Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kentigern, Eibithar

A indreas stared at the words scrawled on the outside of the scroll, unwilling to remove the ribbon that held it and read what was written inside. The ribbon was white. Of course, He would have known from whom the message had come even without the “White Erne” penned in a neat, bold hand for all to see. No doubt the time had finally come for the duke to fulfill his promise to the conspiracy-there could be no other reason for her to contact him. They wanted him to act on their behalf. And he was too frightened to unroll the scroll and see what it was they expected of him.

“Father.”

He looked up, seeing Brienne in the doorway, her golden hair gleaming in the torchlight.

“Not now, my love,” he said, his voice low.

“But Mother is asking for you. There are men riding toward the gate.”

As she spoke, Aindreas realized that the city bells were ringing, that in fact they had been for some time.

He frowned. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”

“She said I should bring you to her immediately.”

The duke exhaled through his teeth. “Very well. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

“But-”

“I told you, I’ll be along soon. Now leave me, Brienne!”

The girl winced, looking as if she might cry. “But I’m Affery.”

Aindreas stared at her, his vision swimming. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with a meaty hand. Opening them again, he saw that it was indeed his younger daughter standing before him, golden haired and pretty as her sister had been at this age, but not yet grown to womanhood.

“Affery,” he said, the name coming out as a whisper. He rose and stepped around his writing table to where she stood. She looked afraid, and he knelt before her, taking her in his arms. “I’m sorry, my love. Of course I knew it was you.”

She nodded, but said nothing. When he released her, he saw that there were tears on her cheeks. “Do you miss her, Father?”

“Very much,” he said, his voice suddenly rough.

“So do I. I think Mother does, too.”

“We all do. But your mother is better now than she was, and. . and so am I.”

Again the girl nodded.

“You said there are men approaching the castle?”

“Yes.”

“And where is your mother?”

“She’s atop the tower, watching the city gates.”

“Very well. Tell her I’ll be there very soon. Have her instruct the men not to allow anyone into the castle before I arrive.”

“All right.” Still she didn’t move. “Are they coming to attack us again?”

For a moment, he wasn’t certain what to say, By ignoring Kearney’s summons to the City of Kings, Aindreas had made himself a renegade in the king’s eyes. Glyndwr would have been justified in sending the royal army to Kentigern. But Aindreas had known Kearney a long time. The man didn’t want a war, and would go to great lengths to avoid one. He wouldn’t have sent his army, at least not yet.

“No one’s going to attack us,” he told her, making himself smile. “They probably just want to talk to me.”

Affery smiled in return, looking relieved.

“Go now. I’ll be along in a moment.”

She kissed his cheek, then turned and ran from the chamber.

Aindreas returned to his writing table, lowered himself into his chair and picked up the scroll again, his hand beginning to tremble. For a moment he was tempted to throw it on the flames dancing in his hearth, as if by burning the parchment he might rid himself of the Qirsi. Instead, he pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the scroll.

Lord Kentigern:

Events have begun to unfold more swiftly than we had anticipated. We can no longer wait for you to convince other houses to oppose the king. You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow. We will be watching to see that you do as we expect. Do not disappoint us.

Jastanne ja Triln

Captain, the White Erne

Perhaps he should have been surprised. Certainly he had a right to be angry. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything at all. Somehow the Qirsi felt that they could order him about as he himself might a servant, or a foot soldier in his army. And though he was appalled by the mere notion of it, he also knew that he had only himself to blame.

“What will you do?”

He looked up to find Brienne standing beside him, looking lovely and so very young. No wonder he had confused Affery for her.

“I don’t know.”

“You should go to the king. You should tell him what you’ve done and beg for his mercy.”

“He’ll have me hanged as a traitor.”

“He might. But perhaps if you can show honor and courage at the end, it will save our house from disgrace. Don’t Affery and Ennis deserve that? Doesn’t Mother?”

The city bells continued to toll and Aindreas glanced toward the window. “There are men coming. I have to-”

Turning to Brienne once more, he saw that she was gone. He took a long shuddering breath and stood, walking slowly from his presence chamber to the nearest set of stairs, and then up to the ramparts of the tower. He found Ioanna there, wrapped in a woolen cloak, though it wasn’t particularly cold. A stiff wind made her golden hair dance wildly, and she gazed eastward, squinting in the sun, though she had both hands lifted to her brow to shade her eyes. Ennis and Affery were with her. Seeing Aindreas, she pointed toward the road, a dark band of brown dirt that wound past tawny fields and small farmhouses to the city’s easternmost gate. It was a long way off, but following the line of her gaze, Aindreas could see riders approaching the tor, bearing the purple and gold of Eibithar. The king’s men.

“I sent Villyd to the gate,” the duchess told him, her eyes never leaving the horsemen. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Yes. I would have done the same.”

She glanced at him. “Will you go as well?”

He had yet to decide. Had it not been for the missive from the Qirsi, he probably would have. After Kearney’s last message, with its tidings of the Qirsi woman being held in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle, the duke had been searching for any path to reconciliation with the Crown. This was a time to end his conflict with Glyndwr and Curgh, to accept that he had been wrong, and unite the realm so that it might face the conspiracy united and strong.

His alliance with the Qirsi would not allow this, however. He had cast his lot with the white-hairs, and he had little choice but to fulfill his pledge to them. To do less was to invite disgrace, not only in the eyes of Eibithar’s other nobles but also in those of his wife and children. Had it been only his life hanging in the balance, he would have gladly humbled himself before the king rather than help the whitehairs. But he could not bear the thought of bringing such humiliation to Ioanna or damning Ennis to lead a shamed house.

“Aindreas?”

“I’ll go,” he said. “If for no other reason than to send them away myself.”

“Do you know why they’ve come?”

He shrugged, looking at her. “I refused the king’s summons to a parley. And I’ve yet to pay Kearney his tribute for the last three turns.” He gave a wan smile. “I’d think that has something to do with it.”

She nodded, her lips pressed in a tight line.

Aindreas turned to go.

“Can I come, Father?” Ennis asked.

“Not this time, son.” The duke mussed the boy’s red hair, drawing a grin. Then he left them, stopping in his chamber to retrieve his sword, which he strapped to his belt. Though the riders would reach the gate before he did, he still took his time. Let them wait, he told himself, the pounding of his heart giving the lie to his bravado.

Sheftam, his horse, awaited him at the castle gate, though he hadn’t ordered the beast saddled. Villyd, no doubt. It would speed his arrival at the city gate, and make him look even more formidable than he already was. The Tor atop the Tor, they called him, and with reason. Even before Sanbiri wine and the fine food in his kitchens made him fat, he had been a large man, broad and powerfully built. This messenger from the king would be merely the latest to quail before him.

He stroked the animal’s nose for a moment, then climbed into his saddle and rode out of the castle toward the eastern gate. The lanes leading through Kentigern city were choked with people who paused now in what they were doing to watch the duke ride past. They didn’t cheer. They only stared after him, their apprehension manifest in widened eyes and pallid faces. All of them could hear the bells echoing through the narrow streets, and by now word would have spread through the marketplace that the riders bore the king’s colors.

One didn’t have to be a minister in a noble’s court to understand that Aindreas’s defiance of the king had pushed Eibithar to the brink of civil war. And though the duke’s people would not have dared give voice to any doubts they harbored as to his judgment, they could not hide their fear. Nor could Aindreas blame them. His own hands remained unsteady, and he was thankful for the castle that loomed behind him, ponderous and grey, like some great beast called forth by the clerics in Bian’s Sanctuary.

When at last he reached the city walls and steered his mount through the massive gate, the duke found Villyd Temsten, his swordmaster, standing in front of more than half the army of Kentigern. Villyd had his arms crossed over his broad chest and his stout legs spread wide, so that he looked almost as unassailable as the castle itself. Before him, mounted still, their banners snapping in the wind, were nine men, all of them wearing chain mail and bearing short swords on their belts and bastard swords in baldrics on their backs. One of the men, who was clearly older than the others, wore a surcoat of silver, black, and red over his mail, the colors matching those of the baldrics. These were men of Glyndwr then, whom Kearney had brought with him to Audun’s Castle upon taking the throne.

The city bells ceased their tolling, the last peals echoing off the city walls and dying away. A moment later, the older man rode forward a short distance, his hand raised in greeting. When he reined his mount to a halt again, the horse nickered, cantering sideways nervously.

“My lord duke,” the man said, his voice ringing clearly over the wind, “I bring greetings from King Kearney the First, who commands me to ask that you shelter us and name us guestfriends.”

The duke gave dark grin. “And why would your king ask that, Glyndwr? Does he fear for your safety?”

“Yes, my lord, I believe he does.”

The smile fled Aindreas’s face, and he felt his color rising. “Is there more to your message?”

The man’s eyes darted past the duke to Villyd and the soldiers. “There is, my lord. But perhaps the rest should wait until we can speak in private.”

The duke briefly considered forcing the man to say his piece here, in front of all. A moment later, however, he thought better of it. His men knew that their duke and the king were at odds, but few of them understood how far the conflict had progressed. He didn’t want them to learn in this way that the duke was already considered a renegade in the City of Kings. By the same token, he wasn’t willing to name them guestfriends and allow them to stay in his castle. If there were Qirsi spies about, he didn’t want them to see that he had welcomed the king’s men onto the tor. He couldn’t very well make the men guestfriends if he intended to continue his defiance of the Crown.

“Very well,” the duke said. “You and your men may make your camp in the shadow of these walls.”

The man frowned. “My lord-”

“Make certain they’re properly provisioned,” Aindreas said to Villyd, ignoring Kearney’s man.

“Yes, my lord.”

Kearney faced the soldier once more. “I assure you, no harm will come to you here. My guards stand at this gate day and night.” He grinned again. “And I have little doubt that men trained by Gershon Trasker can defend themselves from brigands and wolves, should any approach the city.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, clearly displeased.

“I’ll send for you when I’m ready to hear the rest of Kearney’s message.” He turned his mount and started back through the gate. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he called over his shoulder.

Crossing through the gate and emerging once more into the city, Aindreas thought he heard a voice call to him. Turning, he saw Brienne again, standing amid the vendors and their customers, gazing back at him sadly. She shook her head slowly and mouthed the words, “End this.”

Aindreas reined his mount to a halt, wondering if she meant for him to go back to the soldiers and welcome them into the castle.

“Brienne!” he called.

She began to walk away, drifting in and out of view as she passed the others in the marketplace. The people around the duke were staring at him, looking frightened and uncertain, but Aindreas was too intent on watching his daughter to speak to them. She glanced back at him once last time, then stepped deeper into the crowd around her and was gone.

He shouted her name again, but he couldn’t see her anymore, and with all the people and peddler’s carts lining the lane, he couldn’t follow.

He raised himself up, standing in his stirrups, but still couldn’t spot her.

“Are you well, my lord?”

He whirled toward the voice, nearly losing his balance. Villyd stood beside his mount, eyeing him with obvious concern.

“I’m fine,” Aindreas said, sitting in his saddle once more. He looked for Brienne one last time, then stared down at the swordmaster. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of the provisions?” he demanded.

“I have a man seeing to it, my lord. I wanted to make certain that you were quite yourself.”

“I just told you: I’m fine.”

“Yes, my lord. But I heard you call out. . ” He swallowed. “I heard you asking for Lady Brienne.”

“Yes. I was. .” He had raised his hand to point in the direction she had gone, but then let it drop to his side. Brienne was dead. Of course he knew that. But then who had he seen? “I think of her often, Villyd,” he said quietly.

The man lowered his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

“I should get back to the castle. Ioanna will want to know about the riders.”

“My lord, shouldn’t we allow them to stay in the castle? Perhaps a gesture of friendship on our part will ease tensions with the Crown.”

“I have no interest in easing tensions, swordmaster. If it turns out that the king’s men have brought word of Kearney’s willingness to address our grievances, I can always welcome them onto the tor later. But until I have proof that they’ve come suing for peace, I’ll give no indication of any willingness on our part to surrender.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Aindreas could hear the disapproval in Villyd’s tone, but he chose to ignore it. He flicked the reins, and his horse started toward the castle once more.

“My lord!” the swordmaster called after him.

“Tell Kearney’s man I’ll speak with him tomorrow,” Aindreas answered, not even bothering to look back. “I trust he and the others will be comfortable until then.”

He rode the rest of the way up the tor as quickly as he dared. He didn’t allow the horse to break into a gallop, not wishing to appear afraid or too eager to be back within the walls of his fortress. But he felt himself trembling again, and he had to resist the urge to search for Brienne’s face among those he passed along the way.

As he ascended the winding road toward the castle gate, he saw Ioanna gazing down at him from same tower on which he had left her. She vanished from view before he reached the barbican, and Aindreas knew that she would be waiting for him by his presence chamber, anxious to hear what Kearney’s men had said to him. He would gladly have postponed the encounter until later, but he knew better than to try. Villyd and the others were afraid of him and easily put off; his wife was neither.

He left his mount at the stable and returned to his chamber. Ioanna stood in the corridor just outside the door.

“What did they want?” she asked, as he opened the door and gestured for her to enter the chamber.

He closed the door before facing her. “I don’t know yet. Their captain wishes to speak with me in private. I’ll grant him an audience tomorrow and hear what he has to say.”

“Why didn’t they come back with you to the castle?”

He looked away, stepping past her to stand behind his writing table.

“I didn’t offer to quarter them in the castle.”

If she thought him a fool, she did a fine job of concealing it.

“Do you think that’s wise?” was all she said, her voice even.

Of course I do, he wanted to say. Would I have done it otherwise? Instead he shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to welcome them within these walls. I’ve ordered Villyd to give them whatever provisions they require.” He gazed out the window, watching a flock of doves circle one of the towers. “If the weather holds, they’ll have no cause to complain.”

“They’d have no cause in any case,” she said. “Not after what Glyndwr and Curgh have done to us.”

Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much that she deserved to know. Yet he was afraid to reveal any of it, lest he see the shame he felt at all he had done reflected in her eyes.

“You must tell her.” Brienne’s voice.

Opening his eyes again, he saw the girl standing behind her mother, their hair the same shade of gold, their faces so similar that he nearly wept at the sight.

“What is it Aindreas?” Ioanna asked, a frown creasing her brow.

“Tell her, Father.”

“There’s something you should know,” he said, wishing Brienne would leave them alone. He paused, searching for the right way to begin. There’s something you should know. He nearly laughed aloud at his choice of words. The truth was he had so much he needed to tell her that he didn’t know where to begin. I spent the better part of the harvest torturing Qirsi in the castle dungeon, looking for someone who could lead me to the leaders of the white-hair conspiracy. Having finally found her, I proceeded to ally our house with the Qirsi traitors, all so that I could strike at Kearney and Javan and the others I believed at the time to be our enemies. I’ve since become convinced that it was the Qirsi and not Tavis who were to blame for Brienne’s death. I’ve betrayed our land and shamed our house for generations, all for nothing. I’m sorry.

That’s what he should have said. But even knowing this, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. He looked past Ioanna once more, gazing at Brienne, hoping she could read the apology in his eyes. She shook her head, tears on her face, and then began to fade, as if swallowed by a sorcerer’s mist.

“Aindreas?”

“Yes,” he said, facing his wife again. “You remember the message that came from Kearney about a turn ago?”

“Of course.”

He took a breath. “In it, the king claimed to have imprisoned a Qirsi woman who had confessed to being with the conspiracy. This woman, according to Kearney’s message, had admitted arranging Brienne’s murder.”

Ioanna shook her head. “That’s impossible. Tavis of Curgh killed Brienne. We know that.”

“We know what we saw, Ioanna. But this woman-”

“No!” she said, shaking her head again, so that tears flew from her face. “There was blood on his hands! Her blood! His dagger-”

She choked on the word, gagging and struggling to breathe until Aindreas thought that she might be ill. He reached for her, but she backed away from him, her entire body shaking, her trembling hands raised to her face, her eyes wide and wild like those of a feral cat, cornered and afraid. “You believe them!” she whispered. “You think this woman might be telling the truth!”

“I don’t know what I-”

“Don’t say it!” She leveled a quaking finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it! He killed her! You know he did! They’re lying to protect themselves, because they’re afraid now! They know what they did to her, all of them! And they’re afraid!”

“Ioanna-”

“If you give in to them,” she said, her voice dropping low, the finger still aimed at his heart, like a blade, “if you surrender and let them do this, I’ll hate you for the rest of my days. I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory. We know what happened. They’re trying to change it, to confuse us and fool everybody else in the realm, but we know. Don’t let them do this, Aindreas. Do you understand? Don’t let them.”

What could he say to her? For so long he had been pouring his venom into her mind, telling her what he believed was true, and what he wanted her to believe as well. That she should spew the poison back at him with such fury was just one irony among too many. He took a step toward her, and this time she didn’t back away. A moment later she was pressing her face to his chest, sobbing like a babe, clutching his shirt with both hands. “Don’t let them,” she said again and again as he held her, stroking her head.

“I won’t,” he murmured at last. “I promise you I won’t.”

Eventually her tears began to slow, her sobbing to subside. Aindreas gestured to one of the servants skulking by the door.

“Summon the duchess’s ladies,” he told the boy quietly. “Tell them the duchess needs to rest.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Still Aindreas held her, until two of Ioanna’s servants came. Only then did he release her, kissing her forehead as she pulled away. She seemed dazed, only vaguely aware of where she was and who was with her. It was much the way she had been in the turns immediately following Brienne’s murder.

“Put her to bed,” he said to the women. “I’ll be in to see her later. If the children need anything, send them to me.”

They both curtsied, and one of them whispered, “Yes, my lord,” before they led Ioanna from the chamber.

The duke stood in the center of his presence chamber for several moments after they had gone, cursing himself for having said anything to her at all, and cursing the Qirsi for their treachery and the ease with which they had ensnared him.

“Wine!” he bellowed at last, returning to his chair by the writing table.

He picked up Jastanne’s message again. You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow. They were asking him to knot his own rope and slip it around his own neck. They might as well have commanded him to lead Kentigern’s army to the City of Kings and lay siege to Audun’s Castle. None of the other dukes would stand with Kentigern now. Those who were inclined to side with the king would have been convinced by word of the Qirsi woman’s confession. And those who had sided with Aindreas thus far weren’t yet ready to stand in open defiance of the crown. Perhaps they would be eventually, when they knew for certain that they could stand together against an attack from the King’s Guard and Kearney’s allies, but not until then.

“They wish to make a traitor of me,” he muttered.

To which a voice in his head replied, You’re a traitor already, made so by your own actions.

“Where is my wine?” he called again, his voice echoing in the corridor like thunder.

A moment later a boy peered into the chamber like a frightened dog.

“You have my wine?” the duke demanded.

The boy nodded, stepping warily into the chamber. He carried a flagon and cup.

“Quickly, boy!” he said, waving the servant forward.

The boy set the cup on Aindreas’s table and began to pour. But the duke grabbed the flagon from his hand, spilling Sanbiri red on the table and floor.

“Go get more,” the duke said. “I’ve a mighty thirst today.”

The boy fled the chamber, eager to obey.

The rest of that day and the entire night were lost to him in a fog of wine and grief and rage. It was only the following morning, when Aindreas awoke to a hard rain and keening winds, that he even remembered that the king’s men had come and had made camp outside the walls of his city. Dressing quickly, he left his bedchamber in search of Villyd, only to find that the swordmaster was waiting for him outside his presence chamber.

“My lord,” the man said, bowing to him.

“Swordmaster.” He opened the door to the chamber and entered, with Villyd close behind. Now that he had found the man, he was reluctant to reveal his concern for the king’s soldiers. Had Villyd had his way, the men would have been sheltered for the night. “I’ve been looking for you,” he finally said. “When I saw that it had been raining I. .” He trailed off, glancing toward his writing table, hoping that perhaps there would still be wine there. He would have given his sword for a drink just then.

“I had tarpaulin and poles taken to the men last night, my lord, as the storm moved in. I knew that you’d want them to be sheltered, even if they did come here as agents of the king.”

Aindreas tried to keep himself from looking too relieved. “My thanks, swordmaster. As you say, we have no quarrel with these men, only with those who sent them.”

“Quite so, my lord.” Villyd hesitated, eyeing the duke closely. “Shall I send for their captain, my lord? He awaits word from you.”

“Not yet, Villyd. Later, when I’ve had a chance to consider what message I want to convey to the king.”

The man pursed his lips briefly, then nodded, “Very well, my lord.” Still he lingered, seeming to muster the courage to say more.

“Is there something else you wish to discuss, swordmaster?”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I wonder if you’ve considered the consequences of further angering the king.”

Aindreas glowered at the man. It was one thing for the duke to question his own judgment. It was quite another for one of his underlings to do so, even one as trusted and intelligent as Villyd. “To be honest with you, swordmaster, I haven’t given the matter any thought at all. I don’t give a damn if I anger the king, nor do I care if his men rot in their little camp outside my walls. Kearney offered protection to Tavis of Curgh when I was certain that the boy had killed my daughter, and he embraced Javan as his ally though Curgh and Kentigern were on the verge of war. He has shown no consideration whatsoever for the House of Kentigern. Why should I care a whit if I anger him?”

Villyd stared at the floor, his color high. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me.”

“Now get out.”

Villyd started to leave, turned once as if to say more, then shook his head and walked out of the chamber.

Aindreas didn’t see the swordmaster for the rest of the day. Twice guards came to his chamber, asking if the duke was ready to speak with Kearney’s man, and both times the duke sent them away, telling them that he would summon the captain when he was ready. The truth was, however, he feared this audience with the king’s soldier. The duke didn’t know what the man had been instructed to say to him, but he felt certain that the captain would expect Aindreas to reaffirm his loyalty to the realm or declare his intention to stand against the Crown. The duke wasn’t prepared to do either. He needed more time, but it seemed clear that neither the conspiracy nor the king was willing to give it to him.

An hour or so after the ringing of the prior’s bells, as Andreas sipped from yet another cup of wine, someone knocked at his door again. Squeezing his eyes closed and rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger until they hurt, he called for whoever had come to enter.

The door opened and a soldier stepped into the chamber.

“My lord-”

“No,” Andreas said angrily, “I’am not yet ready to speak with him.”

“I’am sorry, my lord, but that’s not why I’ve disturbed you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then what do you want?”

“There’s a Qirsi woman at the gate, my lord. She’s asking to speak with you.”

Somehow Andreas was on his feet. “Which gate?”

“My lord?”

“From which gate did she come?”

The man shook his head, a puzzled look on his blunt features. “She’s at the east castle gate, my lord.”

“No, I mean the gate through which she entered the city.”

“I believe it was the north gate, my lord.”

Of course. That was the gate nearest the quays. The king’s men never would have seen her from their camp. He let out a breath, steadying himself with a hand on his table.

“Shall I bring her to you, my lord?”

This was’t a discussion he wished to have tonight either, but he could’t very well refuse her. It struck him as a measure of the Iris threat that he should fear this white-haired merchant so much more than he did his own king.

“Yes. I’ll speak with her now.”

The man bowed and withdrew. Aindreas drained his cup of wine, but when his servant lifted the flagon to pour more, the duke shook his head. “Leave me,” he told the boy. “I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

The boy nodded and all but ran from the chamber. Aindreas stepped around his table and began to pace, wishing now that he had let the boy fill his cup before leaving. He was about to call the servant back when he heard a knock on the oaken door.

“Enter!” he said, a flutter in his voice.

The door swung opened, revealing Jastanne, slight and pale, like a candle flame, standing between two guards who towered over her.

Aindreas eyed her for a moment, then nodded to the men. “We’ll speak alone,” he told them.

Jastanne gave a wry grin and sauntered into the chamber, leaving it to the guards to close the door.

“I thought you didn’t want to risk any more meetings,” Aindreas said, trying to keep his tone light. “Only written messages, you said.”

“Yes, I remember.” She dropped herself into a chair. “But I thought a visit to your castle was warranted. The movement’s leaders wanted me to make certain that you appreciated fully the importance of our last message.” She opened her hands. “What better way to do so than to come here myself?”

“I only received your message yesterday. That’s hardly time enough to give it the consideration it deserves.”

“I realize that. But I also know that the king’s men arrived yesterday as well.” She tilted her head to the side. “Such a strange coincidence.” The woman continued to watch him, as if searching his face for some response. When he offered none, she gave a small shrug. “In any case, I didn’t want the arrival of Kearney’s men to serve as a distraction.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that she would know about the soldiers. No doubt the Qirsi had spies in every major city in the Forelands by now. But he found it disturbing nonetheless. Even had he been ready to make peace with the king and find a way to extricate himself from this alliance with the white-hairs, even had Ioanna allowed it, Jastanne and her underlings would have found a way to stop him.

“It hasn’t distracted me at all,” he said sourly, “and it won’t. If you know they’re here, then you also know that I refused even to shelter them in the castle.”

“I’d noticed that. Your treatment of these men has been quite interesting, Lord Kentigern. You refuse to quarter them, but you offer them provisions and when the storms come, you give them material to build shelters. One might get the impression from all this that you’re of two minds about this king you claim to hate.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. But I couldn’t merely send them away, not without provoking the king.”

She raised an eyebrow, a cold smile on her lips. “You don’t seem to understand, Lord Kentigern. That’s precisely what we want you to do. I would have thought that my message had made that clear.”

He stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time, his stomach turning to stone. “You knew they were coming,” he said hoarsely. “It was no coincidence at all that your message arrived just before they did. You were instructing me to turn them away.”

“I prefer to think that we were offering you an opportunity to fulfill the oath you swore to us several turns ago. I must say that I’m disappointed you chose not to.”

“You gave me no time.”

“Nonsense! You’ve had since Qirsar’s turn.”

Aindreas shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know it’s not. But you entered into our agreement thinking that you would use us as a weapon in your dispute with the king. You gave little thought to what we would ask of you, because you believed that our movement could be turned to your purposes. Only now, with the arrival of my message and this visit from the king’s men, do you begin to see how wrong you were. No doubt this is difficult for you, but to be honest, I don’t care. You’ve pledged yourself to our cause, and we expect you to honor that pledge. You wanted to strike at your king; now is the time.”

The duke stood dumb, like a man who had just been cozened out of his wage by one of the tricksters who followed the Revel from city to city. He could think of no words with which to counter what she had said, because all of it was true. He had thought to use them only to find himself a tool in their hands.

“I’ve yet to speak with the king’s captain,” he said at last, surrender in his voice. “Shall I send them away without granting him an audience?”

“I’m not certain that’s enough anymore.”

He swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Before she could answer, there came yet another knock, this one loud and insistent. Aindreas’s eyes flew to the door, his chest tightening. “In a moment!” he called. He turned to the Qirsi woman and in a whisper said, “No one must see you here.”

For a moment she stared at him, as if daring him to try to make her leave. After what seemed an eternity, with the pounding at his door resuming, she stood and walked to a second door, which led to the duke’s private antechamber. Only when she was hidden within the smaller chamber did Aindreas go to the first door and pull it open. As he had expected, Kearney’s captain was there, standing between two of the duke’s guards.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said one of the guards. “We tried to stop him, but. .” He shrugged sheepishly, leaving the rest unspoken. But he’s the king’s man.

The duke resisted the impulse to point out that two of his guards should have been able to stop one man no matter whose colors he wore. Instead he motioned the captain into the chamber, glaring at the guards. “Return to your posts,” he said. “Make certain that none of the king’s other men find their way into my castle.”

The soldier looked at the floor. “Yes, my lord.”

Aindreas closed the door smartly and turned toward Kearney’s man.

“You have no right entering my castle unbidden.”

“On the contrary, my lord. I have every right. I was sent by the king himself, who is sovereign of all lands in the realm. I awaited word from you for as long as I felt I could, but I refuse to allow you to put me off for another day.”

Any other day he might have argued with the man, but with Jastanne in the adjacent chamber he thought it better just to hear what the captain had to say and be done with it.

“You bring word from the king,” he said, prompting the man.

“I bring a warning, my lord. Your payments to the Crown are in arrears, you have yet to respond to the king’s message summoning you to the City of Kings, and the king knows that you speak openly of rebellion. The king has been tolerant of these lapses thus far, knowing how you and your family have suffered in the last year. But his patience wears thin. Soon he’ll have little choice but to send men to Kentigern in far greater numbers than he has this time.”

Such arrogance! Aindreas wanted to slap the man, to watch the outline of his hand appear, livid and red on the captain’s cheek. He knew, however, that these were Kearney’s words, not the soldier’s, and he found his old hatred of the king returning. This was why he couldn’t accept Glyndwr as his ruler. This was why he had turned to the Qirsi.

“And does your liege speak only of threats and war?” the duke asked, his voice like a drawn blade. “Does he offer no apology for the injustices heaped upon my house? Has it even occurred to him to hear our grievances?”

“He will gladly hear your grievances, Lord Kentigern, just as he does those of all his loyal subjects. But you must first demonstrate your good faith by submitting to his authority and swearing an oath of fealty to the Crown.”

Aindreas heard a light footfall behind him, his breath catching in his throat.

“Splendid!” Jastanne said, clapping her hands with clear disdain as she stepped to the center of the chamber. “Do you hear how he speaks to you, Lord Kentigern? He speaks of submission to the king’s authority and oaths of fealty. But in return he offers only threats. How typical of you Eandi.”

The captain’s hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. “Who is this woman, my lord?”

“Don’t you see, Lord Kentigern?” she went on, ignoring the man. “Your loyalty is wasted on such a sovereign. You owe nothing to Kearney, because he offers nothing to you.”

“What is this?” the man demanded, the expression on his face almost comical. “What is she talking about, my lord?”

“I think you should go,” Aindreas said, not entirely certain to which of the two he was speaking.

Jastanne smiled. “Now? When things are getting so interesting?”

“My lord-”

“This is my new first minister, Captain. And as you can see, she has little regard for what your king has to say. Frankly, I don’t either.”

Jastanne gave a small laugh. “Your new first minister?”

“I think you should leave,” Aindreas said again, clearly speaking to the soldier this time.

The captain regarded them both in silence, shaking his head.

Finally, he started toward the door. “Very well.”

“No,” Jastanne said, stopping him. “This has gone on long enough.”

“What?” the duke said, staring at her.

But she was intent on the captain.

It all happened so fast that Aindreas was helpless to do more than watch.

The muffled crack, so much like the splintering of wood, was followed an instant later by a choked cry of pain as the soldier collapsed to the floor, grabbing at his leg. A random thought: she’s a shaper. Jastanne strode to where the man lay writhing, his face contorted with anguish. Candlelight glinted off something in her hand. A dagger; Aindreas hadn’t seen her pull it from her belt. The Qirsi grabbed Kearney’s man by the hair, lifting his head off the floor, dragging the edge of her blade across his throat. Blood pulsed from the gaping wound, a pool of red that spread across the chamber floor like fire across parchment.

He gaped at her, his head spinning as if he were fevered. “Are you mad?” He dropped to his knees beside the man, but already he could see the life fading in the soldier’s dark eyes. There wasn’t even time to call for a healer.

“No, Lord Kentigern. I’m merely doing what’s necessary, what you couldn’t bring yourself to do.”

“Surely you didn’t expect me to do this!”

“I expected you to honor your agreement with us. Now you have no choice but to do so.”

“You are mad.”

She wiped her blade on her trousers and returned it to the sheath on her belt. “You’d best send Kearney’s other men back to the City of Kings, Lord Kentigern. And then I’d suggest that you prepare for war.” She glanced at the dead man one last time, then let herself out of the chamber.

Aindreas should have gone after her. He should have killed her for what she had done, though he wasn’t certain how to go about killing a shaper. Instead, he just knelt there.

And the king’s man stared sightlessly at the ceiling.