Bonds of Vengeance

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.

Evanthya smiled, kissing her again. “Perhaps not here. .” She raised an eyebrow, leaving the thought unfinished.

Fetnalla shook her head and began to walk again. “No. We can’t.”

“Why not?” Evanthya demanded, striding after the minister and pulling her to a halt again.

Fetnalla jerked her arm away. “We just can’t. Someone might find out.”

“That’s never stopped us before. What is this, Fetnalla? Why won’t you talk to me?”

Fetnalla stared at her until Evanthya thought the woman might cry. But for a long time, she said nothing.

“Walk with me,” she finally said.

Evanthya shook her head. “I won’t. Not until-”

“In the gardens.” She looked down the corridor again. It almost seemed to Evanthya that she expected to see soldiers coming for them at any moment. “We can talk in the gardens.”

Fetnalla started to walk again, leaving Evanthya little choice but to follow. Neither of them spoke while they were in the hallways and even when they stepped into the cold night air, Fetnalla said nothing. The skies had cleared and Panya shone upon the castle, silver-white and bright enough to cast dark shadows across the ward.

They made their way past grey hedgerows and the small, lifeless trees of the orchard. In another turn, all of them would be in bud, but for now it felt to Evanthya that they were walking among wraiths.

Still, Fetnalla did not speak. Evanthya stopped and waited for the other woman to face her. When she didn’t, Evanthya folded her arms over her aching chest and swallowed.

“Tell me what this is about,” she said. “Tell me now, or I’m going back to my chamber.”

Fetnalla turned at that, her lips pressed thin. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to.” Evanthya took a step toward her, taking hold of her slender hands. “But you have to talk to me.” She wanted to put her arms around her, but even here, alone in the night, Fetnalla seemed reluctant to have her come close.

“They’re watching me,” Fetnalla whispered, her eyes darting back toward the nearest of the towers.

Evanthya shivered as from an icy wind, though the air was still. “Who?”

“The duke, his men, maybe even some of the other ministers. I’m not certain.”

“Have you seen them?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve heard them outside my door at night. And I can. . I can feel them.”

Evanthya’s first thought was that her love had gone mad, that she was gripped by some senseless fear. She thrust the notion away almost as quickly as it came, forcing herself to believe that Brall’s men were indeed keeping watch on her, or at least to accept that Fetnalla believed it.

“Why would they be watching you?”

Fetnalla frowned. “You think I’m imagining it.”

“I only asked-”

“I know what you asked, and I heard the doubt in your voice. You don’t believe me.”

“I believe that you’re frightened and that-”

“Is it so hard to believe that Brall would want to have me watched? He’s been accusing me of every kind of treachery for several turns. My denials mean nothing to him. You know that. You saw how he was in Solkara.”

She had a point. The duke of Orvinti had been suspicious of Fetnalla since before Carden’s death, and subsequent events had served only to deepen his doubts. But for her own duke to spy on her. .

“Could it be someone else? The conspiracy perhaps. Maybe they hope to turn you, and so they’re watching for signs of a rift between you and Brall.”

Fetnalla shook her head. “Not unless their spies wear swords and soldiers’ boots.” She exhaled, closing her eyes briefly. “I know how this sounds. If you were telling all this to me, I’d probably think you were crazed. But I swear to you, he’s having me watched. Brall is so afraid of the conspiracy and so convinced that I’ve betrayed him that he’ll go to any length to protect himself, even though I pose no threat to him.”

Evanthya had no choice but to believe her. Hadn’t her own duke, a far more reasonable man than Lord Orvinti, expressed similar suspicions?

“So we can’t be together,” she said, her voice flat.

“I’m afraid we can’t, not until this passes, or my duke banishes me from the castle.”

“He’s a fool.” She sounded bitter and small, but she couldn’t help herself.

Fetnalla allowed herself a grim smile. “He’s merely the first of what will soon be a large group of Eandi nobles taking similar steps against their ministers. We have to do something, Evanthya.”

“I know. I’ve wanted to speak of it all night.” She glanced about the ward, abruptly feeling that she was being watched as well. She shivered again and pulled her robes tight around her shoulders. “You received my message.”

Fetnalla arched an eyebrow. “Yes,” she said drily. “You should have heard me trying to explain that to Brall.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s all right. I was. . relieved to learn that we’d succeeded.”

Evanthya glanced up at white Panya. “Only ‘relieved’? I was elated. I wanted nothing more than to find another assassin and start again.”

“And yet you cried for Shurik.”

She looked sharply at Fetnalla. “How did you know that?”

“I know you.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I cried for him. I cried for what the Forelands have become and for what the conspiracy has done to us all, that it might drive me to such a killing. But that won’t stop me from striking at them again.”

“Of course it won’t.”

“The question is, what do we do next?”

“I don’t know.” Fetnalla glanced back toward the castle. “I don’t have enough gold to hire another assassin, and I can’t imagine that either of us is willing to wield a blade ourselves.”

“So what are you saying? That we can’t do any more?”

“I’m merely pointing out that we may have done all that we can, at least for now.”

“No, we can’t stop now. We can at least try to upset their plans.”

Fetnalla shrugged. “We’d need to know their plans first.”

Evanthya nodded, considering this briefly. “Tell me about Numar’s visit.”

“There’s really not much to tell. He spoke with my duke in only the vaguest terms about a possible alliance with Braedon.” Her mouth twitched. “At least that’s all they said in front of me. They spoke for some time in private, and Brall’s told me nothing of what they discussed.”

“What about Pronjed?”

“He and I spoke briefly.” Her brow furrowed. “Actually, now that you ask, we spoke about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes. He wanted to know if you were likely to counsel Tebeo to support a war with Eibithar, should it come to that.”

All the rage Evanthya felt during her own conversation with the archminister returned in a rush, until her hands began to tremble. “What did you tell him?”

Fetnalla smiled. “I told him that I had as much chance of predicting your actions as I did of predicting storms in the planting turns.”

“Good. I had an interesting conversation with him as well.” Once more, as she had for her duke several days before, Evanthya described her discussion with Pronjed, relating to Fetnalla not only his questions about Tounstrel and Noltierre but also his comments about the regent and their mutual distrust.

“You think he’s a traitor,” Fetnalla said when Evanthya had finished.

“I think it’s possible. You thought so after Carden’s death. You even guessed that he had mind-bending magic.”

“I remember.”

“What if you were right? I found myself telling him things that I hadn’t intended, as if he were forcing me to reveal more than I wanted. Perhaps he did kill Carden.”

“What are you suggesting?”

She opened her arms wide. “Isn’t it obvious? I believe Pronjed is a traitor, and I think he’s pushing the regent toward this war with Eibithar as a way of further weakening the Eandi courts.”

“You don’t know this for certain.”

“I’m certain enough. Think about the questions he asked us. He’s trying to make certain that all of Aneira’s dukes support the alliance, yet he’s clearly concerned that they won’t. Why? Because if they give it any thought at all, they’ll see that a war with Eibithar would be disastrous, even if we join with the empire.”

“Listen to yourself, Evanthya! That’s not proof that he’s a traitor. Isn’t it possible that he’s merely using poor judgment, that both he and Numar have been seduced by this notion of an alliance with Harel?”

“I don’t think so,” Evanthya said. “Not after what he said about the regent.”

“Maybe he was lying about that.”

“To what end? If he only wished to win Tebeo’s support for the war he would have spoken as the regent’s man. But he didn’t, in fact he made a point of telling me that Numar didn’t trust him, that he was speaking to me without the regent’s knowledge. I believe he was testing my loyalty. He might even have hoped to turn me to his cause.”

Fetnalla turned away again, the look of barely controlled panic returning to her face. “Pronjed scares me. If he really does have delusion magic, he’s too dangerous a foe, at least for us alone.”

Evanthya smiled, touching Fetnalla’s soft cheek so that the woman would meet her gaze again. “That’s the beauty of what I’m proposing. We won’t be standing against him alone. I’m merely suggesting that we serve our dukes as we would anyway. We have to tell them that this war is a mistake and should be opposed. I’ve already said as much to Tebeo. No doubt he and Brall are discussing the matter as we speak.”

“I don’t know that Brall will listen to me.”

“Of course he will, especially because his closest ally will be telling him just what you are. Don’t you see, Fetnalla? If we do this right, we can deal the conspiracy another blow and prove our loyalty at the same time.”

A tear appeared on Fetnalla’s cheek, shimmering in the moonlight as it rolled over her white skin. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be.”

“No, it can’t, not anymore, not with what Brall has done to me.” She dabbed her cheek with the edge of her sleeve. “It almost doesn’t matter what I tell him anymore. If I advise him to withhold his men from Solkara’s army, he won’t do it. He’ll be convinced that this is what the conspiracy wants me to say. It won’t matter that Tebeo agrees with me, because he’ll know that you offered the same counsel, and since you’re Qirsi, you’re suspect in his eyes as well.”

Evanthya felt her patience waning. It wasn’t like Fetnalla to surrender so easily, and though she didn’t doubt that Brall’s suspicions and his spies had taken their toll, she knew as well that she couldn’t do this alone.

“Then what do you propose we do?” she asked.

“I told you before, I don’t know. What you’re suggesting makes sense. I just. .” She exhaled, shaking her head again.

“You’re frightened.”

“Very. More than I’ve ever been.”

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you, from Brall and from the conspiracy.” She kissed her once more. “You know that I’d give my life if it meant saving yours.”

“Yes, I do. I just don’t want it to come to that.”

Evanthya took her hands again. They were shaking. She raised Fetnalla’s fingers to her lips, kissing them gently. It was strange. For so long, Fetnalla had been the brave one, leading Evanthya into this battle, helping her overcome fears and doubts much like those to which she was giving voice now.

“It won’t,” she said, trying to sound strong and certain. “Do as I tell you, and we’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fetnalla’s shivering seemed only to grow more violent. Evanthya frowned.

“Let’s get you to your chamber,” she said. “You’re cold, and you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Fetnalla nodded. “Yes. I need to sleep.” She regarded Evanthya for a moment, tilting her head to the side as she often did when she grinned. Her expression remained grim, however, and there was an apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry you can’t join me, but with Brall’s spies about. .”

“I understand. Perhaps we’ll find time to steal away before the duke and I return to Dantrielle.”

Fetnalla nodded, though she looked doubtful. “I’d like that.”

They walked back to the castle and wound their way through the corridors to Fetnalla’s chamber. Evanthya saw no soldiers, but several times she heard boots scraping on the stone floors just ahead of them, only to turn a corner and find the hallway empty. By the time she had said goodnight to Fetnalla and walked hurriedly back to her own chamber on the other side of the ward, Evanthya no longer doubted that Fetnalla was being watched, as were those who consorted with her.

Weary from her journey, lonely for her love, Evanthya fell quickly into a fitful slumber, only to awaken what seemed a short time later to the sound of knocking at her door. Rising and wrapping herself in her robe, she crossed to the door.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“Your duke,” came the reply. “It’s past midmorning, First Minister. Lord Orvinti and I are about to meet in his chambers and we’d like you and Fetnalla to be there.”

Evanthya pulled the door open, smoothing her white hair. “I’ll be along shortly, my lord, but I’m afraid Fetnalla isn’t with me.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Do you know where she is?”

“I haven’t seen her since I left her last night. Isn’t she in her quarters?”

“No. That’s why I came here.”

She felt herself blanch. “Does Lord Orvinti know that you’ve come to me?”

Tebeo took a breath, wincing slightly. “Yes, he does. I told him about the two of you last night.”

She had to resist an urge to rail at him. What right did he have to share her secret with Brall? An instant later she realized that he wouldn’t see it that way. Fetnalla was Orvinti’s minister, just as she was his. Certainly Brall had as much right to know of their love as Tebeo did. The Qirsi were not chattel, but as ministers in the Eandi courts they did sacrifice certain freedoms, such as the right to share a bed with the ministers of rival nobles. It would have been within Tebeo’s authority to demand that she end her affair with Fetnalla as soon as he learned of it. Allowing it to continue had been an act of kindness. Evanthya doubted that Brall would be so generous.

“You’re angry with me,” the duke said, his eyes meeting hers.

It would have been useless to deny it. “I have no right to be, my lord.”

“Brall was displeased with me last night when I sent the two of you away. He was convinced that you would be plotting behind our backs. I thought it better that he know the truth.”

“I think you’re probably right, my lord.”

“Unfortunately, this brings us no closer to finding Fetnalla.” He rubbed a hand across his brow, as he often did when concerned. “Would she have gone to the city for any reason?”

“It’s certainly possible, my lord. We didn’t speak of her plans for the day, nor did we know that you and Lord Orvinti wished to speak with us this morning. She might have gone to the marketplace without realizing that her duke would be looking for her.” She hesitated. “I take it Lord Orvinti is scouring the castle for her.”

He gave a wan smile. “I’m afraid he is. I tried to assure him last night that Fetnalla serves him loyally, but he’s even more disturbed by what he hears of the conspiracy than I am. This will do nothing to put his fears to rest. The sooner we find her, the better for all concerned.”

Evanthya nodded, trying to think of where Fetnalla might have gone. She thought it strange that the minister would leave the castle at all. It was true that they hadn’t known when the dukes would wish to speak with them, but Evanthya had assumed it would be this morning. Indeed, she had intended to be awake far earlier than this, expecting that they would all meet with the ringing of the midmorning bells. Fetnalla should have expected the same. She also should have known better than to leave the castle when her duke had guests, particularly in light of Brall’s suspicions. This was not like her at all.

She was about to say as much to Tebeo, when she heard a voice calling for him. A moment later a guard stepped into the corridor, breathless and flushed.

“They found her, my lord,” the man said. “She was walking the gardens. She’s with the duke now.” His eyes flicked toward Evanthya. “They’re waiting for you both.”

Evanthya closed her eyes for an instant, surprised by how relieved she felt, or rather, how frightened she had been.

“Thank you,” Tebeo said to the man. “Tell Lord Orvinti we’ll be joining them shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed once and left them.

“I’ll dress as quickly as I can, my lord.”

“Very well. I’ll wait.”

Evanthya started to close the door, but Tebeo spoke her name, stopping her.

“For what it’s worth, Brall took the news of your. . of you and Fetnalla rather well. He agreed with me that so long as he and I remain allies, and the two of you continue to serve us well, your private lives are none of our concern.”

She nodded. That was a relief as well, though a part of her couldn’t help feeling that they shouldn’t have needed permission from their dukes to be in love. “Thank you, my lord. I’m glad to hear that.”

It took Evanthya but a few moments to dress and soon she and her duke were making their way through Orvinti’s corridors to Brall’s chambers.

The door was open when they arrived. Brall sat at his writing table, looking at a large ledger by the light of several candles. Fetnalla stood at the hearth, her back to the duke, her color high.

Brall looked up as Tebeo and Evanthya stepped into the room and immediately closed the volume.

“Our apologies for keeping you waiting,” Tebeo said, smiling first at the other duke and then at Fetnalla, who didn’t appear to notice.

“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.

“Thank you, Weaver. Actually, it was Dantrielle’s first minister who convinced them. I did little more than agree with her.”

“I see. Do you think she can be turned as well?”

Fear gripped her heart. Evanthya would die before she betrayed the land. “No, Weaver. I don’t.”

“You care for her.” A pause, and then, “You’re lovers.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her. He had entered her mind, he was walking in her dreams. Still, she was disturbed by the ease with which he had divined her thoughts. It suddenly seemed that all of her secrets had been laid bare for the world to see. Now, when she could least afford this to be so.

“Yes, Weav-”

Suddenly there was a hand at her throat, unseen but with a grip like steel, as if some black demon from the Underrealm had taken hold of her.

“You continue to close your mind to me,” the Weaver said, his voice even. “You shouldn’t. I’ve paid you well, and I’ve promised you freedom from your duke.” He paused, though only briefly. “You fear for this other minister. You think I’ll hurt her.”

She nodded, clawing uselessly at the skin of her neck.

“Why would I?”

Still he held her, so that she couldn’t answer, and she realized that he was still probing her mind.

Finally the hand released her and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Why would I?” he demanded again.

“Because she’ll refuse you if you go to her. She still serves her duke-she’d see any other choice as a betrayal. I fear that if you reveal yourself to her, you’ll have to kill her.” And because of what we did to Shurik.

“I see. You understand that if she remains so until the end, I’ll put her to death anyway.”

“Yes, Weaver. In time, I may convince her to join us. But she’s not ready yet.”

“Very well. Do what you can.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

She was awake almost before the words crossed her lips. The chamber was dark, save for the deep orange embers of her fire. She had no idea how much of the night remained. Closing her eyes once more, she lay back on the sweat-soaked pillow, trying to slow her racing pulse.

Not long ago, before she knew that there was a Weaver leading the movement, she would have thought it impossible that she could be lured into what Evanthya still called the conspiracy. Even after Brall first started to spy on her she remained loyal to House Orvinti, despite the pain her duke’s distrust had caused her. But his decision to have her watched was only the beginning. She hadn’t told Evanthya about the rest. She still found it all so humiliating that she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.

Soon after she first heard the soldiers in the corridor outside her door and noticed servants skulking about near her chamber, she was summoned to the duke’s hall for a conversation with Brall. They spoke of the soldiers’ training and of the duke’s plans to visit the outlying baronies when the thaw began, trifles that hardly warranted discussion. Yet, he kept her in the hall for some time, even going so far as to eat his midday meal with her, something he hadn’t done in nearly a year.

When at last Fetnalla returned to her chamber, she found several of her belongings out of place. It didn’t take her long to realize that her chamber had been searched, that her audience with the duke had been a pretense intended to keep her occupied while his soldiers went through her possessions, no doubt searching for evidence of her treachery.

She was furious, but still she did not contemplate joining the renegades. Rather, she wished only to leave the castle, to put as much distance as possible between herself and Brall. She didn’t mean to leave for good-she merely wished to sit astride her horse, her beloved Zetya, and ride out past Lake Orvinti into the Great Forest. The day was cold and grey, but she didn’t care. She wanted only to ride. Upon reaching the stables, however, she was told that she could not. Her horse was fine. The stablemaster was taking good care of her. But by order of the duke, the minister was not allowed to ride her beyond the castle walls.

Fetnalla wandered away from the stables, unsure of where to go. She was too dumbfounded to speak, too enraged to cry. “I’m a prisoner,” she muttered to herself, the truth of this making her chest ache, as if Brall had struck at her with his sword. She wore no shackles; there were no bars on her door or her window. But the duke had robbed her of her privacy, her freedom, her joy, all in the name of preventing her betrayal.

Instead, he drove her to the conspiracy.

The first time the Weaver walked in her dreams, she knew that she would follow him to the brilliant future he described for her, that she would do whatever he demanded of her. There had been no warning prior to that first night-the gold came later. Fetnalla didn’t even know how the Weaver had known to come to her. Clearly, though, someone with the conspiracy had heard of her duke’s suspicions and had gauged accurately her growing resentment of his distrust. For she was drawn to the movement by far more than just fear of the Weaver and her certainty that he would kill her if she refused him. Dangerous as it was, she found that she wanted to join, to strike a blow against Brall. He already believes I’m a traitor, she thought upon awaking from that first dream. He’s earned my betrayal

She had done little for the movement since then. The Weaver had come to her two other times before this night, and she had told him what she could of Brall’s intentions regarding the coming war with Eibithar. Soon he would ask more of her. Others had killed for the movement, she knew, and perhaps she would as well.

She also knew that eventually the Weaver would learn of her role in Shurik’s death. By then, she hoped to have proven her worth to him, so that he might spare her. But it had never occurred to her until tonight that she would lead him to Evanthya. And Fetnalla knew that unless she managed to turn her love to the cause before that happened, the Weaver might well kill them both.