DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“You forget yourself, First Minister!” he said so sharply that the soldiers riding ahead of the company turned to look back at him. “I will not be spoken to that way, especially not by a Qirsi!”

The minister’s face reddened as if he had slapped her. She turned away, looking straight ahead. After a few moments, she dropped back into place behind him.

Brail let out a long breath and cursed his temper. If she hadn’t betrayed him yet, she would soon. He had given her every reason to. He almost called her back to his side so that he could tell her everything. But his fears wouldn’t allow it.

Instead they rode, covering the remaining distance to Castle Solkara without speaking another word. Reaching the city walls, they turned eastward until they came to the nearest of the gates. There they were stopped by the king’s guards in their red-and-gold uniforms, the panther crest on their baldrics.

“My Lord Duke,” one of the men said, bowing to Brail, his sword drawn and raised to his forehead. A gold star on his shoulder marked him as an officer in Carden’s army, perhaps a captain. “We weren’t told to expect you.”

“The king didn’t know I was coming.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to send one of your men ahead so the king could prepare for your arrival?”

Brail felt his ire rising again. It was one thing to be questioned by Fetnalla, who had served him so well for so many years. But a duke did not explain himself to a soldier, not even to a captain in the king’s guard.

“I’m here now,” Brail said, anger seeping into his voice. “Do you care to inform the king, or shall I ride on to the castle unannounced and let him see for himself how careless his soldiers have become?”

The man paled. “Of course, my lord.” He turned smartly and barked an order to the men standing nearby. Two of them started running toward the castle, while the rest took positions on either side of the city road, drew their swords, and raised them to their brows.

“I’ll accompany you to the castle myself, Lord Orvinti,” the captain said. “Please follow me.”

He led the duke and his company past the soldiers, who stood motionless in salute, and through the marketplace of Solkara. Seeing Orvinti’s colors, which Brail’s guards still held high, the people of the king’s city paused in their business to stare. Some of them even clapped. Children pointed at the flags and at the swords carried by the duke’s men. They pointed as well at Fetnalla, staring wide-eyed at the Qirsi minister and whispering to each other.

“They must think you’re the duke,” Brail said, glancing back at her, hoping to draw a smile.

But she merely shook her head, her expression unchanged. “No, my lord. They just know that I’m a sorcerer.”

He stared at her a moment longer, then faced forward again, not knowing what to say.

They reached the south gate of the castle a few moments later. Four of Carden’s soldiers stood before the gate, two of them bearing Aneiran flags, and the other two bearing the banners of Solkara and Orvinti. As they stood there, a group of musicians emerged from the castle and began to play “Amnalla’s March,” which had been written to celebrate the investiture of Queen Amnalla, the first Aneiran ruler to come from House Orvinti. It was not Brail’s favorite Orvinti anthem, but for six centuries it had been the choice of Solkaran kings to honor dukes of Orvinti to the castle, no doubt because Amnalla’s Rebellion ended the First Bistari Supremacy.

When the musicians finished, a second group of guards, also bearing banners of Aneira, Solkara, and Orvinti, stepped through the gate, followed by Queen Chofya, the king’s archminister, and Solkara’s prelate.

Brail swung himself off his mount and took a step forward. He turned briefly, intending to tell Fetnalla to do the same, but she was already there, just a step behind him, as was fitting. She deserves better , he thought.

An instant later he dropped to one knee, as did the minister, and bowed his head to the queen.

“Rise, Brail,” Chofya said, smiling at him. “Welcome to Solkara.”

She was still beautiful, with a full sensuous mouth, olive skin, and eyes so dark they appeared black. But Brail thought she looked weary, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, her long black hair held back from her brow by a circlet of gold. She wore a single red gem at her throat that sparkled in the sun like morning dew on a rose petal.

The duke stood, then bent to kiss her hand.

“You honor me, Your Highness.”

“You do us the honor with this most… unexpected visit.”

The queen then offered quick introductions of the prelate and the king’s Qirsi, before leading Brail and his company through the first gate of the castle. From there, they continued up the long, narrow ramps that ran between the great stone walls of the castle’s outer defenses, and finally stepped into the vast inner courtyard of the king’s palace.

Carden awaited them there, standing in front of what must have been five hundred soldiers in full battle uniform, all of them with their swords raised. The king wore plain battle garb, a warrior’s sword, and a fur cape clasped at the neck with a simple gold chain. He stood taller than most of his men, with long golden hair and an angular face worthy of a hero from the ancient legends. Even without the carved gold crown on his brow, no one looking out across the courtyard would have wondered for long which of these men was king. Still, like the queen, Carden wore a slightly pinched look.

Four soldiers stepped forward and raised shining silver horns to their lips to play a Solkaran battle anthem, and the king’s beautiful young daughter opened a small cage, releasing twelve white doves that circled the courtyard once, then flew to the highest tower of the castle. Whatever his doubts about Carden and his methods, Brail could not help but be impressed by this greeting, which the king and his servants managed to prepare in a matter of moments.

Once more the duke knelt, his head bowed and his hands resting on his bended knee. The rest of his company did the same, Fetnalla close enough to him so that he heard her whisper, “One might almost think that he knew you were coming anyway.”

“Stand and be welcome, Brail,” the king said, striding forward and embracing the duke briefly.

Brail returned the embrace and stepped back. “You’re most gracious, my liege. I’m humbled and overwhelmed by this welcome.”

Carden smiled. “Nonsense. This was nothing. If we’d known you intended to come, we might have offered a true greeting.”

The duke smiled in return, but something he saw in the king’s dark blue eyes made him wonder if this display had been intended as a warning as well as a welcome. Take me lightly , the king seemed to be saying, and I’ll destroy you . Once more Brail found himself wondering if he’d been wise to make this journey.

“You must be hungry,” the king went on a moment later. “Come, we’ve a meal waiting for you.” He glanced past Brail to Fetnalla. “You’re welcome to dine with us also, First Minister. I’m sure the duke doesn’t want you far from his side.”

Brail and the minister shared a look. It was a strange remark, made all the more awkward by the harsh words they had exchanged on the road to Solkara.

“Your Majesty is most kind,” Fetnalla said.

Carden started walking toward the great hall on the north side of the courtyard, gesturing for Brail to follow. Chofya fell into step beside them and Fetnalla followed, along with Pronjed jal Drenthe, Carden’s archminister. The king’s daughter walked a few paces behind, staring shyly at the ground before her. She was the image of her mother, with black hair and eyes, though hers was a softer beauty. There was little in her appearance to mark her as Carden’s child.