Shapers of Darkness (33 page)

It took more than the suspicions of a queen and the prejudice of her small-minded nobles to keep Abeni ja Krenta, Sanbira’s archminister, from knowing all that happened in Castle Yserne. Though it had been more than a turn since Olesya had trusted her with any important task or confided in her in any meaningful way, there were those in the castle who still did her bidding, because they feared the influence she once had wielded and might someday wield again, or because they feared her magic, or because, like Abeni herself, they served the Weaver’s movement. She wasn’t without her own resources, her own servants. If it was possible for an Eandi to cast a pale shadow, then that was Abeni. White-skinned, white-haired, she was a counterpart to the queen. Perhaps her power didn’t reach as far as Olesya’s—yet—but she commanded a force of her own within the walls of this palace.

She herself had seen the messenger arrive, had watched as the castle guards fell over themselves to escort this man to Olesya’s chambers. Soon after, she left her chamber to wander the corridors. The Qirsi master who trained her in the use of her magic, as well as in the ways of the Eandi courts, had once said that a person could learn much of what happened in a castle simply by walking through its passages and gardens.
“The walls of a castle will whisper secrets to you, if only you listen closely enough,” she liked to say. Again and again over the years, Abeni had found this to be true. Just as she did this day. Once in the corridors, she saw several of the other nobles scurrying like mice to the queen’s chambers. She overheard two guards speaking of a missive from a king, of war to the north. So she wasn’t at all surprised later in the day when another soldier approached her to say that the queen wished to speak with her.

She found Olesya in her presence chamber sitting in the ornate olivewood chair at the end of her council table. The queen appeared composed; if the tidings contained in the messenger’s note had shaken her, she showed no sign of it now. It seemed to Abeni a sign of how deep Olesya’s mistrust ran; she had never bothered to mask her fears or concerns from the archminister in the past.

Abeni bowed, and the queen indicated a chair at the table with an open hand.

“Please sit, Archminister.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. You called for me?”

“I did. You may have heard of a messenger arriving here today.”

“Yes, I did, though beyond the fact of his arrival, I’ve heard nothing.”

“He came from Eibithar.”

She’d guessed that much, but she allowed surprise to register on her face. “Eibithar?”

“Yes, from Kearney himself. It seems that the Braedon fleet is menacing Eibithar’s north coast. At the same time, there’s been some movement of Aneiran soldiers along the Tarbin.” She paused, eyeing Abeni, as if waiting for some response.

“Kearney fears an attack?” the archminister asked.

“Yes. For all we know, there’s already war on the Eibitharian Moorlands.”

This was the Weaver’s work. The realization came to her so suddenly, with such force, that she knew it had to be true. The last time he walked in her dreams, the Weaver had told her that all their planning was nearly at an end, that the Forelands would soon be theirs. No doubt this war was another
attempt—perhaps the culminating one—to weaken the armies of the Eandi courts.

“Kearney has asked me to send warriors to help him meet the emperor’s assault. In return, he offers Eibithar’s aid in our fight against the conspiracy.”

Her expression neutral, her voice even, Abeni said, “He must know that you’ll refuse.”

“Why do you say that?”

And she knew. The queen would ride to war within the next few days. These were indeed extraordinary times.

“Sanbiri queens have avoided war alliances for centuries. I merely assumed that you would do the same.”

“In truth, I had every intention of refusing. But several of the duchesses argued for going to war, as did Edamo.”

This time, Abeni’s surprise was genuine. “Lord Brugaosa? Arguing in favor of going to war?” It was almost too good to be true. She felt quite certain that this was what the Weaver wanted. The wider the conflict, the better for the movement. Edamo and the others were just the fools the Weaver had hoped they would be.

“I was as shocked as you are. But he made a fine argument for honoring Kearney’s request. He believes, as do several of the others, that there’s more to this war than there appears.”

Abruptly, Abeni felt her confidence leech away. “I don’t understand,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Again the queen was watching her, and again Abeni knew what she would say before she said it, though this time she could barely control the pounding of her heart.

“He thinks that the conspiracy has somehow contrived events to bring about this war.” She took a breath, her gaze never straying from Abeni’s face. “I fear that I must agree with him.”

“How could the traitors do such a thing, Your Highness?” Her mouth felt gritty and dry.

“I was hoping that you might be able to tell me.”

No doubt the queen had thought to catch her unawares with the accusation, to frighten her into giving herself away. In fact, she gave Abeni just what she needed to overcome her initial dismay at hearing of Edamo’s insight.

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness.” But her tone
left little doubt that she did, that she recognized the queen’s statement for what it was: an accusation. She could be defensive now, she could be hostile. Olesya had given her just the excuse she needed to close herself off to any more questions.

“I think you know just what I mean. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I had to ask.”

“Did you, Your Highness? For more than a turn now you’ve been avoiding me, refusing to hear my counsel. And in all that time, while your spies have been watching me—watching all the Qirsi in Castle Yserne—you’ve found nothing to tie me to the conspiracy.” Seeing Olesya pale, she gave a sad smile. “Yes, I know about the soldiers who follow me, and about Lady Curlinte’s attempts to prove me a traitor.”

“Abeni—”

“I understand why you did it, Your Highness. The betrayal of Curlinte’s first minister left all of us shaken. But I’d think that after all this time looking in vain for signs that I’d betrayed the realm, you’d be ready to trust me again.”

The queen’s eyes strayed to the window. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”

“Why isn’t it, Your Highness?” Abeni demanded, surprising herself with the fervor of her question. “What have I done to make you doubt me so?”

She saw Olesya hesitate, so there was something. But after a moment the queen shook her head. “It’s nothing, Abeni. You’ve done nothing.” The woman took a breath, then gave a brittle smile. “Indeed, I’d like you to ride with us to Eibithar. I’ll be grateful for your counsel, and for the powers you’ll wield on our behalf.”

“You want me to come with you?” Abeni said, sounding, she knew, like a dullard.

The queen actually smiled. “Yes. Other ministers will be accompanying us as well. I intend to bring five hundred soldiers from the royal army, and another two hundred each from Norinde, Brugaosa, and Macharzo. Alao, Edamo, and Naditia will be riding with us, as will their first ministers.”

The first minister of Brugaosa remained loyal to his duke, but Craeffe and Filtem were already with the movement. Having them at hand for the coming battle might prove most fortuitous.
Abeni would have liked to have Listaal’s first minister there as well. She hadn’t turned to the movement yet, but she was close. Craeffe had been working her for nearly a turn, as had Abeni. But she had no cause to complain. Three of the four ministers riding with Sanbira’s army belonged to the movement. The Weaver would be pleased.

“You trust us with this?” she asked the queen.

Again, the hesitation.
No
, it seemed to say,
but we want you where we can watch you
. “We’ll have to learn to trust again. All of us. And in the meantime, we need you.”

It was a more candid answer than she had expected. “All right,” she said. “When do we ride?”

“Soon. In the next few days. I’ll know more after I’ve had a chance to speak again with the master of arms and the quartermaster.”

“Very good, Your Highness. I’ll be ready.”

“I know you will, Archminister. Thank you.”

Abeni bowed and left her, intending to return to her bedchamber. As she reached it, however, she found Craeffe waiting for her, an avid look in her large bright eyes. Silently, Abeni opened the door to the chamber and they both stepped inside.

“You’ve heard?” Craeffe asked quietly, once the door was closed and locked.

“Yes.” Abeni didn’t particularly like the woman, but she knew that the Weaver expected them to work together.

Craeffe gave a cadaverous grin. “Filtem, too.” Abeni had wondered before if she and Norinde’s first minister might be lovers; seeing how pleased Craeffe looked now, she felt certain of it.

“I know.” Abeni could see that the minister expected her to say more, but she could think of nothing to add. There was a queer feeling in her chest—not apprehension, but not eagerness either. She had no name for it.

“This must be it, what we’ve been waiting for.”

Abeni nodded. “I’ve had the same thought. If so, we’re most fortunate to have all three of us together. It almost seems that the gods are smiling on us.”

Craeffe’s grin widened. “Did you ever doubt that they would?”

Yes
, a voice within her replied.
Even now I do
. But Abeni merely made herself smile.

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

She was always probing, looking for weaknesses she could exploit. Abeni was one of the Weaver’s chancellors and Craeffe wished to be. She was nothing if not a creature of her ambitions.

“It’s nothing, Craeffe. Go back to your duchess.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Abeni turned away. Regardless of her motives, Craeffe was with her in this movement. She needed to know. “Edamo believes that the movement is behind this war, and he’s convinced Olesya of this. They’ll be watching us.”

Craeffe laughed. “Of course they will. But Edamo is just guessing. He knows nothing for certain.”

“He’s right.”

“Of course he is. It changes nothing. Even forewarned, they’re not clever enough to defeat the Weaver.” A pause, and then, her voice solicitous and low, “I’m surprised to hear you so filled with doubts, Archminister. Perhaps you question the Weaver’s wisdom, or his power?”

Abeni faced her again, a smile fixed on her lips. “Not at all, Craeffe. I just fear that some of his servants may not be worthy of him.”

Unruffled, Craeffe raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, cousin. I’m certain that you’ll do the best that you can.” She turned on her heel and pulled the door open, not bothering to look at Abeni again. “See you in Brugaosa, Archminister.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Galdasten, Eibithar

rom the tower atop Renald’s castle, it seemed a dance of sorts, the slow circling of partners at the outset of some court fourstep. Until the first Braedon ship rammed its prow into the hull of the lead vessel in Eibithar’s fleet. After that, there could be no mistaking what was taking shape on the waters of Falcon Bay. For the first time in over a century and a half, Eibithar was at war with the Braedon empire.

Renald was soaked to the skin. A hard rain sliced across the castle ramparts, driven by a cold wind. It should have been warmer—nearly half of Elined’s Turn was gone—but it felt more like the harvest than it did the final days of the planting season. Elspeth would have thought him a fool for standing up here in the rain, watching a battle whose outcome had long since been decided. She would have called him weak and worse had she known how he quailed at the very thought of what was happening aboard those ships. As a child, he had heard seamen at the Galdasten quays recounting tales, passed down to them from their grandfathers, of the previous naval wars with Braedon. The Empire Wars, they were called. Braedon had prevailed in those conflicts as well, gaining sovereignty over Enwyl Island in the Gulf of Kreanna. And it had taken the shipbuilders of Galdasten and Thorald more than ten years to rebuild the Eibitharian fleet.