by DAVID B. COE
“They must think you’re the duke,” Brall said, glancing back at her, hoping to draw a smile.
But she merely shook her head, her expression unchanged. “No, my lord. They just know that I’m a sorcerer.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then faced forward again, not knowing what to say.
They reached the south gate of the castle a few moments later. Four of Carden’s soldiers stood before the gate, two of them bearing Aneiran flags, and the other two bearing the banners of Solkara and Orvinti. As they stood there, a group of musicians emerged from the castle and began to play “Amnalla’s March,” which had been written to celebrate the investiture of Queen Amnalla, the first Aneiran ruler to come from House Orvinti. It was not Brall’s favorite Orvinti anthem, but for six centuries it had been the choice of Solkaran kings to honor dukes of Orvinti to the castle, no doubt because Amnalla’s Rebellion ended the First Bistari Supremacy.
When the musicians finished, a second group of guards, also bearing banners of Aneira, Solkara, and Orvinti, stepped through the gate, followed by Queen Chofya, the king’s archminister, and Solkara’s prelate.
Brall swung himself off his mount and took a step forward. He turned briefly, intending to tell Fetnalla to do the same, but she was already there, just a step behind him, as was fitting. She deserves better, he thought.
An instant later he dropped to one knee, as did the minister, and bowed his head to the queen.
“Rise, Brall,” Chofya said, smiling at him. “Welcome to Solkara.”
She was still beautiful, with a full sensuous mouth, olive skin, and eyes so dark they appeared black. But Brall thought she looked weary, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, her long black hair held back from her brow by a circlet of gold. She wore a single red gem at her throat that sparkled in the sun like morning dew on a rose petal.
The duke stood, then bent to kiss her hand.
“You honor me, Your Highness.”
“You do us the honor with this most…unexpected visit.”
The queen then offered quick introductions of the prelate and the king’s Qirsi, before leading Brall and his company through the first gate of the castle. From there, they continued up the long, narrow ramps that ran between the great stone walls of the castle’s outer defenses, and finally stepped into the vast inner courtyard of the king’s palace.
Carden awaited them there, standing in front of what must have been five hundred soldiers in full battle uniform, all of them with their swords raised. The king wore plain battle garb, a warrior’s sword, and a fur cape clasped at the neck with a simple gold chain. He stood taller than most of his men, with long golden hair and an angular face worthy of a hero from the ancient legends. Even without the carved gold crown on his brow, no one looking out across the courtyard would have wondered for long which of these men was king. Still, like the queen, Carden wore a slightly pinched look.
Four soldiers stepped forward and raised shining silver horns to their lips to play a Solkaran battle anthem, and the king’s beautiful young daughter opened a small cage, releasing twelve white doves that circled the courtyard once, then flew to the highest tower of the castle. Whatever his doubts about Carden and his methods, Brall could not help but be impressed by this greeting, which the king and his servants managed to prepare in a matter of moments.
Once more the duke knelt, his head bowed and his hands resting on his bended knee. The rest of his company did the same, Fetnalla close enough to him so that he heard her whisper, “One might almost think that he knew you were coming anyway.”
“Stand and be welcome, Brall,” the king said, striding forward and embracing the duke briefly.
Brall returned the embrace and stepped back. “You’re most gracious, my liege. I’m humbled and overwhelmed by this welcome.”
Carden smiled. “Nonsense. This was nothing. If we’d known you intended to come, we might have offered a true greeting.”
The duke smiled in return, but something he saw in the king’s dark blue eyes made him wonder if this display had been intended as a warning as well as a welcome. Take me lightly, the king seemed to be saying, and I’ll destroy you. Once more Brall found himself wondering if he’d been wise to make this journey.
“You must be hungry,” the king went on a moment later. “Come, we’ve a meal waiting for you.” He glanced past Brall to Fetnalla. “You’re welcome to dine with us also, First Minister. I’m sure the duke doesn’t want you far from his side.”
Brall and the minister shared a look. It was a strange remark, made all the more awkward by the harsh words they had exchanged on the road to Solkara.
“Your Majesty is most kind,” Fetnalla said.
Carden started walking toward the great hall on the north side of the courtyard, gesturing for Brall to follow. Chofya fell into step beside them and Fetnalla followed, along with Pronjed jal Drenthe, Carden’s archminister. The king’s daughter walked a few paces behind, staring shyly at the ground before her. She was the image of her mother, with black hair and eyes, though hers was a softer beauty. There was little in her appearance to mark her as Carden’s child.
The central table in the hall had been set for six places. Two flasks of wine sat on the table, along with bowls of spiced stew, plates of fowl, mutton, and steamed silverweed root, and a basket of freshly baked breads. A fire burned high in the hearth and torches lined the walls, brightening the hall despite the failing light of late day. The meal at least did not reveal any foreknowledge of Brall’s arrival. A king and queen ate thus every day, with enough extra for ministers or the prelate. An Orvinti banner hung on the wall over the hearth, but it was uneven, as if placed there in haste.
“Please forgive the meager table we’ve set for you,” Chofya said. “If we’d had more time…”
Brall shook his head and smiled. “Not at all, Your Highness. It’s a finer meal than I would find anywhere else in the land. Your generosity is exceeded only by your beauty.”
Carden laughed, though there was a brittleness to it. “Spoken like an Orvinti. I remember your father having Bohdan’s tongue as well. My father always said that he could charm a Wethy trader into giving away gold.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Brall said with a grin. “But it is said to be a family gift.”
Fetnalla cleared her throat. “Speaking of gifts, my lord.”
The duke nodded. “Of course. I’d almost forgotten.” He pulled a small pouch from his belt and removed two objects wrapped in cloth. One was a glasslike crystal, about the size of a sourfruit, worn smooth so that it was almost a perfect orb. Such stones were found in Lake Orvinti and were called Tears of Shanae, for the woman who saved the Orvinti clan from northern raiders back before the Forelands were divided into the seven kingdoms. He handed the stone to Chofya.
“For you, Your Highness, from the people of Orvinti.”
She smiled, taking the stone in her slender hand. “Thank you, Brall. My father gave me one of these years ago when I was just a girl. I’ll put this one with it, and think always of you and your lovely home.”
Brall inclined his head. “Again, Your Highness, you honor me.” He pulled the cloth from the second object, revealing a small glittering dagger, with a silver handle and a blade carved from the same clear stone. “And for you, my liege, also from my people.”
The king took the dagger and held it up to the torchlight, examining the carvings on the handle and the honed edges of the crystal blade.
“I’ve never seen a finer weapon carved from stone,” Carden said. “This was made in Orvinti?”
“Yes, my liege.”
The king nodded. “I’m impressed.” He stared at the blade for another moment before laying it on the table. “Thank you, Brall. It will find a place of honor in my collection.”
“You honor my people, my liege.”
One of the servants poured out five goblets of wine and with the king’s first sip, the meal
began. For some time they said little, until Brall began to feel the burden of their silence. It almost seemed that Carden was waiting for him to begin a conversation, or perhaps to explain his sudden arrival in Solkara. The duke complimented both the king and his queen on the fine food they were eating, but Chofya only smiled, and Carden hardly did more than grunt in agreement.
When at last the servants removed what remained of the stew and roots, replacing them with a large platter of dried fruits and cheeses, and a flask of honey wine, Carden looked up from his meal and fixed his gaze on the duke.
“So why are you here, Orvinti?”
Brall cleared his throat, discomfited by the abruptness of the king’s question. He glanced for an instant at Fetnalla, but given how little he had told her, he knew that he would find no support there.
“I’ll be happy to tell you, my liege. But it might be better to wait until we can speak in private.”
The king eyed him briefly, his mouth twisting sourly.
“Leave us,” he said, turning to Chofya.
“But the fruit and cheese have only just arrived.”
“Take Kalyi and the ministers and go to my private hall. You can finish your meal there.”
The queen looked as if she wanted to argue the point further, but instead she said, “Yes, my lord,” dropping her gaze. Recovering quickly, she flashed a thin smile at Fetnalla and the king’s Qirsi. “Won’t you join my daughter and me in the king’s hall?” she asked. “It’s not quite as spacious, but the food and wine will taste just as good.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Fetnalla said, rising with the queen.
Pronjed cast a look at Carden, who nodded once. The Qirsi stood and followed Fetnalla, the queen, and the young girl out of the hall. A pair of servants approached the table and began to gather the empty plates, but the king waved a hand disdainfully.
“Leave them,” he commanded. “Leave us.”
The servants hurried from the hall.
“Now,” Carden said, facing Brall once more, torchlight reflected in his dark eyes. “Answer me. Why have you come?”
The duke took a breath. He would have given all the gold in Orvinti’s treasury to be back in his castle just then, enjoying a quiet meal with Pazice.
“I wish to speak with you about Chago,” he said, relieved to hear that his voice remained steady.
“Chago,” the king repeated. A smile stretched across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “What about him?”
“I…I wish to know if you had him killed.”
For a moment Brall thought that the king would rage at him for even raising the matter. But Carden merely gazed at him for several moments, before picking up the crystal dagger and toying with it, the same half smile on his lips.
“You’ve always struck me as a cautious man, Brall, not at all the type to take chances. Coming here unannounced and uninvited, asking me such a question—this all seems much more like something one of your friends would do. Bertin, perhaps. Or maybe Tebeo. Did one of them put you up to this?”
“No, my liege.”
“You’re certain. They didn’t suggest that you come to me, knowing that if one of them asked me the same question, I’d have him executed as a traitor? Think hard about this, Brall. Because I really am curious. Isn’t it possible that they asked you to speak with me, perhaps while all of you were together in Orvinti a few days ago?”
Brall licked his lips, which were suddenly dry as sand. A part of him wondered how the king knew that the others had been with him in his castle, but he didn’t dare ask. It mattered little at this point. The king had implied that his question was tantamount to treason. He’d be fortunate to ride out of Solkara alive. Still, having come this far, he wasn’t about to betray Tebeo, even to save his own life.
“No, my liege. I did speak with the others about Chago’s death. We had just come from his funeral, and were—” He stopped himself, uncertain as to how to finish the thought. He had taken great pains to keep himself apart from Solkara’s feud with Bistari. He risked offending the king if he admitted that he and the others were grieving for a lost friend, particularly if Carden had ordered the assassination.
“It’s all right, Brall. You and your friends were mourning his loss. I expected as much.”
The duke exhaled. “Thank you, my liege. Whatever Chago’s faults, we had all known him a long time.”
“And you think I had him killed,” the king went on, testing the edge of the dagger with his thumb. “Why?”
Brall faltered. “The garroting, my liege. And the Solkaran crest found in his hand.”
The king looked at Brall as if the duke were a fool. “I mean why would I have him killed?”
“Your houses have been rivals for centuries, my liege. And you and Chago had more than your share of disagreements, most recently about the wharfages and lightering fees.”
“Do you think I’d kill a man over lightering fees? Is that the kind of king you think I am?”
Brall closed his eyes briefly. If only he had listened to Fetnalla, and given this journey more thought.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that any king must guard against those who would incite opposition to his authority. Chago was angry about the fees, and he may have gone too far in his efforts to fight them.”
The king’s eyes widened. “So you think he deserved to die. Did you come all this way to congratulate me on his murder?”
“Of course not, my liege.”
“Well, Brall, I’m afraid you have me confused. First you imply that I’m a murderer, and then you seem to suggest that I was foolish to let the man live as long as I did. Which is it?”
The duke hesitated again, feeling like a prentice doing battle with a master swordsman. “Neither,” he finally said. He took a breath. “Perhaps I should leave, my liege. I’ve offended you, which was not at all my intent. Unless Your Majesty wishes to imprison me, I should best be starting back to Orvinti tonight. After what I’ve said, I don’t deserve your hospitality.”
“What was your intent, Brall?”
There was little use in trying to be circumspect any longer. Best just to say it and be done, no matter the consequences.
“To find the truth, my liege. We—” He winced. “I feared that perhaps a darker force was at work here. There’s been talk of a Qirsi conspiracy. I worry that Chago’s murder might divide the kingdom against itself, and I’ve wondered if others were responsible and tried to make his death appear to be the work of House Solkara.”
For the first time that night, Carden looked afraid. It lasted but a moment, like the flickering of a candle in a sudden wind. In that one instant, however, he was no longer the ruthless Solkaran king, but rather a young noble seemingly out of his depth. Brall had his answer.
Carden drained his goblet. A servant hurried toward the table from the doorway, as if intending to refill it, but Carden waved the boy away and poured his own wine, not bothering to offer any to Brall. And though it might have been a trick of the dancing torch fire and the shadows cast by the blaze in the hearth, it seemed that his hand trembled.
“I don’t know if you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met, or the most foolish,” the king said a moment later, taking up the dagger once more. “You must realize that I can’t offer you any answers. I would never admit to anyone that I had one of my dukes killed, even if it was clear to every man and woman in the land that I was responsible. Nor would I ever concede that I had allowed myself to be blamed for the crime of another.”
“Of course, my liege. I understand.”
“You understand, and yet you came here hoping that I would acknowledge doing one or the other.”
“I came hoping that I could glean something from our conversation. I never expected you to admit anything.”
“And what have you gleaned, Lord Orvinti?”
He might have been a fool, as the king said. But his foolishness did not run that deep. “Nothing, my liege. I will return to my castle as confus
ed as I was when I left.”
The king smiled thinly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The fire popped loudly, and the king glanced toward the hearth. “I will tell you,” he continued, “that I share your concerns for the kingdom. For better or worse, Chago’s death has angered my enemies, though it’s forced them to quiet their voices for a time.”
“Have you heard talk of the conspiracy, my liege?”
The king’s mouth twisted. “I have, and it…concerns me as well.”
“So you believe what you’ve heard?”
Carden gave a wan smile. “Do you honestly think that a year ago I would have sent my archminister from the room, even at your request?”
It was a more frank response than the duke had any right to expect, and he found himself wondering if perhaps he had judged the king unfairly.
Carden fell silent, staring at the crystal blade.
“I should leave you, my liege,” Brall said again. “I’m deeply sorry if I gave offense.”
The king made a vague gesture and shook his head, but he didn’t give the duke leave to go.
“Do your friends think I killed him?” he asked.
“The other dukes harbor the same questions I do, my liege. There’s much uncertainty in the land.”
Carden looked up, meeting his gaze, a small smile on his angular face. “Come now, Brall. You mean to say that Bertin hasn’t been denouncing me as a murderous tyrant?”
Brall couldn’t help but grin. “It is true that there may be somewhat less uncertainty in Noltierre.”
The king actually laughed, though it lasted only a moment or two, and seemed to leave him in an even darker mood than he had been in before. “I don’t doubt it. The man’s an old goat. My father always thought so, too.”
“In his own way, he’s as loyal to Aneira as any of us, my liege.”
“Don’t worry, Brall. I won’t be sending assassins to Cestaar’s Hills any time soon.” He paused, eyeing the duke. “Nor will I be throwing you in my dungeons, as you suggested before. Fool or not, you showed some courage coming here today. And I admire the loyalty you’ve shown your friends. In times like these, a loyal man is more valuable than gold.”
