by DAVID B. COE
“And my apologies as well for sleeping so late,” Evanthya added, hoping to deflect some of Brall’s anger away from Fetnalla. “I must have been more weary from our travels than I knew.”
“No apology is necessary,” Brall said, a sour smile on his lips. He indicated the chairs near where Fetnalla was standing. “Please sit. First Minister, can I offer you something to eat?”
Evanthya shook her head as she lowered herself into the nearest chair. “No thank you, my lord.”
“Some tea perhaps?”
She forced a smile, sensing that his courtesy was merely a mask for other sentiments. Suspicion, distaste, anger. There had been a time when Evanthya actually liked Fetnalla’s duke, seeing him as a man much like her own duke; honorable, kind, though perhaps gruffer than Tebeo and not quite so wise. But it seemed that his fine qualities had been overwhelmed by his growing distrust of the Qirsi.
“Tea would be fine, my lord.”
He rang a bell on his table, and almost immediately a door on the side wall of the chamber opened, revealing a young servant.
“Some tea, and some pastries as well.”
The boy bowed, pulling the door closed once more.
“Lord Dantrielle has told me of your counsel, First Minister,” Brall said, sitting across from her. “He tells me as well that you fear this coming war with Eibithar.”
“I do, my lord.”
“The prospect of a civil war doesn’t frighten you more?”
“These are difficult times, my lord. Every possible path presents unique risks, and unique opportunities as well.”
He wrinkled his brow, looking puzzled. “Opportunities,” he repeated. “What an interesting choice of words. Opportunities for whom, First Minister?”
She heard the insinuation in his question and glanced for a moment at Fetnalla, who continued to stand before the fire, as if ignoring their conversation.
“I believe,” Tebeo broke in, “that Evanthya sees an opportunity in this course of action for all who feel as we do, that Numar’s alliance with the empire will lead Aneira to ruin.”
Brall frowned at the duke, as if annoyed by the interruption. He opened his mouth, no doubt to question her further, only to be stopped by the return of his servant with the tea. By the time the boy had finished pouring out cups for all of them, which took several moments, Brall’s face had turned a mild shade of purple.
Finishing with the tea, the boy faced his duke once more. “Will there be anything else, my—?”
“No! Leave us!”
The servant bowed again and hurried from the room.
The duke of Orvinti exhaled heavily and looked at Tebeo. “Where were we?” he asked.
Evanthya picked up her teacup, pleased to see that her hands remained steady. “You were asking me about my counsel to Lord Dantrielle, my lord. I believe you were trying to determine where my loyalties lie.”
“Evanthya!” Tebeo said, glaring at her.
Fetnalla eyed her as well, her expression unreadable.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Evanthya said, facing Tebeo, so that all in the room would know for whom the apology was intended. “But Lord Orvinti’s intent was clear enough to compel an answer from you in my defense. I feel I have little choice but to respond.”
“You’re offended easily, First Minister,” Brall said.
“Not at all, my lord. But you think me a traitor, as you do all Qirsi. I merely wish to assure you that I serve my duke and my house faithfully and that I offered this counsel to Lord Dantrielle believing fully that this was the correct course of action. If you choose to reject my counsel, you should do so knowing that.”
She chanced a quick glance at Tebeo, and though the duke sat tight-lipped, still appearing angry, he nodded once, as if to tell her that he understood. Fetnalla still had not said a word, nor did she now.
“I don’t think that all Qirsi are traitors,” Brall said, sounding sullen.
“But you treat those who serve you as if they are.”
The duke leveled a rigid finger at her as he would a blade. “It’s not your place to tell me how to treat my ministers! I don’t care whose bed you share!”
Fetnalla stiffened, all color draining from her cheeks.
Tebeo closed his eyes briefly, giving a weary shake of his head. “That’s enough from both of you.” He looked up at Fetnalla. “I’m sorry, First Minister. I told your duke last night. I meant to assure him that there was no harm in allowing you and Evanthya to leave us. I hope you can forgive me for doing so.”
She nodded, keeping her silence.
“As for the two of you,” he continued, fixing his glare on Brall and then Evanthya, “this bickering must stop. We have plenty of enemies throughout the realm without imagining more in this chamber. Now, Evanthya has suggested that we oppose Solkara’s call to arms when it comes, and I trust that she has the best interests of my house at heart. I’ve told her that Dantrielle won’t defy the regent unless Orvinti does the same. So we can discuss this matter for as long as necessary, Brall, but before I leave Orvinti, I need to know what you intend to do.”
The duke had not taken his eyes off Evanthya, and even now, giving a small mirthless laugh, he continued to stare at her. “So it comes down to me, does it? She steers us toward civil war, but I’m the one who’ll be branded a traitor.”
Evanthya shuddered at what she saw in the man’s light blue eyes. Despite what her duke had said about imagining enemies, she knew that this was no trick of her mind. She had made an enemy today. One more among many, she thought.
“As I told you last night,” Tebeo said, “it may not come to that.”
Brall nodded, finally looking away from her. “Yes, I remember. If we can convince the other houses to join this rebellion, we may keep Numar from destroying us. And who’s to say that none of the other dukes will reveal our treachery to Numar, winning the regent’s favor for himself and dooming us to hangings?” He stood abruptly, stepping past Fetnalla and returning to his writing table. “I don’t like this. Lies and betrayal are not our way. That’s not how Eandi nobles ought to conduct themselves.”
It’s the Qirsi way.
He didn’t have to say it. Everyone in the chamber knew what he was thinking.
Tebeo gave a small shake of his head. “Forgive me, Brall, but that may be the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard you say. Eandi nobles have been lying to each other for centuries, and with all we know of the clan wars before the Qirsi invasion, I feel confident in saying that we didn’t learn this from our ministers.”
Evanthya expected Brall to grow angry again, but he surprised her.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “But I still don’t like it.”
“None of us does, my lord,” Evanthya said, careful to keep her tone respectful. “I didn’t give this counsel lightly or without regret. But this is a time for Aneira and the other realms to join together and fight as one to defeat the conspiracy. I grew up hating the Eibitharians, and at another time, under different circumstances, I would support this war with all my heart. But not now, not while there are traitors among us.”
Brall seemed to weigh this for some time. Then, clearing his throat, he turned to Fetnalla. “What do you think of this, First Minister?”
She narrowed her eyes, as if looking for some sign that he was mocking her.
“I truly would like to hear your thoughts on this, Fetnalla. I know it’s been some time since I sought your counsel on any matter of importance, but I’m asking you now.”
The minister shrugged, appearing uncomfortable. “I fear this war, just as Evanthya does,” she said at last. “But I’m no less frightened by the prospect of a civil war. Numar will try to crush those who oppose him, no matter how many houses stand with us.”
“So you don’t think we should oppose him?”
She hesitated again, looking like an innocent caught between advancing armies. It seemed to Evanthya that Fetnalla was unwilling to state an opinion, for fear of giving her
duke more cause to doubt her.
“I believe we should be prepared to go to battle in either case. This alliance with Braedon is a grave mistake, but Orvinti and Dantrielle aren’t powerful enough to stop Solkara. If we intend to fight the regent we’ll need to have the southern houses with us, and perhaps Bistari and Kett as well.”
“I said much the same thing last night,” Tebeo told her. “I believe the others can be convinced to join us.”
Fetnalla raised an eyebrow. “If they can, this just might work.”
“Does that mean you’d advise me to defy the regent?”
The minister took a long breath. “Yes, my lord. I suppose it does.”
“We can compose messages to the other houses immediately,” Tebeo said. “Even Bertin would receive his before the end of the turn.”
Brall shook his head. “No. This is too dangerous to trust to messengers. You and I should make the journeys ourselves.”
Tebeo grinned. “You’re with me, then?”
“I must be mad, but yes, I am.”
“You’re not mad, my friend. War with Eibithar would be madness. This is an act of courage.”
That she should be so eager to leave Brall’s chamber and the company of the two dukes didn’t surprise her at all. Brall had long since poisoned their relationship with his spies and the silent accusations she read in every glance, every question about her activities. And whatever kindnesses Tebeo had shown Evanthya over the years did not change the fact that he was Eandi and a noble, and therefore no different from her own duke.
But as she hurried down the corridor after their discussion had ended, desperately hoping that she could turn the nearest corner before Evanthya emerged into the hallway, she scarcely recognized herself.
“Fetnalla!”
She briefly considered walking on, as if she hadn’t heard, but she knew that Evanthya would not give up so easily. She halted and turned, not bothering to mask her impatience.
“You were just going to leave without me?”
“I thought your duke would want to speak with you. I intended to find you later.”
Evanthya came closer, wary and ashen. “Then why are you acting like you can’t wait to get away from me?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Where were you this morning?”
“Walking the gardens.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“You think I’m lying to you?” She spoke with as much conviction as she could muster, but her hands had begun to tremble again, and she feel a muscle in her cheek jumping, as if her body itself were rebelling against her.
“I’m not certain what to think, Fetnalla. You won’t speak to me, you very nearly run away from me, you claim to be walking in the castle gardens when you ought to have been in your duke’s chambers.” She swallowed. “And I know that you’re lying to me now. I can always tell.”
She shivered. “When else have I ever lied to you?”
Evanthya looked around, then took Fetnalla’s arm and led her out on the castle and into the bright sun of the ward. “During the last planting,” she said, once they were a good distance from the nearest on Brall’s guards, “when you told you me you’d had a vision of Shurik that you knew for certain he was with the conspiracy. There was no vision, was there?”
Fetnalla opened her mouth, closed it again. It had seemed such a trifle at the time. She was certain that Shurik was a traitor, though she hadn’t even known his name. It made sense that he was. Why else would he have betrayed Kentigern when he did, so soon after Lady Brienne’s murder, with Eibithar on the cusp of civil war? But even seeing the logic of it, Evanthya wouldn’t have agreed to have him killed at least not then. The Evanthya standing before her now—emboldened by their success, confident enough to stand up to Fetnalla’s duke—she might have. But a year ago, Evanthya had been timid and not yet prepared to compromise her morality for the exigencies of this private war they had begun. So yes, Fetnalla had lied, telling her of a vision she never really had. With all the lies she had told in recent turns, this one had slipped her mind.
“How long have you known?” she finally asked.
“I think I always did. I just wanted to believe it so much that I accepted your word at the time. Only after the assassin’s message telling me of Shurik’s death did it occur to me that you had lied.” She gave a small smile, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. “In a way I’m glad you did. I never would have gone through with it otherwise.”
“That’s why I did it.”
“So then why are you lying to me now?”
She faltered, feeling trapped. “Habit, I suppose. I lie to Brall all the time now, because even the most innocent truth makes him suspicious I went to the city this morning.” She pulled from within her robe the necklace she had bought. It was a chain of finely worked silver with ar oval pendant bearing a brilliant sapphire.
Evanthya examined it briefly, though she never took it from Fetnalla’s hand. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s for you.”
The other woman’s face reddened, and she smiled, meeting Fetnalla’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Fetnalla stepped around her, putting the necklace around Evanthya’s neck and closing the clasp. Evanthya held the pendant before her so that the sun caught the facets, making it glitter like Lake Orvinti on a harvest morning.
“Put it down,” Fetnalla said, standing in front of her again. “Let me see it on you.”
Evanthya let the pendant drop again, her color deepening.
“It’s perfect.”
Evanthya’s smile lingered a moment longer, then gave way to a frown. “How could you afford it?” she asked. “You spent all your gold on . . . on the man we hired.”
“Brall’s paid my wage since then.”
“But still, not enough for something like this.”
Fetnalla threw up her hands. “Now you sound like Brall. This is why I lied about going to the city in the first place. If he learned that I’d spent money on a necklace, he’d start wondering where I got the gold, and what I had to do to earn it.”
Evanthya started to say something, then faltered.
“I got it from a Caerissan merchant, Evanthya, and the price was quite good. It’s not Wethy silver. If you insist, I can tell you just what I paid for it, but I’d rather not.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” She smiled, falsely bright. “As I said, it’s beautiful. I love it.” She took Fetnalla’s hand and gave it a squeeze, glancing about for guards as she did. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“Does that mean we can be together tonight?”
Fetnalla looked away. “You know we can’t.”
“Why not? Your duke knows about us now. Tebeo told me that he even accepts that it’s none of his concern.”
“It doesn’t matter what Tebeo says. We just can’t, not with Brall’s spies about.”
“But—”
Fetnalla started away. “I can’t talk about this now.” She took several steps before stopping and facing Evanthya again. Her love looked dazed, her color high, as if Fetnalla had slapped her cheeks. Fetnalla thought she might cry. Walking back to her, Fetnalla kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry, but having him know is one thing. Having all the guards in Orvinti talking about it is quite another.”
Evanthya nodded, saying nothing.
“I’ll see you later.” She made herself smile, then walked away again forcing herself not to look back.
They saw each other again at the evening meal. Fetnalla had no doubt that Evanthya had looked for her throughout the day, but she kept herself hidden, first in her chamber, and then later in the smaller gardens of the lower ward. She wanted desperately to take comfort and shelter in the warmth of Evanthya’s bed. Though the nights were no longer theirs to share, they could easily have found a way to be together during the day. But Fetnalla couldn’t bring herself to accept even that solace.
They were seated together in the great hall—a small grace from her duke, no doubt. They said little, but Fetnalla did see that Evanthya was wearing her necklace. She wore it under her robe, so that no one would notice, but Fetnalla caught a glimpse of the silver chain along the side of her neck. In spite of everything, she was pleased.
When the meal ended, they bade each other a quiet good night. Fetnalla tried to smile, but there was a reproachful look in Evanthya’s golden eyes, as if she knew the real reason they couldn’t be together.
Fetnalla had done little all day, yet she returned to her chamber weary and eager for sleep. Climbing into bed, she fell asleep almost immediately, and began to dream just as quickly.
She recognized the plain at once, the black sky, the grasses swaying in a cool breeze, and she began to walk. Soon she reached the incline and without hesitating, started to climb. It was the dream she had been expecting, and even as she felt her heart pounding in her chest and fear settling like a stone in her stomach, she managed a single thought that brought a smile to her lips. At least tomorrow we can share her bed.
The light appeared as she crested the hill. It was even more brilliant than she had remembered from the first time and she had to shield her eyes. When she looked again, the Weaver was there.
“You received the gold?” His voice was like a smith’s hammer on glowing steel, clear and powerful.
“Yes, Weaver.”
“Good. Has Dantrielle arrived yet?”
“Yesterday.”
“And what have he and your duke decided to do?”
“They will oppose the war, Weaver. They intend to speak with several of the other dukes—Tounstrel, Noltierre, Bistari, Kett. If they can convince them to defy the regent as well, they believe they can keep Aneira from the alliance and still avoid a civil war.”
“We shall see about that.”
She sensed that he was smiling, and she knew that the dukes’ plan would fail. It occurred to her that her duke might be killed in the coming conflict. She couldn’t say for certain if the thought frightened her or pleased her.
“You’ve done well,” he said.
