David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“Good day, Your Highness,” the archminster said, stepping past the guards into the queen’s presence chamber and bowing before the throne.

“Archminister.”

“I trust you’re well?”

“Yes, quite.” As an afterthought, the queen added, “And you?”

Olesya seemed particularly distant this day. Abeni wondered if something more had happened, if perhaps word had come from one of the other realms of another betrayal.

“I wish I could say that I was well, Your Highness.”

The queen glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “Does something ail you?”

“Of course. The same thing that ails all the ministers in your castle. I’m concerned, not only for myself and for the other Qirsi but for you and the nobles as well. The Qirsi in this realm seek only to serve the courts, and you must know that you’re stronger for the counsel we offer. This rift between us must end.”

“I agree, Archminister. But until I know who among you can be trusted and who among you can’t, I fear that your service to the courts is more dangerous than it is valuable.” There was something strange in the queen’s manner. It almost seemed that she knew of Abeni’s ties to the movement.

“But perhaps we can help you in that regard, Your Highness,” she said, searching the queen’s face.

Olesya smiled, though the expression in her dark eyes didn’t change. “Can you see into the hearts of others, Abeni? Is that one of the powers you wield?”

“No, Your Highness. I think you know it’s not.”

“Then how can you possibly help me? How can you even ask me to let you try, when you can’t prove beyond doubt your own fealty to House Yserne.”

“Haven’t I served you well for all these years, Your Highness? Isn’t that proof enough?”

“Yes, you have, and no, it’s not.” Olesya hesitated, as if considering something. But then the thought seemed to pass and she said, “After Kreazur, I don’t know if I can ever trust a Qirsi again.”

Even Abeni could see the irony. She had killed the man and made him seem a traitor to conceal her own treachery, and yet by doing so, she had made herself suspect in the queen’s eyes. Somewhere in the Underrealm, the first minister was laughing at her.

They held each other’s gaze for several moments, Olesya’s face grim but composed. At last, Abeni looked away, wondering what she would tell the Weaver if he came to her that night.

“It seems there’s nothing more to say.”

“No, I don’t suppose there is.” The queen continued to watch her, as if she expected the minister to attack her at any moment. Something definitely was wrong.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Abeni bowed, then stepped to the door.

“If you were to help me,” the queen said, forcing her to turn once more, “what would you do?”

“Your Highness?”

“Just now you offered to help us determine which Qirsi are loyal and which are not. Is there a way to do that?”

She briefly considered lying, telling the queen that there was. But she knew that eventually Olesya would learn the truth, and when she did, Abeni’s life would be forfeit.

“None that I know of, Your Highness. At least none short of torture. That’s what makes this movement so. . insidious.”

Olesya nodded. “I thought as much. Thank you, Archminister.”

Abeni bowed a second time and left the queen’s, chamber, making her way back to her own. Was it possible that Olesya knew something? she wondered, winding through the corridors. Kreazur had been dead for more than a turn. Surely if his death had raised the queen’s suspicions, Abeni would have known it long before now. And nothing had happened since that would give Olesya cause to question Abeni’s loyalty in particular. Yet, there could be no mistaking the change in the queen’s manner.

The archminister was so preoccupied with her thoughts of the queen that she was nearly to her chamber before she noticed that someone was there in the corridor, leaning against the stone wall beside her door. Craeffe, Macharzo’s first minister.

Abeni glanced behind her, fearing that there might be guards nearby. There were none. Still, she was hardly in the mood to speak with anyone right now, even another member of the movement.

“Archminister,” the woman said, straightening as Abeni approached and sketching a quick bow. “I assumed you were meeting with the queen.” She pitched her voice to carry, in case there were others nearby. “I was hoping that you had managed to convince her that she and the nobles had been wrong to doubt us.”

“Not yet,” Abeni said.

“May I have a word with you, Archminister? In private.”

Abeni took a breath, scanning the corridor a second time. “Briefly,” she said at last.

She unlocked her door and pushed it open, waving the woman inside, then following.

“Is everything all right, cousin?” Craeffe asked, once the door was closed.

“I’m not certain. I just had a strange conversation with the queen. She seemed more guarded than usual.”

The woman shrugged. “Isn’t that to be expected? I know that you’ve served her a long time, but with every other noble in the castle afraid of their Qirsi, it’s only natural that her suspicions should grow as well.”

It was a fair point. “You may be right.”

“Then again, it was your rapport with the queen that first drew the Weaver’s attention, wasn’t it? I don’t suppose he’d be pleased to hear that she’s growing more wary of you.”

Abeni regarded her for some time, a small smile on her lips. Craeffe had always been a bit too ambitious for Abeni’s taste. Though they had long been tied to each other by their service to the Weaver, Abeni had never fully trusted the woman. She didn’t look formidable. Like so many of their people, she was slight, almost frail. She had a long, narrow face and overlarge yellow eyes that made her look like some strange white owl from the northlands. But the archminister knew that she was quite clever, and she gathered from what she knew of other men and women recruited by the Weaver that she must also be a rather powerful sorcerer.

“I don’t expect that the Weaver will hear anything of the sort, cousin,” Abeni said. “I have no intention of telling him, and I’m sure you don’t either.”

Craeffe raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence. “Of course not.”

The archminister was already tiring of the woman’s company. “You came to me,” she said. “Why?”

“I’ve just had an interesting conversation of my own, and I thought you’d want to hear about it.”

“With whom?” Abeni asked, hoping that she sounded bored.

“The first minister of Prentarlo. I believe she could be convinced to join us.”

“What did you say to her?” the archminister asked, bored no longer. “You know that I’m the only one the Weaver wants speaking to newcomers.”

Craeffe grinned, showing sharp white teeth, like some crazed demon of Bian’s realm. “Don’t worry, cousin. I didn’t tell her anything; I just listened. And given what I heard, I believe she’s hurt and angry enough to turn against her duchess.”

Abeni nodded, though she wasn’t pleased. She should have been. This was what she wanted. This was how she would convince the Weaver that the queen’s distrust hadn’t lessened her value to the movement. But she didn’t like feeling beholden to Craeffe, not even in this small way.

“That’s good news,” she managed. “I’ll be certain to speak with her as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

“Or you could let me do it for you.”

“I just told you-”

“Yes, I know. The Weaver wants you to handle these matters. But he needn’t know. I’ve already won her trust. Wouldn’t it be easier to let me do the rest?”