Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twelve

Solkara, Aneira

Fetnalla was already awake and dressed when she heard the knock at her door. It was early still-the sun had yet to rise, though the night had given way to the ghostly light of morning-but she had slept poorly. Any day now, Evanthya would reach the royal city, and the anticipation had begun to affect her sleep. Nevertheless, she was surprised to learn that others were awake as well, and more surprised still when she called through the door to ask who had come.

“It’s the archmimster.”

She and Pronjed had done their best to avoid each other for the past several days as preparations continued for Carden’s funeral. For him to come now to her quarters so early in the morning seemed strange indeed. What choice did she have, however, but to let him in?

Opening the door, she found him looking ill. He was sweating and his face looked ashen, even for a Qirsi. He appeared to be trembling, and he cradled his right hand against his chest as if it pained him greatly.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, First Minister,” he said, his voice weak. But I’m wondering if you’re a healer, or if there’s one in your company.“

“Of course, Archmimster,” she said, forgetting everything else as she helped him into her chamber. “I’m a healer.”

“Thank you,” he said, managing a smile.

She led him to a chair by the window and knelt before him, taking hold of his forearm and examining his hand. He winced as she turned the palm toward the light of a lamp resting on a nearby table.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head, but said nothing.

His hand looked terrible. The base of his thumb was swollen to nearly twice the size it should have been, and the entire thumb and much of the palm had turned a deep, angry shade of purple, like the color of storm clouds during the harvest. Clearly the bone had been broken, but what puzzled her was that it seemed to have occurred several hours before.

“What happened?” she asked.

He gave a small shrug, wincing again. “I fell while putting some wood on the fire in my quarters.”

“Just now?”

The minister looked at her briefly. “No, earlier. I awoke in the middle of the night to find my chambers had grown cold. I got up to put more wood in the hearth, but I tripped. I must have been a bit addled with sleep, and I simply went back to bed, not realizing how badly I had hurt myself.”

“Well, it looks to me as if you’ve broken the bone in several places.” She laid her other hand on his and closed her eyes. “Hold still. I’ll see what I can do to mend the bone.”

Probing his hand with her mind, Fetnalla found that there were three breaks in the bone. Fortunately, the fragments hadn’t moved much and setting the bone in his thumb was fairly easy. Still, the minister gasped at the pain and she feared for a moment that he would pass out.

When the bone pieces were in place, she drew upon her magic, allowing it to flow through her hands into his. At first all she sensed was warmth, as if her hands were a gentle fire. But after a time, she felt the bone beginning to heal and she smiled. As a minister in the court of Orvinti, she rarely had the opportunity to use her healing powers. It was, she realized, the magic she liked best.

“You’ve a deft touch, Minister,” Pronjed said. “It’s already feeling better.”

“Thank you. It will take some time still.”

They fell silent, the archminister seeming to relish the easing of his pain and Fetnalla concentrating on healing him. After some time, however, she started to feel that she should have been saying something.

“I’m surprised that you came to me,” she told him at last, opening her eyes for just a moment. Pronjed was staring at the hearth. Some of the color had returned to his narrow face.

“Are you?”

“I’d have thought that you’d go to one of the castle’s healers.”

“The castle has none.”

Again she opened her eyes. “None?”

“Carden never liked the idea of using magic to keep himself well. He welcomed Qirsi with other powers, those that could help him rule. But he allowed only Eandi surgeons to treat him and his family.”

“That may be why he’s dead now.” As soon as the words crossed her lips, she regretted them.

“What?”

“Forgive me, Archmimster. I only meant that perhaps a Qirsi healer could have found a way to help him.”

“Yes, of course,” Pronjed said, looking toward the fire again. “I’d considered that as well.”

They lapsed into another silence, and this time Fetnalla did nothing to break it. She still feared this man and though he hadn’t taken offense at her last remark, she might not be so fortunate with the next one.

The dawn bells rang in the city and a few moments later she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her chamber.

“That will be the day guards taking their places,” Pronjed said. His voice sounded stronger.

Fetnalla removed her hands from his and looked at the injured thumb. It was still discolored and swollen, but not nearly so much as it had been before. He moved it slowly and smiled.

“That’s much better,” he said. “Thank you, First Minister. You’ve done me a great service. I won’t forget it.”

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Archminister. I might be able to do more, perhaps bring down the swelling a bit further. Do you want me to try?”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Time will do the rest.”

“Very well.”

Pronjed stood, as did the first minister.

“Next time, you might want to have one of your attendants see to the fire,” she said, smiling to soften the gibe.

“What? Oh yes, of course.” He smiled in return, though she could see that it was forced.

Once again, she feared that she had offended him.

The archminister stepped to the door, pausing with his hand resting on the door handle to turn and face her again.

“I’d prefer-” He stopped himself shaking his head. “It’s not important.”

“I won’t speak of this to anyone,” she said, as he started to turn away. “It’s not a healer’s place to talk of such things.”

He smiled again, and this time it seemed genuine. “Thank you again, First Minister. I believe the queen intends to speak with your duke later today. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

He opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Apparently seeing no one, he nodded to her once and left her chamber, pulling the door closed behind him.

Long after he was gone, Fetnalla continued to stare at the wooden door. Something about their conversation bothered her, though she couldn’t say what it was. His explanation of what happened to his hand had seemed perfectly logical at the time, but thinking back on it now, she couldn’t imagine how he could have slept with such an injury. It was almost as if-

Abruptly, the conversation she had with her duke about Carden’s death came back to her. She had speculated at the time that a Qirsi with delusion magic might have been able to make the king turn his blade on himself. And just now, the king’s archminister had convinced her of something that made little sense.

Another knock at her door made her jump.

“Who is it?” she called, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to steady her pulse.

“Your duke,” came Brail’s voice.

Fetnalla hurried to the door and opened it. “My lord. Good morrow.”

He stepped past her into the chamber, looking about, as if searching for something, or someone. His silver hair was slightly tousled, and his broad face was pale, as if he too had slept poorly.

“I heard voices in here a short time ago. I awoke to them.”

“Yes, my lord. Someone came to me with an injury. I healed the wound and the person left.”

He completed a circle of the room, stopping just in front of her. “Who was it?”

A part of her wanted to answer. She was more convinced than ever that the archminister had a hand in the king’s death, and she needed to find some way to share her insights with Brail. But she had given an oath, and she was tiring of the duke’s lingering suspicions. He spoke to her of trust, of how important it was that they rely on each other during their time in Solkara awaiting Carden’s funeral and the selection of his successor. Yet he showed no faith in her loyalty. “I can’t say, my lord,” she told him, knowing that this would anger him and further fuel his doubts. “I gave my word as a healer that I would not.”

“Was this person Qirsi?”

“I won’t tell you that, either.”

Brail frowned, shaking his head slowly. “Very well,” he said, turning away, the words coming out as a growl. “I’m on my way to the king’s hall for breakfast,” he said, leaving her chamber. “You’re welcome to join me or not as you see fit.”

Fetnalla didn’t move. She wanted to scream at him, but it was all she could do to keep herself from crying. She deserved better, she had decided some time ago. But in the end, all she could do was follow him through the corridors and down the winding stairs to the hall.

As Pronjed had foreseen, a messenger came to the hall as they ate to tell the duke that the queen wished to speak with him. It had been days since they had even seen Chofya, so consumed had she been with plans for the funeral and whatever matters Carden had left unfinished.

“I wonder what it is she wants,” Brail said quietly, after the messenger had gone.

“You’re a guest in her castle, my lord. She may feel that she’s neglected you for too long.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. The day we learned of the king’s death she indicated that she wished to enlist my help with some cause. I believe that matter, whatever it may be, is what she wants to discuss.”

Fetnalla had forgotten this, though reminded of it now, she felt certain that the duke was right.

They quickly finished eating and made their way to the king’s chamber, which Chofya now used as her own. The guards at the door admitted them immediately, nodding once to the duke as he stepped past, and ignoring Fetnalla.

The queen sat at her husband’s writing table, her hands folded before her and a smile fixed on her lips. She wore a simple black dress, a cape bearing the royal seal, and the circle of gold that rested as always upon her brow. There were lines on her face that Fetnalla did not remember from just a few days before, but otherwise she looked as she usually did: beautiful, formidable, and just a bit sad.

“Your Highness,” Brail said, kneeling.

Fetnalla kneeled as well.

“Rise, Lord Orvinti, First Minister. Be welcome. I trust you’ve been comfortable these past few days.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Quite.”

“I’m glad. I hope you’ll forgive my lack of hospitality. I’ve attended to so many things since the king’s death that I’m afraid I’ve failed you as a host.”

Brail smiled. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Your Highness. This is the finest castle in all the Forelands, thanks in large part to you and your skills as queen. Our stay here has been most satisfactory. We only wish it hadn’t been necessary.”

“You’re very kind, Brail.”

“Is Your Highness well?” the duke asked, his smile giving way to a look of concern.

“As well as one might expect.”

“And the Princess Kalyi?”

Chofya lowered her gaze. “She grieves for her father, of course. She was terribly young to lose him. But she has his strength.”

“And yours, I’m sure, Your Highness. She seems a most extraordinary child.”

The queen gave a strange smile. “I’m glad to hear you say so, Lord Orvinti. I believe she is extraordinary. Indeed, she’s the reason I’ve asked you here today.”

“Your Highness?”

“I won’t weave mists with my words, Brail. I want Kalyi to succeed her father as Solkara’s ruler. I realize that she’s still just a child, so I’ll assent to a regent. But I want my daughter on the throne.”

To his credit, the duke reacted mildly. His eyebrows went up for an instant, but otherwise, he held himself still. Fetnalla stole a glance at Pronjed, but the archminister appeared intent on the queen. She did notice, however, that he held his injured hand out of sight, behind his back.

“I needn’t tell you, Your Highness,” Brail said after a lengthy silence, “that Aneira has had no queen in over two hundred and fifty years.”

“I’m well aware of that, Lord Orvinti.”

“And are you aware, as well, of how close the kingdom came to civil war the last time a woman sat on the throne?”

It was a period of Aneiran history known as the Time of Queens, which began with the investiture in 537 of Edrice, eldest daughter of Tomaz the Sixth. She wasn’t the first queen in Aneira’s pantheon of leaders. Indeed, she wasn’t even the first queen from House Solkara. Her great-grandmother, Tanith, ruled the land only fifty years earlier. But like her father, Edrice had no male children and so passed the crown to her daughter Tanith the Second. The younger Tanith did have a son, but he died before his Fating, and when the queen died, she was succeeded by her only surviving child, Syntalle. By this time, the other Aneiran houses had begun to chafe at what they saw as a burgeoning matriarchy, not unlike that of Sanbira. Syntalle had only one daughter and three sons, but the girl was the eldest, and the queen made no secret of the fact that she was preparing her for assumption of the throne. Led by Bistari and Dantrielle, the other houses objected, and when Syntalle grew ill and frail after one of the longest reigns of any monarch in the history of the land, they threatened to wrest the crown from House Solkara rather than accept another queen. Defiant to the end, Syntalle abdicated on her deathbed so that she could see her daughter, Ednce the Second, invested as Aneira’s fourth consecutive queen.

Unlike her mother, however, the younger Edrice had no appetite for power. With the armies of Bistari, Mertesse, Dantrielle, and Noltierre advancing on Castle Solkara, fearing for herself, her family, and her realm, Edrice abdicated to her eldest brother, Farrad. In exchange for the crown, Farrad agreed to name Edrice’s son, who happened to be the first Carden, his heir. The king remained true to his word, and twenty-two years later, upon Farrad the Fourth’s death, Carden took the throne, completing what became known as the Queen’s Bargain.

“I know Aneiran history, Lord Orvinti,” Chofya said, her voice growing cold. “I’m not attempting to foster a matriarchy, nor am I doing any less than a widowed queen and mother ought to do. Kalyi is Carden’s only child. Isn’t it just that she should claim her father’s crown for her own?”

“I suppose it is, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low. “What is it that you want of me?”

The queen twisted her mouth in disapproval. Clearly this conversation had not gone as she hoped it would.

“I had thought to ask you to help me win the support of the other houses,” Chofya said. “It seems I was wrong to assume that I’d have your support.”

“I promised to do anything in my power to help you, Your Highness, and I am a man of my word. I do have some questions, though.”

“Of course, Lord Orvinti. I’ll tell you anything I can.”

“Do you have someone in mind to serve as regent?”

The queen looked briefly at the archminister before answering. “I intend to ask the marquess of Renbrere, Kalyi’s uncle.”

“Grigor,” the duke said.

The Jackal, he was called. Actually he was one of two jackals, but as the elder, and the more powerful of the two, Grigor was far more dangerous than his brother Henthas. It would be madness to give him the power of a regent. Brail had confided to Fetnalla his distaste for the man and his rear that he would succeed Carden. In a way, though, a regency was worse, for he could work his mischief and blame it all on the whims of the child queen.

“I know what you’re thinking, Brail,” the queen said. “I don’t trust him either. But in this matter I have no choice. In the eyes of many, Grigor has the most legitimate claim to the throne. Already I’ve received messages from him indicating that he intends to take the crown for himself and his sons.”

“Then how can you want him as regent for your daughter? At his first opportunity, he’ll try to have both of you killed.”

“That’s why I need the support of the other houses.” She stood and walked to the hearth. “The realm is poised on the edge of a blade right now. Grigor is hated and feared throughout the land. If he takes the throne, House Solkara will be swept from power, though only after a long a bloody war.”

“The same could happen if you force your daughter on the land as its queen.”

Fetnalla expected Chofya’s anger to flare again, but instead the queen merely nodded. “I know that. But in this way, Grigor helps us. I intend to use fear of the Jackal to keep the dissenting houses from rising against Kalyi. And I believe I can use Grigor’s fear of the houses that support us to keep him from attempting to steal the crown. It’s a fine balance, Lord Orvmti, but I’m certain that it’s my only hope for keeping House Solkara in power.”

“You’re dancing with wraiths, Your Highness. One misstep will cost you everything.”

“Then I’ll have to be exceedingly careful, won’t I? But you, Lord Orvinti, have the power to end this dance before it even begins. All my planning is predicated on my desire to keep the crown in Solkara. If you have ambitions for your house and your children, then I’ll have to look elsewhere for support.”

Brail smiled, though not with his eyes. “Were I to admit such ambitions, would I ever leave this castle alive?”

The queen faced him. “You have my word that you would.”

They eyed each other for a moment. Then Brail nodded once. “As I’ve told you once, Your Highness, I have pledged myself to your service. And as it happens, I have no yearning to be king. I’m an old man, and I wish to spend my last years living in peace by Lake Orvinti. I’ve no stomach for war.”

“What of your son?”

“I believe my son is content with his marquessate and the dukedom that awaits him when Bian calls me to his side.”

Hearing these words from another duke, Fetnalla might have been skeptical. But she had been with Brail long enough to know that he was telling Chofya the truth. As a younger man, he might have seen in Carden’s death an opportunity for House Orvinti. But not now.

“Then you’ll support me?” the queen asked.

“What will you do if Grigor refuses? Will you fight him?”

“We don’t think he will refuse,” Pronjed said from his perch near the shuttered window.

Brail glanced at the man before swinging his gaze back to the queen. “Why wouldn’t he? You said yourself that a number of dukes expect him to be king. Faced with the choice between a queen or Grigor, a good many houses may opt for the latter. The marquess knows this. I doubt that he’ll give up the throne so easily.” He paused. “I also can’t help noticing that he hasn’t arrived yet, though it’s less than a day’s ride from Renbrere to Solkara.”

Fetnalla had been thinking the same thing. Henthas, Carden’s second brother, had been in Solkara for days now, as had Numar, the youngest brother, the one they called the Fool. But there had been no sign of Grigor.

“We expect Grigor today or tomorrow,” the queen said. “I had a message from him yesterday. As for the rest, I already told you, Brail, I need help to make this work. I don’t need the support of all the other houses, nor do I expect it. But if I have Orvinti and Dantnelle behind me, and perhaps Kett, if Ansis can be swayed, that would be a start.” She gave a small smile. “Don’t you see, Lord Orvinti? You are the answer to your own questions.”

The duke nodded, though he didn’t look pleased.

“Think on it for the rest of the day, Lord Orvinti,” the queen said, walking to stand before the duke and extending a hand. Brail knelt again, taking her hand and pressing it to his forehead for an instant. “We’ll speak of this again tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He stood and started toward the door, glancing back at Fetnalla and gesturing for her to follow. The first minister looked at Pronjed and found him watching her, a look of concern on his narrow face. He still had his hand hidden, but she sensed that his injury was the last thing on his mind. He almost appeared to be asking for her help with his small yellow eyes, and not knowing why she did it, Fetnalla gave him a small nod, bringing a smile to his lips.

The duke led her out into the corridor and back toward their rooms, saying nothing. She was glad for the silence. Though she agreed with Brail that the queen was risking a great deal in trying to put her daughter on the throne, she felt that the risk was justified. It seemed to Fetnalla that all other paths led to war. Pronjed appeared to feel the same way, and the first minister was unnerved to find herself agreeing with him.

The company from Dantnelle came within sight of Castle Solkara and the royal city late in the day, emerging from Aneira’s Great Forest into the golden sunshine and cold winds of the Solkaran farming villages just as the faint ring of the prior’s bells from the city gates drifted among the grasses. They had but a league left to ride, but Tebeo chose to dismount and walk his horse down the riverbank so that the beast might drink. Evanthya was so eager to reach the city and find Fetnalla that she would gladly have covered the remaining distance on foot at a full run, but she could do little but join the duke by the waters of the Kett.

The windows of all the houses in sight were shuttered, not only against the cold, but also as a sign of mourning for the lost king. Atop the castle, the yellow and red banner of Aneira flew from the base of its staff rather than from the top. The flagstaffs that usually held the black, red, and gold banners of Solkara stood empty and stark against the bright blue sky. Even with the sun shining, it seemed that shadows lurked everywhere and Bian’s hand hung like a storm cloud over the great fortress.

She sensed that her duke feared what the next several days would bring, but they had not spoken of it beyond making plans for their departure from Dantrielle. Though she had done everything in her power to demonstrate her good faith, she knew that Tebeo still did not trust her. No doubt as the conspiracy continued to spread and claim more lives, more and more Qirsi ministers across the Forelands would find themselves in similar circumstances.

“We’ll ride on shortly, First Minister,” Tebeo said after some time, not even bothering to look at her.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’re eager to reach the city.”

She grinned. “I’m eager to spend a few days away from my mount, my lord. I’m eager to stand beside a fire, rather than huddling in my riding cloak.”

“You don’t travel well, First Minister,” the duke said, grinning as well.

“No, my lord. I never have.”

He glanced at the soldiers and servants standing nearby, then walked a short distance along the riverbank. Evanthya followed. When they were far enough from the men to speak without being overheard, he said, “I thought perhaps you were anxious to reach the city so that you could see Orvinti’s first minister.”

Evanthya felt her mouth go dry. “My lord?”

“You thought I didn’t know.”

What could she say? “Yes, my lord,” she said, staring at the river, knowing that her cheeks must be crimson. “I feared that you wouldn’t approve.”

“I’m not certain that I do, but I learned long ago that Adnel can be stingy with her gifts. We all must take love where we can find it.”

She looked up at him, her surprise and relief mingling until she felt that her heart would burst. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the gentle rush of the river.

“You realize, of course, that if Brail and I ever have a falling-out, this will become a problem.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nodded, then gazed up at the castle again. “We should ride. Night approaches and I’d like to be in the castle before dark.”

The duke started to lead his horse back toward the soldiers, but Evanthya called to him, making him turn once more.

“I fear that Lord Orvinti would not be as… as understanding. Fetnalla has told him nothing of our love.” She stopped, unsure of how to speak her mind without sounding impertinent.

“Don’t concern yourself, First Minister. Brail will hear nothing of this from me.” He started walking again, then halted to look back at her a second time. “You’re right, though. He wouldn’t be happy at all.”

The rest of their journey passed quickly. Soon all the riders from Dantrielle were within the castle, and Evanthya was warming herself before the great hearth in the king’s hall.

After allowing his men time to eat and rest, Tebeo ordered them to offer their swords to the captain of the Royal Army for the remainder of their stay. It was a customary gesture, and judging from the many colors worn by the men guarding the gates and corridors of the castle, it was clear that other nobles had done the same. Evanthya had been pleased to see a large number of men wearing the green, blue, and white of Orvinti. Fetnalla was already here and the first minister longed to find her.

As if in answer to Evanthya’s desires, a horn rang out from the nearest doorway of the hall and a herald announced the queen. An instant later Chofya entered the great room, followed by the dukes of Rassor, Mertesse, and Orvinti, several lesser nobles, and their ministers, including Fetnalla. Tebeo knelt before the queen, as did Evanthya, although she couldn’t keep from looking at her love, who was already watching her.

Fetnalla looked as she always did, tall and graceful, her face as white and soft as Panya’s light reflected on the waters of the Rassor. She had her hair pulled back and she wore her long ministerial robes rather than riding clothes. It seemed she had been here at least a full day. She was smiling as she gazed at Evanthya, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.

The formalities seemed to take forever, with the queen presenting each of her guests to Tebeo, and the duke, in turn, presenting Evanthya to all the gathered nobles. At last, however, they finished and the queen called forth more food from the kitchen and flasks of wine from the cellars, inviting all her guests to partake of a feast.

Brail and Tebeo chose to dine together, giving Fetnalla and Evanthya an excuse to do so as well. They were surrounded by the most powerful men and women in Aneira, so they could do nothing more than sit, speak, and eat. But just being this close to Fetnalla made Evanthya’s skin tingle as it did just before a thunderstorm on a warm evening.

“You look well, First Minister,” Fetnalla said. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

“Yes, thank you. And you?”

“We’ve been here some time now. Ten days, I believe. But the journey was pleasant enough.”

Evanthya gaped at her. “Ten days?” she breathed. She thought a moment. “But that means you were here when-”

“Yes,” Fetnalla said, her voice falling to a whisper. “Carden died our first night in Solkara. The blade that killed him was a gift from my duke.”

“Demons and fire!”

Fetnalla cast a quick look at the others sitting with them at the table. “Perhaps we’ll have an opportunity to discuss these matters later,” she said, “when we can speak more freely.”

Evanthya nodded, wishing they could steal away immediately. “I’d like that. I have tidings as well.”

A strange look came into Fetnalla’s eyes. “You’ve done it, haven’t you?”

It took Evanthya a moment to realize that she was speaking of hiring the assassin. She nodded, glancing around the table, much as Fetnalla had a moment before. Brail and Tebeo were deep in conversation.

Fetnalla just gazed at her, shaking her head slightly, as if not quite believing it was true. “I want very much to hear about that.” She gave a small laugh. “I wish I had seen it. You in a place like that.” She shook her head again.

“It wasn’t funny,” Evanthya whispered, feeling her color rise. “I was terrified, and one of the men knew me.”

The smile vanished from Fetnalla’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have laughed.” She looked as if she might say more, but at that moment, the horn sounded again, and the herald stepped into the hall.

“Grigor, Marquess of Renbrere!”

Every conversation in the hall stopped and all eyes turned toward the doorway. For a moment they waited. Then a man stepped past the herald into the great room, his satin cape swirling. For just an instant it seemed to Evanthya that she looked upon a wraith, so much did the marquess resemble his brother the king. Like Carden, Grigor was tall and powerfully built, broad in the chest and shoulders, with muscular forearms that he left uncovered, even in the last days of Bohdan’s Turn. His hair was golden, his eyes were dark, and his features were so fine that they almost appeared womanly. He didn’t have Carden’s swagger, but moved instead with an effortless elegance that made him seem even more impressive than the king ever had.

She had heard others speak of the man more times than she could count, always referring to him as the Jackal. But seeing him now, Evanthya couldn’t help thinking that he was more like a great wolf. There was a nobility to him that Carden never possessed.

After a moment’s silence, the others in the hall rose and bowed to him, though many of them, Brail and Tebeo included, were of higher rank.

Chofya did not bow. She didn’t even stand. After her guests took their seats once more, Grigor walked to where she was sitting and knelt before her.

“Your Highness,” he said, his voice as clear and strong as the ring of a smith’s hammer on hot steel. “You have my sympathy for your loss.”

“And you have mine for yours,” the queen answered. “Carden was as much your brother as he was my husband.”

Grigor looked up at that, his eyes dancing with torchlight. “That may be so.” The queen shifted uncomfortably, drawing a grin from the man. He stood, though Chofya hadn’t yet given him leave to do so. Glancing around the hall, he spotted his brothers sitting together at a nearby table. He nodded to them, but remained where he was, continuing to survey the room. The other guests were still watching him silently, waiting for him to speak or sit or, perhaps, claim the throne right then and there. “Where are the other dukes?” he finally asked of no one in particular. “Noltierre, Tounstrel, Bistari, Kett. They should be here by now.”

“I expect them in the next day or two,” Chofya said after a brief pause. “The funeral is in three days. I’m sure they’ll arrive in time.”

“We should have a new king by then.”

The queen straightened in her chair. “Aneira’s new leader will be chosen after the funeral, as custom dictates.”

Grigor turned to her once more, his eyes narrowing.

Evanthya had noticed as well. Aneira’s new leader, Chofya said. Not, Aneira’s new king.

She turned to Fetnalla, a question in her eyes, but the minister shook her head.

“Not now,” she whispered. “I’ll explain later.”

“Do you plot for the throne, Your Highness?” Grigor asked, with a small laugh. He made a sweeping gesture, turning neatly on one foot as he did so as to indicate the entire hall. “Do you honestly believe that the men in this room would accept you as their sovereign? Was your father even a baron?”

The queen sat unmoving, her color high, her eyes darting about the hall as if she were gauging the reaction of the other nobles. “This isn’t a matter to be discussed just now, Lord Renbrere.”

“With my brother’s death, I am now duke of Solkara,” Grigor said sharply. “I should be addressed as such.”

The queen’s mouth twisted for just an instant, as if she realized that she had erred. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me.”

Whatever game Chofya was playing, she had started poorly. Evanthya could only guess that she had miscalculated. Grigor was a dangerous foe; even seeing him for the first time this day, she could tell that much.

“She can’t think to oppose him for the crown,” Evanthya said quietly.

Fetnalla gave a small nod. “She does, though not as you think.”

“Please, Lord Solkara,” the queen began again. “Sit with us. Raise your glass and join us in our feast. These matters can wait, and it’s been long since we last dined together.”

The man gave a thin smile. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “But I came to honor my brother, the king, and to ensure the continued reign of House Solkara. My place is with my brothers.”

With everyone still watching him, Grigor walked to where Henthas and Numar sat, leaving Chofya sitting by herself, looking small and defeated.

“He’ll crush her,” Evanthya said softly.

Fetnalla turned to her, her face looking paler than usual, her lips drawn tight. “We can’t let that happen,” she said. “He’ll ruin us all.”