“I told you I had, Lord Orvinti. Your first minister guessed that you would enlist my duke in the queen’s cause, and she thought I should be prepared to advise him.”

“And what counsel would you offer?” Tebeo asked.

“Fetnalla seems to feel that any other course will lead to civil war.”

“This one might as well,” Brail told her. “I’m not certain that we wouldn’t be better off handing the throne to Grigor. He won’t make a very good king, but he might be able to keep the peace, albeit through fear and the threat of violence.”

“I thought you supported the queen, Lord Orvinti.”

The duke shrugged. “When Carden died, I gave her my word that I would aid her in any way I could. This is what she asked of me. But I’ve no illusions as to the difficulties a regency presents.” A knock at the door stopped him.

“Enter!” Tebeo said.

The door swung open and Fetnalla walked into the room.

“There you are, my lord,” she said, offering a small bow to Brail. “I searched for you after Lord Dantrielle came for the first minister.”

Evanthya breathed a small sigh of relief. Usually they worked out their story before they parted, but they had been in too much of a hurry this night. She wouldn’t let them forget again.

Brail nodded to her, but said nothing.

Instead, Tebeo gestured at an empty chair. “Make yourself comfortable, First Minister. We’ve been discussing a request from the queen that your duke and I attend a meeting tomorrow between Chofya and the new duke of Solkara.”

Fetnalla raised an eyebrow, glancing at Brail. “Strange that she’d want you there.”

“Grigor will have his brothers with him,” Brail said, his voice flat. “She wants us.”

“Do you support a regency, Lord Dantnelle?” Fetnalla asked.

Tebeo rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not certain. Either way it seems that we’ll have to contend with Grigor. I just can’t decide whether he’s more dangerous as a regent or as king in his own right.”

“Does the queen have to name Lord Solkara as regent?” Evanthya asked. “Can’t she choose anyone she wants?”

“She doesn’t have to name Grigor,” Brail said. “But there are few other choices. Henthas would be no better, and no one expects her to ask the Fool. And if she goes outside of House Solkara, she risks war with Carden’s brothers and challenges from the other houses. Grigor is really the only one she can ask.”

“And you expect he’ll refuse.” Tebeo offered it as a statement, but he stared at the other duke as if awaiting a reply.

Brail shrugged. “He wants to be king. He made that much clear tonight in the hall. But I believe that he’ll look to the other houses before he decides whether to turn her down or not. If he senses that Aneira’s nobles will oppose a queen, he’ll claim the throne as his own. If, on the other hand, he sees that most of us support Chofya and will oppose his claim, he may accept her offer.” He gave a wan smile, though it was fleeting and appeared forced. “In either case, however, he has his heart and his eyes fixed on the crown. I’m certain of it. Even if he becomes regent, it won’t be long before he moves against Chofya and the girl.”

Fetnalla looked from one of the dukes to the other. “Am I correct in assuming that if Chofya succeeds in establishing a regency for her daughter, she can have a hand in choosing the girl’s ministers?”

Tebeo glanced briefly at Brail before nodding. “I believe that’s correct, though I’d have to consult the Volumes of Pernandis to be certain. It’s been over a century since the last regency.”

The Volumes of Pernandis had been compiled during the First Bistari Supremacy, nearly six centuries before. According to legend, they were written by King Pernandis the First, whose reign of forty years was still the longest in Aneiran history. The volumes listed most of the ruling customs established over the first two hundred years of the Aneiran monarchy, and though written by a Bistari, to this day they continued to guide all the courts of the kingdom, even House Solkara.

“We should find out for certain,” Fetnalla said. “If I’m right, it leaves us little choice but to back the queen.”

Brail looked at her skeptically. “Why?”

“Because she can name Pronjed as one of the girl’s ministers.”

The duke looked at Tebeo for an instant, the frown on his face deepening. “I thought you feared the archminister. I thought-” He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the other duke once more. “I thought you suspected him of having a hand in the king’s death.”

Tebeo’s eyes widened. “Is this true?” he asked, staring at Evanthya.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it, my lord,” she said.

Fetnalla had mentioned to her an encounter with the archminister, but they had fallen into each other’s arms before having a chance to discuss it.

“I had a conversation with Pronjed this morning,” Fetnalla said, speaking to the three of them, though her eyes remained mostly on Evanthya. “I have reason to suspect that he may possess delusion magic.”

“What reason?” Tebeo asked.

“I can’t say, my lord. I swore an oath to the archminister that I would share our conversation with no one.”

“So it was Pronjed who was in your chambers this morning,” Brail said, looking frightened.

Fetnalla exhaled slowly. “Yes,” she admitted.

“And he asked you to heal an injury?”

“I cannot say more, my lord. Please try to understand.”

Brail propelled himself out of his chair and walked to the hearth, his body seemingly coiled like that of a wild cat. “You ask me to understand, but you tell me nothing. You warn me about how dangerous this man is, and then you suggest that we support the regency so that he can serve the girl as her archminister.” He threw up his hands. “Why should I trust your counsel?”

“Because I’ve given you no reason to doubt me,” Fetnalla said, raising her chin proudly, despite the reddening of her cheeks. “Because Grigor is your enemy, not I.”

“And what about Pronjed? A few days ago you told me that you were afraid of him.”

“I still am. But he’s no friend of Grigor, and I don’t believe he wants civil war.”

“But he might,” Brail said. “If he has delusion magic as you say, there’s no way to be sure, is there. Not even for you.”

Fetnalla opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally she shook her head. “No, my lord. If his powers run that deep, I can’t be certain.”

The two of them fell silent, though they continued to stare at each other, the duke’s mistrust and Fetnalla’s dismay making the room’s air heavy as a winter fog.

After some time, Tebeo looked up at Evanthya, who still stood in the center of the chamber, uncertain of what to do.

“What say you, Evanthya?” he asked softly. “Do you know anything of the archmimster?”

Evanthya swallowed, her eyes meeting Fetnalla’s for just an instant. She feared that Fetnalla might begin to cry at any moment, and she would have said nearly anything to prevent that. But her duke had asked her about Pronjed, and she feared the archminister nearly as much as Brail did, nearly as much as she always thought Fetnalla had as well.

“I know that he’s a formidable man,” she said, choosing her words with care. “I’ve heard him called ruthless by some. He was always said to be a perfect match for his king.”

“But do you know anything of his powers?”

“No, my lord. Nothing at all.”

“Would you trust him if you thought he had this delusion magic?” Brail asked. “Would you be willing to place the fate of Kalyi’s regency in his hands?”

Evanthya forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on the duke, though she longed to look at Fetnalla. Brail knew nothing of their love affair, so he couldn’t have understood the difficult position in which he had placed her. This was small consolation, however.

“I suppose I would be reluctant to trust him, Lord Orvinti,” she finally said.