“That you were part of the conspiracy? Of course you didn’t. You don’t have to. Even without such an admission, you’re guilty of treason, as am I. We speak openly of defying the regent, of undermining his power. Yes, we do so to save the queen, but it’s still treason. It matters little if you have compounded that betrayal by joining the conspiracy. If one of us decides to betray the other, we’re both dead men.”
Pronjed wasn’t certain what to say. The duke’s accusations left him shaken; the man’s reassurances only confused him.
“You needn’t look so worried, Pronjed. I don’t intend to speak of this to anyone, at least not for a while. Regardless of where your loyalties lie, our interests are the same for now. We both need House Solkara to remain strong and we both need to keep Numar from growing too powerful, which means that we share a desire to keep the queen safe. At some point in the future, our interests will diverge, and I make no promises about what I will and won’t do then. But for now, you have nothing to fear from me.”
“You speak of treason with unsettling ease, my lord. I assure you, I am no traitor. I may speak against the regent, but only because you tell me that he threatens the queen, to whom I owe my allegiance.”
Even the minister could hear how hollow his denials sounded, but he had little choice but to offer them anyway. The duke would expect no less.
“Of course, Archminister,” Henthas said, sounding unconvinced. “You understand, I had to ask.”
“Of course, my lord.” He paused. Then, “Perhaps I should go.”
“Probably.”
He turned toward the door, but the duke spoke his name, stopping him.
“My lord?”
The man was grinning once more, as if he had just won a great victory, looking every bit the jackal. “I trust you’ll never come in here again calling me a fool, or questioning my actions.”
Pronjed had to stifle a retort. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Now get out.”
The archminister stalked from the chamber, gritting his teeth. It would be a pleasure killing the man. Killing them both, actually. The brothers Renbrere.
In good time.
Chapter Fourteen
She still didn’t want to believe that her father had killed himself. It was a violation of Ean’s doctrines and it be spoke a sadness she wouldn’t even have wished on her uncle, the duke. But Numar had told her that there could be little doubt about how her father died, and she remembered overhearing her mother say much the same thing at the time of her father’s funeral.
Kalyi had hoped, in speaking with the regent, that she might find some proof that her father had been killed, that all of the adults in the castle had been wrong about his death. In the wake of their conversation, she lost all enthusiasm for her “inquiry,” as Numar had called it. How was she to learn what her father had been thinking when he died? If there had been a way to know this, wouldn’t her mother have found it by now?
But as the day wore on, and she dreamed her way through her studies, thinking more about her father than about Aneiran history and the battle tactics of Queen Amnalla the Second, her resolve began to return. She had first decided in the days just after her father’s death to learn all she could about why he had died. It had been the most frightening time of her life. Her uncle Grigor had poisoned her mother and the Council of Dukes, an Eibitharian spy had been spotted in the city, and it seemed the entire land was poised to go to war over whether or not to make her queen. She was too young to defend herself or her castle, too ignorant in the ways of the court to command an army, too small even to wear the heavy golden crown that her father had left for her. But she had a quick mind-all her tutors told her so-and she had always been good at reasoning things out. So she had set herself this task. It was too late to save her father from whatever had caused him such grief, but it wasn’t too late to understand.
Somewhere in the time since, she had tried to convince herself that her father had been murdered, that he couldn’t have died by his own hand. She knew now that she was wrong.
But nothing else had changed. She was still intelligent enough to ask the right questions and to learn what she could from what her father had left behind. And that, she decided in the middle of her lessons, was what she would do.
It seemed only natural that she should speak first with her mother, and so when her last tutor of the day ended her lesson, asking her please to be more attentive tomorrow, she ran from the chamber to her mother’s sleeping quarters, which were just beside her own.
She found her mother sitting by the open window, staring out at a clear blue sky. Her mother rarely left her chambers anymore. She took most of her meals there, only venturing beyond her walls for formal meals in the great hall and occasional walks in the castle gardens. She was still beautiful-Kalyi thought her the most beautiful woman in the realm-but there were thin strands of silver appearing in the dark hair at her temples, and her face was paler than Kalyi remembered from before her father’s death.
“Good day, love,” her mother said from her chair, her face brightening as Kalyi let herself into the room.
“Hello, Mother.”
She crossed to where her mother sat and kissed her cheek.
“How were your studies today?”
Kalyi shrugged. “All right, I suppose.”
Her mother frowned. “Is there something wrong?”
“No. I just was thinking about other things.”
Chofya regarded her solemnly. “A queen must learn to discipline her mind so that ‘other things’ won’t distract her. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Her mother smiled. “Good. Now, why don’t you tell me what you were thinking about when you should have been listening to your tutors.”
“I was thinking about Father.”
The smile fled her mother’s face, as it always seemed to when Kalyi mentioned her father.
“What about him?”
“About how he died.”
“Kalyi, you mustn’t-”
“You’re always telling me that I’m not a child anymore, that a queen has to be grown-up, even if other girls my age aren’t. Why should this be different? He was my father-someday I’m to sit on his throne. Shouldn’t I know how he died?”
Her mother looked toward the window again, taking a deep breath. “Why would you want to know such a thing?”
“Because I want to understand why he did it.”
“He was dying, Kalyi. That’s why he killed himself.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Her mother looked at her once more. “Whyever not?”
“Because Father wasn’t afraid of dying. He told me so. And only a man who was afraid of dying would take his own life upon learning that he was ill.”
Chofya gazed at her for a long time as if trying to decide something. At last she gave a small smile and pulled Kalyi close, in a long embrace.
“It’s good that you think so highly of him, that you remember him with so much love.”
It seemed a strange thing to say. Why shouldn’t she love her father?
“So will you tell me?”
Her mother released her, her eyes meeting Kalyi’s once more. The smile had gone away again. “What do you want to know?” she asked, sounding weary.
“Well,” she began slowly, abruptly questioning whether she really did want to know any more about the way he died, “everyone keeps telling me that there can be little doubt that he killed himself. How can they be so sure?”
Chofya frowned, and for a moment Kalyi thought she might refuse to answer. But her mother surprised her.
“He killed himself with a blade. He thrust it into his own chest. He was sitting at his table in the great hall at the time. There was a good deal of blood, but all of it remained right there, covering his hands and his place at the table. Had someone killed him. . well, it would have looked different.”
Kalyi swallowed. She should have been scared, she knew, and repulsed. And perhaps a small part of her was. But mostly she was so grateful for even this small bit of knowledge that she didn’t mind.