Fetnalla began to wander through the trees in the direction of the horses and the carts that held their provisions, trying to make it appear that she wasn’t moving with too much purpose. Still, by the time she drew near the carts, she was trembling again and she cursed her lack of nerve. There were other sentries here, and one of them approached her. Ignoring the pounding of her heart, the minister continued to where her mount was tied, but favored the man with a smile.
“Is everything all right, First Minister?” the sentry asked, eyeing her warily. The duke remained openly distrustful of her; why should his soldiers have treated her differently?
“Yes, fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d check on Zetya.”
She kissed the beast’s nose and Zetya nickered in response.
The soldier frowned, as if uncertain of whether to believe her. “We have orders from the duke to keep everyone away from the carts during the night.”
“Yes, I know. But surely I’m not doing any harm right here.”
His frown deepened. “No, I suppose not. But-”
“I’ll just be with her for a few moments more, and you have my word that I won’t go near the stores.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
Even after the sentry left her, Fetnalla continued to stroke the horse’s nose and whisper to her. At the same time though, she reached out with her shaping magic toward the nearest of the carts. The distance wasn’t great, but all Qirsi magic worked better when the object on which it was used was close at hand. Shaping magic in particular demanded a certain precision, especially when the point was not to shatter, as one might a blade or arrow, but simply to weaken, as Fetnalla was attempting to do now to the cart’s rear wheel. The front wheel actually was closer, but she feared that would be too obvious. A stronger Qirsi than she might have had no trouble with such a task, but by the time she had finished thinning the wood of the rim, her face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
She gave Zetya one last kiss, then started back toward her sleeping roll. Glancing toward the soldier, she saw that he was watching her. She raised a hand by way of thanking him and bidding him goodnight, and he did the same.
Reaching her sleeping roll, she lay back down and tried to sleep. But her thoughts kept returning to Evanthya and the siege. Would this delay be the one that sealed her love’s fate, or had she done that already with the lies she told in Orvinti? If this newest ploy wasn’t enough to keep Brall from breaking the siege, would the Weaver blame her? Would she be the one who died before she and Evanthya could be together again? The rest of the night dragged by, sleepless and unnerving. When dawn broke, the minister was one of the first to rise. A young soldier came by offering her a breakfast of stale bread, cheese, and dried fruit. Fetnalla’s stomach felt hard and sour, but she took the meal, fearing that if she didn’t it would attract notice.
Soon the entire Orvinti army was on the move once more. Fetnalla rode near the front of the column, not with her duke-Brall wouldn’t have allowed that-but close enough so that she could join him as soon as he summoned her. The carts trailed the army, so far back in the column that Fetnalla couldn’t hear the rumbling of their wheels. She could do nothing but wait for the shouts and curses she knew would come. She actually hoped that the wheel wouldn’t fail until later in the day; the longer it took the less likely suspicions would fall on her. Unfortunately, it seemed that she had weakened the wood too much. Barely an hour after they broke camp, she heard voices raised in anger from the back of the column. A few moments later, a soldier rode by bearing the bad tidings to Brall.
“Demons and fire!” The duke reined his mount to a halt, then turned the animal and started back toward the rear of the army. Passing Fetnalla, he slowed. “You’d best come with me, First Minister. Perhaps your magic can be of some use.”
“Of course, my lord.”
She fell in behind him and they rode in silence to where the cart sat in the forest lane, tilting toward its rear right wheel, the rim of which had snapped clear through.
Brall swung himself off his mount and rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn.” He glared at the driver. “How did this happen? Did you hit something?”
“No, my lord! The road was clear. The wheel just gave out.”
“These are new carts, made just for this march.” Brall knelt by the wheel, examining the wood. “I don’t see any knots.” He hammered his fist against the side of the cart. “I’ll have the wheelwright’s head when we get back to Orvinti.” He stood again, looking at Fetnalla. “Can you fix it?”
“My lord?”
“You have shaping magic, don’t you? You can fix wood.”
“I can mend some wood, my lord. But I’m not as skilled as some. Shapers are better at. .” She faltered, feeling her cheeks color. “Our power is more suited to breaking things than putting them together. I can shatter a blade if it’s raised against me, but I’m not sure that I could make it whole again.” She gestured at the wheel. “The same is true of wood.”
“But you can try.”
She nodded, dismounting. “Of course, my lord.” She knelt beside the cart much as the duke had a moment before. “It will take me some time, and I can’t be certain that the wheel will hold. You should have someone work at making a new one while I do this, just in case.”
The duke looked away, muttering curses. “We don’t have time for this.” He appeared to weigh the matter for several moments. Then he stepped to his mount, gesturing for Fetnalla to follow. “Come along, First Minister,” he said, climbing into his saddle again.
“But the wheel, my lord.”
“You told me yourself you probably can’t fix it. We’ll leave the cart with a laborer and a party of soldiers. The rest of us will continue on to Dantrielle. We’ve already lost too much time.”
She wanted to argue more. Certainly the Weaver would have expected her to, and would have punished her severely for remaining silent. But no words came to her. She watched the duke ride back to the front of the column. Then, helpless to do more, she swung herself onto Zetya’s back and followed.
What was she to do now? She couldn’t break another wagon wheel without making her duke suspicious, and she could think of nothing else that she might do to make Brall stop again that wouldn’t reveal her as a traitor to Orvinti.
Whether or not you’re revealed as a member of this movement is of little consequence to me. The Weaver’s words still echoed in her mind, his indifference as blunt as his tone. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do anything too blatant. Her summary execution on this forest road wouldn’t help the Weaver’s cause any more than had the broken wheel. There had to be a way to serve the Qirsi movement in this matter while still preserving her secret.
She had caught up with her duke, and she fell in behind him now, brooding on the question. So it was that she didn’t notice the horse riding past her until its rider addressed the duke. Only then, her attention caught by something in the man’s voice, did she look up. It was the sentry from the night before, the man who had spoken to her when she visited with Zetya. When she used her magic on the cart wheel. The sentry was sitting behind the master of arms on Traefan’s mount and he spoke in low tones to the duke while the master of arms stared straight ahead.
Brall glanced back at Fetnalla briefly before kicking at his mount and riding on ahead, followed closely by the sentry and master of arms. By the time they slowed again, they were too far away for her to make out any of their conversation. Not that it mattered. She knew precisely what the man would tell Brall, just as she knew that the duke would immediately think the worst of her. That it was true in this instance did little to soften the blow.
This is why I betrayed you, Brall. When you looked at me, you always saw a traitor, even though I served you loyally for years. I only gave you what you deserved.