David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

He nodded. “I’d like that as well.”

She started to walk away, but he held out a hand, stopping her.

“Tell me about the discussions among the dukes and duchesses.”

“Actually,” she said, “we had the first today.” Seeing his puzzled look, she explained, “Norinde and Brugaosa were in no hurry to reach Yserne. They only arrived this morning.”

“I see. And what was said when they met with the others?”

“Very little, really. The queen and your duchess have convinced many of the duchesses that the conspiracy was behind the attempt on Lady Curlinte’s life, but the dukes are reluctant to take any action. I believe they fear any steps that will further strengthen the Matriarchy.”

He weighed this briefly. None of it came as a surprise, though he had thought that the discussions would have progressed beyond this by now. “Thank you, Archminister.”

She nodded and turned away. A moment later he followed her back to the front of the hall, where the queen and Diani were seated.

The duchess barely acknowledged the minister as he took his seat beside her father, and for the duration of the meal, she spoke not a word to him, even leaving it to Sertio to inform him of the discussion planned for the following morning in the queen’s chamber.

He returned to his quarters after the feast, but only long enough to convince Diani and Sertio that he had retired for the night. After waiting for some time, he ventured from the room, following the twists and turns of the castle corridors to a tower on the far side of the courtyard. There he waited, watching.

He saw nothing that first night, and hurried back to his chamber just before dawn, taking care not to be seen.

The day’s discussion among the dukes and duchesses went much as Abeni had said the first day went. Clearly the queen wished to forge an alliance between Sanbira and her neighbors to the west and north, but the dukes resisted, and Olesya seemed reluctant to push the matter too far. Diani still said little to Kreazur, though on two occasions, when one of the duchesses made reference to something that had happened before her mother’s death, she looked to him for an explanation.

Together, the nobles and their ministers took a more modest evening meal in the queen’s hall, before returning to their quarters for the night. Once again, Kreazur crept from his room when all was quiet, and once again he saw nothing before being forced back to his room by the coming of the dawn.

Still, he resolved to repeat his vigil until he found what he sought. His duchess had made a terrible mistake in placing the minister and the other Qirsi in Curlinte’s prison tower, but Kreazur had no doubt that she was right in assuming that conspiracy gold had paid her would-be assassins. At first he had guessed, as she did, that Castle Curlinte housed a traitor. As he sat in the tower, however, awaiting his release, listening to the grumbling of the other Qirsi, a new thought entered his mind. That thought, rather than any sense of duty to the duchess, was what had drawn him to Yserne. And on the third night, his suspicions were confirmed.

He heard the door to her chamber open and close, watched as she stepped furtively to the tower stairs, and followed only when he could no longer hear her feet on the stone steps. She left the castle by way of a sally port near the north gate, one that was so well hidden he almost missed it in the dim corridors. As far as Kreazur could tell, no guards saw either of them leave.

He followed at a distance as she wound her way through the darkened streets of Yserne city to a small tavern in the northwest corner, near the Sanctuary of Elined. She didn’t enter the tavern, but instead waited just outside the entrance. At the tolling of the midnight bells, a man emerged and the two of them walked a short distance down the narrow byway.

Kreazur followed cautiously, drawing only as near to them as necessary to hear their conversation.

“. . It’s your gold,” the man was saying. “But it seems a waste of a hundred and fifty qinde if you ask me.”

“First of all,” the archminister said, “it’s the movement’s gold, not mine. Second, it’s not a waste at all. Lady Curlinte is proving far more valuable as the victim of a failed assassination than she ever would as a corpse. And third, it won’t be one hundred and fifty.”

“But we agreed-”

“I paid you seventy-five, with the agreement being that you would be paid the rest when the duchess was dead.”

“Yes, but now-”

“Now I’m telling you not to kill her. Be grateful I haven’t demanded that you return the first seventy-five.”

The man swore loudly. “Suppose it serves me right for doing business with you white-hairs.”

“We white-hairs will soon be the only employers you and your kind are likely to find in the Forelands.” She paused, then added, “Wouldn’t you agree, First Minister?” This last she called out loudly. Kreazur felt his heart begin to pound. Was she speaking to some unseen ally, or to him?

“Come now, Kreazur. You didn’t really think you could follow me through my castle and my city without being detected, did you?”

Whispering an oath of his own, the minister stepped from the shadows in which he had tried to conceal himself.

Seeing him, Abeni smiled. “Does it please you to know that I’ve spared the life of your duchess?”

“It disappoints me greatly to know that I was right about you.”

“Even now?” She tilted her head to the side, the smile lingering on her attractive face. “Do you know what the duchess did to him?” she asked the assassin. “After the first attempts on her life, she placed him in the castle prison. Her own first minister. Not only that but she imprisoned all the Qirsi in Castle Curlinte. And still he clings stubbornly to obsolete notions of loyalty and court etiquette.”

The assassin, a large, dark-haired man, leered at him, but said nothing.

“She’s done so much harm to her Qirsi that the movement has decided we want her alive. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“It tells me that your movement grows desperate. I think the real reason you’ve called off your hired blade is that the attacks of the conspiracy have grown clumsy and obvious. The attempt on the duchess fooled no one. All it’s done is convince the queen that the Qirsi must be opposed with the full power of the realm. You’re movement is failing even as we speak.”

“Don’t be a fool! We are the future of the Forelands, and our victory is far closer than you think.” She paused, and when she spoke again, it was in a softer tone. “But you can be a part of that, Kreazur.”

“If your movement is so strong, why do you need me?”

“We don’t. I’m offering you a last chance at redemption. You can join us now, this very night. Or you can die.”

The assassin looked at her, though Abeni kept her eyes on the first minister.

“You’d like to earn the rest of that gold, wouldn’t you?” she asked. She didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “Don’t make me kill you, Kreazur. Your duchess doesn’t trust you anymore. She never will again. Wouldn’t it be better to join us, to cast your fate with your own people?”

“I’m not a traitor.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, the smile finally vanishing. “There are those who would beg to differ. You serve an Eandi noble who treats the Qirsi in her castle like animals. I believe I speak for many of us when I say that you’re the worst kind of traitor. You hide your treachery behind empty claims of fealty and honor.”

“Just as you’re doing now, Archminister?”

“This man will kill you. All I need to do is give the command.”

“Then give it. I’ll take my chances with your assassin. And I promise you, I’ll prevail.” Kreazur wasn’t nearly as confident of this as he sounded. He could raise a mist and slip away, and given the man’s size, he felt reasonably certain that he could outrun him. But his other powers-gleaning and language of beasts-were useless to him here. And he didn’t know if he could make it all the way back to the castle, running the entire time, and maintaining his mists. As a younger man he might have, but he was nearly thirty-seven now, old for a Qirsi.