David Coe: Weavers of War

“As I said-”

“But if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll send you to the dungeon and then leave Dantrielle without his permission. I’ll forfeit my title and place in his court if I have to. As I’ve told you once before, all I want is to get Fetnalla back. I don’t care about anything else. I certainly don’t give a damn about you.”

A braver man might have been willing to test her resolve, to force her either to give up her position in Tebeo’s court or prove that her threats amounted to nothing. But Pronjed felt his nerve failing him at the mere suggestion of being sent to the castle dungeon.

“I haven’t made the attempt,” he said at last, “because I’ve been unable to decide whether you truly wish to find her, or have been hoping to lure me into a trap.”

That, of all things, seemed to leave her speechless. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. The archminister would have laughed had he not been trembling at the realization of what he had done. With that small admission he had, in effect, confirmed for her all that she had been assuming about him.

“Is that true?” she finally asked him, her voice so soft that he could barely hear her.

“It is.”

“Damn.” She raked a hand through her hair, closing her eyes briefly. “We’ve lost a good deal of time. There’s no telling where she is by now.”

“Perhaps then, it no longer makes sense for you to follow me.”

“I didn’t say that I was ready to give up.”

“And I didn’t say that I was ready to let you follow me.” She started to respond and Pronjed raised a hand, stopping her. “I know: you don’t need my permission, and I might not be able to prevent it. But I’m obligated to try. I’d be a fool not to.”

After a moment, she nodded. “So, when?”

Pronjed shook his head. He must have been an idiot. “Tonight,” he whispered. Seeing the doubtful look on her face, he added, “I swear it. I can’t afford to wait any longer either.”

She glanced toward the door. “Don’t hurt the men. You have delusion magic. Use it.”

He should have denied this, too. But like before he found himself helpless in the face of her certainty. He could argue the point for the rest of the day without convincing her. Instead, he shook his head. “I make you no promises in that regard. I’ll do whatever I have to. If you really want to ensure their safety, you’ll have these silk bonds removed. I can shatter manacles, but with these…” He shrugged.

“But your powers-”

“I can’t control two men at one time, which means that the second guard will have to be incapacitated somehow. It’s up to you, First Minister. If you truly care about these men, you’ll help me.”

Evanthya offered no reply, save to hold his gaze for a few moments more before straightening and crossing to the door.

“Guards!” she called.

One of the men was there immediately, unlocking the door and letting her out. An instant later he clanged the door shut again and threw the lock, the sound echoing in the chamber.

“Watch him closely,” he heard Evanthya say to Tebeo’s men. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to escape.”

Pronjed just gaped at the door. The silk at his wrists and ankles felt tighter than ever.

Evanthya was trembling as she descended the stairway of the prison tower. Tonight.

She had never known that she could be afraid of so many things at one time. The archminister, the Weaver, the castle guards, her duke and his reaction if he learned what she intended. And behind it all, the fear of her next encounter with Fetnalla. She no longer doubted that her beloved had betrayed the realm or that she had killed her duke, Brall of Orvinti. Nor did she have any illusions as to her own power to turn Fetnalla from the dark path she had chosen. Yet she had to try. She owed that much to herself, to both of them.

The two soldiers outside Pronjed’s chamber had regarded her strangely when she stepped back into the corridor, a testament to how deep suspicions of the Qirsi still ran in Aneira. All the men in Castle Dantrielle knew how she had fought against the soldiers of Solkara and Rassor during the recent siege. They had seen her doing battle, back to back with the duke, risking her life on Tebeo’s behalf. They had seen as well the mist and wind she raised to protect Dantrielle’s men from enemy archers when Numar’s invaders briefly took control of the castle ramparts. After all that, none could question her loyalty to Tebeo and his house.

Or so she had thought. For some still did, and these few would see a dark purpose in her whispered conversation with the archminister. And would they be wrong? Hadn’t she been plotting the traitor’s escape, ignoring the fact that he may well have been responsible for the death of Aneira’s king? She had used her own gold to buy the murder of a Qirsi traitor in Mertesse. Wasn’t she then an enemy of the conspiracy? Did sharing a bed with a traitor and wishing desperately to lie with her again negate all that she had done before?

These questions plagued her as she made her way across the castle’s upper ward. Evanthya didn’t even notice the two soldiers standing in her path until she had nearly walked into them.

“Pardon me,” she said, flustered and feeling slightly dazed. “I didn’t see you.”

“Actually, First Minister, we was waitin’ for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. The duke wants a word right away.”

The minister looked up at the window of Tebeo’s ducal chamber and saw that he was watching her, his round face lit by the morning sun.

She nodded, swallowing. “Of course.”

The two men fell in step on either side of her and in silence the three of them entered the nearest of the castle towers, climbed the stairway, and walked to Tebeo’s chamber. One of the guards knocked, and at the duke’s summons, he pushed open the door and motioned for Evanthya to enter. She nodded at the two men, trying with little success to smile, and stepped into the chamber. Neither man entered with her and an instant later she heard the door close.

Tebeo was still at the window, his back to her. “Please sit, First Minister.”

Evanthya took her usual seat near the duke’s writing table. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a wonder Tebeo didn’t notice.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, my lord.”

“Wine perhaps?”

She smiled, despite her fright. “I’m fine, my lord.”

He turned at that. “Are you?”

Evanthya shivered. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been impressed with your strength this past half turn since the breaking of the siege. You’ve done all that I’ve asked of you; as always your service to House Dantrielle has been exemplary.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I can only imagine how difficult it’s been for you.”

She felt the blood rush to her face and looked away. There would have been no sense in denying it. “Yes, my lord.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit surprised that you’re still here.”

Evanthya could only stare at him.

“I have some idea of how much you love her, and I know as well that you hate the conspiracy, that you’ve risked a great deal to strike at its leaders.”

Not long ago, Evanthya had told him of hiring the assassin to kill Shurik jal Marcine, and though he hadn’t approved, neither had he punished her, which would have been well within his prerogative as her sovereign.

“Had it been me,” he went on, “I would have gone after her already. That you haven’t speaks well of your devotion to me and this house.”

“You honor me, my lord,” she managed to say.

“I’m merely being honest. And I’d ask the same of you.”