“Rumors to that effect are already circulating.”
“I know. I had them started.”
The Desei exile laughed. “Then you understand that conspiracies are the favorite fodder of the gossips down here, especially in the exile community. Most believe it is the truth and finding someone to avenge the honor of Helosunde should not be too difficult. We can claim that both men wanted more support for Helosunde and desired Cyron to stop sending grain north until Jasai was returned to her people. Avenging her honor will also provide motivation. In fact, a Helosundian is a good choice, for enough of them work in Wentokikun that slipping into the palace will not be difficult.”
“Good.”
Aerynnor sat forward. “And shall Nerot Scior still be blamed?”
“Unless you have a better candidate in mind.”
“No, he will do nicely.”
And when it comes time to repudiate Vroan’s efforts, documents will surface exposing the Scior-Vroan-Turcol cabal.
“I only have one concern, Minister.” Aerynnor smiled when Vniel did not reply. “You will forgive my presumption, but you are in a ministry. If you were not, you could not-and would not-be discussing these matters with me. And you would not have the information you do to make such judgments. I have to assume, therefore, that you also have information to which I am not privy. It seems obvious to me, however, that the Vroan Dynasty may be extremely short in duration.”
“You may assume whatever you will.”
“You previously enticed me by dangling the chance of my assuming the throne after Count Vroan died. While I accept that circumstances may preclude this course of events, I do intend to be rewarded for my action. I shall assume, therefore, that what befalls the count need not befall his daughter. I could find myself very comfortable in Ixun.”
“And you would find yourself positioned to move to Moriande should the need arise?”
The Desei noble opened his arms. “Have I not acted well as your agent so far? It is obvious that you will need someone in a position to move against the sitting prince if other plans do not work. We already know the west is a breeding ground for rebellion, and the loss of Vroan will not sap its strength.”
Vniel considered for a moment, then nodded. “I believe Jarana can be insulated. Perhaps her husband was even assassinated by her father, since he opposed usurping Prince Cyron.”
“I think that highly likely, Minister.”
Vniel smiled in spite of himself. Aerynnor was proving to be a very smart and valuable agent. He knew how to reassure people that he had their best interest at heart. He’d clearly been manipulating the Scior agent, and now Count Vroan. Vniel could even feel the man’s fingers trying to bend Vniel to his will.
This means he is too smart. Vniel let his smile spread. He would use him, then discard him, but he would do so carefully. As long as it would benefit Vniel and himself, Aerynnor would continue to play the intelligent servant. Once he thought Vniel could no longer be of use, he would find a way to betray.
I should just kill him now. It would end all risk.
“My friend, please arrange for the Helosundian intervention we discussed. A day or two, three at the most. This is very important.”
“Do I let Count Vroan know this operation is in progress?”
“You’ve heard rumors and want to know if you should act to stop it.”
Aerynnor’s eyes widened for a moment. “Very good, Minister. Deniability for all.”
“It is good to know many things, including those you choose not to remember.”
“I shall remember that.” The Desei noble nodded. “And Nerot Scior?”
“Were he any sort of a man, he would have slain the Prince himself, not hired it done.”
“My thoughts exactly. He is here in the city, so I shall arrange incriminating evidence to be found, if needed.”
“Very good.” Vniel smiled. “And please know your suit for the hand of Jarana Vroan will meet with approval at very high levels.”
“Thank you.”
If Aerynnor said anything more than that, Pelut Vniel did not hear. He’d slipped through the false panel in the wall and into a tight corridor. He felt his way along, pushed on a broken brick, and another doorway opened. He wormed his way into it, then closed and barred the door behind him. He stepped away from that door, then rested against the wall, forcing himself to breathe slowly.
He smiled as his heart slowed and stopped pounding in his ears. Negotiating with exiles to commit treason was something to sour the stomach. He hunched over, feeling as if he wanted to vomit, but nothing came up.
He steadied himself against the corridor’s narrow walls. He would have preferred any other choice but the one he’d been given. Killing a prince and fixing the blame on others was not an easy thing, but it had to be done.
Not for the good of the nation, or even for his own good.
For the good of the ministry.
For order.
No higher cause could be served.
Chapter Forty-seven
8th day, Planting Season, Year of the Rat
10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Tsatol Deraelkun, County of Faeut
Erumvirine
Scouts from the Derael family had been watching us for several days, but we took no action against them. Tsatol Deraelkun had a special place in Virine history because it had held the pass in the Central Virine mountains since before the Empire had been sundered. During the Time of Black Ice and the oddities that wild magic had spawned, it had been heavily damaged by monstrous armies and all but razed several times. Regardless, the Derael family had not let the enemies get into the Virine heartland, and had made their home stronger every time they rebuilt it.
And as I had known since we left Kelewan, it would be at Tsatol Deraelkun that we would make a stand.
While many passes through the mountains existed, most could handle little more than wandering shepherds, their flocks, and smugglers. Emperor Dailon IV, who got seasick at hearing the cry of a gull, went to great expense to establish the Imperial Road running from Felarati to Kelewan. Cutting a road through the Virine range had not been easy, but it was done, and the first Deraelkun had been built astride the road as an Imperial way station.
Down through the eons it had changed a great deal, and by the time of the sundering, it had become a massive fortress with three circles of walls, and secondary fortresses linked by tunnels and redoubts carved so artfully from the native stone that they remained undetected until one was right on top of them. Moraven had passed through the area a number of times and occasionally been a guest of the Derael family.
I recognized the colors and arms of the soldiers blocking the Imperial Road, and assumed that for every dozen I saw before me, five times that number lurked in the woods and ravines. Their armor had been tied with alternating cords of black, red, and yellow, making one mindful of poisonous snakes. The family crest featured a bear rampant and still fighting, though stuck with two spears and four arrows. Each wound indicated a time they’d rebuilt Deraelkun, and the bear seemed eager for the next assault.
Two riders left the center of their formation and approached me. I left my lines alone and rode toward them. I still wore the Morythian armor, but had set aside my mask. Having them recognize me would not hurt, nor would letting them mistake me for the Moraven of their acquaintance.
The woman held up a hand and her son reined back. She came forward another couple of feet, then stopped her horse. Both of them were tall, and she quite uncharacteristically. Strands of white worked through her long black hair. She could have hidden them as many women would, but many women her age wouldn’t have donned armor and come out to meet an armed force. She wore a sword, but I knew she’d never use it. The bow and quiver on her saddle, and the jade thumbring on her right hand, reminded me of her skill.