“What will you do?”
He looked up to find Brienne standing beside him, looking lovely and so very young. No wonder he had confused Affery for her.
“I don’t know.”
“You should go to the king. You should tell him what you’ve done and beg for his mercy.”
“He’ll have me hanged as a traitor.”
“He might. But perhaps if you can show honor and courage at the end, it will save our house from disgrace. Don’t Affery and Ennis deserve that? Doesn’t Mother?”
The city bells continued to toll and Aindreas glanced toward the window. “There are men coming. I have to-”
Turning to Brienne once more, he saw that she was gone. He took a long shuddering breath and stood, walking slowly from his presence chamber to the nearest set of stairs, and then up to the ramparts of the tower. He found Ioanna there, wrapped in a woolen cloak, though it wasn’t particularly cold. A stiff wind made her golden hair dance wildly, and she gazed eastward, squinting in the sun, though she had both hands lifted to her brow to shade her eyes. Ennis and Affery were with her. Seeing Aindreas, she pointed toward the road, a dark band of brown dirt that wound past tawny fields and small farmhouses to the city’s easternmost gate. It was a long way off, but following the line of her gaze, Aindreas could see riders approaching the tor, bearing the purple and gold of Eibithar. The king’s men.
“I sent Villyd to the gate,” the duchess told him, her eyes never leaving the horsemen. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes. I would have done the same.”
She glanced at him. “Will you go as well?”
He had yet to decide. Had it not been for the missive from the Qirsi, he probably would have. After Kearney’s last message, with its tidings of the Qirsi woman being held in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle, the duke had been searching for any path to reconciliation with the Crown. This was a time to end his conflict with Glyndwr and Curgh, to accept that he had been wrong, and unite the realm so that it might face the conspiracy united and strong.
His alliance with the Qirsi would not allow this, however. He had cast his lot with the white-hairs, and he had little choice but to fulfill his pledge to them. To do less was to invite disgrace, not only in the eyes of Eibithar’s other nobles but also in those of his wife and children. Had it been only his life hanging in the balance, he would have gladly humbled himself before the king rather than help the whitehairs. But he could not bear the thought of bringing such humiliation to Ioanna or damning Ennis to lead a shamed house.
“Aindreas?”
“I’ll go,” he said. “If for no other reason than to send them away myself.”
“Do you know why they’ve come?”
He shrugged, looking at her. “I refused the king’s summons to a parley. And I’ve yet to pay Kearney his tribute for the last three turns.” He gave a wan smile. “I’d think that has something to do with it.”
She nodded, her lips pressed in a tight line.
Aindreas turned to go.
“Can I come, Father?” Ennis asked.
“Not this time, son.” The duke mussed the boy’s red hair, drawing a grin. Then he left them, stopping in his chamber to retrieve his sword, which he strapped to his belt. Though the riders would reach the gate before he did, he still took his time. Let them wait, he told himself, the pounding of his heart giving the lie to his bravado.
Sheftam, his horse, awaited him at the castle gate, though he hadn’t ordered the beast saddled. Villyd, no doubt. It would speed his arrival at the city gate, and make him look even more formidable than he already was. The Tor atop the Tor, they called him, and with reason. Even before Sanbiri wine and the fine food in his kitchens made him fat, he had been a large man, broad and powerfully built. This messenger from the king would be merely the latest to quail before him.
He stroked the animal’s nose for a moment, then climbed into his saddle and rode out of the castle toward the eastern gate. The lanes leading through Kentigern city were choked with people who paused now in what they were doing to watch the duke ride past. They didn’t cheer. They only stared after him, their apprehension manifest in widened eyes and pallid faces. All of them could hear the bells echoing through the narrow streets, and by now word would have spread through the marketplace that the riders bore the king’s colors.
One didn’t have to be a minister in a noble’s court to understand that Aindreas’s defiance of the king had pushed Eibithar to the brink of civil war. And though the duke’s people would not have dared give voice to any doubts they harbored as to his judgment, they could not hide their fear. Nor could Aindreas blame them. His own hands remained unsteady, and he was thankful for the castle that loomed behind him, ponderous and grey, like some great beast called forth by the clerics in Bian’s Sanctuary.
When at last he reached the city walls and steered his mount through the massive gate, the duke found Villyd Temsten, his swordmaster, standing in front of more than half the army of Kentigern. Villyd had his arms crossed over his broad chest and his stout legs spread wide, so that he looked almost as unassailable as the castle itself. Before him, mounted still, their banners snapping in the wind, were nine men, all of them wearing chain mail and bearing short swords on their belts and bastard swords in baldrics on their backs. One of the men, who was clearly older than the others, wore a surcoat of silver, black, and red over his mail, the colors matching those of the baldrics. These were men of Glyndwr then, whom Kearney had brought with him to Audun’s Castle upon taking the throne.
The city bells ceased their tolling, the last peals echoing off the city walls and dying away. A moment later, the older man rode forward a short distance, his hand raised in greeting. When he reined his mount to a halt again, the horse nickered, cantering sideways nervously.
“My lord duke,” the man said, his voice ringing clearly over the wind, “I bring greetings from King Kearney the First, who commands me to ask that you shelter us and name us guestfriends.”
The duke gave dark grin. “And why would your king ask that, Glyndwr? Does he fear for your safety?”
“Yes, my lord, I believe he does.”
The smile fled Aindreas’s face, and he felt his color rising. “Is there more to your message?”
The man’s eyes darted past the duke to Villyd and the soldiers. “There is, my lord. But perhaps the rest should wait until we can speak in private.”
The duke briefly considered forcing the man to say his piece here, in front of all. A moment later, however, he thought better of it. His men knew that their duke and the king were at odds, but few of them understood how far the conflict had progressed. He didn’t want them to learn in this way that the duke was already considered a renegade in the City of Kings. By the same token, he wasn’t willing to name them guestfriends and allow them to stay in his castle. If there were Qirsi spies about, he didn’t want them to see that he had welcomed the king’s men onto the tor. He couldn’t very well make the men guestfriends if he intended to continue his defiance of the Crown.
“Very well,” the duke said. “You and your men may make your camp in the shadow of these walls.”
The man frowned. “My lord-”
“Make certain they’re properly provisioned,” Aindreas said to Villyd, ignoring Kearney’s man.
“Yes, my lord.”
Kearney faced the soldier once more. “I assure you, no harm will come to you here. My guards stand at this gate day and night.” He grinned again. “And I have little doubt that men trained by Gershon Trasker can defend themselves from brigands and wolves, should any approach the city.”