“I did tell him not to come,” Rowan said, his voice hard. He turned briefly, glancing back at her. “I remember doing so.”

“I remember it as well, my lord.” She tried to keep her tone neutral. As always, she was forced to tread a fine line between defending Shurik and not offending her duke. “But I daresay a lot has changed since then.”

“Not my wishes in this matter. The man is still a traitor. I may have granted him asylum for helping my father, but I did not make him a minister in my court. He seems too eager to forget that, and he has since the day he arrived in Mertesse. That hasn’t changed either.”

He was his father’s son in so many ways. Not just the sky blue eyes and jutting brow, but also the pride and willfulness, the quick temper and enduring anger. If anything, Rowan’s youth made him more difficult than Rouel had been. In the last years of his life, the old duke had come to recognize his flaws and had learned to laugh at them. Rowan was not ready even for this.

“Forgive me, my lord, but this is more my fault than Shurik’s. In the time since he has been living in Mertesse, he and I have grown rather… close. I believe that when he heard that we had been stricken by Grigor’s poison, his concern for me outweighed his sense of duty to you. You have my deepest apologies.”

It was a risk, but a small one. She and Shurik had not been as discreet as they should have been, and as a result she felt fairly certain that Rowan already knew of their affair. Even if he didn’t, it was only a matter of time before he would. Best then that he hear of it from her.

The duke kept his back to her, as if embarrassed by her admission. “That still doesn’t excuse it,” he said. But Yaella could tell from his voice that she had succeeded somewhat in blunting his anger.

“Of course not, my lord. I’m certain that Shurik realizes his error and will apologize for it. But he still needs your protection.” Now more than ever. “I’d hate to think that his affection for me might cause you to withdraw your offer of asylum.”

At that Rowan did turn. “No, First Minister. I won’t make him leave.” His expression soured. “Just keep him as far from me as possible. You’ll pardon me for saying so, but I don’t care for the man. Not at all.”

Nor he for you. “I understand, my lord. If you like, Shurik and I will ride back to Mertesse at the rear of our company.”

He nodded. “That would be acceptable. He knows to meet us outside the city gates?”

Yaella felt the color drain from her face. “The city gates?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t want anyone in Solkara seeing the man in my company.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there a problem, First Minister?”

“Yes, my lord. I told Shurik to meet us outside the castle gates, not the city gates. I don’t know if I’ve enough time to get another message to him.”

Rowan pressed his lips in a tight line. “You should have known better, Yaella. I’ve made my feelings for this man very clear. It seems he’s not the only one who’s allowed his judgment to be clouded by his affections.”

Yaella lowered her gaze, as he’d expect. “Yes, my lord.”

He shook his head, his gaze traveling the room, but avoiding her. “Very well,” he said at last. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to be done about it. Just keep him far from me, and try not to draw any attention to yourselves. We’ll be leaving later than most of the other nobles. Perhaps he won’t be noticed.”

“Yes, my lord. Again, my apologies.”

“I’d like to be out of the city before the ringing of the midday bells. Please see to it that the men are prepared to ride and that our horses are saddled.”

She stood, eager to leave him. “Of course, my lord. I assure you, everything will be ready.”

He nodded once and faced the fire again, saying nothing. It was something his father might have done, though from Rouel it would have seemed more forceful, far less like the silent brooding of a peevish child.

Yaella bowed to the duke and left the chamber, relieved to be away from him.

At last she understood why Shurik had been so eager to serve the Weaver and why he had worked so hard to convince her to do the same. Her betrayal of House Mertesse had begun several years before, when Rouel was still alive, but it had troubled her then. Though aware of the old duke’s faults, she harbored a certain affection for him. She still remembered seeing him die in Kentigern Castle during the siege several turns before, the image so clear that it still made her shudder. Her grief at losing him had subsided, but it had yet to vanish entirely. She wasn’t certain it ever would. She had made her decision to join the movement in spite of Rouel, not because of him. Had she served Rowan at the time, rather than Rouel, it would have been a far easier choice to make.

She found the soldiers of Mertesse in the castle courtyard, watching the Solkaran army train, speaking and laughing softly among themselves. They fell silent as she approached. Eandi men always did, though Yaella still wondered if this was because she was Qirsi, or a minister, or a woman. No doubt all three had something to do with it.

“The duke wishes to leave before the midday bells,” she said, stopping in front of them. It sounded abrupt to her own ears, but even after living among the Eandi for so long, she felt no more comfortable with them than they did with her. “Make certain that you’re ready, and that our horses are waiting.”

“Yes, Minister,” said the highest-ranking of them.

She hesitated, then nodded and started away.

“Are you well, Minister?” the man called after her.

Yaella turned again, staring at the man in wordless surprise. He was broad in the chest and soldiers, thick-necked and tall, like all of Mertesse’s soldiers, indeed, like all the Eandi warriors she had ever seen. It sometimes seemed to Yaella that they were all the same man, created over and over again so that dukes and kings would have soldiers to fight their wars. Yet here was one of them asking after her health like an old friend.

“Forgive me,” he said, perhaps mistaking her astonishment for ire. “But we’d heard that some of the Qirsi were slower to mend than others.”

“It did take me some time, but I’m feeling much better, thank you.” She felt that she should say more, but she couldn’t find the words. “It was kind of you to ask,” she finally said, then cringed at how foolish it sounded.

“Not at all, Minister. We’ll be ready before the bells.”

“Thank you,” she said again, before hurrying away.

She had always thought of her betrayal of House Mertesse as being a betrayal of its duke. But walking away from the men of Mertesse, Yaella could not help thinking that her deception went far deeper. She had ridden to war with the Mertesse army. For all she knew, the men with whom she had just spoken had been with her in Kentigern, taking shelter in the mists she raised, and protecting her life with their blades and shields. Hadn’t she betrayed them as well?

Shurik would have laughed at her, she knew. They were Eandi, just like Rowan. Probably they were worried for her health because they knew the company might need her mists on the ride back to Mertesse. There were brigands on the roads of the Great Forest, some of them riding in large groups. The soldiers merely wished to know how much magic she could wield on their behalf. This, at least, is what she told herself.

The fact was, however, the man had seemed genuine in his concern for her. She almost wished that he hadn’t.

The minister walked back to her chamber and gathered the few items she had brought with her to Solkara in her satchel. Then she returned to the courtyard and the castle stables. Her mount was there already saddled for her, white and glorious in the morning sun. Rowan had not yet arrived, but the rest of his company was there, awaiting their duke in the cold.