“Ioanna-”
“If you give in to them,” she said, her voice dropping low, the finger still aimed at his heart, like a blade, “if you surrender and let them do this, I’ll hate you for the rest of my days. I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory. We know what happened. They’re trying to change it, to confuse us and fool everybody else in the realm, but we know. Don’t let them do this, Aindreas. Do you understand? Don’t let them.”
What could he say to her? For so long he had been pouring his venom into her mind, telling her what he believed was true, and what he wanted her to believe as well. That she should spew the poison back at him with such fury was just one irony among too many. He took a step toward her, and this time she didn’t back away. A moment later she was pressing her face to his chest, sobbing like a babe, clutching his shirt with both hands. “Don’t let them,” she said again and again as he held her, stroking her head.
“I won’t,” he murmured at last. “I promise you I won’t.”
Eventually her tears began to slow, her sobbing to subside. Aindreas gestured to one of the servants skulking by the door.
“Summon the duchess’s ladies,” he told the boy quietly. “Tell them the duchess needs to rest.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Still Aindreas held her, until two of Ioanna’s servants came. Only then did he release her, kissing her forehead as she pulled away. She seemed dazed, only vaguely aware of where she was and who was with her. It was much the way she had been in the turns immediately following Brienne’s murder.
“Put her to bed,” he said to the women. “I’ll be in to see her later. If the children need anything, send them to me.”
They both curtsied, and one of them whispered, “Yes, my lord,” before they led Ioanna from the chamber.
The duke stood in the center of his presence chamber for several moments after they had gone, cursing himself for having said anything to her at all, and cursing the Qirsi for their treachery and the ease with which they had ensnared him.
“Wine!” he bellowed at last, returning to his chair by the writing table.
He picked up Jastanne’s message again. You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow. They were asking him to knot his own rope and slip it around his own neck. They might as well have commanded him to lead Kentigern’s army to the City of Kings and lay siege to Audun’s Castle. None of the other dukes would stand with Kentigern now. Those who were inclined to side with the king would have been convinced by word of the Qirsi woman’s confession. And those who had sided with Aindreas thus far weren’t yet ready to stand in open defiance of the crown. Perhaps they would be eventually, when they knew for certain that they could stand together against an attack from the King’s Guard and Kearney’s allies, but not until then.
“They wish to make a traitor of me,” he muttered.
To which a voice in his head replied, You’re a traitor already, made so by your own actions.
“Where is my wine?” he called again, his voice echoing in the corridor like thunder.
A moment later a boy peered into the chamber like a frightened dog.
“You have my wine?” the duke demanded.
The boy nodded, stepping warily into the chamber. He carried a flagon and cup.
“Quickly, boy!” he said, waving the servant forward.
The boy set the cup on Aindreas’s table and began to pour. But the duke grabbed the flagon from his hand, spilling Sanbiri red on the table and floor.
“Go get more,” the duke said. “I’ve a mighty thirst today.”
The boy fled the chamber, eager to obey.
The rest of that day and the entire night were lost to him in a fog of wine and grief and rage. It was only the following morning, when Aindreas awoke to a hard rain and keening winds, that he even remembered that the king’s men had come and had made camp outside the walls of his city. Dressing quickly, he left his bedchamber in search of Villyd, only to find that the swordmaster was waiting for him outside his presence chamber.
“My lord,” the man said, bowing to him.
“Swordmaster.” He opened the door to the chamber and entered, with Villyd close behind. Now that he had found the man, he was reluctant to reveal his concern for the king’s soldiers. Had Villyd had his way, the men would have been sheltered for the night. “I’ve been looking for you,” he finally said. “When I saw that it had been raining I. .” He trailed off, glancing toward his writing table, hoping that perhaps there would still be wine there. He would have given his sword for a drink just then.
“I had tarpaulin and poles taken to the men last night, my lord, as the storm moved in. I knew that you’d want them to be sheltered, even if they did come here as agents of the king.”
Aindreas tried to keep himself from looking too relieved. “My thanks, swordmaster. As you say, we have no quarrel with these men, only with those who sent them.”
“Quite so, my lord.” Villyd hesitated, eyeing the duke closely. “Shall I send for their captain, my lord? He awaits word from you.”
“Not yet, Villyd. Later, when I’ve had a chance to consider what message I want to convey to the king.”
The man pursed his lips briefly, then nodded, “Very well, my lord.” Still he lingered, seeming to muster the courage to say more.
“Is there something else you wish to discuss, swordmaster?”
“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I wonder if you’ve considered the consequences of further angering the king.”
Aindreas glowered at the man. It was one thing for the duke to question his own judgment. It was quite another for one of his underlings to do so, even one as trusted and intelligent as Villyd. “To be honest with you, swordmaster, I haven’t given the matter any thought at all. I don’t give a damn if I anger the king, nor do I care if his men rot in their little camp outside my walls. Kearney offered protection to Tavis of Curgh when I was certain that the boy had killed my daughter, and he embraced Javan as his ally though Curgh and Kentigern were on the verge of war. He has shown no consideration whatsoever for the House of Kentigern. Why should I care a whit if I anger him?”
Villyd stared at the floor, his color high. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me.”
“Now get out.”
Villyd started to leave, turned once as if to say more, then shook his head and walked out of the chamber.
Aindreas didn’t see the swordmaster for the rest of the day. Twice guards came to his chamber, asking if the duke was ready to speak with Kearney’s man, and both times the duke sent them away, telling them that he would summon the captain when he was ready. The truth was, however, he feared this audience with the king’s soldier. The duke didn’t know what the man had been instructed to say to him, but he felt certain that the captain would expect Aindreas to reaffirm his loyalty to the realm or declare his intention to stand against the Crown. The duke wasn’t prepared to do either. He needed more time, but it seemed clear that neither the conspiracy nor the king was willing to give it to him.
An hour or so after the ringing of the prior’s bells, as Andreas sipped from yet another cup of wine, someone knocked at his door again. Squeezing his eyes closed and rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger until they hurt, he called for whoever had come to enter.
The door opened and a soldier stepped into the chamber.
“My lord-”
“No,” Andreas said angrily, “I’am not yet ready to speak with him.”
“I’am sorry, my lord, but that’s not why I’ve disturbed you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Then what do you want?”
“There’s a Qirsi woman at the gate, my lord. She’s asking to speak with you.”
Somehow Andreas was on his feet. “Which gate?”
“My lord?”
“From which gate did she come?”