“I know. If the snows had held off for another half turn, we would have been here sooner. As it was we were lucky to make it here when we did.”
He glanced around the chamber and was pleased to see that his father was alone, save for a pair of servants. Usually his first minister was with him. Enid ja Kovar had served Tobbar for several years now, and though his father still trusted her, even with all the rumors of Qirsi betrayal spreading across the Forelands, Marston did not. As his doubts about Filib the Younger’s death mounted, he had begun to question whether the minister might have been involved in the young lord’s murder. Tobbar rejected the notion, and had grown angry the last time Marston raised the matter. But the thane still preferred to avoid her. At this point, he distrusted most Qirsi. Xiv was the son of his father’s first Qirsi advisor. The two of them had spent much of their youth together. Had he not agreed to serve as Marston’s minister, the thane would have none at all. As it was, he did not plan to take on more ministers when he became duke, though most dukes had several underministers in addition to their first ministers. He had little doubt that as word of the Qirsi conspiracy continued to spread, more and more Eandi nobles would follow his example.
“Tell me of your visit with Kentigern.”
Marston gave a wan smile. “I’m afraid it wasn’t much of a visit. I was there only one night before he as much as ordered me from his castle.”
Tobbar’s eyes widened. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing that you wouldn’t have, Father. I promise you.”
The duke looked away, his expression troubled. “I believe you. Tell me what happened.”
Marston described his conversation with Aindreas, making certain not to leave out any details, not even those he knew would displease his father.
“You shouldn’t have brought up Brienne’s murder,” Tobbar said when he had finished, shaking his head and staring at the fire.
“I didn’t bring it up, Father. Aindreas did. We could hardly expect him not to. It lies at the root of everything.”
Tobbar faced him, his eyes bright and angry. “But to tie it to the conspiracy. Demons and fire, Marston! What were you thinking?”
“His first minister betrayed him less than a turn after the girl’s death, Father! You may be willing to accept that the two had nothing to do with each other, but I can’t. The conspiracy is real, and it has been for longer than any of us-”
“We’re not going to have this conversation right now!”
“It has been for longer than any of us want to admit!”
“I won’t listen to this again!”
“Damn your stubbornness, Father! You have to listen!”
The duke was glaring at him, his cheeks looking unnaturally flushed, and his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if just arguing the point demanded too great an effort.
“Nobles are dying, Father,” he went on a moment later, his voice lower. “Eandi nobles. Not just in Eibithar, but all through the Forelands. I know that Aindreas’s Qirsi betrayed him to the Aneirans, but even with the minister weakening Kentigern’s gates, an assault on the tor could have only hoped to succeed with the duke away, fighting with the Curgh army.”
“Maybe the Qirsi was in league with the Aneirans for a long time, but only arranged the siege after Brienne’s murder. Maybe he was taking advantage of an opportunity.”
“You know as well as I that a siege of that size requires more planning than that. Aindreas’s minister didn’t take advantage of an opportunity, he created one.”
“Have the Qirsi done anything like this in the other kingdoms?” Tobbar asked. “It’s one thing to assassinate a noble, but have they killed other young girls and implicated their paramours?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. But,” Marston added quickly, “they have killed nobles and made it seem the work of court rivals or thieves. I’m sure they’ve even tried to disguise their handiwork by making a murder seem to be nothing more than an accident.”
Tobbar narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think has happened here in Thorald?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. All I can say is that Eibithar has been on a path to civil war for some time now, longer than any of us realized at first. It began with that incident in Galdasten all those years ago, at the Feast. When Uncle Filib was killed, and Filib the Younger after him, it ensured that grandfather’s death would give the crown to Javan of Curgh. And Brienne’s death made it likely that Javan’s ascension would bring war.”
“And you believe this was all the work of the conspiracy? The incident in Galdasten? My brother’s death? Your cousin’s?”
“It’s possible.”
“What happened in Galdasten was nothing more or less than the act of a madman, a villager who had lost his wife to an illness, and his son to the pestilence.”
“That may be so. But the rest-”
“The elder Filib was thrown by his mount. Had he landed one fourspan to the right or left of that stone, he would have survived. You think the Qirsi did that as well?”
“There’s a magic known as the language of beasts-”
“His swordmaster was with him! ” Tobbar said, his voice rising. “He saw the mount rear! There wasn’t a white-hair within a league of them!”
He should have known better than to pursue this matter. Each time he and his father spoke of the conspiracy, it came to this. Tobbar refused to accept that his Qirsi could be involved, and Marston remained just as adamant in his refusal to believe that all the events of the past few years were unrelated. With his father weakened by illness, he should have let the discussion end, but his fears, and perhaps his pride, wouldn’t allow it.
“Nobody witnessed Filib the Younger’s death,” he said. “Will you at least allow that there may have been more to his murder than we first thought?”
He expected his father to rail at him again, but the duke surprised him. “I don’t know what to believe about the boy. The Revel was in Thorald at the time, and I warned him that there were thieves about.”
“But there were Qirsi here, as well.”
Tobbar eyed him briefly before turning his gaze on the fire again. “Yes.” He frowned. “That doesn’t mean the conspiracy killed him. Whoever it was cut off his finger to get the Thorald signet ring. I still think it was probably thieves.”
“But?”
His father looked at him again, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But with all that’s happened since, I have to wonder if someone wished to have the House of Thorald removed from the Order of Ascension.”
Marston started to agree, but his father stopped him with a raised finger.
“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to send away all my ministers,” he said. “As you say, the Revel was here, and with it all its gleaners and fire conjurers. If the Qirsi were behind his death, it would have been one of them. I’m certain of it.”
Once more, Marston wanted to argue the point, but his father had already admitted that Filib’s murder might have been an assassination, rather than a simple act of thievery. Marston had never thought the duke would come that far. Continuing the discussion was only likely to anger him further.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Tobbar raised an eyebrow. “Are you humoring me, whelp?”
Marston grinned. “Maybe I should go. You look tired.”
“I am tired. But you can’t leave yet.” The duke lifted a scroll off the table and handed it to him. It was tied with two satin ribbons, one tawny, the other black. The colors of Tremain.
Marston looked at his father a moment before unrolling the scroll.
“It arrived at Shanstead a few days ago. Your brother brought it to me, thinking it might be too important to keep until your return. Forgive me, but I read it, though it’s addressed to you.”
“Of course,” Marston said absently, beginning to read the message.
It was from the Lathrop, duke of Tremain. He wished to know where Marston stood in the conflict between Curgh and Kentigern, and he offered to ride to Shanstead to discuss the matter.
The message was brief and rather vague, but the last line caught Marston’s eye.
With the kingdom at the very precipice of war, it behooves all of us who honor the Rules of Ascension and cherish the peace they have brought to our land, to stand with the king. I hope you will agree.
“It seems Aindreas isn’t the only one interested in cultivating an alliance with you,” Tobbar said, as Marston began reading the message a second time. “I get the feeling they don’t expect me to live much longer.”
Marston looked up. “Father, no. I don’t think they-”
“It’s all right,” Tobbar said, smiling. “I’d do the same, were I in their position. You are the future of this house, you and your brother.”
“Did Chalton read this as well?”
“No. He left it with me, stayed just the one night, and returned home.”
Marston nodded, eyeing the message again. “Why would Lathrop write to me? He’s yet to take sides in this matter, and yet asks me to do just that.”
“I’d imagine Kearney asked him to do it.”
“But why. If the king wishes to ask one of his thanes where he stands on a matter of such importance, surely he can send the message himself.”
“Think, Marston. You’re going to be duke someday. It’s time you began to see the world through a noble’s eyes. Kearney has sent me several messages since his ascension. I’ve already spoken for the house, and I’ve made it clear to him I won’t commit Thorald to either side of this fight. But he needs to know what will happen when I’m gone. If he were to send a message to you directly, it would be an affront to me, an indication that he no longer considers me Thorald’s leader.”
“Is Tremain’s message any less of an affront?”
“He’s the duke of a minor house, and as you said, he hasn’t sided with either Javan or Aindreas. Under the circumstances, he was an appropriate choice. Strictly speaking, I’d be justified in taking offense, but as a practical matter, Kearney needed to get a message to you, and this was the best, quickest way for him to do so.” He gazed at Marston for several moments, a slight smile on his pallid face. “The question is, how are you going to respond?”
The thane shrugged. “Just as you have, and just as I told Aindreas I would. Thorald wants no part of this fight.”
“Are you certain?”
“Surely I don’t have to convince you of this, Father. If we commit Thorald’s army to either side, it will embolden one of them and bring us to war. You’ve said so yourself a dozen times.”
“Yes, I have,” Tobbar said, nodding. “But I’m too old for a war. You’re not. And it may be that there’s something here worth fighting for.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Do you want Davin to sit on the throne?”
The question silenced him. What man of Thorald didn’t dream of seeing his son crowned as king? The Rules of Ascension didn’t allow Marston or Chalton to aspire to the throne, but with Filib’s line dead, their sons could rule. Though only if Glyndwr relinquished the crown.
“Of course I do,” he answered at last. “But I won’t destroy the kingdom to put him there.”
“Is that what it would take?” his father asked mildly.
“Yes. Kearney has a son. And someday the younger Kearney probably will as well. Glyndwr won’t give up the throne. It would have to be taken, and that means war. It also means defying the Rules of Ascension. And if we abandon the rules, then even when Glyndwr’s line does fail, Thorald may need to fight to reassert its supremacy.” He shook his head. “Much as I’d like to see Davin as king, the price is too high. I won’t choose between Javan and Aindreas, and if one of them challenges the king, they’ll have to defeat our soldiers as well as the King’s Guard. I’ll lead the army myself.”
Tobbar nodded, the smile still on his lips. “Very good, Marston. Very good, indeed. The house will be in good hands when I’m gone.”
“You’re not fooling me, old man. You’re too stubborn to die.”
He grunted, facing the fire again. “Hardly. I’m tired, boy. The healers have given up on me, and I haven’t the strength or the will to fight this battle alone.”
Marston felt a strange tightening in his throat and he had to blink his eyes to keep the tears back. He wondered if his father had said any of this to Chalton.
“You needn’t grieve,” the duke said, firelight in his grey eyes. “I’ve had a good life. I’ve been in love, I’ve seen my boys grow to manhood, and I’ve ruled the land’s finest house. Few men can say as much. I would have liked to have more time with your mother, but Bian wanted her for himself.” He glanced at Marston, the smile touching his lips again for just an instant. “I’m eager to see her, even if it is in the Underrealm.”
Marston tried to grin. Failed. “Isn’t it enough to see her on the Night of the Dead?”
Tobbar shook his head, looking away once more. “I want to hold her hand. I want to kiss her. You can’t hold a wraith in your arms.”
He searched for something to say, but nothing came to him. “Perhaps I should leave you, Father. We can speak again later, when you’ve had some time to rest.”
The duke nodded.
Marston leaned forward and kissed his father on the cheek, something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He stood and started to walk away, but Tobbar caught his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting him go.
Stepping out of the warmth of his father’s chamber into the cool air of the castle corridor, Marston paused. He was hungry, and he would have liked to lie down in a comfortable bed. But first he wanted to speak with the castle surgeon.
I’m not ready to be du’te
. He needed to know how much time he had to prepare.
Xivled remained in his chamber long enough to give his thane time to reach Tobbar’s quarters. Then he left, descending the tower stairs to the ward, and crossing to the north end of the castle, where the ministers had their rooms.
“Ask her about the messages Father has exchanged with the king,” Marston had instructed. “Father could probably tell me himself, but with his illness worsening, this is something the two of you can discuss. I’m sure she’ll understand.”