Brail nodded, looking at Tebeo and then Fetnalla. “There, you see?”

“I wouldn’t be eager to put my faith in the duke, either,” she added quickly. “Rather than arguing over which man poses less of a threat to the kingdom, I believe we’d be better served by looking for other possible solutions.”

“All other solutions lead to civil war,” Tebeo said.

“That may be. But at times such as these, men of influence must decide whether war is preferable to a tyrant.”

Evanthya chanced a look at Fetnalla, and regretted it immediately. The minister was staring at her as if she had just announced her intention to marry another. Her cheeks were scarlet and her pale eyes appeared red-rimmed, so that one might have thought she had been crying all this time.

“You’d actually counsel us to challenge House Solkara?”

Evanthya wanted to say something, to send some sign to Fetnalla that she was sorry, that she hadn’t intended to hurt her. But the woman looked away before she could, and Evanthya had to force herself to face her duke again so that she could reply.

“I would, my lord,” she said, struggling to keep her thoughts on the matters at hand. “If the crown stays with House Solkara, it will end up on the head of a man hated and feared throughout the land, or it will fall to a child whose best hope for surviving her regency rests with a Qirsi minister none of us trusts. Surely better choices lie elsewhere.”

“And what of the girl?” Brail demanded. “Are we just to wrest her father’s legacy from her grasp?”

“She is ten years old, Lord Orvinti. With Grigor as her regent and Pronjed as her archminister, do you really expect that she would survive the next six years? The regency is a death sentence for the child. All of us know that.”

“So we’re to ignore her mother’s wishes?”

“Yes,” Evanthya said, knowing how cold she sounded. “That’s my counsel.”

Both dukes stared at her for some time, saying nothing. At last, Tebeo gave a small nod.

“Very well, Evanthya. Thank you. You and the first minister are free to go. Brail and I have a good deal to discuss.”

“If I may, my lord,” she said. “If the two of you decide that you agree with me, I would strongly urge you to find some way to hide your decision from the duke of Solkara and the archminister. Perhaps even from the queen as well. In a sense, the war for the throne began this evening in the king’s hall, and Grigor probably thinks he’s already winning. He may not want to be regent, but he’ll see in it a possible path to power. Either way, he believes the crown is his. If he senses that the two of you intend to oppose House Solkara, he’ll want you dead. And since we can’t leave the city for several days more, he’ll have ample opportunity to have you killed.”

Brail narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“That until we’re safely away from Solkara, you should continue to talk and act as if you support the queen in this matter.”

“What?” the duke said. “If we support the regency now, we’ll appear to betray Chofya when we oppose House Solkara later.” He shook his head. “I won’t do it! It may not bother a Qirsi to be called a traitor, but I won’t bring such shame on House Orvinti!”

“That’s enough, Brail,” Tebeo said in a low voice, his gaze still fixed on Evanthya.

“You’re not actually going to listen to her, are you?” the duke asked.

Tebeo turned at that. “She’s my first minister. I listen to all her counsel, and I accept that she has my best interests and those of my house at heart.”

“But-”

“You may think that loyalty means nothing to the Qirsi, Lord Orvinti,” Evanthya said. “But you’re wrong. Fetnalla serves you faithfully, just as I do, my duke. You may not like the counsel I’ve just given, but I assure you that I offer it out of concern for my lord’s life as well as for my own. You said before that you suspected the king might have been murdered. This was the first I had heard of such a possibility, and I don’t know whether to believe it or not. But you must ask yourself, if someone was willing to kill the king, would they hesitate to kill a duke as well?”

“Thank you, First Minister,” Tebeo said again.

She faced her duke, hearing in his voice a request that she leave. He nodded to her once, as if to say that he would be all right without her.

After a moment, she bowed to him. “Very well, my lord.”

She walked to the door, sensing that Fetnalla was just behind her, and that the dukes were watching them both.

Even after the two ministers had stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind them, they said nothing. Fetnalla regarded her briefly, the hurt still evident in her eyes. Then she started back toward her chamber, leaving Evanthya little choice but to follow.

Only when they stepped into Fetnalla’s room and Evanthya closed the door did her love turn to look at her.

“How could you do that to me?” she said, flinging the words at Evanthya like a dagger, and finding her heart with the blade.

“I’m not allowed to disagree with you?”

“Not in front of my duke! Not about this! I told you how suspicious of me he’s become, and still you made it sound like I was telling him to put his trust in a demon.”

“Because I honestly don’t trust Pronjed, and neither did you until now. What happened this morning? Why do you suddenly think he’s the kingdom’s best hope?”

Fetnalla looked away. “I’m not sure I can explain it,” she said, her voice lower.

Evanthya took a step toward her. She wanted to place a hand on Fetnalla’s shoulder. She wanted to take the woman in her arms. But she didn’t dare.

“Can you try?” she asked instead, gently, as one might speak to a child.

“I just don’t think that he wants a war,” Fetnalla said with a shrug.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. His fate is tied to House Solkara, Fetnalla. A war is the last thing he wants, because it may very well bring an end to the Solkaran Supremacy.”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Evanthya took a breath. “I don’t want a tyrant.”

“I don’t either. But I’m more afraid of a war.”

She tried to smile. “Maybe together, we can find a way to avoid both.”

But Fetnalla shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’re working at cross-purposes. I don’t see any way for us to help each other.”

Evanthya thought she might cry. “But-”

“You should go. I’m tired, and I’m sure you must be as well.”

She had never heard Fetnalla’s voice sound so flat, so devoid of love.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked. She was the child now, small and frightened.

“I expect our dukes will keep their audience with the queen. I’ll see you then.”

Their eyes remained locked a moment longer. Evanthya wanted to say more, or more to the point, to hear Fetnalla say more. They hadn’t parted without speaking the words for so long, she hardly knew how to do it anymore. But Fetnalla kept herself still, and after a painfully awkward silence, Evanthya turned and left the room. Once in the corridor, she fell against the stone walls, stifling a sob with an effort that made her chest ache.

I love you, she wanted to cry out. I love you as I’ve never loved anyone.

But the stillness stopped her. Leaning closer to Fetnalla’s door, she felt her heart wither. She heard nothing, nothing at all. Not even the sound of tears.