David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“And your first minister?”

“I’m still not certain that I trust her. But in this instance we happen to agree.”

“If she is deceiving you then agreeing with her on a matter of such importance could be dangerous.”

“So am I to ignore all the counsel she offers? Or worse, am I supposed to listen to her advice and then always do the opposite? It wouldn’t take her long to turn that strategy against me.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would,” Tebeo said, grinning. “I just want to be certain that you’ve considered all the implications of what you’re proposing.”

“I have,” Brall said gravely. “I don’t want war with the royal house any more than I want war with Eibithar. And despite what your first minister said, I still hold out some hope that when Numar sees five of his dukes standing against him, he’ll relent. But if he doesn’t, I believe we can withstand Numar’s assault even without Silbron’s support, and I think that a civil war is preferable to this alliance with the empire, particularly if we can manage to wrest the crown from Solkara.”

Tebeo heaved a sigh and nodded. “Very well.”

Brall raised his cup, and Tebeo did the same. “To peace,” Orvinti said.

“To peace.”

They drank and Brall balanced his goblet on the arm of his chair as he so often did. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Should we send word to the regent of our intention to oppose the war?”

“We won’t have to. He’s asked for men, and we’ve refused him. I doubt we’ll have to wait long before he brands us as traitors and threatens to lay siege to our castles.”

“He can’t attack all of us.”

“No, he can’t. I imagine he’ll begin with me.”

Brall frowned. “Why with you?”

“Because when he came here last, I made it clear to him that I opposed his war. He has to destroy your house or mine-Kelt, Tounstrel, and Noltierre are too small to matter much. And when all else is said and done, he knows that Dantrielle will be the easier castle to take.”

Brall’s expression had sobered, and there was sympathy in his blue eyes, as if he had only just realized why Tebeo was so averse to a civil war. “My army is yours, Tebeo. You know that.”

“I do, my friend, and I thank you. Ean knows, I’m going to need it.”

They walked through the corridor in silence, taking the first set of stairs down to the castle ward, and then making their way to the gardens. Fetnalla would rather have gone directly to Evanthya’s bedchamber, but she knew her love too well to expect that. They had been on opposite sides of the discussion in her duke’s presence chamber, and after their fight in Solkara in the days following the death of King Carden the Third, Fetnalla sensed that Evanthya would be afraid she was angry with her again.

And she was, though not nearly so much as she might have been had she still cared whether or not her duke trusted her. She needed for both dukes to oppose the regent; the Weaver was expecting them to do so, and if by some chance Evanthya’s doubts held sway, he would blame Fetnalla, at least in part. But in this instance, her duke agreed with her and would do his best to convince Tebeo regardless of what Evanthya counseled. Fetnalla wished only to forget about wars and alliances for a time, to put aside all this talk of Eandi politics, and be with her love. It had been far too long since last they had lain together; during Evanthya’s most recent visit to Orvinti, Fetnalla had been too consumed with her fears of the Weaver and her resentment of Brall’s suspicion to give in to her desires.

All that was now in the past. She had cast her lot with the Weaver, and was at peace with that choice. Brall’s doubts were an inconvenience, nothing more. They made it a bit more difficult for her to do the Weaver’s bidding, but they also reminded her each day of why she had chosen the movement over the courts. Beyond the Qirsi cause, she cared only for Evanthya. And she needed desperately to renew the passion and love they once had shared.

For the time was coming when the Weaver would reveal himself and the Qirsi he commanded would move to crush the Eandi courts. Qirsi who had yet to pledge themselves to his cause would have one last chance to choose: they could serve the Weaver or die with their nobles. Were she forced to make that choice on this day, Evanthya would choose to die with Tebeo. Fetnalla was certain of it. Which meant that in the days remaining until the Weaver’s war began, she needed to convince Evanthya that their love was more important than their service to the dukes. It would take some time, perhaps more time than Fetnalla had, but she had to try.

“You’re very quiet,” she said, as they crossed through the ward.

“No more so than you.”

“You fear that I’m angry with you.”

“Aren’t you? I disagreed with you in front of Brall. Again.” Evanthya glanced at her for but a moment. “I saw the way you looked at me in there. You can’t tell me that you weren’t furious.”

“I don’t know about furious. I might have been a bit angry, but only for an instant, only because I feel so strongly that this alliance with the emperor is wrong.”

“It seemed like it was more than that.”

Fetnalla smiled. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry. You know me, Evanthya. I hate to lose an argument, any argument. I get very passionate when I care about something.” She slipped her hand into Evanthya’s as she spoke, drawing a smile from the woman and making her cheeks color.

“I can hardly find fault with you for that.”

A pair of guards stepped away from the nearest of the castle gates and started walking in their direction. Immediately, Evanthya pulled her hand away. The soldiers didn’t appear to notice anything.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to speak.”

Evanthya cast a quick look her way. “I’d like that,” she whispered. “Maybe later, after the evening meal.”

“Must we wait?”

“I think we should. I expect our dukes will call us back to the presence chamber before too long.”

“What does it matter if they do? They both know about us.”

“Yes, I know. But I’d feel more comfortable if they didn’t have to send guards to my bedchamber to find us.”

Fetnalla considered arguing the point further, but didn’t. Evanthya wasn’t going to change her mind, and if this grew into a fight, it might be several turns before they were to have another opportunity to be together.

“All right,” Fetnalla said. “What would you say to a walk through the city then? It’s been some time since I last came to Dantrielle, and you know how I love the marketplace here.”

“That sounds lovely as well, but as I said, I expect our dukes to summon us back to the castle before long. We should be here when they do.”

“Why? They sent us away. Why should we concern ourselves with them all the time when they obviously don’t give a thought to us?”

Fetnalla regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Fortunately, however, Evanthya still recalled how Brall mistreated her in the past.

“Is he still so suspicious of you?” she asked, concern in her bright golden eyes. “I had hoped matters might improve. You and he do agree when it comes to opposing the regent.”

“Yes, we agree, but that can’t undo so many turns of mistrust.”

“I know that. But you’re not going to regain his trust by defying him either. If we go off to the city, and then they summon us back to my duke’s chamber only to find us gone, it will do nothing to improve matters between you and Brall.”

She sounded like the worst kind of Qirsi servant, a lackey to the Eandi court who cared more for the noble she served than for her own people. Fetnalla had to bite her tongue to keep from saying as much. She could only imagine how the Weaver would have responded hearing Evanthya speak so.