by DAVID B. COE
The executioner, a tall, burly man in a brown hooded robe, climbed slowly to the platform, and as he did the soldiers tied Grigor’s hands behind his back and slipped the noose around his neck. The cheers grew louder.
Fetnalla turned away.
“An execution can be difficult to watch,” Brall told her, “particularly the first one. But none of the people here is likely to forget this. Other traitors will think twice before taking on the royal house, and those who seek vengeance for what was done to their queen and the Council of Dukes will leave here satisfied that justice was done.”
The Qirsi offered no response.
At the base of the gallows, the executioner grabbed hold of the rope and, with a quick glance toward Pronjed, who nodded once, gave a mighty pull. Grigor was lifted off the platform, to the roared approval of the crowd. The traitor kicked his feet several times, his body swinging back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bared. The executioner left him up there for some time, until his features started to slacken. Only then, when the man was broken, but not yet dead, did the executioner lower him again, removing the noose and cutting the bonds that held his hands. They laid him down on the bare wood platform, and brought forth the knives.
Even Brall had to look away after that, though from the shouting, and the cries of some, he knew that they were disemboweling him. At last he heard the executioner call out the ritual words, “See in my hand, the heart of a traitor.” It was nearly over.
In another few moments, the guards descended the steps again, each one of them bearing part of the man’s body. The executioner followed, carrying Grigor’s head on a pike. The horsemen who were to bear the traitor’s body to the four corners of the kingdom waited just beyond the mass of people, and already some were leaving the marketplace for the castle, so that they might see the man’s head mounted there.
“Justice,” it was said, “is both patient and swift, curative and cruel, equitable and absolute.”
Never had Brall thought the words more apt that they were this day.
With the execution ended, Brall and Fetnalla followed Chofya back to the castle. There, just after midday, in the queen’s presence chamber, the Council of Dukes met for the first time since the poisoning.
Chofya was there, of course, as were her daughter and Grigor’s two surviving brothers. Henthas, Brall was disturbed to see, wore the red, black, and gold of Solkara and took a seat at the table with the rest of the dukes. Numar stood at the head of the table with the queen, Pronjed, and Kalyi.
When all the dukes and their ministers had arrived and were seated, Chofya stood. “After the darkness of the past several days,” she began, “I am pleased to have tidings of a different sort. Numar, marquess of Renbrere, youngest brother of my husband the king, has agreed to serve as regent to my daughter Kalyi when she is invested as queen of Aneira.”
Brall glanced at Tebeo, who was already looking his way, relief written plainly on his round face.
“He has agreed to accept Carden’s archminister, Pronjed jal Drenthe, as his archminister, and he has already sent word to his home in Renbrere to have his possessions brought here so that he might live in the royal city.”
She stepped to the side as Numar stood, a smile on his face.
“I am honored that Queen Chofya has deemed me worthy to serve as regent to her daughter until our new queen is old enough to rule Aneira on her own. With all that’s happened since we first arrived for my brother’s funeral, it would have been only natural for this council to turn away from House Solkara and toward the uncertainty and dangers of civil war. I’m grateful to all of you for your patience and your commitment to peace. I hope that I prove myself worthy of your trust.”
“Forgive me, Lord Renbrere,” the duke of Rassor interrupted, “but I must ask why your brother is here. We bear you no ill will, but Henthas has always been at Grigor’s right hand. He has no place in this council.”
Several of the others nodded in agreement, including both Ansis and Tebeo.
“I assure you, my lord duke, Henthas had no part in Grigor’s crime. He gives me his word as both my brother and a noble of Solkara, and I believe him. I intend to devote myself wholly to my duties as regent, and will have little time for the Solkaran dukedom. As none of my brothers nor I have sons who are of age, the title of duke must fall to Henthas.”
Rassor still did not look pleased and though Brall had little affection for the man, he had to agree with him in this instance. Numar seemed to sense that the other dukes remained unconvinced as well.
“My lords, please. You have entrusted me with the well-being of your kingdom and the care of your child-queen. This is but a trifle by comparison. My brother and I will be living together in this castle. I give you my word that I will see to it that he rules Solkara with a steady hand.”
Henthas appeared to bristle at this.
“I’m not some horse to be tamed and fitted with a bridle,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “I’m the oldest living son of Tomaz. By all rights, the kingdom should be mine. Isn’t it enough that I’ve given that up and the regency, too? Would you have me throw down my sword as well?”
Numar turned to his brother, a smile on his lips, obviously forced. “You make your point plainly, brother. As always.”
“I don’t like him being in the castle with the girl,” Rassor said. He glanced at the queen. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I fear for her safety.”
“We all do, Lord Rassor,” Chofya said. “Not because of Henthas, but because she is a child, and the kingdom has many enemies. That’s why I’m so pleased that Numar has agreed to be her regent and to keep Pronjed as archminister. I trust my husband’s brother in this matter, as in all matters. I have no doubt that Henthas will be a fine duke and that House Solkara will flourish under his leadership.”
With that, the queen effectively ended their discussion. Many of Brall’s doubts remained, and he felt certain that he wasn’t alone in this regard. But Chofya had spoken. To press the matter further would have been to question her judgment, and none of the dukes was willing to do that.
“Kalyi’s investiture will take place in the morning,” the queen said a moment later. “All of you are invited, of course, as are the people of Solkara. After the ceremony, I assume most of you will be returning to your realms. It’s been nearly a full turn since Carden’s death. The time has come for our kingdom to end its grieving. As I said a moment ago, Aneira has many enemies. They will be watching us, looking for signs of weakness. We must show them none. Go home to your people. Tell them they have a new queen and that she will be guided by a strong, capable regent.”
For a moment, the gathered dukes said nothing. Then Brall stood, and following his example, the others did as well. Even Henthas.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” Brall said.
They all bowed to her and to her daughter in turn. The girl smiled, looking embarrassed and terribly young, and Brall felt himself grow cold.
The dukes and their ministers began to leave, Brall and Fetnalla with them. Once in the corridor, the two of them stopped to wait for Tebeo and Evanthya. Then they all made their way out to the castle ward, where they could speak freely.
“What do you think?” Dantrielle asked, his breath making clouds of vapor. “Do we have cause to fear Henthas?”
Brall exhaled heavily. “I think Henthas is the least of our problems. We’re placing our kingdom in the hands of a child and a man who, until recently, was known throughout the land as the Fool.”
“Numar is no fool, Brall. I feel certain of that.”
“I know he’s not. But he’s younger than Ansis. He’s barely older than the new duke of Mertesse. He knows nothing of leading a kingdom.”
“He’s Tomaz’s son. And he’ll have Chofya and Pronjed to help him. Besides, even if he were a fool, and without anyone to offer him guidance, I’d still rather he was regent than most anyone else.”
“Yes,” Brall said reluctantly. “I feel the sa
me way.” He’d heard many of the dukes speaking this way in recent days. Better a Fool than a Jackal, they were saying. It had become an aphorism of sorts. And though he could not argue with them, neither could he bring himself to feel at ease with the thought. Not with the conspiracy spreading its influence across the Forelands and agents of Eibithar abroad in the kingdom.
This had all begun with his dagger, the crystal blade he had given the king upon his arrival in Solkara, so long ago that he barely remembered the day. He hadn’t guided the king’s hand, of course. Carden had done this to himself and to the kingdom. But the duke still remembered Fetnalla’s suspicions of the archminister, doubts that Tebeo’s first minister echoed later. Now they were trusting Pronjed to help Numar lead the land, and they were hoping that this young noble could stand fast if the minister proved to be faithless. The fate of Aneira had never seemed so uncertain. And he couldn’t help thinking that he had let this happen, that something vital had escaped his notice.
Chapter Twenty-three
Evanthya had never attended an investiture before, though she had heard tales of the grand celebration that followed the crowning of Tomaz the Ninth. From all that she saw, however, and from all that Tebeo and Brall told her, she had the sense that Kalyi’s coronation was a modest affair. Aneiran nobles wore their ceremonial garb and gathered in the great hall of Castle Solkara, just as they had for the funeral of the girl’s father. The kitchens prepared the finest of foods and the cellarmaster provided flask after flask of Sanbiri wine. But to Evanthya the celebration felt muted, as if those who had come to wish the new queen well were all too aware of the difficulties that lay ahead and the dangers facing this child.
The Eandi nobles would begin the long journeys back to their realms the following morning knowing that for the first time in two and a half centuries, the land had no king. It was a realization that seemed to weigh heavily on all of them.
Many of the lesser nobles left early, offering obeisant farewells to Chofya, the new queen, and Numar. Seated as they were with the Solkaran royalty, Brall and Tebeo had little choice but to remain until the end of the feast. But as the sound of conversations in the great hall gradually diminished and the grand chamber emptied, Fetnalla gazed toward Evanthya and mouthed the words “Let’s walk.”
Evanthya nodded, quietly excused herself from the table, and left the hall. She walked slowly through the corridors and into the cold, crisp air of the courtyard. The clouds had thinned, and she could see both moons turning their slow arc across the night sky. Panya, white and luminous, though barely more than a thin, curving blade, hung just above the western wall of the fortress, while Ilias, not quite halfway through his waxing, hung overhead, bathing the castle in his red glow. This was Qirsar’s Turn, and of all the moon legends, none were more important to the Qirsi than those tied to the god of magic. In just a few more nights, on the Night of Two Moons, her power would be greater than it was any other night of the year. And on Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone, she would be unable to wield her magic at all. All Qirsi went through this, and the effects of Pitch Night lasted just the one evening. But still she shuddered at the thought.
The air was still, as it had been earlier in the day, and Evanthya could smell smoke from the fires burning in hearths throughout Castle Solkara. She pulled her robes tighter around her shoulders, still shivering. In a few moments she heard footsteps behind her, and turning, saw Fetnalla emerge from the nearest of the stone archways.
The woman stopped in front of her and they both paused, then shared a quick, awkward kiss.
“Walk with me,” Fetnalla said, indicating the gardens with a slender hand.
They began to walk, following their dim shadows along the stone pathway. For some time, neither of them spoke. With all they’d been through since her arrival in Solkara, Evanthya wasn’t certain what to say or what to expect from Fetnalla. The fight they had before the poisoning seemed a small matter now and so far in the past as to have been almost forgotten. But clearly both of them still felt uncomfortable speaking of it, and they hadn’t lain together since the night she and Tebeo arrived.
“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again,” Fetnalla said at last.
Evanthya gave a thin smile. “Careful. The last time one of us said something like that, the king was dead less than a turn later.”
Fetnalla nodded, but her expression remained grave. “We wasted so much time—I wasted it. I’m sorry.”
“We’ve spoken of this before. All’s forgiven, on both sides.”
“I know. But there’s so much we should have been discussing. And now there’s no time.”
“We have time right now.”
Fetnalla halted and faced her, Ilias’s light in her eyes. “All right. This man you spoke to in the city. Are you certain he wasn’t with the conspiracy or sent by the lords of Eibithar?”
Evanthya had expected this. She told Fetnalla about her conversation with the gleaner on Bohdan’s Pitch Night, just hours after leaving the Qirsi man and his young companion in the tavern. They had been forced to speak quietly and choose their words with care. After word of the Eibitharian spy and his stunning escape through the south gate spread through the city, every guard in the castle had been called to duty. Even in Evanthya’s chamber, with the servants dismissed and the door locked, they feared being overheard. Considering what they needed to discuss, even a stray word or phrase could have convinced a soldier that they were traitors. She had done her best to put Fetnalla’s fears to rest, but she sensed that every reassurance she offered only served to heighten the woman’s concerns.
“I’m as certain as I can be,” she said.
Fetnalla frowned. “That’s not very comforting.”
“I don’t think they were spies. When the younger one spoke, and I recognized his accent, the gleaner didn’t deny that he was Eibitharian. And their interest in the assassin seemed genuine. They didn’t ask me about anything else, as members of the conspiracy might have. They knew I was first minister in Dantrielle, but they didn’t press me for information about my duke or the queen, other than to inquire after their health.”
“Still,” Fetnalla said, “he told you he was a gleaner. But if they were the ones who fled the city, he was far more than that.”
“Even gleaners have other powers.”
“Mists and winds? Shaping? You heard what the gate soldiers said. This was no mere gleaner, Evanthya. This man is at least as powerful as we are.”
Evanthya could hardly argue the point. She had thought much the same thing herself. Regardless of where their loyalties lay, these men were more than they claimed to be. She sensed this about both of them, the Eandi boy as well as the Qirsi.
“Do you think the assassin made an attempt on the boy’s life and failed? You said he bore scars.”
Evanthya shook her head. “The scars were on his face, and they didn’t appear to be the work of an assassin. Besides, from all we heard of the singer before we hired him, it doesn’t seem likely that anyone could survive his assault.” She pushed her hair back from her brow, then crossed her arms over her chest. “The gleaner was quite mysterious in speaking of this. He didn’t say the assassin gave him the scars, but rather that he was responsible for them. In fact, he said that twice.”
“A strange distinction to make,” Fetnalla said.
“I thought so as well.” Even as Evanthya spoke the words, however, a thought came to her that stole her breath. Hearing of events in Eibithar during the warmer turns, none of them had thought to question whether the conspiracy might have been involved. But in light of what the gleaner had said, and the young man’s unmistakable accent, she was forced to consider a most remarkable possibility.
“What is it?” Fetnalla asked, eyeing her closely.
“What if it’s not such a strange distinction after all?” she said, by way of reply. The more she thought back on her conversations with the gleaner and the Eandi, the more convinced she became. The
re had been something about the boy; he had struck her as both impressive and overly pampered, as only an Eandi noble could.
Fetnalla shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“The Eibitharian spy?” Evanthya said, meeting her gaze. “I think it may have been Lord Tavis of Curgh.”
“The one who killed the girl in Kentigern?”
“The one who was accused of killing her. The one who was tortured by her father in Kentigern’s dungeon.”
“You honestly believe he’d come here?”
“Maybe,” she said, “if he was desperate enough to find the man who really murdered that girl. The gleaner said that he couldn’t tell me more about what the assassin had done without endangering the boy’s life. At the time I didn’t know what to make of that, but if this was Tavis, it makes a great deal of sense.”
Fetnalla shook her head. “You’re assuming that he’s innocent, and that he’s free to wander the Forelands. The last I’d heard, he was an exile in Glyndwr, friendless and hated by his own people.”
“I heard that he never went to Glyndwr, but I don’t think any of us knows for certain. As to his innocence, we’ve seen our own kingdom thrust to the brink of civil war, perhaps by the conspiracy, perhaps not. Much the same thing happened in Eibithar just a few turns ago. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Isn’t it at least possible that the conspiracy has been behind all of this? Isn’t that why we hired the singer in the first place?”
Fetnalla seemed to weigh this, glancing up at the red moon. “I suppose it is.” She looked at Evanthya again. “Tell me once more what you said to him about the assassin.”
“I told him very little,” Evanthya said. “Just that we had hired him to kill a man we felt certain was part of the conspiracy.”
“Did you tell him where the man was?”
“No. He asked me, but I refused to answer.”