Seeds of Betrayal: Book 2 of the Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy

by DAVID B. COE

  “I don’t think he’s dead,” she answered, looking off to the side. “To be honest, I don’t know where he is. We had…a fight, before I knew about the baby, and he left.”

  “Does he know about the baby now?”

  This conversation had gone on long enough. “That’s not any—”

  “If he doesn’t know, you should tell him. It might end your fight.”

  Cresenne’s head was beginning to hurt. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. I need to eat. The baby kicked again, as if agreeing with her.

  “Are you all right?” Kavi asked.

  “Yes.” The gleaner opened her eyes and made herself smile. “I’m sorry about your Determining, Kavi. I shouldn’t have—” She stopped herself. Most children had no idea that a gleaner could make images appear in the stone. They assumed that like a Fating, a Determining came only from the stone and the god, as this one had. “I wish it had shown something different.”

  Kavi shrugged. “That’s all right. Maybe you’re right: maybe it was the king or someone else.”

  “Maybe. I hope so.”

  She waited for the girl to stand and leave, but Kavi just sat there.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Cresenne said, “but I have more gleanings to do this morning.”

  She nodded, but still she didn’t move. “I’m sorry for what I said about your baby,” she said at last, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  “I know,” Cresenne said quietly. “I didn’t think you were.”

  “But you think my mother is mean.”

  “I don’t know your mother.”

  “She’s not,” the girl said, her voice rising. “She’s not mean and she’s not a liar!”

  Cresenne felt her anger returning and she almost responded with the first words that came to her mind. But once again her baby moved within her, and the gleaner realized that she would want her child to defend her just as passionately.

  “Your mother must be a good woman,” she said instead, choosing her words with care, “if she can raise a daughter like you who loves her so much.”

  Kavi eyed her suspiciously. “She is a good woman.”

  Cresenne allowed herself a small grin. “I’m willing to say that I was wrong about her before, if you’ll admit that she was wrong about Qirsi babies.”

  The girl smiled. “All right.”

  “Now go. There are other children waiting.”

  “Thank you, gleaner.”

  For what? Insulting your mother or revealing your dark fate four years too early? “You’re welcome.”

  The child stood and walked to the tent entrance. Cresenne closed her eyes again, resting her head in her hands.

  “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

  She looked up. Kavi was still there, watching her from the tent opening. “I’m just hungry. I’ll be fine.”

  “Want me to get you some food?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll eat later.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Cresenne hesitated. It would be hours before she would be able to leave the tent, and the pain in her head was growing worse, settling at the base of her skull.

  “Really?”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  The gleaner dug into her pocket and pulled out two silvers.

  “Anything you can find. There’s a Sanbiri woman on the west end of the commons who sells spiced breads and dried fruit. That would be perfect.”

  Kavi took the money, seeming pleased to be able to do something for her, though Cresenne couldn’t imagine why.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Thank you,” the gleaner said, watching her leave.

  She put her hands on her stomach, but the baby had grown still again, one of its feet pressed against the center of Cresenne’s stomach.

  As she had so many times in the past few turns, the gleaner found herself thinking of her mother and the time they spent alone together after Cresenne’s father died, traveling with Wethyrn’s Crown Fair. There had been one night in particular when, after a performance in Strempfar, her mother offered to let her join the rest of the Qirsi gleaners and performers when they went to a tavern. Cresenne had just turned fifteen, and was reluctant to go anywhere with her mother, but tempted nonetheless by the thought of spending time with the older Qirsi.

  “I suppose I could go with you for a little while,” Cresenne told her, trying her best to mask her eagerness.

  “Oh, I won’t be going,” her mother said. “I’m tired tonight. You go and tell me about it in the morning.”

  Only later, when she was older and her mother long dead, did Cresenne understand that her mother hadn’t really been tired at all. She had merely known her daughter well enough to see that Cresenne would enjoy the experience more if she was alone.

  Her mother, it seemed, always knew exactly how to take care of her. It didn’t matter that her husband was dead, or that they had little money. She just knew.

  “And I just told a twelve-year-old girl that she’s going to be a widow before her third child is born.”

  She felt panic rising in her chest like a cresting river. What did she know about caring for a baby? What did she know about children at all? Aside from these gleanings she did every day, she never spoke to them. She didn’t know how they thought, or what they feared, or when it was time to treat them as adults rather than children. She wasn’t even certain what to feed her baby once it was weaned.

  “I’m going to be a mother in less than two turns,” she said softly, gazing into the glowing stone. “I’m not ready.”

  She could almost hear her mother’s reply. You have to be.

  She took a long breath and looked down at her body, smiling at the changes she saw. Not only her belly. Her breasts had grown large and firm, so she knew the child wouldn’t starve. And even in the midst of her fear, she could feel as well that she already loved this child. Perhaps for now, until she found Grinsa, that would be enough.

  At least I’ve found a name, she thought. Kaveri.

  She stood, stretching her back and legs before walking to the tent opening. The other children were waiting, and she couldn’t look for the baby’s father until these gleanings were done.

  Peering out from the tent, she saw that the line had grown longer since she started the gleanings. There must have been thirty children waiting now, some of them twelve, others sixteen. So many faces, so many expressions, so many shades of fear and wonder and excitement. Had their mothers been as frightened as she was?

  “Is it my turn?” the girl at the head of the line asked.

  Cresenne nodded. “What’s your name?” she asked, as the child stepped past her into the tent.

  “I’m Sunya Kilvatte.”

  The gleaner smiled, following the girl to the stone. Sunya. That was a pretty name, too.

  Chapter Five

  Solkara, Aneira

  Castle Solkara stood on a small rise of the southern bank of the Kett River, just downstream from Bertand’s Falls, a broad cascade that roared in the shadows of the Aneiran forest. The great red towers of the castle, bathed in the golden sun of late day, loomed above even the tallest oaks and elms of the wood. Banners, one of them red, black, and gold for House Solkara, and the other bearing the yellow and red sigil of the Kingdom of Aneira, flew from the towers above the east and west gates.

  The city of Solkara sprawled on either side of the fortress, its formidable walls following the slow curve of the river and arcing back toward the forest to the south. Soldiers stood on the walls and in the towers that watched over each gate.

  Sitting atop his mount just to the south and west of the city, Brall could not help but admire the scene. Solkara might not possess the land’s most beautiful castle—that distinction belonged to Bertin’s home in Noltierre, or perhaps the castle in Tounstrel. But there could be no denying that the fortress standing before him befitted a king.

  If anything, it sometimes seemed to the
duke that Aneira’s king was not worthy of the castle. He still remembered the joy and hope he felt when Carden’s father, Tomaz the Ninth, took the throne more than twenty-two years earlier. Brall himself had just become duke of Orvinti a few turns before and he looked forward to serving under his friend, who promised to be a fine king. Carden was but a boy then, only a year past his Determining, but already Brall saw in him signs of the quick temper and ruthlessness that would characterize his reign. He both hoped and expected that the boy would have time to outgrow these traits. Brall and Tomaz had been relatively young men, and the duke assumed that Tomaz would rule the land for decades. He never imagined that the king would die of a fever only nine years after his investiture, leaving Aneira to his eldest son.

  It would have been too much to say that Carden had diminished the throne. He was a competent leader, whose hard manner and fierce reputation served Aneira well in its dealings with Braedon and the other kingdoms of the Forelands. But a king could be strong with his allies and foes while still caring for his people. Carden, it often seemed, saw the people of Aneira as a burden, and the nobles who served under him as potential rivals and nothing more. Brall’s father once told him that the secret to being a good ruler was knowing when to raise a fist and when to extend a hand. He offered this as a lesson in leading the dukedom, but Brall knew that it applied with equal force to ruling an entire kingdom. Carden ruled only with his fists, and the land had suffered for it.

  Since his conversation with Tebeo six nights earlier, Brall had given a great deal of thought to Chago’s murder and the possible explanations for it. In the end he had decided that, one way or another, Carden shared responsibility for the duke’s death. Even if Qirsi gold paid the assassin, Carden’s past actions had made their deception possible. More than that, though, Brall also realized that regardless of whether Carden ordered the killing, the king would do nothing to dispel the notion that he had Chago killed. He drew his power from the fear he inspired in those who served him. Admitting that others were responsible, that the Qirsi had used his reputation to their advantage, was not in his nature.

  Brall intended to speak with the king anyway. He had made a promise to Tebeo, and he believed that he could divine the truth even without an honest response from the king. But he dreaded this encounter, and he sensed that by approaching Carden so soon after Chago’s death, he was placing his own life in danger.

  Fetnalla rode with him, as did a small complement of guards. Before he left Orvinti, Pazice urged him to bring his taster as well, but one did not bring a taster to the king’s castle, even while a fellow duke’s ashes were still settling over the land. With brigands roaming the forest and common thieves on the king’s road, the guards were a necessity. And no duke traveled without his first minister. But to arrive in Solkara with a larger company of servants and guards would imply that the king lacked the means or the good grace to make him comfortable and guarantee his safety.

  “Shall we continue, my lord?” the first minister called to him.

  Brall turned to look at her and the soldiers perched on their mounts behind her. They looked cold, and eager to ride on to the castle. The horses stomped impatiently, the vapor from their breath rising to the bare tree limbs in pale swirling clouds.

  “I suppose,” he said, his voice low as he looked at the castle once more. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking that this had been a bad idea.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes,” he said, riding back to the king’s road. “Let’s get on with it.”

  They resumed their approach to the city, four guards riding in front of the duke bearing the Orvinti banner, a white bear on a green and blue field. Fetnalla rode just behind Brall, and eight more soldiers followed her. They had ridden this way for four days, speaking little save for what was necessary to get them through the days and nights. Fetnalla made it clear from the first day that she felt the duke should send a message to the king before journeying to Solkara, but Brall didn’t want to give Carden too much time to prepare himself. He was far more likely to give something away if Brall surprised him.

  The duke hadn’t explained this to the first minister. Indeed, he had told her almost nothing about why he wished to speak with the king, except to say that it pertained to Chago’s death. After his conversation with the duke of Dantrielle, Brall was afraid to tell her more, lest he make himself a target of the Qirsi as well as of the king.

  For the first half of their journey, Fetnalla asked him repeatedly why he wished to speak with Carden at all, and what he hoped to accomplish by riding to Solkara rather than sending messengers. Each time she raised these matters, the duke tried to change the subject, or offered only vague responses, or just refused to answer her at all. Finally, after nearly two days of this, the minister gave up, lapsing into a brooding silence that troubled him nearly as much as her relentless questioning.

  Seeing Castle Solkara, however, seemed to embolden her again.

  “It’s not too late for us to dispatch one of the guards as a messenger, my lord,” she said. “It would probably only delay us a short while.”

  He nodded, not even bothering to look back at her. “Perhaps. But I’m not willing to delay at all. We’ll ride to the city gates. That will give the king ample time to prepare for our arrival.”

  The minister kicked at the flanks of her mount so that she caught up with him. She had bundled herself in her riding cloak, though she still looked cold and weary. She was tall for a Qirsi and uncommonly graceful. But on a mount, she appeared uncomfortable, even awkward. No doubt she had little desire to make this journey, but at no time had she complained of her discomfort. It was not in her nature to do so. She deserved more from him than he had given. Yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the suspicions planted in his mind by his late-night talk with Tebeo.

  “My lord, please!” she said with a fervor he had rarely seen in her. “If I’ve done something to give offense, tell me and be done with it! But don’t punish me by endangering your own life!”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” he asked.

  “It seems so to me.”

  “I’m not angry with you, First Minister, and I’m not trying to punish you.”

  “Then why suddenly won’t you answer my questions? Why do you ignore my counsel?”

  Because I don’t trust you. “I’m not ignoring your counsel. I’m just not heeding it. There’s a difference.”

  “There’s more to it than that. You refuse to speak with me. You’ve told me almost nothing about why you wish to speak with the king.”

  “Must I explain myself to my ministers now? Is that the duty of an Aneiran duke?”

  “Of course not, my lord. But my duty is to advise you, and I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

  It was a fair point, though Brall was not willing to admit it just then. “What would you have me say?” he asked instead.

  “You could begin by telling me what we’re doing here.”

  “We’re going to see the king, of course. There are matters I wish to discuss with him.”

  “What matters, my lord? What is so important that we have to brave this cold and the dangers of the wood?”

  “That’s between the king and me.”

  Fetnalla sighed heavily and shook her head. “Very well, my lord. Do as you will. I won’t trouble you with questions any more. But I will say this: your dissembling does an injustice to both of us, as well as to House Orvinti. By treating me this way, you not only dishonor our friendship, you also serve your people poorly.”

  “You forget yourself, First Minister!” he said so sharply that the soldiers riding ahead of the company turned to look back at him. “I will not be spoken to that way, especially not by a Qirsi!”

  The minister’s face reddened as if he had slapped her. She turned away, looking straight ahead. After a few moments, she dropped back into place behind him.

  Brall let out a long breath and cursed his temper. If she hadn’t betrayed him yet, she woul
d soon. He had given her every reason to. He almost called her back to his side so that he could tell her everything. But his fears wouldn’t allow it.

  Instead they rode, covering the remaining distance to Castle Solkara without speaking another word. Reaching the city walls, they turned eastward until they came to the nearest of the gates. There they were stopped by the king’s guards in their red-and-gold uniforms, the panther crest on their baldrics.

  “My Lord Duke,” one of the men said, bowing to Brall, his sword drawn and raised to his forehead. A gold star on his shoulder marked him as an officer in Carden’s army, perhaps a captain. “We weren’t told to expect you.”

  “The king didn’t know I was coming.”

  The captain raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to send one of your men ahead so the king could prepare for your arrival?”

  Brall felt his ire rising again. It was one thing to be questioned by Fetnalla, who had served him so well for so many years. But a duke did not explain himself to a soldier, not even to a captain in the king’s guard.

  “I’m here now,” Brall said, anger seeping into his voice. “Do you care to inform the king, or shall I ride on to the castle unannounced and let him see for himself how careless his soldiers have become?”

  The man paled. “Of course, my lord.” He turned smartly and barked an order to the men standing nearby. Two of them started running toward the castle, while the rest took positions on either side of the city road, drew their swords, and raised them to their brows.

  “I’ll accompany you to the castle myself, Lord Orvinti,” the captain said. “Please follow me.”

  He led the duke and his company past the soldiers, who stood motionless in salute, and through the marketplace of Solkara. Seeing Orvinti’s colors, which Brall’s guards still held high, the people of the king’s city paused in their business to stare. Some of them even clapped. Children pointed at the flags and at the swords carried by the duke’s men. They pointed as well at Fetnalla, staring wide-eyed at the Qirsi minister and whispering to each other.