“I need something in return before I give this to you,” he said, clutching the rolled parchment in his hand.
“We have nothing to offer. You came to the movement, Kentigern. You tortured me and countless others, looking for someone who could win this alliance for you. You have it now. But your cruelty to our people makes us leery of you, and demands that we have some measure of protection.”
“And what of my protection?”
“I’ve already told you-”
“Yes, damn you, I heard!” The duke stood and began to pace his chamber. “I’m more valuable to you in power than in disgrace. Well, that’s not good enough. I need something more.”
“Like what?”
“A name.” He said the words as quickly as he formed the thought. But he knew immediately that he had found the answer, the measure of assurance he needed. “Give me the name of one of your leaders.”
“All right.”
“All right?” the duke repeated, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not going to argue with me, or tell me you need to speak with the men you serve?”
“They anticipated this.”
Aindreas stared at the Qirsi, feeling like a dolt. Qerle had been waiting all this time for him to suggest such an exchange, and it had taken the duke their entire conversation to think of it. “So you have a name for me?”
“I do. Enid ja Kovar, first minister to the duke of Thorald.”
Tobbar’s first minister! His surprise was fleeting, however. He had turned away a rider from Thorald midway through the waxing. In all likelihood these were the tidings he would have read in the horseman’s message.
“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Tobbar has already learned of her betrayal. For all I know, she’s dead by now.”
Qerle’s eyes widened for just an instant. “That’s the only name they gave me.”
Aindreas smiled, pleased to have the advantage at last. He returned the scroll to a drawer in his table. “Have them give you another,” he said. “Return here tomorrow, and you can have the pledge I just signed.”
What little color the Qirsi had in his face vanished. No doubt his superiors would not be pleased. He nodded and stood, stepping to the door.
“Qerle!” he called, stopping the man short of the door. “Tell them that if they try to deceive me again, there will be no alliance, and I’ll bring the full weight of my house down upon them. I found you by torturing every Qirsi in that tavern of yours. If I have to, I’ll destroy your movement by killing every white-hair in my realm. Make certain they understand that.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Qirsi said, his voice, at least for now, free of irony.
When the man had gone, Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing his brow with a cold hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Father.”
He looked up, seeing Bnenne before him. Again. She wore the sapphire gown, her golden hair falling to her waist like the waters of Panya’s Falls at sunset.
“I do it for you. I do it to punish those who killed you.”
“Are you certain, Father?”
“Who else would I do this for?”
She was so beautiful. More than anything he wanted to reach out and touch her face, her hair.
“I fear you do it for yourself. But I meant, are you certain they are the ones who killed me?”
“Don’t!” he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Poor Father.”
For a long time, he refused to look at her. When at last he opened his eyes again, she was gone.
Qerle returned the following day, again just after sundown. Aindreas had instructed his guards to admit the Qirsi to the castle, so when the knock came at his chamber door, he knew it was Qerle. To his surprise, however, the man was not alone. A young Qirsi woman accompanied him into the room. She was slight and barely as tall as Affery, Aindreas’s sole surviving daughter. She had bright golden eyes and wore her white hair loose to her shoulders.
“Who’s this?” the duke asked, standing, but remaining behind his desk.
“My name is fastanne ja Triln,” she said in a strong voice. “Qerle says you wanted to meet me.”
Aindreas frowned. “That’s not quite right. I told him I wanted the name of one of your movement’s leaders, as a way of ensuring that you won’t betray me.”
“I’ve just given you my name.”
“You’re a leader of the Qirsi conspiracy?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his doubts. “You look like you’re barely old enough for a Fating.”
“I’m twenty-four years old, my Lord Duke. That may not be old for an Eandi, but I’ve lived more than half my life already. For the last four years I’ve served the Qirsi movement, and for the last two, I’ve been one of its leaders.”
“I’m not certain I believe you. The Qirsi have lied to me too many times.”
She gave a wan smile. “It was a mistake to have Qerle give you Enid’s name. My mistake. I apologize for that. I took a chance, thinking that you hadn’t heard yet of her death. I wanted to give up as little as possible to win your support. I won’t try such a thing again.”
“Do you live in Kentigern, Jastanne?”
“No. I come here frequently, but my home lies elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I’d rather not say. I’m a merchant, my lord. I spend little time at my home. I have a ship called the White Erne that sails the coast of the Forelands from Rawsyn Bay to the Bronze Inlet. If you need to find me, just look for the Erne.”
“You own a ship,” Aindreas said, shaking his head. “I find it hard to imagine so slight a woman braving the Narrows or steering a vessel through a storm in the Scabbard.”
“And I find it hard to imagine a man of your size climbing onto a horse, but I know you’ve done so.”
He tipped his head, conceding the point.
“I’ve come here at considerable risk to myself and my cause, Lord Kentigern. I won’t stay long. You told Qerle that you wish to ally yourself with our movement. I believe you said that you want us to help you drive Kearney of Glyndwr from the throne. Is that still your desire?”
Don’t do this! Tell her to go and be done with it!
The duke stood and began to pace behind his writing table.
“He gave asylum to Brienne’s killer!” he said, as if arguing with the voice in his mind. “How can I do nothing?”
Jastanne grinned. “I take it that means yes.”
He blinked, staring at the woman. “Can you offer me proof that you’re a leader of the conspiracy?”
“None that would satisfy you. We take great pains to leave as little evidence of our activities as possible. Usually we concern ourselves with proving that we’re not with the movement. You have my word, and that of Qerle here. But I have nothing more to give you.”
Aindreas weighed this a moment longer, then made his decision. Reaching into the table drawer, he retrieved the scroll he had placed there the night before.
“Here. My pledge to support your cause. As I told Qerle last night, if you betray me, I’ll spend my last breath destroying you and your friends. I swear it in the name of my dead daughter.”
She took the scroll from him and unrolled it. After a moment, she nodded and handed it to Qerle. “You needn’t worry, Lord Kentigern. We have no intention of betraying you. We may not like you any more than you like us, but we understand the value of having you as an ally.” She turned to Qerle. “Go now. You know where to take this?”
“Yes, ch-” His face colored and his eyes flicked toward the duke. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good. We’ll speak later.”
Qerle turned and hurried from the chamber, clutching the scroll as if it were made of gold. Propriety dictated that he await leave from Aindreas to go, but the duke made no effort to stop him.
“May I sit?” Jastanne asked, once the man was gone.
“Of course.”
She lowered herself into a chair and eyed his wine.