David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Abeni looked at her, a question in her yellow eyes, but the queen gave a quick shake of her head. She would explain later.

“My soldiers will escort you to the hall. I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Diani and Sertio both bowed to her and started toward the door. After only a step of two, however, the duke stopped, facing her again.

“I apologize for my behavior before, Your Highness. I didn’t understand.”

“Think no more of it, Sertio. You’re a wise and honorable man, and you wish only to guide your child through this most difficult time. It’s no wonder Dalvia loved you as she did.”

The man’s eyes welled and he swallowed. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said softly.

Bowing a second time, he left her chamber, his footsteps echoing in the corridor.

“A messenger, Your Highness?”

The queen glanced at Abeni, then walked to her writing table. “Yes, we’ll actually need quite a few before the day is out.”

“Will they be going far?”

“Some of them will. I intend to summon the leaders of all Sanbira’s houses to Yserne to discuss the Qirsi conspiracy. I also wish to speak of this matter with the rulers of the other realms, though I realize that will be a bit more difficult.”

Abeni said nothing and after several moments the queen looked up from the papers before her. “No response, Archminister? Don’t tell me I’ve finally silenced you.”

The Qirsi woman smiled, though only for an instant. “I’m merely surprised, Your Highness. What’s happened to bring this about?”

The queen briefly recounted her conversation with the duchess and her father, describing for Abeni the attempts on Diani’s life. “It seems,” the queen said, “that the conspiracy has finally come to Sanbira.”

The minister raised her eyebrows. “I see. I’ll find riders right away, Your Highness.”

“Yes, and use the usual merchants to get the messages to the other realms.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” She hesitated. “Seven riders, Your Highness? One for each of the houses other than Yserne and Curlinte?”

“Actually eight. Lady Curlinte needs to send a message to her castle.”

“Ah, yes, so you said.”

Olesya couldn’t help but grin. Abeni hadn’t forgotten this, of course. She merely wanted an explanation.

“In the wake of the assassination attempts, the duchess has imprisoned all the Qirsi who live and work in Castle Curlinte.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “All of them? Even her first minister?”

“Yes. I’ve prevailed upon her to have them freed at once.”

“Why?”

The queen stared at her a moment, wondering if she had heard correctly. “What?”

“Why would you have the duchess free them? It seems a logical precaution to me. Until she knows which of them is the traitor, none of them should be free to roam the castle and city. To do less is to invite additional mischief.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Abeni shrugged. “I realize it’s a bit extreme-”

“Extreme? It’s unconscionable! Surely you of all people can see that!”

The minister smiled, albeit sadly. “I’m a Qirsi who serves loyally in the royal house of Sanbira, Your Highness. I have as much cause as any Eandi noble to hate the Qirsi conspiracy. In many ways more. I understand your concerns, but I have great sympathy for what the duchess has done. Respectfully, I believe you should reconsider your request that she have the Qirsi released, at least until we learn the identity of Curlinte’s traitor.”

The queen exhaled heavily. “Well, Archminister, I can’t say that I expected this. I’ll consider what you’ve said, but in the meantime I still want you to find eight riders.”

Abeni bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. Is that all?”

Olesya didn’t respond for several moments. She merely stared at the woman, grappling with an overwhelming sense of sadness and, even more, utter confusion. As a young girl, the queen had been taught by her mother to see beyond race and realm, profession and status. “There is as much nobility in those who till fields and pound steel to earn their gold as there is in any woman or man of the courts,” her mother often said. “There is as much goodness and inhumanity in Sanbira as there is in Wethyrn or Aneira, and there is as much capacity for both fealty and treachery in the Eandi heart as in the Qirsi heart. A queen sees people as they are, not as she assumes them to be.” Olesya had tried to live and rule by these words, to meet her mother’s expectations even after the old queen’s death. Yet now her archminister stood before her, suggesting that she treat men and women of her own race as criminals simply because their hair was white and their eyes yellow. And what frightened her most was that her world had become a place in which this counsel seemed perfectly reasonable.

“You understand, Abeni, that were I to apply Diani’s logic to my own court, I would have to imprison you, as well as the others?”

That same sad smile lingered on the archminister’s face. “Of course, Your Highness. To do less would make no sense at all.”

“And still you counsel me to allow her action to stand?”

“I do so with a heavy heart, Your Highness, but yes, I do. The conspiracy threatens all. From what I understand, its leaders have as much contempt for court Qirsi as they do for the nobles we serve. If they prevail in this fight, I imagine I’ll be tortured and executed. Next to that, your prison seems rather inviting.”

The queen gave a wry smile and nodded. “I see. Thank you, Archminister. That will be all.”

Abeni bowed again and left her.

Glancing down at the scrolls before her, Olesya picked up her quill and began trying to compose a message she could send to her duchesses and dukes. Edamo would be looking for signs of fear or weakness, anything he could use to Brugaosa’s advantage. Hence, she would offer none. This would be a challenge to her writing skills, for she was afraid, and she felt powerless to halt the conspiracy’s advance across the southern Forelands.

Ailwyck, Wethyrn

He had pushed himself hard after leaving Mertesse, driven in equal measure by his fear of being captured and imprisoned for the murder of Dario Henfuerta, his last partner, and by his desire to begin a new life for himself, free of the Qirsi and their insatiable demand for his deadly talents. If all went as he hoped, he would never again be known as Cadel Nistaad, assassin. Instead, he would simply be Corbin, a traveling singer with an uncommonly fine voice.

In many ways, Wethyrn was a dangerous place to begin his pursuit of this new profession. Even the largest of the realm’s festivals did not rival those of Sanbira, Eibithar, or even Aneira. A musician of his ability might easily draw too much attention to himself, particularly if he spent a good deal of time searching for others with whom to perform. As a lone singer he would be a curiosity, prompting difficult questions. Where are you from? How could a man of your talents have no partners? What happened to the people with whom you used to perform?

The safest course of action, Cadel decided, as he crossed the Caerissan Steppe, skirting the southern edge of the Glyndwr Highlands on his way to the Wethy border, was to visit several of Wethyrn’s major cities until he found a group in need of a male singer. Best to answer the inevitable questions only once.

He reached the Wethy border with the beginning of the new turn, entering the walled city of Grinnyd on the third morning of the waxing. He took a room at a small inn and spent several nights wandering the city streets, stopping in tavern after tavern in his search for other musicians. By the end of his fourth night in the city, Cadel’s spirits had fallen. He had expected to face risks, but he hadn’t expected to have so much trouble finding any musicians at all. Surely there were singers somewhere in Wethyrn. Clearly, however, they weren’t in Grinnyd.