Aindreas nodded, unable to speak.
“I’m sorry I angered you, Father. But I don’t want my death to be the cause of any more killing, and I certainly don’t want it to bring our house to ruin.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. He swallowed, took a long breath. “I’ll find a way to undo all that I’ve done,” he told her. “You have my word.”
“You’ll confess all to Mother?”
“I. . I’ll think about it.” But already he was wondering if there might be another way out of this, one that made such a confession unnecessary.
“She loves you, Father. She’ll forgive you.”
If she survives hearing what I’ve done. “And you? Can you forgive me?”
She smiled, looking almost shy. “Of course I can.”
Aindreas smiled as well. In that single moment nothing else mattered. “Thank you.”
The enormous image of Bian behind her flashed for just an instant, the colors in the stained glass vivid and brilliant. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later, making the stone beneath his feet pulse. No doubt it was raining in earnest by now.
“I should return to the castle,” he said. “Your mother will want to hear all about you. I’m sorry to have to go.”
“It’s all right, Father. We can speak again next turn, and every one after that, if you like.”
A turn from now his castle would most likely be under siege. Two turns from now he might well be dead. But he just smiled and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
She began to fade from view, slowly, like morning stars disappearing in a brightening sky. “Farewell, Father.”
“Goodbye, Brienne,” he said, through fresh tears. “I love you.”
She said nothing, but he thought he saw her smile one last time before vanishing altogether.
He began to sob once more, standing alone beside the god’s altar. He remained there for some time, until he was finally able to compose himself. Then he turned and left the shrine, suddenly eager to be away from the sanctuary and back in his castle, though all that awaited him there was lies and ghosts and the promise of war.
Chapter Ten
Galdasten, Eibithar, Elined’s Moon waxing
From so great a distance, even on as clear and bright a day as this one, they might have been merchant ships gathering together on the open sea in some strange waterborne marketplace. Their sails were down, and though Renald, duke of Galdasten, thought he could see sweeps bristling on the sides of the vessels, he couldn’t be certain. Or perhaps he didn’t wish to be.
They had sailed into view two days before, the first morning of the new waxing. The clouds that had covered the sky on Amon’s Pitch Night had still darkened the horizon that morning, and the waters of Falcon Bay were dotted with whitecaps. The vessels had quickly arrayed themselves across the mouth of the bay-a defensive posture. They hadn’t moved since. They simply waited there, no doubt for the other cluster of ships to move into position opposite them.
Renald had first noticed this second group of vessels some time ago, and though at so great a distance he could say nothing about them with any confidence, the duke felt reasonably certain that they represented the bulk of the Braedon fleet. From this vantage point in Galdasten Castle, atop the tor that had been the seat of his family’s power for centuries, on the ramparts of what his forebears had named the eagle tower, Renald would have a fine view of the coming naval war. And if the weather held, the first battles would begin soon, probably within the next day or two.
Eibithar’s fleet had long been a source of great pride for Renald’s people. Most of the realm’s ships had been built in either Galdasten or Thorald, and though they were not considered quite as swift or sturdy as those constructed in Braedon or Wethyrn, they were as fine as any others in the Forelands. But next to that of the empire, Eibithar’s navy appeared pitifully small. Braedon had half again as many ships, and if there was any truth to the tales told by the sailing men who gathered in Galdasten’s port, they were captained by some of the finest seamen on Amon’s Ocean. “The sun of the empire,” it was said, referring to Braedon’s flag, which bore a golden sun from which flew great red arrows, “rises and falls on the waters of Amon.” There was a reason why the empire had managed to claim as its own most of the important islands off the shores of the Forelands. Her soldiers might not have been any more formidable than those of Aneira or Eibithar, but her fleet had no equal.
Certainly the duke had little doubt that Braedon’s navy would prevail in the battles that were about to be waged within sight of his castle. He just couldn’t decide whether to rejoice at this, or to quail.
“It’s ironic that they would choose to begin this war in Falcon Bay,” the duchess said softly, the ocean wind stirring her dark hair, a hand raised to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun.
Ewan Traylee, Galdasten’s swordmaster, glanced at her, a frown on his broad face. “Irony has nothing to do with it, my lady. Braedon’s ships will seek to drop anchor off the shores of Galdasten. The cliffs are low here. If they have it in mind to invade the realm, this is the best place to begin their assault.”
Elspeth smiled thinly. “Of course, swordmaster.”
Renald, who knew precisely what she meant, feared that she might say more. Fortunately, his wife seemed content to mutter the word “idiot” under her breath, and leave it at that.
“We should discuss your plans for the defense of the strand, my lord,” Ewan said a moment later, seeming not to have heard. “If the naval battle goes as I fear it might, we’ll have to be ready to repel Braedon’s invasion sooner rather than later.”
Renald kept his eyes on the bay and the ships, refusing to look at either the swordmaster or his wife. He felt queasy, and he wished that both of them would simply leave him alone.
“My lord?”
Elspeth placed her hand in his, something she rarely did, though he knew better than to mistake this for affection. Her skin was hot, as if she had been stricken with a fever.
“Yes, Ewan. We’ll speak later today. Perhaps you can come to my chamber at the ringing of the prior’s bells.”
“Of course, my lord.”
She squeezed his hand, so that his signet ring dug painfully into the finger next to it.
“You can go, swordmaster. I’m certain that you have much to do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ewan bowed to Renald and Elspeth in turn, before leaving them alone atop the tower.
She dropped his hand. “You haven’t told him,” she said, an accusation.
“There’s nothing to tell him. I’ve made no decisions as of yet.” The words were brave, but even he could hear the flutter in his voice. Damn her.
The duchess actually smiled, sharp white teeth gleaming in the sun. There could be no questioning her beauty. If only he had been wise enough to marry a plainer woman.
“You want me to believe that you’ve considered riding to war?” She laughed cruelly. “Come now, Renald. You’re no warrior. You’re afraid of me. You’d never raise your sword against the emperor’s army.”
How he would have liked to prove her wrong, to strap a blade to his belt, swing himself onto his mount, and lead the Galdasten army into battle. But Elspeth was as brilliant as she was lovely, and she knew him all too well.
“You want to be king, don’t you?” she went on. “You want our sons to aspire to more than this dukedom and the worthless thaneships in Lynde and Greyshyre. Both of us do.”
He turned his gaze back to the ships. The Revel was in Galdasten City this turn. How strange to think that war could begin amid the music and spectacle of the festival. “It’s one thing to side with Aindreas,” he said. “It’s another thing entirely to sit by idly as the realm is attacked.”
“No, it’s not! The one leads naturally to the other. Siding with Kentigern has no purpose if you intend to turn around and fight beside Kearney in defense of his kingdom.”