by DAVID B. COE
Perhaps it was the expression on her face that made him notice her, the deep sadness in her eyes, as if she had just lost a parent. Grinsa found himself wondering if she had been minister to the king and still mourned his death.
She was walking directly toward Grinsa and Tavis, gazing about the marketplace, but seeming to see nothing at all. Not knowing why he did it, Grinsa remained in her path so that when she drew near she had to step to the side to avoid him.
“Good morrow, Minister,” he said, bowing to her.
She hesitated a moment, looking at him with surprise. “Good morrow,” she said, her voice low. Glancing at him a second time, she continued past, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Grinsa stood in the middle of the lane and watched her walk away. A few seconds later she seemed to turn her head again, as if sensing his gaze. After a time, he lost sight of her amid the carts and the city folk.
“Do you know her?” Tavis asked.
The gleaner shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen her before.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. There’s something…” He shook his head again, unable to find the words. He wanted to follow her, and he had learned long ago to trust his instincts on such things.
“Come with me,” he said, starting after her.
At first he couldn’t find her again, and he felt his frustration mounting. Just as he was ready to give up, however, Tavis pointed to a lone figure entering a small tavern.
“There,” the boy said. “I think that’s her.”
“Why would a noble’s minister go to a tavern so early in the day?”
They walked quickly to the building, entered the tavern, and took a seat in the middle of the room, not very far from where she sat, alone, with her back to the door.
The tavern man appeared a few moments later, carrying a plate of breads and cheeses to the minister. He was Qirsi. Grinsa hadn’t even thought to check the name of the inn, but he felt certain that it must be one of the city’s Qirsi establishments.
“Good day, sirs,” the man said, stepping to their table. “Can I bring you some breakfast?”
“Please,” Grinsa said, though they had already eaten once, before entering the city.
“Bread and cheese?” His eyes lingered a moment on Tavis’s face, but he had the good grace not to comment on the boy’s scars.
“That will be fine.”
The innkeeper nodded and hurried away to fetch their food, leaving Tavis and Grinsa to sit in silence, occasionally glancing over at the woman. She showed no sign of having noticed them. She merely ate, though even this she did slowly, seemingly with little enthusiasm.
“Are you going to speak with her?” Tavis asked in a whisper.
“Patience,” Grinsa said.
The innkeeper returned carrying two plates of food, which he laid on the table. Grinsa pulled out a five-qinde piece and held it in his palm for the man to see.
“I’m wondering if you’ve noticed a man in your tavern. A singer. Eandi, with long black hair, a black beard, and blue eyes. He’s tall and broad.”
The man stared at Grinsa briefly, then looked at the coin, wetting his lips. “I’m afraid not,” he said.
Grinsa closed his fingers over the gold piece. “I see.” He started to put the coin away, then stopped. “Would you have a room available for the night?”
“Again, I’m afraid I don’t. With the king’s funeral just a few days away, I’ve sold every one.”
Grinsa nodded. “A pity.” He made a point of looking around the empty room. “All your guests must be heavy sleepers.”
“They are,” the man said, turning to walk away. “They also know better than to ask questions of a tavern man.”
The gleaner gave a shrug and glanced toward the woman, only to find that she was already watching him. Their eyes met for just an instant before she turned back to her food. But that was enough. She knew the assassin. Grinsa felt certain of it. He could only assume that she was part of the conspiracy, and it seemed likely that she thought the same of him.
“Greetings again, Minister,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was you.”
She stiffened. After several moments, she finally turned to look at him again. “Have we met?”
“I’m not certain. I knew you were a minister from your robe, but now that you ask, you do look familiar.” He stood and walked to her table. “My name is Grinsa jal Arriet,” he said, bowing to her once again. He indicated Tavis with a wave of his hand. “My friend there is called Xaver.”
The woman nodded to Tavis, smiling weakly. “I’m Evanthya ja Yispar,” she said.
“Your name is familiar as well. Do you serve one of the major houses, Evanthya?”
She faltered. Clearly she wanted no part of this conversation. “Yes,” she finally answered, the word coming out as a sigh. “I’m first minister to the duke of Dantrielle.”
Grinsa grinned. “Of course! I’m a gleaner, and I often travel with the festivals. That must be where I’ve seen you.” He pulled a chair over to her table and sat beside her. “I love Dantrielle. It’s a beautiful city.”
Her eyes flitted about the room uncomfortably. “Yes, it is.”
“If you’re first minister to one of the land’s most prominent houses, shouldn’t you be staying at the castle?”
“I am,” she said, looking down at her food. “I just needed… I wanted to get out for a time.”
“Yes,” Grinsa said, nodding sagely. “I can imagine Castle Solkara is a rather grim place just now.” He felt certain that something other than mourning for the king had driven her from the castle walls, but he didn’t want to push her too hard on this point, not when there were others of far greater importance that he wished to pursue.
They fell silent, Grinsa watching her from the corner of his eye, and the minister toying anxiously with her food. He sensed that she was readying herself to leave.
She looked at him at last, opening her mouth to speak, no doubt to offer some quick farewell. Grinsa didn’t give her the chance.
“I couldn’t help but notice you watching me as I spoke to the tavern man,” he said. “It almost seemed to me that you know the man I was describing.”
She looked away again.
“Do you?” he asked.
“I really ought to be going,” the woman said, reaching into her cloak and pulling out two silvers to leave on the table.
“It’s important that we find him,” Grinsa said. He was going to tell the familiar lie about the singer owing them money, but he knew she wouldn’t believe this, not if she had ever had dealings with the man herself. Instead he pointed over at Tavis. “You see the boy there. You see the scars on his face. The man I described is responsible for those wounds.” It was close enough to the truth. Tavis averted his gaze, his cheeks reddening, but he made no attempt to hide his face.
“I’m sorry for the boy,” she said, “but I don’t know the man you re talking about.”
Grinsa read the lie in her eyes and in the twisting of her slender hands.
“Did you know that this man was in Bistari just before the duke was killed?”
She stared at him, the color abruptly draining from her face. Then she quickly looked down again. For a moment Gnnsa thought she would cry.
“Were you in Bistari for the duke’s funeral?” he asked, knowing that she must have been.
The woman nodded.
“Did you see this man there?”
“I told you, I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know him.”
“Have you seen him here? Did he come for the king’s funeral? Or did he leave once the king was dead?”
Her eyes flew to his face once more. “You think he killed the king?”
“Do you?”
She started to object, but he raised a finger, silencing her. “Yes, I know,” he said. “You know nothing of this man.”
“I really must go,” the minister said, though she still did not stand.
There was one other possibility. He had heard men speaking of it in one of the northern cities. Had she been from any other house, he wouldn’t have mentioned it, but she had said Dantrielle, and so it was worth trying.
“There’s a tavern in Dantrielle, I believe it’s called the Red Boar. Did you-?”
Before he could finish she was on her feet, having nearly toppled over the table as she stood.
“Who are you?” she demanded, leveling a trembling finger at him. “Who sent you?”
Grinsa stood slowly, holding up his hands as if to show her that he carried no blade. “No one sent me,” he said gently. “I’ve already told you, my friend and I are looking for this man.”
She backed away from him. “And I told you, I don’t know him! Now stay away from me! If you come near me again I’ll have you both arrested. I swear it.”
The minister glared at him another moment before turning and walking swiftly to the tavern door. She looked back at the gleaner once, as if assuring herself that he wasn’t following her. Then she hastened into the street.
“Are we going to follow her again?” Tavis asked, standing.
Grinsa walked slowly back to their table, shaking his head. “No. I don’t think she can actually have us arrested, but I don’t want to chance scaring her any more than I have already.”
“You think she knows him.”
“I’m sure of it,” the gleaner said. “Just as I’m sure that she met him in that tavern in Dantrielle.”
“Do you think she’s with the conspiracy?”
“I suppose,” he said.
Tavis narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound very certain.”
“She seemed terribly uneasy, not at all like someone who’s been plotting against the Eandi courts for any length of time.”
“Perhaps she hasn’t been,” the boy said with a shrug. “If their movement is growing as we fear, they have to be adding new people. She must be one of them.”
Grinsa nodded, though he remained unconvinced. Something about the woman’s behavior troubled him, but he couldn’t explain it, and even a Weaver could place too much trust in his instincts. She knew the assassin and had worked very hard to conceal this from him. That should have been all the proof he needed.
“If she is with the Qirsi movement,” Tavis said, “and if she has allies in the castle, our lives are in danger.”
Again, the boy made sense. Yet the gleaner’s doubts lingered, like the scent of rain after a storm has passed. “Perhaps,” he said, sitting once more. “But I don’t think she has many friends in the castle. If she did, she wouldn’t have been here.”
She must have looked back over her shoulder a thousand times between the tavern and Castle Solkara, expecting at any moment to see the two men from the tavern coming after her. Her heart was laboring so hard that her chest ached, and she wasn’t certain she could keep down even the small bit of her breakfast she had managed to eat.
Evanthya knew that the closer she drew to the castle gates, the safer she was, but that did little to ease her fears. It was bad enough that the assassin had guessed that she was a minister the day she hired him, but to have strangers in the royal city asking about Corbin and the Red Boar was too much. She longed to run to Fetnalla. If anyone could calm her, her love could. But such comfort lay beyond her reach now.
She could barely remember why they had fought, it all seemed so foolish and far away. She knew though that Fetnalla would not have forgotten. The woman was brilliant and loving, but she could also be as stubborn and proud as an Eandi noble.
Once inside the castle, Evanthya did manage to calm herself. Unable to confide in Fetnalla, and unwilling to risk a chance encounter with her duke, she retreated to her chamber and lay down. By the time the midmorning bells tolled, she felt composed enough to attend the audience with the queen.
She reached the castle’s presence chamber just as Tebeo, Brail, and Fetnalla arrived from the opposite direction.
“First Minister,” her duke said, regarding her closely. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, forcing herself to look at the duke so that her gaze wouldn’t stray to her love. “I took a walk in the city. It’s not often that I get to the Solkaran marketplace.”
The duke nodded, although he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Indeed” was all he said.
Brail knocked at the door and when the queen called for them to enter, they pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber.
Chofya stood before a grand table, dressed in a long red velvet gown with a high neck. She wore a circlet of gold on her brow and a long golden necklace, from which hung a brilliant green gem. With her black hair tied back from her face and her dark eyes shimmering in the light of several oil lamps, she looked both beautiful and forbidding, like a woman born to power.
Pronjed stood behind her, as pale as Chofya was dark, as austere as she was elegant, yet no less formidable. There were several guards in the chamber as well, but Grigor and his brothers had yet to arrive.
“Lord Orvinti, Lord Dantrielle,” Chofya said, offering a tight smile. “I’m grateful to you both for being here. I know that you both have… misgivings about the arrangement I propose. You do me a great service by your presence.”
“We’re honored that you asked us, Your Highness,” Tebeo said.
The queen gestured at a long table and several chairs that stood by the great hearth. “Won’t you sit? The duke should be joining us shortly.”
The dukes and their ministers stepped to the far side of the table and sat. Evanthya was glad for the warmth of the fire at her back, and grateful as well that both dukes sat between herself and Fetnalla. Pronjed and the queen continued to stand, though Chofya stepped closer to the table and the great throne that had been placed at the end of it, favoring them with the same uneasy smile.
“I trust you all slept well?” she said after a brief pause.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Brail answered for all of them. ‘And you?“
Chofya let out a small laugh. “I’ve hardly slept since my husband died, Lord Orvinti. Last night was no better or worse than any other.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. Once these matters are resolved I’ll have plenty of time to rest. Until then, this is my lot, and I accept it as such.”
The duke nodded, but gave no reply, and a difficult silence settled over the chamber. Even with the windows shuttered, Evanthya could hear Solkara’s master armsman shouting commands at his soldiers in the castle ward below. Perhaps the sound would serve to remind Grigor of the army Chofya had at her command. Evanthya wondered if the queen had that in mind when she called this meeting for midmorning.
The minutes dragged by. No one spoke, though the queen looked repeatedly toward the door, clicking her tongue impatiently every few moments. If the king’s brother hoped to anger her, he had already done a fine job of it.
“Carden always said that even time could be a weapon, if used properly,” Chofya murmured after some time. “He learned this from his father. Apparently his brothers were listening as well.”
Still they waited. The soldiers finished their training. They heard footsteps in the corridor outside the chamber and Chofya straightened, facing the door. But no knock came and after a time, the queen seemed to sag.
Pronjed cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should send a guard for him.”
“No,” Chofya said. “He’s doing this for a reason. I will not have him see that he’s angered me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
So they sat, doing nothing. Evanthya began to listen for the midday bells, sensing that they couldn’t be far off. Chofya wandered around the chamber, straightening paintings that already hung straight, and smoothing tapestries that had no creases.
When the knock finally came, it sounded so loud that Evanthya started.
Chofya crossed to the throne and sat. “Come!” she called, her voice icy.
The door swung open and Grigor strode into the chamber, followed by his two brothers. He looked much as he had the previous evening, elegant and graceful, and as broad and muscular as the hero of some childhood tale. He was dressed in warrior’s garb, a dun shirt and matching trousers, black boots and belt. From the belt hung a fighting sword on one side and a matching short sword on the other, both with jeweled hilts. He had only been duke of Solkara for a few days, yet he looked as much like a king as Chofya did a queen, and by comparison he made the other two dukes appear to be little more than courtiers.
Positioned behind him, his brothers served as such perfect complements to his appearance that Evanthya had to believe the effect was intended. To the left stood Henthas, powerfully built like his brother, but with darker hair and harder features that made him appear grim where Grigor was jaunty. To the right stood Numar, slighter than his brothers and with a kind, open face that made the trio seem somewhat less imposing.
“Forgive us if we kept you waiting,” Grigor said lightly, leading his brothers to the table, lowering himself into a chair, and indicating with a nod that the two of them should do the same.
Chofya waited until they were seated before speaking. “I didn’t give you leave to sit, Lord Solkara, nor did I see you bow to me as is proper.”
Grigor regarded her with a look of utter innocence. “With Carden dead, I’m duke of Solkara. I didn’t think I had to ask permission to sit in my own castle.” He furrowed his brow. “Unless you intend to vie for my dukedom as well.”
Henthas chuckled.
“As for failing to bow to you,” Grigor went on, “please forgive me.” He half stood and sketched a small bow that was really nothing more than a nod. “Now, can we please be done with all this foolishness and discuss the matter at hand?”
Chofya glowered at him, her color high. But after a moment, she gave a curt nod. “Very well,” she said. “By the matter at hand I assume you mean the selection of Carden’s successor.”