Henthas smiled darkly and shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to say one way or the other. Who knows what goes through a soldier’s mind when his kingdom is divided? It does raise interesting possibilities though, doesn’t it?”

The man was enjoying himself far too much for Grigor’s taste. The duke turned to his other brother, who was watching them both with interest, though he had kept his silence.

“And what do you think of all this?” Grigor asked.

Numar stared back at him impassively, absently running a finger around the rim of his goblet. “Do you really care?”

“Enough to have asked.”

The younger man shrugged, his brown eyes Hicking toward Chofya for just an instant. “I think you’re both misjudging her.”

Henthas raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Do you?”

“You’re thinking of her as you would another noble, a duke or a marquess.”

“She is queen, Numar,” Grigor said. “She may not have been born to a noble family, but she’s been in the courts now for a good many years.”

“No doubt. But I believe she’s a mother before she’s a noble. That’s where her ambitions lie.”

Grigor sat forward. “With the daughter?”

“You live up to your name, brother,” Henthas said, shaking his head. “The girl can’t yet rule. Chofya would have little choice but to name one of us as regent. Probably Grigor.”

Numar appeared to ignore Henthas, keeping his brown eyes fixed on Grigor instead.

Grigor said nothing, though he didn’t look away either. Numar was right. A regency for the girl made far more sense than a direct challenge from the queen. Chofya had no real claim on the throne, but as Carden’s only child, Kalyi did. Mertesse, Rassor, and some of the others might be reluctant to accept a queen under any circumstances, but for those who distrusted the men of Solkara, the child would seem preferable to both Grigor and a protracted struggle to establish a new supremacy.

“Do you know this for certain?” Grigor asked, his voice low.

Numar shook his head. “It’s just a guess.”

Grigor nodded, a thin smile touching his lips and vanishing. “A good one, I’d say. Do you think she already has Tebeo and Brail?”

“You can’t seriously believe she’d try such a thing,” Henthas said, his voice rising.

Several of the nobles sitting nearby looked over at them. Grigor glared at him. “Quiet down!” He faced Numar once more. “Well?”

“I expect that she has Brail’s support. He’s been in Solkara for several days now. Tebeo only arrived this evening, and this will take some time, even for those who hate you.”

“They all hate me, Numar. You know that as well as anyone.”

His brother sipped some wine, but said nothing.

“And where do you stand?” Grigor asked. “Will you support me or the girl?”

“Does it matter? Either way, no one listens to a fool.”

Grigor frowned. This was definitely not the answer he wanted.

“I would think,” Numar continued a moment later, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that you’d find regency a most attractive proposition. It would give you time to consolidate your power, make pacts with the other houses, and win over the army’s commanders. Eventually, you could have the girl killed and assume the throne with no fear of opposition.”

The duke narrowed his eyes. Such a scheme would have sounded perfectly natural coming from Henthas or himself. But he had never known Numar to think this way.

“Do you really think I’d do such a thing to a mere child, my niece, no less?”

Again the man shrugged, lifting his goblet to his lips once more, and leaving Grigor to wonder if he hoped to be named regent himself.

A regency did have its advantages, most of which Numar had described quite succinctly. Ridding himself of the girl when the time came would present difficulties, but none of them were insuperable. The greatest danger lay in the fact that Chofya herself would remain in the castle with Grigor and the girl, as would Carden’s Qirsi. Even if they chose Grigor as regent, which custom dictated they should, these two would know better than to trust him. Any plan to kill or exile Kalyi would have to make provisions for them as well. Better to claim the throne as his own now.

“I think in this case, Henthas is right,” Grigor said at last. “Aneira isn’t ready for a queen, even if she is Carden’s daughter. In the end, I’m certain that most of the dukes will agree with me.”

Numar nodded and smiled, though the look in his eyes remained grim. “Then you’ve nothing to fear.”

Once more, Grigor wasn’t sure what to make of his younger brother’s words, but before he could say anything more, Carden’s Qirsi approached them, his narrow face looking pale and birdlike in the glow of the torches.

“May I sit with you a moment, my lords?” the minister asked, stopping just beside Numar and hovering over them like a harrier.

“If we had wanted to speak with you, we would have sat with your queen,” Henthas said, not bothering to look up at the man.

Grigor would have liked to laugh aloud. With Henthas nearby, spitting venom at everyone he met, Grigor could appear civil and reasonable without making himself seem weak.

“Please sit, Archminister,” the duke said, waving a hand at an empty chair. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s deeply saddened by Carden’s death, as we all are.”

“Of course, my lord,” the minister said, lowering himself into the seat, his gaze alighting on one brother after another until it came to rest at last on Grigor. “All Aneira suffers as you do. Which is why we need to settle the matter of Carden’s successor as quickly as possible.”

Grigor nodded. “I quite agree. As soon as the other dukes reach Solkara, we should meet with them and make it clear that, even though Carden had no heir, the Solkaran Supremacy will continue.”

The Qirsi licked his thin lips, looking uncomfortable. “Before that happens, Lord Solkara, the queen would like a word with you. A private audience. Tomorrow morning? Just after the ringing of the midmorning bells.”

He looked around the table. “Surely she can’t think that I have anything to hide from my brothers.”

“Of course not, my lord. But it is a matter of some… delicacy.”

Now Grigor was certain that Numar was right. Chofya had to have her mind set on a regency for the girl. What else could she want to discuss with him? If she intended to take the crown herself, she would have been plotting against him, not trying to appease him. The question was, should he speak with her alone, or insist that his brothers join him? Henthas could be of value in such a meeting, but Grigor couldn’t be certain what Numar might do.

“I’m not sure that I see the point in such a conversation,” Grigor finally said. “But she is our queen, and it would be inappropriate for me to refuse her.” He offered a smile to the minister. “Tell Her Highness that I’ll speak with her at her convenience.”

“What?” Henthas said, before the Qirsi could reply. His face had reddened, and there was rage in his dark eyes. “This affects our entire house, not just you! I will not be left out in the corridors of my family’s castle like some child!”

Again, Grigor couldn’t help but be amused and pleased. Had Henthas been wise enough to know how much he was aiding Grigor’s cause, he would surely have shut his mouth.

“In this case, I must agree with my brother,” Numar broke in, his voice so soothing after Henthas’s shrill tones that the archminister merely stared at him, seemingly amazed that a man he knew only as the Fool could sound so sensible. “With Carden dead, the three of us are the only heirs House Solkara has left.” He smiled. “At least the only heirs of age. All of us should be included in any discussions bearing on the future of the Supremacy.”

There was little in Aneiran royal tradition to support such a statement. The eldest son controlled the family’s destiny, and if that son died, the next oldest assumed leadership of the house. It would have been entirely within Grigor’s prerogative to ignore his brothers’ wishes and meet with Chofya alone, particularly since she had requested through her minister that he do so.