“I assure you, my lord duke, Henthas had no part in Grigor’s crime. He gives me his word as both my brother and a noble of Solkara, and I believe him. I intend to devote myself wholly to my duties as regent, and will have little time for the Solkaran dukedom. As none of my brothers nor I have sons who are of age, the title of duke must fall to Henthas.”
Rassor still did not look pleased and though Brail had little affection for the man, he had to agree with him in this instance. Numar seemed to sense that the other dukes remained unconvinced as well.
“My lords, please. You have entrusted me with the well-being of your kingdom and the care of your child-queen. This is but a trifle by comparison. My brother and I will be living together in this castle. I give you my word that I will see to it that he rules Solkara with a steady hand.”
Henthas appeared to bristle at this.
“I’m not some horse to be tamed and fitted with a bridle,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “I’m the oldest living son of Tomaz. By all rights, the kingdom should be mine. Isn’t it enough that I’ve given that up and the regency, too? Would you have me throw down my sword as well?”
Numar turned to his brother, a smile on his lips, obviously forced. “You make your point plainly, brother. As always.”
“I don’t like him being in the castle with the girl,” Rassor said. He glanced at the queen. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I fear for her safety.”
“We all do, Lord Rassor,” Chofya said. “Not because of Henthas, but because she is a child, and the kingdom has many enemies. That’s why I’m so pleased that Numar has agreed to be her regent and to keep Pronjed as archminister. I trust my husband’s brother in this matter, as in all matters. I have no doubt that Henthas will be a fine duke and that House Solkara will flourish under his leadership.”
With that, the queen effectively ended their discussion. Many of Brail’s doubts remained, and he felt certain that he wasn’t alone in this regard. But Chofya had spoken. To press the matter further would have been to question her judgment, and none of the dukes was willing to do that.
“Kalyi’s investiture will take place in the morning,” the queen said a moment later. “All of you are invited, of course, as are the people of Solkara. After the ceremony, I assume most of you will be returning to your realms. It’s been nearly a full turn since Carden’s death. The time has come for our kingdom to end its grieving. As I said a moment ago, Aneira has many enemies. They will be watching us, looking for signs of weakness. We must show them none. Go home to your people. Tell them they have a new queen and that she will be guided by a strong, capable regent.”
For a moment, the gathered dukes said nothing. Then Brail stood, and following his example, the others did as well. Even Henthas.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” Brail said.
They all bowed to her and to her daughter in turn. The girl smiled, looking embarrassed and terribly young, and Brail felt himself grow cold.
The dukes and their ministers began to leave, Brail and Fetnalla with them. Once in the corridor, the two of them stopped to wait for Tebeo and Evanthya. Then they all made their way out to the castle ward, where they could speak freely.
“What do you think?” Dantnelle asked, his breath making clouds of vapor. “Do we have cause to fear Henthas?”
Brail exhaled heavily. “I think Henthas is the least of our problems. We’re placing our kingdom in the hands of a child and a man who, until recently, was known throughout the land as the Fool.”
“Numar is no fool, Brail. I feel certain of that.”
“I know he’s not. But he’s younger than Ansis. He’s barely older than the new duke of Mertesse. He knows nothing of leading a kingdom.”
“He’s Tomaz’s son. And he’ll have Chofya and Pronjed to help him. Besides, even if he were a fool, and without anyone to offer him guidance, I’d still rather he was regent than most anyone else.”
“Yes,” Brail said reluctantly. “I feel the same way.” He’d heard many of the dukes speaking this way in recent days. Better a Fool than a Jackal, they were saying. It had become an aphorism of sorts. And though he could not argue with them, neither could he bring himself to feel at ease with the thought. Not with the conspiracy spreading its influence across the Forelands and agents of Eibithar abroad in the kingdom.
This had all begun with his dagger, the crystal blade he had given the king upon his arrival in Solkara, so long ago that he barely remembered the day. He hadn’t guided the king’s hand, of course. Carden had done this to himself and to the kingdom. But the duke still remembered Fetnalla’s suspicions of the archminister, doubts that Tebeo’s first minister echoed later. Now they were trusting Pronjed to help Numar lead the land, and they were hoping that this young noble could stand fast if the minister proved to be faithless. The fate of Aneira had never seemed so uncertain. And he couldn’t help thinking that he had let this happen, that something vital had escaped his notice.
Chapter Twenty-three
Evanthya had never attended an investiture before, though she had heard tales of the grand celebration that followed the crowning of Tomaz the Ninth. From all that she saw, however, and from all that Tebeo and Brail told her, she had the sense that Kalyi’s coronation was a modest affair. Aneiran nobles wore their ceremonial garb and gathered in the great hall of Castle Solkara, just as they had for the funeral of the girl’s father. The kitchens prepared the finest of foods and the cellarmaster provided flask after flask of Sanbiri wine. But to Evanthya the celebration felt muted, as if those who had come to wish the new queen well were all too aware of the difficulties that lay ahead and the dangers facing this child.
The Eandi nobles would begin the long journeys back to their realms the following morning knowing that for the first time in two and a half centuries, the land had no king. It was a realization that seemed to weigh heavily on all of them.
Many of the lesser nobles left early, offering obeisant farewells to Chofya, the new queen, and Numar. Seated as they were with the Solkaran royalty, Brail and Tebeo had little choice but to remain until the end of the feast. But as the sound of conversations in the great hall gradually diminished and the grand chamber emptied, Fetnalla gazed toward Evanthya and mouthed the words “Let’s walk.”
Evanthya nodded, quietly excused herself from the table, and left the hall. She walked slowly through the corridors and into the cold, crisp air of the courtyard. The clouds had thinned, and she could see both moons turning their slow arc across the night sky. Panya, white and luminous, though barely more than a thin, curving blade, hung just above the western wall of the fortress, while Ilias, not quite halfway through his waxing, hung overhead, bathing the castle in his red glow. This was Qirsar’s Turn, and of all the moon legends, none were more important to the Qirsi than those tied to the god of magic. In just a few more nights, on the Night of Two Moons, her power would be greater than it was any other night of the year. And on Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone, she would be unable to wield her magic at all. All Qirsi went through this, and the effects of Pitch Night lasted just the one evening. But still she shuddered at the thought.
The air was still, as it had been earlier in the day, and Evanthya could smell smoke from the fires burning in hearths throughout Castle Solkara. She pulled her robes tighter around her shoulders, still shivering. In a few moments she heard footsteps behind her, and turning, saw Fetnalla emerge from the nearest of the stone archways.
The woman stopped in front of her and they both paused, then shared a quick, awkward kiss.