Now, though. . What if the gold had come from a different source? It was said that the conspiracy had a good deal of gold, that those who joined it were paid quite well.
“First Minister?”
She stared at the duke, trying to make herself remember what he had been saying to her, trying to focus on his face. It seemed she was in a mist-yet another, on what was becoming a night of mists.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I was. . I was thinking.”
They were alone, or as much alone as two people could hope to be in this castle, with the maimed and dead lying everywhere, with healers moving from wound to wound with swift precision, with conquerors and the conquered coming to grips with an uneasy peace.
“I asked if you thought it possible that Traefan was right about Fetnalla.”
No, it couldn ‘t be! Her heart screamed for her to give voice to its denial. But Tebeo deserved better. “I’m not certain what to believe, my lord.”
“The rift between them had grown too wide,” he said, his voice low, his dark eyes fixed on some distant torch. Evanthya had to remind herself that he had lost his oldest friend and closest ally. “There was a time when I blamed Brall for that. .” He left the thought unfinished.
“As did I, my lord. I still believe that his suspicions were unjustified. At least at first.”
“You think he drove her to it?”
She regarded him briefly, wondering if he was challenging her to make such an accusation, or if he asked the question innocently. Deciding at last that he was as desperate to understand as she, Evanthya nodded. “I think it’s possible.”
“Then you do believe that she killed him.”
“I don’t want to believe any of this,” she said. “I want to wake up and find that the siege never happened, that Brall and Fetnalla are still alive in Orvinti, bickering like children.”
Tebeo said nothing. He merely gazed at her, looking sad and old and so weary that he seemed to be in pain. The truth was that she did believe it, despite the ache in her heart, or perhaps because of it.
“Yes,” she finally said, the admission feeling like a betrayal, “I believe it.”
“Did she ever speak to you of the conspiracy?”
“Of course she did, my lord. We spoke of it quite often. How could we not? I’ve told you already. . what we did. But if you mean, did she ever try to turn me to their cause, the answer is no.”
“What would you have done if she had?”
There was a right answer to this. She was certain of it. But she had no idea what it might have been. “I don’t know, my lord. I. . I love her very much.” She was crying again, tears pouring from her eyes. “I want to tell you that I would have come to you and told you immediately of her betrayal.” She nearly choked on the word. “But I just don’t know.”
Tebeo actually smiled. He stepped forward and gathered Evanthya in his arms so that she could sob like a babe against his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being honest with me.”
After what seemed a long time, Tebeo released her. Evanthya stepped back, wiping tears from her face, embarrassed that she should carry on so in front of her duke. She meant to apologize, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, First Minister, but do you have any idea where Fetnalla might have gone?”
Strange that it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder. “No, my lord, none.”
“She must know that we’ll be looking for her, and she must know that if we find her, we’ll have no choice but to execute her.”
The answer came with such force that she knew it had to be true. “She’ll go north, my lord.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ve believed for some time now that there was more to this siege and the war with Eibithar than just imperial ambition. And you’ve believed as well that there was a larger conflict looming, between Eandi and Qirsi. What if the leaders of the conspiracy are waiting for the armies in the north to destroy one another before beginning their own attack?”
“You think she’s riding to war?”
“Qirsi warriors and Eandi warriors are quite different, my lord. Fetnalla is a shaper, as well as a healer. Her powers would serve a Qirsi army quite well. So would mine, actually, though you may not believe it. One Qirsi can do quite a bit with mists and winds. Ten working together could overwhelm an entire Eandi army.” Another realization, the seed of it planted so long ago by Fetnalla’s dream. And abruptly it all made sense. Horrible, terrifying sense. “And,” she said, a tremor in her voice, “with a Weaver binding their powers into a single weapon, an army of Qirsi could defeat all the warriors of the Forelands.”
His eyes grew wide. “You believe they’re led by a Weaver?”
“Fetnalla spoke of one.” She blushed. “In her sleep actually, in the throes of a terrible dream. But how else could these Qirsi hope to prevail? In a battle of swords and arrows, they wouldn’t have a chance. But with a Weaver leading them, forging together their powers, they would be an imposing force.”
“A Weaver,” the duke said again, breathless and awed. “I didn’t even think such people still walked the Forelands.”
“I fear they do, my lord. Or at least one does. I believe Fetnalla has gone to him. If she truly did murder her duke, she’d think nothing of waging war beside a Weaver.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The end of Numar’s siege did little to lift the black cloud that hung like a curse over Castle Dantrielle. True, the armies of Solkara and Rassor had been defeated, their leaders imprisoned, the soldiers disarmed and banished from the city. But Dantrielle’s victory seemed hollow indeed. There were dead and wounded everywhere, many of them in the uniforms of Dantrielle’s foes and allies, but most of them wearing the red and black of Tebeo’s house. The castle itself had sustained so much damage to its walls, ramparts, and gates that it would be at least a year before all the repairs would be completed. And as if all of this were not enough to temper any celebration that might have greeted Numar’s surrender, Brall’s death lay heavy on the hearts of Tebeo, his allies, and, by all appearances, even his people, who remembered Orvinti’s duke as a reliable friend and formidable leader.
In the days following the breaking of the siege, Evanthya tried as best she could to keep her mind on all that had to be done. Tebeo expected her to see to most of the more mundane tasks facing them-finding room to house the wounded, building great pyres for the dead, beginning work on the castle. With the armies of Kelt, Noltierre, Orvinti, and Tounstrel camped just beyond his walls, and with Numar, the duke of Rassor, and their closest advisors imprisoned in the castle towers, the duke had little time for such matters.
Yet, even with all this to occupy her days and nights, the first minister could think only of Fetnalla and what she was accused of having done. At first she had tried to convince herself that Brall’s master of arms and his soldiers were wrong about her love, that she herself had been too quick to accept that Fetnalla had betrayed and killed her duke. Fetnalla was no traitor certainly she was no murderer. Like so many Eandi warriors, Traefan Sograna had little use for Evanthya’s people. Given the opportunity to make such accusations against Fetnalla, he would surely have taken it. The conspiracy had made all the Eandi fearful and suspicious. Brall had openly questioned Fetnalla’s loyalty for several turns now. How could his own mistrust not sow similar doubts in the minds of those men who served him? The duke’s death could have been caused by any number of things. Traefan merely chose to blame Fetnalla.