by DAVID B. COE
Gershon cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “I would think it possible, Your Majesty. We did have Tremain send Marston a message, asking him for help.”
Dyre shook his head. “We asked only to know where he stood in this conflict. We certainly didn’t ask him to mediate it.” He looked at Keziah. “Did we, Archmimster? After all, it was you who penned the message to Lathrop.”
“As you say, High Minister,” she answered coolly, “we asked only where he stands.”
“Maybe he took it upon himself to do more,” Gershon suggested.
A cue.
She turned to the swordmaster, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s decided to sell his loyalties to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t be the first noble to do so.”
He glared at her. “The buying and selling of loyalties is a Qirsi trade, Archminister. It has been for centuries.”
“That’s enough!” Kearney said, his voice like a blade. He looked from one of them to the other, but his eyes came to rest on Keziah. “Marston’s no traitor, and his house is the strongest in the land. What could Curgh or Kentigern possibly offer him?”
She regarded him as if he were simple. “The throne, of course. He’s probably trying to decide which of them will make the stronger ally, and which alliance will cost him the least.”
“So what would you counsel us to do, Archminister?” Gershon, with another cue. His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but she read the concern in his blue eyes. If Kearney took her words to heart, it could lead them all down a path to civil war. She doubted, however, that her king would ever again take seriously any advice she gave him. At least, he wouldn’t if her plan worked.
“I’m not certain there’s anything you can do,” she said. You rather than we. None of the rest would hear it, but Kearney would. Before long, his displeasure with her would be as obvious to all of them as it already was to her. “You thought that by taking the throne for Glyndwr, you could avoid a civil war, but you were wrong. Curgh and Kentigern are still at each other’s throats, and the other houses are choosing sides. All you’ve done is put Glyndwr in the middle of the conflict. You should never have come here, and now that you have you’re even more powerless to keep the peace than you were. Glyndwr can’t mediate anymore. Everything the king does is seen as a ploy to keep the crown. Nobody trusts him.” She felt Kearney staring at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. “Now that he’s king,” she said, her voice dropping, “everything has changed.”
For a long time no one spoke. Keziah knew they were watching her, as if waiting for her to weep, or run from the room, or berate the king. But she merely sat, staring at her hands, her face crimson and her heart aching as if from a dagger’s blow.
“That’s rubbish,” Gershon finally said, sounding angry, just as all of them would have expected. It seemed strange that with Paegar gone, the swordmaster, who had hated the Qirsi all his life and had hated her most of all for sharing a bed with Kearney, should become her closest confidant in the castle. Even stranger, he best served their growing alliance by continuing to treat her with disdain and hostility, just as he always had. “We saved this kingdom-the king did really-and everyone in Eibithar knows it except Aindreas and you. Just because you’d rather be back in Glyndwr doesn’t mean the rest of us feel the same way.”
“I said that’s enough!” Kearney broke in again. “It doesn’t matter anymore what any of us wishes had happened. I am king, and I’ll do everything I deem necessary to hold this kingdom together. So, assuming for just a moment that Marston isn’t trying to broker an agreement between Aindreas and Javan, that some darker purpose lies behind these journeys he’s making, what should we do?”
“Tobbar is still alive,” Wenda said. “He may be ill, but he still speaks for the House of Thorald. Perhaps we should send a message to him. He may not even know what his son is doing, in which case maybe he can get Marston to stop.”
“And if he does know?” the king asked.
The high minister hesitated, though only for a moment. “Then I’m afraid the archminister is right. There’s nothing more we can do. If Thorald is intent on opposing us, we can only hope that the armies of Curgh and Glyndwr, when combined with the King’s Guard, will be enough to hold off the other major houses.”
Kearney shook his head. “I won’t accept that. There have to be alternatives. I will not allow Marston’s betrayal-if that is in fact what he has in mind-to destroy the kingdom.”
“Your resolve is admirable, Your Majesty,” Dyre said cautiously. “But it would be… dangerous not to prepare ourselves for the worst. It may not be a fight we want, but it is one in which we can prevail, provided that we ready the army.”
“Yes, fine,” the king said, sounding impatient. “Gershon, you’ll continue to work the men, even through the snows. Do whatever you feel is needed to keep them battle-ready.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Wenda,” Kearney went on, turning to the high minister, “I want you to draft a message to Tobbar, informing him that we’re aware of Marston’s activities and asking him if Shanstead is making these overtures on his behalf.”
She glanced uneasily at Keziah. Usually Kearney would have had his archminister write such a message. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the older woman said. If she took any pleasure in Keziah’s fall from the king’s grace, she showed no sign of it. Rather, she appeared uncomfortable.
Yet, Kearney wasn’t finished with her. “When you’re done,” he said, “bring the message to me. Then meet with the rest of the underministers and come up with a better answer to my last question. There have to be other ways to combat any betrayal by Thorald than just sending my army north. Now go.”
The high minister stood and bowed to him. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The other ministers stood as well and started toward the door, Keziah among them.
“Be quick about it, High Minister,” Kearney called to her. “We may not have much time.” Then, “Archmimster, I’d like you to remain for a moment.”
Keziah halted in midstride, her face coloring again. The other Qirsi looked at her briefly, then left.
“You’d better go as well, Gershon,” the king said.
Keziah hadn’t turned to look at Kearney or the swordmaster, but she could imagine Gershon’s nod, the grave expression on his blunt features as he said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The swordmaster brushed past her on his way to the door, but, of course, kept his silence.
“Please sit,” Kearney said, his voice colder than she had ever heard it when they were alone.
She would have given anything to avoid this conversation, but she realized that by asking her to remain, the king had done more to help her than he could ever know. This was not the time to weaken.
The minister turned and walked slowly back to her chair, eyeing the king as she did, and trying her best to look insolent.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” she asked, her voice flat as she dropped herself into the seat.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what that was all about.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Demons and fire, Kez! You’ve never spoken to me as you did just now! I’ve never known you to accuse anyone without cause the way you did Marston, and I’ve certainly never heard you speak of ‘Eandi nobles’ with such contempt.”
She looked away. I’m sorry! she wanted to say. I have to do this! I have to convince them that I can be turned, that you’ve hurt me so much my loyalties are no longer so certain. Don’t you see? I have to do this for you. Instead she regarded him coolly and lied. “Just because I never said it before, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought it.”
“So you believe that Eandi nobles are quick to betray their allies?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Does that include me?”
She knew she had to hurt him. Even speaking with him in private, she couldn’t afford to waver from her purpose. But she couldn�
�t bring herself to speak the words. She merely shrugged, leaving the question unanswered, and so answering it in his mind.
Kearney swallowed. “I see.” He stepped around to the far side of the table and sat, as he often did when she made him angry or sad. It almost seemed at such times that he needed to put something solid between them. “Have you felt this way very long?”
“I didn’t when we were in Glyndwr, if that’s what you mean.”
“So you feel that I’ve betrayed you.”
“I said what I did about Marston of Shanstead, not about you. Why do the Eandi always make everything about themselves?”
He just stared at her, as if she had told him she was an Aneiran spy. After a few moments, his eyes narrowed. “This all started after Paegar died, didn’t it?”
“Did it?” she asked. She didn’t want their discussion turning in this direction, but she felt powerless to stop it.
“Do you believe I wronged him in some way? Was his funeral too modest? Or was there more to your friendship with him than I knew? Was he your lover? Is that it? Did losing him remind you once more of the love we lost?”
“He wasn’t my lover.” How could I ever love anyone other than you? “This has nothing to do with Paegar.”
“Then what is it, Kez? What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing has happened to me, Your Majesty. I merely expressed an opinion. I believe that Marston intends to betray you.”
“Because that’s what Eandi nobles do.”
“Because this Eandi noble has every reason to, and because your hold on the throne may appear tenuous to Eibithar’s other houses.”
Kearney shook his head again. “I think there’s more to it than that. You’re angry with me. I can always tell.”
“Well, Your Majesty, it may be that you don’t know me as well as you thought.”
His jaw tightened, the way it did when he was trying to control his rage. “Yes,” he said thickly. “That may be. In which case the question becomes can I still trust you to serve as my archminister.”
Keziah’s breath caught in her throat. It was one thing to convince others in the castle that she and Kearney were estranged. It was quite another to lose her position and with it her influence. The conspiracy would have no interest in her if she didn’t still serve Eibithar’s king. Losing what she had left of him in this way was bad enough, but to do so in vain would kill her.
Yet the only way to keep him from sending her away was to goad him further. “I merely expressed an opinion, Your Majesty. Am I to understand that you wish to be served only by those who will agree with all you say, and offer counsel that pleases you?”
“Not at all,” he said, his voice hardening. “I’ve never asked my ministers to be anything less than honest! But neither have I demanded from them anything less than their respect and their courtesy! If you feel you can serve me in a manner that befits both your station and mine, then you may remain in my castle! Otherwise I expect you to pack your things and return to Glyndwr! Is that clear, Archminister?”
She was sobbing, her cries for forgiveness tearing at her chest. But only within. She couldn’t imagine where she found the strength, but somehow she kept her composure, so that all Kearney saw was the coloring of her cheeks and the trembling of her hands. And those he would have anticipated.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she managed, the words as soft as falling snow. “Is that all?”
“No, it’s not. I’m tired of this foolish bickering between you and Gershon. I want you to speak with him, and finally put this nonsense to rest. Regardless of Marston’s intentions, I can’t tolerate this any longer. There’s too much at risk.”
It was more than she could have asked for. She had been eager to speak with the swordmaster for days, and now the king had given her just the excuse she needed. Still, Kearney would expect an argument.
“But, Your Majesty-”
“I know it’s been both of you all along. But in light of your behavior recently, I’m placing the onus for this on you. Find a way to work with the swordmaster, or leave.”
You would choose Gershon over me? Have I really hurt you that much? “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“That’s all. You may go.” He picked up a scroll from his table and began to read, as if his words had not been enough of a dismissal.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
She stood and left the room quickly, not trusting herself to look back at him. Once she was in the corridor, she could at least close her eyes and take a long steadying breath. But two of Kearney’s guards stood near the door, and though they would not have been able to make out all she and the king said to each other, they would have heard Kearney’s tone when he raised his voice. They eyed her with unconcealed distaste, their stares forcing her to walk away.
She thought briefly of returning to her chamber. She would have liked nothing more than to splash warm water on her face and lie down for a long sleep. It was more important, though, that she speak with the swordmaster. She hurried to Gershon’s quarters.
Reaching his door, Keziah hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of whether or not to knock. Gershon might be her only ally in the castle now that Paegar was dead and she had alienated Kearney, but they remained wary of one another. Even now, working together to combat the conspiracy, the concerns that bound them to each other were matched-nearly overmatched-by their long history of hostility and distrust.
She almost turned away from the door. But then she remembered that Kearney had ordered her to speak with the man. Eventually, she would have to do this. Better to do it now, with her courage high.
She knocked twice, the sound echoing loudly in the corridor.
In a few seconds the door opened and Gershon peered out into the corridor. Seeing her, his eyes widened, and he quickly looked down the hallway in both directions.
“Are you mad?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Did anyone see you come here?”
“The king asked me to speak with you, swordmaster,” she said, allowing her voice to carry. “He fears that our disagreements are weakening the throne, and he wishes for us to discuss our differences so that we might put them behind us.”
Gershon looked at her, as if trying to gauge whether she was telling him the truth. “All right,” he said at last. “Here? Or do you want to walk?”
“Better we speak in your quarters,” she said quietly. “Even with the king’s blessing, it would be best if others didn’t see us together.”
He nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter.
Stepping into the chamber, Keziah saw that the swordmaster’s wife was there, as were their four children.
Sulwen Trasker nodded to her. “Archminister,” she said, her tone neither warm nor cool.
“Good day, my lady.” Keziah turned back to Gershon. “Should I come back later?”
“No.” He looked past her to his wife. “This might be a good time for their devotions,” he said, nodding toward the children. “I’ll meet you at the cloister shortly.”
Sulwen’s eyes strayed to the minister again, but she nodded and called to the children to stop their playing. It took several minutes to get all of them out of the chamber, but eventually Gershon and Keziah were alone.
“They seem like fine children,” Keziah said, taking a seat near the hearth and stretching her hands toward the fire to warm them.
Gershon frowned, as though uncomfortable accepting compliments from her. But after a moment he muttered, “Thank you,” and took a seat across from hers. “I wouldn’t have thought that you like children.”
“Why not?”
His frown deepened and he looked away. Keziah sensed that he wished he hadn’t spoken at all. “You were with Kearney all those years, loving a man who couldn’t give you children. I just assumed.”
“I like children very much, swordmaster. I just loved Kearney more.”
More than anything she had wanted to have children with her duke- her king. But doing so would have re
vealed their forbidden love to the world, and the first labor probably would have killed her. Her kind weren’t strong enough to bear even half-bloods.
“The king truly wanted us to speak?” Gershon asked, breaking a brief, strained silence.
Keziah took a breath, clearing her mind. “Yes. He said he was tired of our bickering.”
“Is that why he asked to speak with you?”
“Hardly,” she said, a wan smile springing to her lips. “He had me stay so that we could discuss my recent behavior.”
“So, it’s working.”
“I suppose it is.”
He looked at her, searching her eyes. “You don’t sound pleased. Wasn’t this your idea?”
“Yes, swordmaster, it was my idea.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
She turned her gaze to the fire. “I guess I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. I still love him, and to see the way he looks at me now, to hear him threaten to send me back to Glyndwr-”
“He did that?”
Keziah nodded, still staring into the bright flames. “He also told me that he would hold me responsible if you and I continue to fight. He told me to find a way to bridge our differences, or leave.” She smiled again, though it felt brittle. “You should be happy: our king has chosen you over me. If you wish to rid yourself of me, you can do so now. I know you’ve wanted to for a long time.”
She glanced at Gershon, only to find that he had looked away once more. He appeared uneasy again, though she couldn’t tell if it was because he no longer wanted her gone, or because he still did.
“I don’t think he’d really have you leave the castle,” he said, his voice low.
“You didn’t hear him today, nor did you hear everything I said.”
“Is it possible that you’re pushing him too hard?”
“Do you think I am?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. You said some things about Marston today that struck me as too strong. He’s not a traitor, and by suggesting that he is, you make it harder for Kearney to trust him. That could be dangerous.”