by DAVID B. COE
Kalyi nodded.
Nurse kissed her cheek. “Good night, Your Highness.”
“Good night.”
Nurse blew out the candle by Kalyi’s bed and crossed to the door, leaving a second candle burning near the wardrobe, as she always did.
“Wait,” Kalyi called to her, still sitting up.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
She hesitated, afraid now to speak of what had happened. After a few moments though, her need to speak of it overmastered her fear.
“I overheard something today.”
Nurse arched an eyebrow. “Overheard?”
“I was in one of the towers, and I heard two men speaking on the stairs above me.” She looked away, her mouth twisting briefly. “And I listened.”
“Kalyi!”
“They were speaking of soldiers,” she said quickly. “And since they’re my soldiers, I thought it was all right.”
“It’s never all right to eavesdrop, particularly for a queen.”
Kalyi kept her eyes fixed on the second flame. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Who did you hear speaking, child?”
“The archminister and the master of arms.”
“And what was it you heard?”
“That’s just it. I don’t really understand it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t feel badly about that. They were probably speaking of alliances and quotas and such things. I wouldn’t have understood it either.”
Kalyi shook her head. “It wasn’t just that. The archminister told him . . .” She trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what she had heard. “I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Did he sound angry?”
“No. He sounded like . . .” He sounded like a sorcerer. It came to her suddenly. She had heard tales of Qirsi who could control other men’s thoughts and though she had always dismissed such tales as nonsense and myth, she realized that it was the only reasonable explanation for what she had heard earlier this day. Which brought to mind other tales she had heard, these about a conspiracy of sorcerers who were trying to destroy the kingdoms of the Forelands. Was Pronjed a traitor?
At last she knew who to tell about the conversation she’d heard.
“Your Highness?” Nurse said, looking worried.
Kalyi flung off her blanket and jumped from the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“I must speak with Uncle Numar.”
“You can speak with him tomorrow. It’s very—”
“It can’t wait, Nurse.”
“It will have to.”
Kalyi tried to look as stern as possible. “I’m the queen of Aneira, and I wish to speak with my regent right now. You may take me to his chamber or you may remain here. But either way, I’m going.”
Nurse gave a small smile. “Very well, Your Highness. I’ll take you to him right away.”
Numar had finished with the last of the fee accountings, a task he found tiring, but which he refused to delegate to anyone else, particularly the archminister or one of his Qirsi friends. He had yet to eat, and he had received a perfumed missive from one of Chofya’s ladies earlier in the day. He had every intention of thanking her in person for the kindness of her note.
Hence, he did not welcome the knock at his door just as he was putting on his waistcoat. He strode to the door and flung it open impatiently. Finding the queen there, with her nurse in tow, did nothing to improve his mood.
“Your Highness,” he said, managing with great effort to smile. “Shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?” This last he said with his eyes fixed on the nurse, who merely shrugged and looked away.
“There’s something I must discuss with you, uncle.”
“I’m certain it can wait for morning. I promise to seek you out first thing.”
“No,” she said, though he read the uncertainty in her dark eyes. “It can’t wait.”
“I’m afraid it—”
“It’s about the archminister.”
That caught his attention. Numar narrowed his eyes. “What about him?”
She glanced back at the nurse, who nodded encouragement. “I overheard him talking to the master of arms today.”
By itself that didn’t seem overly strange. Numar knew that the archminister didn’t trust him, that if he wanted information about what the regent had in mind for Solkara’s army he would be best served by asking Tradden. Still, he could learn a good deal about Pronjed’s intentions by knowing what the two of them discussed.
“Would you like to tell me what they said?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. I think the archminister . . . I think he used magic on him.”
Numar stared at her a moment, not quite understanding what she meant. “Magic.”
“I think he used magic to make the master of arms say things, maybe even do things.”
It seemed that there was a cold hand at his throat, making it impossible for him to swallow or breathe. He had heard of Qirsi who could bend the minds of others, but he had never imagined that he might know one.
“Leave us,” he told the nurse. When the woman hesitated he added, “I’ll see to it that she returns to her bedchamber safely.”
The nurse curtsied reluctantly and withdrew, her gaze flicking repeatedly from Numar to the girl and back again.
“Please sit, Your Highness,” the regent said when she was gone.
Kalyi sat in a chair by the hearth, the one she always chose when they spoke. Numar sat beside her.
“Now, tell me everything you heard.”
Numar found her description of what the two men said to each other a bit clouded, though he did manage to piece together enough of it to be alarmed. It was one thing for Pronjed to seek information about Numar’s plans for the Solkaran army and the men sent to him by his dukes. It was quite another to discuss the possibility of civil war and alliances among the dukedoms. It almost seemed that the archminister was looking for weaknesses that he might exploit. But Kalyi had promised him more, and had yet to deliver on that promise.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said, his patience beginning to fail him. “But I still don’t see how the archminister’s magic enters into any of this.”
She twisted her hands anxiously, and for a moment Numar wondered if the girl had imagined it all.
“Well, one moment the master armsman was saying that House Solkara couldn’t risk a civil war if too many of the other houses stood together against us, and the next moment he was saying that we could, and that we needed the alliance with Braedon no matter what.”
“Is it possible the archminister merely convinced him of this? A man can change his mind, you know.”
She shook her head. “That’s not how it happened. Pronjed told him . . . what to think. At least, that’s how it sounded. He said, ‘You now believe that we can prevail against Dantrielle and his allies.’ And then he made the master of arms say it. He told him just what to say to you.”
“Do you remember what else Tradden is to say to me?” There was, it seemed, an easy way to confirm what she was telling him.
“Some of it. ‘The alliance with Braedon will make Aneira the greatest power among the six.’ That was some of it. And, ‘We mustn’t allow the renegade houses to destroy this opportunity.’ ” She frowned. “There was more, but I can’t remember now.”
“That’s all right. Thank you, Kalyi. That may be very helpful.”
“There’s something else. The strangest part of it all.”
“Tell me.”
“When they were done talking about the war and the other houses, the archminister told him that he would remember nothing about their conversation.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘You’ll remember nothing of what we’ve just discussed.’ And a moment later they started talking about something else, and that’s just how it seemed. The master of arms sounded confused, almost like he was sleepy. And he didn’t seem to remember any of it.”
Numar merely gaped at her. He couldn’t imagine that she would lie about such a thing. Indeed, she wasn’t the type to lie at all. But if all this were true . . .
Abruptly the regent was on his feet, pacing before the hearth. Actually, this explained a good deal. Just a few days before, he had spoken with the archminister about something—he still couldn’t remember what it was—and had emerged from their conversation dazed, confused, as if he had nodded off in the middle of their discussion. Had the Qirsi bastard used magic on him as well?
“Is it all right that I told you?”
“What? Oh, yes. Of course it is. It’s more than all right, Your Highness. You’ve done me a great service, and our house as well.” He meant it. Whatever plans he had for the girl in the future, she had proven herself a most valuable ally this night.
“Do you think Pronjed is a traitor? Do you think he’s with the conspiracy?”
“I don’t know, Kalyi. It appears possible, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, looking frightened. “What should we do?”
“I’m not certain.” He didn’t dare confront the man. At least not yet, not until he had a better understanding of just how deep the archminister’s powers went. A sorcerer who could control a man’s thoughts, his words, his actions, was capable of anything.
It hit him with the power of a land tremor, shifting his entire world. A sorcerer with such power could make a man take his own life. He didn’t say it to the girl. She wasn’t ready for that. Someday, perhaps. Someday soon, when he needed to turn her fully against the archminister. But not tonight.
“I’m not certain,” he repeated. He saw the fear in her eyes, a mirror of what he felt in his heart, and he made himself smile. “Don’t worry, Kalyi. We don’t know yet that he’s a traitor. And even if he is, I’ll keep you safe. I’m your regent. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Yserne, Sanbira
House Yserne had taken hold of the throne for good nearly four centuries before, following the third war with Wethyrn and a period of bloody civil war known in Sanbiri history as the Second Barbarism. Even after Meleanna, the first Sanbiri queen, took the crown from Ticho the Fourth of Trescarri in the last violent days of the Barbarism, many of the houses continued to fight against the Yserne Dynasty, fearing that the establishment of a matriarchy would weaken Sanbira in its relations with the other realms.
As it happened, this wasn’t the case. Under the queens of Yserne Sanbira had become one of the dominant powers of the Forelands, and even with the dukes of Brugaosa and Norinde continuing to challenge Yserne authority from time to time, the realm had never since been in any danger of falling to an invader.
One reason for this was the geographic position of the royal house. Located in the center of the realm, it was protected on all sides by the duchies, none of which was more than forty leagues from the royal city. In times of crisis, when the queen wished to meet with her duchesses and dukes, she could summon them, knowing that even the most remote house, Kinsarta, was no more than ten days’ ride from her walls.
Thus, when Olesya sent messages to the other houses, asking the leading nobles to Yserne to discuss the attempts on Diani’s life, she and the duchess had only to wait a bit more than half a turn for the others to arrive. Not surprisingly, Edamo of Brugaosa and Alao of Norinde, were the last to reach the royal city, and in fairness, though Kinsarta was farther from Yserne than the northern dukedoms, Ajy’s ride across Morna’s Plain was far easier than the route taken by either duke.
Still, it was nearly two days after Ajy’s arrival before the dukes finally rode into the city; when they rode in together, it was clear to all that they had met to discuss matters before continuing on to the queen’s castle. Meeting them at the castle gate with the duchesses and their ministers, Olesya made no effort to hide her displeasure.
“I didn’t know that the journey from Brugaosa would take you so close to Norinde, Lord Brugaosa,” she said to Edamo, smiling thinly.
The duke smiled as well. He looked far older than Diani remembered. He had been handsome once, with fine features and a thick shock of wheat-colored hair. But his hair was white now, and thinning, and his cheeks looked sunken, his skin sallow. His face seemed too sharp, like the jagged edge of a shattered old dish. She still thought it likely that her brother, Cyro, had been murdered by the conspiracy rather than by the Brugaosans, as her father believed. But even so, she could not help but hate this man. There had even been times, more recent than she cared to admit, when she had wished for his death.
“We met near the northeast edge of Lake Yserne, Your Highness,” he said. “Surely you didn’t expect me to ride across the lake.”
Norinde laughed, but none of the others did.
The queen regarded Alao for a moment, long enough to silence the young duke, before facing Edamo once more. “Surely steering a mount across such a small expanse of water is nothing for a man of your many talents.”
“I assure you, Your Highness,” Brugaosa said, wisely choosing to ignore the gibe, “ours was a chance meeting. And it made the last portion of both our journeys far less tedious.”
Her smile was a match for the duke’s. “I’m so glad. Be welcome, both of you,” she added, turning away, her tone brusque. “As soon as you’ve changed out of your riding clothes you’re to join the rest of us in my presence chamber. Don’t keep us waiting any longer than necessary.”
Diani had thought that the dukes would use the opportunity to goad her once more, but they seemed to gauge her mood with some care. They arrived in the chamber far sooner than the duchess expected, bowing as they entered and taking seats together at the far end of the table, opposite Olesya.
Once again, Diani noticed that she was the only noble not to have brought her Qirsi minister with her. To be sure, none of them knew why the queen had summoned them; it was quite possible that once they learned of the assassination attempts they would grow more wary of their Qirsi. Nevertheless, she found herself wishing that Kreazur had come, or rather, that she had asked him to join her. The message she sent back to Curlinte merely instructed the captain of her army to free the first minister and the other Qirsi who served her. She did not invite Kreazur to join her in Yserne, and now, sitting among the other duchesses and dukes, all of whom were older and far more experienced than she, Diani regretted it.
“I thank all of you for coming,” the queen began, standing at her place, sunlight from the window shining in her black-and-silver hair. “All of you journeyed far, and at a moment’s notice, and I know that few of us like to be abroad this early in the year. But these are extraordinary times that will demand more of us still before we see their end.”
“What’s happened, Your Highness?” asked Vasyonne, duchess of Listaal. Next to Diani, she was the youngest of the duchesses, though Diani’s mother had often spoken quite highly of her. She wore her black hair short, just as the queen did, and had a square, expressive face. “Why have you called us here?”
“There’s been an attack on one of our own, and I believe it presages more such incidents to come.”
“What kind of attack?” Edamo asked.
“An assassination attempt—two, actually—on the duchess of Curlinte.”
“By whom?”
The queen glanced at Diani and gave a small nod, lowering herself into her chair.
“Archers the first time,” she said. She had carried one of the arrow shafts with her from her home and she brought it forth now, tossing it onto the table. “They had shaved heads and wore the dun cloaks of northern riders.”
Vasyonne leaned forward, examining the arrow. “Blue and yellow,” she said, looking at Edamo. “Those are Brugaosan colors, aren’t they, Lord Brugaosa?”
What?” He stood, snatching the arrow off the table to get a better look. “Brugaosa had nothing to do with this! We’d have nothing to gain from it!”
Vasyonne grinned, though there was a hard glint in her brown eyes.
“I believe what you mean to say is, ‘I bear my friends in Curlinte no ill will.’ ”
“Thank you, Lady Listaal, but I daresay I know better than you or anyone else what I meant to say.”
“Agents of Brugaosa have already struck at House Curlinte once, killing the duchess’s brother. Perhaps you thought—”
“Brugaosa had nothing to do with Cyro’s death!”
“So you’ve claimed before.”
Edamo leveled the arrow at Vasyonne as though it were a sword. “You dare to call me a liar?”
“Stop it!” the queen commanded. “We’re here to speak of the attacks on Diani.”
Rashel of Trescarri faced the queen. “You said there were two attempts, Your Highness.”
“Yes.”
“The second was carried out by a man dressed as a soldier of Kretsaal,” Diani said. “We believe that he killed the archers, and he fought until we had no choice but to kill him as well. We never had the opportunity to question him.”
Vasyonne continued to eye Edamo, as if expecting the duke to flee the castle at any moment. “Do you believe he was Brugaosan as well?”
“No,” Diani said. “He spoke with a Wethy accent.” She looked once more to the queen, who nodded a second time. “We don’t think the archers were Brugaosan either.”
Vasyonne frowned. “You don’t?”
Edamo was staring at her. “You think the arrow was intended to make your death seem the work of Brugaosans.”
“Yes.”
“The conspiracy?”
He might have been an enemy of both the queen and House Curlinte, a man to be watched with caution, but he was clever.
“We believe so, yes.”
“Do you have evidence of this?” Alao asked.
The queen shook her head. “Unfortunately, we don’t.”
“So this is merely a guess.”
“Surely, Lord Norinde, you don’t believe House Brugaosa was behind this.”
“Of course not, Your Highness,” he said, his tone almost insolent. He was just the opposite of Edamo in so many ways. Where the older duke was elegant and smooth, this man was blunt in both features and manner, possessing little grace. If Edamo was a Sanbiri blade, albeit a notched one, this man was a war hammer. Still, playing the part of apprentice to Lord Brugaosa, he had learned well the art of statecraft. In many ways, he was far more dangerous than Edamo, for he would be wielding power in the North long after the queen and most of her allies had died or handed power to their daughters. “But it may be,” he went on, “that agents of Wethyrn were responsible, or even other houses of Sanbira who wish to sully Lord Brugaosa’s good name.”