Bonds of Vengeance (24 page)

“There’s something I should tell you, Brall. If your watchers are doing their jobs properly, you’ll learn of it soon enough, but since I’ve known for some time now, I ought to be the one to tell you.”

Brall narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what?”

Tebeo took a breath, watching as the servant finally lit the blaze and left the chamber. The Brall he knew a year ago would have been surprised, by what he was about to say. He might even have disapproved, though he would have had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself. But Tebeo wasn’t certain how the man before him would respond. Distrustful as he was of his own minister, and frightened as he seemed to be of all Qirsi, there was no way to know for certain.

“What is it, Tebeo? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s nothing really. Fetnalla and Evanthya are . . . they’re in love.”

The man’s brow creased. “What?”

“Our first ministers—”

“Do you mean in love with each other?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Are you certain it’s not a trick, a story they’ve told you to hide something else?”

“Brall, please! Stop imagining traitors at every turn and think for a moment! If our ministers wanted to plot against us, and wished to find time alone to do so, they would simply claim friendship and have done with it. They certainly wouldn’t go to this length, not when it’s bound to draw more attention to them rather than less.”

Orvinti eyed him a moment, looking angry. Then he gave a small nod and glanced at the fire.

“So they’re lovers,” he said, a look of distaste twisting his features.

Tebeo smiled. “Yes.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since around the time of Carden’s funeral.”

“She told you?”

“I guessed.”

Brall raised an eyebrow. “You guessed?”

“I could tell from the way Evanthya spoke of your minister, from the way she behaved when they were together.” He grinned. “I may be old, but I still remember what it is to be in love.”

The silver-haired duke shook his head. “If I had your eyes, I’d never wonder again about Fetnalla’s loyalty.” He paused briefly, watching the blaze. “Do you approve of this love?”

“I’m not certain it’s my place to approve or disapprove. If Fetnalla served another duke I might be uncomfortable with it, and I did tell Evanthya that if ever you and I had a falling-out, their affair would have to end or she would have to leave my service. But as matters stand now, I see nothing wrong with it.”

“The prelates would tell us that it’s . . . unnatural.”

“Probably. In certain respects I remain a man of the Old Faith. Besides, they’re Qirsi. They worship in the sanctuaries, not the cloisters. They should be governed by the old teachings.”

Brall shrugged. “You may be right. Just the same, I’d prefer you didn’t mention this to Pazice either.”

“Careful, Brall. You’re accumulating secrets in your old age. You know the saying: a man who keeps his own counsel is doomed to suffer from bad advice.”

For the first time since Tebeo’s arrival in Orvinti, Brall smiled. “My old age? You’ve got nerve calling me old, Dantrielle. What are you, three years younger than I am?”

“Actually, it’s four.”

Brall gave an exaggerated nod. “Ah, four years, then.” He laughed, as did Tebeo. After a few moments their laughter subsided, and Brall fixed his gaze on the duke, his expression growing grim once more. “Why are you here, Tebeo? What’s happened?”

“The same thing that happened here. Numar’s visit.”

“I should have guessed. You’re concerned about the alliance with Braedon.”

“Of course,” Tebeo said. “Shouldn’t we all be? This war could be a disaster for Aneira and all the Forelands.”

“It could also be our greatest triumph.”

Tebeo felt a dull ache in his chest. He had expected Brall to balk at the notion of defying the regent, but he never imagined that his friend might actually be eager for battle. Not that he could fault the man for what he said. Tebeo had argued much the same point with Evanthya in the wake of Numar’s visit.

“Is that really what you believe?” he asked.

Brall exhaled through his teeth. “I certainly wish it was. I don’t think much of Harel and I’ve no appetite for war. We’ve just lost Chago, Bertin, and Vidor. I’ve had enough of funerals for a lifetime.” He gave Tebeo a long look. “But surely you didn’t come all this way merely to exchange opinions on an ill-advised war.”

“No,” Tebeo said, shaking his head. He told Brall briefly of his unpleasant encounter with the regent and his lengthy discussions with Evanthya. “I came at the minister’s urging,” he concluded. “She believes that I should try to convince you, Bertin the Younger, and Vistaan to defy the regent when he asks for men for the war.”

Brall’s eyes widened. “We’d be trading one war for another.”

“I know.”

“Yet you came anyway.”

“Not to convince you but rather to ask your opinion.”

“My opinion? She’s mad. Or she’s a traitor.”

Tebeo gave a small smile and shook his head again. “She’s neither. She may be young, perhaps a bit reckless, but she’s loyal, and I fear she’s right about this.”

“No, Tebeo, she’s not! The royal army would crush us in no time. It would be a futile gesture, one that would bring disaster to all of our houses.”

“Perhaps not. I’ve been thinking of this since I left Dantrielle. The four of us might not be able to withstand Numar’s assault, but if Bistari were to join us, and Ansis of Kett, we’d have a chance.”

Brall appeared to consider this. “Have you spoken with Silbron?”

“No. I won’t mention it to any of the others unless you agree to join me.”

Brall grinned again. “Afraid to swing alone, eh?”

“Chago would have agreed to this in an instant, but no one hated the Solkarans more than he did. Silbron isn’t like his father. He’s more ambitious, and more sensible. I believe he wants Bistari to reclaim it’s place as one of Aneira’s leading houses and the only way to do that is to end Bistari’s feud with House Solkara.”

“Then he’ll be reluctant to stand with us.”

“That’s why we need Ansis. If we have Kett and Bistari, there will be no war. Numar would have to lead the royal army against six houses. He’d only have Rassor and Mertesse by his side, and Mertesse is still recovering from its failed assault on Kentigern Tor. We could actually stop the attack on Eibithar without plunging the land into civil war.”

Brall put a finger to his lips, looking thoughtful. “That might actually weaken the Solkarans.”

“Exactly. Silbron doesn’t want to anger Numar so long as the regency remains powerful. But if he sees this as a way to weaken the Solkaran Supremacy, I think he’ll leap at the chance.”

“Then we’re still talking about leading the realm to civil war. Perhaps not immediately, but that’s where this is headed.”

Tebeo faltered, though only for an instant. “I suppose it is. I’m willing to risk that. This is no time for the Eandi realms to be weakening themselves by fighting foolish wars. That’s exactly what the conspiracy wants us to do.”

“Are you sure?” Brall asked. “It seems to me that the conspiracy has been fomenting dissent within the realms, not between them. Chago’s death increased the likelihood of civil war here in Aneira, as did Carden’s. We can’t say for certain that either of them was killed by the Qirsi, but the fact remains that their deaths weakened the kingdom. And the houses of Curgh and Kentigern actually fought a battle on the Moors of Eibithar before riding back to Kentigern to fight off Rouel’s siege. Isn’t it just as possible that this civil war you’re willing to risk is precisely what the Qirsi want?”

“Yes, it’s possible. But as you said yourself, the risk of civil war isn’t immediate.” Tebeo gave a wan smile. “We’re dancing with wraiths, my friend. We have no choice but to evade them one at a time.”

Chapter
Ten

They had so much to discuss, so many plans to make. And her time here in Orvinti was short. Yet all Evanthya wanted to do was take Fetnalla’s hand in her own and lead her back to her chambers. She wanted to taste her love’s skin, to feel Fetnalla’s lips on her own, to hear her cry out with pleasure and longing fulfilled. It was all she had dreamed of for more nights than she cared to count.

Instead they walked the corridors, speaking in hushed tones of nothing at all: the snows; the festivals, one of which would be arriving in Orvinti later in the turn; Evanthya’s journey to the castle. They hadn’t even discussed the message Evanthya sent the previous turn, informing Fetnalla of Shurik’s death, a death they had paid for with their own gold. Evanthya tried to bring the matter up, only to have Fetnalla change the subject with some trifling question about the plantings in Dantrielle.

She did manage to draw from Orvinti’s first minister that she was feeling well, that she had recovered fully from the poisoning. But she did not look well, and despite her assurances, Evanthya felt fear balling itself into a fist around her heart. Fetnalla had always been thin, as were most Qirsi, and her height exaggerated this, making her appear long legged and graceful like a pale heron. Yet, never before had she looked so frail. Her thin face had a pinched look, and there were dark purple lines beneath her eyes, as if it had been days since last she slept. Even her voice sounded weak, and Evanthya had not heard her laugh or seen her smile even once since her arrival. She wanted to ask Fetnalla what was wrong. Again. She knew, though, that her love would insist all was well, just as she had three times already that evening.

When they turned yet another corner, however, and started down the same corridor they had walked an hour before, Evanthya could stand it no longer. She stopped, taking hold of Fetnalla’s arm so that the
woman was forced to face her. Fetnalla had been speaking of the festival again, as if Evanthya had never seen one before. She fell silent now, looking off to the side, seeming to wait for Evanthya to question her again, or perhaps berate her.

Evanthya wanted to do both. But instead she stepped forward and placing a hand lightly on Fetnalla’s cheek so that the woman had to look at her, stood on her toes and kissed her lips. Fetnalla returned the kiss for just a moment before pulling away, her eyes scanning the corridor in both directions. The ghost of a smile touched her face and was gone. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.

Evanthya smiled, kissing her again. “Perhaps not here . . .” She raised an eyebrow, leaving the thought unfinished.

Fetnalla shook her head and began to walk again. “No. We can’t.”

“Why not?” Evanthya demanded, striding after the minister and pulling her to a halt again.

Fetnalla jerked her arm away. “We just can’t. Someone might find out.”

“That’s never stopped us before. What is this, Fetnalla? Why won’t you talk to me?”

Fetnalla stared at her until Evanthya thought the woman might cry. But for a long time, she said nothing.

“Walk with me,” she finally said.

Evanthya shook her head. “I won’t. Not until—”

“In the gardens.” She looked down the corridor again. It almost seemed to Evanthya that she expected to see soldiers coming for them at any moment. “We can talk in the gardens.”

Fetnalla started to walk again, leaving Evanthya little choice but to follow. Neither of them spoke while they were in the hallways and even when they stepped into the cold night air, Fetnalla said nothing. The skies had cleared and Panya shone upon the castle, silver-white and bright enough to cast dark shadows across the ward.

They made their way past grey hedgerows and the small, lifeless trees of the orchard. In another turn, all of them would be in bud, but for now it felt to Evanthya that they were walking among wraiths.

Still, Fetnalla did not speak. Evanthya stopped and waited for the other woman to face her. When she didn’t, Evanthya folded her arms over her aching chest and swallowed.

“Tell me what this is about,” she said. “Tell me now, or I’m going back to my chamber.”

Fetnalla turned at that, her lips pressed thin. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to.” Evanthya took a step toward her, taking hold of her slender hands. “But you have to talk to me.” She wanted to put her arms around her, but even here, alone in the night, Fetnalla seemed reluctant to have her come close.

“They’re watching me,” Fetnalla whispered, her eyes darting back toward the nearest of the towers.

Evanthya shivered as from an icy wind, though the air was still. “Who?”

“The duke, his men, maybe even some of the other ministers. I’m not certain.”

“Have you seen them?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve heard them outside my door at night. And I can . . . I can feel them.”

Evanthya’s first thought was that her love had gone mad, that she was gripped by some senseless fear. She thrust the notion away almost as quickly as it came, forcing herself to believe that Brall’s men were indeed keeping watch on her, or at least to accept that Fetnalla believed it.

“Why would they be watching you?”

Fetnalla frowned. “You think I’m imagining it.”

“I only asked—”

“I know what you asked, and I heard the doubt in your voice. You don’t believe me.”