The sentry and the duke didn’t speak for long. After but a few moments the master of arms turned his horse and steered it back toward the rear of the column. Traefan didn’t so much as glance in her direction, but the sentry cast a furtive look her way as they rode past, his color high.
“First Minister,” Brall called, sounding so very cold. “Would you join me please?”
She spurred her mount forward until she had pulled abreast of him, her hands and body shaking yet again. What was she that these men should fill her with such dread? How had she become so weak that her life should rest in the hands of this noble and the Weaver? She looked at Brall for but a moment, but that was enough. His broad face was stony and pale, his blue eyes as hard as crystal.
“Would you care to tell me what you were doing by the carts last night?”
She nearly confessed all. Better to be done with all of this than to live constantly with such fear. But cowardice stopped her. Or was it pride?
“The carts, my lord?”
“Don’t play games with me, First Minister! That man who just rode past you tells me that you were wandering about the camp last night, and that you were within just a few fourspans of that cart we left behind.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the road before her. “It’s true that I was awake in the middle of the night-several of the sentries saw me.” She glanced at him. “I was making no effort to conceal my movements. I came to see Zetya, I stayed with her a short while, then I returned to where I’d been sleeping and lay down again. I suppose I was near the carts, though it never occurred to me to distinguish one of them from another.”
“You want me to believe that you did nothing more than greet your horse?”
“What else do you think I did, my lord?” she asked in return, allowing anger to seep into her voice.
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re a shaper, and the more I think on it, the more I find myself questioning why the wheel on that cart would simply break, without any warning at all.”
“You believe I weakened it somehow.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, my lord. I weakened your sword as well, so that the first time you raise it in battle, it will break in two.”
“Don’t you dare mock me, Fetnalla! You know as well as I that you’re perfectly capable of doing such a thing!”
“Do you refer to my magic, my lord, or to my fidelity?”
He faltered.
“You’ve thought me a traitor for nearly half a year now, since the duke of Bistari’s death. You’ve searched for any proof you could find to justify your suspicions. And now you’ve found what you sought. You don’t care why I was awake last night, or what I did. You’ve decided that I betrayed you, and there’s nothing I can say to convince you otherwise.”
For a long time Brall said nothing. The men at the rear of the company were singing, but otherwise the Orvinti army was as silent as a thousand men could be. “You’re right,” the duke finally admitted. “It’s probably not fair of me, but I do doubt your loyalty. I’ve come to question the motives of all Qirsi, be they my ministers or my healers. No one has felt the brunt of that mistrust more than you have, First Minister, and for that I apologize. But I can’t have you serving me anymore.”
She had expected denials, more accusations, or, perhaps, an apology, an admission that he had erred. But Fetnalla never expected this. She merely stared at him, not knowing what to say. She felt tears on her face, but she was too stunned to wipe them away. Strange that this man she had come to hate could still hurt her with such ease.
Giving her a quick look, seeing that she was crying, the duke winced. “You must have known it would come to this, Fetnalla. Certainly I did. For some time now I haven’t given your counsel the attention it deserved, and I can’t remember the last time we had a civil conversation.”
“That’s hardly my fault, my lord.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is. It’s the conspiracy and all that they’ve wrought in these last few turns. Perhaps when we’ve defeated the renegades, Eandi and Qirsi will be able to trust each other again. But until then. .” He shook his head.
“Other dukes still trust their ministers. Tebeo still turns to Evanthya for counsel.” Why did she continue to argue the point? He was setting her free. Couldn’t she serve the Weaver better if she was no longer tied to this fool of a noble?
“Yes, he does, though I’ve warned him against her.”
“He always was wiser than you.”
Brall’s face reddened and for a moment the minister wondered if he would use this affront as an excuse to punish her, perhaps even execute her. After a few seconds, however, he gave a small, mirthless laugh. “I suppose I deserved that.” He eyed her briefly, as if considering something. Then he faced forward again. When next he spoke it was in the officious tone Fetnalla had come to hate over the last several turns. “You may ride with us as far as Dantrielle, First Minister. I know that you’ll be anxious to see Evanthya, and we can offer you safe passage into the castle there, provided we succeed in breaking the siege. You’re not to ride with me anymore, nor will you be allowed near the carts or provisions. In all other ways, however, you’ll remain free to do as you wish. If you decide to leave the army now, I’ll understand of course, but I leave that choice to you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You’ve earned such consideration,” he said, offering no indication that he had noticed the irony in her voice.
They continued to ride together, neither of them speaking, until Fetnalla realized that the duke was awaiting her reply.
“I’ll need some time to make my decision,” she told him at last.
“Of course. Take until the end of the day if you need to.” He slowed his mount, as did Fetnalla. In a few moments a pair of the duke’s soldiers had caught up with them. “Accompany the first minister for the remainder of the day,” he ordered, looking first at one man and then at the other. “Make certain that she’s comfortable. At some point she may wish to speak with me again. Let me know as soon as she does.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Brall nodded before facing Fetnalla again. “I am sorry, First Minister. Believe what you will about me, but I never wanted matters to come to this.”
He kicked at his mount, riding ahead once more, and leaving her with the two soldiers. I’m to be a prisoner then. Free to do as I wish, he said. But guarded, watched like a thief. She tried to summon outrage, to replace this ache in her chest with something, anything that might be useful, not only to herself, but also to the Weaver. Yet, it was all she could do to make herself stop crying and ride on in Brall’s wake.
She kept a good distance behind the duke for what remained of the day, pausing to rest and eat when he did, and saying nothing to the two men riding with her. They hardly spoke as well, even to one another. Occasionally she could feel one or the other staring at her, but she did her best to ignore them. She had a decision to make. Not the one with which the duke had presented her, but rather one of far greater consequence. The Weaver had been right, though she doubted that even he could have foreseen what would happen this day. It no longer mattered what Brall thought of her. All that mattered now was her service to the movement. And the Weaver had made it clear that if she wished to live long enough to see his plans bear fruit, she would have to keep Brall and his army from reaching Dantrielle too soon.
The question was how to do this. A number of ideas presented themselves to her, but none of them seemed likely to slow the Orvinti army for more than a few hours. Or at least almost none of them.
Surely it needn’t come to that, she told herself. Yet the more she pondered the matter, the more convinced she grew. Certainly, she knew what the Weaver would tell her to do, and even as she quailed at the mere thought of it, she recognized the logic.
It’s the only way, another voice said within her. The Weaver’s voice.