DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

So they sat, doing nothing. Evanthya began to listen for the midday bells, sensing that they couldn’t be far off. Chofya wandered around the chamber, straightening paintings that already hung straight, and smoothing tapestries that had no creases.

When the knock finally came, it sounded so loud that Evanthya started.

Chofya crossed to the throne and sat. “Come!” she called, her voice icy.

The door swung open and Grigor strode into the chamber, followed by his two brothers. He looked much as he had the previous evening, elegant and graceful, and as broad and muscular as the hero of some childhood tale. He was dressed in warrior’s garb, a dun shirt and matching trousers, black boots and belt. From the belt hung a fighting sword on one side and a matching short sword on the other, both with jeweled hilts. He had only been duke of Solkara for a few days, yet he looked as much like a king as Chofya did a queen, and by comparison he made the other two dukes appear to be little more than courtiers.

Positioned behind him, his brothers served as such perfect complements to his appearance that Evanthya had to believe the effect was intended. To the left stood Henthas, powerfully built like his brother, but with darker hair and harder features that made him appear grim where Grigor was jaunty. To the right stood Numar, slighter than his brothers and with a kind, open face that made the trio seem somewhat less imposing.

“Forgive us if we kept you waiting,” Grigor said lightly, leading his brothers to the table, lowering himself into a chair, and indicating with a nod that the two of them should do the same.

Chofya waited until they were seated before speaking. “I didn’t give you leave to sit, Lord Solkara, nor did I see you bow to me as is proper.”

Grigor regarded her with a look of utter innocence. “With Carden dead, I’m duke of Solkara. I didn’t think I had to ask permission to sit in my own castle.” He furrowed his brow. “Unless you intend to vie for my dukedom as well.”

Henthas chuckled.

“As for failing to bow to you,” Grigor went on, “please forgive me.” He half stood and sketched a small bow that was really nothing more than a nod. “Now, can we please be done with all this foolishness and discuss the matter at hand?”

Chofya glowered at him, her color high. But after a moment, she gave a curt nod. “Very well,” she said. “By the matter at hand I assume you mean the selection of Carden’s successor.”

“Actually, no,” the duke said, all traces of a smile vanishing from his face. “I mean the making of plans for my investiture as king. I do hope that you and your daughter will feel free to remain in the castle until the celebrations are complete.”

“This castle belongs as much to Kalyi and me as it does to you!”

“There’s no Solkaran blood in your veins, Your Highness,” he said, his tone contemptuous.

“What about the girl?” Brail asked. “Surely you don’t intend to deny her bloodright.”

“This is a big castle,” Numar said, before Grigor could respond. “I can’t imagine that there isn’t room here for Kalyi and her mother, no matter who is chosen to lead Aneira.”

Grigor cast a venomous look at his brother, but after a brief pause, he nodded. “I suppose there’s room.”

The queen was gazing at Numar as if seeing him for the first time. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to take her part. In light of his reputation, she might not even have expected him to speak.

“Now, as to my investiture,” Grigor began again. “I’m willing to wait a few more days-”

“There will be no investiture,” Chofya said. “Not until all the dukes have arrived and selected Carden’s successor.”

Grigor shook his head. “The crown belongs to House Solkara. We decide who rules, not the dukes.”

“The Council of Dukes has always met to select a new king,” Pronjed said.

“The Council is a formality, a way of presenting our choice to the other houses. You know that as well as I.”

“As I understand it,” Tebeo said, “the Volumes call for a vote.”

Grigor closed his eyes, as if struggling to keep his composure. “That’s true, but as I said, the vote is a formality. The Council hasn’t actually chosen a king in hundreds of years.”

The archminister shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “That’s only because there hasn’t been a dispute within the royal house that required resolution by the Council. Now there is.”

“We will not allow the Solkaran Supremacy to be ordered about by outsiders!”

“If you try to defy the Council, brother,” Numar said mildly, “the other houses may see fit to do away with the Solkaran Supremacy. None of us wants that, do we?”

Grigor balled his hands into fists, until his knuckles were white as Qirsi hair. But when he spoke, his voice remained even. “What is it you propose, Chofya? Surely you don’t want the crown for yourself.”

“No,” she said. “As you’re so fond of pointing out to me, I’m not Solkaran. Kalyi is Carden’s rightful heir. I want her to be queen when she’s of age. Until then I propose a regency.”

“Who would you select as her regent?”

The queen hesitated, but only for an instant. She even managed a small smile. “You, of course. You’re the eldest of Carden’s brothers. It seems appropriate that you should guide her through the early years of her reign.”

“You actually trust me with this?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

A smile stretched across the man’s face. “Of course. But you’ve shown little faith in me or my motives in the past. I find it strange that you’d suddenly see fit to entrust me with instructing your daughter in the ways of statecraft.”

“Kalyi is ten years old, Lord Solkara. If I could make her queen without your help, I would. But under the laws of the land I cannot. Since I

doubt that you’d agree to a regency with anyone else as regent, I’m willing to place Kalyi in your hands for the next six years. I’ll be here to help as I can, and I intend to have her appoint Pronjed as her archminister. You won’t be doing this alone.“

Grigor looked from the queen to the archminister, nodding slowly. “Actually, it’s not clear that I’ll be doing this at all.”

Chofya paled. “Does that mean that you intend to oppose her?”

“I’ve made no secret of the fact that I wish to be king, that indeed I feel entitled to the crown. As you say, I’m Carden’s eldest brother, and therefore the logical choice to be Aneira’s next king. We came close to establishing a matriarchy in the Time of Queens and the other houses nearly rebelled. I doubt that the Council will be eager to tread that path again.”

“What if they are?” Tebeo asked.

“As I’ve indicated already, I don’t recognize the Council as the final authority on this matter.”

Brail stared at the man. “Are you saying you’d defy the other houses, that you’d risk a war?”

“I’m saying that I’ll do what I feel is necessary to preserve the Solkaran Supremacy. If the other houses dare to challenge me, they’ll be the ones starting a war.”

“Don’t take the other houses lightly, Lord Solkara,” Tebeo said. “Yours may be the most powerful house in Aneira, but if she stands alone, she’ll be crushed.”

Grigor smiled. “My lords, please. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. The Council has yet to meet, and I’ve done nothing but state my belief that I am the rightful heir to the throne.” He looked at Chofya, who still sat on the throne, looking too small for it. “I’ll consider your proposal, Your Highness. If the Council supports Kalyi’s claim to the throne, we can meet again to discuss the form such a regency might take.”

“That’s not good enough,” the queen said. “I want your word right now, in front of these men, that you’ll respect the will of the Council.”