Bonds of Vengeance: Book 3 of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by DAVID B. COE

  Evetta looked imploringly at the other ministers. “Please tell me that I’m not the only one who believes this to be sheer folly.”

  “Our lords have chosen to gather apart from us,” Fotir found himself saying. “We may take this to mean that they don’t trust us, that they only wish to keep us occupied as they speak of fighting the conspiracy. Or we may take it to mean that they expect us to devise our own strategy for defeating the Weaver and his movement. I choose to believe the latter, and I think this as promising an approach as any.”

  “Do you believe Javan would approve of such a plan?”

  “Perhaps not,” Fotir said. “But as the archminister says, the time may have come when we must act on behalf of our lords without their approval.”

  He glanced at the archminister, only to find that she was already staring at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

  “One need only look at Cresenne to know how steep the price of failure will be,” Grinsa said.

  “Does that mean you think it a bad idea?” Keziah asked.

  “Not at all. Just perilous.”

  Keziah regarded him another moment before eyeing the others. “What of the rest of you?”

  “I agree with the first minister,” Wenda said, nodding toward Evetta. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

  Dyre shook his head. “Nor do I.”

  Two of the king’s underministers, who had said nothing up until now, voiced their opposition as well.

  “It seems we’re outnumbered,” the archminister said with a small shrug. “I feel certain that before this conflict is over, we’ll have to take risks that seem unfathomable today, but for now we’ll honor the wishes of those who argue for prudence.”

  Once more Fotir had the sense that there was more to what she was saying than she let on. Despite her words, the archminister seemed relieved to be in the minority, which made sense only if she were concealing something. Perhaps she was a traitor after all. But Fotir didn’t think so.

  Dyre looked quite pleased, but Xivled continued to gaze at Keziah, as if he, too, were trying to gauge what lay behind her words.

  “Isn’t it possible, Archminister,” he asked, “that as more nobles arrive in the royal city, and with them more ministers, a similar discussion might yield a different judgment?”

  “Would that it were, Minister,” she said. “But the king doesn’t expect many more nobles to answer his summons. Kentigern won’t come, and neither, it seems, will Galdasten. And with both of them refusing to make the journey, Eardley, Sussyn, and Domnall have declined as well. Rennach has made no reply at all. We expect the dukes of Labruinn and Heneagh to arrive in the next few days, but even if both first ministers support our position, that leaves us with only a split vote.” She looked at the gleaner. “Forgive me, Grinsa. But in deciding matters of the court, I can’t allow you to have a formal voice.”

  He inclined his head. “Of course, Archminister. I understand.”

  “But with a split vote—”

  “No, Minister. I don’t think it wise to take such a momentous step with the ministers so deeply divided. As I say, in time, I believe we’ll have little choice but to reconsider this question. But for now we’ll have to find another way to strike at the conspiracy.”

  Shanstead’s minister continued to stare at her, tight-lipped and silent. And though Fotir couldn’t be certain, he could only assume from the man’s expression that Xivled thought the archminister a renegade.

  “I’m not certain it’s our place to strike at the conspiracy at all,” Dyre said. “We serve the courts, and when our lords are ready to fight the traitors in earnest they will. My objection to what the minister proposed,” he went on, gesturing toward Xivled, “had little to do with it being dangerous, though surely it is that. Rather, I opposed it because the king would oppose it, as would the dukes, I imagine.”

  “So we’re to do nothing, then?” Evetta asked. “Even I don’t believe that.”

  “I’m not suggesting that we do nothing. But we can only do so much. We can remain loyal to our dukes and vigilant in looking for those who might betray them. We can recommend courses of action that the nobles might not consider, but then it becomes their choice as to whether to follow our advice or ignore it.”

  “You’ve a narrow view of a minister’s role, cousin,” Fotir said.

  “As is appropriate. Perhaps if the dukes of Thorald and Kentigern had kept their ministers on a tighter rein, the realm wouldn’t have suffered as it has over the past half year.”

  Fotir saw Xivled bristle, but before the younger man could respond, the archminister stood, shaking her head.

  “No,” she said. “We’re not going to do this. We’re not going to blame anyone for the actions of a few traitors and a Weaver we don’t even know. This conspiracy reaches across all the realms of the Forelands. It’s been claiming lives in the courts for far longer than any of us realized until recently. Either all of us are to blame for its success thus far, or none of us are. We can disagree as to what actions to take, but I will not allow this discussion to descend into a fight over which houses have failed the realm.”

  She paused, staring at each of the Qirsi in turn, as if daring them to argue with her. “Now, given that we’ve decided not follow the minister’s suggestion, at least for now, what other options can we offer the king and his dukes?”

  For a long time, no one spoke, and when finally the discussion did resume, the ministers could think of few suggestions to pass on to the nobles. When the midday bells rang in the city, Keziah reluctantly ended their discussion.

  The king’s underministers left the hall immediately, speaking quietly among themselves. The others remained for a few moments until Grinsa stood and excused himself, explaining that he wished to return to Cresenne’s chamber in the prison tower. Fotir stood as well and the two men walked from the hall together.

  “I had hoped our discussion would yield more than it did,” the minister said, as they descended the tower stairs to the inner ward.

  Grinsa gave a wan smile. “I’m sure all of us did. But though I’m disappointed, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

  “You think we should have allowed Xivled to join the movement?”

  The gleaner glanced at him, but didn’t answer.

  “I actually had the sense listening to the archminister speak that she had already considered doing so herself. I even wonder if she’s done more than just consider it.”

  Still Grinsa kept his silence, and they walked the rest of the way to the prison tower without a word passing between them.

  When they arrived at her chamber, Cresenne was awake, walking a slow circle with her baby in her arms. Seeing her, it finally occurred to Fotir that the gleaner might not want him there, that Grinsa’s silence had not been a response to what the minister said, but rather to his presumption that he could accompany the man back to the tower.

  “My apologies, gleaner,” he said, abruptly feeling a fool. “I should leave the two of you—” He smiled sheepishly. “I mean, the three of you.”

  “Not at all, Minister. I’m glad you’re here. Cresenne needs to sleep, and I’d enjoy your company.”

  One of the guards unlocked Cresenne’s door, and the two men stepped past him into the chamber. It was warm within, the air too still.

  “I’m sorry I had to leave,” Grinsa said, taking the child from Cresenne.

  She walked to the bed and sat. “It’s all right.” Her eyes strayed to the minister briefly before returning to Grinsa. She looked as if she were eager just to sleep, but felt that she needed to talk to them, at least briefly. “Did you decide anything important?”

  “No,” the gleaner said. “But one of the ministers suggested that it might be useful to have a Qirsi loyal to the courts join the conspiracy.”

  Cresenne’s eyes widened, and once more her gaze flicked toward Fotir. “Did you?. . .” She stopped, shaking her head, as if unsure of how to finish the thought.

  Gri
nsa shook his head. “No. Most of the ministers thought it too dangerous and the archminister ruled it out for now.”

  The woman nodded, but still seemed uncertain of what to say. For a third time, Fotir found himself thinking that there was more to what was being said than either speaker was letting on. Before he could give voice to his suspicions, however, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned toward the door, as did Cresenne and the gleaner.

  A moment later, Keziah stepped into the corridor.

  “Open the door,” she said to the nearest of the guards without even looking in the chamber. “Then I want both of you to leave the corridor. I’ll tell you when you can return.”

  “Yes, Archminister.”

  The door opened again and Keziah entered the chamber. Seeing Fotir, she faltered, glancing quickly at Grinsa. But she said nothing until the guards had gone.

  “I had hoped we could speak in private,” she said to the gleaner.

  Fotir started toward the door, which remained open. “I’ll leave you, Archminister.”

  “No, don’t.” Grinsa. “He knows about me, Keziah. I’ve told you that before.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He holds my life in his hands. He might as well hold yours as well.”

  A strange look came into the archminister’s eyes. There was so much more passing between them than Fotir could possibly understand. But he was certain now that the archminister served the king loyally.

  Keziah faced him, eyeing him appraisingly. “Even before we met in Kentigern, I had heard a good deal about you, Fotir jal Salene. I wonder if you’re prepared to match your reputation.”

  “And what is my reputation, Archminister?” He knew that some thought him arrogant, disdainful of his own people, and more attached to his duke than to any Qirsi in the land. But he sensed that she referred to something else.

  “I’ve heard it said that you’re the most brilliant minister in the land, and one who is less likely than most to be lured into the conspiracy. It’s said that this is why your duke places such faith in your counsel.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Did you mean what you said in front of the other ministers? Are you prepared to accept that there are times when, in order to serve the courts, we must keep truths from those nobles who trust us most?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that, Archminister. As Grinsa said, I know who and what he is, and I know what he did for Lord Tavis.”

  Keziah nodded, although her expression didn’t change. For some time, she merely continued to stare at him. Then she took a breath. “Very well. It should have been obvious to you that I support the idea of having a loyal Qirsi attempt to join the conspiracy. As it happens, I’ve done more than just consider the notion. I’ve acted on it. I’ve spoken with the Weaver, and I’ve begun to win his trust.”

  “I suspected as much, Archminister.”

  Keziah’s face whitened so that it was nearly a match for her hair. “You what?”

  “Please don’t be afraid. I don’t think any of the others would have drawn the same conclusion. Indeed, I believe Xivled thinks you a traitor.”

  That brought a smile to her lips, though she still looked frightened. “I’m sure he does. He as much as told me so the last time we spoke.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Archminister. I’ll tell no one what I’ve heard here, and I’ll do everything in my power to help you. You have my word.”

  “And you my thanks, First Minister.”

  “You wished to speak with us, Kezi,” Grinsa said. “What’s happened?”

  “He’s instructed me to kill Cresenne.”

  The other woman blanched, much as the archminister had done moments before.

  “What about Bryntelle?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

  “He told me to spare the child.”

  “Gods be praised.”

  “And me?” Grinsa asked.

  “As you guessed yesterday, I’m to win your trust, so that I can get close enough to Cresenne to kill her, and so I can help the Weaver find you when he decides it’s your turn to die.”

  For the first time that day, Fotir truly felt afraid. “He knows about you?” he asked the gleaner.

  “Yes. In order to save Cresenne’s life, I had to enter her dream. He saw my face. And I saw his.”

  Fotir gaped at him, fear giving way to hope. “Did you know him?”

  “No.” But even as Grinsa said this, he appeared to be thinking of something else. “I had hoped to speak with the king last night, but I never had the opportunity.” He looked first at Keziah, and then at Fotir. “I suppose I could ask the two of you, though. What do you know of Braedon’s high chancellor?”

  “Almost nothing,” Keziah answered. “We’ve never met, and with the king preoccupied with Kentigern and his allies, he’s had little opportunity to look beyond Eibithar’s borders.”

  Fotir shook his head. “I know very little, as well, beyond his reputation.”

  “Even that would be more than I know,” Grinsa said.

  The minister shrugged. “His name is Dusaan jal Kania. From what I hear, he’s intelligent, powerful, and ambitious, just as one might expect of the most influential Qirsi in the empire.”

  “Do you know what he looks like?”

  “No. I’ve heard that he’s tall, that he’s built more like a warrior than a minister. But that could be said of you as well.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You think he’s the Weaver?”

  “When I was with the movement,” Cresenne said, answering for the gleaner, “I was one of the Weaver’s highest-ranking servants. He called us his chancellors.”

  “It doesn’t prove anything,” Grinsa said. “But it’s worth considering.”

  Fotir thought so as well. “With Aylyn the Second and Filib the Elder of Thorald dead, I can think of no one in Eibithar who has met the emperor or the high chancellor.”

  “What about elsewhere?”

  “Perhaps Sanbira’s queen. Certainly the Archduke of Wethyrn.”

  “I’ll have the king send a message to them both,” Keziah said. “Perhaps one of them can offer a better description of the chancellor.”

  “That’s fine,” Cresenne said, her cheeks still drained of color. “But in the meantime, Keziah is supposed to kill me. And when she doesn’t, the Weaver won’t only come after me, he’ll start to question her loyalty to the movement as well.”

  Grinsa took her hand. “We have some time, Cresenne. You heard what she said. She’s supposed to win my trust first. He can’t think that will happen immediately. And as long as the Weaver expects her to kill you, he won’t try it himself.”

  “So I can sleep at night again?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But at least you can rest during the days assured that he’s not determined to kill you himself.”

  She grimaced. “That’s hardly comforting.”

  Fotir had to agree.

  The audience with Eibithar’s king lasted throughout the morning and well past the ringing of the midday bells. Kearney informed the dukes of what he and his advisors had learned from the traitor, and Marston spoke in greater detail of Enid’s betrayal and what little he and his father had managed to learn from the woman before she took her own life. It was a sobering discussion, one that clearly left Lathrop of Tremain disturbed. The others in the presence chamber—the king, Javan, Marston himself—had known something of these tidings prior to this day’s gathering. Lathrop had not.

  “Filib the Younger,” the duke said softly, still sitting though the others had stood, intending to leave the chamber. “Lady Brienne.” He glanced at Javan. “It seems your son is a victim of their treachery as well, Lord Curgh, albeit a living one. They strike at our youth, our children, because they know that’s where we’re most vulnerable.”

  “All the more reason for us to be watchful,” Marston said. “We can’t trust the Qirsi as we once did. We have to be willing to see them all, even those
we consider our friends, through critical eyes, searching for signs of treachery where we never would have thought to look before.” He spoke to the duke, but he intended the words for Kearney.

  The king, he believed, was incapable of seeing his archminister in this way. Perhaps he still loved her. Perhaps she had served him for so long that he had come to take her loyalty for granted. Whatever the reason, Marston thought the woman Eibithar’s greatest weakness. He couldn’t be certain that she was a traitor, though he hoped that Xivled might discover the truth about her before long, but he certainly wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she had cast her lot with the renegades. All that Gershon Trasker had told him of her recent behavior had left the thane truly frightened.

  “Have you come to question the loyalty of your minister, Lord Shanstead,” the king asked, his tone making it clear that he knew just what Marston had meant to imply.

  “No, my liege. I’ve known Xivled since we were children, and he’s never given me cause to doubt that my faith in him is misplaced.”

  “As my archminister has.”

  Marston hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, my liege.”

  “And what is it you’d have me do? Shall I imprison her simply on the basis of your suspicions? Shall I torture her until she confesses to crimes she hasn’t committed?”

  “No, my liege,” the thane answered, with as much asperity as he dared allow to creep into his voice. “I don’t hate the Qirsi, no matter what you may think. Nor do I think it just to imprison or torture anyone without cause. But I fear the archminister is a threat to you and this realm, and I believe she should be sent away from the castle.”

  Kearney shook his head. “I won’t do that.”

  “With all respect, my liege, I think that you offer more loyalty to this woman than she deserves.”

  “I disagree.”

  Marston wanted to say more, but Javan caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Very well, my liege,” the thane said instead. He bowed to the king and left the chamber, his jaw clenched so tightly that his temples ached.