“I didn’t bring it up, Father. Aindreas did. We could hardly expect him not to. It lies at the root of everything.”

Tobbar faced him, his eyes bright and angry. “But to tie it to the conspiracy. Demons and fire, Marston! What were you thinking?”

“His first minister betrayed him less than a turn after the girl’s death, Father! You may be willing to accept that the two had nothing to do with each other, but I can’t. The conspiracy is real, and it has been for longer than any of us-”

“We’re not going to have this conversation right now!”

“It has been for longer than any of us want to admit!”

“I won’t listen to this again!”

“Damn your stubbornness, Father! You have to listen!”

The duke was glaring at him, his cheeks looking unnaturally flushed, and his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if just arguing the point demanded too great an effort.

“Nobles are dying, Father,” he went on a moment later, his voice lower. “Eandi nobles. Not just in Eibithar, but all through the Forelands. I know that Aindreas’s Qirsi betrayed him to the Aneirans, but even with the minister weakening Kentigern’s gates, an assault on the tor could have only hoped to succeed with the duke away, fighting with the Curgh army.”

“Maybe the Qirsi was in league with the Aneirans for a long time, but only arranged the siege after Brienne’s murder. Maybe he was taking advantage of an opportunity.”

“You know as well as I that a siege of that size requires more planning than that. Aindreas’s minister didn’t take advantage of an opportunity, he created one.”

“Have the Qirsi done anything like this in the other kingdoms?” Tobbar asked. “It’s one thing to assassinate a noble, but have they killed other young girls and implicated their paramours?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. But,” Marston added quickly, “they have killed nobles and made it seem the work of court rivals or thieves. I’m sure they’ve even tried to disguise their handiwork by making a murder seem to be nothing more than an accident.”

Tobbar narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think has happened here in Thorald?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. All I can say is that Eibithar has been on a path to civil war for some time now, longer than any of us realized at first. It began with that incident in Galdasten all those years ago, at the Feast. When Uncle Filib was killed, and Filib the Younger after him, it ensured that grandfather’s death would give the crown to Javan of Curgh. And Brienne’s death made it likely that Javan’s ascension would bring war.”

“And you believe this was all the work of the conspiracy? The incident in Galdasten? My brother’s death? Your cousin’s?”

“It’s possible.”

“What happened in Galdasten was nothing more or less than the act of a madman, a villager who had lost his wife to an illness, and his son to the pestilence.”

“That may be so. But the rest-”

“The elder Filib was thrown by his mount. Had he landed one fourspan to the right or left of that stone, he would have survived. You think the Qirsi did that as well?”

“There’s a magic known as the language of beasts-”

“His swordmaster was with him! ” Tobbar said, his voice rising. “He saw the mount rear! There wasn’t a white-hair within a league of them!”

He should have known better than to pursue this matter. Each time he and his father spoke of the conspiracy, it came to this. Tobbar refused to accept that his Qirsi could be involved, and Marston remained just as adamant in his refusal to believe that all the events of the past few years were unrelated. With his father weakened by illness, he should have let the discussion end, but his fears, and perhaps his pride, wouldn’t allow it.

“Nobody witnessed Filib the Younger’s death,” he said. “Will you at least allow that there may have been more to his murder than we first thought?”

He expected his father to rail at him again, but the duke surprised him. “I don’t know what to believe about the boy. The Revel was in Thorald at the time, and I warned him that there were thieves about.”

“But there were Qirsi here, as well.”

Tobbar eyed him briefly before turning his gaze on the fire again. “Yes.” He frowned. “That doesn’t mean the conspiracy killed him. Whoever it was cut off his finger to get the Thorald signet ring. I still think it was probably thieves.”

“But?”

His father looked at him again, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But with all that’s happened since, I have to wonder if someone wished to have the House of Thorald removed from the Order of Ascension.”

Marston started to agree, but his father stopped him with a raised finger.

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to send away all my ministers,” he said. “As you say, the Revel was here, and with it all its gleaners and fire conjurers. If the Qirsi were behind his death, it would have been one of them. I’m certain of it.”

Once more, Marston wanted to argue the point, but his father had already admitted that Filib’s murder might have been an assassination, rather than a simple act of thievery. Marston had never thought the duke would come that far. Continuing the discussion was only likely to anger him further.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Tobbar raised an eyebrow. “Are you humoring me, whelp?”

Marston grinned. “Maybe I should go. You look tired.”

“I am tired. But you can’t leave yet.” The duke lifted a scroll off the table and handed it to him. It was tied with two satin ribbons, one tawny, the other black. The colors of Tremain.

Marston looked at his father a moment before unrolling the scroll.

“It arrived at Shanstead a few days ago. Your brother brought it to me, thinking it might be too important to keep until your return. Forgive me, but I read it, though it’s addressed to you.”

“Of course,” Marston said absently, beginning to read the message.

It was from the Lathrop, duke of Tremain. He wished to know where Marston stood in the conflict between Curgh and Kentigern, and he offered to ride to Shanstead to discuss the matter.

The message was brief and rather vague, but the last line caught Marston’s eye.

With the kingdom at the very precipice of war, it behooves all of us who honor the Rules of Ascension and cherish the peace they have brought to our land, to stand with the king. I hope you will agree.

“It seems Aindreas isn’t the only one interested in cultivating an alliance with you,” Tobbar said, as Marston began reading the message a second time. “I get the feeling they don’t expect me to live much longer.”

Marston looked up. “Father, no. I don’t think they-”

“It’s all right,” Tobbar said, smiling. “I’d do the same, were I in their position. You are the future of this house, you and your brother.”

“Did Chalton read this as well?”

“No. He left it with me, stayed just the one night, and returned home.”

Marston nodded, eyeing the message again. “Why would Lathrop write to me? He’s yet to take sides in this matter, and yet asks me to do just that.”

“I’d imagine Kearney asked him to do it.”

“But why. If the king wishes to ask one of his thanes where he stands on a matter of such importance, surely he can send the message himself.”

“Think, Marston. You’re going to be duke someday. It’s time you began to see the world through a noble’s eyes. Kearney has sent me several messages since his ascension. I’ve already spoken for the house, and I’ve made it clear to him I won’t commit Thorald to either side of this fight. But he needs to know what will happen when I’m gone. If he were to send a message to you directly, it would be an affront to me, an indication that he no longer considers me Thorald’s leader.”

“Is Tremain’s message any less of an affront?”

“He’s the duke of a minor house, and as you said, he hasn’t sided with either Javan or Aindreas. Under the circumstances, he was an appropriate choice. Strictly speaking, I’d be justified in taking offense, but as a practical matter, Kearney needed to get a message to you, and this was the best, quickest way for him to do so.” He gazed at Marston for several moments, a slight smile on his pallid face. “The question is, how are you going to respond?”