The Qirsi licked his thin lips, looking uncomfortable. “Before that happens, Lord Solkara, the queen would like a word with you. A private audience. Tomorrow morning? Just after the ringing of the midmorning bells.”
He looked around the table. “Surely she can’t think that I have anything to hide from my brothers.”
“Of course not, my lord. But it is a matter of some… delicacy.”
Now Grigor was certain that Numar was right. Chofya had to have her mind set on a regency for the girl. What else could she want to discuss with him? If she intended to take the crown herself, she would have been plotting against him, not trying to appease him. The question was, should he speak with her alone, or insist that his brothers join him? Henthas could be of value in such a meeting, but Grigor couldn’t be certain what Numar might do.
“I’m not sure that I see the point in such a conversation,” Grigor finally said. “But she is our queen, and it would be inappropriate for me to refuse her.” He offered a smile to the minister. “Tell Her Highness that I’ll speak with her at her convenience.”
“What?” Henthas said, before the Qirsi could reply. His face had reddened, and there was rage in his dark eyes. “This affects our entire house, not just you! I will not be left out in the corridors of my family’s castle like some child!”
Again, Grigor couldn’t help but be amused and pleased. Had Henthas been wise enough to know how much he was aiding Grigor’s cause, he would surely have shut his mouth.
“In this case, I must agree with my brother,” Numar broke in, his voice so soothing after Henthas’s shrill tones that the archminister merely stared at him, seemingly amazed that a man he knew only as the Fool could sound so sensible. “With Carden dead, the three of us are the only heirs House Solkara has left.” He smiled. “At least the only heirs of age. All of us should be included in any discussions bearing on the future of the Supremacy.”
There was little in Aneiran royal tradition to support such a statement. The eldest son controlled the family’s destiny, and if that son died, the next oldest assumed leadership of the house. It would have been entirely within Grigor’s prerogative to ignore his brothers’ wishes and meet with Chofya alone, particularly since she had requested through her minister that he do so.
But with both Henthas and Numar having voiced their opposition, he couldn’t defy them without weakening himself. If he wanted Chofya and the nobles to fear the Jackals, he couldn’t openly break with Henthas their first night in Solkara. Henthas wouldn’t have thought of this; he had spoken out of pique and wounded pride. But Numar knew just what he was doing. Grigor felt certain of it. The Fool, indeed. Numar was, as far as Grigor could tell, the most dangerous man in the royal city.
He made himself smile as he opened his hands. “As you can see, Archminister, I have little choice in this matter. I’m happy to speak with the queen, but she’ll have to see all of us.”
The Qirsi looked displeased, but he nodded as he stood again. “Very well, my lord. I’ll convey this to the queen.” He turned and walked away.
“You were really going to speak to her without us?” Henthas demanded in a fierce whisper as soon as the minister was gone.
Grigor ignored him, glaring at Numar.
“You look angry, brother,” the man said mildly. “Did I upset your plans?”
“Don’t cross me, Numar. This is no game we’re playing. This is for the crown, and I won’t allow anyone to keep me from claiming it as my own. Not the queen, not our niece, not even you.”
“All I did was ensure that Henthas and I would be party to your conversation with Chofya. Surely you can see how having us there might work to your advantage.”
Grigor glanced at Henthas, who was eyeing him with obvious mistrust.
“You wanted to meet with her alone, didn’t you?” he said. “I want to know why.”
“I was afraid you’d muck it up, Henthas,” Grigor said wearily, “as you muck up everything. I don’t want a war with Chofya, though I’ll fight one if I have to. The last thing I need is you sitting in her presence chamber, insulting the queen and making idle threats.”
“A threat is only idle if the man making it is weak. It seems more likely that you’d be the one to ruin things, with your arrogance and your pride.”
Grigor looked at Numar, who was already watching him, the expression on his youthful face seeming to say,
See? If you want to control him, you need me on your side
.
“What is it you want?” he asked the younger man.
“I want what’s best for House Solkara,” Numar said. “Just as you do.”
Grigor couldn’t tell if he was being sincere, which scared him a good deal. He felt fairly certain, however, that Numar didn’t honestly believe that he had the family’s best interests at heart.
“And what would that be?”
Numar shrugged. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I want to hear what you and Chofya have to say to each other.”
The feast promised to go on well into the night, but Grigor left the hall a short time later with both brothers just a step behind him. It almost seemed that their mistrust of one another ran so deep that each was unwilling to allow the other two out of his sight. Chofya had seen to it that their quarters were together, and long after he entered his chamber and locked his door, Grigor continued to listen for any sign that either of his brothers was wandering about the castle. Only when he had satisfied himself that they weren’t going anywhere did he lie down to sleep. For some time, however, he lay awake in his bed, staring at the dim shadows cast onto his walls by the low fire in his hearth, and thinking back on what had just happened in the king’s hall.
He realized now that having heard Numar dismissed as a fool for so long, he had begun to believe it himself, though he should have known better. More than that, he had always assumed that Numar did not share his own lust for power and wealth. He couldn’t say why. Wasn’t Numar Tomaz’s son, just as the rest of them were? Perhaps, as the youngest, he had merely been clever enough to know that power would never be his so long as Carden sat on the throne. Now, however, with the king dead and the land teetering on the edge of upheaval, he could allow his ambitions to guide him. Having never tasted true power, Numar might have been even hungrier for it than Grigor, which only served to make him that much more dangerous.
Grigor had threatened his brother tonight. It had been vague to be sure, but a threat nonetheless. But now, lying in the dim orange glow of the dying fire, he wondered if he could really kill his own brother. And for the first time, he wondered if that brother-the youngest, the Fool-was capable of killing him.
They were lying in each other’s arms, their pulses just starting to slow, their breathing still quickened, a fine sheen of sweat on their bodies and faces, when they heard knocking at the door.
Evanthya stared into Fetnalla’s eyes, feeling panic rise in her chest.
“Whose room are we in?” she whispered. “I’ve forgotten.”
Fetnalla grinned, her eyes luminous in the candlelight, and kissed her lightly on the throat. “Yours.”
Evanthya pulled away and sat up. “Who’s there?” she called.
“Your duke.”
The minister sighed with relief. She wasn’t about to open the door, but at least it hadn’t been Brail or one of the other Qirsi ministers staying in the castle.
“Yes, my lord?” she said, quickly pulling on her clothes.
She heard him clear his throat, something he often did in awkward circumstances.
“I wish to speak with you,” he said. “Please come to my chambers as soon… when you can.”
“Yes, my lord. It will just be a moment.”
She turned to look at Fetnalla, who was smiling at her, having made no effort at all to dress. Evanthya frowned.
“You said he knew,” Fetnalla said with a shrug.
“Brail will be looking for you, too. And he doesn’t know.”
She made a sour face. “Maybe it’s time he did,” she said. But she began to put her clothes on as well.
In a few moments they were both dressed, and Evanthya stepped to the door.
“Wait a few moments after I’m gone, then slip out and return to your chambers,” she said, her hand resting on the door handle.
Fetnalla gave a small grin, tilting her head to the side. “Yes, my lord.”
Evanthya smiled and walked back to where Fetnalla stood. Rising to the tips of her toes, she kissed the woman gently on the lips.
“Forgive me.”
“Of course. You always get this way when you leave me to see your duke.”
Evanthya paused, gazing into her eyes. “Do I? I’m sorry.”
Fetnalla kissed her brow. “I’ve grown accustomed to it. I even find it charming in a way.”
They kissed one last time. Then Evanthya left the chamber, walked to Tebeo’s door, and knocked once.
“Come in!” the duke called immediately.
The minister stepped into the duke’s room, finding Tebeo and Brail seated by the hearth, both of them looking glum in the bright glow of a crackling fire.
“I thought Fetnalla was with you,” Brail said, scowling at her.
“She was, my lord. When Lord Dantrielle called for me, she went to find you, thinking that you might wish to speak with her.” The he came to her easily. She only hoped that Fetnalla would tell the same story.
Brail nodded and turned to the fire again, leaving Evanthya and Tebeo facing one another.
“You called for me, my lord?”
“Yes, First Minister. You saw what happened in the hall tonight, between the king’s brother and the queen?”
“I did, my lord.”
“Chofya and Grigor are to meet tomorrow morning. The queen wanted a private audience, but Grigor has insisted that his brothers be there as well. The queen, in turn, has asked Lord Orvinti to attend on her behalf, and she’s asked me as well, hoping perhaps that I will support her position.”
“For the regency, my lord?”
The duke of Orvinti turned at that. “You’ve been talking to my first minister.”
Fetnalla had spoken to her of how suspicious Brail had become. Hearing his tone now, seeing the distrust in his pale blue eyes, Evanthya understood that her love had not exaggerated the matter.
“I told you I had, Lord Orvinti. Your first minister guessed that you would enlist my duke in the queen’s cause, and she thought I should be prepared to advise him.”
“And what counsel would you offer?” Tebeo asked.
“Fetnalla seems to feel that any other course will lead to civil war.”
“This one might as well,” Brail told her. “I’m not certain that we wouldn’t be better off handing the throne to Grigor. He won’t make a very good king, but he might be able to keep the peace, albeit through fear and the threat of violence.”
“I thought you supported the queen, Lord Orvinti.”
The duke shrugged. “When Carden died, I gave her my word that I would aid her in any way I could. This is what she asked of me. But I’ve no illusions as to the difficulties a regency presents.” A knock at the door stopped him.
“Enter!” Tebeo said.
The door swung open and Fetnalla walked into the room.
“There you are, my lord,” she said, offering a small bow to Brail. “I searched for you after Lord Dantrielle came for the first minister.”
Evanthya breathed a small sigh of relief. Usually they worked out their story before they parted, but they had been in too much of a hurry this night. She wouldn’t let them forget again.
Brail nodded to her, but said nothing.
Instead, Tebeo gestured at an empty chair. “Make yourself comfortable, First Minister. We’ve been discussing a request from the queen that your duke and I attend a meeting tomorrow between Chofya and the new duke of Solkara.”
Fetnalla raised an eyebrow, glancing at Brail. “Strange that she’d want you there.”
“Grigor will have his brothers with him,” Brail said, his voice flat. “She wants us.”
“Do you support a regency, Lord Dantnelle?” Fetnalla asked.
Tebeo rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not certain. Either way it seems that we’ll have to contend with Grigor. I just can’t decide whether he’s more dangerous as a regent or as king in his own right.”
“Does the queen have to name Lord Solkara as regent?” Evanthya asked. “Can’t she choose anyone she wants?”
“She doesn’t have to name Grigor,” Brail said. “But there are few other choices. Henthas would be no better, and no one expects her to ask the Fool. And if she goes outside of House Solkara, she risks war with Carden’s brothers and challenges from the other houses. Grigor is really the only one she can ask.”
“And you expect he’ll refuse.” Tebeo offered it as a statement, but he stared at the other duke as if awaiting a reply.
Brail shrugged. “He wants to be king. He made that much clear tonight in the hall. But I believe that he’ll look to the other houses before he decides whether to turn her down or not. If he senses that Aneira’s nobles will oppose a queen, he’ll claim the throne as his own. If, on the other hand, he sees that most of us support Chofya and will oppose his claim, he may accept her offer.” He gave a wan smile, though it was fleeting and appeared forced. “In either case, however, he has his heart and his eyes fixed on the crown. I’m certain of it. Even if he becomes regent, it won’t be long before he moves against Chofya and the girl.”
Fetnalla looked from one of the dukes to the other. “Am I correct in assuming that if Chofya succeeds in establishing a regency for her daughter, she can have a hand in choosing the girl’s ministers?”
Tebeo glanced briefly at Brail before nodding. “I believe that’s correct, though I’d have to consult the Volumes of Pernandis to be certain. It’s been over a century since the last regency.”
The Volumes of Pernandis had been compiled during the First Bistari Supremacy, nearly six centuries before. According to legend, they were written by King Pernandis the First, whose reign of forty years was still the longest in Aneiran history. The volumes listed most of the ruling customs established over the first two hundred years of the Aneiran monarchy, and though written by a Bistari, to this day they continued to guide all the courts of the kingdom, even House Solkara.