Shapers of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-four

The end of Numar’s siege did little to lift the black cloud that hung like a curse over Castle Dantrielle. True, the armies of Solkara and Rassor had been defeated, their leaders imprisoned, the soldiers disarmed and banished from the city. But Dantrielle’s victory seemed hollow indeed. There were dead and wounded everywhere, many of them in the uniforms of Dantrielle’s foes and allies, but most of them wearing the red and black of Tebeo’s house. The castle itself had sustained so much damage to its walls, ramparts, and gates that it would be at least a year before all the repairs would be completed. And as if all of this were not enough to temper any celebration that might have greeted Numar’s surrender, Brall’s death lay heavy on the hearts of Tebeo, his allies, and, by all appearances, even his people, who remembered Orvinti’s duke as a reliable friend and formidable leader.

In the days following the breaking of the siege, Evanthya tried as best she could to keep her mind on all that had to be done. Tebeo expected her to see to most of the more mundane tasks facing them-finding room to house the wounded, building great pyres for the dead, beginning work on the castle. With the armies of Kelt, Noltierre, Orvinti, and Tounstrel camped just beyond his walls, and with Numar, the duke of Rassor, and their closest advisors imprisoned in the castle towers, the duke had little time for such matters.

Yet, even with all this to occupy her days and nights, the first minister could think only of Fetnalla and what she was accused of having done. At first she had tried to convince herself that Brall’s master of arms and his soldiers were wrong about her love, that she herself had been too quick to accept that Fetnalla had betrayed and killed her duke. Fetnalla was no traitor certainly she was no murderer. Like so many Eandi warriors, Traefan Sograna had little use for Evanthya’s people. Given the opportunity to make such accusations against Fetnalla, he would surely have taken it. The conspiracy had made all the Eandi fearful and suspicious. Brall had openly questioned Fetnalla’s loyalty for several turns now. How could his own mistrust not sow similar doubts in the minds of those men who served him? The duke’s death could have been caused by any number of things. Traefan merely chose to blame Fetnalla.

Except that Evanthya knew this man-not as well as she knew Fetnalla, to be sure, but well enough. As dour and hostile toward most Qirsi as he was, he was also honorable and fair minded. And while the duke might have died from other causes, how was she to explain the dead soldiers found with him?

More to the point, she no longer felt so confident that she had ever really known her love at all. Perhaps she had early on, when their love was young and bright, shining like a newly forged blade. But more recently, as the world beyond their bedrooms and the castle gardens began to intrude upon their love, bringing word of the conspiracy and rumblings of war and with them the deepening suspicions of their dukes, all that they shared began to tarnish. They fought more, confided in one another less. The last time they were together Fetnalla had been distant, withdrawn, despite the passion of their lovemaking. Evanthya wanted desperately to believe that Fetnalla could never turn away from the life they had shared in the courts, but the more she considered what the men of Orvinti had said of Brall’s murder, the more she realized that this life, which still held so much for her, had long since become a prison for her beloved. Brall’s mistrust and that of his other advisors had likely left her with few or no friends in Castle Orvinti. In all probability, their love had been the only thing keeping her from joining the conspiracy. It wasn’t surprising that it had ceased to be enough.

Walking the ruined ramparts with Gabrys DinTavo, Evanthya brushed a tear from her cheek, hoping that Tebeo’s new master of arms wouldn’t notice. How many times had she been through all of this? How much longer would the mere thought of Fetnalla reduce her to tears?

“First Minister?”

She looked away, gazing out toward the Great Forest as she dabbed at her tears with the sleeve of her robe. Then she faced the master of arms again and forced a smile.

“Forgive me,” she said. “My attention wandered briefly. You were saying?”

He frowned. “Perhaps we should do this another time. As I’ve told you already, we’re making good progress with the gates and lower walls. The ramparts are less important right now, with the danger of a siege removed. The gates are what matter, and they should be fully repaired within half a turn.”

Actually, she hadn’t heard him say this, either. She needed to clear her mind, to banish Fetnalla from her thoughts, at least for the time being.

“I understand, armsmaster, and I agree with you about the gates. But the duke wanted to hear about all the repairs. So let’s continue and get this done, so that we can both see to more important matters.”

Gabrys nodded, though his frown lingered. “Well, as you can see, the damage to the ramparts is extensive. I imagine that it will be several turns before they’ll even begin to look right again. Repairing the battlements shouldn’t be too difficult, but the walkways themselves have been ruined, so. .”

Walking in silence as the master of arms droned on, Evanthya could imagine what Fetnalla would say. “How can you stand to listen to him? How can you stand to surround yourself with these Eandi men, all of them so avid for war and power? “ She could see her love’s face, her head tipped to the side, an ironic smile on her soft lips, a mischievous gleam in her pale yellow eyes. “You ‘d really choose them over me?”

I didn’t choose. You did.

“. . the stonemasons are going to have their hands full for some time to come. If we can prevail upon one of the other dukes to send some of their laborers to Dantrielle, we may be able to complete the repairs sooner, but failing that. .”

I thought we had decided to oppose the conspiracy. That was why we risked our lives and gave our gold to hire the assassin who killed Shurik. What happened?

“What happened?” A breathless laugh. “What do you think happened? At the same time that we were hiring that assassin, Brall was already treating me like a traitor. While the Eandi should have been fighting the renegades, they were instead trying to murder one another. Grigor’s poison nearly killed me. Don’t you remember that? Your precious courts are no place for a Qirsi. The nobles fear us, they mistrust us, they’re more than willing to kill a few of us if it means attaining the power they covet so, but they don’t care a damn about what happens to us.”

That’s not true. You can’t judge all of them because of men like Grigor and Brall.

“Can’t I?”

“. . You will tell him that, won’t you, First Minister?”

Evanthya blinked, searching the man’s face. “Yes, of course. We need laborers and stonemasons from the other houses.”

“Yes. And it’s also imperative that we see to the walkways first. He’ll want to repair the battlements-nobles always think the battlements are the most important part of the walls. They’re not. As long as my archers have somewhere to stand, they can protect the castle. The battlements are secondary.”

She stopped walking, hoping that she might extricate herself from the conversation. “I’ll be sure to say as much to the duke, armsmaster. You have my word.”

He nodded again, looking doubtful. “I’d be most grateful.” He indicated the rest of the wall with an open hand. “Do you wish to see more?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. You seem to have matters well in hand.”

Gabrys inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Thank you, First Minister.”

“Of course. I’m certain that we’ll have occasion to speak again soon. The duke will want me to keep him informed of your progress.”

“Until next time, then.”

She did her best to smile, then hurried away, descending the nearest of the tower stairways and following the shadowed corridors back toward her chamber.

“They don’t deserve your loyalty, Evanthya. Surely you see that. They’re weak-minded and selfish, and the only thing they can manage to agree on is their hatred of our kind.”

That’s not true of Tebeo.

“Of course it is. He may have managed to hide it from you up until now. But eventually the mask will slip, and you’ll realize that I’m right. And then you’ll come after me.”

Evanthya halted in midstride, reaching out a hand to steady herself against the stone wall of the passageway.

Go after her.

Thinking of it now, she could hardly believe that she hadn’t considered this sooner. True, there had been much to occupy her since the breaking of the siege, and naturally her duke would object. He might even forbid her from going. But that wasn’t the reason she hadn’t thought of this before. Even knowing that Fetnalla was alive, Evanthya had mourned as if her love had died. Her loss was that complete, that final. Fetnalla had murdered her duke and betrayed the realm. She might as well be dead.

“But I’m not.”

No, you’re not. And I’m going to find you.

“To what end?”

Her duke would ask the same question. What could she hope to accomplish by going after Fetnalla? Fetnalla would never turn her back on the conspiracy. She had killed for it, and if the renegades were truly led by a Weaver, her punishment for betraying them in turn would be swift and absolute. And even if Evanthya did manage to turn her against the conspiracy, Fetnalla faced certain execution here in Aneira. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing her.

“Yet you will.”

Yes.

“Why?”

I don’t know. But I have to try.

Evanthya straightened, removing her hand from the wall and taking a long breath. Then she went in search of her duke.

She found him near the north barbican, speaking with the master mason. Seeing her approach, he said something else to the man before walking toward her. “First Minister! I’m glad to see you. I was about to have you summoned.”

“Has something happened, my lord?”

He shook his head, looking grim. “No. But I believe the time has come for me to pay a visit to Numar and Grestos. I’d like you with me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I thought we might wish to speak with the archminister as well, but I wanted to ask your opinion before we did.”

Her first thought was that Pronjed might know something of Fetnalla’s whereabouts. She and her love had long wondered if the archminister was a traitor; Fetnalla and Brall had even speculated that Pronjed was behind the strange death of King Carden the Third, though this would have meant that the man possessed mind-bending magic, one of the rarest and deepest Qirsi powers.

In the next moment, however, she realized that no matter what the archminister might know, they would find it nearly impossible to pry the truth from him. If he did, in fact, possess delusion magic, he would be able to lie to them without detection.

“I doubt there’s much to be gained by speaking with him, my lord.”

“You fear him.”

“I do. But it’s more than that.” She faltered. Even a duke as tolerant of Qirsi as Tebeo would be horrified to hear of mind-bending power. It was not a magic most Qirsi discussed freely, for it exemplified all that the nobles of the Forelands feared about her people. It facilitated deception and allowed sorcerers to control the thoughts and actions of unwitting Eandi. “He might tell us a great deal, but determining what to believe and what to dismiss will be next to impossible.”

The duke smiled. “Come now, First Minister. I think that between the two of us, we can discern most of his lies.”

“No, my lord, we can’t. Pronjed may have delusion magic. Brall and Fetnalla both thought so, and I’ve wondered for some time now.”

“Delusion?”

“Mind-bending. Delusion is what we Qirsi call it, because it makes it possible for one Qirsi to lie convincingly to another.”

“Ah, yes. I remember now. They thought he had killed Carden.”

“Yes, my lord. And I’ve thought it possible that he used his magic to get information from me when he and the regent came to Dantrielle a few turns back.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t know for certain, my lord. I still don’t. I told you all that I could about the conversation itself, but I was afraid to say more.”

Tebeo pressed his lips into a thin line, eyeing her grimly. After a few moments he shook his head. “I don’t care what powers the man possesses. I want to speak with him. Brall and Fetnalla also believed he might be with the conspiracy-as I rememberit, you did as well. I need to learn what I can from him.”

She knew better than to argue the point further. “Yes, my lord.”

He started toward the prison tower, walking so swiftly that Evanthya nearly had to run to keep pace. The tower was brightly lit with torches and well guarded; Tebeo had stationed three times the normal number of men there since Numar’s capture. The men let Tebeo and Evanthya pass, of course, and four of them began to follow the duke up the stairs.

“No,” Tebeo said. “We’ll speak with the regent in private.”

One of the men, a captain, shook his head. “But, my lord-”

“He’s in chains, isn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then we have nothing to fear from him.” The man’s brow remained creased. “I’m armed, Captain,” the duke said, putting a hand to the hilt of his blade. “And I’ll have the first minister with me.”

Not that my powers will do us any good. She kept this thought to herself, and a moment later the captain relented, leaving Tebeo and Evanthya to climb the tower stairs on their own.

The guard outside the regent’s chamber unlocked the door for the duke and the first minister, but remained in the corridor when they entered. Numar stood at the far end of the round chamber, shackled to the stone wall, his uniform torn and soiled, his hair, normally the color of wheat, now matted and dark. Yet even amid the filth, a prisoner in his enemy’s castle, the regent held himself straight and tall, with the regal bearing of a man who thought himself king.

“Come to gloat, Tebeo?” Numar said, a sardonic smile springing to his lips and then vanishing just as quickly.

“I didn’t want this war, Lord Rembrere, and I take no satisfaction in its ending. Too many men were lost on both sides.”

“A fine sentiment, Tebeo, but you don’t fool me. You and your friends have been hoping for an end to the Solkaran Supremacy for some time now. I can’t believe you aren’t celebrating its downfall.”

The duke glared at him, his eyes glittering like dark crystal in the torch fire. “Believe what you will. I don’t give a damn. I’ve come to inform you that messengers have been dispatched to the other houses informing them of your defeat and imprisonment and asking the other dukes to Dantrielle for a meeting of the council.”

“You intend to claim the throne for yourself and your sons.”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m not certain who will be chosen as the next king. But I know it won’t be you or your brother.”

“And what about Kalyi? Are you willing to deny her the throne as well? Where is the justice in that, Tebeo? She’s but a child. She had nothing to do with this.”

The duke shook his head, disbelief and disgust mingling on his round features. “You bastard. You wage war on my house in her name, using your power as regent to tear apart our realm. And you have the gall to blame me for the end of your damned supremacy?”

“You’re the one who defied me, Tebeo. You’re a traitor, and before this is over, I’ll do everything in my power to see that you hang for your betrayal.”

The duke smiled, the cruelest, most terrible smile Evanthya had ever seen on his lips. “You’d need the council behind you to do that, Lord Rembrere, and I already have five votes out of nine. Six if you count the new duke of Bistari-surely you can’t think that he’ll vote with you on anything of substance.” He shook his head again. “No, if one of us is going to hang, it will be you. The second Renbrere to hang in less than a year. Poor Henthas is going to be rather lonely.”

The regent had paled, though he stood just as tall, his eyes narrowed. “You’re weakening us. You know that, don’t you? We have an opportunity to destroy Eibithar, to make our kingdom stronger than it’s ever been. And you’re choosing this moment to end the supremacy. It almost seems that you want us to fail, Tebeo. That won’t be lost on the others.”

“You weakened us, Numar, not I. You entered into this foolish alliance with the empire-”

“The alliance is the source of our strength!”

“The alliance is a mistake! Eibithar isn’t our enemy, at least not the one that matters! Neither is Caerisse, nor Sanbira, nor Wethyrn! The Qirsi renegades are the real threat, and anything that distracts us from fighting them puts all the realm at risk. A wiser leader would have realized this. But you’re besotted with the idea of making war on the Eibitharians. And in pursuit of this folly, you’ve divided our army and set house against house.”

“I don’t have to listen to this!” The regent turned his head to the side. Evanthya had the feeling that he would have turned his back on them were it not for his shackles. “Leave me! Leave me at once!”

Evanthya thought that her duke would refuse, that he would continue to berate the man. That was what she would have done. But Tebeo merely stared at the regent for a few moments, watching as Numar’s jaw clenched and his chest rose and fell. Then he turned and stepped to the door, gesturing for the first minister to do the same. The guard opened the door, allowing them back into the corridor before closing it again and turning the latch key.

Evanthya looked at her duke, who was gazing at the chamber door, as if he could see Numar through the iron. “My lord, do you think he can convince-?”

Tebeo raised a hand, stopping her. He entered the stairwell and the minister followed. Neither of them spoke until they had gone down to the lower corridor.

Grestos, the duke of Rassor, was in the largest of the chambers here, but Tebeo stopped just outside the stairway and faced her. “Now,” he said in a low voice, “what were you going to ask?”

“I was just wondering if you thought there was a chance Numar could convince the other dukes that you betrayed the realm.”

“No, I don’t. Oh, Mertesse and Rassor will go to their graves believing that I did, but the others know better. This is precisely why Brall and I went to such great lengths to build an alliance prior to opposing Numar’s war. Noltierre, Tounstrel, Kett, Orvinti-they were all with us. And though Silbron wasn’t, no duke of Bistari would ever side with a Solkaran in such a dispute.”

“Then what will happen to the regent? Do you really expect that he’ll be hanged?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his face, as if considering the matter. But he said nothing, and after several moments he turned on his heel and strode to the duke of Rassor’s door.

Unlike Numar, Grestos was sitting on the stone floor, his back against the wall. One leg was folded beneath him, but the other was stretched out straight, a heavy bandage wrapped around the thigh.

“Lord Rassor,” Tebeo said. “I trust your wound is healing well.”

Grestos glowered at him from beneath a shock of white hair, his eyes blue and shockingly pale in a tanned, leathery face. “What do you want, Dantrielle? Have you come to put my nose in it?”

Tebeo smiled thinly, though Evanthya thought she first saw a brief flash of anger in his dark eyes. “Numar asked me much the same thing. It seems neither of you thinks very highly of me.”

Grestos stared at the floor. “You’ve been to see Numar, too? Are you here to tell us when we’re to be executed?”

“I told the regent what I’ll tell you. I’ve sent messages to the dukes who aren’t already here, informing them of Numar’s surrender and summoning them to a meeting of the Council of Dukes.”

“You intend to bring an end to the supremacy.”

“How can I do less?” Tebeo paused, wandering the chamber and eyeing the duke. “I made no mention of you in my messages,” he said at last.

Grestos looked up again. “They’ll know soon enough that I fought alongside him.” But Evanthya thought she saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

“They don’t have to, Grestos. I can prevail upon the dukes who fought with me to say nothing of your involvement.”

“Kett would never agree to that.”

“He would if I ask it of him.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Most of the dukes are here already. We’re really only speaking of Rowan and Silbron.”

“And Brall’s son. He won’t have known either.”

“How would you keep Henthas quiet? He’ll speak against me just out of spite.”

“Henthas is disgraced along with his house. No one will care what he has to say.”

Rassor’s duke shook his head again. “All of this is meaningless. Enough of them know what I’ve done.”

Evanthya watched her duke, unsure as to where he was going with all of this. She had never heard him utter a kind word about Grestos, nor did she think that his allies in this war would be willing to forgive Rassor for casting his lot with the Solkarans.

“You’re right,” Tebeo said. “They do know, and chances are that the others will learn of it eventually. But knowing is one thing, voting in the council to execute you and censure your house is quite another.”

Censure of a house was no small matter. As described in the laws governing Aneira’s Council of Dukes, censure included confiscation of lands, vast increases in royal fees, and suspension of council voting privileges. Even if Grestos was executed, his sons might be forced to pay for their father’s error for years to come.

“What’s all this about, Tebeo? What is it you want from me?”

“I want the Solkaran Supremacy ended, once and for all.”

“You have that already. You’ve defeated Numar’s army-”

“Only half of it.”

“More than half, from what he told me. The point is, you’ve beaten him, and you already have enough votes in the council.”

Tebeo halted in front of the man and squatted down to look him in the eye. “I want more than that. I want the vote to be so overwhelming as to give Henthas no hope of reclaiming the throne. If the council vote breaks six to three, he’ll consider that he might still have strength enough to strike at the new king. I want him isolated and weak.”

“You should be talking to Rowan. Mertesse is far stronger than Rassor.”

“Rowan’s house may be strong, but he’s not a bold man. He won’t stand alone with Henthas, knowing how the Jackal is hated throughout the realm. If you join with the rest of us in the council, Rowan will follow, and the Solkaran Supremacy will truly be broken.”

Grestos grinned, though the look in his eyes remained hard. “You covet the crown for yourself.”

Tebeo straightened and stepped to the chamber’s narrow window. “Again, you echo the regent. The fact is, I don’t wish to be king.” Glancing back and seeing the doubt on Rassor’s face, Tebeo smiled. “I don’t claim that I’ve never wanted the crown, but I’m too old for it now. Besides, I don’t have a mind for politics, and I’m not warrior enough to lead the realm into battle.”

“Then who?”

For the first time since entering the chamber, Evanthya saw her duke hesitate, as if unsure of himself.

“I’ll find out soon enough, Tebeo.”

“First I want your word that you’ll side with us in the council.”

Grestos shrugged. “What choice do I have?”

“You could betray us. Pledge yourself-to us now and support Henthas when the time comes.”

The man bristled. “I would never do such a thing! When a Rassor gives an oath, he honors it! That’s been true of every man who has ever ruled my house, and it’s true of me! You may consider me an enemy, Tebeo. I have no doubt that you dislike me. But I fought beside Numar because I had sworn to do so. You’re the one who withdrew your support from the supremacy, you and Kett and the others. I have always been true to my word, and I will be now.”

“Then you’ll oppose Henthas?”

“I’ve never liked the man. I certainly have no desire to see him as king or regent.”

“And if we choose to spare Numar’s life?”

“I’ll oppose him as well. I swear it.”

Evanthya sensed no deception in his words. She couldn’t be certain of course-her powers didn’t run that deep-but she believed that he would honor his oath. Tebeo seemed to think so as well, judging from the look of relief on his face.

“Thank you, Grestos. In return, I’ll make certain that your life is spared and your house is subject to no formal punishment.”

“Does that mean that I can leave your prison?”

“I’ll need to inform the others first, particularly Ansis, but yes, I’ll release you.”

Grestos raised an eyebrow. “Will I have to wait until Kett agrees to this? If so, I could be in here for years.”

“I didn’t say he had to approve. I just want to tell him first.”

Rassor seemed skeptical.

“You’ll be free within a day. I promise.”

Grestos still didn’t appear convinced, but he nodded. “So, who will be your new king?”

“I can’t be sure, of course. Not until I’ve discussed it with the rest of the council. But I expect it will be Silbron.”

“The boy?”

“He’s nearly a’year past his Fating and Brall told me that losing his father has tempered him, made him mature beyond his years. He’s young still, but Silbron is no boy. And he has Ria with him. The duchess is every bit as clever as Chago was, and knows a good deal about Aneira’s other houses.”

“All that may be true, but I have to wonder if the other houses will follow such a young king.”

“He’s a thoughtful man, and he commands the strongest army in Aneira. Indeed, he’s that much stronger for having kept his house out of this war.”

“Won’t that make him suspect in the eyes of Kett and the rest?”

“I doubt it. He’s a Bistari. No one doubts that he hates the Solkarans. And by remaining neutral, he’s made himself more acceptable to Mertesse.”

Grestos gave a small shrug. “Very well, Tebeo. I’ve given you my word. If Silbron’s your choice then so be it. He’ll have my vote in the council.”

Tebeo nodded and crossed to the door. “Thank you, Lord Rassor.”

“I think you’re mistaken about one thing, though,” Grestos said, drawing Tebeo’s gaze once more. “You have more skill with politics than you think. If you can truly manage to convince Kett to agree to all this, you’d make a fine king indeed.”

Tebeo grinned and left the chamber, with Evanthya following close behind. This time, she knew enough to say nothing until they were in the stairway, and even then she kept her voice to a whisper.

“Silbron, my lord? Are you certain?”

“There is no one else, First Minister. If Brall still lived, he’d be my first choice. But his death leaves Silbron and me, and having led the rebellion against House Solkara, I can’t take the throne for Dantrielle without making it seem that all I’ve done was driven by ambition. That’s not how I wish to be remembered.”

Evanthya had to smile. This was why she continued to serve her duke. Any Qirsi who dared say that all Eandi nobles were alike had only to listen to Tebeo of Dantrielle to be proven wrong. “Yes, my lord,” she said.

The sound of tolling bells reached them in the stairway, echoing softly.

“Is that the prior’s bell already?” the duke asked.

“It is, my lord.” Perhaps he would postpone his conversation with Pronjed until the next day. Perhaps, given a bit more time, he would think better of speaking with the archminister at all. Would that he were so easily dissuaded.

“We’d better hurry then,” her duke said. “I dine with the other dukes this evening, and first I want to meet with Numar’s minister.”

The prison was nothing. Stone and iron. He could shatter both with a mere thought, and would when the time came. They had bound his wrists and ankles with silk, fearing that he would shatter iron manacles, but he would find a way to free himself from these bonds as well. Nor did he concern himself with the guards who stood beyond the chamber door. With his mind-bending magic he could turn the Eandi brutes to his purposes whenever he chose. For those who proved less pliable, he still had his shaping power, which worked just as well on bone as it did on rock and steel. The army that awaited him beyond the tower presented a somewhat more formidable challenge, but Pronjed felt certain that he could find his way past a thousand men if he had to.

And he did have to. The Weaver had ordered him north, to Eibithar, where fighting between Kearney’s army and the soldiers of the empire had already begun, and where, quite soon, the Weaver intended to commence his own war.

“The time is at hand, Pronjed,” the man had said to him, looming in his dreams like a god, or a demon, black as pitch against the brilliant white sun that was always at his back. “All for which we have worked is about to come to fruition. All past failures will be forgiven. Even the breaking of your siege will soon mean nothing. Meet me on the Eibithar Moorlands, give your power to me to wield as a weapon, and I shall give in return the future of which we’ve spoken so many times.”

There had been nothing for him to say, except, “Yes, Weaver.”

He had, of course, been planning to escape even before the Weaver came to him. At first he intended to shatter the walls of his prison the night he was captured, but Dantrielle’s duke, uncertain as to what powers he possessed, had posted eight archers in the corridor outside his chamber, too many even for a man of Pronjed’s considerable powers to defeat. Over the past several days, however, as the archminister gave no indication that he was a threat to the castle or its duke, the number of guards outside his chamber had been reduced. This morning, the last of the archers had been removed. He had only to wait until nightfall.

Pronjed still wasn’t certain how he would reach the Moorlands in time to join the Weaver’s battle. His horse had been taken by Tebeo’s men, and though he would do what was necessary to win his own freedom, he didn’t know if he could risk a visit to the stables before he fled the castle. But the Weaver wouldn’t tolerate excuses, and Pronjed, spurred on by the promise of wealth and power should the Weaver’s plan succeed, had worked too hard on behalf of the movement to be absent at its culmination. Somehow, he would make his way to Eibithar and fight alongside the Weaver. He would share in the Qirsi victory, and when the Weaver swept away the Eandi courts and began to reward his most faithful servants, Pronjed would be among the new nobility.

Not long after the ringing of the prior’s bell, he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to his corridor. He assumed at first that this was merely a guard bringing what passed for his evening meal a bit earlier than usual. Only when he heard a woman speaking in hushed tones did he understand that the duke had come, and with him his lovely first minister.

Pronjed stood and faced the door, holding himself as proudly as he could under the circumstances. He would not allow them to think that he had been broken, no matter how much it might aid his escape.

He heard Tebeo order the guards to open the door. A moment later the lock turned loudly and the door swung open.

Tebeo had never looked like the duke of a major house. He was fat and short, with a face that was far too pleasant to be imposing. Still, the minister knew that he possessed a keen mind, and in the past half turn, as he withstood Numar’s assault, he had more than proved his mettle.

His first minister was the perfect complement to the duke. Pale where he was dark, lithe where he was round, reserved where he was affable. Yet Pronjed also knew her to be formidable in her own way. He had clashed with the woman on more than one occasion and had no doubts as to her loyalty to the duke and the realm.

“Archminister,” the duke said, eyeing him, a tight smile on his face.

He’s afraid. She’s warned him against you. “My lord Dantrielle. To what do I owe this courtesy?”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” Tebeo answered, surprising Pronjed with his candor. “I have certain questions, and I know better than to expect honest answers from the regent.”

“You expect that I’ll be more forthcoming?”

“I hope that you will.”

“And what can I expect in return?”

“Clemency. Perhaps, eventually, your release from this prison.”

Pronjed glanced at the first minister, who was watching him with obvious interest. “I’ll tell you what I can, my lord.”

Tebeo began to pace in front of him, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “How many men did Numar send north to the Tarbin?”

“About a thousand. He expected the army of Mertesse to make up the rest of the force. The rest of his men he divided between guarding Solkara and attacking you.”

“Has he been in contact with the duke of Bistari?”

“Bistari?” Pronjed said, with a small breathless laugh. “Surely you jest, my lord.”

“No, but never mind the question.”

The archminister narrowed his eyes, wondering why Tebeo would ask about Bistari’s young duke. Had they been alone, he would have used mind-bending magic to force the duke to explain himself, but with Evanthya watching, he didn’t dare.

Tebeo paced in silence for a moment. Then, “Tell me, Arch-minister, what do you know of the Qirsi conspiracy?”

“Not much, my lord. Probably no more than you do. I know what it’s reputed to have done. The murders in Eibithar, the assassination of Lord Bistari. There are rumors of an attempt on the life of Curlinte’s duchess in Sanbira, though of course we can’t be certain if this is true.”

“What about the death of our own king?”

Perhaps he should have been prepared for this. But Pronjed couldn’t entirely keep his voice from catching as he said, “My lord?”

“The duke of Orvinti and his first minister have wondered if Carden might have been murdered.”

“His Majesty took his own life, my lord. I saw his body, and I can tell you that the evidence of this was unmistakable.”

“We’d heard as much,” Evanthya said. “Fetnalla wondered if someone might have used mind-bending magic to make the king kill himself.”

Pronjed glanced at Tebeo’s first minister. “This is the first time I’ve heard anyone suggest such a thing.”

“Do you possess this magic, Archminister?”

Pronjed held Evanthya’s gaze for another moment before forcing himself to face the duke again. “No, my lord, I don’t.” He could have used his power to make the lie more convincing; delusion worked on Eandi and Qirsi alike. But Evanthya would have been expecting this, and delusion magic, when used against a Qirsi, only worked on the unsuspecting.

“You heard of Lord Orvinti’s death?”

“I’ve heard rumors of it, my lord.” Again he chanced a look at the first minister, but suddenly she was avoiding his gaze. It seemed the rumors were true: Fetnalla had killed Brall.

“Lord Orvinti’s first minister vanished after Brall was killed. I’m wondering if you have any idea of where she might have gone.”

She went north, just as I will. “No, my lord, none.”

Tebeo nodded again. “I thought as much.” He looked as if he might say more, but instead he stopped his pacing and glanced quickly about the chamber. “I take it you’re comfortable enough, Archminister. You’re being fed, you have enough blankets for the nights?”

Pronjed gave a thin smile. “Of course, my lord. For a prison, this is quite comfortable.” He held up his hands, showing Tebeo the silk cords wrapped around his wrists. “That said, I’d have freer movement with normal manacles.”

“Those were my idea,” Evanthya said. “I seem to remember that you have shaping power. In which case, chains wouldn’t do much good, would they?”

“No, I don’t suppose they would.”

“We’ll speak again, Archminister,” Tebeo said, as one of the guards unlocked the door. He stepped into the corridor and paused, as if waiting for Evanthya.

“I’ll be along in a moment, my lord,” she said, stepping closer to Tebeo and lowering her voice. “I have a few more questions to ask the archminister, and I suspect he’ll be more forthcoming if he and I are alone.”

Tebeo frowned, but after a moment he nodded and left the corridor. The guard closed the door once more.

Evanthya crossed to where Pronjed stood. “You intend to escape, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. It’s just a matter of time. You’re a shaper, you have delusion magic. It should be relatively easy.”

He started to deny it again, but she raised a finger to his lips, stopping him.

“Don’t say anything. I don’t care if you get away. You have no reason to harm my duke or me, and every reason to head northward as quickly as possible.”

His heart was pounding. How could she know all of this?

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want Fetnalla. You must know that she and I were lovers.”

He’d had an inkling of this.

“I want to find her. She’s joined your conspiracy and she’s gone north to find the Weaver.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It sounded hollow, forced. For several turns now he had been lying to Numar and Henthas, Kalyi and Chofya. For years before that, he had lied to his king. He felt as comfortable with deception as he did with the truth. But somehow this woman had seen into his mind, as if she were a Weaver and he a simple festival Qirsi.

“I won’t help you escape, but neither will I alert my duke to the danger. In return, you’re to leave here directly without harming anyone.” She hesitated, her eyes locked on his. “And if by some chance you sense that you’re being followed, you’re to do nothing about it.”

“What’s to stop me from killing you once we’re away from Dantrielle?”

“Nothing, if you can catch me. But if you can’t, and I make it all the way north to your Weaver, I’ll make certain that he learns you allowed yourself to be followed. I can’t imagine he’d be pleased.”

“I can’t do this.”

“I just want her back, Pronjed. I don’t give a damn about the rest. Not anymore. I just want Fetnalla. And even if I did want to stop your conspiracy, I couldn’t. I’d be one Qirsi against an army, against a Weaver.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d almost said, He’ll kill me. But he stopped himself in time. What if this were a trick, an attempt on her part to make him admit that there was in fact a Weaver?

Except that she didn’t seem to be lying. Did she have delusion magic as well? Was that how she had learned that he did?

“He’ll never know,” she whispered. “Just ride north, and don’t look back.”

She gazed up at him for another moment, her eyes as golden and bright as a setting sun. Then she turned away and left him.