by DAVID B. COE
She remained fond of him, and she thought him a skilled lover, but had there been other men of interest to her in the emperor’s palace, she would already have turned him from her bed.
This at least is what she told herself. For as it happened, there was one man with whom she had become fascinated in the past turn. The high chancellor himself.
She had never seen a Qirsi who looked as he did: tall as a king, broad in the chest and shoulders, like an Eandi warrior, with wild white hair and eyes as golden as the coins she had hidden beneath her bed. A part of her was ashamed that she should find herself drawn to a man in part because he possessed physical strength more characteristic of the Eandi than the Qirsi. But she saw in his formidable presence and regal features the future of her people, the promise of victory in the coming war. She could no more keep herself from imagining his face as she lay with Kayiv than she could stop counting the gold each night before she slept, running her fingers over the smooth edges of the coins as if they were a lover’s lips.
Even before he revealed to them his involvement in the movement, she had thought him handsome. But she had not allowed herself more than that. He was high chancellor, she had told herself. He had no time for her, no inclination to look at her as anything more than another of his underlings. And back then she had been satisfied to pass her nights in Kayiv’s arms.
As she grew more consumed with her desire for the man, other thoughts began to intrude on her as well, so that it seemed the high chancellor haunted her dreams at night and occupied every waking moment. These thoughts were more dangerous than mere passion, and more intriguing as well.
The movement was led by a Weaver, he had told them, a man who could walk in the dreams of those who served him. All of them answered to this Weaver, and it was this man, not the high chancellor, who would lead them to the glorious future they had envisioned. Except that Nitara couldn’t imagine the high chancellor answering to anyone, not even a Weaver. Indeed, the more she considered the matter, the more she wondered if Dusaan himself were the movement’s leader. He was the highest-ranking Qirsi in the most powerful realm in the Forelands. Who better to lead a movement that would strike at the Eandi courts? More to the point, how many other Qirsi, regardless of his or her powers, would have the resources and knowledge necessary to create such a movement, to pay those who joined it, and to direct others to strike at the weaknesses of the other realms? It had to be Dusaan. He had access to the emperor’s treasury, and he knew more about Braedon’s rivals than any man in the empire, including Harel. Such a man wouldn’t have taken orders from some festival Qirsi, even if that person were a Weaver, nor would he have allowed himself to be ordered about by a court Qirsi from a lesser realm. He was too proud, too convinced of his own superiority. And why not? He was brilliant and strong and he looked like a king.
Nitara had considered all of this for some time now, and she no longer doubted that Dusaan, despite all that he had told her and Kayiv, was the movement’s leader. But that left her to question whether he had invented for their benefit this Weaver of whom he spoke. He would have good reason for doing so. By telling them that a Weaver led the movement, he not only convinced them that he was a mere soldier in a greater cause but he also fueled their belief that the movement could prevail against the armies of the courts.
Reflecting on all the high chancellor had told them that day, however, Nitara couldn’t bring herself to believe this. She had sensed through much of their conversation that Dusaan was not telling them everything. Kayiv had the same impression and had feared ever since that Dusaan had lied to them, hoping to expose them as traitors. She knew he was wrong, but only when she recalled how he had spoken of the Weaver did she begin to sense how wrong he had been.
“None of those who serve him know his name or where he can be found,” Dusaan had said. None of those . Not, none of us.
It could have been nothing. But the high chancellor was not a man to choose his words carelessly, particularly on a matter of such importance.
She knew little of Weavers beyond what the legends told of their magic. They were the most powerful of all Qirsi, sorcerers who could meld the power of many into a single weapon. This was why they had been chosen to lead the Qirsi invasion nine centuries before, and this was why the Eandi, upon defeating the Qirsi army, had vowed to kill all Weavers in the Forelands, a practice that continued to this day. She knew no more than that. But didn’t it make sense that Qirsi who wielded such magic should be strong in other ways as well? Wasn’t it possible that when she told herself that Dusaan looked like a king, she meant to say that he looked like a Weaver?
She had made the mistake of giving voice to these questions the previous night, as she and Kayiv lay together in the moonlight and tangled bed linens, sated and breathless.
“Have you wondered if Dusaan is the Weaver?” she asked, staring at the fire as her pulse slowed.
“The high chancellor?”
Nitara winced. She rarely used the high chancellor’s name when speaking of him with anyone, especially Kayiv. She hadn’t meant to just then.
“Yes.”
Kayiv gave a small, sharp laugh, rolling off her and stretching out on the bed so that white Panya illuminated his skin.
“He’s no Weaver,” the minister said. He laughed again, though it sounded forced. “Two turns ago you thought he was little more than the emperor’s fool. You even said that his betrayal was worse than that of the other chancellors and ministers because he was intelligent enough to know better. Now you think he’s a Weaver?”
She shook her head and sighed, still gazing at the hearth. “Forget that I asked.”
They both were silent for some time, neither of them moving. Eventually Nitara began to wonder if Kayiv had fallen asleep. She would have liked to wake him, and tell him to leave. She didn’t really want to be alone, but neither did she wish to spend the night with him.
As it happened, he wasn’t asleep at all.
“Don’t you think it strange that nothing’s happened since we received the gold?” he asked suddenly. “Didn’t you expect that we would have been contacted by now?”
“I suppose.”
He said nothing, as if waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he sat up.
“That’s it? Just, “I suppose’?”
Nitara turned to face him. “What do you expect me to say, Kayiv? That I think the high chancellor was lying to us? That I expect at any moment to hear the emperor’s guards trying to break down my door so that they can carry us off to the dungeon?” She shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Then why haven’t we been asked to do anything? That’s what he said would happen next.”
“I don’t know. Maybe the Weaver has yet to think of any tasks for us. Maybe he has more important concerns than what to do with a pair of underministers in Curtell. I just don’t know. But if Du—” She looked away. “If the high chancellor was trying to betray us, he could have done it without the gold. If anything, I think our payments prove he was telling us the truth.”
“Have you spoken with him again since our last meeting?”
“You mean alone?”
He nodded.
“No. I don’t think he’d speak to one of us without the other.” She didn’t have to ask, but she knew that he’d expect it. “Have you?”
“No. But I’m not the one who keeps calling him Dusaan.”
“Meaning what?”
“Nothing.” He lay down once more, staring up at the stone ceiling.
She sensed his jealousy as if it were an odor. He reeked of it.
Once again, they lay still for several minutes, saying nothing, and once again Kayiv broke the silence, this time just as she was gathering the courage to tell him to leave.
“What makes you think he’s the Weaver?”
Nitara shrugged, no longer wishing to discuss the matter. “I don’t know. I was thinking aloud. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you did.”
“
He’s the most powerful Qirsi in the largest, strongest realm in the Forelands. Who else would lead the movement?”
“A Weaver; any Weaver no matter his standing in the Eandi courts.”
Look at him, she wanted to say. How could he not be a Weaver? But instead she shrugged a second time. “You’re right. I was foolish to think it.” Anything to end their conversation, to end this night.
“I’m tired,” she said. “We should sleep.”
He leaned over to kiss her and she barely brushed his cheek with her lips. She didn’t so much as glance at him again, but she could feel him staring at her, no doubt looking hurt and angry.
“Maybe I should go.”
No doubt he wanted her to argue, to plead with him to stay.
“All right. I’ll see you in the morning when we meet with the high chancellor.”
He sat unmoving for another moment, then threw himself off the bed, dressed with wordless fury, and left her chamber, closing the door sharply behind him.
She felt a pang of regret, but it passed quickly. Soon she was asleep.
Nitara awoke to the sound of Harel’s soldiers training in the palace courtyard. She dressed slowly, enjoying her solitude and realizing with some surprise that she didn’t miss Kayiv at all. She heard the tolling of the midmorning bells and left her chamber, intending to make her way to the high chancellor’s ministerial chamber for the daily gathering of the chancellors and ministers. She hadn’t gone very far, however, when she met Kayiv in the corridor. Seeing her, he faltered in midstride, then continued past her, his eyes lowered and his jaw set.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He halted, though he wouldn’t face her. “Apparently the high chancellor isn’t well,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re gathering in Stavel’s chamber instead.” He began to walk away.
“What’s the matter with the high chancellor?”
“I don’t know.”
Is he ill? she wanted to ask. Is he going to be all right? But by now several of the emperor’s other Qirsi had entered the corridor, following Kayiv. Nitara had little choice but to do the same.
Without the high chancellor to lead them, their discussion foundered as might a ship in a blinding storm. They drifted from topic to topic, revisiting old, pointless arguments and accomplishing nothing at all. Stavel tried at first to keep the debate civil, but was soon bickering with the rest of them. Kayiv said nothing, sulking in the corner of the chamber farthest from where Nitara sat, his gaze occasionally flicking in her direction. She held her tongue as well, and when the discussion ended at last, she slipped from the chamber and returned to her own, wishing there were some way for her to learn what ailed the high chancellor.
Too restless to sit still, unwilling to risk a chance encounter with Kayiv or remain a prisoner in her chamber, she left the palace for the marketplace in Curtell city. There she passed much of the day wandering among the peddler’s carts and the stalls of the food vendors. It was a fair day, the sky bright blue and a warm breeze blowing down from the Crying Hills, but Nitara could think only of Dusaan. If he were a Weaver, he couldn’t truly be ill, could he? Surely a Weaver didn’t succumb to fevers as an Eandi or a common Qirsi might. He could heal himself. She wanted to believe this, but everywhere she walked, it seemed that a shadow followed. What if he died? What would happen to the movement? What would happen to her?
The minister finally returned to the palace just as night began to fall, and seeing a pair of guards in the corridor near her chamber, she approached them.
“How fares the high chancellor?” she asked.
Both men looked at her as though puzzled.
“He’s fine, so far as I know,” one of them said. “He’s with the emperor right now.”
Relief overwhelmed her, and she felt her face flush. Grateful for the dim light in the corridor, she thanked the men and hurried to her chamber.
She would go to him this night, she told herself. Having feared that she might lose him, she could no longer bear to keep from him her true feelings. But as the night went on, marked by the ringing of the twilight bells, and then the gate close, Nitara lost her nerve. She wanted to go to him, but she feared that he would turn her away, that he might think her foolish, or worse, weak. And too, she feared him. He was a Weaver, and so the most powerful Qirsi she had ever known.
Eventually she undressed, pulled on her sleeping gown, and crawled into bed, trembling with her fright and her disgust at what she had become.
Unable to fall asleep, she merely stared at the fire, much as she had the previous night. The midnight bell tolled and still she lay awake. She longed to ask him if it were true that he was a Weaver, to ask him if he thought he could love her. Yet she cringed at the idea of doing so. Perhaps he already had a woman. She had never seen him with anyone, but the palace was vast, and she really knew so little about him.
Look at you, a voice said within her mind. Kayiv’s voice. You’re a child with an infatuation, nothing more. He might pity you, he might laugh at you. But he won’t love you.
That of all things roused her from her bed. It wasn’t weakness to want him, she told herself. It was only weakness if she allowed herself to be mastered by her fears. She resolved to go to him then. She started to reach for her clothes, but already she felt herself beginning to waver once more. So she fled the chamber, dressed only in her shift, and made her way to Dusaan’s door.
She knocked quickly, as soon as she reached the high chancellor’s chamber, thus forcing herself to remain there. At first there was no response and she had to resist the urge to hurry away. She made herself knock a second time.
“Who’s there?”
She shivered at the sound of his voice. “Nitara.”
The door opened. He was still dressed. He hadn’t been sleeping.
“What do you want?”
“I—I wish to speak with you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Now?”
She suddenly found that she didn’t know what to say, and so she spoke the first words that came to her. “I know who you are, what you are.”
He glanced to both sides and she did as well, belatedly. The corridor was empty save for her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “You should return to your chamber.”
“Yes, you do.” She stepped forward gazing up into his eyes. “I don’t intend to tell anyone. I just want to be with you.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then pulled her into his chamber and closed the door.
“What is it you think you know?” he asked, turning to face her, his expression deadly serious.
“I believe you lead the movement,” she said, surprised to hear that her voice remained steady. She took a breath. “I believe that you’re the Weaver.”
For a long time he said nothing, his face revealing little more. “You came to me in your sleeping gown to tell me that?”
She felt her cheeks reddening once more, and she looked away. “Yes.”
“What of Kayiv?”
“He and I are no longer . . . I don’t love him. I don’t think I ever did.”
“I meant, does he also believe that I’m the Weaver?”
Her eyes flew to his face. He was actually smiling, kindly, with none of the mockery she had feared seeing in his golden eyes.
“No, High Chancellor. He thinks me a fool.”
“Is this why you’re not with him tonight?”
“No. As I said, I don’t love him.”
He nodded, turning away and walking to his writing table. “When you first thought of coming here, to say what you have, how did you think I would respond?”
“I don’t know. I hoped . . .” She stopped, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she said again, her heart aching.
“I can’t love you, Minister. At least not now. It would be dangerous for us both. The emperor demands that I devote my days to his service, and my nights belong to the movement. Someday, perhaps. But for now, you should go b
ack to Kayiv.”
She fought to keep from crying, feeling like a chastised child, hearing Kayiv’s laughter in her mind. “I can’t.”
He turned to her. Tall, regal, powerful. How could she ever go back to any other man?
“Very well. But you understand why I have to turn you away, regardless of my desires.”
“Yes, High Chancellor.”
He paused, then, “Call me Weaver.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Then it’s true,” she whispered, breathless and awed.
Dusaan returned to where she stood, grasping her shoulders firmly. “You can speak of this with no one. Do you understand? If Kayiv raises the matter, tell him that you were wrong. Make him think that you feel a fool for even raising the possibility. My life depends upon it, and so yours does, too.”
“Yes. Weaver.”
The smile touched his lips again. Would that she could touch them as well.
“I’m . . . pleased that you know. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”
“Thank you, Weaver.”
“Go now. In the morning, you must act as if none of this ever happened. If you can’t do that, I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”
She knew that she should have been afraid, but for some reason she wasn’t. “Good night, Weaver.” She turned, reached for the door.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Nitara glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You have the look of a king,” she said, and left him.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
City of Kings, Eibithar
With the arrival in the royal city of the thane of Shanstead and the duke of Tremain, the king seemed eager to begin discussions of the Qirsi threat and all that he had learned from the woman being held in his prison tower. Not surprisingly, therefore, Javan of Curgh and the others were summoned to the king’s presence chamber early the following morning. What did come as a great surprise to Fotir jal Salene and the other ministers was the king’s request that all Qirsi be excluded from the conversation. The guard who came to Javan’s chamber didn’t phrase the request quite that way. Rather, the minister received a separate invitation to meet with the king’s archminister and the other visiting Qirsi. But there could be no mistaking the king’s intent.