by DAVID B. COE
She held his gaze as best she could, balling her hands into fists so that he wouldn’t see how she trembled. “Of course I did.”
“You told me that you seduced me for the movement. But you didn’t say whether or not you loved me.”
Cresenne tossed her hair and smiled coldly. “I didn’t love you. I could never love a man like you.”
He nodded, his eyebrows going up. She could see the hurt in his eyes. “I see,” he said quietly. “Well, thank you for being so candid.”
“Of course.”
She waited even after he closed the door, listening as his footsteps faded away. Only when she couldn’t hear them anymore did she collapse onto the bed beside her baby, sobs racking her body.
Grinsa walked for some time, prowling the castle corridors in search of Keziah, his sister, who was now archminister to Eibithar’s king. At least that was his excuse. As it happened he was just as happy not to find her right away.
He had hoped to begin the process of winning Cresenne’s trust, perhaps even her affection, though he wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. But rather than accepting his honesty as a gesture of trust, the woman had seen in it only an opportunity to hurt him again. Her denials notwithstanding, Grinsa knew that she had loved him, or at the very least had cared for him. He still remembered, with a clarity that made his chest ache, their last night together in Galdasten, when he left her to win Tavis’s freedom from Kentigern’s dungeon. Her anger at his decision had been genuine and far too fervent to be dismissed as the ire of a frustrated conspirator. She had been hurt and bitter, as only a spurned lover could be. In the turn that followed, as he learned of her betrayal and battled to the death the assassin she sent to kill him, he came to question his perceptions, not only of that last night but of all the passion-filled nights that had come before it.
He had railed at himself for his stupidity and the ease with which she had deluded him. He was a Weaver, the most powerful of Qirsi sorcerers, and though even a Weaver did not possess the power to recognize a false heart, Grinsa felt that he should have known. Only with the passage of time did he begin to forgive himself, to see that perhaps he hadn’t realized she was deceiving him because she hadn’t been, not completely. It was true that she asked repeatedly about Tavis’s Fating, but it was equally true that he never revealed to her what the Qiran showed the boy. And still she remained with him until he left the Revel.
He wasn’t a fool. He knew why she had taken to his bed in the first place. But he had loved and been loved before, and he knew as well that no matter her talents for trickery, Cresenne couldn’t have been lying about everything. Passion such as they had shared could not be feigned.
What does it matter? asked a voice within his head, as he turned yet another corner in the castle corridors. Why do this to yourself?
“I do it for Bryntelle,” he said aloud. “We’re her parents. Even with what we’ve both become, shouldn’t there have been love between us once?”
To which the voice replied, You do it for pride. You do it to soothe the pain that lingers in your heart like infection in an old wound.
Grinsa rubbed a hand over his face. “I do it because I’m a fool.”
“Did you say something?”
Startled, he spun around to see two soldiers standing by a door he had just passed.
“No, I . . .” He shook his head. “Whose chamber is this?”
“The queen’s. She doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Do you know where I can find the king’s archminister?”
The two men exchanged a look. “What do you want her for?” one of them asked.
Grinsa felt the hairs on his neck prickle. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. “She’s an old friend,” he said, keeping his tone as casual as possible.
The man frowned as if not believing him.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s well enough. You might find her in her chambers, or maybe walking the gardens.”
The gleaner nodded. “My thanks.”
He started to walk past them, but the soldier held out a hand, forcing him to halt.
“I’m not sure how you got through the gates, but we keep a close watch on white-hairs in this castle. You remember that.”
Perhaps he should have held his tongue, but the man had pushed him too far.
“I got through the gate because the men there knew that I had been asked here by the king, along with Lord Tavis of Curgh. If you’d like, I can accompany you to the king’s chambers, and you can express your reservations to him. Otherwise I’d suggest you let me pass.”
The man’s face reddened, but he didn’t look away. “Forgive me, sir. I would have addressed you differently had I known.”
“What’s your name?”
The guard’s mouth twitched. “Cullum Minfeld, sir.”
“Well, Cullum, I’ll say nothing of this to your king or the swordmaster, provided it doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t, sir.” His tone was insolent, but there was little Grinsa could do about that.
“You say the archminister could be in the gardens or in her chambers. I checked her chambers not long ago. Is there somewhere else I might look before walking all the way to the gardens?”
Cullum glanced at his companion. “She spends a good deal of time alone on the ramparts, sir. You’ll probably find her there.”
“Thank you.” He nodded to both men, then walked on without looking back. Grinsa had no doubt that soldiers throughout the realm, indeed, throughout the Forelands, felt as much contempt for the Qirsi as did those two. But it was unusual for men as disciplined as those serving the king of Eibithar to be so obvious about it. He walked to the nearest of the towers and climbed the steps to the ramparts. Stepping out into the sunlight, he spotted Keziah immediately. She stood on the wall opposite his, her back to him, leaning on the stone and staring up at Raven Falls, a thin white ribbon in the distance.
He walked to where his sister stood, passing several guards along the way, all of whom watched him warily. Keziah glanced at him as he approached. A light breeze stirred her fine white hair, but otherwise she didn’t move. There were lines around her mouth and eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“I’d greet you properly,” she said, her voice low, “but I don’t think it would be wise with the soldiers watching us.”
He was a Weaver, and for centuries, Weavers had been executed simply because the Eandi feared their powers. But more than that, a Weaver’s family usually suffered the same fate, and so for years now, since his Fating, Grinsa and Keziah had concealed the fact that they were brother and sister.
“I understand. Are you well?”
She shrugged. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Not really.”
He would have liked to take her in his arms, to let her cry against his chest until the tears finally stopped. Instead he surveyed the ramparts as unobtrusively as he could. None of the soldiers was close enough to hear their conversation.
“Have you spoken to the Weaver again?”
Against his better judgment, and unbeknownst to her king, Keziah had made an effort to join the conspiracy, believing it the best way to learn of the Weaver’s plans and tactics. As far as Grinsa knew, her last conversation with the leader of the conspiracy had been the one he overheard, having sought to enter her dreams himself so that they could speak.
“Twice, the first time a few nights after you were there as well, and a second time two nights ago.”
Two nights. No wonder she looked so weary. “And?”
“I think he’s starting to trust me. He asked a lot of questions about Kearney’s intentions regarding Aindreas of Kentigern and those who seem willing to follow him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That Kearney is concerned, but he has no intention of abdicating, and that if he believes any of his dukes are guilty of treason, he’ll take their castles by force and install new dukes who are loy
al to the throne.”
Grinsa eyed her closely, searching for some sign that she found this talk of a civil war disturbing. Seeing none, he felt his own apprehension growing.
“I take it the Weaver was pleased by this.”
“Yes. I have no proof of this, but I think he must have someone else working on Aindreas’s end, and perhaps in Galdasten as well. I expect he plans to push both sides away from any thought of reconciliation, hoping that this time we can bring about a civil war that involves all the major houses.”
It seemed to Grinsa that the Deceiver himself ran an icy finger down his spine. “We?”
“What?”
“You said he hoped that ‘we’ could bring about a civil war.”
“Yes, the conspiracy.”
“So you count yourself as one of them now?”
“What choice do I have?” She brushed a wisp of hair from her brow. “I’m trying to convince Kearney that I’ve turned against him, and I’m trying to convince the Weaver that I’ve joined his cause. Day and night, awake and asleep, I’m acting the part of a traitor. If I’m to play the role properly, I have to give myself over to it. My life depends upon it.”
Again, he would have liked to find some way to ease her burden, or at least express his sympathy. But he didn’t know how. Throughout their lives, he had been the older sibling, the Weaver, the one who faced dangers and took risks in order to protect her. Now, for the first time, he found himself overwhelmed by the sacrifice Keziah was making, not only for him but for all the Forelands. It felt strange to him, and just a bit frightening.
“You weren’t with Kearney when he met us in the ward. Have you lost his trust?”
She gave a wan smile. “Not entirely, not yet. The Weaver wants me to repair the damage I’ve done to our rapport. He says that if Kearney no longer trusts me, or worse, if he banishes me from the castle, I’m of little value to the conspiracy. I’ve assumed that to mean that the Weaver would then have me killed.”
“Is it working? Is Kearney starting to turn to you again?”
She straightened, folding her arms over her chest. “As you say, I wasn’t with him when he greeted you. I’ve tried apologizing for my behavior. I’ve explained to him that I was embittered by the end of our love affair and desperate to hurt him, but that I still wish to serve him as archminister.”
“And what does he say?”
“Very little. He hasn’t ordered me from the castle yet, for which I suppose I should be grateful, but neither has he begun to confide in me again.”
Grinsa looked at the nearest of the guards. “It seems the king’s men have a rather low opinion of all Qirsi. One of them tried to keep me from finding you until I told him that I was here as a guest of the king.”
“They take their cue from Gershon.”
“The swordmaster? I thought he knew you were attempting to join the conspiracy and approved.”
“He does. But he’s always hated our people, and me most of all. We both felt that it would be dangerous for him to grow tolerant of me too abruptly. He continues to speak against me to the king, questioning my loyalty even as I try to regain Kearney’s favor.”
“Doesn’t he realize that he’s putting your life in peril by doing so?”
Keziah shrugged again, a haunted look in her eyes. “There’s peril in everything we do right now. This seemed the safest course.”
The gleaner shook his head. He didn’t like any of this, least of all his own sense of powerlessness.
“Tell me why you’ve come here,” she said, after a lengthy silence. “Did you find Brienne’s assassin?”
“Actually, yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Is he here with you?”
“No. We let him go.”
“What?”
As briefly as he could, Grinsa told her of Tavis’s encounter with the assassin, how the boy surprised the singer in the corridor of a tavern in Mertesse and nearly managed to kill him. And he explained as well, why, in the end, Grinsa insisted that the young noble let him go, so that the man could kill the traitor Shurik, as he had been hired to do. For Shurik knew that Grinsa was a Weaver, and so long as he lived, he was a threat not only to the gleaner himself but also to Keziah.
“So he’s still free?”
“I’m afraid so. It was the price we had to pay for Shurik’s death.”
“Did you learn anything from him? Can you prove Tavis’s innocence?”
“We can, but not because of anything the assassin told us.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
Grinsa took a long breath. It was still difficult even to talk about all this. He was forced to wonder if he could carry through on his threats if Cresenne refused to help them.
“Tavis and I are here with Cresenne.”
Keziah looked puzzled. “Cresenne?”
“The woman from the Revel.”
Comprehension flashed in her eyes like lightning. “The traitor? The one you loved?”
He nodded.
“Are you all right?”
It was his turn to shrug. “What choice do I have?”
“Poor Grinsa,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “Always the strong one.”
“There’s more, Kezi.” He paused, searching for the right words. Realizing there weren’t any, he just told her. “I’m a father. Cresenne and I have a daughter.”
She stared at him a moment, as if she didn’t understand what he had said. Then a dazzling smile lit her face and tears began to flow freely from her eyes. “Oh, Grinsa! That’s wonderful! That’s the happiest thing I’ve heard in so long. What’s her name?”
“Bryntelle.”
“Bryntelle,” she repeated. “I like that.”
He frowned. “You know what this woman has done. You know how she hurt me.”
“Yes, of course I do. But you have a child. In the midst of all this madness—the betrayals and the fear and the killing—you’ve become a father.” A small breathless laugh escaped her. “I’m an aunt!”
“I suppose you are.”
“Don’t you see how wondrous that is?”
“It doesn’t feel wondrous to me,” he said grimly. “Cresenne is the one who hired the assassin in the first place. She had Lady Brienne killed. And merely by admitting this to Kearney, she can put to rest for good all doubts as to Tavis’s innocence. Yet she refuses, and I find myself forced to use our child as a cudgel to compel her to speak the truth. I’ve told her that unless she tells all to the king, I’ll have Bryntelle taken from her.”
“And still she resists?”
“Thus far, yes. But the true test comes tomorrow, when I take her before Kearney.”
“You believe she remains that devoted to the movement?”
He shook his head. “I believe she’s that afraid of the Weaver.”
Keziah shuddered. “She should be. If she betrays him in any way, he’ll kill her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should speak with her.”
“To what end? I can’t risk telling her what I’m doing.”
“I know that. But you know the Weaver. You understand her fear far better than I do. It may be that you can find a way to convince her. If you succeed, it may help you regain a measure of the king’s goodwill.”
“It may also cost the woman her life.”
“If she doesn’t help us, she’ll spend the rest of her life in Kearney’s dungeon, bereft of her child and branded a traitor. Her only hope lies in working with us and allowing me to protect her.”
Keziah looked up at the falls again. “I’ll try,” she said at last. “But I doubt that even you can protect her, Grinsa. Your powers are formidable, they may be a match for those of the Weaver. But he can reach her in her sleep. How do you protect her from a man who can do that?”
“I don’t know. But there was a time when I would have given my life for her. I suppose I still would. Not because I love her, though it’s possible that I do, but because of Bryntelle. What ki
nd of a father would I be if I allowed something to happen to her mother?”
Chapter
Eight
The following morning, Cresenne ja Terba, Qirsi traitor, and the mother of Grinsa’s daughter, was brought before King Kearney of Eibithar. Keziah had wondered if the king would even ask her to attend his questioning of the woman. Such was the state of their relations at this point that the archminister wouldn’t have been surprised if he had asked Wenda or one of the other ministers to join the discussion in her stead. But perhaps remembering that she knew Grinsa—she hadn’t told Kearney that they were brother and sister—he had sent word late the previous evening that she was to be in the king’s chambers by midmorning bells.
Keziah couldn’t help but be curious about this woman who had scored her brother’s heart and borne him a child. She had known Pheba, Grinsa’s Eandi wife who died of the Pestilence several years before, but not well. Though she loved her brother, and in the midst of her own affair with Kearney had no right to judge him for falling in love with an Eandi, she had thought Pheba the wrong woman for him. It was not just that she was Eandi, nor that as a Weaver he had much to fear from tying himself so closely to Ean’s race. Pheba had seemed too strong-willed, or perhaps Grinsa had just been too young.
Whatever the reason, Keziah never felt close to her brother’s wife. She mourned Pheba’s death, or rather Grinsa’s loss, but she always hoped that he would find a way to love again, and that this time he would choose a Qirsi woman.
There was an old Qirsi saying: a wish realized is a most dangerous thing.
Reaching Kearney’s door, she knocked, waited for his reply, then entered. Only when she was in the chamber did she realize that she was the first to arrive; even Gershon Trasker, Kearney’s swordmaster, wasn’t there yet. As part of her effort to repair the damage she had done to her rapport with the king, Keziah had arrived promptly for all their recent discussions. But this was the first time in well over a turn that she had found herself alone with him.