David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

This at least is what he had been saying to the other dukes. And they were listening. Eardley, Sussyn, Domnall, and Rennach. Minor houses all, and aside from Eardley, not even the strongest of the minors. But taken together, their armies included nearly four thousand men, and combined with the soldiers of Galdasten and Kentigern, they constituted a considerable fighting force. They were not powerful enough to defeat the royal army, particularly if it was supported by the armies of Glyndwr, Curgh, Labruinn, and Tremain, as seemed likely. But unlike Aindreas, Renald didn’t want a war.

The duke of Kentigern was so consumed by his grief and his need for vengeance that he would gladly have destroyed the kingdom so long as he managed to destroy Curgh and Glyndwr in the process. Everyone in the realm knew it. Certainly the other dukes did. Which was why even as he railed against the injustice of Kearney’s rule, Renald never spoke of taking the kingdom by force. His was the soothing voice, the antithesis to Aindreas’s cries for blood. No, he didn’t need a force capable of taking Audun’s Castle. He merely needed a credible army, large enough to convince a majority of the dukes that the danger of war was real, and that any peaceful settlement was preferable to the carnage such a conflict would bring.

It was a process he knew would take some time. Even those dukes who were with him still spoke of war, of the injustice done to Aindreas. Many of them believed that Thorald could be turned to their cause and that when Tobbar joined them, Kearney would be forced to surrender the throne. Renald had no such illusions. Tobbar would never be king, nor would Marston, his son. But if Kearney the Younger, the king’s boy, failed to produce an heir, Marston’s son or grandson could claim the throne as his own. Thorald remained the preeminent house in the land, and as such, its leaders had reason to preserve the Rules of Ascension. The lone hope for Renald and his allies was that Aindreas would lead them to the brink of war, before Kearney was forced to abdicate in order to keep the land whole.

Under any circumstances, his chances of succeeding would have been small. But Kearney’s message, versions of which he had no doubt sent to every duke in the realm, made matters that much more difficult. If the king managed to convince the other nobles that Aindreas had been wrong about Tavis, that Glyndwr’s offer of asylum had saved an innocent man rather than harboring a murderer, then support for the rebellion would crumble.

The guards returned to Renald’s chamber a short time later bearing a pot of tea and breakfast, but from that time until just after the ringing of the midmorning bells, the duke was alone with his thoughts and the damned letter from Kearney. Even as the pealing of the bells continued to echo through the castle, a knock came at his door. Ewan Traylee and Pillad jal Krenaar, his swordmaster and first minister. They met with the duke every morning at this time. But when he called for them to enter, it was Elspeth who opened the door, not the two men.

Renald stood. “Good morrow, my lady.” He stepped around the table, taking her hands in his and kissing her forehead.

She gave a quick smile, but did not return the kiss. “The guards tell me you were awake again before dawn.”

He dropped her hands. “The guards should know better than to speak of their duke without leave.”

“Even to his wife?”

“Even so, yes.” He walked back to the table and sat once more.

“What is it that wakes you?”

Renald shook his head, looked away.

“Is it another woman? I know you’ve had mistresses in the past.”

“No, Elspeth. There’s no other woman.” A lie, though strictly true for this past night.

“Then what?”

“It’s nothing I wish to tell you. I spent the balance of the night here, working. That’s all you need to know.”

The duchess stared at him for a long time, her dark eyes holding his. She remained beautiful, even after so many years, even after three childbirths. But it was an austere beauty, as inaccessible as the high peaks of the Border Range, or the ocean just before a storm. With her brown hair up, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and wide mouth, she looked more like a prioress than a duchess. She looked very much a queen.

“Of what do you dream, my lord?”

He felt his mouth twitch, saw her smile triumphantly.

“I dream of Kell’s death,” he admitted.

“And that’s what wakes you.”

“Yes.”

“It would wake me, too.”

It was as much a kindness as she was likely to show him, but he didn’t wish to speak of this with anyone, least of all with her. “I’m expecting the swordmaster and my minister,” he said. “We have a good deal to discuss.”

“Even now they stand in the corridor,” she said mildly. “They said they would wait until we were through.”

Damn you . “What do you want?”

“What word have you sent to the other houses?”

“Nothing yet. It’s too early. The message only came two days ago-”

“Three now.”

“All right, three. But that’s still not enough time to compose a response.”

“They’ll expect one. From you. Aindreas can’t say anything. I doubt he’ll even accept Kearney’s claims. He’d gone too far to turn back now. That leaves you to lead the others.”

Where? Where do I lead them now? “I know. That’s why my response must be crafted with care.”

“With care, yes. But swiftly as well. It will take some time for whatever message you send to reach the others. If you wait too long, they’ll think Kearney’s message has settled matters and this moment will pass.” She walked to where he sat and knelt beside him, placing her hand on the inside of his thigh. “Don’t you want to be king? Don’t you want to reclaim the glory that was once Galdasten’s?”

Her hand crept up his thigh and in spite of everything he felt himself becoming aroused. Cursing his weakness, he stood and stepped away from her. She only wanted the throne for him because she wished desperately to be queen, and because she had long nurtured ambitions for their sons.

“I daresay I want the throne nearly as much as you do, Elspeth. And I plan to do all I can to get it-”

“But you don’t know how.”

He glared at her. “Leave me.”

She smirked at him. After a moment she stood once more and walked to the door. She was nearly as tall as he and she moved with the grace of a Revel dancer.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to remain? I can hardly imagine Ewan or Pillad being of much help. Their minds are no more nimble than yours.”

He said nothing, and she reached for the door handle.

“What would you do?” he asked, signaling his surrender.

She faced him again. If she felt she had beaten him, she hid it well. “That’s why I married you, Renald. A lesser man would have allowed his pride to keep him from asking.”

He already regretted not letting her leave.

“I certainly wouldn’t deny the verity of Kearney’s claims,” she went on, after seeming to consider the question briefly. “All it takes is one duke curious enough to make the journey and you’re ruined. Rather, I’d insist that the tidings from Audun’s Castle have no bearing on your dispute with the Crown. In fact, they make it all the more urgent that Eibithar rid itself of this arcane method of choosing its kings. Regardless of who killed Brienne, we still have a king who rules simply because two men decided he should. The rules are too easily bent to the will of a few.” She paused, as if to weigh her own words. “That’s what I would say.”

Renald nodded. Not surprisingly it made a good deal of sense. She was a brilliant woman. Had he loved her he might have taken pride in having made her his duchess.