“You’re probably right. But tell me this: given what we know of his death, is there any way that Qirsi magic might have killed him?”

After all that had passed between them since their departure from Orvinti, Fetnalla could not help but hear an accusation in the question. Immediately, she shook her head. “No, my lord. None at all.”

The duke frowned. “I see.”

But already, the minister’s mind had moved beyond this first response, the direction of her thoughts turning her stomach to stone. For there was a way. It was one of the rarer magics, possessed by Weavers and only a few of the most powerful Qirsi. Those who did wield it almost never admitted as much, not only because it often made them objects of fear, but also because if a would-be victim knew of it, he or she would be less likely to fall prey to its powers. Still, the duke had asked only if there was any way magic had killed Carden, and indeed there was.

“Actually, my lord,” she said quietly, “I spoke too quickly.” She looked away, so as not to see how his eyes narrowed. “There is one magic that we call ‘mind-bending.’ A Qirsi possessing such power might have been able to do this.”

“Mind-bending,” he repeated, his voice thick.

“It allows the person who wields it to control the mind of another, though only for a moment or two.” Fetnalla swallowed, knowing how he would respond to what she had to say next. “We also call it delusion magic because it allows one Qirsi to lie to another without fear of discovery. But long ago my people learned that with your people, this magic could do more. It could actually twist the Eandi mind, so that those upon whom it was used could be controlled, instructed to do the Qirsi’s bidding.”

The duke had paled and he appeared to be holding himself still, as if fearing what she might say next. “So a Qirsi couldn’t have done this to another Qirsi. Only to one of us.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Do you have this power?” It wasn’t an accusation; she could tell. He was simply afraid of her, of what she was, and of what else she might be. In a way, it was worse.

“No, I don’t. And it’s hard to know who does,” she added, anticipating his next question. “If one Qirsi knows that another has delusion magic, she can guard herself against it. The Qirsi usually tell as few people as possible what powers we possess, but this one in particularly must be kept secret to be effective.”

“I see,” he said dully. “So you could be lying to me.”

This was too much. “I’m not!”

“But you could be! Don’t you see, Fetnalla? I have no way of knowing for certain, particularly now that I know of this mind-bending power. Even if you were using this magic on me, I wouldn’t know, would I?”

She conceded the point with a single shake of her head. “But your king would have,” she said. “A lie we can hide. But if someone took control of his mind long enough to make him pick up the dagger and thrust it into his own chest, he would have known. He just would have been powerless to help himself. It also would have had to be someone he knew, someone he would allow to get close. This power won’t work from a distance.”

“Pronjed,” the duke whispered. “It had to be Pronjed.”

“We don’t know that, my lord. The king had other ministers. Besides, this is all conjecture. We know nothing for certain, and it would be dangerous to accuse the archminister before we do.”

The duke stared at her, until she feared that he would accuse her of some new crime. Instead, he said the one thing she couldn’t deny. “You’re afraid of him.”

“Deeply, my lord. As we all should be if he truly did this.”

It was well past midday before someone finally removed the king’s body from the great hall. Pronjed ordered soldiers to do it early in the morning, but the queen, at the urging of the damned prelate, insisted on having priests and priestesses of Ean bear him from the hall to the castle cloister. Of course, they had their morning devotions to see to first, and then they had to pray over the body for a time. All of which made it impossible for the servants to begin cleaning the table of the king’s blood until just a short time before the ringing of the prior’s bell.

Under most circumstances, the archminister wouldn’t have cared one way or another. But the longer the king remained there, hunched over the bloody table, the more likely it was that others-in particular the duke of Orvinti and his first minister-would think about how the king had died, rather than merely accepting that he was dead. So, claiming to be concerned for the queen, Pronjed kept the hall locked, opening the doors only for the men and women of the cloister, and the servants who were to clean the mess.

As it happened, the queen appeared to be just fine. She had yet to shed a tear in front of him, and she had already begun preparations for the funeral, dispatching messengers to all the dukedoms with word of Carden’s death. She was a model of strength and courage, more worthy of the circlet she wore on her brow than her husband had been of his crown. All of which made Pronjed’s next task that much easier.

Killing the king had been his idea. The Weaver, he felt certain, would have approved had there been an opportunity to discuss it with him first. But it only occurred to him at the evening’s meal, when Orvinti handed him the blade. He had heard of the garroting of the surgeon-everyone in the castle was speaking of it-and he could guess the reason. He was no fool. The king’s daughter would turn ten during the snows and there had been no child since. Not even a stillbirth. It should have been obvious to everyone, especially the king. The greater surprise was that they had a daughter at all. It was enough to make one wonder if Chofya had strayed all those years ago. But the others in the castle were either too circumspect to speak of it, or too dull-witted to see it. Whatever the reason, their silence and the king’s made the previous night’s murder possible. In the light of morning, the garroting of the surgeon looked less like the pique of an over-proud king and more like the desperate rage of a dying man.

More important, the king’s death assured Pronjed of great power and influence when the Qirsi finally put an end to Eandi rule of the Forelands.

The Weaver hoped to divide the land by killing the duke of Bistari and setting the king’s foes against House Solkara and its allies. Brail’s unexpected appearance at the city gates gave the minister cause to think that this plan might have worked, given some time. But that was the problem. Such unrest would build slowly. It could have taken a year or more to undermine Carden’s power enough to put his house at risk. Killing the king accelerated the process. House Solkara stood now with neither a leader nor an heir. Bistari’s duke was dead as well, leaving the field open for others to grasp at the crown. Mertesse, Dantrielle, Orvinti, even Rassor and Noltierre; any one of them might be bold enough to think that he could rule Aneira. If all went well, the land would be at war with itself before the plantings. Surely the Weaver would be pleased.

Only one piece of his plan remained.

Glancing into the hall once more, he saw that the servants had almost rid the table of Carden’s blood. Pronjed nodded his satisfaction and made his way through the castle corridors to Carden’s quarters, where he knew he would find the queen.

He very nearly let himself into the room without bothering to knock. With Carden dead, the minister almost felt that Castle Solkara belonged to him.

Smiling at the misstep, he knocked once on the door, waiting until the queen called for him to enter before pushing the door open.

She sat at the king’s desk, reading through the messages and scrolls piled upon it. Throughout his reign, her husband showed little patience for matters of state, preferring the pageantry and’s wordplay that came with the crown. The fees that aroused such resentment in Bistan had been levied at Pronjed’s suggestion. The archminister couldn’t help but think that he had done the people of Aneira a great service the previous night. No matter who ascended to the throne next, it had to be an improvement over Carden. Of course, the next reign promised to be quite brief. Once the Weaver rose to power, he would assign Qirsi to all the thrones in the Forelands.