“No,” Tebeo said, his voice thick. “He’ll be imprisoned, along with his archminister and any of his captains who remain alive. The rest of his men are to be released-the wounded will be cared for.”
Numar clapped his hands, his smirk deepening as the sound echoed loudly off the walls. “How noble. Do you honestly believe that these little mercies remove the stain of your treason?”
Faster than she had ever seen him move-faster than she had thought possible-her duke swept his sword free and laid it against the regent’s face so that its tip was poised at the corner of Numar’s eye. The regent’s smile vanished, leaving him looking even younger, and deeply frightened.
“I’m not the one who brought this war to Dantrielle,” the duke said, his voice low and hard. “Nor am I the one who has weakened the realm by tying us to the emperor and his ambitions. All I’ve done today is put an end to the Solkara Supremacy, and if you ask me, that should have been done long ago. Now, I’ve said that I intend to imprison you-you’re a noble, the leader of one of Aneira’s great houses, and you deserve a certain amount of consideration. But if you dare to call me a traitor again, I’ll kill you where you stand. Do I make myself clear?”
The man swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered.
Tebeo lowered his blade. “Take them both to the prison tower. I want them in separate chambers.”
“My lord,” Evanthya said, before the soldiers could lead the two men away. “I recommend that the archminister’s watch be doubled and that his hands and ankles be bound with silk rather than irons.”
Tebeo frowned. “Explain, First Minister.”
“I don’t know what powers he possesses, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’s a shaper, in which case he can shatter manacles and swords with a thought. He won’t be an easy man to hold no matter what we do. But his power will be less effective against silk, and the more men guarding him, the less chance he’ll have of disarming all of them.”
The duke nodded slowly. “Very well. See to it,” he said to one of the guards.
The man bowed. Then he and several other soldiers led the prisoners toward the prison tower.
“I still think he should be executed,” Ansis said, his light blue eyes fixed on the regent.
Bertin the Younger nodded. “I tend to agree. Not only does he deserve to die, but he’s too dangerous to keep alive.”
“I won’t make a martyr of him,” Tebeo said. “As a prisoner, he’s humiliated, diminished. He may be dangerous now, but every day he spends in my prison tower makes him less so.” He glanced about the ward, his brow furrowing once more. “I’m certain that Brall would agree with me. Where is he?”
Ansis and Bertin exchanged a look that made Evanthya’s stomach turn to stone.
“Come with us for a moment,” the duke of Kett said, taking Tebeo gently by the arm, and leading him to a dour, tall soldier who stood a short distance away. It took Evanthya a moment to recognize him as Orvinti’s master of arms.
Evanthya watched them talk, saw Tebeo cover his mouth with a hand in a gesture oddly reminiscent of his duchess. A moment later he glanced back her way, wide-eyed, his cheeks devoid of color.
And in that moment it hit her. Fetnalla. She turned a quick circle, frantically searching for her love. There were a few Qirsi in the ward. The ministers of the other dukes, several Qirsi healers. But Fetnalla wasn’t there. Her heart was pounding; fear gripped her throat so tightly that she could barely draw breath.
She can’t be dead. I’d know if she was dead.
She was crying. She didn’t even know why, but she couldn’t stop.
At last, unable to stand it any longer, she started walking to where Tebeo still stood talking to the other men. An instant later she was running, unable to reach them fast enough.
As she approached however, Brall’s master of arms stepped apart from the dukes and raised his sword, leveling it at her heart.
“Not another step, white-hair!”
Evanthya slowed, her eyes straying to her duke.
“It’s all right, Traefan,” Tebeo said, laying a hand on the man’s arm. “Lower your blade.”
“But, Lord Dantrielle-”
“Do as I say, armsmaster. Evanthya has spent the better part of this night fighting to save my castle. She’s no traitor.”
Clearly Traefan remained unconvinced, but after a moment he lowered his sword. He continued to watch her, though, murder in his eyes.
“Please, my lord,” she said, facing Tebeo, her tears still flowing. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“Brall is dead, Evanthya. That’s why it took his men so long to reach us.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She wanted to ask about Fetnalla, but the words stuck in her throat. At last she managed just to speak her love’s name. “Fetnalla?”
“The first minister killed the duke,” Traefan said, in a voice as bitter as wolfsbane.
Evanthya felt her world buck and shift, as if another boulder had struck the castle. She had expected to hear of Fetnalla’s death. Of course she had hoped that her love was all right, that somehow she had escaped Brall’s fate, but she had been bracing herself for the worst. The whole land was descending into bedlam and blood. All across the Forelands lovers were learning of such loss. Why should she have been spared? Fetnalla is dead. Those were the words she had been dreading, that she had been certain she would hear. But this. . “That’s impossible,” she whispered.
“She killed three of his guards as well.”
“But she wouldn’t-”
“Did your friend possess shaping magic?” the man demanded, his eyes boring into hers.
The question stopped her short, for of course Fetnalla did. Shaping, healing, and gleaning. Fine magics for the minister of a powerful house. Just this night, Evanthya had wished for her love’s shaping power. How often had Fetnalla said that she would gladly trade shaping for language of beasts, which was one of Evanthya’s magics? They had laughed about it many times, offering to swap powers like merchants in a marketplace comparing wares. In one of their beds. In each other’s arms.
Evanthya felt her stomach heave and bit down against the bile.
I will not be sick here, not in front of these men.
“Your silence is answer enough,” Traefan said, disgust in his voice. “Their necks were broken. There was no sign they’d been garroted or attacked in any way. Just four broken necks, neat as you please. Explain that. Explain why she fled.”
“My lord, you know Fetnalla. She’s no murderer.” But hadn’t Fetnalla pushed her to have Shurik killed? Hadn’t she given Evanthya gold to pay the assassin?
“We searched the forest for her all that night,” Traefan said, “but we didn’t dare delay any longer. She’d already kept us away from Dantrielle long enough.”
Evanthya stared at her duke, shaking her head in confusion.
She didn’t follow much of what Traefan told her then. There was something about provisions and archers and a broken wheel on one of Orvinti’s carts. But she understood enough. Fetnalla had been slowing their march to Dantrielle. If this Eandi warrior was to be believed, she had been doing all she could to keep Brall from breaking Numar’s siege. Which meant that she was willing to let Tebeo die in this war. And Evanthya as well.
She wouldn’t.
How strangely her love had behaved the last time they were together. How distant she had been, how evasive the night she awoke from some dark terrible dream that had her speaking of Weavers in her sleep.
It’s Brall’s fault, Evanthya wanted to say. If all this is true-could it be? — he drove her to it with his mistrust, his accusations. But she knew better. Traefan spoke of treason, of murder. There could be no justification for that, no matter how poorly her duke might have treated her.
Fetnalla is no traitor.
During the snows, the last time Evanthya and Tebeo journeyed to Orvinti, Fetnalla had given her a pendant, a glimmering sapphire on a finely wrought silver chain. Evanthya wore it still; even now her hand wandered to her chest to feel the pendant beneath her clothes and mail. She had questioned the gift then, wondering how her love could afford to give such a gift when she had given all her gold for Shurik’s murder. Fetnalla had grown angry, of course. It seemed recently that they were always angry at one another for something. You sound like Brall, she had said. I’ve been paid my wage since then. And rather than argue further, Evanthya had accepted this explanation, along with the necklace.