by David B. Coe
“He’s already made it clear to me that he doesn’t agree.”
Gershon actually grinned. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but he’s just a boy. He’s bright, and he’s brave, but he’s a child. He thinks of war as it sounds in children’s tales and warriors’ songs. My boys are the same way. He may think that he wants to join this battle, but he’s not ready.”
“The swordmaster is right, Your Majesty,” Marston said. “I wouldn’t allow my sons to fight either.”
The king gave a wan smile. “In fairness, neither of your sons is duke. But I thank both of you. Certainly the queen will agree with much of what you’ve said.”
The three men fell silent for some time, until finally the king sat forward again, seeming to rouse himself from a dream. “There remains one matter I wish to discuss.”
Marston nodded. “The Qirsi.”
“Yes.”
Gershon looked at them both, feeling his stomach ball itself into a fist. “What about the Qirsi?”
“Lord Shanstead has suggested that I have the Qirsi woman, the traitor, removed from Audun’s Castle.”
“Why?” he asked the thane. “Removed where?”
Marston gave a shrug. “At first I actually suggested that His Majesty have the woman executed. She betrayed the land, she admits complicity in Lady Brienne’s murder. We would be justified in whatever we chose to do.”
“But the king gave his word, not only to the woman, but also to the gleaner, the father of her child.”
“His Majesty said much the same thing, and also pointed out that it would be a terrible thing to do to the child. And so I counseled him to send the woman to Glyndwr.”
“I still don’t understand why.”
“She was attacked by a Weaver, swordmaster,” the king answered. “The same Weaver who leads the conspiracy. As long as she stays here, Audun’s Castle will be a target for every renegade Qirsi in the land. She’s a danger to the lives of everyone in the castle, including the queen and my daughters and your family as well, Gershon. Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t be so concerned. But with both of us riding to war along with much of the royal army, it seems too great a risk. The Weaver might have a more difficult time finding her in the highlands.”
Gershon couldn’t help but shudder at Kearney’s mention of the attack on the Qirsi woman. From what he understood, the Weaver had entered her dreams and used her own healing magic to open ugly gashes on her face and shatter the bones in her hand. Had the gleaner not been there to save her, the Weaver surely would have succeeded in killing her. But the swordmaster knew that there were risks in sending her away from the castle. “Then again, he might not, Your Majesty,” Gershon said, “in which case you’ll be placing your son and your home city at risk. Glyndwr is a fine castle, but it’s not nearly the equal of this one. Even with the King’s Guard abroad, it’s safer to keep her here.”
Marston and the king exchanged a brief look.
“I disagree,” the thane said. “With the woman—”
Kearney stood and walked to the window. “It’s all right, Lord Shanstead. He should know all of it.”
“All of what, Your Majesty? I don’t understand any of this.”
“There’s more to this decision than just sending the woman away, swordmaster.” With the king staring out at the castle ward, Gershon couldn’t see his face. But the swordmaster could hear the tension in Kearney’s voice, and he felt his own apprehension growing. “I intend to have Keziah escort her to the highlands.”
The swordmaster felt his mouth suddenly go dry. “The archminister?” he said, knowing how foolish he must sound.
“Surely this doesn’t come as a surprise, Gershon. You of all people should have expected it. For the past several turns she’s been belligerent and disrespectful. The counsel she’s offered has been questionable at best. I don’t believe she’s betrayed me to the conspiracy, though at times she behaves as though she had. But her loyalties are divided in ways neither of you could possibly understand. And her feelings for me have grown difficult to discern. I’m not certain what caused all this—maybe it was Paegar’s death, or perhaps . . .” He shook his head. “Whatever its source, I no longer have faith in her ability to serve in this castle.”
Gershon knew all of this, of course. No one who had lived in Audun’s Castle over the past half year could have failed to notice the tension that had grown between Keziah and the king. But Gershon also knew that this had been Keziah’s intention all along. She had contrived to join the conspiracy, hoping to learn what she could of its leaders and its tactics. “But, Your Majesty—”
“You can’t tell me that you object, Gershon. I’d have thought you’d be pleased. It seems to me that you’ve been trying to get me to do this very thing for years.”
He wasn’t certain what to say. The truth was he would have been pleased a few turns ago, when he still saw Keziah as a threat to Kearney and all Eibithar. But with Keziah’s decision to join the conspiracy he had finally come to realize that whatever her faults, the woman was as brave as any warrior in the Forelands, and was devoted to the king and the realm. If Kearney sent her away, it would render her useless to the conspiracy, thus undermining all that she had done in winning the Weaver’s trust. It might even endanger her life.
“I admit that there have been occasions in the past when I wanted you to banish her from the court,” he said. “But this is not the time. As you say, you’re about to ride to war. I don’t know what powers the archminister possesses—”
“Gleaning, mists and winds, language of beasts,” the king said, his voice flat. Of course he would know.
“From what I know of the Qirsi, I believe at least two of those are considered to be among the deeper magics. Can we really afford to go into battle without her?”
“There are other Qirsi in this castle, swordmaster,” Marston said.
Gershon glared at him. How had this whelp convinced the king to do such a thing? “Yes, Lord Shanstead, there are. But Wenda is old, and Dyre is neither as intelligent nor as powerful as Keziah.”
“I speak not only of the king’s ministers, but also those of the other nobles. Surely Javan’s first minister is as powerful a sorcerer as there is in the Forelands, with the exception of this Weaver who leads the traitors.”
Gershon turned back to the king. “The point is, Your Majesty, we need to use all the weapons at our disposal. We face a powerful foe, and we may find ourselves confronted with an even greater one, if the conspiracy chooses to strike at us as well. From what I understand, a Weaver can turn even a small number of Qirsi into a powerful weapon. I’ve heard it said that one Weaver and a shaper or two could tear a castle to its foundations. If this man has even a hundred renegades in his army, he’ll be far more of a threat than any force the emperor might send to our shores. And I’ll wager he has a good deal more than a hundred sorcerers under his command.”
“All the more reason to send the archminister away,” Marston said. “If she is a traitor—and I think it possible even if His Majesty does not—then having her anywhere near the king when the renegades begin their attack would be sheer folly.”
“You have no evidence that she’s a traitor!”
“Given what’s at risk, it’s enough just to suspect it!”
“That’s enough, both of you.” Kearney hadn’t raised his voice at all, but his words silenced them nevertheless. “I’ve made my decision, Gershon.” He turned and faced the swordmaster. “I want you to tell her, and have both women ready to make the journey two days from now.”
Gershon knew that he should let the matter drop. With Marston there, Kearney wasn’t about to reverse himself. But the thane had poisoned the king’s mind against Keziah, at a far greater cost to the realm than either Marston or Kearney could know. “This is a mistake, Your Majesty,” he said. “It’s an injustice to the archminister, and more than that—” He faltered, glaring at the thane once more. He couldn’t say too much in front of this man, not without putting
Keziah in greater peril. “You could be endangering the realm.”
“I think I understand your point of view quite clearly, swordmaster.”
Kearney said the words evenly enough, but there could be no mistaking the rage in his pale eyes. Gershon had pushed him far. And still he wasn’t done.
“No, Your Majesty, you don’t. If I could just have a word with you, alone.”
“I see no need for that. The matter is closed.”
“What is it you said to him?” Gershon demanded, whirling on the thane. “How have you turned him against her?”
“That is enough, swordmaster!” Kearney said, his voice reverberating through the chamber. “I’ve given you an order! Now, I’d see it done!”
The swordmaster continued to glower at Marston, itching to draw his blade. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he managed, through clenched teeth.
He sketched a quick bow to the king, cast one last look at the thane, and strode to the door. Yanking it open, he glanced back at Kearney. “With all respect, Your Majesty, she deserves better.”
“I know,” the king said, and turned away.
Keziah had returned to her chamber and was searching through her wardrobe when she heard the knock at her door.
“Enter,” she called, pushing aside the ministerial robe she had worn in Glyndwr and a number of dresses she had stopped wearing when her affair with Kearney ended.
She heard the door open, the scrape of a boot on the stone floor of her bedchamber. Glancing back, she saw Gershon Trasker closing the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Before he could answer, she turned her attention back to the wardrobe. “Do you know if there are any mail coats in the armory that would fit someone my size? I had one, but I can’t find it. For that matter, I don’t see my sword here either.”
“We need to talk.”
The archminister frowned, stood up. “All right,” she said absently. She kept a small chest at the foot of her bed. It might have been in there.
“Keziah.”
She turned at that. Gershon almost never called her by name. Seeing his face, she felt a sudden tightness in her chest. His face was flushed, his lips pressed in a thin, hard line. For a moment she wondered if he had brought tidings of a death. She saw Grinsa’s face in her mind and began to tremble.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“It’s the king.”
“The king? What about him? Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine. But surely you’ve noticed that he’s been turning to the thane of Shanstead for counsel.”
“Yes, what of it?”
“And I’m sure you’ve noticed as well that Marston has little regard for your people, that he’s quick to question the loyalty of every Qirsi he meets.”
“Yes, swordmaster, I’ve noticed,” she said, her patience wearing thin. “Now for pity’s sake, tell me what this is about!”
He held her gaze for but a moment before averting his eyes. She noticed that his hands were shaking. “The king has decided that the woman has to leave Audun’s Castle. He wants her sent to Glyndwr.”
“You mean Cresenne?”
He nodded.
“But that makes no—”
“Wait. There’s more to it than that. He wants you to escort her there. This isn’t about her at all. The thane has convinced him that you aren’t to be trusted, that in fact you’re a threat to Kearney and the realm.”
The tightness in her chest was suddenly an ache so unbearable she could hardly draw breath.
“He wants to send me away?” She felt tears on her face, but she ignored them. Her entire body was trembling. How had it gotten so cold so quickly?
“It’s Marston making him do it,” Gershon told her bitterly.
She tried to force her mind past the hurt and the grief. This was important in ways that went far beyond her heartache, she knew it was. But all she could think about was the fact that Kearney had chosen to banish her from his castle. Not too long ago they had been in love; now he couldn’t even stand to have her near him.
“This is all my fault,” she murmured. “I made him do this.”
“Archminister—”
“Marston didn’t do this, I did.”
“Keziah, you have to listen to me.”
She looked at him, his face a blur through her tears.
“Think for a moment. What will the Weaver do if you’re sent away from Kearney’s court?”
Yes, the Weaver. That was it. She swiped at her tears with an open hand, trying to clear her mind.
“Keziah?”
“Yes, I know. The Weaver.” She swallowed, took a breath. “He won’t be pleased. He told me some time ago that if the king sent me away, or if I lost Kearney’s trust entirely, I’d no longer be of use to the movement. He didn’t say what he’d do if that happened, but I can imagine.”
“As can I.”
She was trembling still, but now out of fear rather than anguish. She was terrified of the Weaver and what he would do to her if he ever learned the true reason she had joined his movement. But already her mind had turned to Cresenne ja Terba, the woman who had betrayed Grinsa, her brother. The woman who had also given birth to his daughter, Keziah’s niece. “There’s more to this than you know. The Weaver has commanded me to kill Cresenne.”
The swordmaster’s eyes widened. “Demons and fire.”
“As long as we’re both in the castle, she in the prison tower under the watch of Kearney’s men, I can make excuses for not doing so. But as soon as we leave the City of Kings together, I won’t be able to delay any longer.”
“And if you fail him in this?”
“He’ll kill us both. I’m certain of it.”
“Then you have no choice. You have to tell the king.”
“Tell him what?”
“Everything, of course. Your belief that Paegar was a traitor, your decision to draw the attention of the movement, your efforts to win the Weaver’s trust. All of it.”
Keziah shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“You have to!” He crossed to where she stood. “I don’t give a damn about the other woman. I understand that she’s important to the gleaner, and therefore to you. I even understand that having given his word to guard her, the king can’t very well turn around and order her execution. But in my mind, that’s what she deserves. She’s a traitor, and a murderer, and she’s almost solely responsible for the divisions that have weakened this realm. To be honest, I’d gladly kill her myself. You, though—you’re a different matter. You’ve put your life at risk in order to serve the king and save our land.”
At another moment, hearing the swordmaster speak to her so might have moved her. They had spent years hating each other, vying with one another in the court of Glyndwr for Kearney’s ear. They might never truly be friends, but clearly she had earned the man’s respect.
“That’s why we can’t tell Kearney any of this!” she said, pleading with him. “If he knows, he’ll treat me differently and someone’s bound to notice. We have to find some other way to convince him that I should remain here.”
“There is no other way. He’s ordered me to prepare you and the woman for the journey to Glyndwr. You’re to leave two mornings hence. Either we tell him now—”
“No.” She was crying again, shivering as if from a frigid wind. If only Grinsa had stayed. Kearney could send Keziah away without endangering Cresenne and the baby. She would still have had this ache in her chest—leaving Kearney would never be easy. But it might also have come as a relief. Better to render herself superfluous to the Weaver and his movement than continue to endure the king’s contempt and mistrust. Yes, it might mean her death, but she wasn’t certain that she cared anymore. She was so weary. For too long she had been lying to her king, lying to the Weaver, harboring secrets that could get her killed. She just wanted it all to end. “I won’t tell him,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Demons and fire,
woman! Do you intend to let the Weaver kill you? Is that it?”
When she didn’t answer, his eyes grew wide. “That’s just what you intend, isn’t it?”
She turned her back to him and stared out the window.
“And will you let him kill the woman as well? And her child?”
“He won’t do anything to the child.”
“You mean aside from killing her mother.”
“What if I offered to leave without Cresenne and Bryntelle? You said before that this wasn’t about her. Would he be satisfied if I left alone?”
“He might. I’m not really sure. I think Marston would object, but I might be able to prevail upon the king to allow it anyway.”
“Would you do that?”
“No.”
She whirled toward him. “Why not?” she demanded, hardly believing that he would refuse her.
“Because this is no solution. It removes you from the king’s court and so still puts your life at risk. And I swore to you when all this began that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. I believe the best way to do that is to tell the king the truth. It would be better coming from you, but I’ll tell him myself if I have to.”
“Swordmaster, you can’t do that! Please!”
“Tell me why I can’t. We’re just talking about the king; no one else need know. But surely Kearney can be trusted with this. I see no danger in telling him. In fact, it might even help. No doubt the Weaver expects you to make Kearney do certain things, to bend his will somehow. Wouldn’t it be helpful to have the king privy to this, so that he could make the deception more convincing?”
He was right of course. True, Kearney might be tempted to treat her differently once he understood all that she had done in recent turns, once he knew that her loyalty had never wavered. But he was the most intelligent man she’d ever known; he’d find a way to keep her secret. If he didn’t banish her from the castle for what she’d done.
“Kearney will never forgive me for this,” she finally whispered, relieved in a way to say at last what she had wanted to all along. “He’ll hate me for it.”
Keziah glanced at the swordmaster, saw a sad smile on his face. She knew what he was thinking. He hates you already.