Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Three

Orvinti, Aneira, Bohdan’s Moon waxing

The four dukes raised their goblets, the shifting flames in the hearth reflected on the polished silver.

“To Chago,” Brail said. “May Bian grant him a place of Bhonor and may the Underrealm shine with his light.”

“To Chago,” the others said as one.

They sipped the wine, then settled back in their seats, Brail still holding his cup so that it balanced on the arm of his chair.

Another gust of wind made the shutters rattle and stirred the tapestries hanging on his walls. He loved to see the hills covered with snow, Lake Orvinti shimmering with their reflection. But judging from the winds that already blew down from the Scabbard, this year’s freeze was going to be harsher than most.

Fortunately, the growing turns had been generous. His people wouldn’t starve, and there was plenty of food and wine to share with his guests. Such company was a rare luxury this time of year, and though he regretted the circumstances that had brought the other men to western Aneira, he was glad to have them in his castle just the same. Most dukes chose not to travel in the colder turns; usually they spent the waxing of Bohdan’s Turn preparing for the god’s festival on the Night of Two Moons.

Had it not been for Chago’s death and the funeral in Bistari two days earlier, Brail too would have been busy with the celebration. As it was, he had been eager to return to Orvinti. Storms struck the Hills of Shanae every year around this time, and the last thing Brail needed was to be blocked from his castle so close to Bohdan’s Night. So, after Chago’s funeral, when Pazice insisted that he invite the dukes back to Orvinti, he was more than happy to comply. Most refused, as he knew they would. It would have taken many of them farther from their homes and at least a few of them-the duke of Rassor came to mind-didn’t like him very much.

Those who did come, Ansis, Bertin, and Tebeo, were friends and allies of both Bistari and Orvinti. To the extent that any duke in Aneira trusted another, they trusted each other. It almost seemed to Brail that the god had granted him an extra gift this turn: for this one night, he was surrounded by friends.

“It was a good service,” Ansis said, his pale eyes fixed on the fire.

Bertin shook his head. “It was a load of dung, just as I knew it would be from the start. Maybe if Carden had allowed Chago’s prelate to preside, there would have been a measure of truth in it. But with the king’s prelate controlling everything…” He shook his head a second time, a look of disgust on his square face. A moment later he drained his wine, then held out his goblet so that one of Brail’s servants could pour him more.

Ansis frowned, looking even younger than usual. “I just meant that it seemed to do Ria and Silbron some good to hear so many people speak of Chago so fondly.” He glanced at Brail and then at Tebeo, as if pleading with them to agree.

“I was surprised that the king allowed me to speak,” Tebeo said. “I didn’t expect that, not after I sided with Chago in their dispute over the road fees.”

“He wouldn’t allow me to speak,” Bertin said, raising his cup again. He had consumed a good deal of wine this day. “And he refused Tounstrel’s request, too. He couldn’t very well keep all of us silent.”

Brail cast a look at the duke of Noltierre. “I’m sure he was tempted to try.”

Bertin grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Even Carden wouldn’t have gone that far,” Tebeo said. “He might have considered it, but he knows better.”

“He didn’t hesitate to have poor Chago killed,” Bertin said. “Why would he care about the rest?”

Ansis sat forward. “Precisely because he had Chago killed. He couldn’t silence all of us without making himself look guilty.”

“Don’t be an idiot! ” Bertin said, rolling his eyes. “He had the man garroted. He wanted us to know who was responsible. It was intended as a warning to others who’d be as bold in opposing him as Chago was.”

Ansis chewed his lip briefly. “Is that what you think, Tebeo?”

The duke of Dantrielle looked at Brail before answering. With Chago gone, the two of them represented the greatest threat to Carden’s rule. Bertin hated the king more than either of them, as did Vidor of Tounstrel, but neither Noltierre nor Tounstrel was counted among the kingdom’s more powerful houses. Kett, like Noltierre, was at best a middle-tier house, and even had it been more, Ansis’s youth would have kept him from exerting much influence within the court. Until recently Mertesse had wielded a good deal of power. Its army was considered one of the finest in the land, and its treasury rivaled that of Bistari and Orvinti. But the dukes of Mertesse had allied themselves with House Solkara long ago, and with Rouel’s death during the siege at Kentigern several turns back, the dukedom had passed to Rowan, an unproven and unimpressive youth.

Among the great houses, only Solkara, Orvinti, and Dantrielle were still led by men of experience. Surely it had not escaped the king’s notice that both Brail and Tebeo had, at one time or another, sided with Chago in taking issue with his decrees.

All of which made Tebeo’s answer to Ansis’s question that much more significant. Though he was among friends in the privacy of Brail’s quarters, the duke would have to choose his words with care. Still, even knowing this, Brail was surprised by Tebeo’s reply.

“I might have seen it as a warning,” he said, “had I believed that Carden was responsible.”

Bertin nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. “What? ‘Had you believed-’? You mean you don’t?”

“I’m not as certain of it as you are.”

“You saw his body before they lit the pyre! Good as he was, the embalmer couldn’t hide the marks on Chago’s neck. And as if that wasn’t enough, the captain of Bistari’s guard told me that they found a broken strap in Chago’s hand bearing the Solkaran crest.”

“I heard that as well,” Tebeo said.

“So isn’t it clear to you what happened?”

“I think,” Brail said, “that Tebeo finds it a bit too clear.” He faced the duke. “Is that right?”

Tebeo nodded. “Precisely.” He rubbed a hand across his brow, staring at his wine as if searching the goblet for the correct words.

Of all of them, Tebeo looked least like a powerful noble. He was short and portly, with a kind, round face and large dark eyes. Pazice had once remarked that he resembled an alemaster more than he did a duke. But Brail, who had never been shy about complimenting himself on his own mtelhgence and foresight, thought Tebeo the wisest leader in Aneira.

“In all likelihood you’re right, Bertin,” the duke said at last. “Vidor showed me the message Chago sent to him and I understand that you and Ansis received similar ones. I’m certain that Carden heard about them as well. Chago made no secret of how angry he was about the fees; I have no doubt that he would have challenged the king openly at the first opportunity. And knowing what I do of Carden, I’m also certain that he would have found Chago’s defiance galling. No king is above murder, ours least of all.” He paused, shaking his head slowly.

“Then what?” Bertin asked.

Tebeo took a breath. “We’ve all heard talk of the conspiracy. I’ve even heard some say that Qirsi were behind the unrest in Eibithar.”

Bertin snorted. “The Eibitharians are animals. They don’t need any help butchering themselves.”

“Perhaps not. But coming so quickly on the heels of their troubles, this just strikes me as… odd. They say it was Chago’s first minister who found him. That makes me wonder as well.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Noltierre said. “Carden’s reek is all over Chago’s body, and you’re trying to blame the white-hairs.” Bertin turned to Brail. “And what about you, Orvinti? Does Tebeo speak for you as well?”

Brail sipped his wine, not quite certain how to answer. He shared Tebeo’s suspicions, but he wasn’t ready yet to give them voice. He would have been happy to pass the night in silence, allowing the duke of Dantrielle to carry the burden of this discussion. But more than that, he was troubled by the extent to which he found himself fearing the Qirsi. His own first minister had been with him for six years-not a long time, but enough to have nurtured a good deal of trust on his part. Fetnalla had offered him wise counsel since coming to Orvinti. As a younger man he had thought it impossible that he would ever consider any Qirsi a friend, but in recent years he had come to see the minister that way, as had the duchess. He didn’t think it in her nature to betray him. Until the last few days, however, he would have said the same thing of Peshkal, Chago’s first minister.

“Well?” Bertin prodded.

“I’m not certain what I think,” Brail finally answered. “It appears that this was the king’s doing, and we all know that Chago gave House Solkara reason enough to want him dead.”

“But?”

Brail turned toward the voice. Ansis was eyeing him closely, looking young still, but not frightened as Brail might have expected.

“But I also agree with Tebeo that it all seems a bit too easy.”

“What of the garroting?” Bertin asked. “What of the scrap of leather in Chago’s hand?”

“That scrap of leather is part of what bothers me. Had Chago really pulled it off the murderer’s belt or baldric, wouldn’t the other man have noticed? Wouldn’t he have retrieved it?”

Bertin threw up his hands. “It was a Solkaran garroting on behalf of the king! Why would he bother with a useless piece of leather? Everyone was going to know who killed the man anyway.”

“What if it was the Qirsi?” Ansis asked in an even voice.

“It wasn’t the Qirsi.”

“What if it was?” the young duke said again, his voice rising as he glared at Bertin. After a moment he faced Brail again. “What could we do about it?”

“Do about it?”

“Well surely we’d have to do something. Warn the king and the other dukes. Interrogate our ministers and Chago’s as well.”

“Warn the king of what?” Tebeo asked. “I promise you, he’s heard the same whisperings as we. We might as well warn him that the snows are coming. And as for the ministers, what would you ask them in these interrogations? Would you ask them what they’ve heard about this so-called conspiracy, or would you come right out and demand to know if they’re traitors?”

Ansis gazed toward the fire. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “But even if we just suspect that the Qirsi might have been involved in Chago’s murder, we ought to do something.”

Tebeo let out a sigh. “I probably shouldn’t have said what I did, Ansis. The Qirsi have been on my mind a good bit lately, but I have no reason to think that they killed Chago. Had anyone other than his minister found the body, I never even would have considered it. Bertin’s right: it was most likely one of Carden’s men. And if it wasn’t there are a hundred other possibilities I’d consider before I blamed the white-hairs.”

“Like what?”

The duke shrugged. “Thieves. The wood’s crawling with them.”

“Not this time of year,” Ansis said. “And whoever did this left Chago’s jeweled dagger and sword untouched. I saw Silbron wearing both of them at the funeral.”

“Maybe another duke, then,” Brail said, “someone who wanted Chago dead for some reason, but wanted the king blamed for it.”

Bertin shook his head. “Only the duke of a major house would have much to gain from such a act. Rowan of Mertesse is as loyal to the Solkarans as his father, and even if he wasn’t, he’s not clever enough to try this.” He looked first at Brail, then at Tebeo, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That leaves the two of you, and I’ve seen no evidence suggesting that you’re clever enough, either.”

All of them laughed, though Ansis quickly grew serious again.

“The truth is,” he said, “there are no other explanations, are there? Either Carden had this done, or the Qirsi. Those are the only possibilities.”

Tebeo said nothing. Brail kept his silence as well, drinking what was left of his wine and watching the others.

“The king did this, boy,” Bertin said quietly. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But that’s just the nature of the man. He doesn’t like rebels and he liked Chago least of all. The poor old fool just pushed him too far this time.”

Ansis turned to Dantrielle. “Tebeo?”

“Carden hated him enough to do this, and he wouldn’t hesitate to have any of us killed if he thought we were threatening his sovereignty.” He started to say more, then stopped himself. “He certainly didn’t look aggrieved at the funeral,” he went on a few moments later.

Bertin sneered. “Of course he didn’t. The bastard got just what he wanted.”

Ansis sat back in his chair and drank some wine. “He did look awfully pleased. I guess I’m not certain which bothers me more, the idea that our king could do this, or the possibility that Chago was the victim of some white-hair conspiracy.”

Brail had been thinking much the same thing and he almost said so. But the matter seemed to have run its course, and he saw no sense in rekindling the discussion, at least not just then.

Bells rang in the city, and Ansis sat forward again.

“Is that the gate close, or is it midnight already?”

“That’s only the gates,” Brail said.

The young man grinned. “Good.” He stood and stretched his legs. “Still, I’ve a long ride awaiting me in the morning. I should sleep.”

Brail rose as well. “Of course, Ansis. One of the guards will see you back to your chamber.” He stepped forward and kissed the duke lightly on each cheek. “I’m glad you came. I hope next time it’s under kinder circumstances, but I’m glad just the same.”

“As am I,” Ansis said. “You’ll thank Pazice for me?”

“You can thank her yourself in the morning. We’ll accompany you to the city gates.”

“I’d like that.”

“Wait a moment, boy,” Bertin called, as Ansis stepped to the door. “I’ll walk with you. I’ve got a journey ahead of me as well.” He nodded to Brail. “Always a pleasure, Orvinti. Good food, good wine, and I always enjoy seeing the hills and lake, even this late in the year.”

“You’re welcome any time, Bertin. You know that.”

Noltierre give a quick smile. “ ‘Til the morning then.”

Brail closed the door and looked at Tebeo.

“Are you going as well?”

Tebeo shook his head. “I’ve a shorter ride than they do.”

Brail nodded, knowing that wasn’t the real reason his friend chose to stay. Dantrielle may have been closer than Kett or Noltierre, but it was still more than thirty leagues from Orvinti. It would be several days before the duke reached his own realm. Brail didn’t say this, of course. He merely had the servants bring another flask of wine before dismissing them for the night.

Even after they were alone, the two dukes merely sat for some time, sipping their wine and watching the fire, which had burned low. Wind lashed the shutters again and Brail knelt by the hearth to place another log on the glowing embers.

“Our young friend may have a point,” Tebeo said as the duke lowered himself back into his chair. “It may be that one of us needs to speak with the king.”

Brail grinned. “One of us?” It would have to be him, and they both knew it. In the eyes of the king, Tebeo had been too closely allied with Chago. By siding first with one and then the other, Brail had managed to keep House Orvinti from becoming entangled in the dispute between Solkara and Bistari.

“All right,” Tebeo said, smiling as well. “You should speak with him.”

“To what end? You don’t expect me to ask him if he had Chago killed.”

Tebeo shrugged, the smile lingering on his round face. “Why not? As Bertin said, the murderer did everything but write ‘The king did this’ on Chago’s neck. If it was Carden’s work, he meant for us to know it.”

“And if it wasn’t Carden’s work?”

Dantrielle’s smile vanished. “Then we have a problem.”

“The Qirsi.”

“This is not just idle talk, Brail. The conspiracy is real. I’m certain of it.”

“What have you heard?” Brail asked, not really wanting to know.

“Rumors mostly. Speculation. But I’ve heard similar tales from so many quarters that I can’t dismiss them anymore. In the past few years, Eandi nobles have been murdered in nearly every kingdom in the Forelands.”

Brail forced a grin. “That’s hardly unheard of, Tebeo. As Bertin said, the Eibitharians don’t need any help butchering themselves. Unfortunately, that goes for the rest of us as well. Court assassinations are as old as the throne itself.”

Tebeo shook his head. “These are different; at least some of them are. Take the incident in Jetaya early last year.”

“Jetaya? You mean Hanan? He was poisoned by men from Rouvin. The two houses have been rivals for centuries.”

“He was killed with sleeping camas-seems his food was laced with it.”

“So?”

“Camas works slowly, and its symptoms are subtle compared to most. In most cases, the victim is in a death sleep before those around him suspect anything.”

Brail raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were so well versed in the ways of poison. I’ll have to remember that the next time I’m asked to a feast in Dantrielle.”

“This is no joke, Brail.”

He opened his hands. “I’m sorry, Teb. I guess I don’t see your point.”

“My point is this: Hanan was killed with a poison that must be used in large doses. It’s rare and costly, works slowly, and is difficult to spot. Whoever killed him went to a great deal of effort and did so with some skill. Yet within a day of his death, guards in Jetaya found a vial that had held sleeping camas and were able to determine beyond question that it came from Rouvin. Doesn’t that seem a bit strange?”

Brail had to admit that it did. “But that’s only one-”

“Cyro of Yserne was garroted, just like Chago. And just like Chago, he had recently challenged the authority of the royal house.”

“All that proves is that the queen of Sanbira is no more tolerant of dissenters than our own king.”

Tebeo eyed him briefly before looking away and raising his goblet to his lips. Again they sat in silence for a time.

“Earlier this evening you were agreeing with me,” the duke finally said, his voice so low that Brail almost couldn’t hear him for the wind and the snapping of the flames. “What happened?”

Brail wasn’t certain how to answer. The truth was, he did agree with much of what Tebeo had said this night. He was neither blind nor a fool. Nobles in the Forelands were dying in strange, terrible ways, and in numbers that chilled his blood. But talk of this conspiracy disturbed him even more. Qirsi ministers lived in every castle and served every noble in the Forelands, from the lowliest baron of Wethyrn to the emperor of Braedon.

Even if a mere fraction of the white-hairs were party to this plot, the danger to all the Eandi courts would be immeasurable.

In a way, though, that thought troubled him far less than the notion that Fetnalla could be a traitor. Had she deceived him all these years? Had she been treating him with respect and kindness, while in secret thinking him an ass whom she could use for her own purposes? Worse, if she was allied with these renegade Qirsi, hadn’t she proved him to be just that? Better that Chago had been killed by the king, or thieves, or a madman who chanced upon him in the wood. Anything but this.

“Nothing happened,” Brail said after a long silence. “I still agree that there was something a bit transparent about Chago’s murder. I’ll grant as well that recently there have been too many murders of a similar nature throughout the kingdoms. I’m just not ready yet to blame each one on some white-hair plot to rule the Forelands.”

“I don’t want it to be true either, Brail. But if we ignore our suspicions out of fear, we help their cause.”

Tebeo had always been a bit too clever for Brail’s taste.

“What would they have to gain by killing Chago?” Brail asked, knowing how foolish he sounded.

“Come now, my friend. You’re smarter than that. If the Qirsi did this, they didn’t do it to rid themselves of Chago. They did it to divide the kingdom, to deepen the rift between Chago’s allies and those of the king. That’s what alarms me so. Chago’s murder threatens to weaken Aneira; the garroting of Yserne has already emboldened those who would oppose the queen of Sanbira; Lady Brienne’s murder almost caused a civil war in Eibithar, and still might. Perhaps there’s nothing tying these murders to one another. From all I’ve heard, it certainly seems that the Curgh boy killed Kentigern’s daughter. I can’t help but notice, however, that each death further weakens the Eandi courts. It’s been nearly two hundred years since any kingdom in the Forelands suffered through a civil war. Yet right now, at least three kingdoms, including our own, appear to be moving toward some kind of conflict. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“So you think they want to rule the Forelands? You think they plan to weaken every court north of the Border Range and conquer us that way?”

Tebeo shook his head, looking grave, and older than Brail had ever imagined he could. “I don’t know. It may be that simple.”

“Simple?” Brail repeated, giving a short, breathless laugh. “What you’re talking about would require a conspiracy so vast…” He stopped, shaking his head as well. “I don’t believe it’s possible.”

“Actually, it wouldn’t take nearly as many people as you think. All that they’ve accomplished so far could be done by fewer than a hundred men and women, provided they were placed properly.”

“But eventually they would need more. Or do you think that a hundred Qirsi sorcerers can defeat the combined might of our armies?”

The duke stared at him sadly. “Don’t you understand? If this keeps up, they won’t have to worry about the combined might of the Aneiran army, much less all the armies of the Forelands.” He turned his gaze to the fire once more and sipped his wine. “Besides, it’s probably far more than a hundred. And if it is, they must have a leader, someone who’ll be able to bring them together when the time comes.”

For all the thought he had given to the possibility of a Qirsi conspiracy, Brail had never imagined a single man or woman leading it. He had been foolish, of course; he saw that immediately. If such a movement was real, it would naturally have a master, someone whose vision and will inspired the rest and bound them to one another in a single cause. Still, like everything else Tebeo had told him this night, the image of this Qirsi leader, this white-haired sovereign-in-waiting, though faceless and nameless, served only to deepen his dread.

“You think they’ve chosen someone already? A would-be king or queen?”

Tebeo gave a wan smile. “I think it’s much worse than that,” he said. “They won’t have chosen this person; he or she will have chosen them. The Qirsi don’t follow nobles or monarchs. They follow Weavers.”

If Tebeo had intended to scare him into acting, it worked. He could think of no response except to say, “I’ll ride to Solkara before the snows begin. I’m certain Carden will see me.”

“Thank you,” his friend said. “If I thought the king would hear me on this matter, I’d gladly go myself. But under the circumstances, I believe you’re the best choice.”

Brail nodded, but said nothing.

They lapsed into another lengthy silence, both of them gazing at the flames and occasionally lifting their goblets to drink. After a time, Tebeo sat forward and rubbed his hands together.

“I should return to my chambers,” he said softly. “My ride may be short, but I’m still an old man, and I want to be back in Dantrielle before the wind blows any colder.”

“Of course.”

Still, neither of them moved.

“Have you spoken with your ministers about any of this?” Brail asked.

Tebeo looked up from the fire. “Not yet, no. I’ve wanted to, but I wouldn’t know how to start such a conversation. Particularly with Evanthya. Approaching my underministers will be difficult enough, but she’s been with me a long time.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking the same thing. How do I ask Fetnalla about a Qirsi conspiracy without making her think that I’m accusing her of betraying me?”

“I suppose we just have to ask them. This matter is too important to let our fear of offending them keep us silent.”

“Offending them?” Brail said. “I’m worried about ending up like Chago.”

Evanthya woke with first light, and reached to the other side of the bed before remembering that she was alone.

“Appearances,” Fetnalla had said the previous night, pulling away with one last kiss and dressing in the candlelight. As if a single word could explain everything. That they were two women in love would have raised eyebrows among some, particularly in the noble courts, but that was not why they concealed their relationship.

“I think you look fine,” Evanthya said, trying to keep her tone light.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Our dukes may be allies now, but that can change. They shouldn’t know about us. Certainly Brail shouldn’t. He’d be… displeased.”

Evanthya wasn’t sure how her duke would feel about it, but that hardly mattered. Fetnalla had made up her mind long ago. They could steal away for a few hours at a time, but whether in Orvinti or Dantrielle, they always spent their nights alone.

Early as it was, Evanthya could already hear the voices of Orvinti’s guards through the shuttered windows. She swung herself out of bed, pulled on her riding clothes, and slipped silently from her chamber. Stepping lightly through the castle corridors, she made her way to the nearest of the winding stone stairways and hurried down to the garden, where they were to meet.

Her duke had returned to his chamber late the previous night, and though she knew he would be impatient to begin their ride back to Dantrielle, she was certain that he would not be ready to leave Orvinti much before the midmorning bells. She would have liked to rest a bit longer herself, but this conversation couldn’t wait.

The winds that had buffeted the castle through most of the night had died away. Still, the air was cold, and a fine, chill mist hung over the ward.

Too late, she wished she had worn her cloak. The garden was empty-Fetnalla had not yet arrived-and she briefly considered retrieving the cloak from her chambers. But she didn’t want to risk waking the duke, who was sleeping in the chamber next to hers. Better to be cold. She crossed her arms over her chest and began to walk slowly among the hedgerows and empty flower patches.

She had seen the gardens of Orvinti in Amon’s Turn, just after the last of the rains, so she knew how brilliant they could be. During milder winters when she visited the castle, some of the hardier blooms had still been in the ground. But this year the only color that remained in the garden came from the spidery blue flowers of the hunter’s hazel, which clung to the otherwise bare limbs of the trees lining the castle walls, heedless of the cold. A pair of ravens hopped on the brown grass at the far end of the ward, near the entrance to the kitchen tower, fighting over scraps of food and croaking loudly at one another. Another joined them, gliding to the ground like a winged shadow in the grey mist. A moment later, a fourth landed nearby. Evanthya shivered. According to the Mettai, the Eandi sorcerers who lived in the hills and forests of the southern Forelands, four ravens were a death omen.

“The Mettai legends don’t apply to the Qirsi.”

Evanthya turned at the sound of the voice, smiling despite the cold. “I didn’t know that. Is that what the Mettai say, or only the Qirsi?”

Fetnalla tipped her head to the side and grinned, her pale eyes, the color of fire, seeming to gather all the light this grey morning had to give. She had her hair pulled back the way Evanthya liked, and her pale cheeks were touched with pink. She wore a heavy cloak, much like the one Evanthya had left in her room, but even with it draped over her shoulders and tied at the neck, she looked slender and graceful, like the tall white herons Evanthya saw in the shallows of the Rassor during the warm turns.

“It’s common knowledge,” Fetnalla said, walking toward her. “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”

She stopped in front of Evanthya and kissed her, her lips soft and cool with the mist. Evanthya returned the kiss hungrily, but then made herself pull away, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, though she knew they were alone in the gardens.

“There’s no one here but us,” Fetnalla said, still grinning. “And the high windows are all shuttered.”

Evanthya shrugged, feeling her face color. “I know. But as you’ve said so many times, ‘appearances.’ ”

Fetnalla started to say something else, but then shook her head, appearing to think better of it. “It’s not worth arguing about.” She flashed a quick smile. “Not right now at least.”

Evanthya nodded, knowing what was coming. It had crept into all they shared, hanging over them like a cloud since early in the year. They had danced around the issue for the past few days, since Evanthya first reached Bistari for the duke’s funeral. They hadn’t spoken of it since coming to Orvinti, but Fetnalla had never been one to let a matter drop before having her say, particularly a matter of such importance.

“I’m still not certain I can do this,” Evanthya said, turning to stare at the ravens.

“We can’t stay out of it forever, love. These are Qirsi men and women we’re talking about. It’s not out in the open yet, and may not be for another year or more. But make no mistake, they’re fighting a war for the future of the Forelands. Now, we can watch from the towers of our castles, or we can do something about it.”

She had learned long ago that there was little to be gained from arguing with Fetnalla about almost anything. But Evanthya could be headstrong as well, and in this case she couldn’t stop herself.

“And what about our dukes?” she asked. “You worry about Brail learning that we’re lovers. That’s a trifle, next to this.”

“If we do this right, our dukes will never know.”

Evanthya took a breath. If we do this right. When it came right down to it, most of this burden would fall on her shoulders, not Fetnalla’s.

“We’re going to be paying someone a good deal of gold. People tend to notice such things. Even assuming that we can find enough money, keeping it quiet is going to be hard.”

Fetnalla produced a small leather pouch from within her cloak and handed it to her. It was quite heavy and it jingled like bells on a dancer’s shoe.

“That’s nearly sixty qinde,” Fetnalla said. “It’s most of what I have, so be careful with it.”

“This is your money?”

Fetnalla nodded.

“I can’t take this. There must be another-”

She tried to hand the pouch back to Fetnalla, but the minister merely shook her head.

“Please, love. I’m asking a good deal of you already. I have no choice in the matter. Orvinti is too remote for me to do any more. But at least I can take care of the gold. You may have to add a gold piece or two, but this should cover most of it.”

Evanthya stared at the pouch chagrined at having felt overburdened a moment before. “I’ll guard it with my life,” she said softly.

Fetnalla laughed. “Well, don’t go that far. It’s only gold. Just don’t go wagering it on a game of dice.”

She smiled and looked up, her eyes meeting Fetnalla’s. “I promise.”

“You know where to go?”

Evanthya nodded, the smile leaving her face as quickly as it had come. “There are a few places, one in particular. It shouldn’t be a problem. A person can buy anything in the alleyways of Dantrielle.”

Fetnalla grinned again, the same crooked grin Evanthya remembered from their first meeting in Solkara so many years ago. “I’m counting on that.”

They fell silent, their eyes still locked, and Evanthya longed to kiss her again. But at that moment, she heard a footfall behind her and the jangling of a guard’s blade.

“Good morrow to you, First Minister!” the man called.

Fetnalla didn’t take her eyes off Evanthya, but she raised a hand in greeting. “And to you,” she answered. “Is the duke awake?”

“He is, First Minister. And the duke of Dantrielle also. They’re asking for the two of you.”

She finally looked at the guard, and Evanthya turned as well. He was a large man with a thick neck. Eandi, of course. They all looked the same to her.

“Let them know we’ll be along in a moment,” Fetnalla said.

The man nodded once and retreated into the castle.

Fetnalla gazed at her again. “We probably won’t have another chance to speak alone before you ride. Is there more we need to discuss?”

“Are you sure about all this, Fetnalla? I know you want to do something, but this…” She shook her head, uncertain of how to finish the thought. “There are other paths we could take,” she finally said.

“I know there are. But we’ve already waited longer than we should have. Everything else we talked about would take too long. It’s time, love. We can’t delay anymore.”

Evanthya nodded. She had known just what Fetnalla would say, but she had to ask. “All right then. I’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “When will I see you again?”

Fetnalla smiled as well. “Soon.”

Evanthya raised an eyebrow. With the snows coming, it was likely to be several turns at least before one of their dukes traveled to see the other.

“Well, as soon as I can find some excuse to suggest a journey to Dantnelle.”

Evanthya reached out for Fetnalla’s hand and gave it a squeeze, unwilling to chance more with the dukes awake and guards moving about the castle. “Think of something quickly.”

They made their way back to Brail’s hall, where they found the dukes and Orvinti’s duchess preparing for a formal breakfast. As was customary at such functions, the two first ministers were seated together, but both of the women made a point of speaking with their other seating partner. Evanthya carried on a pleasant but empty conversation with Brail’s wife, and Fetnalla ended up speaking at length with Orvinti’s prelate, for whom she had privately expressed nothing but contempt.

By the time they finished their meal, servants had gathered the duke’s belongings and carried them down to the stables where their horses were waiting, already brushed and saddled. Brail and Tebeo kept their farewells brief, leaving their ministers little choice but to do the same, though they had already said their goodbyes.

Evanthya, Tebeo, and the rest of the duke’s party climbed onto their mounts, offered one last word of thanks to the duke and duchess of Orvinti, and rode out the castle gate. The last Evanthya saw of Fetnalla, she was merely standing beside Brail, gazing back at her and looking lovely in the silver-grey light, her white hair, dampened by the mist, clinging to her brow.

The road out of Orvinti wound around the south end of the lake before following the River Orvinti northward toward the Rassor. However, Tebeo chose to leave the road almost immediately so that they might cross the northeast corner of the Plain of Stallions, thus shortening their journey. The company rode in silence for some time, Tebeo seeming lost in thought, though he never strayed from Evanthya’s side. The day remained grey and the wind began to rise again, knifing through Evanthya’s cloak and tunic as if they were made of parchment.

“I noticed you were up and about the castle quite early this morning,” the duke said abruptly, as Evanthya watched a falcon soar over the plain.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You were speaking with Fetnalla?”

She glanced over at him, but he continued to face forward.

“I was, my lord.”

“What about?”

“We were speaking of Lord Bistari, my lord. His assassination has us concerned.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, though it was far from the plain truth. Still, Evanthya surprised herself by the ease with which she deceived him. Fetnalla would have been proud.

“Concerned?”

“Yes, my lord. Concerned for our dukes, as well as for our kingdom. Both of you have opposed the king in the past. If this can happen in Bistari, what’s to stop it from happening in Orvinti or Dantrielle?”

“So you feel certain that the king is responsible.”

She turned to him again and this time he met her gaze. The look they shared lasted only a moment, but that was long enough for her to see fear in his dark eyes, and something else that made her chest ache.

“All the evidence suggests that he is, my lord. Don’t you agree?”

Tebeo didn’t answer immediately, and they rode wordlessly for a time. The falcon still glided above them, darting and wheeling in the wind like a festival dancer.

“You’ve heard talk of a conspiracy?” His eyes flicked in her direction for just an instant. “A Qirsi conspiracy?”

A denial would have raised his suspicions. “I have, my lord.”

“Do you believe what you’ve heard?”

Again, what choice did she have but to be honest with him? “I do. Such stories have come from every kingdom in the land save Uulrann. It would be dangerous to dismiss all of them as idle rumors.”

Tebeo nodded but offered no response. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more.

Evanthya took a breath. The question hung between them, waiting to be given voice. Better she should ask it and hear his reply, before he turned the question on her.

“Do you think the Qirsi killed Lord Bistari?”

The duke gave a small shrug. “With all I’ve heard, I have to think it possible. You said yourself that you fear for the kingdom. I fear for Sanbira as well, and even for Eibithar. It seems to me that every murder in the past year has moved one of our neighbors closer to a crisis. Now it’s our turn. Eandi nobles are dying throughout the land. Whom should I blame but the Qirsi?”

Evanthya conceded the point with a single nod. She had never for a moment doubted her duke’s intelligence, but she was surprised to hear how much thought he had given these matters. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to her before today. She could guess why.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, First Minister, but are you party to the conspiracy?”

She looked at him, her gaze steady despite the pounding of her pulse. “No, my lord, I’m not. But as your first minister I have to advise you not to believe me. If you have any doubts at all about my loyalty, you should remove me from my office and appoint someone in my place until you’re satisfied that I can be trusted.”

That of all things made him smile, albeit wanly. “I’m sure that’s wise counsel. But for now you’ll remain my first minister.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“You never really answered my question, Evanthya. Do you think the king had Chago killed?”

Her hands were sweaty in spite of the cold, and she had to keep from wiping them on her breeches. “I don’t know, my lord.”

The duke glanced at her and nodded once more, his round face pale and that same fearful look in his eyes. “Do you want to know the real reason I won’t replace you?” he asked a moment later.

She just stared at him, not certain that she did.

“I wouldn’t know who else to turn to. I’m afraid to trust any Qirsi right now. At least I know you.”