DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“Because I’ve given you no reason to doubt me,” Fetnalla said, raising her chin proudly, despite the reddening of her cheeks. “Because Grigor is your enemy, not I.”

“And what about Pronjed? A few days ago you told me that you were afraid of him.”

“I still am. But he’s no friend of Grigor, and I don’t believe he wants civil war.”

“But he might,” Brail said. “If he has delusion magic as you say, there’s no way to be sure, is there. Not even for you.”

Fetnalla opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally she shook her head. “No, my lord. If his powers run that deep, I can’t be certain.”

The two of them fell silent, though they continued to stare at each other, the duke’s mistrust and Fetnalla’s dismay making the room’s air heavy as a winter fog.

After some time, Tebeo looked up at Evanthya, who still stood in the center of the chamber, uncertain of what to do.

“What say you, Evanthya?” he asked softly. “Do you know anything of the archmimster?”

Evanthya swallowed, her eyes meeting Fetnalla’s for just an instant. She feared that Fetnalla might begin to cry at any moment, and she would have said nearly anything to prevent that. But her duke had asked her about Pronjed, and she feared the archminister nearly as much as Brail did, nearly as much as she always thought Fetnalla had as well.

“I know that he’s a formidable man,” she said, choosing her words with care. “I’ve heard him called ruthless by some. He was always said to be a perfect match for his king.”

“But do you know anything of his powers?”

“No, my lord. Nothing at all.”

“Would you trust him if you thought he had this delusion magic?” Brail asked. “Would you be willing to place the fate of Kalyi’s regency in his hands?”

Evanthya forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on the duke, though she longed to look at Fetnalla. Brail knew nothing of their love affair, so he couldn’t have understood the difficult position in which he had placed her. This was small consolation, however.

“I suppose I would be reluctant to trust him, Lord Orvinti,” she finally said.

Brail nodded, looking at Tebeo and then Fetnalla. “There, you see?”

“I wouldn’t be eager to put my faith in the duke, either,” she added quickly. “Rather than arguing over which man poses less of a threat to the kingdom, I believe we’d be better served by looking for other possible solutions.”

“All other solutions lead to civil war,” Tebeo said.

“That may be. But at times such as these, men of influence must decide whether war is preferable to a tyrant.”

Evanthya chanced a look at Fetnalla, and regretted it immediately. The minister was staring at her as if she had just announced her intention to marry another. Her cheeks were scarlet and her pale eyes appeared red-rimmed, so that one might have thought she had been crying all this time.

“You’d actually counsel us to challenge House Solkara?”

Evanthya wanted to say something, to send some sign to Fetnalla that she was sorry, that she hadn’t intended to hurt her. But the woman looked away before she could, and Evanthya had to force herself to face her duke again so that she could reply.

“I would, my lord,” she said, struggling to keep her thoughts on the matters at hand. “If the crown stays with House Solkara, it will end up on the head of a man hated and feared throughout the land, or it will fall to a child whose best hope for surviving her regency rests with a Qirsi minister none of us trusts. Surely better choices lie elsewhere.”

“And what of the girl?” Brail demanded. “Are we just to wrest her father’s legacy from her grasp?”

“She is ten years old, Lord Orvinti. With Grigor as her regent and Pronjed as her archminister, do you really expect that she would survive the next six years? The regency is a death sentence for the child. All of us know that.”

“So we’re to ignore her mother’s wishes?”

“Yes,” Evanthya said, knowing how cold she sounded. “That’s my counsel.”

Both dukes stared at her for some time, saying nothing. At last, Tebeo gave a small nod.

“Very well, Evanthya. Thank you. You and the first minister are free to go. Brail and I have a good deal to discuss.”

“If I may, my lord,” she said. “If the two of you decide that you agree with me, I would strongly urge you to find some way to hide your decision from the duke of Solkara and the archminister. Perhaps even from the queen as well. In a sense, the war for the throne began this evening in the king’s hall, and Grigor probably thinks he’s already winning. He may not want to be regent, but he’ll see in it a possible path to power. Either way, he believes the crown is his. If he senses that the two of you intend to oppose House Solkara, he’ll want you dead. And since we can’t leave the city for several days more, he’ll have ample opportunity to have you killed.”

Brail narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“That until we’re safely away from Solkara, you should continue to talk and act as if you support the queen in this matter.”

“What?” the duke said. “If we support the regency now, we’ll appear to betray Chofya when we oppose House Solkara later.” He shook his head. “I won’t do it! It may not bother a Qirsi to be called a traitor, but I won’t bring such shame on House Orvinti!”

“That’s enough, Brail,” Tebeo said in a low voice, his gaze still fixed on Evanthya.

“You’re not actually going to listen to her, are you?” the duke asked.

Tebeo turned at that. “She’s my first minister. I listen to all her counsel, and I accept that she has my best interests and those of my house at heart.”

“But-”

“You may think that loyalty means nothing to the Qirsi, Lord Orvinti,” Evanthya said. “But you’re wrong. Fetnalla serves you faithfully, just as I do, my duke. You may not like the counsel I’ve just given, but I assure you that I offer it out of concern for my lord’s life as well as for my own. You said before that you suspected the king might have been murdered. This was the first I had heard of such a possibility, and I don’t know whether to believe it or not. But you must ask yourself, if someone was willing to kill the king, would they hesitate to kill a duke as well?”

“Thank you, First Minister,” Tebeo said again.

She faced her duke, hearing in his voice a request that she leave. He nodded to her once, as if to say that he would be all right without her.

After a moment, she bowed to him. “Very well, my lord.”

She walked to the door, sensing that Fetnalla was just behind her, and that the dukes were watching them both.

Even after the two ministers had stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind them, they said nothing. Fetnalla regarded her briefly, the hurt still evident in her eyes. Then she started back toward her chamber, leaving Evanthya little choice but to follow.

Only when they stepped into Fetnalla’s room and Evanthya closed the door did her love turn to look at her.

“How could you do that to me?” she said, flinging the words at Evanthya like a dagger, and finding her heart with the blade.

“I’m not allowed to disagree with you?”

“Not in front of my duke! Not about this! I told you how suspicious of me he’s become, and still you made it sound like I was telling him to put his trust in a demon.”

“Because I honestly don’t trust Pronjed, and neither did you until now. What happened this morning? Why do you suddenly think he’s the kingdom’s best hope?”

Fetnalla looked away. “I’m not sure I can explain it,” she said, her voice lower.

Evanthya took a step toward her. She wanted to place a hand on Fetnalla’s shoulder. She wanted to take the woman in her arms. But she didn’t dare.