Better he should have called her a whore and railed at her for her treachery. Those would have been the words of a coward, of a traitor, easily endured and soon forgotten.
I loved you so.
She hated what he had become, what his weakness had made her do. But she wondered how she would ever bring herself to forget what he had said with his dying breath.
Chapter Seven
Solkara, Aneira
Even in the dream, standing before the shadowed form of the Weaver, Pronjed jal Drenthe could feel his hand throbbing, as if the mended bone could remember the pain of the Weaver’s wrath. The wind whipping across the grassy plain seemed particularly cold this night, the black sky more menacing than in previous dreams. He knew he should have been listening to the Weaver’s instructions, but the pulsing agony in his hand tugged at his mind, demanding his attention. He wondered if the Weaver was responsible for the pain, if he had made Pronjed’s hand hurt as a reminder of the minister’s past failure, a warning of what might happen if he stumbled again.
Or perhaps it was a product of his own fears. The Weaver expected him to start a civil war in Aneira. He believed that Numar of Renbrere, regent for Kalyi the child-queen, trusted Pronjed and would listen to the archminister when he counseled taking a hard stance against those houses that would oppose the realm’s alliance with Braedon. The truth was, Numar had never trusted him, nor did Henthas, the duke of Solkara. Over the past turn his encounters with the regent had grown ever more awkward, until Pronjed looked for nearly any excuse to avoid them, despite the Weaver’s expectations.
Just two days before, on the first morning of the waning, the archminister had tried to use mind-bending magic on Numar, hoping to learn what the regent intended to do about the dukes of Dantrielle, Orvinti, and Tounstrel, who continued to voice opposition to the coming war. In the past, the regent had submitted to his power with almost no resistance. On this day, however, Pronjed had been unable to learn anything at all. He couldn’t be certain, but it seemed Numar knew he possessed mind-bending magic and was consciously resisting him. He wanted to believe this wasn’t true-delusion magic, the power to control the thoughts and memories of others, was far more effective when used on the unsuspecting, which was why he had made every effort to conceal the fact that he wielded it. He couldn’t imagine how the regent might have learned the truth. It was possible that the regent’s mistrust of Pronjed ran so deep as to shield him from the archminister’s power. But it seemed more likely that Pronjed had given himself away, that in using mind-bending power on Numar he had failed to suppress the regent’s memories of the encounters.
Whatever the explanation, Pronjed now found himself without access to Numar’s thoughts and unable to overcome the man’s suspicions. The regent might well lead Aneira into a civil war on his own, but Pronjed could do nothing to steer him in that direction.
Nor could he admit as much to the Weaver standing before him, the man who had conjured this frigid wind and black sky, who had once shattered his hand with but a thought. No doubt the Weaver would leap at an opportunity to hurt him again. Pronjed was not about to give him any excuse to do so.
“The regent has received word from Braedon?” the Weaver asked.
This much, at least, Pronjed did know. “Yes, Weaver. The emperor’s message arrived three days ago. Already Numar has stepped up his preparations for war.”
“Good. He knows of the opposition to this war in Dantrielle and Orvinti?”
“Yes, Weaver. He’s known of it for some time.”
“You’ve counseled him to deal harshly with the rebels?”
“Of course.”
“And will he?”
Pronjed swallowed. It was folly to lie to the Weaver, and yet in this case the truth struck him as being every bit as dangerous.
“You hesitate,” the Weaver said, his voice as hard as the boulders surrounding them on the plain. “Why?”
“It’s been a few days since I spoke with the regent, Weaver.” He gave a small, desperate laugh. “Like all Eandi, his thoughts on such matters change from one day to the next. It’s difficult to say with any confidence what he intends to do.”
“All the more reason to act the attentive minister, Pronjed. This is no time to allow our efforts to be hindered by ignorance and indifference.”
“He remains committed to the alliance with Braedon, Weaver,” Pronjed said, eager to show that he had accomplished some of what the man expected.
“The alliance is not enough. The war is not enough. Eibithar’s quick defeat at the hands of the empire and Aneira would be worse for our cause than no war at all. You understand that, don’t you?”
Pronjed started to answer, but the Weaver gave him no chance.
“I want a protracted war, Archminister. I want the Aneiran army divided and weakened. That’s why the opposition to this war in Dantrielle and Orvinti is so important. And that’s why the regent must be convinced to crush the rebellious dukes. Or at least to try. I had thought you understood all of this. Please tell me that I wasn’t mistaken.”
“Of course not, Weaver,” Pronjed said, flinching, as if expecting at any moment to feel his bones shatter or his skin set afire. “I understand what you want.”
The Weaver said nothing for several moments, until Pronjed began to wonder if the man was weighing whether or not to kill him.
“What of the girl?” the Weaver finally asked.
“The girl?”
“The queen, you dolt! Does Numar still intend to kill her, or will he leave that to his brother?”
“I. . I believe he-the regent, that is-thinks her more valuable alive than dead. He thinks the dukes who remain loyal will be less likely to turn against him while he remains regent. If she dies, they’ll suspect him, and even if they don’t, they’ll begin to see him as just another Solkaran despot. As long as he wages war in the name of the queen, the dukes will follow him. Or so he believes.”
“You disagree with him?”
Pronjed shrugged, feeling more confident on this terrain. “He speaks for the queen now-at least he claims to-and still Tebeo and his allies defy him.”
“And Henthas?”
The minister felt his uncertainty returning. Of all those in Castle Solkara whom he sought to turn to his will-Numar, Chofya, even Kalyi-Henthas, the brother of both the regent and the late King Carden the Third, had proven the most difficult to control. He was loyal to no one, nor did he seem to feel affection for any member of the royal family. Even ambition could not explain some of his actions. Once, briefly, the arch-minister had thought to make an ally of the duke. He soon came to realize that he could reach no accommodation with such a man. It seemed to Pronjed that Henthas was guided only by malice and a perverse desire to inflict pain wherever he could. No wonder he was known throughout the land as the Jackal. The duke would gladly have killed the girl had he thought that he could blame the crime on his brother, Numar, though to do so surely would have brought about the downfall of the Solkaran Supremacy.
Again, the minister considered a lie, though only for an instant. He couldn’t be expected to know everything. Or could he?
“To be honest, Weaver, I can’t say for certain what the duke’s intentions might be. He is a strange, twisted man, even for an Eandi noble. I don’t doubt that he could prove valuable before all is said and done, but right now, I wouldn’t know how to use him.”
“Then I’d suggest you study him further. You possess delusion magic. Use it on him.”
Of course a Weaver would know.
“I’ve been reluctant to do so, Weaver. I use the magic on Numar. And since the brothers speak with some frequency, despite their mutual mistrust, I thought it safest not to use my power on both of them.”
“I understand. But now I’m telling you that the time for caution has passed. Do I make myself clear?”