"Father!" she yelled.

The door burst open revealing the duke and several of his men, all with swords drawn.

The assassin froze, looking frightened for the first time since entering Diani's chamber. His pale eyes flicked about the room, as if searching for some path to freedom. He still held his sword before him and as his gaze fell upon the duchess he appeared to consider killing her, even though it would have meant his death.

Sertio seemed to see this as well, for he quickly placed himself between Diani and the killer. His soldiers followed him into the chamber, surrounding the yellow-haired man.

"I don't want him killed!" Diani said, her voice unsteady as she lowered her dagger. Her pulse raced and her hands were shaking so violently she could barely maintain her grip on the hilt of her blade.

"Drop your weapon," Sertio said, his dark eyes never leaving the man's face.

The assassin did nothing, but he continued to glance around the chamber, perhaps trying to decide who among his captors would be easiest to kill.

"Drop your sword and you won't be hurt," the duke said again, his voice harder this time.

Still the man did not move, though a slight smile touched his lips. "You're lying," he said softly. "You'll torture me until I tell you whose gold paid for my blade."

Her father opened his mouth, perhaps to deny it, though everyone in the chamber knew it to be the truth. He never got the chance. The assassin raised his sword as to cleave the duke in two, roaring like a cornered beast.

Sertio, stepped to the side to avoid the strike, aiming a thrust of his own at the man's shoulder, to spare his life, but disarm him. Had it been just the two of them fighting it might have worked. But the other men, seeing their duke threatened, closed on the assassin as well, pounding at him with their blades. In a matter of seconds the man lay on the floor of Diani's chamber, blood flowing from several deep wounds.

Diani took a step forward. "Call for a healer! I want him alive!"

"The Qirsi who healed you would never get here in time," her father said, staring down at the man, his voice low.

"One of the castle's healers, then!"

Sertio glanced at her, his face as grim as it had been the day her mother finally died. "They're all in the prison tower."

She swallowed. "We could free one of them, just for this."

But a guard who had bent to feel the man's pulse shook his head. "He dies as we speak, my lady. The tower is too far."

Diani dropped to her knees beside the man. "Who paid you? Was it the Qirsi? The Brugaosans? Who?"

But he merely lay there, the same inscrutable smile on his lips, his eyes open but utterly lifeless.

CHAPTER.

Five.

Dantrielle, Aneira, Elhir's Moon waxing.

Most years, the beginning of Elhir's turn brought warm days and clear nights to the southern Forelands. Usually the snows maintained their icy grip on the northern kingdoms through at least the waxing of the god's turn, but in the south, frigid winds gave way to temperate breezes and the hard blizzards of the cold turns were replaced by gentle rains that presaged the coming of the planting.

Not this year. There had been a pleasant day or two at the end of Eilidh's turn, but with the first days of the new waxing, the snows returned like a vengeful army, battering at the castle gates and shuttered windows with howling winds, and burying the wards and surrounding city under mounds of drifting snow. Neither the tapestries that hung on Evanthya's walls nor the bright blaze in her hearth that the servants fed constantly could keep the chill from her chamber. She had never paid much heed to the passing of the seasons. Living in Dantrielle, where the turns of the snows were mild and even the hottest days of the growing turns were cooled by the soft breezes that drifted among the shadows of Aneira's Great Forest, she never had cause. This year, however, the snows had seemed interminable, the wait for a true thaw excruciating.

Perhaps it had been too long since she last held Fetnalla. Perhaps she just longed to leave Dantrielle for a time, to escape the suspicions of her duke and the pall that had settled over the castle since the death of King Carden the Third and the selection of Numar of Renbrere as regent for the late king's daughter. Or maybe, now that she had purchased the death of the traitorous minister from Kentigern, thus striking a blow at the Qirsi conspiracy, she so thirsted for more blood that she could not wait for the warmth of the growing.

Beginning the very day she received the assassin's cryptic message telling her that the traitor in Mertesse had been killed, Evanthya had been of two minds about what she and Fetnalla had done. From the moment she paid the assassin at the Red Boar Inn in Dantrielle city, the minister had wondered if they had been justified in killing the man, if indeed such an act could ever be forgiven, no matter the justness of their cause. She knew the dead man's name now. Shurik jal Marcine. She had learned it soon after the arrival of the assassin's note, as word spread southward of the man's mysterious death, and it served only to deepen her doubts.

But even as she wrestled with her guilt, Evanthya also found herself wanting desperately to continue her private war with the conspiracy, to open a new front somewhere in the Forelands. Like a battle-crazed warrior, she was suddenly avid for more violence. A part of her, deep in the dark recesses of her mind, wondered if she might even take up a weapon herself. According to what she had heard whispered in the marketplace among traveling merchants, the traitor died at the hands of a drunken lutenist who also was killed in their struggle. Evanthya knew better of course, but though she shuddered just to think about it, she could not help being curious as to how the singer had made it appear so. How did one kill two men and escape blame for both murders? What kind of person devoted his life to mastering such a dark art?

Upon hearing from the assassin, Evanthya sent a missive to Fetnalla in Orvinti, informing her of their success. Her love's gold had paid for the assassination and Shurik's murder had been as much Fetnalla's idea as her own. Truth be told, Fetnalla had been more eager than she for the man's death. But would she be satisfied at having purchased Shurik's death, or would she, like Evanthya, see this as but an opening salvo in a far longer struggle? Evanthya had yet to receive any response, and with each day that passed she grew more impatient. In the last day or two, she had come to a startling decision: no matter what Fetnalla wrote in her reply, Evanthya intended to proceed with her war on the conspiracy. She didn't know where she would find the gold to pay another assassin, or how she would choose her next target, but she could not sit by idly and allow the conspiracy to destroy the Forelands, not after having tasted success.

There was an irony here, and bitter though it was, she still managed to find some humor in it. Despite the role she had played in Shurik's death, and notwithstanding her resolve to send other conspirators to the Underrealm, her duke still suspected her of being a part of the conspiracy. Tebeo's doubts about her loyalty were not nearly so deep as those the duke of Orvinti openly expressed about Fetnalla, but they rankled nevertheless. And she knewa"a deeper ironya"that as she plotted her next assault on the Qirsi traitors, she would only fuel her duke's fears.

He hadn't yet turned from her entirelya"nor, to his credit, had Brall of Orvinti turned from Fetnallaa"but across the Forelands Eandi nobles who had lost faith in their Qirsi ministers were barring the advisors from their chambers or banishing them from their castles entirely. It seemed only a matter of time before Tebeo and Brall did the same.

On this morning, though, her duke had summoned her to his chambers as he always did, just as the midmorning bells rang in the city, their echoes softened by the winds and snow. When Evanthya entered the duke's room, she found him pacing, which he often did when agitated. In the past few turns he had been agitated nearly all the time.

"Good day, my lord," she said, trying to keep her voice bright.

He looked up at her briefly and grunted a greeting. She could see his jaw clenching, and his short, round frame moved jerkily from one end of the chamber to the other. Tebeo was prone to worry, but she hadn't seen him this unnerved since Bohdan's turn when Carden died, beginning the chain of events that led to the poisoning in Solkara, the execution of Grigor of Renbrere, and the selection of Numar as regent.

"Has something happened, my lord?"

"There's a message," he said, nodding toward his writing table without breaking stride. "You're welcome to read it." Evanthya crossed to the table and unrolled the scroll. "There's not much to it," he went on as she read. "Numar is on his way here. He should be arriving by midday, although I wouldn't be surprised if this weather slowed his company a bit."

Evanthya frowned as she read the curt message. This day at least, she understood her duke's concern. These were unsettling tidings.

"Strange that he would have been abroad for Pitch Night."

The duke nodded. "I agree. To say nothing of his decision to leave Solkara before the snows ended."

Few nobles chose to travel during the snows, and fewer still left their castles just before Pitch Night, the last night of the turn, when neither moon shone in the sky. Each Pitch Night carried with it a dark curse or omena"legend held that on Pitch Night in the turn of Eilidh, the goddess of fire, which had been just two nights before, a blaze that was allowed to burn out could not be relit until morning. Even if Numar dismissed the moon legends as mere superstition, as some men did, most commoners did not. The soldiers in his company would be reluctant to leave the safety of their homes for Pitch Night. Apparently, whatever had drawn the regent from Castle Solkara could not wait.

"Perhaps he was fooled by the warm days at the end of the last turn."

"I'd thought of that," the duke said. "But still, to leave before the new moon . . ."

"You think he intends to ask for more men?"

Tebeo shrugged, then nodded, his mouth twisting with disapproval. "I'd be surprised if he didn't." Since Numar's investiture, Tebeo and his allies in Orvinti and Kett had been alarmed by overtures made to the regent by Harel the Fourth, emperor of Braedon. Harel seemed to be preparing the empire for a naval war with Eibithar, and they feared that Numar would allow Aneira to be drawn into the conflict.

"It might be something else," Evanthya said. It might be something more. "He could have ordered you to send more men without even leaving his chamber in Solkara. Carden did it all the time."

"I'd considered that as well. It may be that war is even more imminent than we'd thought." He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head, looking like a parent who worries over a wayward child. "In any case, First Minister, I want you to prepare the castle for his arrival. He may be regent in name, but in all ways that matter he is Aneira's king. We must welcome him appropriately."

"Of course, my lord."

The regent had given them little notice, and for the next few hours, Castle Dantrielle bustled with activity. Servants scrubbed the walls and floors of every corridor and prepared the castle's great hall for a feast. Soldiers polished their swords and helms under the watchful eye of the master of arms before gathering in the snowy ward to rehearse their formal reception of the regent. Men and women ran to and from the kitchens as the smell of roasting meat and baked bread drifted through the wards and hallways. Other laborers cleared snow from the stone paths in the castle courtyards. Like her duke, Evanthya had hoped that the weather might keep the regent from arriving when his message said he woulda"she would have liked another hour or two to ready the castle. As it happened, however, Numar reached Dantrielle just when his message had said he would, despite the wind and snow. The midday bells began to ring as the final touches were put on the great hall, and they continued to toll long after they should have stopped, announcing Numar's approach to the gates of Dantrielle city.

Immediately the duke and duchess rode toward the main gate, with Evanthya just behind them. The introductions in the city would take some time, giving the underministers time enough to see to the completion of preparations.

Tebeo's worries still obviously weighed heavily on his mind, but the duke did seem pleased by the work his servants had done during the morning. As they rode to the gate, he favored Evanthya with a rare smile.

"Well done, First Minister. I wouldn't have believed we could be ready in time."

"Thank you, my lord. All who serve you worked quite hard this morning. I had only to direct them."

The duchess turned at that, smiling as well, snow clinging to her black hair. "I, of all people, know what it is to direct them, First Minister. You're to be commended for what you accomplished today."

Evanthya inclined her head, accepting the praise. "You're too kind, my lady."

Word of the regent's visit had spread through the city and in spite of the wind and cold, the people of Dantrielle had already begun to line the city lanes to greet him. Seeing their duke and duchess now, the people cheered. Just as they crossed through the marketplace in the center of the city, Evanthya heard horns blowing from the gate. Numar had reached the city walls. The three of them spurred their mounts to a gallop and came to the gate just as the heralds concluded their flourish.

Numar sat atop a white horse, his cloaka"red and gold, lined with black fura"caked with snow at the shoulders. He had thrown back his hood so that his wheat-colored hair was stirred by the icy wind. He wasn't as broad as Carden had been, or even Grigor, and his face was too kind and youthful to make him appear truly formidable. But there was a simple elegance to his every move, a grace that his older brothers lacked, the two who had died as well as the one who remained. He looked like a king, and something in his manner told Evanthya that he thought of himself as such. That could be a dangerous thing in a regent.

"Lord Renbrere," Tebeo said, swinging himself off his mount and taking a step forward. He bowed to the man. "Be welcome in Dantrielle. Our city, and our castle, are offered for your comfort for as long as you choose to honor us with your presence."

Tebeo had often told Evanthya that he depended upon her memory for names when it came to greeting nobles from other courts, but in this case she would have failed him; she had been ready to call the regent "Lord Solkara.' That title, however, belonged to Numar's lone surviving brother, Henthas, who, as the older of the two, inherited the dukedom from Grigor. Because of Henthas's reputation for ruthlessness, however, the other dukes of Aneira had not trusted him with the regency and had turned to Numar instead. When Carden, the oldest of the brothers Renbrere, was still alive, Grigor and Henthas had been known as the Jackals, Numar as the Fool. In the turns since, Numar had proven himself a thoughtful, intelligent man. But Henthas, the new duke, still appeared to be every bit the Jackal.

"Lord Dantrielle," the regent answered, dismounting in turn. "It is you who do me the honor with this most gracious greeting."

He stepped to where Tebeo stood and the two men embraced.

Glancing up at the rest of the regent's small company, Evanthya saw that Pronjed jal Drenthe had come as well. This surprised her, thought she couldn't say why. Pronjed had served as archminister under Carden and continued to serve the kingdom in that capacity. It wouldn't have been at all unusual for a king to bring his minister on such a journey, but at least nominally the archminister served Kalyi, the young queen. Evanthya couldn't help thinking that the minister belonged with her rather than with Numar, and once more she was struck by the degree to which the regent seemed to consider himself Aneira's rightful leader. In point of fact, Tebeo enjoyed greater status in Aneira's courts than Numar. He was a duke, while the regent, by grace of his birth and his position in House Solkara, was only the marquess of Renbrere. But Numar's appointment as regent changed everything, bestowing upon him power and rank that had nothing to do with bloodlines. He was, in essence, a creation of Aneira's Council of Dukes, one who now controlled a vast army and great riches, the like of which even the realm's most powerful dukes could only dream.

The archminister was watching her and she nodded to him, feeling vaguely uncomfortable even as she made herself smile. It remained to be seen if Numar controlled this man as well. Fetnalla trusted Pronjed and had built something of a rapport with him during the days just before and after Carden's funeral. Evanthya, however, thought him dangerous, perhaps even a traitor. At each of their previous encounters Pronjed had given every indication of disliking her and now he nodded to her in return, but his expression did not change. A moment later he returned his gaze to Numar and Tebeo.

The formal introductions went quickly, both men hurrying through them to escape the storm. In a short while they were riding back through the city to the castle, acknowledging the cheers of the men and women who lined the city streets.

After the horses of the regent's party had been left in the able hands of Dantrielle's stablemaster, and the small contingent of Solkaran guards was housed with Dantrielle's men, Numar and Pronjed accompanied the duke and Evanthya back to Tebeo's chamber. The wood in the fire had been replenished, and the room glowed with a bright, warming blaze. Numar and Tebeo took the two large chairs by the hearth, while Evanthya and the archminister remained standing, Pronjed near the duke's writing table, she closer to the fire. Pronjed was watching her again and Evanthya, uncomfortable under his gaze, tried to keep from glancing his way.

Two servants were placing food and hot tea on the low table before the two nobles, and a strangely expectant silence enveloped the room. Once the servants were gone, Numar leaned forward and took a sip of his tea. Then he sat back, smiling at the duke.

"You're wondering why I've come."

"Yes, my lord. Given the weather and how early it is in the new turn, I've feared the worst."

"War, you mean?" the regent said with a small laugh. "No, it's nothing that dire. At least not yet. Actually, Lord Dantrielle, I've been abroad for some time now. I've just come from Orvinti, and Bistari before that."

"My lord?"

"After all that happened following Carden's death, in particular the poisoning and the decision of the dukes to pass over Henthas in my favor, I thought it best to speak privately with all of Aneira's dukes. To reassure them. I may only be regent, but for the next several years, I'll be leading this kingdom, commanding her armies and protecting her people. With your help, of course. I thought it best that we take the time to become better acquainted."

Tebeo eyed the man with unconcealed surprise. "A most noble endeavor, my lord. I never . . ." He hesitated, as if uncertain as to how he should continue. "All leaders should think as you do."

Numar smiled. "You never thought a Renbrere would do such a thing. Is that what you were going to say?"

Tebeo's round face shaded to crimson.

"It's all right, Lord Dantrielle. Your friend Lord Orvinti was as astounded as you are. And the new duke of Bistari nearly choked when I told him why I had come."

Tebeo laughed. House Bistari and House Solkara had been bitter rivals for centuries. Any gesture of friendship between them would have been cause for astonishment.

"You intend to go to all the dukedoms, my lord?"

"In time, yes. I'll return to Solkara from here. When the planting begins I'll ride north to Mertesse. The lesser houses can wait, but I wanted to visit our most powerful houses as soon as possible."

Tebeo gave a modest smile. "Again, my lord, you honor us."

"I merely point out what we both know to be true, Lord Dantrielle." The regent paused. "May I call you Tebeo?"

"Of course, my lord."

"One of the things my eldest brother never understood, Tebeo, is that in order to rule Aneira, a king must seek to unite its most powerful houses. As it happens, my father, as great a ruler as he was, never understood this either. Both of them remained so committed to Solkara's foolish feud with Bistari that they never allowed our kingdom to realize its true promise."

Tebeo shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "Its true promise, my lord?"

"Yes. Right now Aneira is considered a secondary realm in the Forelands. Oh, most would say that we've a more formidable army than Caerisse or Wethyrn, but when compared to Braedon or Eibithar, or even Sanbira, we're seen as a lesser power."

"Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I'm not certain that I agree with you."

Numar raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"No one doubts that the Eibitharians hate us as much as we hate them. Yet they've done nothing to provoke a war. In fact, it seems to me that they've tried their best to avoid any conflict with us in recent years. Why would they do this if they thought us weak?"

The regent gave a brittle smile. "You don't like to speak of war, do you, Tebeo?"

The duke's gaze remained steady, though his face appeared to pale slightly. "No, my lord, I don't. Regardless of how strong we are, Aneira is surrounded by hostile realms. I fear that any war with Eibithar would be harmful to our kingdom."

"What if we had the support of the empire? What if we could prevail upon the king of Caerisse to join our cause? We wouldn't be surrounded then."

Evanthya glanced at Pronjed, who was gazing at the fire, his face impassive. After a moment, as if sensing her eyes upon him, he looked her way, but she could gauge nothing from his expression.

"It seems you've given this a good deal of thought, my lord," the duke said, his voice low.

"As leader of the kingdom, I have little choice but to think in such terms."

"Does the emperor of Braedon continue to make overtures regarding an attack on Eibithar?"

"Harel has made it clear to me," Numar began, seeming to choose his words with care, "as he did to my brother before me, that the empire views a conflict with Eibithar as inevitable. The two realms are party to so many disputes that a negotiated peace is out of the question. I suppose we could simply stand by and await the outcome. But if Eibithar manages to prevail, then our most bitter enemy in all the land will also be the preeminent power in all the land. Or we could join with Braedon, ensuring her success, and sharing in the spoils of that victory." The regent shrugged. "It seems an easy choice to me."

Tebeo looked deeply troubled, but he nodded and murmured, "Yes, my lord."

"Brall agreed with me, Tebeo. And even Bistari's new duke admitted to seeing the logic in this approach, though he reserved his judgment for now."

"What of the queen, my lord? Does she agree as well?"

Numar seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "The girl? You expect me to consult with her on such matters? She's but a child."