DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“I suppose we just have to ask them. This matter is too important to let our fear of offending them keep us silent.”

“Offending them?” Brail said. “I’m worried about ending up like Chago.”

Evanthya woke with first light, and reached to the other side of the bed before remembering that she was alone.

“Appearances,” Fetnalla had said the previous night, pulling away with one last kiss and dressing in the candlelight. As if a single word could explain everything. That they were two women in love would have raised eyebrows among some, particularly in the noble courts, but that was not why they concealed their relationship.

“I think you look fine,” Evanthya said, trying to keep her tone light.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Our dukes may be allies now, but that can change. They shouldn’t know about us. Certainly Brail shouldn’t. He’d be… displeased.”

Evanthya wasn’t sure how her duke would feel about it, but that hardly mattered. Fetnalla had made up her mind long ago. They could steal away for a few hours at a time, but whether in Orvinti or Dantrielle, they always spent their nights alone.

Early as it was, Evanthya could already hear the voices of Orvinti’s guards through the shuttered windows. She swung herself out of bed, pulled on her riding clothes, and slipped silently from her chamber. Stepping lightly through the castle corridors, she made her way to the nearest of the winding stone stairways and hurried down to the garden, where they were to meet.

Her duke had returned to his chamber late the previous night, and though she knew he would be impatient to begin their ride back to Dantrielle, she was certain that he would not be ready to leave Orvinti much before the midmorning bells. She would have liked to rest a bit longer herself, but this conversation couldn’t wait.

The winds that had buffeted the castle through most of the night had died away. Still, the air was cold, and a fine, chill mist hung over the ward.

Too late, she wished she had worn her cloak. The garden was empty-Fetnalla had not yet arrived-and she briefly considered retrieving the cloak from her chambers. But she didn’t want to risk waking the duke, who was sleeping in the chamber next to hers. Better to be cold. She crossed her arms over her chest and began to walk slowly among the hedgerows and empty flower patches.

She had seen the gardens of Orvinti in Amon’s Turn, just after the last of the rains, so she knew how brilliant they could be. During milder winters when she visited the castle, some of the hardier blooms had still been in the ground. But this year the only color that remained in the garden came from the spidery blue flowers of the hunter’s hazel, which clung to the otherwise bare limbs of the trees lining the castle walls, heedless of the cold. A pair of ravens hopped on the brown grass at the far end of the ward, near the entrance to the kitchen tower, fighting over scraps of food and croaking loudly at one another. Another joined them, gliding to the ground like a winged shadow in the grey mist. A moment later, a fourth landed nearby. Evanthya shivered. According to the Mettai, the Eandi sorcerers who lived in the hills and forests of the southern Forelands, four ravens were a death omen.

“The Mettai legends don’t apply to the Qirsi.”

Evanthya turned at the sound of the voice, smiling despite the cold. “I didn’t know that. Is that what the Mettai say, or only the Qirsi?”

Fetnalla tipped her head to the side and grinned, her pale eyes, the color of fire, seeming to gather all the light this grey morning had to give. She had her hair pulled back the way Evanthya liked, and her pale cheeks were touched with pink. She wore a heavy cloak, much like the one Evanthya had left in her room, but even with it draped over her shoulders and tied at the neck, she looked slender and graceful, like the tall white herons Evanthya saw in the shallows of the Rassor during the warm turns.

“It’s common knowledge,” Fetnalla said, walking toward her. “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”

She stopped in front of Evanthya and kissed her, her lips soft and cool with the mist. Evanthya returned the kiss hungrily, but then made herself pull away, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, though she knew they were alone in the gardens.

“There’s no one here but us,” Fetnalla said, still grinning. “And the high windows are all shuttered.”

Evanthya shrugged, feeling her face color. “I know. But as you’ve said so many times, ‘appearances.’ ”

Fetnalla started to say something else, but then shook her head, appearing to think better of it. “It’s not worth arguing about.” She flashed a quick smile. “Not right now at least.”

Evanthya nodded, knowing what was coming. It had crept into all they shared, hanging over them like a cloud since early in the year. They had danced around the issue for the past few days, since Evanthya first reached Bistari for the duke’s funeral. They hadn’t spoken of it since coming to Orvinti, but Fetnalla had never been one to let a matter drop before having her say, particularly a matter of such importance.

“I’m still not certain I can do this,” Evanthya said, turning to stare at the ravens.

“We can’t stay out of it forever, love. These are Qirsi men and women we’re talking about. It’s not out in the open yet, and may not be for another year or more. But make no mistake, they’re fighting a war for the future of the Forelands. Now, we can watch from the towers of our castles, or we can do something about it.”

She had learned long ago that there was little to be gained from arguing with Fetnalla about almost anything. But Evanthya could be headstrong as well, and in this case she couldn’t stop herself.

“And what about our dukes?” she asked. “You worry about Brail learning that we’re lovers. That’s a trifle, next to this.”

“If we do this right, our dukes will never know.”

Evanthya took a breath. If we do this right . When it came right down to it, most of this burden would fall on her shoulders, not Fetnalla’s.

“We’re going to be paying someone a good deal of gold. People tend to notice such things. Even assuming that we can find enough money, keeping it quiet is going to be hard.”

Fetnalla produced a small leather pouch from within her cloak and handed it to her. It was quite heavy and it jingled like bells on a dancer’s shoe.

“That’s nearly sixty qinde,” Fetnalla said. “It’s most of what I have, so be careful with it.”

“This is your money?”

Fetnalla nodded.

“I can’t take this. There must be another-”

She tried to hand the pouch back to Fetnalla, but the minister merely shook her head.

“Please, love. I’m asking a good deal of you already. I have no choice in the matter. Orvinti is too remote for me to do any more. But at least I can take care of the gold. You may have to add a gold piece or two, but this should cover most of it.”

Evanthya stared at the pouch chagrined at having felt overburdened a moment before. “I’ll guard it with my life,” she said softly.

Fetnalla laughed. “Well, don’t go that far. It’s only gold. Just don’t go wagering it on a game of dice.”

She smiled and looked up, her eyes meeting Fetnalla’s. “I promise.”

“You know where to go?”

Evanthya nodded, the smile leaving her face as quickly as it had come. “There are a few places, one in particular. It shouldn’t be a problem. A person can buy anything in the alleyways of Dantrielle.”

Fetnalla grinned again, the same crooked grin Evanthya remembered from their first meeting in Solkara so many years ago. “I’m counting on that.”

They fell silent, their eyes still locked, and Evanthya longed to kiss her again. But at that moment, she heard a footfall behind her and the jangling of a guard’s blade.