“Of course, Lord Orvinti. I’ll tell you anything I can.”

“Do you have someone in mind to serve as regent?”

The queen looked briefly at the archminister before answering. “I intend to ask the marquess of Renbrere, Kalyi’s uncle.”

“Grigor,” the duke said.

The Jackal, he was called. Actually he was one of two jackals, but as the elder, and the more powerful of the two, Grigor was far more dangerous than his brother Henthas. It would be madness to give him the power of a regent. Brail had confided to Fetnalla his distaste for the man and his rear that he would succeed Carden. In a way, though, a regency was worse, for he could work his mischief and blame it all on the whims of the child queen.

“I know what you’re thinking, Brail,” the queen said. “I don’t trust him either. But in this matter I have no choice. In the eyes of many, Grigor has the most legitimate claim to the throne. Already I’ve received messages from him indicating that he intends to take the crown for himself and his sons.”

“Then how can you want him as regent for your daughter? At his first opportunity, he’ll try to have both of you killed.”

“That’s why I need the support of the other houses.” She stood and walked to the hearth. “The realm is poised on the edge of a blade right now. Grigor is hated and feared throughout the land. If he takes the throne, House Solkara will be swept from power, though only after a long a bloody war.”

“The same could happen if you force your daughter on the land as its queen.”

Fetnalla expected Chofya’s anger to flare again, but instead the queen merely nodded. “I know that. But in this way, Grigor helps us. I intend to use fear of the Jackal to keep the dissenting houses from rising against Kalyi. And I believe I can use Grigor’s fear of the houses that support us to keep him from attempting to steal the crown. It’s a fine balance, Lord Orvmti, but I’m certain that it’s my only hope for keeping House Solkara in power.”

“You’re dancing with wraiths, Your Highness. One misstep will cost you everything.”

“Then I’ll have to be exceedingly careful, won’t I? But you, Lord Orvinti, have the power to end this dance before it even begins. All my planning is predicated on my desire to keep the crown in Solkara. If you have ambitions for your house and your children, then I’ll have to look elsewhere for support.”

Brail smiled, though not with his eyes. “Were I to admit such ambitions, would I ever leave this castle alive?”

The queen faced him. “You have my word that you would.”

They eyed each other for a moment. Then Brail nodded once. “As I’ve told you once, Your Highness, I have pledged myself to your service. And as it happens, I have no yearning to be king. I’m an old man, and I wish to spend my last years living in peace by Lake Orvinti. I’ve no stomach for war.”

“What of your son?”

“I believe my son is content with his marquessate and the dukedom that awaits him when Bian calls me to his side.”

Hearing these words from another duke, Fetnalla might have been skeptical. But she had been with Brail long enough to know that he was telling Chofya the truth. As a younger man, he might have seen in Carden’s death an opportunity for House Orvinti. But not now.

“Then you’ll support me?” the queen asked.

“What will you do if Grigor refuses? Will you fight him?”

“We don’t think he will refuse,” Pronjed said from his perch near the shuttered window.

Brail glanced at the man before swinging his gaze back to the queen. “Why wouldn’t he? You said yourself that a number of dukes expect him to be king. Faced with the choice between a queen or Grigor, a good many houses may opt for the latter. The marquess knows this. I doubt that he’ll give up the throne so easily.” He paused. “I also can’t help noticing that he hasn’t arrived yet, though it’s less than a day’s ride from Renbrere to Solkara.”

Fetnalla had been thinking the same thing. Henthas, Carden’s second brother, had been in Solkara for days now, as had Numar, the youngest brother, the one they called the Fool. But there had been no sign of Grigor.

“We expect Grigor today or tomorrow,” the queen said. “I had a message from him yesterday. As for the rest, I already told you, Brail, I need help to make this work. I don’t need the support of all the other houses, nor do I expect it. But if I have Orvinti and Dantnelle behind me, and perhaps Kett, if Ansis can be swayed, that would be a start.” She gave a small smile. “Don’t you see, Lord Orvinti? You are the answer to your own questions.”

The duke nodded, though he didn’t look pleased.

“Think on it for the rest of the day, Lord Orvinti,” the queen said, walking to stand before the duke and extending a hand. Brail knelt again, taking her hand and pressing it to his forehead for an instant. “We’ll speak of this again tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He stood and started toward the door, glancing back at Fetnalla and gesturing for her to follow. The first minister looked at Pronjed and found him watching her, a look of concern on his narrow face. He still had his hand hidden, but she sensed that his injury was the last thing on his mind. He almost appeared to be asking for her help with his small yellow eyes, and not knowing why she did it, Fetnalla gave him a small nod, bringing a smile to his lips.

The duke led her out into the corridor and back toward their rooms, saying nothing. She was glad for the silence. Though she agreed with Brail that the queen was risking a great deal in trying to put her daughter on the throne, she felt that the risk was justified. It seemed to Fetnalla that all other paths led to war. Pronjed appeared to feel the same way, and the first minister was unnerved to find herself agreeing with him.

The company from Dantnelle came within sight of Castle Solkara and the royal city late in the day, emerging from Aneira’s Great Forest into the golden sunshine and cold winds of the Solkaran farming villages just as the faint ring of the prior’s bells from the city gates drifted among the grasses. They had but a league left to ride, but Tebeo chose to dismount and walk his horse down the riverbank so that the beast might drink. Evanthya was so eager to reach the city and find Fetnalla that she would gladly have covered the remaining distance on foot at a full run, but she could do little but join the duke by the waters of the Kett.

The windows of all the houses in sight were shuttered, not only against the cold, but also as a sign of mourning for the lost king. Atop the castle, the yellow and red banner of Aneira flew from the base of its staff rather than from the top. The flagstaffs that usually held the black, red, and gold banners of Solkara stood empty and stark against the bright blue sky. Even with the sun shining, it seemed that shadows lurked everywhere and Bian’s hand hung like a storm cloud over the great fortress.

She sensed that her duke feared what the next several days would bring, but they had not spoken of it beyond making plans for their departure from Dantrielle. Though she had done everything in her power to demonstrate her good faith, she knew that Tebeo still did not trust her. No doubt as the conspiracy continued to spread and claim more lives, more and more Qirsi ministers across the Forelands would find themselves in similar circumstances.

“We’ll ride on shortly, First Minister,” Tebeo said after some time, not even bothering to look at her.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’re eager to reach the city.”

She grinned. “I’m eager to spend a few days away from my mount, my lord. I’m eager to stand beside a fire, rather than huddling in my riding cloak.”

“You don’t travel well, First Minister,” the duke said, grinning as well.

“No, my lord. I never have.”

He glanced at the soldiers and servants standing nearby, then walked a short distance along the riverbank. Evanthya followed. When they were far enough from the men to speak without being overheard, he said, “I thought perhaps you were anxious to reach the city so that you could see Orvinti’s first minister.”