“You forget yourself, sir!”

The thane looked away, his face coloring. “Forgive me,” he murmured, sounding anything but contrite.

For some time, neither of them spoke.

“Do you honestly believe the king plotted against you?” Marston asked at last, still not looking at Aindreas.

“Why shouldn’t I? He harbored the boy rather than returning him to my prison, where he belonged.”

“My father tells me that you and Kearney’s father were once friends.”

“What of it?”

“Don’t you wonder why the king was willing to believe Tavis? Doesn’t it say something that he would risk his own reputation and that of his house to guard Javan’s son, even though Glyndwr and Curgh have never been on good terms?”

Aindreas had heard enough. Still standing at the archway, he reached for the door handle and pushed the door open. “Frankly, Lord Shanstead, I don’t know what it says, nor do I care. Any ties that Kentigern once had with Glyndwr have been sundered. My allies live now in Galdasten and Eardley, in Rennach, Domnall, and Sussyn. I had thought to find them in Thorald as well, but I see that my hopes were misplaced. Our conversation is over. You may return to your quarters for the night. I’ll have the stable-master prepare your horses so that you can be on your way back to Shanstead as early as possible.”

Marston stared at him a moment. Then he rose from the table, a thin smile on his face. He drained his goblet and made his way to the door, stopping just in front of the duke.

“You may not believe this, my lord, but I came here today as a friend, just as my father instructed. The House of Thorald bears you no ill will, nor do we owe any allegiance to Javan and his allies. Our duty is to the kingdom, and it was in that spirit that I journeyed to Kentigern. I’m sorry if in my devotion to Eibithar and my desire to save the land from civil war I gave offense. My father thought you invited me here to speak of such things. I told him I thought you were merely hoping to find another ally in this foolhardy conflict with Javan. I’ve never been so sorry to be right.”

He stepped past the duke into the corridor and made his way to the nearest of the towers. Aindreas should have stopped him. He should have railed at the man for his self-righteousness. Under the circumstances he would have been justified putting him in the dungeon. A thane did not say such things to a duke, certainly not in the duke’s castle.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than watch Marston walk away. Even after the thane had entered the tower stairway, disappearing from view, the duke continued to stare down the corridor trying to summon anger or indignation or even hurt; anything other than the strange hollowness he felt.

At last he turned back to the table, eyeing the wine. But rather than filling his goblet again, he left the hall and made his way to the upper corridor of the castle, where the private chambers were found. He passed a pair of guards along the way, the men nearly jumping to salute him as he walked by, but Aindreas hardly noticed.

The duke heard the midnight bells ringing in the city just as he reached the door he sought-apart from his guards and Marston, he might have been the only person in the castle not yet asleep. Still he didn’t hesitate to knock. When no one answered, he pounded on the door a second time. Silence. He raised his fist to hammer at the door a third time, but in that instant he heard a voice from within.

“This had better be important! I’ve got my sword, and I’m mad enough to use it.”

“I’m armed as well, swordmaster,” the duke said. “So I’d sheath your weapon before you open the door.”

The door flew open, revealing Villyd, bare-chested, his hair tousled with sleep, and his eyes blinking in the torchlight. He carried a sword, though he held it point down, as if he had forgotten it. “Demons and fire! Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t know it was you.”

“You’re forgiven, swordmaster.” Aindreas looked past the man and saw Villyd’s wife still asleep in their bed. “Why don’t we go elsewhere, some place where we can talk.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The swordmaster ducked back into his chamber, emerging a few moments later wearing a shirt and strapping on his belt and weapon.

“I trust your conversation with Lord Shanstead went well, my lord?”

Aindreas frowned. “Actually no. That’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

The man gave him a puzzled look. “My lord?”

“Tell me again where we stand. What’s the state of our army?”

“We’re still down several hundred men, my lord. We lost some at the Heneagh during our battle with the army of Curgh, and a good many more in the siege. The lesser nobles are doing their best to fill the ranks, but it’s going to take some time.”

“And what of the castle?”

Villyd shrugged. “The repairs go well. The Tarbin gate is nearly at full strength again, though the last portcullis is not yet in place. The inner gates still need a good deal of work.”

Aindreas nodded. “What about Galdasten?”

“They lost more than two hundred men to the pestilence just before the harvest. From what I hear, I believe they’ve replaced more than half of them, but even at full strength, Galdasten’s army is no larger than ours.”

Aindreas shuddered at the mention of the pestilence. The lords of Galdasten had long prided themselves on their ability to control the outbreaks with the burnings that accompanied their Feasts. But nearly eight years before, a commoner-a madman-brought infected vermin to the Feast, spreading the disease throughout the court. Not only did the duke and his family die, but so did much of his army and hundreds of the common folk living in Galdasten City. This past year, when the pestilence returned, the new lords of the house chose to weather the outbreak rather than resorting to the burnings again.

“And the others?”

“The others, my lord?”

“Eardley, Sussyn, Domnall,” he said impatiently. “The others who stand with us against the king.”

“They’re minor houses, my lord. Each has six hundred men; Eardley may have eight hundred, but no more.”

They reached Aindreas’s chambers and the duke opened the door, leading the swordmaster inside.

“That’s not enough men, is it?”

“For what, my lord?” the man asked, dropping himself into one of the chairs as Aindreas stepped to the hearth. “I have to confess that I don’t understand what you hope to accomplish with this alliance you’re forming.

I know that you feel Curgh and Glyndwr conspired to keep you from the throne, but that’s done now. If you wanted the throne for yourself, you should have moved against them before Kearney’s investiture.“

It was not a tone Aindreas would have tolerated at most other times. But it was late, and he had roused Villyd from his bed.

“I don’t want to be king,” the duke said.

Villyd raised an eyebrow, drawing a grin from Aindreas.

“All right, let me put it this way. It’s not the crown I seek, not right now.”

“Then what, my lord?”

“I want Kearney off the throne. He betrayed this house by granting asylum to Tavis, and in return, Javan gave him the kingdom. He may claim to have taken no sides in this dispute, but he owes everything he’s become to Curgh. So long as he rules Eibithar, there will be no justice for Kentigern.”

“Will you sacrifice the Rules of Ascension to destroy him?”

“Gladly, if that’s what it takes.”

The swordmaster nodded. It was hard to tell what he thought of the duke’s aims, though Aindreas suspected that he disapproved. “If your aim is to challenge the king, my lord, then you haven’t enough men. Not anywhere near. And I doubt you ever will. The king has not only his guard, but also the army of Glyndwr. Javan will join him as well, as will Tremain and Labruinn. And I assure you, if you move against the crown, Thorald and Heneagh will oppose you as well. Even if the other houses stand with you-and I’m not convinced that they will-it will not be enough.”