She must have looked back over her shoulder a thousand times between the tavern and Castle Solkara, expecting at any moment to see the two men from the tavern coming after her. Her heart was laboring so hard that her chest ached, and she wasn’t certain she could keep down even the small bit of her breakfast she had managed to eat.
Evanthya knew that the closer she drew to the castle gates, the safer she was, but that did little to ease her fears. It was bad enough that the assassin had guessed that she was a minister the day she hired him, but to have strangers in the royal city asking about Corbin and the Red Boar was too much. She longed to run to Fetnalla. If anyone could calm her, her love could. But such comfort lay beyond her reach now.
She could barely remember why they had fought, it all seemed so foolish and far away. She knew though that Fetnalla would not have forgotten. The woman was brilliant and loving, but she could also be as stubborn and proud as an Eandi noble.
Once inside the castle, Evanthya did manage to calm herself. Unable to confide in Fetnalla, and unwilling to risk a chance encounter with her duke, she retreated to her chamber and lay down. By the time the midmorning bells tolled, she felt composed enough to attend the audience with the queen.
She reached the castle’s presence chamber just as Tebeo, Brail, and Fetnalla arrived from the opposite direction.
“First Minister,” her duke said, regarding her closely. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, forcing herself to look at the duke so that her gaze wouldn’t stray to her love. “I took a walk in the city. It’s not often that I get to the Solkaran marketplace.”
The duke nodded, although he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Indeed” was all he said.
Brail knocked at the door and when the queen called for them to enter, they pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber.
Chofya stood before a grand table, dressed in a long red velvet gown with a high neck. She wore a circlet of gold on her brow and a long golden necklace, from which hung a brilliant green gem. With her black hair tied back from her face and her dark eyes shimmering in the light of several oil lamps, she looked both beautiful and forbidding, like a woman born to power.
Pronjed stood behind her, as pale as Chofya was dark, as austere as she was elegant, yet no less formidable. There were several guards in the chamber as well, but Grigor and his brothers had yet to arrive.
“Lord Orvinti, Lord Dantrielle,” Chofya said, offering a tight smile. “I’m grateful to you both for being here. I know that you both have… misgivings about the arrangement I propose. You do me a great service by your presence.”
“We’re honored that you asked us, Your Highness,” Tebeo said.
The queen gestured at a long table and several chairs that stood by the great hearth. “Won’t you sit? The duke should be joining us shortly.”
The dukes and their ministers stepped to the far side of the table and sat. Evanthya was glad for the warmth of the fire at her back, and grateful as well that both dukes sat between herself and Fetnalla. Pronjed and the queen continued to stand, though Chofya stepped closer to the table and the great throne that had been placed at the end of it, favoring them with the same uneasy smile.
“I trust you all slept well?” she said after a brief pause.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Brail answered for all of them. ‘And you?“
Chofya let out a small laugh. “I’ve hardly slept since my husband died, Lord Orvinti. Last night was no better or worse than any other.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. Once these matters are resolved I’ll have plenty of time to rest. Until then, this is my lot, and I accept it as such.”
The duke nodded, but gave no reply, and a difficult silence settled over the chamber. Even with the windows shuttered, Evanthya could hear Solkara’s master armsman shouting commands at his soldiers in the castle ward below. Perhaps the sound would serve to remind Grigor of the army Chofya had at her command. Evanthya wondered if the queen had that in mind when she called this meeting for midmorning.
The minutes dragged by. No one spoke, though the queen looked repeatedly toward the door, clicking her tongue impatiently every few moments. If the king’s brother hoped to anger her, he had already done a fine job of it.
“Carden always said that even time could be a weapon, if used properly,” Chofya murmured after some time. “He learned this from his father. Apparently his brothers were listening as well.”
Still they waited. The soldiers finished their training. They heard footsteps in the corridor outside the chamber and Chofya straightened, facing the door. But no knock came and after a time, the queen seemed to sag.
Pronjed cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should send a guard for him.”
“No,” Chofya said. “He’s doing this for a reason. I will not have him see that he’s angered me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
So they sat, doing nothing. Evanthya began to listen for the midday bells, sensing that they couldn’t be far off. Chofya wandered around the chamber, straightening paintings that already hung straight, and smoothing tapestries that had no creases.
When the knock finally came, it sounded so loud that Evanthya started.
Chofya crossed to the throne and sat. “Come!” she called, her voice icy.
The door swung open and Grigor strode into the chamber, followed by his two brothers. He looked much as he had the previous evening, elegant and graceful, and as broad and muscular as the hero of some childhood tale. He was dressed in warrior’s garb, a dun shirt and matching trousers, black boots and belt. From the belt hung a fighting sword on one side and a matching short sword on the other, both with jeweled hilts. He had only been duke of Solkara for a few days, yet he looked as much like a king as Chofya did a queen, and by comparison he made the other two dukes appear to be little more than courtiers.
Positioned behind him, his brothers served as such perfect complements to his appearance that Evanthya had to believe the effect was intended. To the left stood Henthas, powerfully built like his brother, but with darker hair and harder features that made him appear grim where Grigor was jaunty. To the right stood Numar, slighter than his brothers and with a kind, open face that made the trio seem somewhat less imposing.
“Forgive us if we kept you waiting,” Grigor said lightly, leading his brothers to the table, lowering himself into a chair, and indicating with a nod that the two of them should do the same.
Chofya waited until they were seated before speaking. “I didn’t give you leave to sit, Lord Solkara, nor did I see you bow to me as is proper.”
Grigor regarded her with a look of utter innocence. “With Carden dead, I’m duke of Solkara. I didn’t think I had to ask permission to sit in my own castle.” He furrowed his brow. “Unless you intend to vie for my dukedom as well.”
Henthas chuckled.
“As for failing to bow to you,” Grigor went on, “please forgive me.” He half stood and sketched a small bow that was really nothing more than a nod. “Now, can we please be done with all this foolishness and discuss the matter at hand?”
Chofya glowered at him, her color high. But after a moment, she gave a curt nod. “Very well,” she said. “By the matter at hand I assume you mean the selection of Carden’s successor.”
“Actually, no,” the duke said, all traces of a smile vanishing from his face. “I mean the making of plans for my investiture as king. I do hope that you and your daughter will feel free to remain in the castle until the celebrations are complete.”
“This castle belongs as much to Kalyi and me as it does to you!”
“There’s no Solkaran blood in your veins, Your Highness,” he said, his tone contemptuous.
“What about the girl?” Brail asked. “Surely you don’t intend to deny her bloodright.”
“This is a big castle,” Numar said, before Grigor could respond. “I can’t imagine that there isn’t room here for Kalyi and her mother, no matter who is chosen to lead Aneira.”
Grigor cast a venomous look at his brother, but after a brief pause, he nodded. “I suppose there’s room.”
The queen was gazing at Numar as if seeing him for the first time. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to take her part. In light of his reputation, she might not even have expected him to speak.
“Now, as to my investiture,” Grigor began again. “I’m willing to wait a few more days-”
“There will be no investiture,” Chofya said. “Not until all the dukes have arrived and selected Carden’s successor.”
Grigor shook his head. “The crown belongs to House Solkara. We decide who rules, not the dukes.”
“The Council of Dukes has always met to select a new king,” Pronjed said.
“The Council is a formality, a way of presenting our choice to the other houses. You know that as well as I.”
“As I understand it,” Tebeo said, “the Volumes call for a vote.”
Grigor closed his eyes, as if struggling to keep his composure. “That’s true, but as I said, the vote is a formality. The Council hasn’t actually chosen a king in hundreds of years.”
The archminister shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “That’s only because there hasn’t been a dispute within the royal house that required resolution by the Council. Now there is.”
“We will not allow the Solkaran Supremacy to be ordered about by outsiders!”
“If you try to defy the Council, brother,” Numar said mildly, “the other houses may see fit to do away with the Solkaran Supremacy. None of us wants that, do we?”
Grigor balled his hands into fists, until his knuckles were white as Qirsi hair. But when he spoke, his voice remained even. “What is it you propose, Chofya? Surely you don’t want the crown for yourself.”
“No,” she said. “As you’re so fond of pointing out to me, I’m not Solkaran. Kalyi is Carden’s rightful heir. I want her to be queen when she’s of age. Until then I propose a regency.”
“Who would you select as her regent?”
The queen hesitated, but only for an instant. She even managed a small smile. “You, of course. You’re the eldest of Carden’s brothers. It seems appropriate that you should guide her through the early years of her reign.”
“You actually trust me with this?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
A smile stretched across the man’s face. “Of course. But you’ve shown little faith in me or my motives in the past. I find it strange that you’d suddenly see fit to entrust me with instructing your daughter in the ways of statecraft.”
“Kalyi is ten years old, Lord Solkara. If I could make her queen without your help, I would. But under the laws of the land I cannot. Since I
doubt that you’d agree to a regency with anyone else as regent, I’m willing to place Kalyi in your hands for the next six years. I’ll be here to help as I can, and I intend to have her appoint Pronjed as her archminister. You won’t be doing this alone.“
Grigor looked from the queen to the archminister, nodding slowly. “Actually, it’s not clear that I’ll be doing this at all.”
Chofya paled. “Does that mean that you intend to oppose her?”
“I’ve made no secret of the fact that I wish to be king, that indeed I feel entitled to the crown. As you say, I’m Carden’s eldest brother, and therefore the logical choice to be Aneira’s next king. We came close to establishing a matriarchy in the Time of Queens and the other houses nearly rebelled. I doubt that the Council will be eager to tread that path again.”
“What if they are?” Tebeo asked.
“As I’ve indicated already, I don’t recognize the Council as the final authority on this matter.”
Brail stared at the man. “Are you saying you’d defy the other houses, that you’d risk a war?”
“I’m saying that I’ll do what I feel is necessary to preserve the Solkaran Supremacy. If the other houses dare to challenge me, they’ll be the ones starting a war.”
“Don’t take the other houses lightly, Lord Solkara,” Tebeo said. “Yours may be the most powerful house in Aneira, but if she stands alone, she’ll be crushed.”
Grigor smiled. “My lords, please. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. The Council has yet to meet, and I’ve done nothing but state my belief that I am the rightful heir to the throne.” He looked at Chofya, who still sat on the throne, looking too small for it. “I’ll consider your proposal, Your Highness. If the Council supports Kalyi’s claim to the throne, we can meet again to discuss the form such a regency might take.”
“That’s not good enough,” the queen said. “I want your word right now, in front of these men, that you’ll respect the will of the Council.”
Grigor stood, and after a moment, Henthas and Numar did as well.
I’m afraid I can’t make that promise,“ the duke said. ”Had he been in my position, your husband wouldn’t have either. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I, Chofya? You know it’s true.“ He glanced at his brothers. ”Let’s go, he said, starting toward the door. “This discussion is done.”
Henthas looked at Chofya and the dukes, a smirk on his lips, and then he followed. Numar offered a small bow to the queen.
“Your Highness,” he said, without a hint of irony, before leaving as well.
When Carden’s brothers had gone, closing the door behind them, Brail pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace, as Evanthya had seen him do so often.
“The impertinence of that man is galling,” he said. “I had my doubts about the regency before, Your Highness. But having seen what the kingdom would have to endure instead, I’m ready to do whatever I can to see that your daughter is made queen. I only wish you’d reconsider your choice of Grigor as regent.”
Tebeo let out a breath. “I have to agree, Your Highness. The man is set on being king. Giving your daughter over to him is far too dangerous. She won’t survive the first turn.”
“What about Numar?” Fetnalla asked, looking around the room and even allowing her gaze to alight briefly on Evanthya.