DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“Good morrow to you, First Minister!” the man called.

Fetnalla didn’t take her eyes off Evanthya, but she raised a hand in greeting. “And to you,” she answered. “Is the duke awake?”

“He is, First Minister. And the duke of Dantrielle also. They’re asking for the two of you.”

She finally looked at the guard, and Evanthya turned as well. He was a large man with a thick neck. Eandi, of course. They all looked the same to her.

“Let them know we’ll be along in a moment,” Fetnalla said.

The man nodded once and retreated into the castle.

Fetnalla gazed at her again. “We probably won’t have another chance to speak alone before you ride. Is there more we need to discuss?”

“Are you sure about all this, Fetnalla? I know you want to do something, but this…” She shook her head, uncertain of how to finish the thought. “There are other paths we could take,” she finally said.

“I know there are. But we’ve already waited longer than we should have. Everything else we talked about would take too long. It’s time, love. We can’t delay anymore.”

Evanthya nodded. She had known just what Fetnalla would say, but she had to ask. “All right then. I’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “When will I see you again?”

Fetnalla smiled as well. “Soon.”

Evanthya raised an eyebrow. With the snows coming, it was likely to be several turns at least before one of their dukes traveled to see the other.

“Well, as soon as I can find some excuse to suggest a journey to Dantnelle.”

Evanthya reached out for Fetnalla’s hand and gave it a squeeze, unwilling to chance more with the dukes awake and guards moving about the castle. “Think of something quickly.”

They made their way back to Brail’s hall, where they found the dukes and Orvinti’s duchess preparing for a formal breakfast. As was customary at such functions, the two first ministers were seated together, but both of the women made a point of speaking with their other seating partner. Evanthya carried on a pleasant but empty conversation with Brail’s wife, and Fetnalla ended up speaking at length with Orvinti’s prelate, for whom she had privately expressed nothing but contempt.

By the time they finished their meal, servants had gathered the duke’s belongings and carried them down to the stables where their horses were waiting, already brushed and saddled. Brail and Tebeo kept their farewells brief, leaving their ministers little choice but to do the same, though they had already said their goodbyes.

Evanthya, Tebeo, and the rest of the duke’s party climbed onto their mounts, offered one last word of thanks to the duke and duchess of Orvinti, and rode out the castle gate. The last Evanthya saw of Fetnalla, she was merely standing beside Brail, gazing back at her and looking lovely in the silver-grey light, her white hair, dampened by the mist, clinging to her brow.

The road out of Orvinti wound around the south end of the lake before following the River Orvinti northward toward the Rassor. However, Tebeo chose to leave the road almost immediately so that they might cross the northeast corner of the Plain of Stallions, thus shortening their journey. The company rode in silence for some time, Tebeo seeming lost in thought, though he never strayed from Evanthya’s side. The day remained grey and the wind began to rise again, knifing through Evanthya’s cloak and tunic as if they were made of parchment.

“I noticed you were up and about the castle quite early this morning,” the duke said abruptly, as Evanthya watched a falcon soar over the plain.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You were speaking with Fetnalla?”

She glanced over at him, but he continued to face forward.

“I was, my lord.”

“What about?”

“We were speaking of Lord Bistari, my lord. His assassination has us concerned.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, though it was far from the plain truth. Still, Evanthya surprised herself by the ease with which she deceived him. Fetnalla would have been proud.

“Concerned?”

“Yes, my lord. Concerned for our dukes, as well as for our kingdom. Both of you have opposed the king in the past. If this can happen in Bistari, what’s to stop it from happening in Orvinti or Dantrielle?”

“So you feel certain that the king is responsible.”

She turned to him again and this time he met her gaze. The look they shared lasted only a moment, but that was long enough for her to see fear in his dark eyes, and something else that made her chest ache.

“All the evidence suggests that he is, my lord. Don’t you agree?”

Tebeo didn’t answer immediately, and they rode wordlessly for a time. The falcon still glided above them, darting and wheeling in the wind like a festival dancer.

“You’ve heard talk of a conspiracy?” His eyes flicked in her direction for just an instant. “A Qirsi conspiracy?”

A denial would have raised his suspicions. “I have, my lord.”

“Do you believe what you’ve heard?”

Again, what choice did she have but to be honest with him? “I do. Such stories have come from every kingdom in the land save Uulrann. It would be dangerous to dismiss all of them as idle rumors.”

Tebeo nodded but offered no response. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more.

Evanthya took a breath. The question hung between them, waiting to be given voice. Better she should ask it and hear his reply, before he turned the question on her.

“Do you think the Qirsi killed Lord Bistari?”

The duke gave a small shrug. “With all I’ve heard, I have to think it possible. You said yourself that you fear for the kingdom. I fear for Sanbira as well, and even for Eibithar. It seems to me that every murder in the past year has moved one of our neighbors closer to a crisis. Now it’s our turn. Eandi nobles are dying throughout the land. Whom should I blame but the Qirsi?”

Evanthya conceded the point with a single nod. She had never for a moment doubted her duke’s intelligence, but she was surprised to hear how much thought he had given these matters. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to her before today. She could guess why.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, First Minister, but are you party to the conspiracy?”

She looked at him, her gaze steady despite the pounding of her pulse. “No, my lord, I’m not. But as your first minister I have to advise you not to believe me. If you have any doubts at all about my loyalty, you should remove me from my office and appoint someone in my place until you’re satisfied that I can be trusted.”

That of all things made him smile, albeit wanly. “I’m sure that’s wise counsel. But for now you’ll remain my first minister.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“You never really answered my question, Evanthya. Do you think the king had Chago killed?”

Her hands were sweaty in spite of the cold, and she had to keep from wiping them on her breeches. “I don’t know, my lord.”

The duke glanced at her and nodded once more, his round face pale and that same fearful look in his eyes. “Do you want to know the real reason I won’t replace you?” he asked a moment later.

She just stared at him, not certain that she did.

“I wouldn’t know who else to turn to. I’m afraid to trust any Qirsi right now. At least I know you.”

Kelt, Aneira

He went out of his way to be kind to her, showing her courtesies she was certain no one else enjoyed. He hadn’t forced her to climb to the top of the rise since her fourth turn, and recently he had appeared to her before she walked more than a hundred paces. On the other hand, as her time approached he entered her dreams more and more frequently, until she found herself too weary to do much of anything during her waking hours. It almost seemed that the Weaver believed himself to be the child’s father, so concerned was he with Cresenne’s well-being. That was impossible, of course; she and the Weaver had never even met outside of her dreams. But he often asked what she had eaten the previous day, chiding her when the answer she gave failed to satisfy him. One night during the previous turn, he had spoken to her at length of what a glorious future awaited her baby.