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 omen—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 anycase, 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 would—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
“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 omen—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 anycase, 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 would—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
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