“Perhaps she hasn’t been,” the boy said with a shrug. “If their movement is growing as we fear, they have to be adding new people. She must be one of them.”
Grinsa nodded, though he remained unconvinced. Something about the woman’s behavior troubled him, but he couldn’t explain it, and even a Weaver could place too much trust in his instincts. She knew the assassin and had worked very hard to conceal this from him. That should have been all the proof he needed.
“If she is with the Qirsi movement,” Tavis said, “and if she has allies in the castle, our lives are in danger.”
Again, the boy made sense. Yet the gleaner’s doubts lingered, like the scent of rain after a storm has passed. “Perhaps,” he said, sitting once more. “But I don’t think she has many friends in the castle. If she did, she wouldn’t have been here.”
She must have looked back over her shoulder a thousand times between the tavern and Castle Solkara, expecting at any moment to see the two men from the tavern coming after her. Her heart was laboring so hard that her chest ached, and she wasn’t certain she could keep down even the small bit of her breakfast she had managed to eat.
Evanthya knew that the closer she drew to the castle gates, the safer she was, but that did little to ease her fears. It was bad enough that the assassin had guessed that she was a minister the day she hired him, but to have strangers in the royal city asking about Corbin and the Red Boar was too much. She longed to run to Fetnalla. If anyone could calm her, her love could. But such comfort lay beyond her reach now.
She could barely remember why they had fought, it all seemed so foolish and far away. She knew though that Fetnalla would not have forgotten. The woman was brilliant and loving, but she could also be as stubborn and proud as an Eandi noble.
Once inside the castle, Evanthya did manage to calm herself. Unable to confide in Fetnalla, and unwilling to risk a chance encounter with her duke, she retreated to her chamber and lay down. By the time the midmorning bells tolled, she felt composed enough to attend the audience with the queen.
She reached the castle’s presence chamber just as Tebeo, Brail, and Fetnalla arrived from the opposite direction.
“First Minister,” her duke said, regarding her closely. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, forcing herself to look at the duke so that her gaze wouldn’t stray to her love. “I took a walk in the city. It’s not often that I get to the Solkaran marketplace.”
The duke nodded, although he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Indeed” was all he said.
Brail knocked at the door and when the queen called for them to enter, they pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber.
Chofya stood before a grand table, dressed in a long red velvet gown with a high neck. She wore a circlet of gold on her brow and a long golden necklace, from which hung a brilliant green gem. With her black hair tied back from her face and her dark eyes shimmering in the light of several oil lamps, she looked both beautiful and forbidding, like a woman born to power.
Pronjed stood behind her, as pale as Chofya was dark, as austere as she was elegant, yet no less formidable. There were several guards in the chamber as well, but Grigor and his brothers had yet to arrive.
“Lord Orvinti, Lord Dantrielle,” Chofya said, offering a tight smile. “I’m grateful to you both for being here. I know that you both have… misgivings about the arrangement I propose. You do me a great service by your presence.”
“We’re honored that you asked us, Your Highness,” Tebeo said.
The queen gestured at a long table and several chairs that stood by the great hearth. “Won’t you sit? The duke should be joining us shortly.”
The dukes and their ministers stepped to the far side of the table and sat. Evanthya was glad for the warmth of the fire at her back, and grateful as well that both dukes sat between herself and Fetnalla. Pronjed and the queen continued to stand, though Chofya stepped closer to the table and the great throne that had been placed at the end of it, favoring them with the same uneasy smile.
“I trust you all slept well?” she said after a brief pause.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Brail answered for all of them. ‘And you?“
Chofya let out a small laugh. “I’ve hardly slept since my husband died, Lord Orvinti. Last night was no better or worse than any other.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. Once these matters are resolved I’ll have plenty of time to rest. Until then, this is my lot, and I accept it as such.”
The duke nodded, but gave no reply, and a difficult silence settled over the chamber. Even with the windows shuttered, Evanthya could hear Solkara’s master armsman shouting commands at his soldiers in the castle ward below. Perhaps the sound would serve to remind Grigor of the army Chofya had at her command. Evanthya wondered if the queen had that in mind when she called this meeting for midmorning.
The minutes dragged by. No one spoke, though the queen looked repeatedly toward the door, clicking her tongue impatiently every few moments. If the king’s brother hoped to anger her, he had already done a fine job of it.
“Carden always said that even time could be a weapon, if used properly,” Chofya murmured after some time. “He learned this from his father. Apparently his brothers were listening as well.”
Still they waited. The soldiers finished their training. They heard footsteps in the corridor outside the chamber and Chofya straightened, facing the door. But no knock came and after a time, the queen seemed to sag.
Pronjed cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should send a guard for him.”
“No,” Chofya said. “He’s doing this for a reason. I will not have him see that he’s angered me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
So they sat, doing nothing. Evanthya began to listen for the midday bells, sensing that they couldn’t be far off. Chofya wandered around the chamber, straightening paintings that already hung straight, and smoothing tapestries that had no creases.
When the knock finally came, it sounded so loud that Evanthya started.
Chofya crossed to the throne and sat. “Come!” she called, her voice icy.
The door swung open and Grigor strode into the chamber, followed by his two brothers. He looked much as he had the previous evening, elegant and graceful, and as broad and muscular as the hero of some childhood tale. He was dressed in warrior’s garb, a dun shirt and matching trousers, black boots and belt. From the belt hung a fighting sword on one side and a matching short sword on the other, both with jeweled hilts. He had only been duke of Solkara for a few days, yet he looked as much like a king as Chofya did a queen, and by comparison he made the other two dukes appear to be little more than courtiers.
Positioned behind him, his brothers served as such perfect complements to his appearance that Evanthya had to believe the effect was intended. To the left stood Henthas, powerfully built like his brother, but with darker hair and harder features that made him appear grim where Grigor was jaunty. To the right stood Numar, slighter than his brothers and with a kind, open face that made the trio seem somewhat less imposing.
“Forgive us if we kept you waiting,” Grigor said lightly, leading his brothers to the table, lowering himself into a chair, and indicating with a nod that the two of them should do the same.
Chofya waited until they were seated before speaking. “I didn’t give you leave to sit, Lord Solkara, nor did I see you bow to me as is proper.”
Grigor regarded her with a look of utter innocence. “With Carden dead, I’m duke of Solkara. I didn’t think I had to ask permission to sit in my own castle.” He furrowed his brow. “Unless you intend to vie for my dukedom as well.”