Another knock at her door made her jump.

“Who is it?” she called, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to steady her pulse.

“Your duke,” came Brail’s voice.

Fetnalla hurried to the door and opened it. “My lord. Good morrow.”

He stepped past her into the chamber, looking about, as if searching for something, or someone. His silver hair was slightly tousled, and his broad face was pale, as if he too had slept poorly.

“I heard voices in here a short time ago. I awoke to them.”

“Yes, my lord. Someone came to me with an injury. I healed the wound and the person left.”

He completed a circle of the room, stopping just in front of her. “Who was it?”

A part of her wanted to answer. She was more convinced than ever that the archminister had a hand in the king’s death, and she needed to find some way to share her insights with Brail. But she had given an oath, and she was tiring of the duke’s lingering suspicions. He spoke to her of trust, of how important it was that they rely on each other during their time in Solkara awaiting Carden’s funeral and the selection of his successor. Yet he showed no faith in her loyalty. “I can’t say, my lord,” she told him, knowing that this would anger him and further fuel his doubts. “I gave my word as a healer that I would not.”

“Was this person Qirsi?”

“I won’t tell you that, either.”

Brail frowned, shaking his head slowly. “Very well,” he said, turning away, the words coming out as a growl. “I’m on my way to the king’s hall for breakfast,” he said, leaving her chamber. “You’re welcome to join me or not as you see fit.”

Fetnalla didn’t move. She wanted to scream at him, but it was all she could do to keep herself from crying. She deserved better, she had decided some time ago. But in the end, all she could do was follow him through the corridors and down the winding stairs to the hall.

As Pronjed had foreseen, a messenger came to the hall as they ate to tell the duke that the queen wished to speak with him. It had been days since they had even seen Chofya, so consumed had she been with plans for the funeral and whatever matters Carden had left unfinished.

“I wonder what it is she wants,” Brail said quietly, after the messenger had gone.

“You’re a guest in her castle, my lord. She may feel that she’s neglected you for too long.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. The day we learned of the king’s death she indicated that she wished to enlist my help with some cause. I believe that matter, whatever it may be, is what she wants to discuss.”

Fetnalla had forgotten this, though reminded of it now, she felt certain that the duke was right.

They quickly finished eating and made their way to the king’s chamber, which Chofya now used as her own. The guards at the door admitted them immediately, nodding once to the duke as he stepped past, and ignoring Fetnalla.

The queen sat at her husband’s writing table, her hands folded before her and a smile fixed on her lips. She wore a simple black dress, a cape bearing the royal seal, and the circle of gold that rested as always upon her brow. There were lines on her face that Fetnalla did not remember from just a few days before, but otherwise she looked as she usually did: beautiful, formidable, and just a bit sad.

“Your Highness,” Brail said, kneeling.

Fetnalla kneeled as well.

“Rise, Lord Orvinti, First Minister. Be welcome. I trust you’ve been comfortable these past few days.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Quite.”

“I’m glad. I hope you’ll forgive my lack of hospitality. I’ve attended to so many things since the king’s death that I’m afraid I’ve failed you as a host.”

Brail smiled. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Your Highness. This is the finest castle in all the Forelands, thanks in large part to you and your skills as queen. Our stay here has been most satisfactory. We only wish it hadn’t been necessary.”

“You’re very kind, Brail.”

“Is Your Highness well?” the duke asked, his smile giving way to a look of concern.

“As well as one might expect.”

“And the Princess Kalyi?”

Chofya lowered her gaze. “She grieves for her father, of course. She was terribly young to lose him. But she has his strength.”

“And yours, I’m sure, Your Highness. She seems a most extraordinary child.”

The queen gave a strange smile. “I’m glad to hear you say so, Lord Orvinti. I believe she is extraordinary. Indeed, she’s the reason I’ve asked you here today.”

“Your Highness?”

“I won’t weave mists with my words, Brail. I want Kalyi to succeed her father as Solkara’s ruler. I realize that she’s still just a child, so I’ll assent to a regent. But I want my daughter on the throne.”

To his credit, the duke reacted mildly. His eyebrows went up for an instant, but otherwise, he held himself still. Fetnalla stole a glance at Pronjed, but the archminister appeared intent on the queen. She did notice, however, that he held his injured hand out of sight, behind his back.

“I needn’t tell you, Your Highness,” Brail said after a lengthy silence, “that Aneira has had no queen in over two hundred and fifty years.”

“I’m well aware of that, Lord Orvinti.”

“And are you aware, as well, of how close the kingdom came to civil war the last time a woman sat on the throne?”

It was a period of Aneiran history known as the Time of Queens, which began with the investiture in 537 of Edrice, eldest daughter of Tomaz the Sixth. She wasn’t the first queen in Aneira’s pantheon of leaders. Indeed, she wasn’t even the first queen from House Solkara. Her great-grandmother, Tanith, ruled the land only fifty years earlier. But like her father, Edrice had no male children and so passed the crown to her daughter Tanith the Second. The younger Tanith did have a son, but he died before his Fating, and when the queen died, she was succeeded by her only surviving child, Syntalle. By this time, the other Aneiran houses had begun to chafe at what they saw as a burgeoning matriarchy, not unlike that of Sanbira. Syntalle had only one daughter and three sons, but the girl was the eldest, and the queen made no secret of the fact that she was preparing her for assumption of the throne. Led by Bistari and Dantrielle, the other houses objected, and when Syntalle grew ill and frail after one of the longest reigns of any monarch in the history of the land, they threatened to wrest the crown from House Solkara rather than accept another queen. Defiant to the end, Syntalle abdicated on her deathbed so that she could see her daughter, Ednce the Second, invested as Aneira’s fourth consecutive queen.

Unlike her mother, however, the younger Edrice had no appetite for power. With the armies of Bistari, Mertesse, Dantrielle, and Noltierre advancing on Castle Solkara, fearing for herself, her family, and her realm, Edrice abdicated to her eldest brother, Farrad. In exchange for the crown, Farrad agreed to name Edrice’s son, who happened to be the first Carden, his heir. The king remained true to his word, and twenty-two years later, upon Farrad the Fourth’s death, Carden took the throne, completing what became known as the Queen’s Bargain.

“I know Aneiran history, Lord Orvinti,” Chofya said, her voice growing cold. “I’m not attempting to foster a matriarchy, nor am I doing any less than a widowed queen and mother ought to do. Kalyi is Carden’s only child. Isn’t it just that she should claim her father’s crown for her own?”

“I suppose it is, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low. “What is it that you want of me?”

The queen twisted her mouth in disapproval. Clearly this conversation had not gone as she hoped it would.

“I had thought to ask you to help me win the support of the other houses,” Chofya said. “It seems I was wrong to assume that I’d have your support.”

“I promised to do anything in my power to help you, Your Highness, and I am a man of my word. I do have some questions, though.”