But with both Henthas and Numar having voiced their opposition, he couldn’t defy them without weakening himself. If he wanted Chofya and the nobles to fear the Jackals, he couldn’t openly break with Henthas their first night in Solkara. Henthas wouldn’t have thought of this; he had spoken out of pique and wounded pride. But Numar knew just what he was doing. Grigor felt certain of it. The Fool, indeed. Numar was, as far as Grigor could tell, the most dangerous man in the royal city.

He made himself smile as he opened his hands. “As you can see, Archminister, I have little choice in this matter. I’m happy to speak with the queen, but she’ll have to see all of us.”

The Qirsi looked displeased, but he nodded as he stood again. “Very well, my lord. I’ll convey this to the queen.” He turned and walked away.

“You were really going to speak to her without us?” Henthas demanded in a fierce whisper as soon as the minister was gone.

Grigor ignored him, glaring at Numar.

“You look angry, brother,” the man said mildly. “Did I upset your plans?”

“Don’t cross me, Numar. This is no game we’re playing. This is for the crown, and I won’t allow anyone to keep me from claiming it as my own. Not the queen, not our niece, not even you.”

“All I did was ensure that Henthas and I would be party to your conversation with Chofya. Surely you can see how having us there might work to your advantage.”

Grigor glanced at Henthas, who was eyeing him with obvious mistrust.

“You wanted to meet with her alone, didn’t you?” he said. “I want to know why.”

“I was afraid you’d muck it up, Henthas,” Grigor said wearily, “as you muck up everything. I don’t want a war with Chofya, though I’ll fight one if I have to. The last thing I need is you sitting in her presence chamber, insulting the queen and making idle threats.”

“A threat is only idle if the man making it is weak. It seems more likely that you’d be the one to ruin things, with your arrogance and your pride.”

Grigor looked at Numar, who was already watching him, the expression on his youthful face seeming to say, See? If you want to control him, you need me on your side.

“What is it you want?” he asked the younger man.

“I want what’s best for House Solkara,” Numar said. “Just as you do.”

Grigor couldn’t tell if he was being sincere, which scared him a good deal. He felt fairly certain, however, that Numar didn’t honestly believe that he had the family’s best interests at heart.

“And what would that be?”

Numar shrugged. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I want to hear what you and Chofya have to say to each other.”

The feast promised to go on well into the night, but Grigor left the hall a short time later with both brothers just a step behind him. It almost seemed that their mistrust of one another ran so deep that each was unwilling to allow the other two out of his sight. Chofya had seen to it that their quarters were together, and long after he entered his chamber and locked his door, Grigor continued to listen for any sign that either of his brothers was wandering about the castle. Only when he had satisfied himself that they weren’t going anywhere did he lie down to sleep. For some time, however, he lay awake in his bed, staring at the dim shadows cast onto his walls by the low fire in his hearth, and thinking back on what had just happened in the king’s hall.

He realized now that having heard Numar dismissed as a fool for so long, he had begun to believe it himself, though he should have known better. More than that, he had always assumed that Numar did not share his own lust for power and wealth. He couldn’t say why. Wasn’t Numar Tomaz’s son, just as the rest of them were? Perhaps, as the youngest, he had merely been clever enough to know that power would never be his so long as Carden sat on the throne. Now, however, with the king dead and the land teetering on the edge of upheaval, he could allow his ambitions to guide him. Having never tasted true power, Numar might have been even hungrier for it than Grigor, which only served to make him that much more dangerous.

Grigor had threatened his brother tonight. It had been vague to be sure, but a threat nonetheless. But now, lying in the dim orange glow of the dying fire, he wondered if he could really kill his own brother. And for the first time, he wondered if that brother-the youngest, the Fool-was capable of killing him.

They were lying in each other’s arms, their pulses just starting to slow, their breathing still quickened, a fine sheen of sweat on their bodies and faces, when they heard knocking at the door.

Evanthya stared into Fetnalla’s eyes, feeling panic rise in her chest.

“Whose room are we in?” she whispered. “I’ve forgotten.”

Fetnalla grinned, her eyes luminous in the candlelight, and kissed her lightly on the throat. “Yours.”

Evanthya pulled away and sat up. “Who’s there?” she called.

“Your duke.”

The minister sighed with relief. She wasn’t about to open the door, but at least it hadn’t been Brail or one of the other Qirsi ministers staying in the castle.

“Yes, my lord?” she said, quickly pulling on her clothes.

She heard him clear his throat, something he often did in awkward circumstances.

“I wish to speak with you,” he said. “Please come to my chambers as soon… when you can.”

“Yes, my lord. It will just be a moment.”

She turned to look at Fetnalla, who was smiling at her, having made no effort at all to dress. Evanthya frowned.

“You said he knew,” Fetnalla said with a shrug.

“Brail will be looking for you, too. And he doesn’t know.”

She made a sour face. “Maybe it’s time he did,” she said. But she began to put her clothes on as well.

In a few moments they were both dressed, and Evanthya stepped to the door.

“Wait a few moments after I’m gone, then slip out and return to your chambers,” she said, her hand resting on the door handle.

Fetnalla gave a small grin, tilting her head to the side. “Yes, my lord.”

Evanthya smiled and walked back to where Fetnalla stood. Rising to the tips of her toes, she kissed the woman gently on the lips.

“Forgive me.”

“Of course. You always get this way when you leave me to see your duke.”

Evanthya paused, gazing into her eyes. “Do I? I’m sorry.”

Fetnalla kissed her brow. “I’ve grown accustomed to it. I even find it charming in a way.”

They kissed one last time. Then Evanthya left the chamber, walked to Tebeo’s door, and knocked once.

“Come in!” the duke called immediately.

The minister stepped into the duke’s room, finding Tebeo and Brail seated by the hearth, both of them looking glum in the bright glow of a crackling fire.

“I thought Fetnalla was with you,” Brail said, scowling at her.

“She was, my lord. When Lord Dantrielle called for me, she went to find you, thinking that you might wish to speak with her.” The he came to her easily. She only hoped that Fetnalla would tell the same story.

Brail nodded and turned to the fire again, leaving Evanthya and Tebeo facing one another.

“You called for me, my lord?”

“Yes, First Minister. You saw what happened in the hall tonight, between the king’s brother and the queen?”

“I did, my lord.”

“Chofya and Grigor are to meet tomorrow morning. The queen wanted a private audience, but Grigor has insisted that his brothers be there as well. The queen, in turn, has asked Lord Orvinti to attend on her behalf, and she’s asked me as well, hoping perhaps that I will support her position.”

“For the regency, my lord?”

The duke of Orvinti turned at that. “You’ve been talking to my first minister.”

Fetnalla had spoken to her of how suspicious Brail had become. Hearing his tone now, seeing the distrust in his pale blue eyes, Evanthya understood that her love had not exaggerated the matter.