His opposition to the king had nothing to do with the man himself and everything to do with the future of his own house. Under the rules governing the Eibitharian throne, the death of Kell and his entire line in 872 removed Galdasten from the Order of Ascension for four generations. Renald had inherited the dukedom, but his house could not
claim the throne until his grandson’s grandson had come of age. And even then, there was no guarantee that the crown would fall to Galdasten. If Kearney’s line continued to produce male heirs, Glyndrwr might still hold power, and if it did not, the crown would revert first to Thorald. Indeed, by the time a duke of Galdasten could ascend once more to the throne, any of the other four major houses might have established itself as the royal house.
Renald had sent letters to Aindreas lamenting the injustices Kentigern had suffered at the hands of Javan of Curgh and the king. He had written similar messages to Kearney, warning the king that Galdasten and its allies among the other houses of the realm would not allow Brienne’s killer and those who harbored him to go unpunished. And though he had thought Tavis guilty of the crime, he wouldn’t have done anything different had he not. Aindreas’s opposition to the king threatened not only to topple Glyndwr from the throne but also to put an end to the Rules of Ascension themselves. And that was just what the duke wanted.
The rules had been challenged before, and the houses had turned away from them a number of times, only to see the kingdom descend into turmoil and violence. Each time, the houses eventually returned to the rules, seeing in the stability of the Thorald Supremacy an imperfect solution, but one that was preferable to civil war.
But what if Renald could convince the other houses that this time the rules themselves were the source of their troubles? Aindreas had been trying to convince anyone who would listen that Javan and Kearney had conspired to steal the throne from him. From all that the duke had heard, however, he believed that Kentigern had agreed to the arrangement. True, the decision came in the difficult hours just after the end of a siege that nearly cost Aindreas his castle, but he had given his consent nevertheless. And Renald had been reminding other dukes of this ever since. The problem lay not with any deception perpetrated by the king but rather with the Rules of Ascension. They were too easily turned to the purposes of one or two determined dukes. They were archaic and unjust. Why should the act of a madman and the assassination of a young prince be enough to remove the two preeminent houses in Eibithar from consideration for the throne? Without the rules, Tobbar of Thorald might be king now, or perhaps Renald, if the duke of Thorald was too ill to serve. In either case, there would be no
talk of rebellion and civil war. Eibithar would be able to face the Qirsi challenge united and strong.
This at least is what he had been saying to the other dukes. And they were listening. Eardley, Sussyn, Domnall, and Rennach. Minor houses all, and aside from Eardley, not even the strongest of the minors. But taken together, their armies included nearly four thousand men, and combined with the soldiers of Galdasten and Kentigern, they constituted a considerable fighting force. They were not powerful enough to defeat the royal army, particularly if it was supported by the armies of Glyndwr, Curgh, Labruinn, and Tremain, as seemed likely. But unlike Aindreas, Renald didn’t want a war.
The duke of Kentigern was so consumed by his grief and his need for vengeance that he would gladly have destroyed the kingdom so long as he managed to destroy Curgh and Glyndwr in the process. Everyone in the realm knew it. Certainly the other dukes did. Which was why even as he railed against the injustice of Kearney’s rule, Renald never spoke of taking the kingdom by force. His was the soothing voice, the antithesis to Aindreas’s cries for blood. No, he didn’t need a force capable of taking Audun’s Castle. He merely needed a credible army, large enough to convince a majority of the dukes that the danger of war was real, and that any peaceful settlement was preferable to the carnage such a conflict would bring.
It was a process he knew would take some time. Even those dukes who were with him still spoke of war, of the injustice done to Aindreas. Many of them believed that Thorald could be turned to their cause and that when Tobbar joined them, Kearney would be forced to surrender the throne. Renald had no such illusions. Tobbar would never be king, nor would Marston, his son. But if Kearney the Younger, the king’s boy, failed to produce an heir, Marston’s son or grandson could claim the throne as his own. Thorald remained the preeminent house in the land, and as such, its leaders had reason to preserve the Rules of Ascension. The lone hope for Renald and his allies was that Aindreas would lead them to the brink of war, before Kearney was forced to abdicate in order to keep the land whole.
Under any circumstances, his chances of succeeding would have been small. But Kearney’s message, versions of which he had no doubt sent to every duke in the realm, made matters that much more difficult. If the king managed to convince the other nobles that Aindreas had
been wrong about Tavis, that Glyndwr’s offer of asylum had saved an innocent man rather than harboring a murderer, then support for the rebellion would crumble.
The guards returned to Renald’s chamber a short time later bearing a pot of tea and breakfast, but from that time until just after the ringing of the midmorning bells, the duke was alone with his thoughts and the damned letter from Kearney. Even as the pealing of the bells continued to echo through the castle, a knock came at his door. Ewan Traylee and Pillad jal Krenaar, his swordmaster and first minister. They met with the duke every morning at this time. But when he called for them to enter, it was Elspeth who opened the door, not the two men.
Renald stood. “Good morrow, my lady.” He stepped around the table, taking her hands in his and kissing her forehead.
She gave a quick smile, but did not return the kiss. “The guards tell me you were awake again before dawn.”
He dropped her hands. “The guards should know better than to speak of their duke without leave.”
“Even to his wife?”
“Even so, yes.” He walked back to the table and sat once more.
“What is it that wakes you?”
Renald shook his head, looked away.
“Is it another woman? I know you’ve had mistresses in the past.”
“No, Elspeth. There’s no other woman.” A lie, though strictly true for this past night.
“Then what?”
“It’s nothing I wish to tell you. I spent the balance of the night here, working. That’s all you need to know.”
The duchess stared at him for a long time, her dark eyes holding his. She remained beautiful, even after so many years, even after three childbirths. But it was an austere beauty, as inaccessible as the high peaks of the Border Range, or the ocean just before a storm. With her brown hair up, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and wide mouth, she looked more like a prioress than a duchess. She looked very much a queen.
“Of what do you dream, my lord?”
He felt his mouth twitch, saw her smile triumphantly.
“I dream of Kell’s death,” he admitted.
“And that’s what wakes you.”
“Yes.”
“It would wake me, too.”
It was as much a kindness as she was likely to show him, but he didn’t wish to speak of this with anyone, least of all with her. “I’m expecting the swordmaster and my minister,” he said. “We have a good deal to discuss.”
“Even now they stand in the corridor,” she said mildly. “They said they would wait until we were through.”
Damn you
. “What do you want?”
“What word have you sent to the other houses?”
“Nothing yet. It’s too early. The message only came two days ago—”
“Three now.”
“All right, three. But that’s still not enough time to compose a response.”
“They’ll expect one. From you. Aindreas can’t say anything. I doubt he’ll even accept Kearney’s claims. He’d gone too far to turn back now. That leaves you to lead the others.”
Where? Where do I lead them now?
“I know. That’s why my response must be crafted with care.”
“With care, yes. But swiftly as well. It will take some time for whatever message you send to reach the others. If you wait too long, they’ll think Kearney’s message has settled matters and this moment will pass.” She walked to where he sat and knelt beside him, placing her hand on the inside of his thigh. “Don’t you want to be king? Don’t you want to reclaim the glory that was once Galdasten’s?”
Her hand crept up his thigh and in spite of everything he felt himself becoming aroused. Cursing his weakness, he stood and stepped away from her. She only wanted the throne for him because she wished desperately to be queen, and because she had long nurtured ambitions for their sons.
“I daresay I want the throne nearly as much as you do, Elspeth. And I plan to do all I can to get it—”
“But you don’t know how.”
He glared at her. “Leave me.”
She smirked at him. After a moment she stood once more and walked to the door. She was nearly as tall as he and she moved with the grace of a Revel dancer.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to remain? I can hardly imagine Ewan or Pillad being of much help. Their minds are no more nimble than yours.”
He said nothing, and she reached for the door handle.
“What would you do?” he asked, signaling his surrender.
She faced him again. If she felt she had beaten him, she hid it well. “That’s why I married you, Renald. A lesser man would have allowed his pride to keep him from asking.”
He already regretted not letting her leave.
“I certainly wouldn’t deny the verity of Kearney’s claims,” she went on, after seeming to consider the question briefly. “All it takes is one duke curious enough to make the journey and you’re ruined. Rather, I’d insist that the tidings from Audun’s Castle have no bearing on your dispute with the Crown. In fact, they make it all the more urgent that Eibithar rid itself of this arcane method of choosing its kings. Regardless of who killed Brienne, we still have a king who rules simply because two men decided he should. The rules are too easily bent to the will of a few.” She paused, as if to weigh her own words. “That’s what I would say.”
Renald nodded. Not surprisingly it made a good deal of sense. She was a brilliant woman. Had he loved her he might have taken pride in having made her his duchess.
“And Renald,” she added, lowering her voice and glancing toward the door. “If I were you, I wouldn’t speak of this with Pillad.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because he’s Qirsi, you fool. Didn’t Kearney’s message teach you anything? Brienne is dead because the Qirsi wished her dead. Eibithar is poised to fall into turmoil because the Qirsi wished it so. A noble who continues to trust his white-hairs with all matters of the realm risks a similar fate.”
“But Pillad—”
She raised a finger to her lips, silencing him. Her eyes flicked to the door once more. Then she walked back to where he sat.
“Please, Renald,” she said, her voice low. “Don’t tell me that you know him too well, that he’s served your house for too long, that he couldn’t possibly betray you.”
The duke just stared at her, groping for a response and feeling like a chastised child.
“He’s Qirsi,” she said, “and therefore he’s dangerous. You may be right about him, he may be as loyal as a hound. But you’ve come too far to take that chance.”
He nodded to her a second time, knowing that she was right, hating her for it.
“We’ll speak again later,” she told him. “After you’ve spoken with the others.”
She turned away from him, her gown swirling, and left the chamber, leaving the door open as she favored the two men in the corridor with a gentle smile.
“Good day, my lord,” Ewan said entering the chamber.
Pillad followed him in and bowed to Renald. “My lord.”
“Close the door,” the duke said sourly.
The Qirsi shut the door quietly and both men sat near the hearth. Renald eyed them both for several moments. Confronted now with the need to dismiss the Qirsi from his chamber, the duke wasn’t certain how to proceed. Living in a realm in which nobles gathered Qirsi ministers according to their status and rank, Renald should have been able to attract to his court the wisest and most powerful. Eandi leaders in the Forelands had been collecting Qirsi for centuries, for their magic to be sure—their ability to glean the future, to weave mists that could conceal an entire army, and to shatter swords or whisper dark words to the horses of enemy soldiers—but also because a powerful minister enhanced the reputation of the man he served. Javan of Curgh was a formidable man in his own right, but having Fotir jal Salene as his first minister served to make him seem that much more impressive.
Had he been in line for the throne, Renald might have lured such a Qirsi to his own court. Instead, he had Pillad. The man was a capable minister whose visions had proven to be of value once or twice over the years. But Pillad would have been the first to admit that the powers he possessed—gleaning, fire, and healing—were not among the deeper Qirsi magics. He would have been less likely to admit what brought him to Galdasten, though Renald knew. Under most circumstances, a Qirsi of his limited abilities could never have expected to serve the duke of a major house in one of the Forelands’ most powerful realms. But when Renald became duke, he was served by an aging woman whose powers were no more impressive than Pillad’s, and when she died, Pillad saw an opportunity to serve in a dukedom, despite his shortcomings. With Galdasten removed from the Order of Ascension, other Qirsi weren’t exactly flocking to Renald’s castle, and though one or two of the others who did come had a bit more to offer than this man, something in Pillad’s manner drew the duke’s attention.
He had little doubt that his minister remained loyal to the house and
despite the soundness of Elspeth’s reasoning, Renald was loath to exclude him from the discussion.
But can you be certain?
“How goes the training of the men?” he asked Ewan, stalling.