“Kalyi’s investiture will take place in the morning,” the queen said a moment later. “All of you are invited, of course, as are the people of Solkara. After the ceremony, I assume most of you will be returning to your realms. It’s been nearly a full turn since Carden’s death. The time has come for our kingdom to end its grieving. As I said a moment ago, Aneira has many enemies. They will be watching us, looking for signs of weakness. We must show them none. Go home to your people. Tell them they have a new queen and that she will be guided by a strong, capable regent.”
For a moment, the gathered dukes said nothing. Then Brail stood, and following his example, the others did as well. Even Henthas.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” Brail said.
They all bowed to her and to her daughter in turn. The girl smiled, looking embarrassed and terribly young, and Brail felt himself grow cold.
The dukes and their ministers began to leave, Brail and Fetnalla with them. Once in the corridor, the two of them stopped to wait for Tebeo and Evanthya. Then they all made their way out to the castle ward, where they could speak freely.
“What do you think?” Dantnelle asked, his breath making clouds of vapor. “Do we have cause to fear Henthas?”
Brail exhaled heavily. “I think Henthas is the least of our problems. We’re placing our kingdom in the hands of a child and a man who, until recently, was known throughout the land as the Fool.”
“Numar is no fool, Brail. I feel certain of that.”
“I know he’s not. But he’s younger than Ansis. He’s barely older than the new duke of Mertesse. He knows nothing of leading a kingdom.”
“He’s Tomaz’s son. And he’ll have Chofya and Pronjed to help him. Besides, even if he were a fool, and without anyone to offer him guidance, I’d still rather he was regent than most anyone else.”
“Yes,” Brail said reluctantly. “I feel the same way.” He’d heard many of the dukes speaking this way in recent days. Better a Fool than a Jackal, they were saying. It had become an aphorism of sorts. And though he could not argue with them, neither could he bring himself to feel at ease with the thought. Not with the conspiracy spreading its influence across the Forelands and agents of Eibithar abroad in the kingdom.
This had all begun with his dagger, the crystal blade he had given the king upon his arrival in Solkara, so long ago that he barely remembered the day. He hadn’t guided the king’s hand, of course. Carden had done this to himself and to the kingdom. But the duke still remembered Fetnalla’s suspicions of the archminister, doubts that Tebeo’s first minister echoed later. Now they were trusting Pronjed to help Numar lead the land, and they were hoping that this young noble could stand fast if the minister proved to be faithless. The fate of Aneira had never seemed so uncertain. And he couldn’t help thinking that he had let this happen, that something vital had escaped his notice.
Chapter Twenty-three
Evanthya had never attended an investiture before, though she had heard tales of the grand celebration that followed the crowning of Tomaz the Ninth. From all that she saw, however, and from all that Tebeo and Brail told her, she had the sense that Kalyi’s coronation was a modest affair. Aneiran nobles wore their ceremonial garb and gathered in the great hall of Castle Solkara, just as they had for the funeral of the girl’s father. The kitchens prepared the finest of foods and the cellarmaster provided flask after flask of Sanbiri wine. But to Evanthya the celebration felt muted, as if those who had come to wish the new queen well were all too aware of the difficulties that lay ahead and the dangers facing this child.
The Eandi nobles would begin the long journeys back to their realms the following morning knowing that for the first time in two and a half centuries, the land had no king. It was a realization that seemed to weigh heavily on all of them.
Many of the lesser nobles left early, offering obeisant farewells to Chofya, the new queen, and Numar. Seated as they were with the Solkaran royalty, Brail and Tebeo had little choice but to remain until the end of the feast. But as the sound of conversations in the great hall gradually diminished and the grand chamber emptied, Fetnalla gazed toward Evanthya and mouthed the words “Let’s walk.”
Evanthya nodded, quietly excused herself from the table, and left the hall. She walked slowly through the corridors and into the cold, crisp air of the courtyard. The clouds had thinned, and she could see both moons turning their slow arc across the night sky. Panya, white and luminous, though barely more than a thin, curving blade, hung just above the western wall of the fortress, while Ilias, not quite halfway through his waxing, hung overhead, bathing the castle in his red glow. This was Qirsar’s Turn, and of all the moon legends, none were more important to the Qirsi than those tied to the god of magic. In just a few more nights, on the Night of Two Moons, her power would be greater than it was any other night of the year. And on Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone, she would be unable to wield her magic at all. All Qirsi went through this, and the effects of Pitch Night lasted just the one evening. But still she shuddered at the thought.
The air was still, as it had been earlier in the day, and Evanthya could smell smoke from the fires burning in hearths throughout Castle Solkara. She pulled her robes tighter around her shoulders, still shivering. In a few moments she heard footsteps behind her, and turning, saw Fetnalla emerge from the nearest of the stone archways.
The woman stopped in front of her and they both paused, then shared a quick, awkward kiss.
“Walk with me,” Fetnalla said, indicating the gardens with a slender hand.
They began to walk, following their dim shadows along the stone pathway. For some time, neither of them spoke. With all they’d been through since her arrival in Solkara, Evanthya wasn’t certain what to say or what to expect from Fetnalla. The fight they had before the poisoning seemed a small matter now and so far in the past as to have been almost forgotten. But clearly both of them still felt uncomfortable speaking of it, and they hadn’t lain together since the night she and Tebeo arrived.
“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again,” Fetnalla said at last.
Evanthya gave a thin smile. “Careful. The last time one of us said something like that, the king was dead less than a turn later.”
Fetnalla nodded, but her expression remained grave. “We wasted so much time-I wasted it. I’m sorry.”
“We’ve spoken of this before. All’s forgiven, on both sides.”
“I know. But there’s so much we should have been discussing. And now there’s no time.”
“We have time right now.”
Fetnalla halted and faced her, Ilias’s light in her eyes. “All right. This man you spoke to in the city. Are you certain he wasn’t with the conspiracy or sent by the lords of Eibithar?”
Evanthya had expected this. She told Fetnalla about her conversation with the gleaner on Bohdan’s Pitch Night, just hours after leaving the Qirsi man and his young companion in the tavern. They had been forced to speak quietly and choose their words with care. After word of the Eibitharian spy and his stunning escape through the south gate spread through the city, every guard in the castle had been called to duty. Even in Evanthya’s chamber, with the servants dismissed and the door locked, they feared being overheard. Considering what they needed to discuss, even a stray word or phrase could have convinced a soldier that they were traitors. She had done her best to put Fetnalla’s fears to rest, but she sensed that every reassurance she offered only served to heighten the woman’s concerns.
“I’m as certain as I can be,” she said.
Fetnalla frowned. “That’s not very comforting.”
“I don’t think they were spies. When the younger one spoke, and I recognized his accent, the gleaner didn’t deny that he was Eibithanan. And their interest in the assassin seemed genuine. They didn’t ask me about anything else, as members of the conspiracy might have. They knew I was first minister in Dantrielle, but they didn’t press me for information about my duke or the queen, other than to inquire after their health.”
“Still,” Fetnalla said, “he told you he was a gleaner. But if they were the ones who fled the city, he was far more than that.”
“Even gleaners have other powers.”
“Mists and winds? Shaping? You heard what the gate soldiers said. This was no mere gleaner, Evanthya. This man is at least as powerful as we are.”
Evanthya could hardly argue the point. She had thought much the same thing herself. Regardless of where their loyalties lay, these men were more than they claimed to be. She sensed this about both of them, the Eandi boy as well as the Qirsi.
“Do you think the assassin made an attempt on the boy’s life and failed? You said he bore scars.”
Evanthya shook her head. “The scars were on his face, and they didn’t appear to be the work of an assassin. Besides, from all we heard of the singer before we hired him, it doesn’t seem likely that anyone could survive his assault.” She pushed her hair back from her brow, then crossed her arms over her chest. “The gleaner was quite mysterious in speaking of this. He didn’t say the assassin gave him the scars, but rather that he was responsible for them. In fact, he said that twice.”
“A strange distinction to make,” Fetnalla said.
“I thought so as well.” Even as Evanthya spoke the words, however, a thought came to her that stole her breath. Hearing of events in Eibithar during the warmer turns, none of them had thought to question whether the conspiracy might have been involved. But in light of what the gleaner had said, and the young man’s unmistakable accent, she was forced to consider a most remarkable possibility.
“What is it?” Fetnalla asked, eyeing her closely.
“What if it’s not such a strange distinction after all?” she said, by way of reply. The more she thought back on her conversations with the gleaner and the Eandi, the more convinced she became. There had been something about the boy; he had struck her as both impressive and overly pampered, as only an Eandi noble could.
Fetnalla shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“The Eibitharian spy?” Evanthya said, meeting her gaze. “I think it may have been Lord Tavis of Curgh.”
“The one who killed the girl in Kentigern?”
“The one who was accused of killing her. The one who was tortured by her father in Kentigern’s dungeon.”
“You honestly believe he’d come here?”
“Maybe,” she said, “if he was desperate enough to find the man who really murdered that girl. The gleaner said that he couldn’t tell me more about what the assassin had done without endangering the boy’s life. At the time I didn’t know what to make of that, but if this was Tavis, it makes a great deal of sense.”
Fetnalla shook her head. “You’re assuming that he’s innocent, and that he’s free to wander the Forelands. The last I’d heard, he was an exile in Glyndwr, friendless and hated by his own people.”
“I heard that he never went to Glyndwr, but I don’t think any of us knows for certain. As to his innocence, we’ve seen our own kingdom thrust to the brink of civil war, perhaps by the conspiracy, perhaps not. Much the same thing happened in Eibithar just a few turns ago. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Isn’t it at least possible that the conspiracy has been behind all of this? Isn’t that why we hired the singer in the first place?”
Fetnalla seemed to weigh this, glancing up at the red moon. “I suppose it is.” She looked at Evanthya again. “Tell me once more what you said to him about the assassin.”
“I told him very little,” Evanthya said. “Just that we had hired him to kill a man we felt certain was part of the conspiracy.”
“Did you tell him where the man was?”
“No. He asked me, but I refused to answer.”
Fetnalla stepped closer to her. “You’re absolutely certain?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because if this was Lord Tavis, and the gleaner was from Eibithar as well, they’d know of the traitor in Mertesse, and so they’d know just where to go to find the assassin.”
Perhaps this should have frightened her. Clearly it alarmed Fetnalla. But Evanthya, feeling certain that she was right about the Curgh boy, merely shrugged.
“You’re right, they would. But they might also be pleased to see the traitor dead.”
It was very late when Kalyi and her mother finally returned to their quarters. Kalyi still wore her father’s gold crown on her head, though it felt heavy and fit her poorly. She was queen now, which struck her as quite strange. For as long as she had lived, her mother had been queen. She didn’t understand why her father’s death should change that.
Usually her mother had Nurse help her into her sleeping gown and put her to bed, but tonight her mother did it herself. Her mother looked sad and tired, the way her father used to before he died. When Kalyi was in bed, her mother sat with her for a time, stroking Kalyi’s hair and gazing at her in the candlelight. She still looked tired, but at least she was smiling now.
Kalyi glanced over at the golden crown which sat on the dressing table beside her wardrobe.
“Do I have to wear Father’s crown all the time?” she asked.
“You’re queen now. You lead Aneira. The crown tells people that you’re our leader.”
“Can’t I wear your circlet instead? I’m queen like you were, and I think it would fit me better.”
Her mother let out a small laugh. “Your father’s crown has been worn by Aneira’s leaders for centuries, and it’s far more beautiful than my circlet.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We can speak of this in the morning. We’ll see what the archminister and your uncle Numar have to say. Perhaps we can let you wear the circlet for now, until you grow into the crown.”
She leaned forward to kiss Kalyi’s forehead and started to leave.
“Don’t go yet,” Kalyi said, grabbing her arm. “Please.”
“I’m tired, Kalyi. And it’s late.”