“Yes, I will.”

They fell silent, Marston sipping his wine again and the duke taking another honey cake, his eyes flicking toward the thane.

“I imagine you’d like to know why I asked you here,” Aindreas said at last.

“I have some idea, my lord. Shanstead may be just a thaneship, but word of the major houses does reach us. You seek allies in your dispute with Curgh and you hope to convince Thorald to support you. My father has refused thus far, so you thought to learn where I stand, knowing that eventually the dukedom will be mine.”

Aindreas couldn’t help but grin. “You’ll make a fine duke someday, Lord Shanstead.” He drank some wine and placed his goblet on the table. “Yes, that’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

“I’ll be happy to listen to whatever you have to say, my lord. But you must realize that as long as my father leads the House of Thorald, I can offer no promises one way or another.”

“I understand,” the duke said. “But surely you’re free to express your opinions.”

“That would depend. If you ask me to comment on any choice my father has made as duke of Thorald, I would say nothing save to agree with him. My duty to him, as both thane and son, requires no less.”

Aindreas eyed the man for several moments, wondering if he had erred in inviting him to Kentigern. He had expected to find more ambition in the thane. Marston’s father had become regent to Filib the Younger after the hunting mishap that claimed the life of the last duke of Thorald. But even after Filib’s untimely death at the hands of road thieves, Tobbar could never be more than a duke, nor could his sons. The Rules of Ascension forbade any of them from becoming king. Marston’s eldest son, however, had a claim to the jeweled crown, if only Glyndwr’s line could be removed from Audun’s Castle. Aindreas had thought to lure the thane into an alliance with the promise of placing his boy on the throne. He never intended to ask Marston to betray his father, but neither had he counted on the thane showing such strict loyalty to Tobbar’s decrees. “I wonder, Lord Shanstead,” he said, “if your father understands just what happened here during Elined’s Turn. I wonder if you do.”

He saw Marston hesitate, as if the thane knew that their conversation had taken a dangerous turn.

“I believe we do understand, my lord,” he said, his voice and gaze both steady. “My house is no stranger to tragedy and loss.”

“Has a daughter of your house ever been murdered in Thorald Castle by a visiting lord? Have other houses ever aided the escape of a prisoner from your dungeon, so that they might then offer the demon asylum?”

The thane looked down at his hands. “No, my lord.”

“Then don’t liken your losses to mine,” the duke said, feeling his throat constrict. “No house of Eibithar has ever endured such indignities as those heaped upon Kentigern by Curgh and Glyndwr.”

“None of us doubts that you and your family suffered terribly, my lord. To lose Brienne…” Marston shook his head. “I’m certain the Underrealm shines like the sky with her light. All the kingdom grieved with you, none more than my father. And then to have to fight off a siege as well. That you vanquished the army of Mertesse in spite of all that happened before bespeaks uncommon strength and honor, Lord Kentigern. That hasn’t gone unnoticed in Thorald.”

Aindreas nodded gruffly, his eyes still stinging with the memory of Brienne’s death.

“I understand that your Qirsi betrayed you to the Aneirans,” Marston said, running a finger along the rim of his goblet.

“Yes,” the duke said. “One more injury among many.”

“Do you think he was in league with this conspiracy we’re hearing so much about in Shanstead?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Certainly he was in league with Mertesse. I can only guess about the rest of it.”

“But you’re suspicious enough to have rid yourself of all your Qirsi ministers.”

Aindreas shrugged. “One of them betrayed me. And not just any one, but my most trusted advisor. How am I to trust any of them after that?”

“I understand,” Marston said. “In these times, we all should question the loyalty of our ministers. I’ve tried to impress this point upon my father, but with only limited success. I’m glad to see that you’ve taken it to heart. You even asked that my minister leave the hall before we spoke.”

The duke narrowed his eyes, wondering where this was leading. “I meant no offense to you or your minister. But as you say, at times like these, we must use caution.”

“Do you think it possible, my lord duke, that your daughter’s murder and the attack on your castle were related in some way?”

“I think Mertesse knew of Brienne’s death, if that’s what you mean. I think he even knew of my intent to wage war on the House of Curgh. That’s why he attacked when he did.”

Marston chewed his lip for a moment. “That’s not quite what I had in mind. Your first minister betrayed you to the Aneirans, perhaps as part of a larger Qirsi plot to weaken the kingdom. Isn’t it possible that he arranged your daughter’s murder as well, hoping to destroy the alliance that you were on the verge of forming with Javan?”

“You talk like a Curgh, Shanstead!” Aindreas said, glaring at the man.

“I’m merely speaking of what you already know to be true. The Qirsi-some Qirsi-may be trying to destroy the courts of Eibithar. Since one of these traitors was in this court at the time of Brienne’s death, it seems logical to wonder if he had some role in her murder.”

Aindreas shook his head, propelling himself out of his chair and starting to stalk around the perimeter of the hall. “No! It’s not possible! Tavis was with her in that room! The door was locked from the inside! His dagger-” He choked on the word, pausing at an archway and slamming his fist against the wooden door. “It’s not possible,” he said again a moment later, his voice lower.

“I would have thought the same thing about my cousin Filib’s murder nearly three years ago. We were all so certain that he was killed by thieves. His dagger and his gold had been taken. They even cut off his finger to get the gold ring that had once been the duke’s. But in recent turns we’ve been forced to ask ourselves if we might have been wrong all this time, if in fact it could have been an assassination made to look like the work of common thieves. Where magic is concerned, my Lord Duke, nothing is absolute.”

“Enough!” the duke said, whirling toward Marston. “I told you not to compare what happened in Thorald to what happened here. The two are nothing alike. Magic had nothing to do with my daughter’s murder. It was lust and arrogance and evil.”

The thane looked like he might argue the point further, but a moment later he seemed to think better of it.

“Perhaps so, my lord. Forgive me.”

“I expect you’ll be leaving Kentigern in the morning, Lord Shanstead,” Aindreas said, ice in his voice. “I’ve learned all I need to know about Thorald’s intentions.”

Marston straightened in his chair, but he didn’t stand or give any indication that he was ready to leave the hall.

“With all respect, my lord, I don’t believe you have.”

“What’s left for me to know? You and your father have obviously allied yourselves with Curgh and our new king. You would have saved us both a good deal of time and effort had you simply informed me of that when I sent the message asking you to come.”

“We’ve allied ourselves with no one, Lord Kentigern, nor do we intend to any time soon. The kingdom will be safer if we take no sides in this matter.”

“But you do take sides, with all this talk of the Qirsi and their so-called conspiracy. That’s just what Javan wants the whole kingdom to believe.”

“To be honest, my lord, my father and I don’t know what to believe. Javan is so convinced that his son is innocent that he won’t even allow the possibility that Tavis killed Lady Brienne. And you’re no better, refusing to consider any other explanation for her death. This land may yet go to war with itself, and if it does, you and Curgh will share the blame.”