“But it troubles you.”
The duke gave her a quick look, a sour expression on his round face. “You don’t think it should?”
“I only wish to understand why it does, my lord.” Evanthya felt certain that she had finally put to rest Tebeo’s suspicions about her loyalty, but their conversations remained difficult. It almost seemed that because her eyes were yellow, he blamed her for the Qirsi conspiracy, even as he convinced himself that she was not party to it. “As you say, the late king started us down this path some time ago.”
“But it’s more dangerous now than it was when Carden was alive. The emperor wants Aneira as an ally in the event of a naval war with Eibithar. The Eibithanans must know this, in which case we invite an attack by tying ourselves to the empire. With all that’s happened in the past few turns, we can hardly afford a war on the Tarbin.”
“With all that’s happened we’re more vulnerable than ever,” Evanthya said. “Isn’t it just as likely that an alliance with Braedon will keep the Eibithanans from attacking?”
“I’d considered that, First Minister,” he said sharply. “I’m not simple.”
“Of course, my lord,” Evanthya said, looking away.
He stopped pacing and ran a hand over his beard. “Forgive me, Evanthya. You didn’t deserve that. An alliance with Braedon may well give the Eibitharians pause. I’m sure that’s what Numar thinks.” He returned to the chair behind his writing table and sat, rubbing his eyes with a meaty hand. “I’ve never taken the threat from Eibithar lightly, and I never would. But I think you’ll agree with me when I say that Aneira faces far greater dangers than King Kearney and his army. This is no time to go looking for a war. Rather, we should be trying to reach beyond old hostilities. If we’re arrayed against one another, we have no hope of defeating the conspiracy.”
Evanthya nodded, remembering that the gleaner’s friend, the Eandi boy she believed to be Tavis of Curgh, had said much the same thing in Solkara. “Is it possible that the emperor is reaching out to Numar for just that reason?”
Tebeo gave a sad smile. “Have you ever met the emperor, First Minister?”
“No, my lord.”
“I did once, at Carden’s investiture. I barely spoke to him, of course. We sat near each other at the banquet that night, but Carden was so busy flattering the man that he left the rest of us little opportunity to say anything at all. Still, that one night was enough for me to see that he is a singularly unimpressive man. He thinks of war and of wealth, and of little else. I doubt very much that he’s ready to lead an alliance against the conspiracy. More likely, he’ll continue to follow his petty ambitions, even if they lead all the Forelands to ruin.”
“Do you intend to speak with the regent then, my lord?”
“Perhaps, when the planting begins. Numar is still new to his power. I don’t want him mistaking such a conversation for a challenge to his authority. He may not be as ruthless as Carden and Grigor, but he’s still Tomaz’s son.”
“Very well, my lord.”
“You think I’m foolish to wait?”
“I wouldn’t presume to judge, my lord. I share your concerns about the conspiracy and about any possible conflict with Eibithar. But as long as the regent and the emperor aren’t making plans for war, I’m not certain that I see the harm in building on our friendship with Braedon.”
“As long as they’re not planning a war, neither do I. I’m just not certain I trust either of them to maintain the peace.”
There was a knock at the door, and a moment later the duchess stepped into the room. Seeing Evanthya, she faltered, looking uncertain.
“Forgive me. I thought the duke was alone.”
Evanthya stood and returned the parchment to Tebeo’s table. “I was just leaving, my lady.” She faced the duke and bowed. “My lord.”
“Thank you, First Minister. We’ll speak of this again.”
“Of course, my lord.”
She let herself out of Tebeo’s chamber and descended the stairs of the nearest tower to the castle’s upper ward. It had snowed the night before, though only briefly, and a fine white powder coated the grass, like flour on a warm loaf of bread. The sun burned brightly overhead, and already the snow on the battlements and towers of the castle was melting, darkening the stone walls beneath.
Evanthya crossed the ward quickly, pulling her robes tightly around her shoulders. Before she reached the tower leading up to her quarters, however, she heard a guard calling to her from the lower barbican. She stopped and turned, waiting as the man strode toward her.
“A peddler just came to the gate, First Minister,” the man said as he drew near. “He told me to give you this.”
He handed her a small scrap of parchment.
Evanthya unfolded it and read the brief message scrawled in black ink. The words held no meaning for her.
“You say a peddler brought this?”
“Yes, First Minister.”
She stared at the parchment, her brow furrowing.
“Did he say who it was from?”
“No. He said only that he had come from the north, and that it had been given to him just outside of Mertesse.”
Her eyes snapped up, meeting his. “Mertesse?” she whispered.
“Yes, First Minister.”
Of course. Abruptly the missive made sense, cryptic though it was. Evanthya’s mouth had gone dry and her heart raced as might that of a soldier marching toward his first battle. She knew the guard was watching her, that he could see how her hand trembled. But she felt powerless to walk away, or even to dismiss him.
“Are you well, First Minister?”
“Yes, thank you.” She made herself look up and smile.
The man nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, left her.
She should have hurried from the ward. Better to ponder the meaning of this note in the privacy of her quarters. Fetnalla would want to know as well. She would have to send word to Orvinti. But still she just stood, unable to look away from the message.
Three words. “It is done.”
They could have meant anything, which of course was the point. Only she would know that “It is done” actually meant “Your gold has bought the blood of another Qirsi.” Only she would understand that the traitor had died, simply because she wanted him dead. Only she would see this message for what it was a proclamation of war Just as the loosing of a single arrow high over a battle plain signaled the commencement of combat, so the death of this one man declared her intent to oppose the conspiracy, no matter the cost Terror and exhilaration warred within her, one gaining supremacy over the other, only to retreat in turn. Even with Fetnalla at her side, she knew that she could not stand against a movement that seemed to grow more vast by the day Yet this first skirmish was theirs, and the taste of their success served only to make her hunger for more.
That she had taken the life of a Qirsi gave her pause. Her people would suffer greatly before this war was over. With each new betrayal, it became more likely that they would never again be trusted by the nobles of the Forelands. More to the point, it had been nine centuries since Carthach’s betrayal, and still the Qirsi battled among themselves over what the traitor had done This war she had taken it upon herself to wage would only deepen an age-old rift She tried to tell herself that this couldn’t be helped, that by striking at the Eandi courts, the conspiracy had made itself the enemy of all those who were loyal to the realms, no matter the color of their eyes. But she was a gleaner, and though she had glimpsed only vague images of what the future might hold for the Qirsi, she quailed at what she saw.
“It is done.”
Only Evanthya could have understood so much from the assassin’s simple words Still, as she stood there in the brilliant sunlight, holding this token of her triumph, even she couldn’t explain why her eyes stung with tears for the man she had killed.