“It’s been many years since I last visited your castle,” the duke of Grinnyd said, smiling briefly at Wenda before looking past her to the archminister. “I had forgotten how magnificent it is.”
A brief, thin smile flitted across Keziah’s face and was gone.
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is.”
The man cleared his throat and smoothed his black beard with a meaty hand before trying again. “Can you tell me what the banners signify? I know they must be for Eibithar’s twelve houses, but which seal belongs to which house?”
He was still looking at Keziah, who was younger than Wenda, and far prettier, but the archminister merely sat there looking bored. After a moment, Wenda answered him, giving the history of each banner and naming the current dukes of the various houses.
“Curgh,” the duke repeated, interrupting her as she started to speak of the great bear on Curgh’s sigil. “That’s where the boy is from, isn’t it? The one who is said to have killed Kentigern’s daughter?”
“Yes, it is,” Wenda answered. “Though His Majesty believes the boy innocent and granted him asylum after his escape from Kentigern’s dungeon.”
“I had heard of this as well. That took a great deal of courage. Did your king think of this on his own, or did you counsel him to grant the boy protection?”
Wenda hesitated. “Actually, he was still duke of Glyndwr at the time and I still served Aylyn the Second, though he was quite ill.”
“I advised him to do it,” Keziah said. She took a drink of wine, then faced the duke. “It may have been the last counsel I gave him to which he paid any heed at all.”
Grinnyd raised an eyebrow. “If one of my Qirsi spoke as you do, Archminister, I’d soon find myself questioning her loyalty.”
“I’m not surprised, Lord Grinnyd. It’s been my experience that Eandi nobles are often quick to do so.”
“That’s enough, Archminister!” Wenda said. She faced the duke, though not before casting a beseeching look at the swordmaster. “You must forgive the archminister, my Lord Grinnyd. She sometimes expresses her opinions too freely. I assure you, she meant no offense.”
Wenda expected Keziah to berate her for presuming to apologize on her behalf, but instead the woman just raised her goblet to her lips once more, as if nothing had happened. The duke stared at the food sitting before him, his jaw tight.
A moment later Gershon joined them, a look of concern in his blue eyes.
“I hope you’re enjoying your meal, my Lord Duke. There’s an old saying in Eibithar, ‘An empty stomach is a poor foundation for statecraft.’ ”
Grinnyd smiled, though clearly it took an effort. “The food is excellent, swordmaster. Thank you.”
“I take it the ministers are good company.”
“Perhaps ‘interesting company’ would be a more appropriate way of phrasing it.”
“I see,” Gershon said, frowning at Keziah.
The archminister glanced up at him, the same indifferent expression on her oval face. “You needn’t worry, swordmaster. The high minister has already apologized for me.”
“It troubles me that either of you had to apologize. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the duke is a guest of our king.”
“Of course, swordmaster,” she said, sounding too obsequious. “I’ll be certain to keep that in mind.”
“I should hope so.”
“You have my apologies as well, my Lord Duke,” she said, lifting her cup again. “As the high minister said, I meant no offense.”
“Thank you, Archminister.” The duke smiled again, and this time it appeared genuine. “As long as you’re here, swordmaster, perhaps you and the archminister can tell me something of your king. I never knew him when he was duke of Glyndwr, although I met his father once. If I’m to recommend to my archduke that we strengthen our alliance with Eibithar, I should first know something of the man who leads her.”
“Then I suggest you speak with him yourself, my Lord Duke, though I’m happy to answer any of your questions. You’ll find that Kearney of Glyndwr is a man without pretense. There’s no trick to knowing him.”
“High praise indeed for an Eandi noble,” Keziah added. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Grinnyd?”
“It seems high praise for any man, Archminister. Qirsi or Eandi. In these times especially, we’re all desperate for people we can trust, no matter the color of their eyes.”
“Well said, my Lord Duke,” Gershon said pointedly, eyeing the archminister.
Before Keziah could answer, the king stood, raising his goblet in a toast, his silver hair shining in the torch fire and candlelight. “Once again, Leilia and I would like to welcome our guests and thank them for undertaking such arduous journeys, particularly at this time of the year. For centuries Eibithar has valued our close ties to both Caerisse and Wethyrn. I’m hopeful that in the days to come, we can use those ties as the basis for an even stronger partnership among all three of our kingdoms. I speak not of an alliance for war-though we must be able to rely upon one another if we find ourselves embattled-but rather of a union that will give us the strength to preserve peace throughout the Forelands no matter how we are assailed.
“Nine centuries ago, when invaders came to the Forelands, the ancient clans put aside their differences and joined forces to protect themselves and preserve their sovereignty. Out of their triumph grew the seven realms of the Forelands, and all that we have accomplished since.”
He was speaking of the Qirsi Wars, of course, and though Wenda thought Aneira and Braedon greater threats to Eibithar than the Qirsi conspiracy, she could hardly blame the king for drawing on that chapter in the kingdom’s history. She stole a glance at Keziah, wondering if the king’s words would enrage her. But while the archminister looked wan and young as she watched the king, her expression revealed nothing.
“We have endured wars since,” Kearney went on, “and times of darkness. But always we have prevailed, and through the centuries one truth has stood out above all others: never are we stronger than when we are united and at peace.” He lifted his glass high and looked first at Rouvin and then at Grinnyd. “My Lord Dukes, I drink to friendships, old and new.”
“To friendships!” the others in the hall echoed.
“We have more food and wine,” the king said, smiling as he placed his goblet on the table. “And we have music to dance. I hope all will join us.”
He nodded to the musicians standing near his table on the dais and they began to play. Then he took Leilia’s hand and led her down the small stairway to the open floor just in front of his table. For a few moments, as was appropriate, others in the hall simply watched the king dance with his queen. Then, slowly, couples joined them on the floor.
“He does seem a fine king, swordmaster,” the duke of Grinnyd said, regarding Kearney. “One cannot help but be impressed with him.”
“He’s been that way since I met him, my lord, and that was many years before he became duke of Glyndwr.”
Grinnyd nodded. “You expect that he’ll survive Kentigern’s challenge?”
Wenda sensed Gershon bristling.
“I do,” the swordmaster said, steel in his voice.
The duke turned to him. “Forgive the question, swordmaster. But before I ask my archduke to swear himself to an alliance with this man I must know that he’ll still wear the crown a year from now. Wethyrn places great value on its ties to Eibithar. I daresay we rely on Eibithar’s friendship more than you do on ours, even now. If we pledge ourselves to your king, only to find in a few turns that his place on the throne has been taken by a man who despises him, where will that leave Wethyrn?” His eyes strayed briefly to Keziah. “As formidable as Kearney may be, I see many perils in his path, some distant, and some quite near. We’ll be watching to see how he navigates them.” The duke smiled and faced Wenda. “High Minister, I find myself drawn to this music. Would you join me in a dance?”