DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“I want you with me,” the duke said, much to her relief. “We have a good deal to discuss.”

“Very well. You wish to return to your chamber.”

Brail hesitated. “My father used to say that no conversation was ever private in a castle. Why don’t we walk?” He gestured toward a stone path and they followed it through the central ward to a smaller courtyard, which held the castle gardens. Nothing grew there now, of course, and the pools had been emptied in anticipation of the snows, but the courtyard was empty, and sheltered from the fiercer winds.

Fetnalla watched her duke, waiting for him to speak, but for a long time, he merely stood by one of the dry stone pools, seemingly lost in thought. She guessed that he was still shaken by news of the king’s death, but when he finally spoke, he surprised her with the direction his musings had taken.

“Something about this bothers me,” he said, his voice low, as if he had forgotten she was even there.

“My lord?”

He looked up at her. “The time for games has passed. Aneira’s king is dead, as is its most powerful duke. I can’t spend my days wondering what to share with you and what to hide. I have to know right now, can I trust you?”

She felt as though he had kicked her in the chest. “You have to ask?”

“Yes,” he said. “In these times, every noble in the land has to ask. Are you a part of this conspiracy I’ve heard so much about?”

Fetnalla wanted to cry, but she refused to let him see how much he’d hurt her. She would have liked to rail at him for doubting her, or better yet, to just leave her life in Orvinti, never to return. She and Evanthya could go to Caerisse or Sanbira and find a noble who wished to employ both of them.

Instead, mustering what pride she could, the minister met his gaze and said, “No, I’ve no part in the conspiracy. I have served you as well as I could for six years, and will for as many more as you’ll have me.”

“I want to believe you,” he said.

“Then do. What cause have I given you to doubt me?”

The duke shrugged. “You’re Qirsi.”

“And you’re an Eandi noble. Does that mean you’re just like the king, or Mertesse, or the dukes of Eibithar? Not every Qirsi is a traitor.”

“Some are.”

“Yes. And some nobles are tyrants.”

“It’s not the same. A tyrant makes himself known with every act. He’s easy to spot. A traitor is more insidious, and therefore more dangerous.”

She started to argue the point, then stopped. Thinking of it from the perspective of an Eandi and a duke, she had to concede that this was probably true. “I’m not a traitor,” she said after a brief pause. “But if you don’t believe me, you should find another Qirsi to serve as your first minister.”

Brail looked away and shook his head. “I’m not certain that would solve anything.”

This she understood as well. Until the conspiracy was defeated-or until it succeeded-every Qirsi in the Forelands would be viewed with even more mistrust than usual, whether or not it was deserved. The duke had little choice but to keep her as his minister.

“Why don’t you tell me what you meant before when you said something was bothering you,” she said, as if coaxing an answer from a reluctant child.

His eyes met hers for an instant and darted away. “It’s probably nothing. I don’t know what to believe anymore, even when it should be obvious.”

“Just because I’m not part of the conspiracy, that doesn’t mean it’s not real, or that it can’t strike here in Aneira.”

“Do you think it has?”

Fetnalla hesitated. She didn’t know anything for certain, and she and Evanthya had agreed that they should do nothing to alarm their dukes until they had more information. But if she wanted Brail to trust her, she had to start confiding in him.

“I fear so, yes,” she admitted.

“Chago?”

The minister nodded.

“Tebeo and I think so as well.”

Her eyes widened at that, and she wondered if Evanthya had already spoken of this with her duke.

“And now you think the king has fallen victim to it as well?” she asked.

Brail rubbed a hand across his brow. “I don’t know. I find it hard to believe that he’d take his own life.”

“The queen believes it.”

“Yes,” the duke said. “And so does the archminister. I’m probably just being foolish. But even if he was dying, why would he do this so soon, before he had the chance to name a successor? As it is, he’s placed the very future of the kingdom at risk. It makes no sense.”

“Much as I agree with you, my lord, I must also say that such a death would be difficult to fabricate. If he did take his own life with a blade, there would be blood on his hands, his clothes, his knife. There are far easier ways to hide a murder, my lord, even for a skilled assassin.”

“You’re right. But when I spoke with him last night, he didn’t seem like a man who was about to kill himself. Talk of the conspiracy had him worried, and clearly something was troubling him. I even went so far as to ask if he was well.”

“What did he say?”

Brail shook his head. “Very little. And having spoken with the queen, I now understand why. But still…” He shook his head a second time.

“My lord?”

The duke smiled thinly. “You’ll think me a fool.” He took a breath and then said, “He threatened me.”

“What?”

“Maybe that’s too strong a word. It was more a warning than a threat. But he told me never to come to him unannounced again. Why would a man who intended to take his own life as soon as I left him bother with something like that?”

It seemed so small a matter as to not merit consideration. She would have expected the king to comment on Brail’s sudden appearance at the city gates-his pride would have demanded no less. Yet, she had no answer for the duke’s question. It did strike her as odd that a man intent on killing himself would concern himself with matters of propriety.

“You think I’m making too much of it,” the duke said, watching her closely.

“I agree that’s it odd,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think that this one comment is enough to prove anything.”

“You’re probably right. But tell me this: given what we know of his death, is there any way that Qirsi magic might have killed him?”

After all that had passed between them since their departure from Orvinti, Fetnalla could not help but hear an accusation in the question. Immediately, she shook her head. “No, my lord. None at all.”

The duke frowned. “I see.”

But already, the minister’s mind had moved beyond this first response, the direction of her thoughts turning her stomach to stone. For there was a way. It was one of the rarer magics, possessed by Weavers and only a few of the most powerful Qirsi. Those who did wield it almost never admitted as much, not only because it often made them objects of fear, but also because if a would-be victim knew of it, he or she would be less likely to fall prey to its powers. Still, the duke had asked only if there was any way magic had killed Carden, and indeed there was.

“Actually, my lord,” she said quietly, “I spoke too quickly.” She looked away, so as not to see how his eyes narrowed. “There is one magic that we call ‘mind-bending.’ A Qirsi possessing such power might have been able to do this.”

“Mind-bending,” he repeated, his voice thick.

“It allows the person who wields it to control the mind of another, though only for a moment or two.” Fetnalla swallowed, knowing how he would respond to what she had to say next. “We also call it delusion magic because it allows one Qirsi to lie to another without fear of discovery. But long ago my people learned that with your people, this magic could do more. It could actually twist the Eandi mind, so that those upon whom it was used could be controlled, instructed to do the Qirsi’s bidding.”