The duke hadn’t explained this to the first minister. Indeed, he had told her almost nothing about why he wished to speak with the king, except to say that it pertained to Chago’s death. After his conversation with the duke of Dantrielle, Brail was afraid to tell her more, lest he make himself a target of the Qirsi as well as of the king.

For the first half of their journey, Fetnalla asked him repeatedly why he wished to speak with Carden at all, and what he hoped to accomplish by riding to Solkara rather than sending messengers. Each time she raised these matters, the duke tried to change the subject, or offered only vague responses, or just refused to answer her at all. Finally, after nearly two days of this, the minister gave up, lapsing into a brooding silence that troubled him nearly as much as her relentless questioning.

Seeing Castle Solkara, however, seemed to embolden her again.

“It’s not too late for us to dispatch one of the guards as a messenger, my lord,” she said. “It would probably only delay us a short while.”

He nodded, not even bothering to look back at her. “Perhaps. But I’m not willing to delay at all. We’ll ride to the city gates. That will give the king ample time to prepare for our arrival.”

The minister kicked at the flanks of her mount so that she caught up with him. She had bundled herself in her riding cloak, though she still looked cold and weary. She was tall for a Qirsi and uncommonly graceful. But on a mount, she appeared uncomfortable, even awkward. No doubt she had little desire to make this journey, but at no time had she complained of her discomfort. It was not in her nature to do so. She deserved more from him than he had given. Yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the suspicions planted in his mind by his late-night talk with Tebeo.

“My lord, please!” she said with a fervor he had rarely seen in her. “If I’ve done something to give offense, tell me and be done with it! But don’t punish me by endangering your own life!”

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked.

“It seems so to me.”

“I’m not angry with you, First Minister, and I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then why suddenly won’t you answer my questions? Why do you ignore my counsel?”

Because I don’t trust you. “I’m not ignoring your counsel. I’m just not heeding it. There’s a difference.”

“There’s more to it than that. You refuse to speak with me. You’ve told me almost nothing about why you wish to speak with the king.”

“Must I explain myself to my ministers now? Is that the duty of an Aneiran duke?”

“Of course not, my lord. But my duty is to advise you, and I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

It was a fair point, though Brail was not willing to admit it just then. “What would you have me say?” he asked instead.

“You could begin by telling me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re going to see the king, of course. There are matters I wish to discuss with him.”

“What matters, my lord? What is so important that we have to brave this cold and the dangers of the wood?”

“That’s between the king and me.”

Fetnalla sighed heavily and shook her head. “Very well, my lord. Do as you will. I won’t trouble you with questions any more. But I will say this: your dissembling does an injustice to both of us, as well as to House Orvinti. By treating me this way, you not only dishonor our friendship, you also serve your people poorly.”

“You forget yourself, First Minister!” he said so sharply that the soldiers riding ahead of the company turned to look back at him. “I will not be spoken to that way, especially not by a Qirsi!”

The minister’s face reddened as if he had slapped her. She turned away, looking straight ahead. After a few moments, she dropped back into place behind him.

Brail let out a long breath and cursed his temper. If she hadn’t betrayed him yet, she would soon. He had given her every reason to. He almost called her back to his side so that he could tell her everything. But his fears wouldn’t allow it.

Instead they rode, covering the remaining distance to Castle Solkara without speaking another word. Reaching the city walls, they turned eastward until they came to the nearest of the gates. There they were stopped by the king’s guards in their red-and-gold uniforms, the panther crest on their baldrics.

“My Lord Duke,” one of the men said, bowing to Brail, his sword drawn and raised to his forehead. A gold star on his shoulder marked him as an officer in Carden’s army, perhaps a captain. “We weren’t told to expect you.”

“The king didn’t know I was coming.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to send one of your men ahead so the king could prepare for your arrival?”

Brail felt his ire rising again. It was one thing to be questioned by Fetnalla, who had served him so well for so many years. But a duke did not explain himself to a soldier, not even to a captain in the king’s guard.

“I’m here now,” Brail said, anger seeping into his voice. “Do you care to inform the king, or shall I ride on to the castle unannounced and let him see for himself how careless his soldiers have become?”

The man paled. “Of course, my lord.” He turned smartly and barked an order to the men standing nearby. Two of them started running toward the castle, while the rest took positions on either side of the city road, drew their swords, and raised them to their brows.

“I’ll accompany you to the castle myself, Lord Orvinti,” the captain said. “Please follow me.”

He led the duke and his company past the soldiers, who stood motionless in salute, and through the marketplace of Solkara. Seeing Orvinti’s colors, which Brail’s guards still held high, the people of the king’s city paused in their business to stare. Some of them even clapped. Children pointed at the flags and at the swords carried by the duke’s men. They pointed as well at Fetnalla, staring wide-eyed at the Qirsi minister and whispering to each other.

“They must think you’re the duke,” Brail said, glancing back at her, hoping to draw a smile.

But she merely shook her head, her expression unchanged. “No, my lord. They just know that I’m a sorcerer.”

He stared at her a moment longer, then faced forward again, not knowing what to say.

They reached the south gate of the castle a few moments later. Four of Carden’s soldiers stood before the gate, two of them bearing Aneiran flags, and the other two bearing the banners of Solkara and Orvinti. As they stood there, a group of musicians emerged from the castle and began to play “Amnalla’s March,” which had been written to celebrate the investiture of Queen Amnalla, the first Aneiran ruler to come from House Orvinti. It was not Brail’s favorite Orvinti anthem, but for six centuries it had been the choice of Solkaran kings to honor dukes of Orvinti to the castle, no doubt because Amnalla’s Rebellion ended the First Bistari Supremacy.

When the musicians finished, a second group of guards, also bearing banners of Aneira, Solkara, and Orvinti, stepped through the gate, followed by Queen Chofya, the king’s archminister, and Solkara’s prelate.

Brail swung himself off his mount and took a step forward. He turned briefly, intending to tell Fetnalla to do the same, but she was already there, just a step behind him, as was fitting. She deserves better, he thought.

An instant later he dropped to one knee, as did the minister, and bowed his head to the queen.

“Rise, Brail,” Chofya said, smiling at him. “Welcome to Solkara.”

She was still beautiful, with a full sensuous mouth, olive skin, and eyes so dark they appeared black. But Brail thought she looked weary, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, her long black hair held back from her brow by a circlet of gold. She wore a single red gem at her throat that sparkled in the sun like morning dew on a rose petal.