His was an odd position, one few dukes in the other realms of the Forelands would have understood. As husband to the duchess in a matriarchal duchy, he had no claim to the Curlinte seat. He was master of arms because Dalvia had chosen him to take that post and Diani had asked him to continue to serve after his wife’s death. But he had no real power. Had Cyro still been alive, he, as the son of the late duchess, would have been next in line after Diani to lead the house. As matters stood now, were something to happen to Diani, Dalvia’s younger sister, the marchioness of Invelsa, would take her place. Once Diani married and had children, they would take their place in the line of succession ahead of the marchioness, who, though well-intentioned, possessed neither the wisdom nor the strength of will to govern one of Sanbira’s leading houses. Until then, however, Curlinte’s stability and continued influence with the royal house depended entirely upon Diani’s survival. Not that he needed more incentive to keep her alive.
He had sent nearly two hundred men into the countryside to search for the assassins, double what he had told Diani. She wouldn’t have approved, despite her fears. She would say that sending so many after only two men made them appear weak. Her mother had been the same way, and so Sertio would tell Diani the same thing he had told Dalvia. There was no sense in having a powerful army if you didn’t use it. Perhaps one hundred men would have been sufficient to find the archers, but two hundred would be more likely to succeed and would probably do so sooner. And they still had more than a thousand men remaining to guard the city and castle in the unlikely event of an attack.
He left his chamber and descended the nearest of the towers to the upper ward. Panya, the white moon, hung low, a narrow crescent in the eastern sky. Red Ilias had yet to rise. It would soon be Pitch Night, and then the new turn would begin. To the north, the beginning of Elhir’s waning meant only more snows, but in the southern realms, particularly along the eastern shores, Elhir’s turn usually brought storms and fierce winds. If someone wished to start a war with House Curlinte, this was a strange time to do it.
The click of a boot on stone echoed through the ward. Turning toward the sound, Sertio saw one of his captains approaching.
“What news?” the duke asked as the man halted before him.
“We’ve found nothing yet, my lord.”
“Nothing at all?”
“We found blood where the duchess was wounded, and crushed grass near some of the stones where the assassins must have hidden. But they left no trail to or from that spot.”
“Any sign of horses?”
“None, my lord.”
“Well, they didn’t fly to the moor. They must have left some other sign that they were there.”
The man stared at his shoes. “Perhaps they had a boat, my lord.”
He’d thought of that. The climb from the sea up to the moor and then back down again would have been difficult, but not impossible. If they had a boat, they were gone by now. Sertio and his men would never find them.
“Yes, that’s possible. Have some of the men search the shoreline when morning breaks. And I want the moor searched again as well, just in case they missed something.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You have someone looking in the villages and inns?”
The soldier nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
“Good. Widen your search southward to the north boundary of Kretsaal barony and tell all you meet that there’s a bounty on these men. Five hundred qinde, guaranteed by the duchess herself.”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “That’s certain to help, my lord.”
“I hope so.”
A lone cloud, thin and grey, drifted in front of Panya, darkening the castle for a moment.
“That’s all, Captain,” Sertio said. “Keep me apprised.”
“I will, my lord.”
The man spun away, and hurried back toward the west gate.
There was a part of Sertio that wanted to believe that the archers had come and gone by boat. He would gladly have traded their freedom for the knowledge that they were far from Curlinte and no longer posed any threat to Diani. But he knew better. Whoever hired them wanted her dead, and these men had seen her ride away from the headlands, very much alive.
On the thought, Sertio started across the ward toward the prison tower. It was quite late, and even confined to one of the small, sparse chambers, Kreazur was probably asleep. Still, the man would speak with him. What choice did he have?
Climbing the winding stairs, he saw that nearly all the tower chambers were occupied by ministers and healers, white-hairs all. Some slept. Others stared out of their chambers through the narrow barred windows in the steel doors, their yellow eyes luminous in the torch fire.
Kreazur was on the top floor, in a chamber by himself. A guard in the corridor stood as Sertio emerged from the stairway, but the Qirsi’s cell remained silent.
“I believe he’s sleeping, my lord.”
Now that he was in the tower, faced with the prospect of waking the minister from a sound sleep, Sertio found his resolve wavering. He couldn’t even say what he had come to ask the man, much less why his questions couldn’t wait for morning.
“Perhaps I’ll return with the morning bells,” he said quietly, turning to leave.
Before he reached the stairs, however, he heard the rustling of blankets and the scrape of a boot on the stone floor.
“My lord?” the minister said, his pale features appearing at the small window. His hair looked wild in the fire glow and his cheeks and eyes were swollen with sleep. “Has something happened?”
“No, nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, First Minister. I’ll speak with you during the day.”
“It makes no difference, my lord. I have nothing to do come morning, unless you’re here to release me. I can sleep anytime.”
Sertio nodded, feeling awkward and still not knowing why he had wanted to speak with the man.
“I take it the duchess is resting?” the Qirsi asked.
“Yes. The herbmaster gave her a tonic of comfrey and common wort to aid healing and ease her pain. I expect she’ll sleep through much of the morning.”
“Good.”
They stood for several moments, saying nothing.
“You have more questions for me, my lord?”
Sertio glanced at the guard. “Open the door. I wish to speak with the minister in his chamber”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said, crossing to the door and fitting a large iron key in the lock.
“You can go,” the duke said, stepping past the man and pulling the door closed behind him. “I’ll call for you when I’m done.”
The guard eyed the minister, looking uneasy. “Yes, my lord.”
The cell was dark, save for the dim light of the torches seeping through the grate of the door. Sertio wished he’d remembered to take a torch from the wall outside the chamber, but he saw no sense in calling the guard back just for that.
Kreazur sat on the floor opposite his small bed, his back against the stone wall. With an open hand he indicated the bed, inviting the duke to sit. Sertio shook his head, and began instead to pace about the room.
The minister watched him briefly, then cleared his throat. “The guards tell me that the duchess has imprisoned all the Qirsi in Castle Curlinte.”
“Yes. She decided to do that soon after she had you taken from my chamber. She wasn’t certain enough of your guilt to let the others remain free.”
The man gave a wan smile. “I suppose I should be pleased.”
“We both know better, Minister.”
The smile fled from the Qirsi’s lips. “I’m glad to hear you say so, my lord. There are great perils in what the duchess has done, not only for my people but also for herself, for you, for every court in the Forelands.”