David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Norinde laughed, but none of the others did.

The queen regarded Alao for a moment, long enough to silence the young duke, before facing Edamo once more. “Surely steering a mount across such a small expanse of water is nothing for a man of your many talents.”

“I assure you, Your Highness,” Brugaosa said, wisely choosing to ignore the gibe, “ours was a chance meeting. And it made the last portion of both our journeys far less tedious.”

Her smile was a match for the duke’s. “I’m so glad. Be welcome, both of you,” she added, turning away, her tone brusque. “As soon as you’ve changed out of your riding clothes you’re to join the rest of us in my presence chamber. Don’t keep us waiting any longer than necessary.”

Diani had thought that the dukes would use the opportunity to goad her once more, but they seemed to gauge her mood with some care. They arrived in the chamber far sooner than the duchess expected, bowing as they entered and taking seats together at the far end of the table, opposite Olesya.

Once again, Diani noticed that she was the only noble not to have brought her Qirsi minister with her. To be sure, none of them knew why the queen had summoned them; it was quite possible that once they learned of the assassination attempts they would grow more wary of their Qirsi. Nevertheless, she found herself wishing that Kreazur had come, or rather, that she had asked him to join her. The message she sent back to Curlinte merely instructed the captain of her army to free the first minister and the other Qirsi who served her. She did not invite Kreazur to join her in Yserne, and now, sitting among the other duchesses and dukes, all of whom were older and far more experienced than she, Diani regretted it.

“I thank all of you for coming,” the queen began, standing at her place, sunlight from the window shining in her black-and-silver hair. “All of you journeyed far, and at a moment’s notice, and I know that few of us like to be abroad this early in the year. But these are extraordinary times that will demand more of us still before we see their end.”

“What’s happened, Your Highness?” asked Vasyonne, duchess of Listaal. Next to Diani, she was the youngest of the duchesses, though Diani’s mother had often spoken quite highly of her. She wore her black hair short, just as the queen did, and had a square, expressive face. “Why have you called us here?”

“There’s been an attack on one of our own, and I believe it presages more such incidents to come.”

“What kind of attack?” Edamo asked.

“An assassination attempt-two, actually-on the duchess of Curlinte.”

“By whom?”

The queen glanced at Diani and gave a small nod, lowering herself into her chair.

“Archers the first time,” she said. She had carried one of the arrow shafts with her from her home and she brought it forth now, tossing it onto the table. “They had shaved heads and wore the dun cloaks of northern riders.”

Vasyonne leaned forward, examining the arrow. “Blue and yellow,” she said, looking at Edamo. “Those are Brugaosan colors, aren’t they, Lord Brugaosa?”

What?” He stood, snatching the arrow off the table to get a better look. “Brugaosa had nothing to do with this! We’d have nothing to gain from it!”

Vasyonne grinned, though there was a hard glint in her brown eyes. “I believe what you mean to say is, ‘I bear my friends in Curlinte no ill will.’ ”

“Thank you, Lady Listaal, but I daresay I know better than you or anyone else what I meant to say.”

“Agents of Brugaosa have already struck at House Curlinte once, killing the duchess’s brother. Perhaps you thought-”

“Brugaosa had nothing to do with Cyro’s death!”

“So you’ve claimed before.”

Edamo leveled the arrow at Vasyonne as though it were a sword. “You dare to call me a liar?”

“Stop it!” the queen commanded. “We’re here to speak of the attacks on Diani.”

Rashel of Trescarri faced the queen. “You said there were two attempts, Your Highness.”

“Yes.”

“The second was carried out by a man dressed as a soldier of Kretsaal,” Diani said. “We believe that he killed the archers, and he fought until we had no choice but to kill him as well. We never had the opportunity to question him.”

Vasyonne continued to eye Edamo, as if expecting the duke to flee the castle at any moment. “Do you believe he was Brugaosan as well?”

“No,” Diani said. “He spoke with a Wethy accent.” She looked once more to the queen, who nodded a second time. “We don’t think the archers were Brugaosan either.”

Vasyonne frowned. “You don’t?”

Edamo was staring at her. “You think the arrow was intended to make your death seem the work of Brugaosans.”

“Yes.”

“The conspiracy?”

He might have been an enemy of both the queen and House Curlinte, a man to be watched with caution, but he was clever.

“We believe so, yes.”

“Do you have evidence of this?” Alao asked.

The queen shook her head. “Unfortunately, we don’t.”

“So this is merely a guess.”

“Surely, Lord Norinde, you don’t believe House Brugaosa was behind this.”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he said, his tone almost insolent. He was just the opposite of Edamo in so many ways. Where the older duke was elegant and smooth, this man was blunt in both features and manner, possessing little grace. If Edamo was a Sanbiri blade, albeit a notched one, this man was a war hammer. Still, playing the part of apprentice to Lord Brugaosa, he had learned well the art of statecraft. In many ways, he was far more dangerous than Edamo, for he would be wielding power in the North long after the queen and most of her allies had died or handed power to their daughters. “But it may be,” he went on, “that agents of Wethyrn were responsible, or even other houses of Sanbira who wish to sully Lord Brugaosa’s good name.”

Vasyonne gave a small smile. “He sullies it quite well on his own, actually.”

Norinde glared at the woman. “You might want to begin your search for those responsible in Listaal. Quite often it’s those who lack the strength for an overt attack who resort to the most vile treachery.”

“Enough,” the queen said, sounding more weary than angry. “Whoever our enemies may be, I assure you that this is just what they want: to divide us, to prey on our suspicions of each other. They seek to weaken the realm, and every poisoned word we aim at one another furthers their cause.”

“His parry and thrust with Lady Listaal notwithstanding,” Edamo said, “Lord Norinde does have a point. While I assure you that Brugaosa had nothing to do with the events in Curlinte, we cannot simply assume that the conspiracy is to blame.”

“You were the first of us to raise the possibility.” Rashel. “Now you discount it?”

“I raised it hoping that Lady Curlinte had proof to offer beyond this arrow. Without any, I’m afraid we know nothing.”

“With all we’ve heard of the conspiracy, Lord Brugaosa,” the queen said, “don’t you think it likely that the Qirsi are responsible?”

“Likely, Your Highness? Yes, I suppose I do. But is that reason enough to act?”

Diani nodded, looking at the others. “I believe it is.”

“I don’t doubt that you do, Lady Curlinte. Had I been their target, I might well feel the same way. You want vengeance. You want to strike out at someone. We all understand.” Edamo shook his head. “But that may not be the wisest course at this time.”

The duchess felt her face coloring. She would have liked to fling back a retort, to deny that she was speaking out of anything more than concern for the realm. But after imprisoning Kreazur and the other Qirsi, she couldn’t bring herself to speak at all. Edamo’s words struck far too close to the truth.