He handed her a small scrap of parchment.
Evanthya unfolded it and read the brief message scrawled in black ink. The words held no meaning for her.
“You say a peddler brought this?”
“Yes, First Minister.”
She stared at the parchment, her brow furrowing.
“Did he say who it was from?”
“No. He said only that he had come from the north, and that it had been given to him just outside of Mertesse.”
Her eyes snapped up, meeting his. “Mertesse?” she whispered.
“Yes, First Minister.”
Of course. Abruptly the missive made sense, cryptic though it was. Evanthya’s mouth had gone dry and her heart raced as might that of a soldier marching toward his first battle. She knew the guard was watching her, that he could see how her hand trembled. But she felt powerless to walk away, or even to dismiss him.
“Are you well, First Minister?”
“Yes, thank you.” She made herself look up and smile.
The man nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, left her.
She should have hurried from the ward. Better to ponder the meaning of this note in the privacy of her quarters. Fetnalla would want to know as well. She would have to send word to Orvinti. But still she just stood, unable to look away from the message.
Three words. “It is done.”
They could have meant anything, which of course was the point. Only she would know that “It is done” actually meant “Your gold has bought the blood of another Qirsi.” Only she would understand that the traitor had died, simply because she wanted him dead. Only she would see this message for what it was a proclamation of war Just as the loosing of a single arrow high over a battle plain signaled the commencement of combat, so the death of this one man declared her intent to oppose the conspiracy, no matter the cost Terror and exhilaration warred within her, one gaining supremacy over the other, only to retreat in turn. Even with Fetnalla at her side, she knew that she could not stand against a movement that seemed to grow more vast by the day Yet this first skirmish was theirs, and the taste of their success served only to make her hunger for more.
That she had taken the life of a Qirsi gave her pause. Her people would suffer greatly before this war was over. With each new betrayal, it became more likely that they would never again be trusted by the nobles of the Forelands. More to the point, it had been nine centuries since Carthach’s betrayal, and still the Qirsi battled among themselves over what the traitor had done This war she had taken it upon herself to wage would only deepen an age-old rift She tried to tell herself that this couldn’t be helped, that by striking at the Eandi courts, the conspiracy had made itself the enemy of all those who were loyal to the realms, no matter the color of their eyes. But she was a gleaner, and though she had glimpsed only vague images of what the future might hold for the Qirsi, she quailed at what she saw.
“It is done.”
Only Evanthya could have understood so much from the assassin’s simple words Still, as she stood there in the brilliant sunlight, holding this token of her triumph, even she couldn’t explain why her eyes stung with tears for the man she had killed.