Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-seven

Thorald, Eibithar, Qirsar’s Moon waning

Even after Enid’s death and all that it implied, Marston’s father had been reluctant to speak with Eibithar’s other dukes of what they had learned. Tobbar and Marston had argued the point for the better part of two days, Marston telling the duke that the other houses had to be informed of Enid’s betrayal.

“It changes everything, Father,” he said at the time. “It brings into question all that we’ve assumed about Filib’s murder. With Lady Brienne’s murder still threatening to tear apart the kingdom, we have to speak with the others.”

To which his father replied simply, “This is a humiliation for our house. I’ll not make matters worse by telling all our rivals throughout the land.”

Though angry, and desperate to make Tobbar see that they couldn’t keep this a secret, Marston was no fool. “This is not a humiliation, Father, not for Thorald, and certainly not for you.”

Tobbar looked up at that, grey eyes glinting like a blade in the firelight. “I brought her into this castle,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Had my brother lived, she might never have become Thorald’s first minister. If all you say is true, I’m responsible for Filib the Younger’s death.”

Marston shook his head. “No. The conspiracy killed him, you didn’t. It may be true that Enid wouldn’t have become first minister had it not been for the elder Filib’s death, but not for the reasons you think. I believe the Qirsi sought to throw the kingdom into turmoil, turning the Rules of Ascension to their purposes. Whether or not the conspiracy was behind Filib the Elder’s hunting accident, it was his death that made my cousin a target. If the duke lives, the Qirsi have no cause to kill the boy.”

Tobbar nodded, seeming to see the logic of this. “Still, I trusted her. I allowed her-I allowed the entire conspiracy-to turn this house to their purposes.”

“Kentigern did the same thing. He was betrayed as well.”

“But this is Thorald!” Tobbar said, his voice rising. “This is the house of Binthar, the house of the Golden Stallion. We are the leading house in Eibithar; where other houses fail, we must stand firm. Kentigern’s shame does nothing to ease the sting of our own.”

“Perhaps not. But as the leading house in the kingdom, don’t we have a duty to keep other houses from suffering the same fate? The treason of Kentigern’s first minister nearly allowed Mertesse to take the tor, and for all we know, it cost Lady Brienne her life. What if there are traitors in the other houses as well? What will be the price of their betrayal? We have to tell them, Father. We have to warn them. How can the house of Binthar do anything less?”

At the time, his father turned away, refusing to answer and effectively ending their conversation. Finally, as their silence dragged on and the fire in Tobbar’s hearth burned low, Marston left the chamber, returning to his own quarters, weary and discouraged.

He was awakened the following morning, however, by one of his father’s pages, who told him that the duke wished to speak with him as soon as possible. Thinking that perhaps his father’s health was failing, Marston dressed quickly and hurried through the corridors to the duke’s chambers. He knocked on the door and was relieved to hear his father call for him to enter, his voice sounding clear and strong.

“What would we say to the other houses?” Tobbar asked, before Marston could even close the door behind him.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admitted, taking a seat near his father’s bed.

The duke was sitting up, leaning back against a pair of pillows. He looked no worse than he had when Marston first arrived in Thorald, but he looked no better either. His face was still pallid, his cheeks still gaunt, as if the skin hung lifelessly on his cheekbones.

“Surely you’ve given some thought as to what you’d put in such a message.”

The thane grinned. “I didn’t expect you to change your mind. Composing a message seemed unnecessary.”

His father didn’t return the smile. “I’m not certain that I have changed my mind. But I do agree that we have to warn them. Perhaps if a message were worded properly I would feel better about telling the other houses what’s happened.”

“What would you think of speaking with them in person.”

“What?”

“Though I believe that we have to inform the others, I do share your concerns about revealing Enid’s betrayal. Not so much to the dukes, but if such a message were to fall into the wrong hands-Qirsi hands-it might prove quite harmful to the House of Thorald, indeed, all of Eibithar. If instead we invite the dukes here, where we can discuss this conflict with them, we might be able to accomplish far more than would a simple message.”

Tobbar narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

“Right now, the other houses are lining up behind Javan and Aindreas, choosing sides as if in anticipation of civil war. Even if we remain neutral, there’s a chance that either Curgh or Kentigern will eventually decide that he has the advantage, that war is preferable to peace. I want to isolate them. If we can convince the other houses that the conspiracy is behind all of this, and that neither Javan nor Aindreas is at fault, perhaps we can stop them from taking sides. It may not keep Curgh and Kentigern from going to war again, but it may keep their war from spreading throughout the land.”

Tobbar regarded him silently for several moments, until Marston began to wonder if he had somehow angered the duke. “You thought of all this on your own?” the older man asked at last.

“Yes.”

His father gave a small laugh and shook his head. “Your grandfather would be very proud. Many nobles go an entire lifetime without mastering the finer points of statecraft. And here you are, younger than I was when I became thane, and you’re already a better duke than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s not true, Father. I merely-”

“It’s all right. I’m pleased.” He rubbed his hands together, as if chilled. “Send your messages. Invite the dukes here. With the snows falling, I doubt many of them will make the journey, but we can address that when the time comes.”

Marston stood, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Yes, Father.”

“We can’t expect the king to make the journey, nor should we even presume to ask him. So you should send a separate message to him, telling him just what’s happened. Give that message to our best horseman, and send eight guards with him.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Marston said, bowing to the duke.

Tobbar frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

Returning to his quarters, Marston sat at the small table by the hearth and began writing his missives. Confronted now with the task, he found that the words did not come nearly as easily as he had hoped they would. He wished to tell the dukes enough to convey his sense of urgency, without revealing so much that he risked the reputation of his father and their house. In the end, he decided it was better to be too vague than too specific.

My dear dukes,

I write to you at the request of the duke of Thorald. Information has come to us recently that sheds new light on the tragedies that occurred in Kentigern during the growing turns. As the conflict between Curgh and Kentigern still threatens to sunder our kingdom, we wish to discuss these tidings with you as soon as possible.

To that end, Tobbar, duke of Thorald, invites you to be his guest in Thorald Castle at your earliest convenience.

May Ean guard you and guide you safely to our gates.

Marston, thane of Shanstead Marston dispatched the messengers later that day and spent the rest of the waxing waiting impatiently for the other houses to reply. He should have known better than to expect to hear from any of them quickly. Even Eardley Castle, which was closest to Thorald, stood twenty-five leagues to the east. Pushing his mount to its limits, the messenger sent to the coast of the Narrows would have to ride three days in each direction. Still, only a few mornings after his conversation with the duke, Marston was already pacing the battlements of the castle, watching for Thorald’s riders to return.

It was not until the ninth day of the waxing, just before the ringing of the twilight bells, that the first rider returned. As it happened, the first reply came not from Eardley, but from Galdasten, the nearest of the major houses.

Seeing the rider approach, Marston bolted down the stairs of the nearest tower and across all three of the castle wards, so that he might meet the man by the west gate.

The messenger looked haggard, his face an angry shade of red from the cold and wind.

Dismounting, he could barely stand without the help of two guards.

Marston should have given him a chance to rest and eat and warm himself by a fire, but his impatience overmastered all other considerations.

“Well?” he demanded, approaching the man.

The rider shook his head. “The duke of Galdasten instructed me to tell you he has no interest in being a guest of Thorald’s duke. He said as well that he doubted Thorald had any more information than Galdasten, and he had heard nothing to change his mind about Lord Tavis’s guilt.”

Marston closed his eyes briefly, cursing himself for not saying more in his message.

“That’s all?” he asked, looking at the man again. “He wrote no reply?”

The rider gave a thin smile. “He didn’t even allow me into his castle, my lord. He kept me waiting at the gate, and sent his Qirsi to convey his response.”

The thane wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Very well,” he said. He glanced at the nearer of the two guards. “Get him some food and some hot tea. Make certain he’s made comfortable.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The rider bowed to him. “Thank you, my lord.”

The three men walked slowly toward the kitchen tower, leaving Marston alone by the gate to struggle with his rage and frustration.

Domnall’s answer came the following morning. Shamus, the duke there, showed Thorald’s messenger far more courtesy than had the duke of Galdasten, but his answer was no different.

“The nobles of Domnall have the highest regard for the duke of Thorald,” he wrote in his reply. “But we have little doubt that Lord Tavis of Curgh killed Lady Brienne, and if there is to be war between those two houses, we cannot in good conscience offer Aindreas of Kentigern anything less than our full support.”

Sitting with his father a short time after the messenger’s return, Marston could not mask his bitterness. “It’s almost as if they want a civil war,” he said. “Don’t they understand what it would do to the kingdom?”

“Shamus might not have thought it through so carefully,” the duke said from his bed. “But I have no doubt that Renald knows precisely what he’s doing and where it might lead.”

“You think Galdasten wants war?”

“I believe he wants to see Kearney driven from the throne, and if war comes, undermining the Rules of Ascension, all the better.”

“So he covets the crown.”

Tobbar gave a grim smile. “Would that surprise you? The lords of Galdasten have been removed from the Order of Ascension for eight years now, and their exclusion will continue for four generations, all because a madman brought the pestilence to their castle. It’s true that we have no claim to the throne until your sons reach Fating age, and even then, Glyndwr will retain the crown. Kearney is a young man, and he has a son. But at some point Glyndwr’s line will fail, and when it does, the crown will revert to Thorald. Galdasten must wait decades longer, and still, Renald has no guarantee that his grandson’s grandson will rule.

“The other houses have always resented Thorald’s supremacy in the Order of Ascension, Galdasten most of all, perhaps because it ranks second only to our house. Such resentments have lain at the root of nearly every civil war fought in Eibithar’s history. And though hostility to the rules can’t be said to have caused this one, if it comes to war, they will fuel its fury. No doubt Renald sees this as an opportunity to end our supremacy, and Aindreas may feel the same way.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Marston said. “But doesn’t that mean that we should cast our lot with Kearney and Javan? So long as we uphold the Rules of Ascension, we preserve our status as the kingdom’s preeminent house.”

“That may be so. But none of us benefits from a civil war. As long as our neutrality continues to keep the peace we shouldn’t take sides.”

Later that day, the riders sent to Eardley and Labruinn returned bearing the first hopeful word Marston had received. Neither Elam, the duke of Eardley, nor Caius, Labruinn’s duke, wrote a formal reply, but both men told their messengers that they would be riding to Thorald in the next few days.

Even more surprising, two days after hearing from the minor houses, Marston received word from Javan of Curgh. He was leaving immediately for Thorald, riding with his first minister and a small company of soldiers. Barring a storm, he hoped to reach the castle before the Night of Two Moons.

“Don’t go thinking you’ve saved the land just yet,” Tobbar warned, no doubt sensing how much Curgh’s reply had pleased Marston.

“He’s riding more than fifty leagues to come here, Father. That must mean something.”

“It only means that Javan is as desperate for allies as Aindreas. And don’t forget, Curgh has every reason in the world to blame the Qirsi for all that’s befallen Eibithar in the last half year. He may agree with everything you say, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a friend.”

Marston knew his father was right, but he couldn’t help thinking that if a few other dukes chose to come as well, these discussions might actually do some good._v

Unfortunately, Javan’s was the last response he received for several days. And when the riders finally returned from the other houses, they bore discouraging news. Lathrop of Tremain didn’t care to brave the snows for such a long journey, nor did the dukes of Sussyn and Rennach. Or so they said. Marston couldn’t help but wonder if they had other reasons for staying away. Aindreas, as Marston had expected, refused to hear Thorald’s messenger at all. The king offered to receive Marston anytime he wished to ride to the City of Kings, but he would not be coming either. The thane had expected this as well; Eibithar’s king could hardly be expected to ride to Thorald at his request, or even Tobbar’s.

Perhaps he should have been pleased that any of the dukes had agreed to come-certainly his father thought so-but as Marston awaited the arrival of Cams and Elam, he felt his bitterness returning.

Eardley and Labruinn reached Thorald’s gates the same morning, arriving within an hour of one another. Shortly after, a single rider approached the castle from the west, wearing the brown and gold of Curgh. It was one of Javan’s soldiers, and as he strode across the castle ward to where Marston stood, the thane feared that he had brought word that Javan would not be coming after all. Instead he announced that the duke of Curgh’s company was but two days’ ride from Thorald, and would reach the castle the first day of the waning.

“You invited Curgh.‘” Elam asked, upon hearing this news in Thorald Castle’s great hall.

“We invited every duke in the land,” Tobbar answered, “and the king as well. Most have declined our invitation, but we would have welcomed all with equal warmth.”

“If we’re to discuss this conflict between Curgh and Kentigern, it would be best if Javan and Aindreas were elsewhere. Clearly, the duke of Kentigern understands this. It’s unfortunate that Javan does not, and it surprises me that you don’t either, Tobbar.” The duke of Eardley glanced briefly at Marston, his lip curling. “Perhaps you’ve placed too much faith in your son’s youthful judgment.”

Elam was one of Eibithar’s older dukes, a tall man, with silver hair, square features, and dark green eyes. He had grown heavy with the years, but he still looked more like a king than the lord of a minor house. He and the elder Filib had been friends, but after the duke of Thorald’s death, and the murder of Filib the Younger, Elam had done little to cultivate a friendship with Tobbar. Marston believed it was because Thorald no longer wielded as much power within the kingdom. His father chose to be more generous, attributing Elam’s distance to his grief for Filib. Still, Marston found it very easy to dislike the man.

Tobbar smiled, though clearly it took an effort. “I believe, Lord Eardley, that any attempt to end this crisis must include both Javan and Aindreas. I view Curgh’s response to my invitation as the appropriate one. As long as Lord Kentigern keeps himself apart from the rest of us, he places the kingdom at risk.”

“I had thought Thorald was neutral in this matter, my lord duke.”

“We are,” Tobbar said. “But we’re no less concerned for our impartiality.”

With Javan expected to reach the castle within two days, Tobbar thought it best to delay their discussions until the duke’s arrival. He instructed his servants and guards to make Caius and Elam as comfortable as possible, but steadfastly resisted Eardley’s attempts to wring from him the information mentioned in Marston’s message.

As promised, Javan and his company reached the castle gates just after the ringing of the midday bells on the first day of the waning. Travel-stained, and obviously weary, the duke nevertheless declined Marston’s offer of rest and a meal.

“I’ve come a long way, Lord Shanstead,” he said, following the thane through the castle wards to Tobbar’s chambers. “And with all that’s happening in Eibithar just now, I don’t want to be away from my home for long.”

Marston remembered Javan as a dour man, though formidable. The years hadn’t changed him much, though his hair was more grey now than brown, and his face was deeply lined. He still carried himself with grace, straight-backed and lean, like a swordsman.

“I understand, my Lord Curgh. My father awaits you.”

“Have others come?”

“Only Eardley and Labruinn.”

Javan raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought that Renald would make the journey, and Shamus as well.”

“I had hoped they would, my lord,” Marston said, staring at the path before them.

“They remain committed to Aindreas.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The duke nodded. His Qirsi walked just a stride or two behind them, and Javan glanced back at the man now. “It seems Hagan was right.”

“He seemed quite certain of himself, my lord,” the Qirsi said.

“He usually does.”

The minister grinned. He was taller than the duke and slightly built, like so many of the sorcerer race. He wore his white hair tied back, making his face appear narrow and long. Unlike most Qirsi, he had a beard and mustache, though they were so pale as to be barely visible. His eyes, however, gleamed in the bright sun, as yellow as Uulranni gold.

They made their way to Tobbar’s presence chamber, finding the door open and the dukes of Eardley and Labruinn already seated by the hearth. Marston’s father sat across from the other dukes. Away from his bed, dressed in soldier’s garb, he looked better than he had in several days. Still Marston could only imagine how he appeared to Javan, who hadn’t seen the duke in many turns.

“My Lord Duke,” Tobbar said, climbing stiffly to his feet as Javan entered the room. “Be welcome in my home.”

Marston noticed that the other dukes also stood, though Elam’s mouth twisted sourly.

Javan crossed to Tobbar and embraced him gently. “My Lord Thorald, you honor me with your offer of hospitality.”

“I would have liked to greet you at the gate,” Tobbar said, releasing him and sitting once more. “But I don’t climb the towers as well as I used to.”

“Your son did me the honor, and acquitted himself nobly.”

Marston bowed. “My lord is too kind.”

Javan turned to Caius and Elam. “My Lord Dukes,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you both.”

“And I to see you, my Lord Curgh,” Labruinn answered, stepping forward to embrace Javan in turn.

Elam remained where he was. “Curgh” was all he said, adding a small bow, almost as an afterthought.

Javan gave a thin smile, but said nothing to the man. After a moment, he faced Tobbar again. “Forgive my haste, my Lord Duke, but as I’ve already told your son, I’m loath to be far from Curgh for very long. I was hoping that we could begin immediately to speak of whatever tidings led you to issue your kind invitation.”

“That suits me as well, Tobbar,” Eardley said. “Caius and I have waited long enough. Javan’s here now. Let’s get on with it.”

Tobbar nodded. “Very well.” Turning his gaze to Marston, he asked, How do you wish to proceed? This was your idea.“

The thane took a long breath, feeling far less sure of himself than he had at the beginning of the turn, when he wrote the messages.

“Xiv?” he said, facing his minister.

“Of course, my lord.” The Qirsi stepped to center of the room and made himself smile. “If the other ministers would follow me, we can speak of these matters on our own while our lords talk among themselves.”

“Is that necessary?” Labruinn’s first minister asked.

“It’s all right, Ottah,” Elam said. “Go with the other ministers. I’ll be fine.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The minister didn’t sound pleased, but he followed Xiv and the others from the chamber, closing the door as he left.

Elam eyed Tobbar briefly before turning to Marston. “Now, what’s this about, Shanstead?”

“Won’t you sit, my lord?” He glanced at the other dukes. “The rest of you as well. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Elam and Caius returned to their seats and Javan sat beside Tobbar.

“I notice that your first minister is nowhere to be seen, my Lord Duke,” Curgh said. “Is this about her?”

Elam’s face reddened. He had been in Thorald for two days, and it seemed he had failed to realize this.

“It is,” Tobbar said, his voice flat, his cheeks coloring as well. “Enid is dead, killed by her own hand, though not before she admitted to being a traitor and party to the conspiracy of which we’ve all heard so much.”

“You have my sympathy,” Javan said. “I’m certain that I speak for my fellow dukes when I say that each of us fears he’ll be the next to learn that one of his Qirsi is a traitor.”

“Indeed,” Caius agreed, passing a meaty hand over his brow. “None of us is immune.”

“Have you had a minister betray you, Labruinn?” Elam asked.

“Not yet. At least not as far as I know. But I must admit that I rely on them far less than I have in the past. Ever since Kentigern-” He stopped abruptly, his eyes flicking toward Javan.

“It’s all right, Caius,” the duke said, actually managing to laugh. “You can speak his name in my company.”

“Well, I was just going to say that we were all alarmed when we heard about his Qirsi.”

Elam sat forward. “I’m sure her betrayal must have been difficult for you, Tobbar, but I fail to see how this warrants calling us all to Thorald.”

“That was my idea,” Marston said. “Enid’s treason did far more than cost my father a friend and a trusted advisor. It’s forced us to question many of our assumptions regarding events in Thorald over the past several years.”

Caius let out a small gasp. “Filib!” he whispered. “You think she had something to do with his death.”

“I believe it’s possible.”

“Which Filib?” Javan asked.

“The Younger,” Tobbar said. “Enid hadn’t yet come to Thorald when my brother died. I made her my first minister a few years later. It now seems that was the greatest mistake I’ve ever made.”

“It was a mistake any duke might have made,” Eardley said, surprising Marston.

“Thank you, Elam,” Tobbar said, sounding like the man’s kindness had caught him unprepared also.

Caius shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m still a bit confused. Even if Filib was killed by the Qirsi rather than by thieves, why ask us here?”

“Because of Kentigern’s first minister,” Javan said before Marston could answer. He turned to Tobbar. “Has Enid’s betrayal convinced you of Tavis’s innocence?”

Elam bristled. “One has nothing to do with the other.”

“Are you certain?” Marston asked. “We’ve assumed for years that accidents of history placed Curgh in position to claim the throne. The act of a madman in Galdasten, my uncle’s death during a hunt, Fihb’s murder at the hands of thieves-all separate occurrences that together removed Eibithar’s two leading houses from the Order of Ascension. When Tavis was accused of killing Brienne, it seemed that Javan’s house had squandered its one opportunity to rule the kingdom. But now it seems there were far darker forces at work here. Assume for a moment that Filib was murdered by the Qirsi, or people working for them. And then consider that the betrayal by Aindreas’s minister came only days after Brienne’s death. Suddenly these seem less like accidents of history, and far more like a Qirsi plot to bring civil war to our land.”

Elam frowned. “You sound more like a Curgh than a Thorald, Lord Shanstead. Is this your thinking, or have you been speaking with Curgh and his allies?”

“I assure you, Lord Eardley,” Marston said coldly, “this is the first time I’ve spoken of these tidings with the duke.”

“I see. And can you offer any proof that your father’s Qirsi had a hand in Filib’s murder?”

Marston felt his cheeks growing hot. “No.”

“Well, have you learned anything new about Lady Brienne’s death that might support this wild theory of yours?”

“Nothing beyond what we’ve all heard.”

“So you’re just guessing then. Your father’s first minister turns out to be a traitor, and so you assume that Qirsi conspirators are responsible for all the land’s troubles. Is that about right?”

“It’s more than that,” Javan broke in. “We have many reasons to believe that Tavis was innocent of any crime, though Aindreas refused to acknowledge them. My minister and I have thought for some time that the Qirsi might have been behind Brienne’s death and my son’s suffering.”

The duke of Eardley glared at him. “Don’t speak to me of your son’s suffering, Javan. Aindreas and Ioanna have suffered. I’ll even allow that you and Shonah have. But not the boy, not after what he did. And as to these reasons of which you speak, I don’t even want to hear about them. I’m not likely to give much credence to anything you have to say about the Lady Bnenne or your son.”

“That’s your choice, Elam,” Caius said pointedly. “I, for one, would like to hear what Javan has learned.”

“Of course you would, Caius. You’ve already allied yourself with Curgh and Glyndwr. I’m sure you’d welcome any word that might justify that choice and cleanse the lady’s blood from your house.”

Labruinn stood, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. “How dare you!”

“My Lord Dukes, please,” Tobbar said, forcing himself to his feet once more. “We are all men of Eibithar, and we all want what’s best for our kingdom. Surely that bond is stronger than any issue that divides us.”

Elam was still sitting, but he stared up at the other duke as if ready to do battle.

“Please, Cams,” Tobbar said gently. “Sit down.”

After another moment, the duke of Labruinn nodded and lowered himself into his chair. His eyes never left Elam’s face, however, and his expression did not soften.

“You saw my son at Kearney’s investiture,” Javan said to Elam, breaking a lengthy silence. “You saw the scars on his face. They were nothing compared with the marks Aindreas’s torture left on his body. Yet he never confessed. Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t it at least give you pause?”

“It tells me only that the boy is strong-willed to the point of stubbornness.” Eardley gave a cold smile. “It comes as no surprise, really, given that he’s a Curgh.”

“You think willfulness is all a man needs to endure torture?”

“Maybe he knew that an attempt would be made to win his freedom, that all he needed to do was last a few days until his escape. Certainly such hope would sustain him through a good deal of suffering.” Elam gave a small shrug. “To be honest, I don’t know what kept him from confessing. But to assume, in the face of all the evidence against him, that his failure to confess makes him innocent seems to me the worst kind of sophistry.”

Marston could barely contain his frustration. “So you refuse to accept that there might be any connection at all between Brienne’s murder and the treason of Kentigern’s Qirsi.”

“In the absence of any evidence linking one to the other, yes, I do.”

“Don’t you see that by taking Kentigern’s part, you weaken us? This is just what the conspiracy wants: a kingdom at war with itself, and a king without the support of his people. You’re as bad as Enid and every other traitor to-”

“Marston!” Tobbar said, his voice like a war hammer. “That’s enough!”

Elam looked around the chamber, shaking his head slowly, a dark grin on his lips. “I should have known better than to come here. It’s not a discussion you want, Shanstead. You asked me here to turn me from Kentigern’s side.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then how is it that in a kingdom that leans heavily to Kentigern’s point of view, I find myself his sole defender here in your castle? Did you send that damned message to anyone else, or was I the lone target of your efforts this time?”

“He sent the message to every house in the land,” Tobbar answered. “Including Kentigern. The snows kept some of the others away, narrow-mindedness the rest. Aindreas wouldn’t even allow our rider to deliver his message.”

“Can you blame him? Demons and fire, Tobbar! You have children. Can’t you see how the man grieves?”

“Of course I can. And I can even see why he hates Curgh so.” The duke glanced at Javan. “Forgive me, but circumstances demand nothing less than complete honesty. Had it been my child, and your son’s blade, I’d hate your house as well.” He faced Elam again. “That said, the defection of my Qirsi would have given me cause to wonder, and so too would the boy’s refusal to confess, even after the most severe torture.”

Eardley shook his head again. “I expect such nonsense from Javan, and maybe from the thane as well. But you should know better, Tobbar. Your neutrality is a farce. You claim to fear for the kingdom, but you care only for your own power. You ally yourself with butchers and a false king so that you can maintain your precious supremacy.” He stood and started toward the door. “If Ean cares at all for justice, the boy will hang, and the Rules of Ascension will cease to govern our land.”

“Elam,” Tobbar called. “I beg you not to go. My son had no right to say what he did. But his fears are justified. No matter what you think of the rules or of Javan, you have to see that civil war will weaken us.”

Eardley had pulled the door open, but he paused now on the threshold, turning to face the duke. “Kearney weakens us. Demons like Tavis of Curgh weaken us. What is a kingdom without justice? If it takes war to make Eibithar whole again, then so be it. But I’ll not allow Glyndwr’s ambition and Curgh’s lies and Thorald’s lust for power to rule over my house.”

With that he walked out, not bothering to close the door again, so that the click of his footsteps echoing through the corridor filled the chamber.

“Can he really be so blind?” Marston asked. “Doesn’t he know that the Qirsi want us thirsting for each other’s blood?”

“For centuries,” Javan said quietly, “the Rules of Ascension have only barely masked the fact that Eibithar remains a loose confederation of clans. Over the course of our history we’ve been as eager to fight ourselves as we have the Aneirans.” He looked at Marston. “The Qirsi seek to defeat us by attacking our greatest weakness as a kingdom. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of us that their tactics are working.”

Eardley’s first minister dropped herself into a large chair by the thin slit of a window and looked up at Xivled, Marston’s minister. “So tell us, cousin. Why has Thorald called our dukes to his castle? What are these tidings you’re all so eager to share with us?”

“Yes, cousin,” Labruinn’s first minister added. “You and your thane have been terribly mysterious, and I grow tired of it. What could possibly justify asking us to brave the snows?”

Ottah was older than the rest of them. His pallid face was deeply lined and his white hair had begun to thin. Though his journey had been much shorter than the one from Curgh, and the path he and his duke followed through the North Wood more sheltered than Fotir’s ride across the Moorlands, the Curgh minister had little doubt that the older man had found his travels quite arduous.

“My lord and the duke of Thorald wished to speak with Eibithar’s other dukes about the Qirsi conspiracy,” Xivled answered. “That’s why they asked us to leave.”

“But why now?” Cerri asked, playing with her braided hair. “Why wait for the snows? Or for that matter, why not wait longer, until the rains return?”

“Because we only learned on the last Pitch Night that the duke of Thorald’s first minister was a traitor.”

Fotir had expected something like this. His duke had noticed almost immediately upon their arrival that Enid ja Kovar was nowhere to be seen. Either she was dead, or she had left the castle. And if she had died without incident, Tobbar would have replaced her with one of his underministers. All signs pointed to her betrayal.

“My lord believes Enid may have played a role in Filib the Younger’s death,” the minister continued. “Perhaps in the elder Filib’s as well.”

“Where is Enid now?” Fotir asked.

“She’s dead. We tried to imprison her, hoping to learn something of her allies in the movement, but she took her own life before we could.”

“The movement?” Cerri asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it when you speak with Shanstead?”

Xivled frowned. “The conspiracy then.”

“I’m serious, cousin,” Eardley’s minister said. She looked at the rest of them. “When the rest of you speak with your dukes about these Qirsi, what do you say about them?”

Fotir shook his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t, cousin,” Ottah laughed. “The great Fotir jal Salene doesn’t concern himself with such trifles. No one would ever doubt where his loyalties lie. The rest of us don’t have that luxury, though. We have to watch every word when it comes to the conspiracy.” He looked at Cerri. “I know I do.”

“So how do you handle it?” she asked.

The man shrugged. “I tread lightly. What else can I do? I always use ‘we’ when speaking of Labruinn, or the courts, or sometimes even the Eandi. And of course I refer to the Qirsi in the movement as ‘they.’ Lately I’ve found myself avoiding the use of my magic at all costs. Just half a turn ago, I had a dream that I’m quite certain was a vision. It wasn’t anything too important-there were no lives at stake. But I saw something that may affect the next harvest in the Labruinn countryside. The point is, though, I’ve yet to mention it to my duke. I’m afraid that any mention of my powers will make me suspect in his eyes.”

Fotir stared at the minister, not quite believing what he was hearing. “But that makes no sense. We’re Qirsi. The nobles of Eibithar-indeed, of all the realms of the Forelands-have relied on our magic for centuries.

That’s why your duke brought you to Labruinn in the first place, to wield your powers on his behalf.“

“As I already said, cousin, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Why not? Am I any less Qirsi than you are? Are my eyes less yellow, my hair less white?”

“It’s not your eyes and hair that concern us, Fotir,” Cerri said. “It’s your blood. From what I’ve heard, it runs more Eandi than Qirsi. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you never worry about your duke’s suspicions.”

Fotir’s cheeks burned, and he struggled to keep from storming out of the chamber. Such remarks about a sorcerer’s blood dated to the days of Carthach and his betrayal of the Qirsi people during the early wars. Any white-hair at whom they were directed could not help but take offense. More to the point, however, they echoed similar comments made to him by Shurik jal Marcine, during their conversations in Kentigern during the growing turns, and by a Revel Qirsi named Trin the night of Tavis’s Fating. Somehow, during his years of service to the House of Curgh, Fotir had acquired a reputation as a man more devoted to his lord than to his people. All he had done was serve Javan and his house loyally for nine years. Was there a crime in that? Certainly his father would have thought so. His father, who had cursed Carthach’s name every day of his life, and had stopped speaking with his only son the night of Fotir’s Fating, which showed him serving an Eandi noble. He could almost hear the man saying, You see? This is what comes of serving the Eandi.

“I don’t fear my duke’s suspicions,” he said, measuring each word, “because he harbors none. And if he did, he’d bring them to me. There’s no secret to my friendship with Javan. We speak with each other honestly. If you and your duke did the same, you could be true to yourself and your heritage.”

He expected Ottah to respond in anger, but the minister merely laughed. “You truly believe that your duke harbors no suspicions of you?” He glanced briefly at Cerri, who was grinning as well, then faced Fotir again. “Perhaps you’re more simple than I thought, cousin.”

Xivled cleared his throat. “Actually, Ottah, I don’t believe Marston is suspicious of me.”

“Well, you’ve known him since you were children,” Cerri said. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Isn’t it? I’m Qirsi, he’s Eandi. The way you and Ottah speak of it, one would think that nothing else matters. I’m forced to wonder if you’re not the simple ones, assuming that every Qirsi minister feels about his or her noble as you do about yours.”

Cerri pressed her lips in a thin line and stared at the fire. Ottah didn’t respond either.

“How did you learn of Enid’s betrayal?” Fotir asked after a lengthy silence.

“Marston and I contrived to have me speak with her in private. While in her chambers I led her to believe that I hated the thane and wished to join the conspiracy. She didn’t believe me right away, but it didn’t take me long to convince her. I gathered from what she told me that Thorald had once been a center of conspiracy activity, but that its time had passed. I think she believed that bringing me to the movement’s leaders would enhance her stature once more.”

“So you had an opportunity to join the conspiracy?” Fotir asked in amazement. The other two ministers were staring at Xivled, as if he had transformed himself into a Weaver before their eyes.

“Yes, I did.”

“And what happened?”

The younger man looked away. “My thane and I exposed her treason to the duke that very night. She killed herself as they took her to the dungeon.”

“A pity,” Fotir said.

“I know. I said as much to Marston that night, but he wished to protect me from harm.” He looked up again, eyeing Ottah and Cerri. “An irony, given our conversation. Wouldn’t you say?”

Neither of them answered, and the ministers lapsed into silence again.

“So Enid was a traitor,” Ottah finally said, shaking his head. “That’s only going to make matters worse for the rest of us. My duke is likely to be even less trusting than before.” He grinned at Fotir. “Who knows, cousin? Even Javan might have his doubts now.”

Fotir merely stared at the minister.

“Come on, Cerri,” Ottah said, pushing himself from his chair. “I don’t know about our friends here, but I for one could use some wine.”

“By all means,” Xivled said, as Cerri stood. “Visit our cellars. Tell the cellarmaster I sent you.”

Ottah pulled the door open and held it for Eardley’s minister. “Thank you, cousin. We will.” He nodded at Fotir. “First Minister.”

A moment later they were gone. Fotir closed his eyes and exhaled through his teeth.

Xivled sat in the chair beside Fotir’s. “I feel I should apologize for them, First Minister. They have no right speaking to you so.”

“It’s all right, Minister. It’s not your fault, nor is it anything I haven’t heard before.” He regarded the other man briefly. “You should know that it’s only a matter of time before other Qirsi speak of you as they do of me. You’re in line to be First Minister to Eibithar’s most powerful house, and you leave no doubt as to where your loyalties lie. Most other ministers will envy you. Some, like Ottah and Cerri, will compare you to Carthach, if not to your face, then when your back is turned.”

Xivled gazed at the fire, looking thoughtful and quite young. “I suppose they might. You know as well as I that the jealousies of loyal Qirsi are the least of our worries.”

“Usually I’d agree with you, cousin. But we live in strange times. Every conflict weakens us, no matter how petty it might be. Noble houses are threatening each other with war, not only here, but in Aneira and Sanbira as well. The Aneirans still threaten us from the south, and we’ve noticed a good deal of activity from Braedon’s fleet. Eandi lords have grown afraid of their ministers, and now it seems Qirsi are hiding their powers to allay those fears. Ottah’s envy may seem a trifle, but it’s one more fissure in a kingdom that’s already crumbling. I fear for us, cousin. We know so little about our enemies that we’re turning on each other.” He paused, unsure as to whether to give voice to all that he was thinking. “It may not be my place to say this,” he went on at last, “but I wish your thane had allowed you to join the conspiracy.”

The minister’s gaze flicked in his direction for just an instant, but that was long enough for Fotir to see the pained expression in Xivled’s pale eyes. “I could have learned so much.”