Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Five

Solkara, Aneira

Castle Solkara stood on a small rise of the southern bank of the Kett River, just downstream from Bertand’s Falls, a broad cascade that roared in the shadows of the Aneiran forest. The great red towers of the castle, bathed in the golden sun of late day, loomed above even the tallest oaks and elms of the wood. Banners, one of them red, black, and gold for House Solkara, and the other bearing the yellow and red sigil of the Kingdom of Aneira, flew from the towers above the east and west gates.

The city of Solkara sprawled on either side of the fortress, its formidable walls following the slow curve of the river and arcing back toward the forest to the south. Soldiers stood on the walls and in the towers that watched over each gate.

Sitting atop his mount just to the south and west of the city, Brail could not help but admire the scene. Solkara might not possess the land’s most beautiful castle-that distinction belonged to Bertin’s home in Noltierre, or perhaps the castle in Tounstrel. But there could be no denying that the fortress standing before him befitted a king.

If anything, it sometimes seemed to the duke that Aneira’s king was not worthy of the castle. He still remembered the joy and hope he felt when Carden’s father, Tomaz the Ninth, took the throne more than twenty-two years earlier. Brail himself had just become duke of Orvinti a few turns before and he looked forward to serving under his friend, who promised to be a fine king. Carden was but a boy then, only a year past his Determining, but already Brail saw in him signs of the quick temper and ruthlessness that would characterize his reign. He both hoped and expected that the boy would have time to outgrow these traits. Brail and Tomaz had been relatively young men, and the duke assumed that Tomaz would rule the land for decades. He never imagined that the king would die of a fever only nine years after his investiture, leaving Aneira to his eldest son.

It would have been too much to say that Carden had diminished the throne. He was a competent leader, whose hard manner and fierce reputation served Aneira well in its dealings with Braedon and the other kingdoms of the Forelands. But a king could be strong with his allies and foes while still caring for his people. Carden, it often seemed, saw the people of Aneira as a burden, and the nobles who served under him as potential rivals and nothing more. Brail’s father once told him that the secret to being a good ruler was knowing when to raise a fist and when to extend a hand. He offered this as a lesson in leading the dukedom, but Brail knew that it applied with equal force to ruling an entire kingdom. Carden ruled only with his fists, and the land had suffered for it.

Since his conversation with Tebeo six nights earlier, Brail had given a great deal of thought to Chago’s murder and the possible explanations for it. In the end he had decided that, one way or another, Carden shared responsibility for the duke’s death. Even if Qirsi gold paid the assassin, Carden’s past actions had made their deception possible. More than that, though, Brail also realized that regardless of whether Carden ordered the killing, the king would do nothing to dispel the notion that he had Chago killed. He drew his power from the fear he inspired in those who served him. Admitting that others were responsible, that the Qirsi had used his reputation to their advantage, was not in his nature.

Brail intended to speak with the king anyway. He had made a promise to Tebeo, and he believed that he could divine the truth even without an honest response from the king. But he dreaded this encounter, and he sensed that by approaching Carden so soon after Chago’s death, he was placing his own life in danger.

Fetnalla rode with him, as did a small complement of guards. Before he left Orvinti, Pazice urged him to bring his taster as well, but one did not bring a taster to the king’s castle, even while a fellow duke’s ashes were still settling over the land. With brigands roaming the forest and common thieves on the king’s road, the guards were a necessity. And no duke traveled without his first minister. But to arrive in Solkara with a larger company of servants and guards would imply that the king lacked the means or the good grace to make him comfortable and guarantee his safety.

“Shall we continue, my lord?” the first minister called to him.

Brail turned to look at her and the soldiers perched on their mounts behind her. They looked cold, and eager to ride on to the castle. The horses stomped impatiently, the vapor from their breath rising to the bare tree limbs in pale swirling clouds.

“I suppose,” he said, his voice low as he looked at the castle once more. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking that this had been a bad idea.

“My lord?”

“Yes,” he said, riding back to the king’s road. “Let’s get on with it.”

They resumed their approach to the city, four guards riding in front of the duke bearing the Orvinti banner, a white bear on a green and blue field. Fetnalla rode just behind Brail, and eight more soldiers followed her. They had ridden this way for four days, speaking little save for what was necessary to get them through the days and nights. Fetnalla made it clear from the first day that she felt the duke should send a message to the king before journeying to Solkara, but Brail didn’t want to give Carden too much time to prepare himself. He was far more likely to give something away if Brail surprised him.

The duke hadn’t explained this to the first minister. Indeed, he had told her almost nothing about why he wished to speak with the king, except to say that it pertained to Chago’s death. After his conversation with the duke of Dantrielle, Brail was afraid to tell her more, lest he make himself a target of the Qirsi as well as of the king.

For the first half of their journey, Fetnalla asked him repeatedly why he wished to speak with Carden at all, and what he hoped to accomplish by riding to Solkara rather than sending messengers. Each time she raised these matters, the duke tried to change the subject, or offered only vague responses, or just refused to answer her at all. Finally, after nearly two days of this, the minister gave up, lapsing into a brooding silence that troubled him nearly as much as her relentless questioning.

Seeing Castle Solkara, however, seemed to embolden her again.

“It’s not too late for us to dispatch one of the guards as a messenger, my lord,” she said. “It would probably only delay us a short while.”

He nodded, not even bothering to look back at her. “Perhaps. But I’m not willing to delay at all. We’ll ride to the city gates. That will give the king ample time to prepare for our arrival.”

The minister kicked at the flanks of her mount so that she caught up with him. She had bundled herself in her riding cloak, though she still looked cold and weary. She was tall for a Qirsi and uncommonly graceful. But on a mount, she appeared uncomfortable, even awkward. No doubt she had little desire to make this journey, but at no time had she complained of her discomfort. It was not in her nature to do so. She deserved more from him than he had given. Yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the suspicions planted in his mind by his late-night talk with Tebeo.

“My lord, please!” she said with a fervor he had rarely seen in her. “If I’ve done something to give offense, tell me and be done with it! But don’t punish me by endangering your own life!”

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked.

“It seems so to me.”

“I’m not angry with you, First Minister, and I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then why suddenly won’t you answer my questions? Why do you ignore my counsel?”

Because I don’t trust you. “I’m not ignoring your counsel. I’m just not heeding it. There’s a difference.”

“There’s more to it than that. You refuse to speak with me. You’ve told me almost nothing about why you wish to speak with the king.”

“Must I explain myself to my ministers now? Is that the duty of an Aneiran duke?”

“Of course not, my lord. But my duty is to advise you, and I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

It was a fair point, though Brail was not willing to admit it just then. “What would you have me say?” he asked instead.

“You could begin by telling me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re going to see the king, of course. There are matters I wish to discuss with him.”

“What matters, my lord? What is so important that we have to brave this cold and the dangers of the wood?”

“That’s between the king and me.”

Fetnalla sighed heavily and shook her head. “Very well, my lord. Do as you will. I won’t trouble you with questions any more. But I will say this: your dissembling does an injustice to both of us, as well as to House Orvinti. By treating me this way, you not only dishonor our friendship, you also serve your people poorly.”

“You forget yourself, First Minister!” he said so sharply that the soldiers riding ahead of the company turned to look back at him. “I will not be spoken to that way, especially not by a Qirsi!”

The minister’s face reddened as if he had slapped her. She turned away, looking straight ahead. After a few moments, she dropped back into place behind him.

Brail let out a long breath and cursed his temper. If she hadn’t betrayed him yet, she would soon. He had given her every reason to. He almost called her back to his side so that he could tell her everything. But his fears wouldn’t allow it.

Instead they rode, covering the remaining distance to Castle Solkara without speaking another word. Reaching the city walls, they turned eastward until they came to the nearest of the gates. There they were stopped by the king’s guards in their red-and-gold uniforms, the panther crest on their baldrics.

“My Lord Duke,” one of the men said, bowing to Brail, his sword drawn and raised to his forehead. A gold star on his shoulder marked him as an officer in Carden’s army, perhaps a captain. “We weren’t told to expect you.”

“The king didn’t know I was coming.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to send one of your men ahead so the king could prepare for your arrival?”

Brail felt his ire rising again. It was one thing to be questioned by Fetnalla, who had served him so well for so many years. But a duke did not explain himself to a soldier, not even to a captain in the king’s guard.

“I’m here now,” Brail said, anger seeping into his voice. “Do you care to inform the king, or shall I ride on to the castle unannounced and let him see for himself how careless his soldiers have become?”

The man paled. “Of course, my lord.” He turned smartly and barked an order to the men standing nearby. Two of them started running toward the castle, while the rest took positions on either side of the city road, drew their swords, and raised them to their brows.

“I’ll accompany you to the castle myself, Lord Orvinti,” the captain said. “Please follow me.”

He led the duke and his company past the soldiers, who stood motionless in salute, and through the marketplace of Solkara. Seeing Orvinti’s colors, which Brail’s guards still held high, the people of the king’s city paused in their business to stare. Some of them even clapped. Children pointed at the flags and at the swords carried by the duke’s men. They pointed as well at Fetnalla, staring wide-eyed at the Qirsi minister and whispering to each other.

“They must think you’re the duke,” Brail said, glancing back at her, hoping to draw a smile.

But she merely shook her head, her expression unchanged. “No, my lord. They just know that I’m a sorcerer.”

He stared at her a moment longer, then faced forward again, not knowing what to say.

They reached the south gate of the castle a few moments later. Four of Carden’s soldiers stood before the gate, two of them bearing Aneiran flags, and the other two bearing the banners of Solkara and Orvinti. As they stood there, a group of musicians emerged from the castle and began to play “Amnalla’s March,” which had been written to celebrate the investiture of Queen Amnalla, the first Aneiran ruler to come from House Orvinti. It was not Brail’s favorite Orvinti anthem, but for six centuries it had been the choice of Solkaran kings to honor dukes of Orvinti to the castle, no doubt because Amnalla’s Rebellion ended the First Bistari Supremacy.

When the musicians finished, a second group of guards, also bearing banners of Aneira, Solkara, and Orvinti, stepped through the gate, followed by Queen Chofya, the king’s archminister, and Solkara’s prelate.

Brail swung himself off his mount and took a step forward. He turned briefly, intending to tell Fetnalla to do the same, but she was already there, just a step behind him, as was fitting. She deserves better, he thought.

An instant later he dropped to one knee, as did the minister, and bowed his head to the queen.

“Rise, Brail,” Chofya said, smiling at him. “Welcome to Solkara.”

She was still beautiful, with a full sensuous mouth, olive skin, and eyes so dark they appeared black. But Brail thought she looked weary, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, her long black hair held back from her brow by a circlet of gold. She wore a single red gem at her throat that sparkled in the sun like morning dew on a rose petal.

The duke stood, then bent to kiss her hand.

“You honor me, Your Highness.”

“You do us the honor with this most… unexpected visit.”

The queen then offered quick introductions of the prelate and the king’s Qirsi, before leading Brail and his company through the first gate of the castle. From there, they continued up the long, narrow ramps that ran between the great stone walls of the castle’s outer defenses, and finally stepped into the vast inner courtyard of the king’s palace.

Carden awaited them there, standing in front of what must have been five hundred soldiers in full battle uniform, all of them with their swords raised. The king wore plain battle garb, a warrior’s sword, and a fur cape clasped at the neck with a simple gold chain. He stood taller than most of his men, with long golden hair and an angular face worthy of a hero from the ancient legends. Even without the carved gold crown on his brow, no one looking out across the courtyard would have wondered for long which of these men was king. Still, like the queen, Carden wore a slightly pinched look.

Four soldiers stepped forward and raised shining silver horns to their lips to play a Solkaran battle anthem, and the king’s beautiful young daughter opened a small cage, releasing twelve white doves that circled the courtyard once, then flew to the highest tower of the castle. Whatever his doubts about Carden and his methods, Brail could not help but be impressed by this greeting, which the king and his servants managed to prepare in a matter of moments.

Once more the duke knelt, his head bowed and his hands resting on his bended knee. The rest of his company did the same, Fetnalla close enough to him so that he heard her whisper, “One might almost think that he knew you were coming anyway.”

“Stand and be welcome, Brail,” the king said, striding forward and embracing the duke briefly.

Brail returned the embrace and stepped back. “You’re most gracious, my liege. I’m humbled and overwhelmed by this welcome.”

Carden smiled. “Nonsense. This was nothing. If we’d known you intended to come, we might have offered a true greeting.”

The duke smiled in return, but something he saw in the king’s dark blue eyes made him wonder if this display had been intended as a warning as well as a welcome. Take me lightly, the king seemed to be saying, and I’ll destroy you. Once more Brail found himself wondering if he’d been wise to make this journey.

“You must be hungry,” the king went on a moment later. “Come, we’ve a meal waiting for you.” He glanced past Brail to Fetnalla. “You’re welcome to dine with us also, First Minister. I’m sure the duke doesn’t want you far from his side.”

Brail and the minister shared a look. It was a strange remark, made all the more awkward by the harsh words they had exchanged on the road to Solkara.

“Your Majesty is most kind,” Fetnalla said.

Carden started walking toward the great hall on the north side of the courtyard, gesturing for Brail to follow. Chofya fell into step beside them and Fetnalla followed, along with Pronjed jal Drenthe, Carden’s archminister. The king’s daughter walked a few paces behind, staring shyly at the ground before her. She was the image of her mother, with black hair and eyes, though hers was a softer beauty. There was little in her appearance to mark her as Carden’s child.

The central table in the hall had been set for six places. Two flasks of wine sat on the table, along with bowls of spiced stew, plates of fowl, mutton, and steamed silverweed root, and a basket of freshly baked breads. A fire burned high in the hearth and torches lined the walls, brightening the hall despite the failing light of late day. The meal at least did not reveal any foreknowledge of Brail’s arrival. A king and queen ate thus every day, with enough extra for ministers or the prelate. An Orvinti banner hung on the wall over the hearth, but it was uneven, as if placed there in haste.

“Please forgive the meager table we’ve set for you,” Chofya said. “If we’d had more time…”

Brail shook his head and smiled. “Not at all, Your Highness. It’s a finer meal than I would find anywhere else in the land. Your generosity is exceeded only by your beauty.”

Carden laughed, though there was a brittleness to it. “Spoken like an Orvinti. I remember your father having Bohdan’s tongue as well. My father always said that he could charm a Wethy trader into giving away gold.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Brail said with a grin. “But it is said to be a family gift.”

Fetnalla cleared her throat. “Speaking of gifts, my lord.”

The duke nodded. “Of course. I’d almost forgotten.” He pulled a small pouch from his belt and removed two objects wrapped in cloth. One was a glasslike crystal, about the size of a sourfruit, worn smooth so that it was almost a perfect orb. Such stones were found in Lake Orvinti and were called Tears of Shanae, for the woman who saved the Orvinti clan from northern raiders back before the Forelands were divided into the seven kingdoms. He handed the stone to Chofya.

“For you, Your Highness, from the people of Orvinti.”

She smiled, taking the stone in her slender hand. “Thank you, Brail. My father gave me one of these years ago when I was just a girl. I’ll put this one with it, and think always of you and your lovely home.”

Brail inclined his head. “Again, Your Highness, you honor me.” He pulled the cloth from the second object, revealing a small glittering dagger, with a silver handle and a blade carved from the same clear stone. “And for you, my liege, also from my people.”

The king took the dagger and held it up to the torchlight, examining the carvings on the handle and the honed edges of the crystal blade.

“I’ve never seen a finer weapon carved from stone,” Carden said. “This was made in Orvinti?”

“Yes, my liege.”

The king nodded. “I’m impressed.” He stared at the blade for another moment before laying it on the table. “Thank you, Brail. It will find a place of honor in my collection.”

“You honor my people, my liege.”

One of the servants poured out five goblets of wine and with the king’s first sip, the meal began. For some time they said little, until Brail began to feel the burden of their silence. It almost seemed that Carden was waiting for him to begin a conversation, or perhaps to explain his sudden arrival in Solkara. The duke complimented both the king and his queen on the fine food they were eating, but Chofya only smiled, and Carden hardly did more than grunt in agreement.

When at last the servants removed what remained of the stew and roots, replacing them with a large platter of dried fruits and cheeses, and a flask of honey wine, Carden looked up from his meal and fixed his gaze on the duke.

“So why are you here, Orvinti?”

Brail cleared his throat, discomfited by the abruptness of the king’s question. He glanced for an instant at Fetnalla, but given how little he had told her, he knew that he would find no support there.

“I’ll be happy to tell you, my liege. But it might be better to wait until we can speak in private.”

The king eyed him briefly, his mouth twisting sourly.

“Leave us,” he said, turning to Chofya.

“But the fruit and cheese have only just arrived.”

“Take Kalyi and the ministers and go to my private hall. You can finish your meal there.”

The queen looked as if she wanted to argue the point further, but instead she said, “Yes, my lord,” dropping her gaze. Recovering quickly she flashed a thin smile at Fetnalla and the king’s Qirsi. “Won’t you join my daughter and me in the king’s hall?” she asked. “It’s not quite as spacious but the food and wine will taste just as good.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Fetnalla said, rising with the queen.

Pronjed cast a look at Carden, who nodded once. The Qirsi stood and followed Fetnalla, the queen, and the young girl out of the hall. A pair of servants approached the table and began to gather the empty plates, but the king waved a hand disdainfully.

“Leave them,” he commanded. “Leave us.”

The servants hurried from the hall.

“Now,” Carden said, facing Brail once more, torchlight reflected in his dark eyes. “Answer me. Why have you come?”

The duke took a breath. He would have given all the gold in Orvinti’s treasury to be back in his castle just then, enjoying a quiet meal with Pazice.

“I wish to speak with you about Chago,” he said, relieved to hear that his voice remained steady.

“Chago,” the king repeated. A smile stretched across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “What about him?”

“I… I wish to know if you had him killed.”

For a moment Brail thought that the king would rage at him for even raising the matter. But Carden merely gazed at him for several moments, before picking up the crystal dagger and toying with it, the same half smile on his lips.

“You’ve always struck me as a cautious man, Brail, not at all the type to take chances. Coming here unannounced and uninvited, asking me such a question-this all seems much more like something one of your friends would do. Bertin, perhaps. Or maybe Tebeo. Did one of them put you up to this?”

“No, my liege.”

“You’re certain. They didn’t suggest that you come to me, knowing that if one of them asked me the same question, I’d have him executed as a traitor? Think hard about this, Brail. Because I really am curious. Isn’t it possible that they asked you to speak with me, perhaps while all of you were together in Orvinti a few days ago?”

Brail licked his lips, which were suddenly dry as sand. A part of him wondered how the king knew that the others had been with him in his castle, but he didn’t dare ask. It mattered little at this point. The king had implied that his question was tantamount to treason. He’d be fortunate to ride out of Solkara alive. Still, having come this far, he wasn’t about to betray Tebeo, even to save his own life.

“No, my liege. I did speak with the others about Chago’s death. We had just come from his funeral, and were-” He stopped himself, uncertain as to how to finish the thought. He had taken great pains to keep himself apart from Solkara’s feud with Bistari. He risked offending the king if he admitted that he and the others were grieving for a lost friend, particularly if Carden had ordered the assassination.

“It’s all right, Brail. You and your friends were mourning his loss. I expected as much.”

The duke exhaled. “Thank you, my liege. Whatever Chago’s faults, we had all known him a long time.”

“And you think I had him killed,” the king went on, testing the edge of the dagger with his thumb. “Why?”

Brail faltered. “The garroting, my liege. And the Solkaran crest found in his hand.”

The king looked at Brail as if the duke were a fool. “I mean why would I have him killed?”

“Your houses have been rivals for centuries, my liege. And you and Chago had more than your share of disagreements, most recently about the wharfages and lightering fees.”

“Do you think I’d kill a man over lightering fees? Is that the kind of king you think I am?”

Brail closed his eyes briefly. If only he had listened to Fetnalla, and given this journey more thought.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that any king must guard against those who would incite opposition to his authority. Chago was angry about the fees, and he may have gone too far in his efforts to fight them.”

The king’s eyes widened. “So you think he deserved to die. Did you come all this way to congratulate me on his murder?”

“Of course not, my liege.”

“Well, Brail, I’m afraid you have me confused. First you imply that I’m a murderer, and then you seem to suggest that I was foolish to let the man live as long as I did. Which is it?”

The duke hesitated again, feeling like a prentice doing battle with a master swordsman. “Neither,” he finally said. He took a breath. “Perhaps I should leave, my liege. I’ve offended you, which was not at all my intent. Unless Your Majesty wishes to imprison me, I should best be starting back to Orvinti tonight. After what I’ve said, I don’t deserve your hospitality.”

“What was your intent, Brail?”

There was little use in trying to be circumspect any longer. Best just to say it and be done, no matter the consequences.

“To find the truth, my liege. We-” He winced. “I feared that perhaps a darker force was at work here. There’s been talk of a Qirsi conspiracy. I worry that Chago’s murder might divide the kingdom against itself, and I’ve wondered if others were responsible and tried to make his death appear to be the work of House Solkara.”

For the first time that night, Carden looked afraid. It lasted but a moment, like the flickering of a candle in a sudden wind. In that one instant, however, he was no longer the ruthless Solkaran king, but rather a young noble seemingly out of his depth. Brail had his answer.

Carden drained his goblet. A servant hurried toward the table from the doorway, as if intending to refill it, but Carden waved the boy away and poured his own wine, not bothering to offer any to Brail. And though it might have been a trick of the dancing torch fire and the shadows cast by the blaze in the hearth, it seemed that his hand trembled.

“I don’t know if you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met, or the most foolish,” the king said a moment later, taking up the dagger once more. “You must realize that I can’t offer you any answers. I would never admit to anyone that I had one of my dukes killed, even if it was clear to every man and woman in the land that I was responsible. Nor would I ever concede that I had allowed myself to be blamed for the crime of another.”

“Of course, my liege. I understand.”

“You understand, and yet you came here hoping that I would acknowledge doing one or the other.”

“I came hoping that I could glean something from our conversation. I never expected you to admit anything.”

“And what have you gleaned, Lord Orvinti?”

He might have been a fool, as the king said. But his foolishness did not run that deep. “Nothing, my liege. I will return to my castle as confused as I was when I left.”

The king smiled thinly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The fire popped loudly, and the king glanced toward the hearth. “I will tell you,” he continued, “that I share your concerns for the kingdom. For better or worse, Chago’s death has angered my enemies, though it’s forced them to quiet their voices for a time.”

“Have you heard talk of the conspiracy, my liege?”

The king’s mouth twisted. “I have, and it… concerns me as well.”

“So you believe what you’ve heard?”

Carden gave a wan smile. “Do you honestly think that a year ago I would have sent my archminister from the room, even at your request?”

It was a more frank response than the duke had any right to expect, and he found himself wondering if perhaps he had judged the king unfairly.

Carden fell silent, staring at the crystal blade.

“I should leave you, my liege,” Brail said again. “I’m deeply sorry if I gave offense.”

The king made a vague gesture and shook his head, but he didn’t give the duke leave to go.

“Do your friends think I killed him?” he asked.

“The other dukes harbor the same questions I do, my liege. There’s much uncertainty in the land.”

Carden looked up, meeting his gaze, a small smile on his angular face.

“Come now, Brail. You mean to say that Bertin hasn’t been denouncing me as a murderous tyrant?”

Brail couldn’t help but grin. “It is true that there may be somewhat less uncertainty in Noltierre.”

The king actually laughed, though it lasted only a moment or two, and seemed to leave him in an even darker mood than he had been in before. “I don’t doubt it. The man’s an old goat. My father always thought so, too.”

“In his own way, he’s as loyal to Aneira as any of us, my liege.”

“Don’t worry, Brail. I won’t be sending assassins to Cestaar’s Hills any time soon.” He paused, eyeing the duke. “Nor will I be throwing you in my dungeons, as you suggested before. Fool or not, you showed some courage coming here today. And I admire the loyalty you’ve shown your friends. In times like these, a loyal man is more valuable than gold.”

“Thank you, my liege.”

“You’re free to go when you like, but the nights get cold this time of year. Why don’t you take a chamber on the west side of the castle. That’s where the queen will put your Qirsi.”

Brail stood, sensing that the king had just ended their conversation. “Very good, my liege. Again, my thanks.”

He stepped away from the table, and started toward the doorway leading out of the great hall.

“What about your Qirsi, Brail?”

The duke stopped and faced the king once more. “My liege?”

“Do you trust her?”

“I brought her with me, my liege, so I must trust her some. But I never told her why we were riding to Solkara.”

Carden nodded once, but said nothing. A moment later, he raised his goblet again, as if bidding the duke goodnight.

“Forgive me for asking, my liege,” the duke said. “But are you well?”

“Am I well?” the king repeated. He emptied his goblet again. “Do you fear for me, Orvinti?”

“I am your loyal subject, my liege. Like any good Aneiran, I wish for the good health and heart of my king.”

Carden poured more wine, smiling thinly. “Of course you do.” He took a long drink, nearly draining his goblet once more. “It’s not your concern, Brail. For all matters that pertain to you and your people, I’m well enough.”

“Yes, my liege,” Brail said, knowing better than to pursue this any further. He turned once more to leave.

“Brail.”

He looked back at the king.

“Don’t ever come here unannounced again. I’m not one of your earls to be caught unawares. If you ever again arrive at my gates without first sending a messenger, I’ll crush you as I would an attacking army. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, my liege.”

The king stared at him a moment longer, then shifted his chair so that he faced the fire and raised his goblet to his lips.

Maybe he should have been angry. No matter the answer Brail expected him to give, the question itself bordered on impudence. Add to that the duke’s admission that he hoped to glean something from their talk-as if a king might just give away information without intending it-and Carden would have been justified in having the man garroted right there in the great hall.

For an instant he had been tempted to do just that. It might have taught Tebeo, Benin, and the others a lesson. A frightened duke was a timid duke, and in these times Carden felt far more comfortable knowing that his dukes feared him. He understood, however, that a king could take this too far. While Chago’s murder might have tamed his more rebellious dukes, killing Brail as well would only serve to make him appear scared. The last thing he needed was for all Aneira to know how frightened he had grown these last few turns.

Besides, Brail was far more valuable to him alive than he ever could have been as a cautionary corpse. Despite his friendship with Chago and Tebeo, the duke had proven himself loyal to the crown. Indeed, he had managed to maintain ties to both House Bistan and House Solkara, no small feat given how much Carden and Chago hated one another. The king needed allies just now, particularly those who had mastered the finer points of statecraft. For Carden had not, and the duke might well be his only bridge to those nobles who hated him.

Now more than ever, he needed such a bridge. Because the truth was, he had nothing to do with Chago’s murder. Had he wished for the duke’s death? Of course, a hundred times over. Had he come within a hairs-breadth of giving such an order? Again, more times than he could count. But the words never passed his lips, and angry as he was with Chago’s fulminations about the lightering fees and wharfages, he viewed them as an annoyance, not as a threat to his power. No one in all Aneira could have been more astonished than he to learn of the assassination, particularly when it became clear that the duke had been garroted. Still, only when he heard of the scrap of leather found in the dead duke’s hand did the king fully grasp the implications of Chago’s murder.

Just a few moments before, when Brail asked if he had heard rumors of a Qirsi conspiracy, Carden nearly laughed aloud. Who hadn’t heard such talk? A person couldn’t go anywhere in the Forelands without hearing of the Qirsi threat. No one seemed to know what the Qirsi wanted, or which of the white-hairs were involved, but that didn’t stop people from talking. For all he had heard, however, the king never thought that the Qirsi would strike at him. Yet that was just what they had done. Chago was dead, but Carden had no doubt that he had been their target. Nor could he deny that their aim had been true. As he told Brail, he couldn’t very well admit to all the Forelands that he had allowed himself to be made a fool. He knew that they were responsible, that the land was under attack by the sorcerers, but to raise the alarm among his people was to humiliate himself. They wanted him weakened, so he accepted the blame for Chago’s death and made himself appear strong. They wanted his dukes and his people to hate him so that when they came back to finish him off, like a hunter circling back to kill a wounded stag, no one in Aneira would come to his aid.

He grinned darkly, his eyes still fixed on the low fire smoldering in the hearth. Let them try, he thought. Let them bring their armies and their magic. If they believe one dune’s death is enough to destroy me, they know nothing of House Solkara. He had been hated for a long time now. It no longer bothered him.

Carden lifted his goblet, only to find that it was empty again.

“More wine!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the ceiling and walls of his great hall.

After a few moments a young servant appeared carrying two flasks, one holding Sanbiri red, and the other the golden honey wine that was served after the main meal. Carden couldn’t remember which he had been drinking most recently.

“I didn’t know which to bring,” the boy said, cowering as he approached the table.

“Both,” the king said, sitting forward and gesturing for the boy to move faster. “Now leave me alone.”

“But the hall-”

Carden grabbed the red and filled his goblet. “You can clean tomorrow,” he said facing the fire again. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The boy bowed quickly and hurried out of the hall, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

The king took a long drink and closed his eyes, feeling the room pitch for a moment, as if he were on a merchant ship sailing the Scabbard. It was late to be drinking, but he wanted to be certain that Chofya was asleep before he returned to his chambers. On most nights like this he might have gone in search of one of his wife’s court ladies to pass the time. But he had no more interest in a tryst than he did in his marriage bed. Not tonight.

He should have been thinking about Chago, and the white-hairs, and how he would crush them when they brought their army to Aneira. Perhaps he should have been confiding in Brail. With Chago’s death, Orvinti had become the most powerful duke in the land.

Yet, his mind kept returning to his conversation with the castle surgeon earlier that day.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Kalyi, his only daughter, was nearly ten now, and Chofya hadn’t been with child since. In his mind, Carden had blamed the queen for this. But he could no longer ignore the fact that there were no bastards either. Surely if it was her, there would have been bastards. The surgeon agreed, suggesting that his seed was defective in some way. “Sterile.” That was the word he used.

Blaming the surgeon had been foolish. Having him executed had been the act of a coward. But no one could know of this, except Chofya, whom he’d have to tell at some point. Kings weren’t sterile. Kings were powerful; they ruled men and led them to war. They passed their kingdoms on to their sons. Even in Eibithar, where the ascension of kings defied simple explanation, one principle remained clear: the eldest son of a king followed his father to the throne. To call a king sterile unmanned him. It invited challenge from his enemies, be they within the realm or on its borders.

He was fortunate to have the one daughter, the surgeon told him. She was a gift from Ean, one for which he and Chofya should have been thankful. But though Kalyi was his light and his music and his treasure, she was not enough. There hadn’t been a ruling queen in Aneira for more than two centuries, since Edrice the Second abdicated to her brother in order to avoid a civil war and assure her son of the throne. Carden would have been happy to see Kalyi rule the land, but the other houses wouldn’t stand for it. He needed a son. House Solkara needed an heir.

“There will be no heir,” the surgeon had told him. “If you want House Solkara to hold the crown, you’d best choose a successor from among your brothers’ children.”

He had three brothers. Two were jackals and one was a fool, and their sons gave little indication of amounting to more. His best hope-and Aneira’s-lay in the possibility that Kalyi would marry young and bear her husband a son. This ruled out a union with the son of another major house, any one of whom would expect to give his name to the child. She would have to marry within the Solkaran dukedom. A price to be sure, but a small one under the circumstances.

He drank, draining his goblet once more. How many times had he dreamed of raising a boy to be king, just as his father had raised him? What had he done to offend the god so?

“I’d gladly trade all I have for an heir,” he murmured.

“Your Majesty?”

The king looked up sharply and saw Pronjed, his archminister, standing in the doorway. He felt his face grow hot with shame.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I saw the duke had returned to his chambers, Your Majesty. I was curious to know what he wanted.”

He stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

Carden shifted uneasily in his chair. He had no desire to speak with the white-hair right now, particularly about this.

“It was nothing of consequence,” he said. “He had concerns about the new fees.”

The Qirsi walked to the table and took an empty chair. “He came all this way to speak of lightering fees?”

The king felt his mouth twitch and wished he hadn’t drunk that last cup of wine. “After Chago, he was afraid to leave the matter to messages, lest their be any… misunderstandings.”

“I see.” The Qirsi eyed him for a moment. “Are you well, Your Majesty?”

“Of course I’m well,” Carden said, looking away. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“You seem uneasy. And I heard of the surgeon’s execution. You’re certain everything is all right?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the king said. He cast a dark glance at the minister. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Very well.”

They lapsed into a silence, the king watching Pronjed, whose pale yellow eyes flitted around the room like a sparrow, coming to rest at last on Orvinti’s crystal dagger.

“That’s a fine blade the duke brought,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Pick it up.”

Before he knew what he had done, the king held the dagger in his hand.

“You’ve ordered the servants away for the night?”

He wanted to lie, or better yet, to call the servants back to the hall, but all he could do was nod. “Yes.”

“Good. Tell me what you and the duke discussed.”

“He wanted to talk about Chago,” the king said, unable to stop himself. “He wanted to know whether I had him killed, or if I thought it was the Qirsi.”

Carden struggled to his feet. He didn’t know what the minister was doing to him, but he had to get out of the hall.

“Sit down.”

He sat.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Either way I look like a fool.”

Pronjed smiled, the shadows in the hall making his thin face look almost cadaverous. “True. Turn the blade around.”

He tried to fight the Qirsi’s will, but his hands seemed to belong to someone else, someone who now had a blade aimed at his heart.

“The surgeon said you’d have no heir, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I thought as much. Does anyone else know?”

“Not yet.”

“Not even the queen?”

“No.” The king tore his eyes from the point of the blade to look at the minister. “Why are you doing this?”

“For my people, of course. For the Weaver.”

“But why does he want me…?” He licked his lips. “What have I done?”

“Nothing. But you have no heir, and so Aneira will suffer. And by having the surgeon killed today, you made it so easy.” Pronjed stood and stepped away from the table. “Do it.”

He tried to resist. Ean knew how hard he tried. But his hands were no longer his own. He strained to take control of his body, reaching for his hands with his mind, summoning all the strength he thought he possessed. But none of it was enough against the magic of his Qirsi. He could only watch, despairing and utterly helpless, as he plunged the dagger into his own chest.