Seeds of Betrayal wotf-2

by DAVID B. COE

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

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

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

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

  Ansis turned to Dantrielle. “Tebeo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “That’s only the gates,” Brail said.

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

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

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

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

  “I’d like that.”

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

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

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

  Brail closed the door and looked at Tebeo.

  “Are you going as well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And if it wasn’t Carden’s work?”

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

  “The Qirsi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “So?”

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

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

  “This is no joke, Brail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Brail nodded, but said nothing.

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

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

  “Of course.”

  Still, neither of them moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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