DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

Besides, Brail was far more valuable to him alive than he ever could have been as a cautionary corpse. Despite his friendship with Chago and Tebeo, the duke had proven himself loyal to the crown. Indeed, he had managed to maintain ties to both House Bistan and House Solkara, no small feat given how much Carden and Chago hated one another. The king needed allies just now, particularly those who had mastered the finer points of statecraft. For Carden had not, and the duke might well be his only bridge to those nobles who hated him.

Now more than ever, he needed such a bridge. Because the truth was, he had nothing to do with Chago’s murder. Had he wished for the duke’s death? Of course, a hundred times over. Had he come within a hairs-breadth of giving such an order? Again, more times than he could count. But the words never passed his lips, and angry as he was with Chago’s fulminations about the lightering fees and wharfages, he viewed them as an annoyance, not as a threat to his power. No one in all Aneira could have been more astonished than he to learn of the assassination, particularly when it became clear that the duke had been garroted. Still, only when he heard of the scrap of leather found in the dead duke’s hand did the king fully grasp the implications of Chago’s murder.

Just a few moments before, when Brail asked if he had heard rumors of a Qirsi conspiracy, Carden nearly laughed aloud. Who hadn’t heard such talk? A person couldn’t go anywhere in the Forelands without hearing of the Qirsi threat. No one seemed to know what the Qirsi wanted, or which of the white-hairs were involved, but that didn’t stop people from talking. For all he had heard, however, the king never thought that the Qirsi would strike at him. Yet that was just what they had done. Chago was dead, but Carden had no doubt that he had been their target. Nor could he deny that their aim had been true. As he told Brail, he couldn’t very well admit to all the Forelands that he had allowed himself to be made a fool. He knew that they were responsible, that the land was under attack by the sorcerers, but to raise the alarm among his people was to humiliate himself. They wanted him weakened, so he accepted the blame for Chago’s death and made himself appear strong. They wanted his dukes and his people to hate him so that when they came back to finish him off, like a hunter circling back to kill a wounded stag, no one in Aneira would come to his aid.

He grinned darkly, his eyes still fixed on the low fire smoldering in the hearth. Let them try , he thought. Let them bring their armies and their magic. If they believe one dune’s death is enough to destroy me, they know nothing of House Solkara . He had been hated for a long time now. It no longer bothered him.

Carden lifted his goblet, only to find that it was empty again.

“More wine!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the ceiling and walls of his great hall.

After a few moments a young servant appeared carrying two flasks, one holding Sanbiri red, and the other the golden honey wine that was served after the main meal. Carden couldn’t remember which he had been drinking most recently.

“I didn’t know which to bring,” the boy said, cowering as he approached the table.

“Both,” the king said, sitting forward and gesturing for the boy to move faster. “Now leave me alone.”

“But the hall-”

Carden grabbed the red and filled his goblet. “You can clean tomorrow,” he said facing the fire again. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The boy bowed quickly and hurried out of the hall, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

The king took a long drink and closed his eyes, feeling the room pitch for a moment, as if he were on a merchant ship sailing the Scabbard. It was late to be drinking, but he wanted to be certain that Chofya was asleep before he returned to his chambers. On most nights like this he might have gone in search of one of his wife’s court ladies to pass the time. But he had no more interest in a tryst than he did in his marriage bed. Not tonight.

He should have been thinking about Chago, and the white-hairs, and how he would crush them when they brought their army to Aneira. Perhaps he should have been confiding in Brail. With Chago’s death, Orvinti had become the most powerful duke in the land.

Yet, his mind kept returning to his conversation with the castle surgeon earlier that day.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Kalyi, his only daughter, was nearly ten now, and Chofya hadn’t been with child since. In his mind, Carden had blamed the queen for this. But he could no longer ignore the fact that there were no bastards either. Surely if it was her, there would have been bastards. The surgeon agreed, suggesting that his seed was defective in some way. “Sterile.” That was the word he used.

Blaming the surgeon had been foolish. Having him executed had been the act of a coward. But no one could know of this, except Chofya, whom he’d have to tell at some point. Kings weren’t sterile. Kings were powerful; they ruled men and led them to war. They passed their kingdoms on to their sons. Even in Eibithar, where the ascension of kings defied simple explanation, one principle remained clear: the eldest son of a king followed his father to the throne. To call a king sterile unmanned him. It invited challenge from his enemies, be they within the realm or on its borders.

He was fortunate to have the one daughter, the surgeon told him. She was a gift from Ean, one for which he and Chofya should have been thankful. But though Kalyi was his light and his music and his treasure, she was not enough. There hadn’t been a ruling queen in Aneira for more than two centuries, since Edrice the Second abdicated to her brother in order to avoid a civil war and assure her son of the throne. Carden would have been happy to see Kalyi rule the land, but the other houses wouldn’t stand for it. He needed a son. House Solkara needed an heir.

“There will be no heir,” the surgeon had told him. “If you want House Solkara to hold the crown, you’d best choose a successor from among your brothers’ children.”

He had three brothers. Two were jackals and one was a fool, and their sons gave little indication of amounting to more. His best hope-and Aneira’s-lay in the possibility that Kalyi would marry young and bear her husband a son. This ruled out a union with the son of another major house, any one of whom would expect to give his name to the child. She would have to marry within the Solkaran dukedom. A price to be sure, but a small one under the circumstances.

He drank, draining his goblet once more. How many times had he dreamed of raising a boy to be king, just as his father had raised him? What had he done to offend the god so?

“I’d gladly trade all I have for an heir,” he murmured.

“Your Majesty?”

The king looked up sharply and saw Pronjed, his archminister, standing in the doorway. He felt his face grow hot with shame.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I saw the duke had returned to his chambers, Your Majesty. I was curious to know what he wanted.”

He stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

Carden shifted uneasily in his chair. He had no desire to speak with the white-hair right now, particularly about this.

“It was nothing of consequence,” he said. “He had concerns about the new fees.”

The Qirsi walked to the table and took an empty chair. “He came all this way to speak of lightering fees?”

The king felt his mouth twitch and wished he hadn’t drunk that last cup of wine. “After Chago, he was afraid to leave the matter to messages, lest their be any… misunderstandings.”

“I see.” The Qirsi eyed him for a moment. “Are you well, Your Majesty?”