Pronjed’s hands began to shake and he cursed himself for his cowardice. “Yes, Weaver.”
“The hour we’ve been awaiting draws near, Archminister. You’re fortunate, in that I couldn’t hope to replace you at this late date. That, as much as anything, is why I don’t kill you where you stand.”
“What have I done, Weaver?” he asked, his voice quavering like that of a frightened boy.
A blow to the side of his head staggered him, and a second drove him to the hard ground.
“Don’t trifle with me, you fool! Did you really think you could deceive me?”
Before he could answer, Pronjed felt a fierce pain in his gut, as if he had been kicked. He retched, gasping for air and clutching his middle, his knees drawn up to his chest. The Weaver hadn’t moved.
It was some time before he could speak, the pain in his head and stomach receding slowly, like a fog. The Weaver merely stood there, his face in shadows. The archminister sensed that he was enjoying himself.
“How bad is it?” the man finally asked.
“Weaver?”
“Your rapport with the regent. You said before that you hadn’t spoken to him in a few days. The fact is, he no longer speaks to you at all, isn’t that right?”
Pronjed struggled to his feet, expecting at any moment to be knocked to the ground again. “He still speaks to me, but he tells me little of what we most need to know.”
“What have you learned with your delusion magic?”
The archminister took a breath. He wasn’t about to lie to the Weaver again, but he feared the man’s reaction to the truth nearly as much. “Nothing recently, Weaver. By design, or by mere dumb luck, he’s found a way to resist my power.”
“You were careless.”
He could hear disgust in the Weaver’s voice, and he started to object. Then he thought better of it and lowered his gaze.
“Yes, Weaver. I must have been.”
“All the more reason to use magic on the brother. It may be that he knows more than you do by now.”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“What you told me about the girl a moment ago, that the regent believes he’s safer with her alive-was that true?”
Pronjed nodded. “I believe it is. She’s become a shield for him. As opposition from the dukes increases, he has little choice but to hide behind her, and also behind the mother, Chofya, who remains well liked among the other nobles.”
“The mother,” the Weaver repeated. “Does she support this war?”
“I don’t know for certain. Since the girl was named queen and Numar was chosen as her regent, Chofya has kept to herself. I believe she still has faith in the regent, though I can’t imagine she has much enthusiasm for the alliance with Braedon. I’m certain only of one thing: she hates Henthas, and fears what he might do to the girl.”
“She still trusts you?”
“Yes, Weaver. I think she does.”
“Then perhaps your failure with the regent will be less costly than I first thought. Speak with her. Convince her that the war, if successful, will reflect well on her daughter and will improve the chances that her reign will be a long and prosperous one. It may be that she can convince Numar of what you could not.”
Pronjed struggled to keep his anger in check, knowing that another misstep might give the Weaver cause to kill him. “Yes, Weaver,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ll see to it right away.”
“I expect no less.”
An instant later the archminister awoke with a start. His sleeping shirt and hair were damp with sweat, and his head and gut still ached. It could have been worse, he knew, remembering the shattering of the bones in his hand.
Or had the Weaver in fact done all that he dared?
The Weaver himself had made clear that his war with the Eandi courts was approaching, that its imminence might have saved Pronjed’s life. Perhaps it even kept the man from inflicting greater injuries on the archminister. Now was not the time for him to risk giving Pronjed visible injuries that would be difficult for the archminister to explain.
But what will he do to me once the war is over?
The only way to ensure his own safety was to do the Weaver’s bidding and prove himself invaluable to the movement. He rose and dressed, deciding that he would first seek out the queen mother. He knew better than to think that Chofya had much influence with the regent, but Pronjed’s rapport with the woman remained strong, and speaking with her seemed the easiest way to begin what promised to be a long, difficult day.
He found Chofya in the gardens, overseeing the first plantings of the season. The day was already growing warm and the first swifts to return to Solkara were darting overhead, black as pitch against a sapphire sky.
“Good morrow, Your Highness,” Pronjed said as he approached her.
She looked up, shading her dark eyes with a slender hand. She wore a simple brown dress and soft leather shoes, much like those of the workers around her. But with her exquisite features and long black hair, which she had tied back from her face, none would have confused her for a common laborer. She still looked every bit the queen.
“Hello, Archminister. Kalyi isn’t here. I believe she’s with one of her tutors.”
“Actually, Your Highness, I was looking for you.”
She frowned. “For me?”
“Yes. May I speak with you for a moment?”
She glanced briefly at the laborers, as if reluctant to leave them. Then she followed the archminister to a deserted corner of the garden.
“Has something happened?” she asked, as he halted by an empty flower bed and turned to face her once more.
“No, Your Highness. Not yet. But you must know that we may be on the brink of war.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, looking troubled. “There seems to be nothing I can do to prevent it.”
He gaped at her, no doubt looking like a fool. “Prevent it? Why would you want to do such a thing?”
She looked away, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter, Archminister. I’m no longer queen, and even when I was, my opinions on these matters meant nothing. I managed to have Kalyi placed on the throne. Beyond that, my responsibilities to the land have never amounted to much. And it’s probably just as well.”
Pronjed cursed himself for beginning this conversation so clumsily. He needed to enlist the queen as an ally, and already he had made her more reluctant even to discuss the matter. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. Please tell me why you object to this war.”
“I object to all wars, Archminister. I always have, though I kept my reservations to myself while Carden was alive.”
“Don’t you think it possible that a victory over Eibithar could strengthen the realm? Don’t you believe it would ensure a successful reign for your daughter?”
She shrugged. “I suppose it might.”
“And still you oppose it.”
Chofya eyed him briefly, seeming to search his face for some sign of what lurked behind his words. “You truly wish to know why I’m against it?”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“Very well. My husband viewed war as the solution to all problems. He never learned the art of statecraft or mastered the finer points of leadership. He ruled Aneira by threatening violence. And because of this, he was feared and hated throughout the land. Kalyi might not yet be queen, but her regency has begun. She’ll spend the next six years learning how to lead-all that she witnesses in this time will shape her, determining what sort of queen she’ll be. I don’t want her to rule as her father did. I don’t want her to turn to her army or her assassins every time she finds herself at odds with a duke or another realm.”
For a time, Pronjed said nothing, weighing what she had told him. Chofya, he realized, would never be his ally in this fight. At least not wittingly.
“You think me foolish,” she said at last, a thin smile on her lips.
“Not at all, Your Highness. On the contrary, I believe the queen is fortunate to have you nearby.”
“But still, you disagree with me.”