“That’s not true.”

“Then how is it that in a kingdom that leans heavily to Kentigern’s point of view, I find myself his sole defender here in your castle? Did you send that damned message to anyone else, or was I the lone target of your efforts this time?”

“He sent the message to every house in the land,” Tobbar answered. “Including Kentigern. The snows kept some of the others away, narrow-mindedness the rest. Aindreas wouldn’t even allow our rider to deliver his message.”

“Can you blame him? Demons and fire, Tobbar! You have children. Can’t you see how the man grieves?”

“Of course I can. And I can even see why he hates Curgh so.” The duke glanced at Javan. “Forgive me, but circumstances demand nothing less than complete honesty. Had it been my child, and your son’s blade, I’d hate your house as well.” He faced Elam again. “That said, the defection of my Qirsi would have given me cause to wonder, and so too would the boy’s refusal to confess, even after the most severe torture.”

Eardley shook his head again. “I expect such nonsense from Javan, and maybe from the thane as well. But you should know better, Tobbar. Your neutrality is a farce. You claim to fear for the kingdom, but you care only for your own power. You ally yourself with butchers and a false king so that you can maintain your precious supremacy.” He stood and started toward the door. “If Ean cares at all for justice, the boy will hang, and the Rules of Ascension will cease to govern our land.”

“Elam,” Tobbar called. “I beg you not to go. My son had no right to say what he did. But his fears are justified. No matter what you think of the rules or of Javan, you have to see that civil war will weaken us.”

Eardley had pulled the door open, but he paused now on the threshold, turning to face the duke. “Kearney weakens us. Demons like Tavis of Curgh weaken us. What is a kingdom without justice? If it takes war to make Eibithar whole again, then so be it. But I’ll not allow Glyndwr’s ambition and Curgh’s lies and Thorald’s lust for power to rule over my house.”

With that he walked out, not bothering to close the door again, so that the click of his footsteps echoing through the corridor filled the chamber.

“Can he really be so blind?” Marston asked. “Doesn’t he know that the Qirsi want us thirsting for each other’s blood?”

“For centuries,” Javan said quietly, “the Rules of Ascension have only barely masked the fact that Eibithar remains a loose confederation of clans. Over the course of our history we’ve been as eager to fight ourselves as we have the Aneirans.” He looked at Marston. “The Qirsi seek to defeat us by attacking our greatest weakness as a kingdom. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of us that their tactics are working.”

Eardley’s first minister dropped herself into a large chair by the thin slit of a window and looked up at Xivled, Marston’s minister. “So tell us, cousin. Why has Thorald called our dukes to his castle? What are these tidings you’re all so eager to share with us?”

“Yes, cousin,” Labruinn’s first minister added. “You and your thane have been terribly mysterious, and I grow tired of it. What could possibly justify asking us to brave the snows?”

Ottah was older than the rest of them. His pallid face was deeply lined and his white hair had begun to thin. Though his journey had been much shorter than the one from Curgh, and the path he and his duke followed through the North Wood more sheltered than Fotir’s ride across the Moorlands, the Curgh minister had little doubt that the older man had found his travels quite arduous.

“My lord and the duke of Thorald wished to speak with Eibithar’s other dukes about the Qirsi conspiracy,” Xivled answered. “That’s why they asked us to leave.”

“But why now?” Cerri asked, playing with her braided hair. “Why wait for the snows? Or for that matter, why not wait longer, until the rains return?”

“Because we only learned on the last Pitch Night that the duke of Thorald’s first minister was a traitor.”

Fotir had expected something like this. His duke had noticed almost immediately upon their arrival that Enid ja Kovar was nowhere to be seen. Either she was dead, or she had left the castle. And if she had died without incident, Tobbar would have replaced her with one of his underministers. All signs pointed to her betrayal.

“My lord believes Enid may have played a role in Filib the Younger’s death,” the minister continued. “Perhaps in the elder Filib’s as well.”

“Where is Enid now?” Fotir asked.

“She’s dead. We tried to imprison her, hoping to learn something of her allies in the movement, but she took her own life before we could.”

“The movement?” Cerri asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it when you speak with Shanstead?”

Xivled frowned. “The conspiracy then.”

“I’m serious, cousin,” Eardley’s minister said. She looked at the rest of them. “When the rest of you speak with your dukes about these Qirsi, what do you say about them?”

Fotir shook his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t, cousin,” Ottah laughed. “The great Fotir jal Salene doesn’t concern himself with such trifles. No one would ever doubt where his loyalties lie. The rest of us don’t have that luxury, though. We have to watch every word when it comes to the conspiracy.” He looked at Cerri. “I know I do.”

“So how do you handle it?” she asked.

The man shrugged. “I tread lightly. What else can I do? I always use ‘we’ when speaking of Labruinn, or the courts, or sometimes even the Eandi. And of course I refer to the Qirsi in the movement as ‘they.’ Lately I’ve found myself avoiding the use of my magic at all costs. Just half a turn ago, I had a dream that I’m quite certain was a vision. It wasn’t anything too important-there were no lives at stake. But I saw something that may affect the next harvest in the Labruinn countryside. The point is, though, I’ve yet to mention it to my duke. I’m afraid that any mention of my powers will make me suspect in his eyes.”

Fotir stared at the minister, not quite believing what he was hearing. “But that makes no sense. We’re Qirsi. The nobles of Eibithar-indeed, of all the realms of the Forelands-have relied on our magic for centuries.

That’s why your duke brought you to Labruinn in the first place, to wield your powers on his behalf.“

“As I already said, cousin, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Why not? Am I any less Qirsi than you are? Are my eyes less yellow, my hair less white?”

“It’s not your eyes and hair that concern us, Fotir,” Cerri said. “It’s your blood. From what I’ve heard, it runs more Eandi than Qirsi. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you never worry about your duke’s suspicions.”

Fotir’s cheeks burned, and he struggled to keep from storming out of the chamber. Such remarks about a sorcerer’s blood dated to the days of Carthach and his betrayal of the Qirsi people during the early wars. Any white-hair at whom they were directed could not help but take offense. More to the point, however, they echoed similar comments made to him by Shurik jal Marcine, during their conversations in Kentigern during the growing turns, and by a Revel Qirsi named Trin the night of Tavis’s Fating. Somehow, during his years of service to the House of Curgh, Fotir had acquired a reputation as a man more devoted to his lord than to his people. All he had done was serve Javan and his house loyally for nine years. Was there a crime in that? Certainly his father would have thought so. His father, who had cursed Carthach’s name every day of his life, and had stopped speaking with his only son the night of Fotir’s Fating, which showed him serving an Eandi noble. He could almost hear the man saying, You see? This is what comes of serving the Eandi.

“I don’t fear my duke’s suspicions,” he said, measuring each word, “because he harbors none. And if he did, he’d bring them to me. There’s no secret to my friendship with Javan. We speak with each other honestly. If you and your duke did the same, you could be true to yourself and your heritage.”