Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-eight

Kentigern, Eibithar

There might have been another way to accomplish his goals, had he only taken the time to look for one. Aindreas tried to tell himself that his choices were limited, that there was only so much a duke could do under such extraordinary circumstances. Indeed, there was more than a bit of truth to this. He couldn’t tell Villyd what he had in mind, for the swordmaster would never have approved. He might even have forsaken his oath of service and left Kentigern for good, or worse, informed Ioanna of what Aindreas was doing so that she might dissuade the duke with her rage and disgust. Certainly Aindreas couldn’t have told Barret, his prelate, and the only other man in the castle he could trust. And he couldn’t very well inquire in the city on his own, not without raising a swarm of questions.

The fact of the matter was, however, he was glad to be in the dungeon again, torturing once more. He had a thirst for it, just as he did for Sanbin red. Even the stench of the place didn’t bother him anymore. There was comfort to be found here: in the screams, in the smell of the torches, in the feel of his sword cutting into another man’s flesh. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was hurting Tavis again, exacting a measure of revenge for what the boy did to Brienne.

It was only when he opened his eyes, and saw yet another Qirsi face distorted with pain, that he remembered.

He didn’t allow any of the guards down here with him. Not even they could know what he sought in the answers he wrung from the white-hairs.

He had started with his former underministers, the other Qirsi who served him when Shurik was still in the castle. It struck him as logical that the first minister wouldn’t have been working alone, and where better to look for the traitor’s accomplice than his own circle of advisors?

Only when he turned his attention to the first man, however-a young Qirsi named Goel-did Aindreas begin to realize how greatly torturing a sorcerer would differ from hurting an Eandi. He had kept records of all the Qirsi he brought to his castle as ministers, so he knew this man was a shaper, and he took elaborate precautions to protect himself and render the Qirsi helpless.

He invited the man to the castle, slipped some sweetwort into his wine, and after the minister lost consciousness, had him taken to the castle dungeon. There he bound the man’s wrists and ankles with satin ties, which the Qirsi couldn’t shatter as he could iron shackles. Aindreas then hung him by his hands and feet like a calf being carried to slaughter, and suspended him high over a fire. When the Qirsi awoke, he was as helpless as a babe. If he managed to shatter the chains from which he hung, he’d fall to the flames below.

Still, the duke soon discovered that the Qirsi had resources beyond his reckoning. Aindreas began to ask him questions about the conspiracy, and as the man denied having any knowledge of the renegade Qirsi or their activities, the duke used a windlass to lower him toward the flames. When the handle splintered in his hand, the sound of rending wood echoing sharply off the dungeon walls, Aindreas nearly shrieked like a frightened girl.

“Next time I shatter your skull,” the man said. “I swear it. Now get me down from here.”

Shaken and unwilling to risk asking any more questions, Aindreas fled the prison and sent eight of his archers to kill the man.

“No more shapers,” he whispered to himself. “The others don’t scare me, but no more shapers.”

He soon found, however, that healers could be trouble as well. One woman healed herself for more than an hour as he tortured her with his blade, until at last she just failed, dying almost instantly. She answered not one of his questions. Another woman used magic to set his sleeve on fire and threatened to burn his hair and beard, before he ran her through with his sword. He learned nothing more from her than he had from the others.

After a time, however, he began to enjoy a bit more success. He found no conspirators, but he did learn that the Qirsi could be tortured, provided one was patient and imaginative.

He began to blindfold his victims, so that they couldn’t anticipate his attacks or direct their magic at him with such ease. He also relied more heavily on torches and the breaking of bones, particularly with the healers, who seemed far more adept at closing cuts than soothing other injuries. Finally, he learned to use a lighter hand, for once their magical defenses failed, the Qirsi proved far more delicate than Tavis and other Eandi.

Still, even as he honed his skills, Aindreas learned little from those he brought to his prison. A few told him that they were with the conspiracy after he had hurt them for some time. But when he questioned them more thoroughly, he invariably found that they had been lying, hoping to end their misery.

Before long he had killed off all those Qirsi who once served in his castle, save for one minister who had shaping magic, and had begun to comb the city for other Qirsi to question. He began with the taverns, of course: the Silver Bear, the Grey Boar, and the rest of the establishments that catered to white-hairs. No doubt he was making enemies of all the local Qirsi, but he no longer cared. He was desperate to find someone from their damned movement, and he intended to spare no effort in doing so. As failure followed upon failure, however, he found himself losing hope as well as his appetite for torture. Perhaps Shurik had been working alone here in Kentigern. Perhaps there was less to this conspiracy than the nobles of Eibithar thought. Eager as he was to find a Qirsi who could tell him about their movement, this last possibility held some appeal for him, since it undermined the claims of Javan and others that the conspiracy was behind not only the weakening of Kentigern’s defenses, but also Brienne’s murder.

He was weighing these possibilities while using torches on a slight Qirsi man, with an uncommonly round face and close-cropped white hair. It was late in the day-he had already killed one Qirsi that morning-and this second man had denied repeatedly knowing anything about the conspiracy. The Qirsi’s voice was growing ragged from screaming, and Aindreas sensed that he wouldn’t last much longer, which was fine with the duke. The time had come to rethink his methods.

“If you’ll tell me about the conspiracy,” the duke said dully, “I swear to you, your suffering will end.” The words had started to lose meaning for him, the way he thought a litany must for new adherents in the cloister. He held a torch to the man’s back again. “Don’t you want to stop the pain?”

The Qirsi wailed, tears streaming down his face.

“All right,” he gasped, as Aindreas pulled back the torch. “Yes, I’m with the conspiracy. Ask your questions. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

Aindreas had heard this too many times to allow himself much excitement. A tortured man would say almost anything when he reached the limits of his endurance. It was almost enough to make him admire Tavis of Curgh, who never confessed to Brienne’s murder, though Aindreas inflicted far more pain on the boy than he had on any of these frail sorcerers.

“What do you do for the conspiracy?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Mostly I gather information,” the man said, his voice scraped raw. “But I’ve also delivered gold and carried messages.”

Aindreas gaped at him, scarcely believing what he had heard.

“What did you say?”

“I gather information. I carry messages and I deliver gold.”

The duke just stood there, too astonished to speak. After some time the man began to flinch, as if expecting his torture to resume at any moment.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me anymore,” he whimpered.

Aindreas grabbed at the parchment resting on the floor at his feet. The man’s name was Qerle jal Brishta. He was a cloth merchant who frequented one of the taverns in the marketplace. He claimed to be a gleaner and nothing more, but Aindreas had learned in the past few days that an alarming number of Qirsi lied about their abilities. Many, it seemed, possessed more than one type of magic.

“You go by Qerle?” Aindreas asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever bring gold to the castle, Qerle?”

“Yes, to your first minister.”

“And messages as well?”

“Only written ones that were placed in the pouches of gold. Our leaders don’t like us couriers speaking with the others.”

“Do you know the leaders? Have you met them?”

“Never.”

Aindreas waved the torch at the man’s side.

“I swear it!” he screamed. “I’ve never met them. I don’t know anyone who has, at least not so that they could see who it was.”

The duke stepped closer to the man. “What do you mean by that? ‘Not so that they could see.’ ”

The Qirsi hesitated and Aindreas swung his torch, making the flame flutter, like a windblown pennon. He didn’t hold it close to Qerle, but the sound itself spurred the man to speak.

“There are rumors,” he said. “Nothing more than that. But some say that the movement is led by a Weaver, and that he enters the dreams of his more trusted servants.”

A Weaver. Maybe Aindreas should have been appalled, but after all that had befallen him in the past half year-Brienne’s death, Shurik’s treason, the siege by Mertesse that nearly cost him his castle-even the revelation of a Weaver didn’t disturb him anymore.

“Has this Weaver ever entered your dreams?”

Qerle shook his head and grimaced. It took Aindreas a moment to realize that he was trying to smile. “The Weaver commands ministers throughout the Forelands. Compared with them, I’m nothing. You’ve captured a sparrow, Eandi. That’s all you’ve done today.”

“That remains to be seen,” the duke said. But he burned the man’s arm as punishment for his impudence.

“Where does the gold come from?” the duke asked, when it seemed that Qerle’s newest pain had receded.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, when you paid Shunk, where did you get his money?”

“From another courier.”

“And what was his name?”

“That I won’t tell you. You can torture me until I die, but I won’t give you the names of any others. I swear it on all that I have left in this world.”

Aindreas briefly considered resorting to the torch again, just to see if the man was as brave as his words. He quickly thought better of it, though. There was much this Qirsi needed to do for him before he died and it struck the duke as foolish to waste this life in the pursuit of yet another sparrow, as Qerle put it. Besides, there was something almost admirable in the way he protected his comrades.

“Do you know where this man got the gold?” he asked instead.

“I believe it came from a merchant, but that’s all I know.”

The duke nodded. He had little doubt that this was true. The gold was the movement’s weakness, the one path a determined enemy might follow back to its leaders. In all likelihood that path twisted and turned like a Revel dancer. No mere courier would know much about it. Indeed, Aindreas would have wagered a hundred qinde that even a man as important as Shunk knew little beyond what Qerle had just told him.

“Did you ever take a message from Shurik back to the leaders, or those who could contact them?”

“No, never.”

“Would you know how to do such a thing?”

“Even if I did, I’d refuse. I already told you: I will not betray any of the others.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”

“Then what?”

Abruptly Aindreas was trembling. For more than a turn, since his troubling conversation with the thane of Shanstead, he had pursued the Qirsi, arresting them, torturing them, and all the while, lying to Villyd and the rest about his reasons. Now, at last, he had the man he sought, the one who could lead him to the conspiracy and bring his plans to fruition. And Aindreas felt himself waver. Once he started down the road before him, there could be no turning from it. Certainly, he could never return to where he stood now. His house, his kingdom, would never be the same.

An image of Ennis entered his mind. His boy, his heir. Seeing that face, he shivered, and nearly reached for his sword to finish the Qirsi without speaking another word. But then another image came to him. Brienne. Not as he last saw her, a bloodied corpse on Tavis’s bed, but rather as she had appeared the night before she died, golden and spirited and so beautiful that it made his chest ache. Her murderer was free, and the man who guarded his life when Aindreas sought vengeance now sat on the Oaken Throne. It was more than Aindreas could bear.

He took a step forward, extending a hand toward Qerle’s head. The Qirsi flinched again, turning his face away and wincing in anticipation of more pain. Aindreas waited a moment, until the man relaxed. Then he removed the blindfold from Qerle’s eyes.

The white-hair blinked several times, as if even the dim glow of the torches was too bright for him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, regarding the duke warily.

“I want you to help me contact the leaders of your conspiracy.”

“Why?”

“I want their help. And I think they might be interested in having mine as well.”

“You can’t be serious.”

That of all things made the duke laugh. “You doubt that I’m serious? You, who I’ve tortured for the better part of a day?”

“You’re mad.”

“Perhaps I am. But my land is ruled by a king I hate, a king who offered refuge to the man who killed my daughter. Your leaders hate the Eandi courts, but can they deny the value of allying themselves with one as powerful as Kentigern? I’m offering them a chance to bring down Eibithar’s king, and in exchange all I ask is that my court be spared, perhaps even given a place of influence in the new order their rebellion creates. Do you really expect them to say no?”

The Qirsi shook his head, his pale eyes wide, as if he feared Aindreas more now than he had when the duke was torturing him.

“I don’t know what they’ll say,” he said softly. “But I’m sure they never even thought this possible.”

“You have to convince them that it is. You have to make them believe that I can help their movement.”

“So, you’re going to let me go?”

“I need someone to speak with the Qirsi leaders for me. Who else is there? I’m willing to pay you quite handsomely if you succeed.” He lifted one of the torches again. “But I want you to remember this day, and what I did to you. If you fail me, your next visit to this dungeon will make today’s torture seem mild by comparison.”

The man nodded. Aindreas could see hatred in his pale eyes.

“You’d like to kill me,” the duke said. “I understand. I’d probably feel the same way, were I in your position. But you’re going to have to swallow your anger. If you betray me, or if you attempt to flee Kentigern, I’ll find you. My men will be watching your every movement, and they’ll be watching your wife and children as well. From what I hear, it seems you have a lovely family. You wouldn’t want to see any of them down here, would you?”

“You wouldn’t,” the Qirsi breathed.

“I’ve just told you I want to ally my house with the Qirsi conspiracy. You honestly think I’d hesitate to torture another white-hair or two?”

“The movement’s leaders will think I’m luring them into a trap. They may kill me when they hear what I have to say, fearing that you intend to use me as a means of capturing them.”

Aindreas shrugged. “You’ll have to convince them otherwise.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, Qerle. Frankly, I don’t care. These are your people, not mine. Talk to them. Tell them whatever you have to. But be persuasive. Your life, and the lives of those you love, hang in the balance.” The duke hesitated. “I can offer you some token to prove to the others that your message truly comes from me-a gold round perhaps, or a piece of cloth bearing the seal of my house.”

Qerle glanced down at the raw, angry burns on his arms and chest. “I think you’ve given me all the tokens I need, Lord Kentigern.”

Aindreas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’re right. The scars you’ll keep, but we can ease your pain a bit.” He looked up at the prison door. “Guards!” he called, his voice pealing like sanctuary bells in the stone prison.

He heard his men hurrying to the door, and, after a moment, he heard the lock turn.

“Yes, my lord?” a soldier asked from the top of the stairs.

“It seems this man is not guilty of any crime. Remove the bonds from his hands and feet, and take him up into the tower. Then find a Qirsi healer in the city and have him or her brought here. I want this prisoner made whole again and released.”

“A Qirsi healer, my lord?” the guard asked.

There hadn’t been a Qirsi in the castle since Shurik’s betrayal, at least not one who wasn’t taken immediately to the dungeon.

The duke nodded. “I want his injuries mended as soon as possible.”

Two guards descended the stairs, and began to release Qerle from the bonds holding him to the wall.

“I’ll look forward to speaking with you again, Qerle,” Aindreas said, as he started up the stairs. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”

“Of course… my lord.”

Something in the man’s voice made the duke pause at the top of the stairs. Looking back at Qerle, however, he saw that the Qirsi had his eyes closed, and his head tipped back against the wall. After a moment the duke left the prison, thinking that he must have imagined it.

Aindreas waited several days for Qerle to return, his patience strained almost from the start. Despite his warnings to the Qirsi, he knew better than to have his soldiers follow the man. The conspiracy’s leaders had not enjoyed so much success by allowing themselves to be observed by the soldiers of Eandi nobles. If he had guards follow Qerle, the Qirsi would never speak with him. Instead, he had his men watch Qerle’s home, and he didn’t have them make any effort to hide themselves. As long as Qerle knew his wife and children were in danger, he wouldn’t knowingly betray the duke.

This at least was what Aindreas told himself. After five days of waiting for the Qirsi to return to Kentigern Castle, the duke began to wonder if the man had fled anyway, or worse, if he had been killed as a traitor by others in his movement.

At last, just after dark on the sixth day, a knock at the duke’s door interrupted his supper. He had taken to wine once again, much as he had in the days following Brienne’s murder, and he was already on his third goblet, having barely touched his meal.

“What is it?” he called.

A guard opened the door and poked his head in the chamber, looking, for all his brawn, like a timid boy.

“There’s someone come to see you, my lord. A Qirsi man. He says-

Aindreas was striding toward the door before the fool could finish whatever it was he was trying to say.

“Where is he?” he asked, pushing past the man and into the corridor.

“We’ve held him at the gate, knowing how you feel about their kind. We were going to send him away, but he-”

“If you’d sent him away, I’d have had your head on a pike.”

The man swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Aindreas walked swiftly to the north gate and through the outer ward, reaching the city gate several steps ahead of the guard, who was panting with the effort of keeping up with him.

Qerle stood alone by the wicket gate, flanked by soldiers and looking like a boy beside them.

The duke stopped a short distance from the Qirsi and regarded him cautiously.

“He’s alone?” he asked the guards.

“Yes, my lord.”

Aindreas frowned. He’d expected that Qerle would have at least one other Qirsi with him, though he now realized that he’d been foolish to think so. Why would they reveal more than they had to? Qerle was to be a messenger between the conspiracy and Kentigern. It made perfect sense, but the duke couldn’t help but feel that he was in the weaker position. He had revealed himself to them, only to be denied a similar gesture on their part.

“Very well,” he finally said. “Come with me, Qerle.”

He turned and started back toward his chambers, sensing that the Qirsi was following.

“Shall we accompany you, my lord?” a soldier asked.

Aindreas didn’t even turn. “If I’d wanted you to, I would have commanded it.”

The duke and the Qirsi passed through the inner gate in silence and entered the nearest tower to escape the cold.

“I was in the middle of my supper. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

The duke glanced at him. Qerle was staring straight ahead, his expression grim, his lips pressed thin. Aindreas saw no physical sign that the Qirsi had harmed him, but he sensed that the past several days had left their mark on the man.

They entered his chambers, and Aindreas ordered his servants to leave. Returning to his seat at the large table, the duke drained his goblet of wine.

“You’re certain?” he asked, refilling the cup and breaking off a piece of bread.

“I have no desire to stay here any longer than I must.”

“Fine. Then tell me what happened. What did they say?”

A bitter smile flitted across the Qirsi’s face and was gone. “They didn’t believe me at first. They threatened to kill me as a traitor, and when I insisted that I was telling them the truth, they sent me away. That night, after the gate closing, two of them came to my home.”

The duke was reaching for his wine again, and now he stopped, his hand poised over the table. “Your home? My men told me nothing of this.”

Qerle laughed, though harshly. “Your men probably didn’t know. The movement has escaped the notice of Eandi nobles for years. It shouldn’t surprise you that they can avoid detection by a few of your soldiers.”

Aindreas rubbed a hand across his mouth, his brow furrowing. After a moment, though, he nodded, gesturing for the man to continue.

“One of the Qirsi was a shaper, and he threatened to shatter the bones in my daughter’s hands unless I told them what really happened. Only then, when I still didn’t change my story, did they finally believe me.”

The duke searched for something to say, but in the end could only manage a quiet “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s nothing you haven’t done. Somehow my children have been dragged into the middle of this foolishness. I can hardly blame the movement for that when your soldiers stand in the street outside my home.”

He would have liked to strike this impertinent sorcerer, but instead he grabbed his wine and took a long drink. “What did your leaders have to say once they understood that you were telling them the truth? Are they willing to work with me?”

“Not yet. They want to know more about this alliance you’re proposing. How do you intend to help us? Are you offering gold? Arms? If it comes to war, will you commit your army to the Qirsi side, or do you wish to maintain your deception until you’re certain that we’ll be victorious?”

“I can give you gold if you need it.”

“We don’t. But we need more than just your word. It’s one thing to say that you hate the king and that you want to see him destroyed. But it’s quite another to ask us to place faith in you as an ally. To be honest, those I serve don’t trust you. To them, you’re just another Eandi noble. Perhaps you re a bit more farsighted than the rest. You’re clever enough to realize that if you don’t make peace with us now, you’ll die at our hands when we take the Forelands. But otherwise, there’s little difference between you and Kearney or the lords of Thorald and Galdasten.” Qerle grinned. “Or even Curgh.”

Aindreas sensed that this was leading somewhere, and once again he fought to keep his anger in check. “What is it they want from me?”

“Nothing yet. Or at least next to nothing. I’ve been told to get a written pledge from you, of your support for our movement. It’s to be penned in your own hand and sealed with the sigil of your house. Give it to me tonight, and I’ll return tomorrow with an answer for you.”

“This is a waste of time!”

“Those I serve disagree. You wish to do everything in secret, which means you make no promises to us. My leaders believe that I’m telling the truth, but they fear that you’re lying to me, and thus to them as well. With this pledge, you tie yourself to us. If you fail us, it will find its way to the court of your king, where it will be evidence of your treason and grounds for your execution.”

“You ask too much of me. What’s to stop you from taking this to the king right away and having me hanged?”

“The movement doesn’t want that, and you know it. Kearney is weaker with you alive and leading the dukes who would oppose him. If you were to be exposed as a traitor, it would unite the other houses and strengthen the crown.” Qerle shook his head. “No, this would be a last resort and nothing more, a way of ensuring your good faith.”

Aindreas could hardly fault the man’s logic. Without meaning to, he realized abruptly, he had already been aiding the conspiracy. Perhaps this shouldn’t have bothered him in light of what he was contemplating. For a number of reasons, however, many of them obvious, and one far less apparent, he found the very idea of it unsettling.

“I’d be a fool to agree to this,” he said, staring at the Qirsi.

Qerle gave a small shrug and stood. “Very well. If you decide otherwise, you know where to find me.”

He would have liked to let the Qirsi bastard go. A voice in his head- Ioanna’s, or perhaps Brienne’s-begged him to. This was a mistake, it seemed to say. Let it end here. But then he saw it all again, like some twisted dream haunting his sleep night after night. Brienne’s blood, Tavis’s blade, Kearney drawing his sword on the battle plain near Heneagh in defense of the boy. How could he surrender himself to this king?

Qerle was almost to the door when Aindreas called his name. He turned, a smirk on his pallid features. “My lord?” he said, and there could be no mistaking the irony in his tone.

Muttering a curse, the duke pulled a parchment scroll from a drawer and picked up his writing quill.

“What should it say?”

“That you pledge yourself to our cause and embrace the movement as an ally. Nothing elaborate. We want your meaning to be absolutely clear.”

He sat a moment, staring at the blank parchment, wondering if there was a way to word this that would protect him. It didn’t take him long to abandon the notion. No matter how carefully he chose his words, any document acceptable to the Qirsi would brand him as a traitor. His signature and the sigil made that certain. It almost didn’t matter what he wrote.

“I, Aindreas of Kentigem,” he finally wrote, “pledge myself to support the Qirsi movement and offer my allegiance to its leaders.”

He signed the scroll, and sealed it in silver-blue wax with the signet of his ancestors. Maybe, he thought, with a message that short, he could claim that he had signed it under duress. He nearly laughed aloud at his foolishness. Once he handed the scroll to Qerle he belonged to them.

“I need something in return before I give this to you,” he said, clutching the rolled parchment in his hand.

“We have nothing to offer. You came to the movement, Kentigern. You tortured me and countless others, looking for someone who could win this alliance for you. You have it now. But your cruelty to our people makes us leery of you, and demands that we have some measure of protection.”

“And what of my protection?”

“I’ve already told you-”

“Yes, damn you, I heard!” The duke stood and began to pace his chamber. “I’m more valuable to you in power than in disgrace. Well, that’s not good enough. I need something more.”

“Like what?”

“A name.” He said the words as quickly as he formed the thought. But he knew immediately that he had found the answer, the measure of assurance he needed. “Give me the name of one of your leaders.”

“All right.”

“All right?” the duke repeated, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not going to argue with me, or tell me you need to speak with the men you serve?”

“They anticipated this.”

Aindreas stared at the Qirsi, feeling like a dolt. Qerle had been waiting all this time for him to suggest such an exchange, and it had taken the duke their entire conversation to think of it. “So you have a name for me?”

“I do. Enid ja Kovar, first minister to the duke of Thorald.”

Tobbar’s first minister! His surprise was fleeting, however. He had turned away a rider from Thorald midway through the waxing. In all likelihood these were the tidings he would have read in the horseman’s message.

“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Tobbar has already learned of her betrayal. For all I know, she’s dead by now.”

Qerle’s eyes widened for just an instant. “That’s the only name they gave me.”

Aindreas smiled, pleased to have the advantage at last. He returned the scroll to a drawer in his table. “Have them give you another,” he said. “Return here tomorrow, and you can have the pledge I just signed.”

What little color the Qirsi had in his face vanished. No doubt his superiors would not be pleased. He nodded and stood, stepping to the door.

“Qerle!” he called, stopping the man short of the door. “Tell them that if they try to deceive me again, there will be no alliance, and I’ll bring the full weight of my house down upon them. I found you by torturing every Qirsi in that tavern of yours. If I have to, I’ll destroy your movement by killing every white-hair in my realm. Make certain they understand that.”

“Yes, my lord,” the Qirsi said, his voice, at least for now, free of irony.

When the man had gone, Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing his brow with a cold hand.

“You don’t have to do this, Father.”

He looked up, seeing Bnenne before him. Again. She wore the sapphire gown, her golden hair falling to her waist like the waters of Panya’s Falls at sunset.

“I do it for you. I do it to punish those who killed you.”

“Are you certain, Father?”

“Who else would I do this for?”

She was so beautiful. More than anything he wanted to reach out and touch her face, her hair.

“I fear you do it for yourself. But I meant, are you certain they are the ones who killed me?”

“Don’t!” he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Poor Father.”

For a long time, he refused to look at her. When at last he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Qerle returned the following day, again just after sundown. Aindreas had instructed his guards to admit the Qirsi to the castle, so when the knock came at his chamber door, he knew it was Qerle. To his surprise, however, the man was not alone. A young Qirsi woman accompanied him into the room. She was slight and barely as tall as Affery, Aindreas’s sole surviving daughter. She had bright golden eyes and wore her white hair loose to her shoulders.

“Who’s this?” the duke asked, standing, but remaining behind his desk.

“My name is fastanne ja Triln,” she said in a strong voice. “Qerle says you wanted to meet me.”

Aindreas frowned. “That’s not quite right. I told him I wanted the name of one of your movement’s leaders, as a way of ensuring that you won’t betray me.”

“I’ve just given you my name.”

“You’re a leader of the Qirsi conspiracy?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his doubts. “You look like you’re barely old enough for a Fating.”

“I’m twenty-four years old, my Lord Duke. That may not be old for an Eandi, but I’ve lived more than half my life already. For the last four years I’ve served the Qirsi movement, and for the last two, I’ve been one of its leaders.”

“I’m not certain I believe you. The Qirsi have lied to me too many times.”

She gave a wan smile. “It was a mistake to have Qerle give you Enid’s name. My mistake. I apologize for that. I took a chance, thinking that you hadn’t heard yet of her death. I wanted to give up as little as possible to win your support. I won’t try such a thing again.”

“Do you live in Kentigern, Jastanne?”

“No. I come here frequently, but my home lies elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“I’d rather not say. I’m a merchant, my lord. I spend little time at my home. I have a ship called the White Erne that sails the coast of the Forelands from Rawsyn Bay to the Bronze Inlet. If you need to find me, just look for the Erne.”

“You own a ship,” Aindreas said, shaking his head. “I find it hard to imagine so slight a woman braving the Narrows or steering a vessel through a storm in the Scabbard.”

“And I find it hard to imagine a man of your size climbing onto a horse, but I know you’ve done so.”

He tipped his head, conceding the point.

“I’ve come here at considerable risk to myself and my cause, Lord Kentigern. I won’t stay long. You told Qerle that you wish to ally yourself with our movement. I believe you said that you want us to help you drive Kearney of Glyndwr from the throne. Is that still your desire?”

Don’t do this! Tell her to go and be done with it!

The duke stood and began to pace behind his writing table.

“He gave asylum to Brienne’s killer!” he said, as if arguing with the voice in his mind. “How can I do nothing?”

Jastanne grinned. “I take it that means yes.”

He blinked, staring at the woman. “Can you offer me proof that you’re a leader of the conspiracy?”

“None that would satisfy you. We take great pains to leave as little evidence of our activities as possible. Usually we concern ourselves with proving that we’re not with the movement. You have my word, and that of Qerle here. But I have nothing more to give you.”

Aindreas weighed this a moment longer, then made his decision. Reaching into the table drawer, he retrieved the scroll he had placed there the night before.

“Here. My pledge to support your cause. As I told Qerle last night, if you betray me, I’ll spend my last breath destroying you and your friends. I swear it in the name of my dead daughter.”

She took the scroll from him and unrolled it. After a moment, she nodded and handed it to Qerle. “You needn’t worry, Lord Kentigern. We have no intention of betraying you. We may not like you any more than you like us, but we understand the value of having you as an ally.” She turned to Qerle. “Go now. You know where to take this?”

“Yes, ch-” His face colored and his eyes flicked toward the duke. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good. We’ll speak later.”

Qerle turned and hurried from the chamber, clutching the scroll as if it were made of gold. Propriety dictated that he await leave from Aindreas to go, but the duke made no effort to stop him.

“May I sit?” Jastanne asked, once the man was gone.

“Of course.”

She lowered herself into a chair and eyed his wine.

“Would you like some?” he asked, struggling with his impatience.

“Yes, please.”

He crossed the room to get a second goblet, poured her wine, and returned to his seat.

“To allies,” she said, raising her cup.

He hesitated, then raised his goblet as well.

“Qerle said you expect your court to be spared when the movement takes the Forelands. Is that right?”

“It seems reasonable, doesn’t it? Now that we’re allies.”

The woman gave a thin smile. “That depends on what you bring to the alliance. You’ve offered only gold, and as Qerle already told you, that’s one thing we don’t need.”

“I can offer arms as well.”

She drank her entire cup of wine, then placed the goblet on her palm and held it before her. An instant later it shattered, shards of clay scattering on the floor like frightened vermin.

“What use would we have for your arms?”

The duke shuddered. Of course they would send him a shaper. “Then what is it you want of me?”

“Nothing that you haven’t contemplated already, Lord Kentigern. It’s known throughout the land that you hate your king, and that you’ve convinced other dukes to join you in opposing him. We ask only that you continue to foment rebellion.”

Aindreas began to feel vaguely uneasy, just as he had the night before when Qerle spoke of his opposition to the king. He picked up his goblet, then returned it to the table without taking a sip. “We can’t prevail in a civil war. Even with the support of the other houses, my army isn’t strong enough to defeat Kearney and his allies.”

“Leave that to us,” she said. “Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar. Once that war begins, we’ll do everything in our power to keep Kearney from defeating you.”

Aindreas gripped the edge of the table, as if to steady himself. “But how do I convince the others to start a hopeless war?” he asked dully, his stomach turning to stone.

“I’ll leave that to you.” She smiled and stood, brushing slivers of clay from her cloak and dress. “We’re allies, my lord. We have to learn to trust each other.” She sketched a small bow and turned toward the door. “From now on we’ll communicate solely through messages,” she said over her shoulder. “Address them to my ship and put your seal on the scroll. I’ll know they’re for me.”

She slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Aindreas reached for his wine once more, then thought better of it and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with an unsteady hand.

He had no qualms about opposing Kearney or even about waging civil war so long as he had reason to hope that he might prevail. Until he met Jastanne, he had been eager to do whatever was necessary to remove Glyndwr from the Oaken Throne.

Suddenly, though, his certainty had vanished.

Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar. The words repeated themselves in his head like the insipid lyric of a child’s song, relentless and unwelcome.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Ean knew he shouldn’t have been. For he had heard much the same thing said before, by Javan and by Kearney and by the strange Qirsi man who had saved Tavis of Curgh from Kentigern’s dungeon. Before tonight, he had dismissed such claims as the desperate excuses of men who had embraced a killer and turned their backs on truth and honor. But it was another matter entirely to hear the words spoken by a leader of the conspiracy.

From the beginning, the duke had every reason to believe that Tavis had killed his Brienne. The dagger, the blood, the locked door. He had never thought to question his own assumptions. Certainly he had never considered asking Brienne about the murder. More than once he had considered going to. the Sanctuary of the Deceiver in Kentigern City on Pitch Night so that he could see her. Ean knew how much he wanted to go, and also how much he feared the encounter. He never made the journey. It was too soon, he told himself each turn. I’m not ready to face her. Even on the Night of Two Moons in Bian’s Turn, when his daughter’s wraith came to him, Aindreas had been unable to do more than weep at the sight of her. But even had he managed to speak with her, he wouldn’t have asked her about that terrible night so many turns ago. Tavis had killed her. He knew this.

Or at least he thought he did. Are you certain? she had asked him last night. It wasn’t the real Brienne. He knew that of course. His mind wasn’t so far gone. But the doubts voiced by this apparition that haunted him echoed his own, particularly now, with what the Qirsi woman had told him.

Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar.

He was bound to the Qirsi now, held fast by chains he had forged himself. He had thought to use them, to harness the power of their conspiracy to rid Eibithar of the demons in Audun’s Castle. Now it seemed he was surrounded by demons, and he could find nothing to distinguish one from another.