“Yes, my lord, I believe he does.”
The smile fled Aindreas’s face, and he felt his color rising. “Is there more to your message?”
The man’s eyes darted past the duke to Villyd and the soldiers. “There is, my lord. But perhaps the rest should wait until we can speak in private.”
The duke briefly considered forcing the man to say his piece here, in front of all. A moment later, however, he thought better of it. His men knew that their duke and the king were at odds, but few of them understood how far the conflict had progressed. He didn’t want them to learn in this way that the duke was already considered a renegade in the City of Kings. By the same token, he wasn’t willing to name them guestfriends and allow them to stay in his castle. If there were Qirsi spies about, he didn’t want them to see that he had welcomed the king’s men onto the tor. He couldn’t very well make the men guestfriends if he intended to continue his defiance of the Crown.
“Very well,” the duke said. “You and your men may make your camp in the shadow of these walls.”
The man frowned. “My lord—”
“Make certain they’re properly provisioned,” Aindreas said to Villyd, ignoring Kearney’s man.
“Yes, my lord.”
Kearney faced the soldier once more. “I assure you, no harm will come to you here. My guards stand at this gate day and night.” He grinned again. “And I have little doubt that men trained by Gershon Trasker can defend themselves from brigands and wolves, should any approach the city.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said, clearly displeased.
“I’ll send for you when I’m ready to hear the rest of Kearney’s message.”
He turned his mount and started back through the gate. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he called over his shoulder.
Crossing through the gate and emerging once more into the city, Aindreas thought he heard a voice call to him. Turning, he saw Brienne again, standing amid the vendors and their customers, gazing back at him sadly. She shook her head slowly and mouthed the words, “End this.”
Aindreas reined his mount to a halt, wondering if she meant for him to go back to the soldiers and welcome them into the castle.
“Brienne!” he called.
She began to walk away, drifting in and out of view as she passed the others in the marketplace. The people around the duke were staring at him, looking frightened and uncertain, but Aindreas was too intent on watching his daughter to speak to them. She glanced back at him once last time, then stepped deeper into the crowd around her and was gone.
He shouted her name again, but he couldn’t see her anymore, and with all the people and peddler’s carts lining the lane, he couldn’t follow.
He raised himself up, standing in his stirrups, but still couldn’t spot her.
“Are you well, my lord?”
He whirled toward the voice, nearly losing his balance. Villyd stood beside his mount, eyeing him with obvious concern.
“I’m fine,” Aindreas said, sitting in his saddle once more. He looked for Brienne one last time, then stared down at the swordmaster. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of the provisions?” he demanded.
“I have a man seeing to it, my lord. I wanted to make certain that you were quite yourself.”
“I just told you: I’m fine.”
“Yes, my lord. But I heard you call out. . . .” He swallowed. “I heard you asking for Lady Brienne.”
“Yes. I was . . .” He had raised his hand to point in the direction she had gone, but then let it drop to his side. Brienne was dead. Of course he knew that. But then who had he seen? “I think of her often, Villyd,” he said quietly.
The man lowered his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”
“I should get back to the castle. Ioanna will want to know about the riders.”
“My lord, shouldn’t we allow them to stay in the castle? Perhaps a gesture of friendship on our part will ease tensions with the Crown.”
“I have no interest in easing tensions, swordmaster. If it turns out that the king’s men have brought word of Kearney’s willingness to address our grievances, I can always welcome them onto the tor later. But until I have proof that they’ve come suing for peace, I’ll give no indication of any willingness on our part to surrender.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Aindreas could hear the disapproval in Villyd’s tone, but he chose to ignore it. He flicked the reins, and his horse started toward the castle once more.
“My lord!” the swordmaster called after him.
“Tell Kearney’s man I’ll speak with him tomorrow,” Aindreas answered, not even bothering to look back. “I trust he and the others will be comfortable until then.”
He rode the rest of the way up the tor as quickly as he dared. He didn’t allow the horse to break into a gallop, not wishing to appear afraid or too eager to be back within the walls of his fortress. But he felt himself trembling again, and he had to resist the urge to search for Brienne’s face among those he passed along the way.
As he ascended the winding road toward the castle gate, he saw Ioanna gazing down at him from same tower on which he had left her. She vanished from view before he reached the barbican, and Aindreas knew that she would be waiting for him by his presence chamber, anxious to hear what Kearney’s men had said to him. He would gladly have postponed the encounter until later, but he knew better than to try. Villyd and the others were afraid of him and easily put off; his wife was neither.
He left his mount at the stable and returned to his chamber. Ioanna stood in the corridor just outside the door.
“What did they want?” she asked, as he opened the door and gestured for her to enter the chamber.
He closed the door before facing her. “I don’t know yet. Their captain wishes to speak with me in private. I’ll grant him an audience tomorrow and hear what he has to say.”
“Why didn’t they come back with you to the castle?”
He looked away, stepping past her to stand behind his writing table.
“I didn’t offer to quarter them in the castle.”
If she thought him a fool, she did a fine job of concealing it.
“Do you think that’s wise?” was all she said, her voice even.
Of course I do
, he wanted to say.
Would I have done it otherwise?
Instead he shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to welcome them within these walls. I’ve ordered Villyd to give them whatever provisions they require.” He gazed out the window, watching a flock of doves circle one of the towers. “If the weather holds, they’ll have no cause to complain.”
“They’d have no cause in any case,” she said. “Not after what Glyndwr and Curgh have done to us.”
Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much that she deserved to know. Yet he was afraid to reveal any of it, lest he see the shame he felt at all he had done reflected in her eyes.
“You must tell her.” Brienne’s voice.
Opening his eyes again, he saw the girl standing behind her mother, their hair the same shade of gold, their faces so similar that he nearly wept at the sight.
“What is it Aindreas?” Ioanna asked, a frown creasing her brow.
“Tell her, Father.”
“There’s something you should know,” he said, wishing Brienne would leave them alone. He paused, searching for the right way to begin.
There’s something you should know
. He nearly laughed aloud at his choice of words. The truth was he had so much he needed to tell her that he didn’t know where to begin.
I spent the better part of the harvest torturing Qirsi in the castle dungeon, looking for someone who could lead me to the leaders of the white-hair conspiracy. Having finally found her, I proceeded to ally our house with the Qirsi traitors, all so that I could strike at Kearney and Javan and the others I believed at the time to be our enemies. I’ve since become convinced that it was the Qirsi and not Tavis who were to blame for Brienne’s death. I’ve betrayed our land and shamed our house for generations, all for nothing. I’m sorry
.
That’s what he should have said. But even knowing this, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. He looked past Ioanna once more, gazing at Brienne, hoping she could read the apology in his eyes. She shook her head, tears on her face, and then began to fade, as if swallowed by a sorcerer’s mist.
“Aindreas?”
“Yes,” he said, facing his wife again. “You remember the message that came from Kearney about a turn ago?”
“Of course.”
He took a breath. “In it, the king claimed to have imprisoned a Qirsi woman who had confessed to being with the conspiracy. This woman, according to Kearney’s message, had admitted arranging Brienne’s murder.”
Ioanna shook her head. “That’s impossible. Tavis of Curgh killed Brienne. We know that.”
“We know what we saw, Ioanna. But this woman—”
“No!” she said, shaking her head again, so that tears flew from her face. “There was blood on his hands! Her blood! His dagger—”
She choked on the word, gagging and struggling to breathe until Aindreas thought that she might be ill. He reached for her, but she backed away from him, her entire body shaking, her trembling hands raised to her face, her eyes wide and wild like those of a feral cat, cornered and afraid. “You believe them!” she whispered. “You think this woman might be telling the truth!”
“I don’t know what I—”
“Don’t say it!” She leveled a quaking finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it! He killed her! You know he did! They’re lying to protect themselves, because they’re afraid now! They know what they did to her, all of them! And they’re afraid!”
“Ioanna—”
“If you give in to them,” she said, her voice dropping low, the finger still aimed at his heart, like a blade, “if you surrender and let them do this, I’ll hate you for the rest of my days. I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory. We know what happened. They’re trying to change it, to confuse us and fool everybody else in the realm, but
we know
. Don’t let them do this, Aindreas. Do you understand? Don’t let them.”
What could he say to her? For so long he had been pouring his venom into her mind, telling her what he believed was true, and what he wanted her to believe as well. That she should spew the poison back at him with such fury was just one irony among too many. He took a step toward her, and this time she didn’t back away. A moment later she was pressing her face to his chest, sobbing like a babe, clutching
his shirt with both hands. “Don’t let them,” she said again and again as he held her, stroking her head.
“I won’t,” he murmured at last. “I promise you I won’t.”
Eventually her tears began to slow, her sobbing to subside. Aindreas gestured to one of the servants skulking by the door.
“Summon the duchess’s ladies,” he told the boy quietly. “Tell them the duchess needs to rest.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Still Aindreas held her, until two of Ioanna’s servants came. Only then did he release her, kissing her forehead as she pulled away. She seemed dazed, only vaguely aware of where she was and who was with her. It was much the way she had been in the turns immediately following Brienne’s murder.
“Put her to bed,” he said to the women. “I’ll be in to see her later. If the children need anything, send them to me.”
They both curtsied, and one of them whispered, “Yes, my lord,” before they led Ioanna from the chamber.
The duke stood in the center of his presence chamber for several moments after they had gone, cursing himself for having said anything to her at all, and cursing the Qirsi for their treachery and the ease with which they had ensnared him.
“Wine!” he bellowed at last, returning to his chair by the writing table.
He picked up Jastanne’s message again.
You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow
. They were asking him to knot his own rope and slip it around his own neck. They might as well have commanded him to lead Kentigern’s army to the City of Kings and lay siege to Audun’s Castle. None of the other dukes would stand with Kentigern now. Those who were inclined to side with the king would have been convinced by word of the Qirsi woman’s confession. And those who had sided with Aindreas thus far weren’t yet ready to stand in open defiance of the crown. Perhaps they would be eventually, when they knew for certain that they could stand together against an attack from the King’s Guard and Kearney’s allies, but not until then.
“They wish to make a traitor of me,” he muttered.
To which a voice in his head replied,
You’re a traitor already, made so by your own actions
.
“Where is my wine?” he called again, his voice echoing in the corridor like thunder.
A moment later a boy peered into the chamber like a frightened dog.
“You have my wine?” the duke demanded.
The boy nodded, stepping warily into the chamber. He carried a flagon and cup.
“Quickly, boy!” he said, waving the servant forward.
The boy set the cup on Aindreas’s table and began to pour. But the duke grabbed the flagon from his hand, spilling Sanbiri red on the table and floor.
“Go get more,” the duke said. “I’ve a mighty thirst today.”
The boy fled the chamber, eager to obey.
The rest of that day and the entire night were lost to him in a fog of wine and grief and rage. It was only the following morning, when Aindreas awoke to a hard rain and keening winds, that he even remembered that the king’s men had come and had made camp outside the walls of his city. Dressing quickly, he left his bedchamber in search of Villyd, only to find that the swordmaster was waiting for him outside his presence chamber.
“My lord,” the man said, bowing to him.
“Swordmaster.” He opened the door to the chamber and entered, with Villyd close behind. Now that he had found the man, he was reluctant to reveal his concern for the king’s soldiers. Had Villyd had his way, the men would have been sheltered for the night. “I’ve been looking for you,” he finally said. “When I saw that it had been raining I . . .” He trailed off, glancing toward his writing table, hoping that perhaps there would still be wine there. He would have given his sword for a drink just then.
“I had tarpaulin and poles taken to the men last night, my lord, as the storm moved in. I knew that you’d want them to be sheltered, even if they did come here as agents of the king.”