by DAVID B. COE
Elam frowned. “You sound more like a Curgh than a Thorald, Lord Shanstead. Is this your thinking, or have you been speaking with Curgh and his allies?”
“I assure you, Lord Eardley,” Marston said coldly, “this is the first time I’ve spoken of these tidings with the duke.”
“I see. And can you offer any proof that your father’s Qirsi had a hand in Filib’s murder?”
Marston felt his cheeks growing hot. “No.”
“Well, have you learned anything new about Lady Brienne’s death that might support this wild theory of yours?”
“Nothing beyond what we’ve all heard.”
“So you’re just guessing then. Your father’s first minister turns out to be a traitor, and so you assume that Qirsi conspirators are responsible for all the land’s troubles. Is that about right?”
“It’s more than that,” Javan broke in. “We have many reasons to believe that Tavis was innocent of any crime, though Aindreas refused to acknowledge them. My minister and I have thought for some time that the Qirsi might have been behind Brienne’s death and my son’s suffering.”
The duke of Eardley glared at him. “Don’t speak to me of your son’s suffering, Javan. Aindreas and Ioanna have suffered. I’ll even allow that you and Shonah have. But not the boy, not after what he did. And as to these reasons of which you speak, I don’t even want to hear about them. I’m not likely to give much credence to anything you have to say about the Lady Bnenne or your son.”
“That’s your choice, Elam,” Caius said pointedly. “I, for one, would like to hear what Javan has learned.”
“Of course you would, Caius. You’ve already allied yourself with Curgh and Glyndwr. I’m sure you’d welcome any word that might justify that choice and cleanse the lady’s blood from your house.”
Labruinn stood, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. “How dare you!”
“My Lord Dukes, please,” Tobbar said, forcing himself to his feet once more. “We are all men of Eibithar, and we all want what’s best for our kingdom. Surely that bond is stronger than any issue that divides us.”
Elam was still sitting, but he stared up at the other duke as if ready to do battle.
“Please, Cams,” Tobbar said gently. “Sit down.”
After another moment, the duke of Labruinn nodded and lowered himself into his chair. His eyes never left Elam’s face, however, and his expression did not soften.
“You saw my son at Kearney’s investiture,” Javan said to Elam, breaking a lengthy silence. “You saw the scars on his face. They were nothing compared with the marks Aindreas’s torture left on his body. Yet he never confessed. Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t it at least give you pause?”
“It tells me only that the boy is strong-willed to the point of stubbornness.” Eardley gave a cold smile. “It comes as no surprise, really, given that he’s a Curgh.”
“You think willfulness is all a man needs to endure torture?”
“Maybe he knew that an attempt would be made to win his freedom, that all he needed to do was last a few days until his escape. Certainly such hope would sustain him through a good deal of suffering.” Elam gave a small shrug. “To be honest, I don’t know what kept him from confessing. But to assume, in the face of all the evidence against him, that his failure to confess makes him innocent seems to me the worst kind of sophistry.”
Marston could barely contain his frustration. “So you refuse to accept that there might be any connection at all between Brienne’s murder and the treason of Kentigern’s Qirsi.”
“In the absence of any evidence linking one to the other, yes, I do.”
“Don’t you see that by taking Kentigern’s part, you weaken us? This is just what the conspiracy wants: a kingdom at war with itself, and a king without the support of his people. You’re as bad as Enid and every other traitor to-”
“Marston!” Tobbar said, his voice like a war hammer. “That’s enough!”
Elam looked around the chamber, shaking his head slowly, a dark grin on his lips. “I should have known better than to come here. It’s not a discussion you want, Shanstead. You asked me here to turn me from Kentigern’s side.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then how is it that in a kingdom that leans heavily to Kentigern’s point of view, I find myself his sole defender here in your castle? Did you send that damned message to anyone else, or was I the lone target of your efforts this time?”
“He sent the message to every house in the land,” Tobbar answered. “Including Kentigern. The snows kept some of the others away, narrow-mindedness the rest. Aindreas wouldn’t even allow our rider to deliver his message.”
“Can you blame him? Demons and fire, Tobbar! You have children. Can’t you see how the man grieves?”
“Of course I can. And I can even see why he hates Curgh so.” The duke glanced at Javan. “Forgive me, but circumstances demand nothing less than complete honesty. Had it been my child, and your son’s blade, I’d hate your house as well.” He faced Elam again. “That said, the defection of my Qirsi would have given me cause to wonder, and so too would the boy’s refusal to confess, even after the most severe torture.”
Eardley shook his head again. “I expect such nonsense from Javan, and maybe from the thane as well. But you should know better, Tobbar. Your neutrality is a farce. You claim to fear for the kingdom, but you care only for your own power. You ally yourself with butchers and a false king so that you can maintain your precious supremacy.” He stood and started toward the door. “If Ean cares at all for justice, the boy will hang, and the Rules of Ascension will cease to govern our land.”
“Elam,” Tobbar called. “I beg you not to go. My son had no right to say what he did. But his fears are justified. No matter what you think of the rules or of Javan, you have to see that civil war will weaken us.”
Eardley had pulled the door open, but he paused now on the threshold, turning to face the duke. “Kearney weakens us. Demons like Tavis of Curgh weaken us. What is a kingdom without justice? If it takes war to make Eibithar whole again, then so be it. But I’ll not allow Glyndwr’s ambition and Curgh’s lies and Thorald’s lust for power to rule over my house.”
With that he walked out, not bothering to close the door again, so that the click of his footsteps echoing through the corridor filled the chamber.
“Can he really be so blind?” Marston asked. “Doesn’t he know that the Qirsi want us thirsting for each other’s blood?”
“For centuries,” Javan said quietly, “the Rules of Ascension have only barely masked the fact that Eibithar remains a loose confederation of clans. Over the course of our history we’ve been as eager to fight ourselves as we have the Aneirans.” He looked at Marston. “The Qirsi seek to defeat us by attacking our greatest weakness as a kingdom. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of us that their tactics are working.”
Eardley’s first minister dropped herself into a large chair by the thin slit of a window and looked up at Xivled, Marston’s minister. “So tell us, cousin. Why has Thorald called our dukes to his castle? What are these tidings you’re all so eager to share with us?”
“Yes, cousin,” Labruinn’s first minister added. “You and your thane have been terribly mysterious, and I grow tired of it. What could possibly justify asking us to brave the snows?”
Ottah was older than the rest of them. His pallid face was deeply lined and his white hair had begun to thin. Though his journey had been much shorter than the one from Curgh, and the path he and his duke followed through the North Wood more sheltered than Fotir’s ride across the Moorlands, the Curgh minister had little doubt that the older man had found his travels quite arduous.
“My lord and the duke of Thorald wished to speak with Eibithar’s other dukes about the Qirsi conspiracy,” Xivled answered. “That’s why they asked us to leave.”
“But why now?” Cerri asked, playing with her braided hair. “Why wait for the snows? Or for that matter, why n
ot wait longer, until the rains return?”
“Because we only learned on the last Pitch Night that the duke of Thorald’s first minister was a traitor.”
Fotir had expected something like this. His duke had noticed almost immediately upon their arrival that Enid ja Kovar was nowhere to be seen. Either she was dead, or she had left the castle. And if she had died without incident, Tobbar would have replaced her with one of his underministers. All signs pointed to her betrayal.
“My lord believes Enid may have played a role in Filib the Younger’s death,” the minister continued. “Perhaps in the elder Filib’s as well.”
“Where is Enid now?” Fotir asked.
“She’s dead. We tried to imprison her, hoping to learn something of her allies in the movement, but she took her own life before we could.”
“The movement?” Cerri asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it when you speak with Shanstead?”
Xivled frowned. “The conspiracy then.”
“I’m serious, cousin,” Eardley’s minister said. She looked at the rest of them. “When the rest of you speak with your dukes about these Qirsi, what do you say about them?”
Fotir shook his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t, cousin,” Ottah laughed. “The great Fotir jal Salene doesn’t concern himself with such trifles. No one would ever doubt where his loyalties lie. The rest of us don’t have that luxury, though. We have to watch every word when it comes to the conspiracy.” He looked at Cerri. “I know I do.”
“So how do you handle it?” she asked.
The man shrugged. “I tread lightly. What else can I do? I always use ‘we’ when speaking of Labruinn, or the courts, or sometimes even the Eandi. And of course I refer to the Qirsi in the movement as ‘they.’ Lately I’ve found myself avoiding the use of my magic at all costs. Just half a turn ago, I had a dream that I’m quite certain was a vision. It wasn’t anything too important-there were no lives at stake. But I saw something that may affect the next harvest in the Labruinn countryside. The point is, though, I’ve yet to mention it to my duke. I’m afraid that any mention of my powers will make me suspect in his eyes.”
Fotir stared at the minister, not quite believing what he was hearing. “But that makes no sense. We’re Qirsi. The nobles of Eibithar-indeed, of all the realms of the Forelands-have relied on our magic for centuries.
That’s why your duke brought you to Labruinn in the first place, to wield your powers on his behalf.“
“As I already said, cousin, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Why not? Am I any less Qirsi than you are? Are my eyes less yellow, my hair less white?”
“It’s not your eyes and hair that concern us, Fotir,” Cerri said. “It’s your blood. From what I’ve heard, it runs more Eandi than Qirsi. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you never worry about your duke’s suspicions.”
Fotir’s cheeks burned, and he struggled to keep from storming out of the chamber. Such remarks about a sorcerer’s blood dated to the days of Carthach and his betrayal of the Qirsi people during the early wars. Any white-hair at whom they were directed could not help but take offense. More to the point, however, they echoed similar comments made to him by Shurik jal Marcine, during their conversations in Kentigern during the growing turns, and by a Revel Qirsi named Trin the night of Tavis’s Fating. Somehow, during his years of service to the House of Curgh, Fotir had acquired a reputation as a man more devoted to his lord than to his people. All he had done was serve Javan and his house loyally for nine years. Was there a crime in that? Certainly his father would have thought so. His father, who had cursed Carthach’s name every day of his life, and had stopped speaking with his only son the night of Fotir’s Fating, which showed him serving an Eandi noble. He could almost hear the man saying, You see? This is what comes of serving the Eandi.
“I don’t fear my duke’s suspicions,” he said, measuring each word, “because he harbors none. And if he did, he’d bring them to me. There’s no secret to my friendship with Javan. We speak with each other honestly. If you and your duke did the same, you could be true to yourself and your heritage.”
He expected Ottah to respond in anger, but the minister merely laughed. “You truly believe that your duke harbors no suspicions of you?” He glanced briefly at Cerri, who was grinning as well, then faced Fotir again. “Perhaps you’re more simple than I thought, cousin.”
Xivled cleared his throat. “Actually, Ottah, I don’t believe Marston is suspicious of me.”
“Well, you’ve known him since you were children,” Cerri said. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? I’m Qirsi, he’s Eandi. The way you and Ottah speak of it, one would think that nothing else matters. I’m forced to wonder if you’re not the simple ones, assuming that every Qirsi minister feels about his or her noble as you do about yours.”
Cerri pressed her lips in a thin line and stared at the fire. Ottah didn’t respond either.
“How did you learn of Enid’s betrayal?” Fotir asked after a lengthy silence.
“Marston and I contrived to have me speak with her in private. While in her chambers I led her to believe that I hated the thane and wished to join the conspiracy. She didn’t believe me right away, but it didn’t take me long to convince her. I gathered from what she told me that Thorald had once been a center of conspiracy activity, but that its time had passed. I think she believed that bringing me to the movement’s leaders would enhance her stature once more.”
“So you had an opportunity to join the conspiracy?” Fotir asked in amazement. The other two ministers were staring at Xivled, as if he had transformed himself into a Weaver before their eyes.
“Yes, I did.”
“And what happened?”
The younger man looked away. “My thane and I exposed her treason to the duke that very night. She killed herself as they took her to the dungeon.”
“A pity,” Fotir said.
“I know. I said as much to Marston that night, but he wished to protect me from harm.” He looked up again, eyeing Ottah and Cerri. “An irony, given our conversation. Wouldn’t you say?”
Neither of them answered, and the ministers lapsed into silence again.
“So Enid was a traitor,” Ottah finally said, shaking his head. “That’s only going to make matters worse for the rest of us. My duke is likely to be even less trusting than before.” He grinned at Fotir. “Who knows, cousin? Even Javan might have his doubts now.”
Fotir merely stared at the minister.
“Come on, Cerri,” Ottah said, pushing himself from his chair. “I don’t know about our friends here, but I for one could use some wine.”
“By all means,” Xivled said, as Cerri stood. “Visit our cellars. Tell the cellarmaster I sent you.”
Ottah pulled the door open and held it for Eardley’s minister. “Thank you, cousin. We will.” He nodded at Fotir. “First Minister.”
A moment later they were gone. Fotir closed his eyes and exhaled through his teeth.
Xivled sat in the chair beside Fotir’s. “I feel I should apologize for them, First Minister. They have no right speaking to you so.”
“It’s all right, Minister. It’s not your fault, nor is it anything I haven’t heard before.” He regarded the other man briefly. “You should know that it’s only a matter of time before other Qirsi speak of you as they do of me. You’re in line to be First Minister to Eibithar’s most powerful house, and you leave no doubt as to where your loyalties lie. Most other ministers will envy you. Some, like Ottah and Cerri, will compare you to Carthach, if not to your face, then when your back is turned.”
Xivled gazed at the fire, looking thoughtful and quite young. “I suppose they might. You know as well as I that the jealousies of loyal Qirsi are the least of our worries.”
“Usually I’d agree with you, cousin. But we live in strange times. Every conflict weakens us, no matter how petty i
t might be. Noble houses are threatening each other with war, not only here, but in Aneira and Sanbira as well. The Aneirans still threaten us from the south, and we’ve noticed a good deal of activity from Braedon’s fleet. Eandi lords have grown afraid of their ministers, and now it seems Qirsi are hiding their powers to allay those fears. Ottah’s envy may seem a trifle, but it’s one more fissure in a kingdom that’s already crumbling. I fear for us, cousin. We know so little about our enemies that we’re turning on each other.” He paused, unsure as to whether to give voice to all that he was thinking. “It may not be my place to say this,” he went on at last, “but I wish your thane had allowed you to join the conspiracy.”
The minister’s gaze flicked in his direction for just an instant, but that was long enough for Fotir to see the pained expression in Xivled’s pale eyes. “I could have learned so much.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Kentigern, Eibithar
There might have been another way to accomplish his goals, had he only taken the time to look for one. Aindreas tried to tell himself that his choices were limited, that there was only so much a duke could do under such extraordinary circumstances. Indeed, there was more than a bit of truth to this. He couldn’t tell Villyd what he had in mind, for the swordmaster would never have approved. He might even have forsaken his oath of service and left Kentigern for good, or worse, informed Ioanna of what Aindreas was doing so that she might dissuade the duke with her rage and disgust. Certainly Aindreas couldn’t have told Barret, his prelate, and the only other man in the castle he could trust. And he couldn’t very well inquire in the city on his own, not without raising a swarm of questions.
The fact of the matter was, however, he was glad to be in the dungeon again, torturing once more. He had a thirst for it, just as he did for Sanbin red. Even the stench of the place didn’t bother him anymore. There was comfort to be found here: in the screams, in the smell of the torches, in the feel of his sword cutting into another man’s flesh. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was hurting Tavis again, exacting a measure of revenge for what the boy did to Brienne.