She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Do you have this power?” It wasn’t an accusation; she could tell. He was simply afraid of her, of what she was, and of what else she might be. In a way, it was worse.
“No, I don’t. And it’s hard to know who does,” she added, anticipating his next question. “If one Qirsi knows that another has delusion magic, she can guard herself against it. The Qirsi usually tell as few people as possible what powers we possess, but this one in particularly must be kept secret to be effective.”
“I see,” he said dully. “So you could be lying to me.”
This was too much. “I’m not!”
“But you could be! Don’t you see, Fetnalla? I have no way of knowing for certain, particularly now that I know of this mind-bending power. Even if you were using this magic on me, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
She conceded the point with a single shake of her head. “But your king would have,” she said. “A lie we can hide. But if someone took control of his mind long enough to make him pick up the dagger and thrust it into his own chest, he would have known. He just would have been powerless to help himself. It also would have had to be someone he knew, someone he would allow to get close. This power won’t work from a distance.”
“Pronjed,” the duke whispered. “It had to be Pronjed.”
“We don’t know that, my lord. The king had other ministers. Besides, this is all conjecture. We know nothing for certain, and it would be dangerous to accuse the archminister before we do.”
The duke stared at her, until she feared that he would accuse her of some new crime. Instead, he said the one thing she couldn’t deny. “You’re afraid of him.”
“Deeply, my lord. As we all should be if he truly did this.”
It was well past midday before someone finally removed the king’s body from the great hall. Pronjed ordered soldiers to do it early in the morning, but the queen, at the urging of the damned prelate, insisted on having priests and priestesses of Ean bear him from the hall to the castle cloister. Of course, they had their morning devotions to see to first, and then they had to pray over the body for a time. All of which made it impossible for the servants to begin cleaning the table of the king’s blood until just a short time before the ringing of the prior’s bell.
Under most circumstances, the archminister wouldn’t have cared one way or another. But the longer the king remained there, hunched over the bloody table, the more likely it was that others-in particular the duke of Orvinti and his first minister-would think about how the king had died, rather than merely accepting that he was dead. So, claiming to be concerned for the queen, Pronjed kept the hall locked, opening the doors only for the men and women of the cloister, and the servants who were to clean the mess.
As it happened, the queen appeared to be just fine. She had yet to shed a tear in front of him, and she had already begun preparations for the funeral, dispatching messengers to all the dukedoms with word of Carden’s death. She was a model of strength and courage, more worthy of the circlet she wore on her brow than her husband had been of his crown. All of which made Pronjed’s next task that much easier.
Killing the king had been his idea. The Weaver, he felt certain, would have approved had there been an opportunity to discuss it with him first. But it only occurred to him at the evening’s meal, when Orvinti handed him the blade. He had heard of the garroting of the surgeon-everyone in the castle was speaking of it-and he could guess the reason. He was no fool. The king’s daughter would turn ten during the snows and there had been no child since. Not even a stillbirth. It should have been obvious to everyone, especially the king. The greater surprise was that they had a daughter at all. It was enough to make one wonder if Chofya had strayed all those years ago. But the others in the castle were either too circumspect to speak of it, or too dull-witted to see it. Whatever the reason, their silence and the king’s made the previous night’s murder possible. In the light of morning, the garroting of the surgeon looked less like the pique of an over-proud king and more like the desperate rage of a dying man.
More important, the king’s death assured Pronjed of great power and influence when the Qirsi finally put an end to Eandi rule of the Forelands.
The Weaver hoped to divide the land by killing the duke of Bistari and setting the king’s foes against House Solkara and its allies. Brail’s unexpected appearance at the city gates gave the minister cause to think that this plan might have worked, given some time. But that was the problem. Such unrest would build slowly. It could have taken a year or more to undermine Carden’s power enough to put his house at risk. Killing the king accelerated the process. House Solkara stood now with neither a leader nor an heir. Bistari’s duke was dead as well, leaving the field open for others to grasp at the crown. Mertesse, Dantrielle, Orvinti, even Rassor and Noltierre; any one of them might be bold enough to think that he could rule Aneira. If all went well, the land would be at war with itself before the plantings. Surely the Weaver would be pleased.
Only one piece of his plan remained.
Glancing into the hall once more, he saw that the servants had almost rid the table of Carden’s blood. Pronjed nodded his satisfaction and made his way through the castle corridors to Carden’s quarters, where he knew he would find the queen.
He very nearly let himself into the room without bothering to knock. With Carden dead, the minister almost felt that Castle Solkara belonged to him.
Smiling at the misstep, he knocked once on the door, waiting until the queen called for him to enter before pushing the door open.
She sat at the king’s desk, reading through the messages and scrolls piled upon it. Throughout his reign, her husband showed little patience for matters of state, preferring the pageantry and’s wordplay that came with the crown. The fees that aroused such resentment in Bistan had been levied at Pronjed’s suggestion. The archminister couldn’t help but think that he had done the people of Aneira a great service the previous night. No matter who ascended to the throne next, it had to be an improvement over Carden. Of course, the next reign promised to be quite brief. Once the Weaver rose to power, he would assign Qirsi to all the thrones in the Forelands.
“Archminister,” the queen said, looking up from the papers. With the windows shuttered against the cold, the room was dark, save for two lamps burning on either side of the desk. “I’m glad you’re here. Do you know if all the dukes have paid their fees for this turn? I see messages here from every dukedom but Bistari and Tounstrel. I can understand if Chago’s son might be late with his tribute, but I don’t want Vidor thinking that he can delay out of anger. Particularly now.”
Truly she was a wonder, as brilliant as she was beautiful. Dressed in a black gown, with her dark hair held back by the golden circlet on her brow and her oval face paler and thinner than usual, she looked every bit the grieving young queen. This was a woman who could win the hearts of a kingdom. If Aneira’s dukes took her lightly, she would crush them. But first she had to be convinced that she wanted to.
“Archmimster?” she said again, frowning slightly.
“Yes, Your Highness. The fees. I’m not certain who has paid and who hasn’t, but I’ll speak with the treasury minister.”
“I’d be grateful.” She gestured at a chair with an open hand. “Please.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, stepping to the chair and sitting. “You’re to be commended for your attention to these matters, Your Highness, but surely they can wait. Shouldn’t you be with your daughter?”
She stared at the desk. “Perhaps. I was with her for a time earlier. She’s still in the cloister, crying for her father and praying with the prelate.”
“That’s to be expected, Your Highness. She’s suffered a terrible loss. As you have.”
“It’s harder for her.”
“Only because she’s young, Your Highness. You’ve lost the man you love.”
She pushed herself out of her seat and began pacing behind the desk. “Stop playing games, Archminister. We both know better.”
Pronjed prided himself on knowing all that went on in Castle Solkara, be it in the feasting halls and working chambers, or the corridors and sleeping quarters. But this caught him utterly unprepared. “Truly, Your Highness, I don’t understand.”
“You know what kind of man he was. He didn’t marry me out of love any more than he married me to please his father.”
This much at least, the minister knew. Chofya came from an earldom in Noltierre, the daughter of a insignificant noble. Tomaz, Carden’s father, had wanted his son to marry the daughter of a duke, preferably one from Dantrielle or Kett. Such a marriage would have gone a long way to healing the rifts that had already started to divide the kingdom. But while journeying to the south for a hunt, Carden saw Chofya and, Pronjed had always believed, fell in love with her. When he returned to Solkara the young prince insisted that his father arrange the marriage. For a time, the king refused, but Carden was not to be dissuaded and finally Tomaz relented.
“I was a prize, Archminister,” she continued after a few moments, and to his surprise there were, at last, tears on her face. “I was a jewel to be worn so that he might dazzle others. The same pride that led him to take his own life made him want me as his queen. He wanted me for my beauty, and I wanted him for his power and his wealth. Our marriage was a calculated matter for both of us. I wouldn’t call it loveless, but neither would I call it loving. He had his dalliances, and it may surprise you to know that I did as well. So let’s not speak of love and other trifles. There are more important matters at stake here.”
“Such as?”
“The future of the kingdom, of course.”
Pronjed had to suppress a smile. Just a few moments before, walking through the castle corridors, he had wondered how he might turn their conversation to this point. He never imagined that she would do it for him.
“I believe, Your Highness,” he began, as if misunderstanding her, “that you are the future of Aneira. Whether or not you and the king loved each other, you are the queen. All the land sees you that way.” He waved a hand at the desk. “Already you’re applying yourself to the task of running the kingdom. It might not be easy to convince the dukes, but I can think of no better choice to succeed your husband.”
Chofya laughed. “You flatter me, Pronjed. Even I know that I can’t rule Aneira. There’s no Solkaran blood in my veins, nor even the blood of one of the other major houses. I’m from a low family. If I tried to claim the throne for myself, the other houses would band together and destroy me. No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not Aneira’s future.”
“If not you, then who? Brail? Tebeo of Dantrielle? The boy in Mertesse? None of them is worthy, Your Highness. We both know that.”
“I agree,” she said, surprising him again. “But there is one who is worthy, and who would continue the Solkaran line.”
It was more than he could have hoped. She had taken him just where he intended to take her. The minister found himself wondering if he had misjudged the queen. He knew how clever she was, and how long she had worked to educate herself in the ways of the court. But he hadn’t realized just how ambitious she was.
“Who, Your Highness?” Trying not to sound too eager.
“Kalyi, of course. I want my daughter to rule Aneira.”
“She’ll make a fine queen, Your Highness, but what I said about you applies to her as well. The kingdom hasn’t been ruled by a queen since the Time of Queens centuries ago, and that ended with the other dukes threatening rebellion.”
“I know that. But she’s Carden’s only heir, and as such has a legitimate claim to the throne.”
“You’ll need a regent, of course. That complicates matters as well. The dukes may oppose you.”
“Some might. But I believe I can convince Brail to support me in this, and if so, perhaps he can win over some of the others.”
“You’ve given this much thought, Your Highness.”
“I’ve thought of little else all day. The hardest part, as you say, will be choosing her regent. Obviously, I can’t be selected. It will have to be one of Carden’s brothers.”
Pronjed raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the brothers.”
“You know them?”
“Well enough, Your Highness. If I may be permitted to speak freely, I don’t think much of any of them.”
“Neither do I,” the queen said. “And neither did Carden. The Jackals and the Fool, he used to call them.”
“I remember.”
“I wouldn’t trust the Jackals with my daughter, not for a moment. Numar, the Fool, on the other hand, will be more easily turned to our purposes.”
Our purposes
. Pronjed nearly laughed aloud. Already she counted him as an ally in this.
“Numar is the youngest, Your Highness. All Aneira will expect us to turn to Grigor. Tradition demands no less.”
Chofya stopped her pacing, shaking her head with such vehemence that Pronjed half expected the circlet to fly from her brow. “Grigor is a dangerous man. He’ll do everything he can to take the crown for himself, even if it means killing Kalyi.”
“Then we’ll have to watch him with great care. Against one of us or the other, his designs might bear fruit. But against both of us he won’t have a chance.”
She smiled at him, looking so relieved and so grateful one might have thought that he had already placed the Scepter of Tomaz in the girl’s hands.
“Thank you, Pronjed. All of this will be much easier with you at my side.”
Chapter Seven
City of Kings, Eibithar
It all comes back to Thorald, Your Majesty,“ Wenda said, her eyes fixed on the king, who stood motionless before the fire. ”In that respect nothing has changed. As long as Tobbar continues to support you, and remains above the dispute between Curgh and Kentigern, you should be able to keep the houses from going to war.“
Dyre sat forward, his pale eyes flicking from Wenda to the king and then to Keziah. “But Tobbar isn’t well. If he dies before these matters are resolved, there’s no telling what Thorald will do.”