy has been fomenting dissent within the realms, not between them. Chago’s death increased the likelihood of civil war here in Aneira, as did Carden’s. We can’t say for certain that either of them was killed by the Qirsi, but the fact remains that their deaths weakened the kingdom. And the houses of Curgh and Kentigern actually fought a battle on the Moors of Eibithar before riding back to Kentigern to fight off Rouel’s siege. Isn’t it just as possible that this civil war you’re willing to risk is precisely what the Qirsi want?”
“Yes, it’s possible. But as you said yourself, the risk of civil war isn’t immediate.” Tebeo gave a wan smile. “We’re dancing with wraiths, my friend. We have no choice but to evade them one at a time.”
Chapter
Ten
They had so much to discuss, so many plans to make. And her time here in Orvinti was short. Yet all Evanthya wanted to do was take Fetnalla’s hand in her own and lead her back to her chambers. She wanted to taste her love�
��s skin, to feel Fetnalla’s lips on her own, to hear her cry out with pleasure and longing fulfilled. It was all she had dreamed of for more nights than she cared to count.
Instead they walked the corridors, speaking in hushed tones of nothing at all: the snows; the festivals, one of which would be arriving in Orvinti later in the turn; Evanthya’s journey to the castle. They hadn’t even discussed the message Evanthya sent the previous turn, informing Fetnalla of Shurik’s death, a death they had paid for with their own gold. Evanthya tried to bring the matter up, only to have Fetnalla change the subject with some trifling question about the plantings in Dantrielle.
She did manage to draw from Orvinti’s first minister that she was feeling well, that she had recovered fully from the poisoning. But she did not look well, and despite her assurances, Evanthya felt fear balling itself into a fist around her heart. Fetnalla had always been thin, as were most Qirsi, and her height exaggerated this, making her appear long legged and graceful like a pale heron. Yet, never before had she looked so frail. Her thin face had a pinched look, and there were dark purple lines beneath her eyes, as if it had been days since last she slept. Even her voice sounded weak, and Evanthya had not heard her laugh or seen her smile even once since her arrival. She wanted to ask Fetnalla what was wrong. Again. She knew, though, that her love would insist all was well, just as she had three times already that evening.
When they turned yet another corner, however, and started down the same corridor they had walked an hour before, Evanthya could stand it no longer. She stopped, taking hold of Fetnalla’s arm so that the woman was forced to face her. Fetnalla had been speaking of the festival again, as if Evanthya had never seen one before. She fell silent now, looking off to the side, seeming to wait for Evanthya to question her again, or perhaps berate her.
Evanthya wanted to do both. But instead she stepped forward and placing a hand lightly on Fetnalla’s cheek so that the woman had to look at her, stood on her toes and kissed her lips. Fetnalla returned the kiss for just a moment before pulling away, her eyes scanning the corridor in both directions. The ghost of a smile touched her face and was gone. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.
