David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

There was an irony here, and bitter though it was, she still managed to find some humor in it. Despite the role she had played in Shurik’s death, and notwithstanding her resolve to send other conspirators to the Underrealm, her duke still suspected her of being a part of the conspiracy. Tebeo’s doubts about her loyalty were not nearly so deep as those the duke of Orvinti openly expressed about Fetnalla, but they rankled nevertheless. And she knew-a deeper irony-that as she plotted her next assault on the Qirsi traitors, she would only fuel her duke’s fears.

He hadn’t yet turned from her entirely-nor, to his credit, had Brall of Orvinti turned from Fetnalla-but across the Forelands Eandi nobles who had lost faith in their Qirsi ministers were barring the advisors from their chambers or banishing them from their castles entirely. It seemed only a matter of time before Tebeo and Brall did the same.

On this morning, though, her duke had summoned her to his chambers as he always did, just as the midmorning bells rang in the city, their echoes softened by the winds and snow. When Evanthya entered the duke’s room, she found him pacing, which he often did when agitated. In the past few turns he had been agitated nearly all the time.

“Good day, my lord,” she said, trying to keep her voice bright.

He looked up at her briefly and grunted a greeting. She could see his jaw clenching, and his short, round frame moved jerkily from one end of the chamber to the other. Tebeo was prone to worry, but she hadn’t seen him this unnerved since Bohdan’s turn when Carden died, beginning the chain of events that led to the poisoning in Solkara, the execution of Grigor of Renbrere, and the selection of Numar as regent.

“Has something happened, my lord?”

“There’s a message,” he said, nodding toward his writing table without breaking stride. “You’re welcome to read it.” Evanthya crossed to the table and unrolled the scroll. “There’s not much to it,” he went on as she read. “Numar is on his way here. He should be arriving by midday, although I wouldn’t be surprised if this weather slowed his company a bit.”

Evanthya frowned as she read the curt message. This day at least, she understood her duke’s concern. These were unsettling tidings.

“Strange that he would have been abroad for Pitch Night.”

The duke nodded. “I agree. To say nothing of his decision to leave Solkara before the snows ended.”

Few nobles chose to travel during the snows, and fewer still left their castles just before Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone in the sky. Each Pitch Night carried with it a dark curse or omen-legend held that on Pitch Night in the turn of Eilidh, the goddess of fire, which had been just two nights before, a blaze that was allowed to burn out could not be relit until morning. Even if Numar dismissed the moon legends as mere superstition, as some men did, most commoners did not. The soldiers in his company would be reluctant to leave the safety of their homes for Pitch Night. Apparently, whatever had drawn the regent from Castle Solkara could not wait.

“Perhaps he was fooled by the warm days at the end of the last turn.”

“I’d thought of that,” the duke said. “But still, to leave before the new moon. .”

“You think he intends to ask for more men?”

Tebeo shrugged, then nodded, his mouth twisting with disapproval. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” Since Numar’s investiture, Tebeo and his allies in Orvinti and Kett had been alarmed by overtures made to the regent by Harel the Fourth, emperor of Braedon. Harel seemed to be preparing the empire for a naval war with Eibithar, and they feared that Numar would allow Aneira to be drawn into the conflict.

“It might be something else,” Evanthya said. It might be something more . “He could have ordered you to send more men without even leaving his chamber in Solkara. Carden did it all the time.”

“I’d considered that as well. It may be that war is even more imminent than we’d thought.” He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head, looking like a parent who worries over a wayward child. “In any case, First Minister, I want you to prepare the castle for his arrival. He may be regent in name, but in all ways that matter he is Aneira’s king. We must welcome him appropriately.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The regent had given them little notice, and for the next few hours, Castle Dantrielle bustled with activity. Servants scrubbed the walls and floors of every corridor and prepared the castle’s great hall for a feast. Soldiers polished their swords and helms under the watchful eye of the master of arms before gathering in the snowy ward to rehearse their formal reception of the regent. Men and women ran to and from the kitchens as the smell of roasting meat and baked bread drifted through the wards and hallways. Other laborers cleared snow from the stone paths in the castle courtyards. Like her duke, Evanthya had hoped that the weather might keep the regent from arriving when his message said he would-she would have liked another hour or two to ready the castle. As it happened, however, Numar reached Dantrielle just when his message had said he would, despite the wind and snow. The midday bells began to ring as the final touches were put on the great hall, and they continued to toll long after they should have stopped, announcing Numar’s approach to the gates of Dantrielle city.

Immediately the duke and duchess rode toward the main gate, with Evanthya just behind them. The introductions in the city would take some time, giving the underministers time enough to see to the completion of preparations.

Tebeo’s worries still obviously weighed heavily on his mind, but the duke did seem pleased by the work his servants had done during the morning. As they rode to the gate, he favored Evanthya with a rare smile.

“Well done, First Minister. I wouldn’t have believed we could be ready in time.”

“Thank you, my lord. All who serve you worked quite hard this morning. I had only to direct them.”

The duchess turned at that, smiling as well, snow clinging to her black hair. “I, of all people, know what it is to direct them, First Minister. You’re to be commended for what you accomplished today.”

Evanthya inclined her head, accepting the praise. “You’re too kind, my lady.”

Word of the regent’s visit had spread through the city and in spite of the wind and cold, the people of Dantrielle had already begun to line the city lanes to greet him. Seeing their duke and duchess now, the people cheered. Just as they crossed through the marketplace in the center of the city, Evanthya heard horns blowing from the gate. Numar had reached the city walls. The three of them spurred their mounts to a gallop and came to the gate just as the heralds concluded their flourish.

Numar sat atop a white horse, his cloak-red and gold, lined with black fur-caked with snow at the shoulders. He had thrown back his hood so that his wheat-colored hair was stirred by the icy wind. He wasn’t as broad as Carden had been, or even Grigor, and his face was too kind and youthful to make him appear truly formidable. But there was a simple elegance to his every move, a grace that his older brothers lacked, the two who had died as well as the one who remained. He looked like a king, and something in his manner told Evanthya that he thought of himself as such. That could be a dangerous thing in a regent.

“Lord Renbrere,” Tebeo said, swinging himself off his mount and taking a step forward. He bowed to the man. “Be welcome in Dantrielle. Our city, and our castle, are offered for your comfort for as long as you choose to honor us with your presence.”

Tebeo had often told Evanthya that he depended upon her memory for names when it came to greeting nobles from other courts, but in this case she would have failed him; she had been ready to call the regent “Lord Solkara.’ That title, however, belonged to Numar’s lone surviving brother, Henthas, who, as the older of the two, inherited the dukedom from Grigor. Because of Henthas’s reputation for ruthlessness, however, the other dukes of Aneira had not trusted him with the regency and had turned to Numar instead. When Carden, the oldest of the brothers Renbrere, was still alive, Grigor and Henthas had been known as the Jackals, Numar as the Fool. In the turns since, Numar had proven himself a thoughtful, intelligent man. But Henthas, the new duke, still appeared to be every bit the Jackal.