“Aindreas?”
“I’ve betrayed the realm,” he said. “And I’ve shamed my house.” Just saying the words, the duke felt something loosen in his chest, though he also began to sob.
Kearney regarded him with pity, a pained expression on his face. “It’s not too late for you to reclaim Kentigern’s place among Eibithar’s great houses.”
“No. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Perhaps you should tell me then.”
Aindreas opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He had to bite back the bile rising in his throat.
“Does this have something to do with the men I sent to the tor some time ago?”
The captain Kearney had sent to Kentigern, the one the Qirsi woman attacked. Aindreas could still see the man lying on the floor of his presence chamber, blood pouring from the gaping wound at his throat. Jastanne had wielded the dagger, but Aindreas knew that he had killed the man, just as surely as if he had dragged the blade across the captain’s neck himself.
“No, and yes.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Aindreas. I haven’t time for this.”
“I’ve allied myself with the Qirsi.”
Kearney gaped at him. “What?”
“I even signed a document pledging my support to their movement.”
One might have thought that Aindreas had confessed to killing his own daughter, such was the expression on the king’s face. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I was grieving. I was certain that Tavis was guilty and that you and Javan had contrived together to destroy my house.”
“But to join with the traitors…”
“It seemed the only way to strike at you. Alone, I was weak. And even with the other houses supporting me, I could do no more than defy you and wait for you to crush me.”
“When?” Kearney asked, as if in a stupor. “When did you do this?”
“Long ago. During the snows.”
“What have you done on their behalf?”
“You know most of it. I’ve defied you, I’ve sought to turn the other houses against you, and at first I allowed the Solkarans to march past Kentigern on their way here. I also stood by and did nothing as one of them killed your captain in my castle.”
“And what have they done for you in return?”
“Nothing yet. Our agreement was that I would help them defeat the Eandi courts and when the time came, they would spare Kentigern. I don’t know if they intended to honor their end of our bargain, but I was interested only in seeing you destroyed.”
“You hated me that much.”
Aindreas nodded. “I hated everything that much. You and Javan most of all.”
Kearney exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground. “Well, you’ve certainly made a mess of things, Aindreas. I’ll grant you that.” He glanced at the duke, looking disgusted. “I can’t believe you actually pledged yourself to their movement in writing.”
“It was the only way to get them to agree,” he said, as if that excused it.
If the king was thinking the same thing, he had the grace to keep it to himself. “What made you change your mind?” he asked instead.
“I don’t want Ennis to inherit a disgraced house.”
“It may be too late for that.”
“I know. When the Qirsi see me fighting beside you tomorrow, they’ll know that I betrayed them and they’ll reveal to all what I’ve done.”
“You could leave tonight. We’d need for your men to remain, of course, but they can fight under the banner of another house. It would raise some questions, but it might save you the humiliation of being exposed as a traitor.”
“You’d let me go?”
“I’ve no desire to see your son disgraced, Aindreas. You seem to forget at times that I’m a father, too.”
“I appreciate that, Your Majesty,” the duke said, and meant it. But he knew that he couldn’t leave. That path led to a different sort of shame. “But I don’t wish to leave. I came north with Gershon so that I could fight for the realm, as the duke of a great house should. I won’t run away now.”
“I’m not certain that I can help you then.”
“I don’t expect you to, Your Majesty. I wanted to confess this to you because it was the right thing to do. It’s been a long time since I did anything for that reason alone.”
The king appeared to consider this, nodding at last. “I believe I understand. I also think that the judgments of history are based on all that we do, rather than one large thing, be it good or evil. If we prevail tomorrow, and you play a role in that victory, your deeds will reflect on your house and your son.”
It was a greater kindness than Aindreas had any right to expect, and proof once more of how greatly he had erred in opposing this king. “Again, Your Majesty, I’m grateful to you.”
Kearney offered a thin smile by way of response, but said nothing. Aindreas sensed that the king wanted him to go.
“I’ll leave you, Your Majesty. I hope you know that my sword and my men are yours to use as you will. Perhaps together we can defeat this enemy.”
“Perhaps. Good night, Aindreas.”
The duke turned and made his way back to where his soldiers were sleeping. Glancing to the side, he saw that Brienne was with him, looking more at peace than he had seen her look in so long.
“I’m proud of you, Father,” she said. “Farewell.” And with that, she vanished.
* * *
He had just fallen asleep, or so it seemed. One moment he was closing his eyes, allowing himself at last to give in to his weariness, and the next he was dimly aware of someone standing over him, then kneeling beside him. Fotir forced himself awake, and found himself gazing up into the eyes of the archminister.
His first thought was that he had been wrong all this time. Since the day he met Keziah, he had thought her eyes the color of sand, but seeing them now in the torchlight, he realized that they were more like flames, bright and entrancing. His second thought was that he must have looked a mess.
He sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair. “Is there something you need, Archminister?”
“No, I-”
“Have you already had your encounter with the Weaver?” he asked, abruptly remembering all that had happened earlier that night. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine. But Grinsa wasn’t able to defeat him.”
“But he came through it unhurt?”
Keziah nodded.
“Well, good. I’m sorry that he wasn’t able to do more, but the important thing is that both of you are safe.”
“Yes,” she said, grinning mischievously. “I could see how concerned you were for us. You almost managed to stay awake.”
“No, it’s not … I was…”
She was laughing at him, her eyes dancing. “It’s all right, First Minister. You should have been resting. I would have, had I been in your position.”
“You mean prone?”
Her mouth fell open. “Was that a joke? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something humorous.”
Fotir looked away. “That’s not fair. I’m not as serious as all that.”
“Aren’t you? You remind me of Grinsa sometimes. You seem to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“These are dark times. Is it any wonder?”
