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dungeon.”
    To her horror, Tebeo appeared to consider this.
    “Please don’t,” Evanthya said, crying again, cursing herself for her weakness. “You have to understand, armsmaster. I need this man. No one else can help me find her.” She regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.
    “Her?” the master of arms repeated, his eyes narrowing.
    “It’s all right, Gabrys,” the duke said quietly. “She refers to Lord Orvinti’s first minister. She believes the archminister can lead us to her as well.”
    The man frowned. “Again, my lord, I must advise you not to do this.”
    “I know. I share your concern, Gabrys, but against my better judgment I’m going to do as Evanthya requests.”
    Gabrys was a soldier, and Evanthya had to give him credit for his discipline. Clearly he wished to argue the matter further, but he nodded once, not even glancing in the first minister’s direction, and said, “Is there anything else, my lord?”
    “No, armsmaster, thank you. See to the removal of the guards.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    He let himself out of the chamber, closing the door quietly, and leaving Evanthya alone with her duke. Perhaps for the last time.
    “You’re certain about this?” Tebeo asked.
    Abruptly she was trembling. “I am, my lord.”
    Tebeo stood and walked to where she was sitting. Taking her hands in his, he made her stand as well, and then he gathered her in his arms.
    “You have served me as faithfully as any minister has ever served a noble,” he whispered. “And you’ve defended this house as bravely as any soldier who’s ever worn its colors. Whenever you return, you’ll still be first minister of Dantrielle, and so long as I live, no other person will ever bear that title.”
    Evanthya knew she should say something, but she couldn’t speak for her weeping and the aching in her throat. After several moments Tebeo released her, though he took hold of her hands again.
    “Do you have everything you need?”
    Evanthya nodded.
    “Do you need gold?”
    “I have some, my lord.”
    “You should have more.” He let go of her hands and returned to his writing table. Opening a small drawer, he produced a leather pouch that rang with the jingle of coins. Crossing back to her, he opened the purse and began to count out gold rounds. After a few seconds he put them back and handed her the entire pouch.
    “Just take them all. It’s not much, really. Fifty qinde perhaps. But it should help.”
    “Thank you, my lord.”
    “You should get food from the kitchens as well.”
    But Evanthya shook her head. “No one else should know that I’m leaving.”
    “Oh … of course.”
    They stood in silence, their eyes locked. Evanthya’s tears still flowed, and Tebeo seemed to be searching for something more to say. In the end, the first minister merely stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and fled the chamber.
    *   *   *
    Just a short while after the ringing of the midday bells, the archminister heard men speaking in the corridor outside his chamber. The soldiers there and whoever else had come kept their voices low, and though Pronjed strained to hear them, he could not. He hoped, though, that men had come with orders to replace the silk ties that still held him with iron shackles.
    After some time, however, the conversation in the corridor ceased and still no one entered his chamber.
    Had the first minister betrayed him? Had she tricked him into confessing his intentions only to turn to her duke and warn him of the danger? He didn’t think so—he wasn’t even certain that Evanthya was capable of such duplicity—but in truth, he couldn’t really be sure of anything anymore.
    Actually that wasn’t quite true. He knew, with the assurance of a condemned man, that if he didn’t join the Weaver in this war he would be killed, either in the dungeons of Dantrielle, or in his dreams by the Weaver himself. And so he resolved, despite his doubts, to carry through on his promise to escape this