Bonds of Vengeance (68 page)

“I don’t expect that the Weaver will hear anything of the sort,
cousin,” Abeni said. “I have no intention of telling him, and I’m sure you don’t either.”

Craeffe raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence. “Of course not.”

The archminister was already tiring of the woman’s company. “You came to me,” she said. “Why?”

“I’ve just had an interesting conversation of my own, and I thought you’d want to hear about it.”

“With whom?” Abeni asked, hoping that she sounded bored.

“The first minister of Prentarlo. I believe she could be convinced to join us.”

“What did you say to her?” the archminister asked, bored no longer. “You know that I’m the only one the Weaver wants speaking to newcomers.”

Craeffe grinned, showing sharp white teeth, like some crazed demon of Bian’s realm. “Don’t worry, cousin. I didn’t tell her anything; I just listened. And given what I heard, I believe she’s hurt and angry enough to turn against her duchess.”

Abeni nodded, though she wasn’t pleased. She should have been. This was what she wanted. This was how she would convince the Weaver that the queen’s distrust hadn’t lessened her value to the movement. But she didn’t like feeling beholden to Craeffe, not even in this small way.

“That’s good news,” she managed. “I’ll be certain to speak with her as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

“Or you could let me do it for you.”

“I just told you—”

“Yes, I know. The Weaver wants you to handle these matters. But he needn’t know. I’ve already won her trust. Wouldn’t it be easier to let me do the rest?”

Easier perhaps, but Abeni had little doubt that Craeffe would tell the Weaver as soon as she possibly could, presenting what had happened in such a way as to make herself appear a genius, and a liability to the Weaver’s cause.

“Thank you, cousin. I know that you wish only to serve the movement as best you can. But the Weaver has been quite clear on this point.”

The forced smile again. “Of course, cousin. I understand.”

They stood in silence for several moments before Craeffe finally returned to the door. “I suppose I should be going.”

“So soon, cousin?”

The woman didn’t even bother looking at her. “I hope that this rift
between you and your queen doesn’t widen, Archminister. Now more than ever, the Weaver needs Qirsi who serve the major courts.”

A moment later she was gone, and Abeni was left to wonder who was the greater threat to her standing in the movement: the queen or Macharzo’s first minister.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Kentigern, Eibithar

A indreas stared at the words scrawled on the outside of the scroll, unwilling to remove the ribbon that held it and read what was written inside. The ribbon was white. Of course, He would have known from whom the message had come even without the “
White Erne
” penned in a neat, bold hand for all to see. No doubt the time had finally come for the duke to fulfill his promise to the conspiracy—there could be no other reason for her to contact him. They wanted him to act on their behalf. And he was too frightened to unroll the scroll and see what it was they expected of him.

“Father.”

He looked up, seeing Brienne in the doorway, her golden hair gleaming in the torchlight.

“Not now, my love,” he said, his voice low.

“But Mother is asking for you. There are men riding toward the gate.”

As she spoke, Aindreas realized that the city bells were ringing, that in fact they had been for some time.

He frowned. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”

“She said I should bring you to her immediately.”

The duke exhaled through his teeth. “Very well. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

“But—”

“I told you, I’ll be along soon. Now leave me, Brienne!”

The girl winced, looking as if she might cry. “But I’m Affery.”

Aindreas stared at her, his vision swimming. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with a meaty hand. Opening them again, he saw that it was indeed his younger daughter standing before him, golden haired and pretty as her sister had been at this age, but not yet grown to womanhood.

“Affery,” he said, the name coming out as a whisper. He rose and stepped around his writing table to where she stood. She looked afraid, and he knelt before her, taking her in his arms. “I’m sorry, my love. Of course I knew it was you.”

She nodded, but said nothing. When he released her, he saw that there were tears on her cheeks. “Do you miss her, Father?”

“Very much,” he said, his voice suddenly rough.

“So do I. I think Mother does, too.”

“We all do. But your mother is better now than she was, and . . . and so am I.”

Again the girl nodded.

“You said there are men approaching the castle?”

“Yes.”

“And where is your mother?”

“She’s atop the tower, watching the city gates.”

“Very well. Tell her I’ll be there very soon. Have her instruct the men not to allow anyone into the castle before I arrive.”

“All right.” Still she didn’t move. “Are they coming to attack us again?”

For a moment, he wasn’t certain what to say, By ignoring Kearney’s summons to the City of Kings, Aindreas had made himself a renegade in the king’s eyes. Glyndwr would have been justified in sending the royal army to Kentigern. But Aindreas had known Kearney a long time. The man didn’t want a war, and would go to great lengths to avoid one. He wouldn’t have sent his army, at least not yet.

“No one’s going to attack us,” he told her, making himself smile. “They probably just want to talk to me.”

Affery smiled in return, looking relieved.

“Go now. I’ll be along in a moment.”

She kissed his cheek, then turned and ran from the chamber.

Aindreas returned to his writing table, lowered himself into his chair
and picked up the scroll again, his hand beginning to tremble. For a moment he was tempted to throw it on the flames dancing in his hearth, as if by burning the parchment he might rid himself of the Qirsi. Instead, he pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the scroll.

Lord Kentigern:

Events have begun to unfold more swiftly than we had anticipated. We can no longer wait for you to convince other houses to oppose the king. You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow. We will be watching to see that you do as we expect. Do not disappoint us.

Jastanne ja Triln
Captain, the
White Erne

Perhaps he should have been surprised. Certainly he had a right to be angry. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything at all. Somehow the Qirsi felt that they could order him about as he himself might a servant, or a foot soldier in his army. And though he was appalled by the mere notion of it, he also knew that he had only himself to blame.

“What will you do?”

He looked up to find Brienne standing beside him, looking lovely and so very young. No wonder he had confused Affery for her.

“I don’t know.”

“You should go to the king. You should tell him what you’ve done and beg for his mercy.”

“He’ll have me hanged as a traitor.”

“He might. But perhaps if you can show honor and courage at the end, it will save our house from disgrace. Don’t Affery and Ennis deserve that? Doesn’t Mother?”

The city bells continued to toll and Aindreas glanced toward the window. “There are men coming. I have to—”

Turning to Brienne once more, he saw that she was gone. He took a long shuddering breath and stood, walking slowly from his presence chamber to the nearest set of stairs, and then up to the ramparts of the tower. He found Ioanna there, wrapped in a woolen cloak, though it wasn’t particularly cold. A stiff wind made her golden hair dance
wildly, and she gazed eastward, squinting in the sun, though she had both hands lifted to her brow to shade her eyes. Ennis and Affery were with her. Seeing Aindreas, she pointed toward the road, a dark band of brown dirt that wound past tawny fields and small farmhouses to the city’s easternmost gate. It was a long way off, but following the line of her gaze, Aindreas could see riders approaching the tor, bearing the purple and gold of Eibithar. The king’s men.

“I sent Villyd to the gate,” the duchess told him, her eyes never leaving the horsemen. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Yes. I would have done the same.”

She glanced at him. “Will you go as well?”

He had yet to decide. Had it not been for the missive from the Qirsi, he probably would have. After Kearney’s last message, with its tidings of the Qirsi woman being held in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle, the duke had been searching for any path to reconciliation with the Crown. This was a time to end his conflict with Glyndwr and Curgh, to accept that he had been wrong, and unite the realm so that it might face the conspiracy united and strong.

His alliance with the Qirsi would not allow this, however. He had cast his lot with the white-hairs, and he had little choice but to fulfill his pledge to them. To do less was to invite disgrace, not only in the eyes of Eibithar’s other nobles but also in those of his wife and children. Had it been only his life hanging in the balance, he would have gladly humbled himself before the king rather than help the whitehairs. But he could not bear the thought of bringing such humiliation to Ioanna or damning Ennis to lead a shamed house.

“Aindreas?”

“I’ll go,” he said. “If for no other reason than to send them away myself.”

“Do you know why they’ve come?”

He shrugged, looking at her. “I refused the king’s summons to a parley. And I’ve yet to pay Kearney his tribute for the last three turns.” He gave a wan smile. “I’d think that has something to do with it.”

She nodded, her lips pressed in a tight line.

Aindreas turned to go.

“Can I come, Father?” Ennis asked.

“Not this time, son.” The duke mussed the boy’s red hair, drawing a grin. Then he left them, stopping in his chamber to retrieve his sword,
which he strapped to his belt. Though the riders would reach the gate before he did, he still took his time.
Let them wait
, he told himself, the pounding of his heart giving the lie to his bravado.

Sheftam, his horse, awaited him at the castle gate, though he hadn’t ordered the beast saddled. Villyd, no doubt. It would speed his arrival at the city gate, and make him look even more formidable than he already was. The Tor atop the Tor, they called him, and with reason. Even before Sanbiri wine and the fine food in his kitchens made him fat, he had been a large man, broad and powerfully built. This messenger from the king would be merely the latest to quail before him.

He stroked the animal’s nose for a moment, then climbed into his saddle and rode out of the castle toward the eastern gate. The lanes leading through Kentigern city were choked with people who paused now in what they were doing to watch the duke ride past. They didn’t cheer. They only stared after him, their apprehension manifest in widened eyes and pallid faces. All of them could hear the bells echoing through the narrow streets, and by now word would have spread through the marketplace that the riders bore the king’s colors.

One didn’t have to be a minister in a noble’s court to understand that Aindreas’s defiance of the king had pushed Eibithar to the brink of civil war. And though the duke’s people would not have dared give voice to any doubts they harbored as to his judgment, they could not hide their fear. Nor could Aindreas blame them. His own hands remained unsteady, and he was thankful for the castle that loomed behind him, ponderous and grey, like some great beast called forth by the clerics in Bian’s Sanctuary.

When at last he reached the city walls and steered his mount through the massive gate, the duke found Villyd Temsten, his swordmaster, standing in front of more than half the army of Kentigern. Villyd had his arms crossed over his broad chest and his stout legs spread wide, so that he looked almost as unassailable as the castle itself. Before him, mounted still, their banners snapping in the wind, were nine men, all of them wearing chain mail and bearing short swords on their belts and bastard swords in baldrics on their backs. One of the men, who was clearly older than the others, wore a surcoat of silver, black, and red over his mail, the colors matching those of the baldrics. These were men of Glyndwr then, whom Kearney had brought with him to Audun’s Castle upon taking the throne.

The city bells ceased their tolling, the last peals echoing off the city walls and dying away. A moment later, the older man rode forward a short distance, his hand raised in greeting. When he reined his mount to a halt again, the horse nickered, cantering sideways nervously.

“My lord duke,” the man said, his voice ringing clearly over the wind, “I bring greetings from King Kearney the First, who commands me to ask that you shelter us and name us guestfriends.”

The duke gave dark grin. “And why would your king ask that, Glyndwr? Does he fear for your safety?”