In a way, though, that thought troubled him far less than the notion that Fetnalla could be a traitor. Had she deceived him all these years? Had she been treating him with respect and kindness, while in secret thinking him an ass whom she could use for her own purposes? Worse, if she was allied with these renegade Qirsi, hadn’t she proved him to be just that? Better that Chago had been killed by the king, or thieves, or a madman who chanced upon him in the wood. Anything but this.

“Nothing happened,” Brail said after a long silence. “I still agree that there was something a bit transparent about Chago’s murder. I’ll grant as well that recently there have been too many murders of a similar nature throughout the kingdoms. I’m just not ready yet to blame each one on some white-hair plot to rule the Forelands.”

“I don’t want it to be true either, Brail. But if we ignore our suspicions out of fear, we help their cause.”

Tebeo had always been a bit too clever for Brail’s taste.

“What would they have to gain by killing Chago?” Brail asked, knowing how foolish he sounded.

“Come now, my friend. You’re smarter than that. If the Qirsi did this, they didn’t do it to rid themselves of Chago. They did it to divide the kingdom, to deepen the rift between Chago’s allies and those of the king. That’s what alarms me so. Chago’s murder threatens to weaken Aneira; the garroting of Yserne has already emboldened those who would oppose the queen of Sanbira; Lady Brienne’s murder almost caused a civil war in Eibithar, and still might. Perhaps there’s nothing tying these murders to one another. From all I’ve heard, it certainly seems that the Curgh boy killed Kentigern’s daughter. I can’t help but notice, however, that each death further weakens the Eandi courts. It’s been nearly two hundred years since any kingdom in the Forelands suffered through a civil war. Yet right now, at least three kingdoms, including our own, appear to be moving toward some kind of conflict. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“So you think they want to rule the Forelands? You think they plan to weaken every court north of the Border Range and conquer us that way?”

Tebeo shook his head, looking grave, and older than Brail had ever imagined he could. “I don’t know. It may be that simple.”

“Simple?” Brail repeated, giving a short, breathless laugh. “What you’re talking about would require a conspiracy so vast…” He stopped, shaking his head as well. “I don’t believe it’s possible.”

“Actually, it wouldn’t take nearly as many people as you think. All that they’ve accomplished so far could be done by fewer than a hundred men and women, provided they were placed properly.”

“But eventually they would need more. Or do you think that a hundred Qirsi sorcerers can defeat the combined might of our armies?”

The duke stared at him sadly. “Don’t you understand? If this keeps up, they won’t have to worry about the combined might of the Aneiran army, much less all the armies of the Forelands.” He turned his gaze to the fire once more and sipped his wine. “Besides, it’s probably far more than a hundred. And if it is, they must have a leader, someone who’ll be able to bring them together when the time comes.”

For all the thought he had given to the possibility of a Qirsi conspiracy, Brail had never imagined a single man or woman leading it. He had been foolish, of course; he saw that immediately. If such a movement was real, it would naturally have a master, someone whose vision and will inspired the rest and bound them to one another in a single cause. Still, like everything else Tebeo had told him this night, the image of this Qirsi leader, this white-haired sovereign-in-waiting, though faceless and nameless, served only to deepen his dread.

“You think they’ve chosen someone already? A would-be king or queen?”

Tebeo gave a wan smile. “I think it’s much worse than that,” he said. “They won’t have chosen this person; he or she will have chosen them. The Qirsi don’t follow nobles or monarchs. They follow Weavers.”

If Tebeo had intended to scare him into acting, it worked. He could think of no response except to say, “I’ll ride to Solkara before the snows begin. I’m certain Carden will see me.”

“Thank you,” his friend said. “If I thought the king would hear me on this matter, I’d gladly go myself. But under the circumstances, I believe you’re the best choice.”

Brail nodded, but said nothing.

They lapsed into another lengthy silence, both of them gazing at the flames and occasionally lifting their goblets to drink. After a time, Tebeo sat forward and rubbed his hands together.

“I should return to my chambers,” he said softly. “My ride may be short, but I’m still an old man, and I want to be back in Dantrielle before the wind blows any colder.”

“Of course.”

Still, neither of them moved.

“Have you spoken with your ministers about any of this?” Brail asked.

Tebeo looked up from the fire. “Not yet, no. I’ve wanted to, but I wouldn’t know how to start such a conversation. Particularly with Evanthya. Approaching my underministers will be difficult enough, but she’s been with me a long time.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking the same thing. How do I ask Fetnalla about a Qirsi conspiracy without making her think that I’m accusing her of betraying me?”

“I suppose we just have to ask them. This matter is too important to let our fear of offending them keep us silent.”

“Offending them?” Brail said. “I’m worried about ending up like Chago.”

Evanthya woke with first light, and reached to the other side of the bed before remembering that she was alone.

“Appearances,” Fetnalla had said the previous night, pulling away with one last kiss and dressing in the candlelight. As if a single word could explain everything. That they were two women in love would have raised eyebrows among some, particularly in the noble courts, but that was not why they concealed their relationship.

“I think you look fine,” Evanthya said, trying to keep her tone light.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Our dukes may be allies now, but that can change. They shouldn’t know about us. Certainly Brail shouldn’t. He’d be… displeased.”

Evanthya wasn’t sure how her duke would feel about it, but that hardly mattered. Fetnalla had made up her mind long ago. They could steal away for a few hours at a time, but whether in Orvinti or Dantrielle, they always spent their nights alone.

Early as it was, Evanthya could already hear the voices of Orvinti’s guards through the shuttered windows. She swung herself out of bed, pulled on her riding clothes, and slipped silently from her chamber. Stepping lightly through the castle corridors, she made her way to the nearest of the winding stone stairways and hurried down to the garden, where they were to meet.

Her duke had returned to his chamber late the previous night, and though she knew he would be impatient to begin their ride back to Dantrielle, she was certain that he would not be ready to leave Orvinti much before the midmorning bells. She would have liked to rest a bit longer herself, but this conversation couldn’t wait.

The winds that had buffeted the castle through most of the night had died away. Still, the air was cold, and a fine, chill mist hung over the ward.

Too late, she wished she had worn her cloak. The garden was empty-Fetnalla had not yet arrived-and she briefly considered retrieving the cloak from her chambers. But she didn’t want to risk waking the duke, who was sleeping in the chamber next to hers. Better to be cold. She crossed her arms over her chest and began to walk slowly among the hedgerows and empty flower patches.

She had seen the gardens of Orvinti in Amon’s Turn, just after the last of the rains, so she knew how brilliant they could be. During milder winters when she visited the castle, some of the hardier blooms had still been in the ground. But this year the only color that remained in the garden came from the spidery blue flowers of the hunter’s hazel, which clung to the otherwise bare limbs of the trees lining the castle walls, heedless of the cold. A pair of ravens hopped on the brown grass at the far end of the ward, near the entrance to the kitchen tower, fighting over scraps of food and croaking loudly at one another. Another joined them, gliding to the ground like a winged shadow in the grey mist. A moment later, a fourth landed nearby. Evanthya shivered. According to the Mettai, the Eandi sorcerers who lived in the hills and forests of the southern Forelands, four ravens were a death omen.