Evanthya took a breath and pulled Fetnalla’s pouch from within her riding cloak. She had added some of her own money to the sixty qinde Fetnalla had given her. The pouch felt heavy as she placed it in the man’s large hand.
“That’s ninety qinde,” she said. It seemed a lot to her, but given the look that passed between Corbin and his young companion, she guessed that they usually demanded more. Her heart sank, and she expected the assassin to hand back the pouch.
“That’s fine,” he said instead.
The younger man started to say something, but Corbin laid a hand on his arm and shook his head.
“We’ll see to this matter,” he said, holding her gaze. “You may not place much faith in the word of men like me, but I promise you, the man in Mertesse will be killed, and no one will learn from us who bought his blood.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, her throat abruptly dry.
“Now I’d suggest you go, before your duke misses you.”
Evanthya felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, smiling at her. “As you’ve seen, I don’t betray those who buy my services.”
She just sat there, knowing that she should leave, that she should run from the place and never return. But she wasn’t certain that her legs would bear her. After several moments, she made herself stand and leave the table. She stepped to the tavern door, glancing back as she pulled it open. The two men were still at the table, but they were talking to each other. She glanced around the tavern one last time and then hurried out into the lane. She and the duke’s company would be departing soon for Solkara, where, no doubt, she would see her love again, sooner than either of them ever imagined. Fetnalla would be pleased by what Evanthya had done, but that did little to ease the pounding of the minister’s heart.
Cadel stared after the minister as she made her way to the tavern door. Taking her gold was dangerous, but he hardly cared. By making it clear to her that he knew who she was, he guaranteed that she wouldn’t reveal him to others. And at last, he could strike back at these Qirsi who had controlled his life for so long.
“Why did you do that?” Dario demanded, sounding angry and terribly young.
Cadel looked at him. “She gave us gold.”
“Ninety qinde, for a job that’s going to take us the better part of a turn. Maybe longer. You can’t expect me to believe that you’ve been accepting so little pay for other jobs.”
“No, I haven’t. But didn’t you hear what I told you earlier about working for the conspiracy?”
“Yes, I heard,” the young man said. “They know too much about your past. They can reveal you to every noble house in the Forelands. And if you try to stop working for them, they’ll hunt you down. Demons and fire, man! What do you think they’ll do to you when they learn that you’re killing Qirsi who belong to the movement?”
“They won’t find out. I’ve been doing this a long time now, and I’ve gotten quite good at it.” He eyed the lutenist briefly. “If you don’t want to do this, we can part ways now. I’ll hold no grudges. You have my word.”
Dario stared at him, as if weighing the offer. Then he shook his head. “No, I’ll go with you.” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “Ninety qinde,” he mumbled to himself.
Cadel nearly laughed aloud.
“What’s my share come to?” Dario asked.
Cadel thought for a moment. “Thirty-six qinde.”
“Thirty-six. I suppose I should be pleased. That’s more than I’ve got now.” He peered into his empty tankard. “Still, I think it’s only fair that you buy the ales.”
Chapter Eleven
Curtell, Braedon, Bohdan’s Moon waning
Dusaan strode through the white stone corridors of the palace, his red robe rustling like the cape of a king, his white hair dancing about his shoulders. He still seethed at the messenger’s tidings, though he was certain that no one would have known it to look at him. He had learned long ago to keep a tight rein on his passions. In a few hours he would be free to loose his rage, but before then he had to endure an audience with the emperor. Surely Harel would be distraught enough for both of them.
He passed by one of the interior courtyards, its fountain gurgling noisily amid the blooms and shrubs growing in great carved marble planters. A pair of finches flew up from the water at his approach, alighting on a high ledge just below the white ceiling. Just beyond the courtyard, he turned to enter the broad, tiled corridor leading to the emperor’s chambers. Guards stood on either side of the door, both of them dressed in gold and red, both holding pikes that gleamed in the sunlight from the glazed windows that lined the outer hall.
They bowed to him as he stepped past them and pushed open the door.
“Dusaan jal Kama!” another guard called out as Dusaan paused in the doorway. “High Chancellor to the Emperor of Braedon!”
Harel sat on his marble throne in the center of the chamber, his fleshy chin cradled in his hand, his small green eyes downcast. He looked utterly disconsolate, like a child trapped in his house by an untimely rainstorm. He wore white as always, his robe and cape fringed with red and gold. His jeweled crown sat upon his head in a nest of tight brown curls, and the Imperial Scepter lay across his lap, its diamonds and rubies glittering, calling to Dusaan’s eye like beacons in the night.
Like the hallway, the emperor’s chambers were bright with sun. Even the great castles of Thorald and Solkara, Enharfe and Yserne, did not have glazed windows, Harel often reminded anyone who would listen. Only here, in the Imperial Palace of Braedon, could the leader of one of the Forelands’ seven lands-the wealthiest and most powerful of them all-pass the cold months in the warm glow of the sun, rather than in the murky light of torches, lamps, and candles.
In the near corner of the chamber, a harper played a slow ballad, her slender hands moving like spiders over the strings. The empress’s court ladies sat in a tight circle near the musician speaking in low tones, though the empress herself was nowhere to be seen.
Harel sat up straighter when Dusaan was announced, his round face brightening considerably.
“High Chancellor,” he called, beckoning to the Qirsi with an outstretched hand.
Dusaan walked to where the emperor sat, dropping to one knee just before the throne and bowing his head.
“Your Eminence.”
“Rise, High Chancellor.”
Dusaan stood again, and the emperor regarded him gravely, as if they had both lost a dear friend.
“You heard?” Harel asked.
“Yes, Your Eminence. Word of the message reached my quarters not long ago.”
The emperor shook his head. “Terrible business. I never would have thought that Carden could do such a thing.”
Dusaan had to grit his teeth. “It’s a great loss for Aneira,” he managed to say. “And for all of us who considered the king an ally.”
“I always liked Carden,” the emperor said, chewing his lip, and staring off toward the harper. “He was a wise leader and a reliable friend.”
Actually he was a fool and as poor a leader as ever ruled a kingdom of the Forelands, but Dusaan kept that to himself, nodding solemnly. He knew as well as Harel that the emperor’s concerns lay elsewhere.
“We’ll need to start again, you know, building an alliance with the new king, whoever that may be.” Harel looked up at him. “Have you any idea who’s next in line for the Aneiran throne?”
“No, Your Eminence, I don’t. There was a daughter, but I can’t imagine she’d be accepted as Carden’s heir. Which leaves his brothers.”
Harel frowned. “I don’t like what I’ve heard about them. Particularly the eldest. What is his name?”
“Grigor, Your Eminence. And his reputation does leave much to be desired.”
“I’ve no tolerance for brutes, High Chancellor, and I certainly don’t wish to find myself allied with one. I spent a good deal of time and gold winning Carden’s allegiance. Do you know how many ships I sent him? I believe it was fourteen. Fourteen ships at more than seven thousand imperial rounds each. None of that will matter to the new king. He’ll just think of it as his navy, as if we’d done nothing at all to make it the strongest among the six. He’ll know nothing of the weaponry we sent either, or the mercenaries. This man, this…” He shook his head, frowning once more.
“Grigor, Your Eminence.”
“Yes, yes. This Grigor. Where is my mind today?” He looked past Dusaan to the harper. “You there!” he called. “That’s enough music for today. Leave us.” Then, looking at the ladies, he added, “All of you as well. Leave my chambers. I wish to speak with the chancellor in private.”
The musician curtsied and stepped out of the chamber, leaving her instrument in the corner against the wall. The ladies followed close behind her, looking back at the emperor with frightened faces.
“This will delay the attack on Eibithar, won’t it?” Harel asked, once they were alone.
“I’m afraid it must,” the chancellor said, feeling his ire rise once more, and moving swiftly to quash it. “A new king, whoever it might be, will need time to consolidate his power. Even a man like Grigor won’t rush into a war so soon. It will be several turns before we can act, at the very least.”
“Several turns?” the emperor asked, looking relieved. “That’s not so bad.”
“At the very least,” the Qirsi said again, pointedly this time. Sometimes the emperor seemed to him more child than man. Harel had held the scepter for more than half his life, taking the throne after his father died, just a year past his Fating. It often seemed to Dusaan that twenty-two years later he remained a frightened boy, out of his depth, foolish, and weak, even for an Eandi. “If Grigor does assume the crown, and if he can move quickly and decisively, then it will only be half a year,” he explained, his patience strained. “But if he meets with resistance from the other houses it could take far longer. And if by some chance, Carden’s death leads to war among Aneira’s more powerful families, it could be years.”
“Which means,” Harel said, “that as soon as the king takes the throne, we must act quickly to back him, to make it clear to others in Aneira that the emperor of Braedon recognizes him as the legitimate successor to Carden.”
“Yes, Your Eminence,” the chancellor said, taken aback by the clarity of Harel’s reasoning. “That’s just what we must do.”
“And in the meantime?”
Dusaan thought for a moment. “In the meantime, I believe we should continue with our plans as if nothing has happened. The training of the men should go on uninterrupted, and the bulk of the fleet should be divided between Ayvencalde and Bishenhurst. The longer the ships remain there, posing no threat to Eibithar, the greater the surprise when they finally cross the Scabbard. The delay is unavoidable, but perhaps in this small way we can use it to our advantage.”
The emperor fairly beamed. “Excellent, High Chancellor! See to it, will you?”
“Of course, Your Eminence.” He stood before the emperor another moment, neither of them speaking. “Is there more?”
“No,” Harel said, looking troubled again. “No, nothing more.”
“Very good, Your Eminence.” Dusaan knelt again, then rose and started quickly toward the door.
“What makes a man take his own life?” the emperor asked, just as the Qirsi reached the door. “What could cause a king, with all his wealth and power, to take a dagger to his own heart?”
Dusaan stood unmoving, his back to the throne, biting down on his tongue until he tasted blood.
“Send the harper back in, would you?” Harel said after a moment. “And tell the kitchenmaster that I require my supper a bit early today.”
“Yes, Your Eminence,” Dusaan said, his voice thick. He faced the emperor again, sketching a quick bow. Then he left, fearing that the man would keep him there longer if given the chance.
After seeing to the harper and the emperor’s meal, Dusaan returned to his chambers and summoned the other chancellors so that he could inform them of the tidings from Solkara and his conversation with the emperor. It was a waste of his time and theirs, but Harel expected it of him. Like all Eandi rulers, the emperor had a great number of Qirsi in his palace. Ostensibly they were here as advisors-most bore the title of chancellor, a few were ministers. But Harel rarely met with any of them, relying almost entirely on Dusaan. He collected Qirsi, just as he did swords from Sanbira and Uulrann, and horses from Caerisse. The more Qirsi he possessed, the wiser he appeared to both his people and his rivals in other kingdoms. Braedon was the most powerful of the seven realms-few would have argued the point, even in Eibithar. People here spoke of Braedon and the six, as if the other kingdoms were mere dukedoms standing in the vast shadow of the empire. Of all the realms, only Braedon dared call itself an empire, and in fairness to Harel and his predecessors on the throne, Braedon did have territorial holdings as far away as Enwyl Island, in the Gulf of Kreanna. So it was only natural that Harel should surround himself with Qirsi advisors.
From all that Dusaan could tell, Harel assumed, as did the other Qirsi, that the advice Dusaan gave the emperor was not just his own, but rather a compendium of the counsel offered by all the chancellors and ministers in their daily discussions. Dusaan, of course, did nothing to dispel this notion.
Most of the other advisors were typical of court Qirsi throughout the Forelands: blindly loyal to Braedon and House Curtell, almost pitiable in their desire to please the emperor and rise in his esteem, and disturbingly eager to try to surpass each other in this regard. With each day that passed, it became harder for Dusaan to meet with them without revealing the contempt in which he held them. A few showed signs of being more, of being capable of rising above their current station, with his help, of course, but the time for that had not yet come.
This day’s discussion proved to be a somber affair, with the older chancellors and ministers falling over each other in their attempts to exalt the dead king. Dusaan had told them as little as possible about the emperor’s plans to attack Eibithar, and now he said merely that the attack would be put off indefinitely.