DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

If anything, it sometimes seemed to the duke that Aneira’s king was not worthy of the castle. He still remembered the joy and hope he felt when Carden’s father, Tomaz the Ninth, took the throne more than twenty-two years earlier. Brail himself had just become duke of Orvinti a few turns before and he looked forward to serving under his friend, who promised to be a fine king. Carden was but a boy then, only a year past his Determining, but already Brail saw in him signs of the quick temper and ruthlessness that would characterize his reign. He both hoped and expected that the boy would have time to outgrow these traits. Brail and Tomaz had been relatively young men, and the duke assumed that Tomaz would rule the land for decades. He never imagined that the king would die of a fever only nine years after his investiture, leaving Aneira to his eldest son.

It would have been too much to say that Carden had diminished the throne. He was a competent leader, whose hard manner and fierce reputation served Aneira well in its dealings with Braedon and the other kingdoms of the Forelands. But a king could be strong with his allies and foes while still caring for his people. Carden, it often seemed, saw the people of Aneira as a burden, and the nobles who served under him as potential rivals and nothing more. Brail’s father once told him that the secret to being a good ruler was knowing when to raise a fist and when to extend a hand. He offered this as a lesson in leading the dukedom, but Brail knew that it applied with equal force to ruling an entire kingdom. Carden ruled only with his fists, and the land had suffered for it.

Since his conversation with Tebeo six nights earlier, Brail had given a great deal of thought to Chago’s murder and the possible explanations for it. In the end he had decided that, one way or another, Carden shared responsibility for the duke’s death. Even if Qirsi gold paid the assassin, Carden’s past actions had made their deception possible. More than that, though, Brail also realized that regardless of whether Carden ordered the killing, the king would do nothing to dispel the notion that he had Chago killed. He drew his power from the fear he inspired in those who served him. Admitting that others were responsible, that the Qirsi had used his reputation to their advantage, was not in his nature.

Brail intended to speak with the king anyway. He had made a promise to Tebeo, and he believed that he could divine the truth even without an honest response from the king. But he dreaded this encounter, and he sensed that by approaching Carden so soon after Chago’s death, he was placing his own life in danger.

Fetnalla rode with him, as did a small complement of guards. Before he left Orvinti, Pazice urged him to bring his taster as well, but one did not bring a taster to the king’s castle, even while a fellow duke’s ashes were still settling over the land. With brigands roaming the forest and common thieves on the king’s road, the guards were a necessity. And no duke traveled without his first minister. But to arrive in Solkara with a larger company of servants and guards would imply that the king lacked the means or the good grace to make him comfortable and guarantee his safety.

“Shall we continue, my lord?” the first minister called to him.

Brail turned to look at her and the soldiers perched on their mounts behind her. They looked cold, and eager to ride on to the castle. The horses stomped impatiently, the vapor from their breath rising to the bare tree limbs in pale swirling clouds.

“I suppose,” he said, his voice low as he looked at the castle once more. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking that this had been a bad idea.

“My lord?”

“Yes,” he said, riding back to the king’s road. “Let’s get on with it.”

They resumed their approach to the city, four guards riding in front of the duke bearing the Orvinti banner, a white bear on a green and blue field. Fetnalla rode just behind Brail, and eight more soldiers followed her. They had ridden this way for four days, speaking little save for what was necessary to get them through the days and nights. Fetnalla made it clear from the first day that she felt the duke should send a message to the king before journeying to Solkara, but Brail didn’t want to give Carden too much time to prepare himself. He was far more likely to give something away if Brail surprised him.

The duke hadn’t explained this to the first minister. Indeed, he had told her almost nothing about why he wished to speak with the king, except to say that it pertained to Chago’s death. After his conversation with the duke of Dantrielle, Brail was afraid to tell her more, lest he make himself a target of the Qirsi as well as of the king.

For the first half of their journey, Fetnalla asked him repeatedly why he wished to speak with Carden at all, and what he hoped to accomplish by riding to Solkara rather than sending messengers. Each time she raised these matters, the duke tried to change the subject, or offered only vague responses, or just refused to answer her at all. Finally, after nearly two days of this, the minister gave up, lapsing into a brooding silence that troubled him nearly as much as her relentless questioning.

Seeing Castle Solkara, however, seemed to embolden her again.

“It’s not too late for us to dispatch one of the guards as a messenger, my lord,” she said. “It would probably only delay us a short while.”

He nodded, not even bothering to look back at her. “Perhaps. But I’m not willing to delay at all. We’ll ride to the city gates. That will give the king ample time to prepare for our arrival.”

The minister kicked at the flanks of her mount so that she caught up with him. She had bundled herself in her riding cloak, though she still looked cold and weary. She was tall for a Qirsi and uncommonly graceful. But on a mount, she appeared uncomfortable, even awkward. No doubt she had little desire to make this journey, but at no time had she complained of her discomfort. It was not in her nature to do so. She deserved more from him than he had given. Yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the suspicions planted in his mind by his late-night talk with Tebeo.

“My lord, please!” she said with a fervor he had rarely seen in her. “If I’ve done something to give offense, tell me and be done with it! But don’t punish me by endangering your own life!”

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked.

“It seems so to me.”

“I’m not angry with you, First Minister, and I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then why suddenly won’t you answer my questions? Why do you ignore my counsel?”

Because I don’t trust you . “I’m not ignoring your counsel. I’m just not heeding it. There’s a difference.”

“There’s more to it than that. You refuse to speak with me. You’ve told me almost nothing about why you wish to speak with the king.”

“Must I explain myself to my ministers now? Is that the duty of an Aneiran duke?”

“Of course not, my lord. But my duty is to advise you, and I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

It was a fair point, though Brail was not willing to admit it just then. “What would you have me say?” he asked instead.

“You could begin by telling me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re going to see the king, of course. There are matters I wish to discuss with him.”

“What matters, my lord? What is so important that we have to brave this cold and the dangers of the wood?”

“That’s between the king and me.”

Fetnalla sighed heavily and shook her head. “Very well, my lord. Do as you will. I won’t trouble you with questions any more. But I will say this: your dissembling does an injustice to both of us, as well as to House Orvinti. By treating me this way, you not only dishonor our friendship, you also serve your people poorly.”