by DAVID B. COE
“No,” Keziah answered, sounding desperate. “I don’t mean to defy you. But I’ve never had someone ask this of me before. I don’t know what to do.”
“Merely open yourself to me.”
“I’m afraid. You have to give me a bit of time.”
Something in her voice told Grinsa that she was speaking not to this other man, but to him.
“Kezi?” he whispered.
“There is no time. You received your gold, didn’t you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Call me Weaver. I’m not some dull-witted Eandi noble, and I won’t be addressed as such.”
“Yes, Weaver. Forgive me.”
A Weaver! Abruptly it all made sense to him. Not just the strange appearance of the sky and plain, but also the man’s mention of gold. He had often wondered who he would find at the head of the conspiracy. A powerful minister perhaps, or a wealthy Qirsi merchant. That this person should also be a Weaver shouldn’t have surprised him. Who else could wield the power necessary to overthrow the courts of the Forelands? Who else could guide a movement that sprawled across so many kingdoms? What puzzled him, though, was the man’s presence in Kezi’s mind. Why would the leader of the conspiracy be speaking to her of gold?
“You have your payment,” the man was saying. “Now it is time for you to give yourself to me and this movement.”
“But-”
“Enough!” the Weaver roared.
An instant later, Keziah cried out, her hands flying to her face. Somehow Grinsa felt it, too. A great pressure on his eyes, as if the man was pressing his fingers into her skull.
“Give yourself to me!”
She whimpered, dropping to her knees.
“Kezil”
“What was that?” the Weaver demanded, the pressure on Grinsa’s eyes ending as suddenly as it had begun.
He wanted to remain there, to learn more about this man, and to repay him for the pain he had caused Keziah. He wanted to yell to her, to rouse her from her sleep. The conspiracy had to be stopped, but she risked too much by seeking out its leader alone.
All Grinsa could do, however, was leave her. As long as he remained he imperiled Keziah and himself. He heard them speaking again, but he didn’t wait to hear any more. He merely whispered, “I love you,” the words as soft as a planting breeze. Then, dread in his heart, he forced himself to leave her.
Opening his eyes, he felt the earth heave and spin. Even sitting, he nearly lost his balance.
“Are you all right?”
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then looked up at Tavis. “I will be,” he said, his voice ragged.
“I heard you call your sister’s name. You sounded scared.”
Grinsa nodded, feeling a tear on his cheek. “I am.”
The boy just stared at him, waiting.
“She was with another Weaver.”
“What?”
“I think he must lead the conspiracy.”
“Why would she be with such a man?”
Grinsa shrugged, though he knew the answer. She had always been too brave. He was the Weaver, the one who wielded unfathomable power. But Keziah had always been the warrior, fighting battles from which others shied. “She must think that she can learn something of him,” he said at last. “By joining his movement, she seeks the means to destroy it.”
For a long time, Tavis didn’t reply. Finally, staring up at the red moon, he said, “That’s either the most courageous thing I’ve ever heard, or the most foolhardy.”
Grinsa could only shake his head. The boy often made such statements. Utterly unfeeling, and so honest as to leave no room for argument.
Chapter Thirty
City of Kings, Eibithar
No one doubted that the threat of a new war with Aneira loomed like a storm cloud over all Eibithar, and like the king’s other ministers, Wenda had heard rumors of Braedon’s naval activity at the north end of the Scabbard. Kearney would have been remiss had he not taken these threats seriously. Yet it struck her as a measure of how alarmed he was that the king would arrange a meeting between the dukes of Rouvin in Caerisse and Grinnyd in Wethyrn on such short notice and in the middle of the snows. Aylyn the Second, the old king, whom she served for fourteen years, would have issued invitations to the two men only after a good deal of discussion and planning.
This was not to say that she disapproved of Kearney’s decision. On the contrary-she admired his boldness. But once more she could not help but notice the vast difference between the two kings she had served. Some of it sprang from Kearney’s youth, the rest from contrasts in their natures. Regardless of the cause, however, Wenda still found herself questioning whether she was suited to serving this new king.
Under the best of circumstances, a meeting between the two dukes would have presented great challenges to their host. Caerisse and Wethyrn had long been enemies. Over the course of their history, the two lands had fought several major wars and dozens of smaller skirmishes. Their most recent conflict, the so-called Queen’s War, had ended just over a century before and had led to an uneasy peace along Orlagh’s River, the border between the two realms. Though both had strong ties to Eibithar, this had never been enough to overcome their mutual hostility, which was rooted in an ancient dispute over a narrow strip of land now held by Caerisse.
Kearney would need both as allies if there was to be war with Braedon and Aneira. Neither Wethyrn nor Caerisse was considered a major power in the Forelands. Caerisse had been great once, but it had been supplanted long ago by Eibithar, Sanbira, Aneira, and, of course, the Braedon Empire. But the Caerissan army would be of great importance in the event of a land war along the Tarbin, and Wethyrn’s navy, while small, still enjoyed a well-deserved reputation as the finest among the six, second only to Braedon’s in all the Forelands.
The dukes of both Rouvin and Grinnyd, though not of their realms’ royal families, wielded great influence with the men who led the kingdoms. If Kearney could convince them that it was in the interests of Caerisse and Wethyrn to put aside their differences and form an alliance with Eibithar, they in turn, might convince their leaders.
Unfortunately, Kearney’s already formidable task had been greatly complicated by recent events here in Audun’s Castle. One needed only to look as far as the seating for this night’s welcoming feast in the castle’s great hall to perceive the depth of the king’s troubles. Wenda, who would normally have been seated at a lesser table with the rest of the king’s underministers, had been placed instead at the table of honor, just next to the archminister.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. Like the other ministers, Wenda had watched as the resentment and mistrust between Keziah and the king deepened. She even thought that she understood. There had been rumors about the two of them almost from the moment they arrived in the City of Kings. They had been lovers in Glyndwr, these stories said, bound by a passion so great that they defied the law of the land and risked the honor of Kearney’s house for a forbidden love. Though Wenda disapproved of such scandalous talk, particularly where it concerned the king, she could not help but believe all that she had heard. It explained so much-not only the bitterness of their estrangement, but also the awkwardness that had come before.
Still, recognizing the source of this rift between Keziah and the king did not make her any less fearful of what it could mean for Eibithar. In recent days, Wenda had begun to find fault with much of the counsel Keziah offered the king. It almost seemed that the archminister wanted him to make bad decisions. On those few occasions when her advice made sense, Kearney ignored her, as if he no longer trusted anything she said. It would have been best for all concerned had he just ordered Keziah to leave his court-her service to him had all but ended anyway. Keeping her here benefited no one.
But Wenda sensed that Kearney was incapable of sending her away. Perhaps he still loved her, or perhaps his sense of loyalty for the years she had served him in Glyndwr prevented it. Whatever the reason, her contin
ued presence in the castle endangered the king and all who served him faithfully.
The high minister had never liked Keziah-she and the other ministers had resented Kearney’s decision to make her archminister, passing over Dyre and Paegar and Wenda herself, all of whom had served in Audun’s Castle for years. Indeed, in some small way, their hostility to her might have contributed to her unhappiness. But though Wenda didn’t care for the woman, she hadn’t thought to question Keziah’s loyalty, at least until now. With word of the Qirsi conspiracy spreading through the Forelands like smoke from a grass fire, it was both foolish and dangerous to allow this woman to work each day beside Eibithar’s king. If the conspiracy’s leaders hadn’t already lured her into their movement, they would soon. It should have been clear to all of them. Certainly Gershon Trasker should have seen it. As swordmaster and leader of the King’s Guard, he was responsible for Kearney’s safety. Yet he did nothing.
The king’s answer was to treat Wenda as a second archminister. He turned to her now as he once did to Keziah, asking for her counsel on all matters before anyone else’s, and having her draft messages to his dukes and lesser nobles. She had never imagined that he would go so far as to seat her at the table of honor, but she should have known better. He couldn’t rid himself of Keziah, but he couldn’t trust her either.
“It’s been many years since I last visited your castle,” the duke of Grinnyd said, smiling briefly at Wenda before looking past her to the archminister. “I had forgotten how magnificent it is.”
A brief, thin smile flitted across Keziah’s face and was gone.
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is.”
The man cleared his throat and smoothed his black beard with a meaty hand before trying again. “Can you tell me what the banners signify? I know they must be for Eibithar’s twelve houses, but which seal belongs to which house?”
He was still looking at Keziah, who was younger than Wenda, and far prettier, but the archminister merely sat there looking bored. After a moment, Wenda answered him, giving the history of each banner and naming the current dukes of the various houses.
“Curgh,” the duke repeated, interrupting her as she started to speak of the great bear on Curgh’s sigil. “That’s where the boy is from, isn’t it? The one who is said to have killed Kentigern’s daughter?”
“Yes, it is,” Wenda answered. “Though His Majesty believes the boy innocent and granted him asylum after his escape from Kentigern’s dungeon.”
“I had heard of this as well. That took a great deal of courage. Did your king think of this on his own, or did you counsel him to grant the boy protection?”
Wenda hesitated. “Actually, he was still duke of Glyndwr at the time and I still served Aylyn the Second, though he was quite ill.”
“I advised him to do it,” Keziah said. She took a drink of wine, then faced the duke. “It may have been the last counsel I gave him to which he paid any heed at all.”
Grinnyd raised an eyebrow. “If one of my Qirsi spoke as you do, Archminister, I’d soon find myself questioning her loyalty.”
“I’m not surprised, Lord Grinnyd. It’s been my experience that Eandi nobles are often quick to do so.”
“That’s enough, Archminister!” Wenda said. She faced the duke, though not before casting a beseeching look at the swordmaster. “You must forgive the archminister, my Lord Grinnyd. She sometimes expresses her opinions too freely. I assure you, she meant no offense.”
Wenda expected Keziah to berate her for presuming to apologize on her behalf, but instead the woman just raised her goblet to her lips once more, as if nothing had happened. The duke stared at the food sitting before him, his jaw tight.
A moment later Gershon joined them, a look of concern in his blue eyes.
“I hope you’re enjoying your meal, my Lord Duke. There’s an old saying in Eibithar, ‘An empty stomach is a poor foundation for statecraft.’ ”
Grinnyd smiled, though clearly it took an effort. “The food is excellent, swordmaster. Thank you.”
“I take it the ministers are good company.”
“Perhaps ‘interesting company’ would be a more appropriate way of phrasing it.”
“I see,” Gershon said, frowning at Keziah.
The archminister glanced up at him, the same indifferent expression on her oval face. “You needn’t worry, swordmaster. The high minister has already apologized for me.”
“It troubles me that either of you had to apologize. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the duke is a guest of our king.”
“Of course, swordmaster,” she said, sounding too obsequious. “I’ll be certain to keep that in mind.”
“I should hope so.”
“You have my apologies as well, my Lord Duke,” she said, lifting her cup again. “As the high minister said, I meant no offense.”
“Thank you, Archminister.” The duke smiled again, and this time it appeared genuine. “As long as you’re here, swordmaster, perhaps you and the archminister can tell me something of your king. I never knew him when he was duke of Glyndwr, although I met his father once. If I’m to recommend to my archduke that we strengthen our alliance with Eibithar, I should first know something of the man who leads her.”
“Then I suggest you speak with him yourself, my Lord Duke, though I’m happy to answer any of your questions. You’ll find that Kearney of Glyndwr is a man without pretense. There’s no trick to knowing him.”
“High praise indeed for an Eandi noble,” Keziah added. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Grinnyd?”
“It seems high praise for any man, Archminister. Qirsi or Eandi. In these times especially, we’re all desperate for people we can trust, no matter the color of their eyes.”
“Well said, my Lord Duke,” Gershon said pointedly, eyeing the archminister.
Before Keziah could answer, the king stood, raising his goblet in a toast, his silver hair shining in the torch fire and candlelight. “Once again, Leilia and I would like to welcome our guests and thank them for undertaking such arduous journeys, particularly at this time of the year. For centuries Eibithar has valued our close ties to both Caerisse and Wethyrn. I’m hopeful that in the days to come, we can use those ties as the basis for an even stronger partnership among all three of our kingdoms. I speak not of an alliance for war-though we must be able to rely upon one another if we find ourselves embattled-but rather of a union that will give us the strength to preserve peace throughout the Forelands no matter how we are assailed.
“Nine centuries ago, when invaders came to the Forelands, the ancient clans put aside their differences and joined forces to protect themselves and preserve their sovereignty. Out of their triumph grew the seven realms of the Forelands, and all that we have accomplished since.”
He was speaking of the Qirsi Wars, of course, and though Wenda thought Aneira and Braedon greater threats to Eibithar than the Qirsi conspiracy, she could hardly blame the king for drawing on that chapter in the kingdom’s history. She stole a glance at Keziah, wondering if the king’s words would enrage her. But while the archminister looked wan and young as she watched the king, her expression revealed nothing.
“We have endured wars since,” Kearney went on, “and times of darkness. But always we have prevailed, and through the centuries one truth has stood out above all others: never are we stronger than when we are united and at peace.” He lifted his glass high and looked first at Rouvin and then at Grinnyd. “My Lord Dukes, I drink to friendships, old and new.”
“To friendships!” the others in the hall echoed.
“We have more food and wine,” the king said, smiling as he placed his goblet on the table. “And we have music to dance. I hope all will join us.”
He nodded to the musicians standing near his table on the dais and they began to play. Then he took Leilia’s hand and led her down the small stairway to the open floor just in front of his table. For a few moments, as was appropriate, others in the hall simply watched the king dance with his queen. Th
en, slowly, couples joined them on the floor.
“He does seem a fine king, swordmaster,” the duke of Grinnyd said, regarding Kearney. “One cannot help but be impressed with him.”
“He’s been that way since I met him, my lord, and that was many years before he became duke of Glyndwr.”
Grinnyd nodded. “You expect that he’ll survive Kentigern’s challenge?”
Wenda sensed Gershon bristling.
“I do,” the swordmaster said, steel in his voice.
The duke turned to him. “Forgive the question, swordmaster. But before I ask my archduke to swear himself to an alliance with this man I must know that he’ll still wear the crown a year from now. Wethyrn places great value on its ties to Eibithar. I daresay we rely on Eibithar’s friendship more than you do on ours, even now. If we pledge ourselves to your king, only to find in a few turns that his place on the throne has been taken by a man who despises him, where will that leave Wethyrn?” His eyes strayed briefly to Keziah. “As formidable as Kearney may be, I see many perils in his path, some distant, and some quite near. We’ll be watching to see how he navigates them.” The duke smiled and faced Wenda. “High Minister, I find myself drawn to this music. Would you join me in a dance?”
Wenda returned his smile. She wasn’t fond of dancing, but she could hardly refuse an invitation from one of the king’s guests. “Of course, my Lord Grinnyd. It would be an honor.”
The duke rose, pulling out Wenda’s chair and taking the minister’s hand when she stood. She didn’t look back at Keziah and Gershon, but she felt their eyes following her as she left them alone together. She would have given all the gold Kearney paid her to be a mouse under the table during the conversation they were about to have.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of them, though Qirsar knew she wanted to. It seemed that everyone in this shining hall was staring at the king and queen, though Keziah was certain that the sight of them dancing didn’t do to others what it did to her. Kearney looked as he always did, wearing his usual battle garb, the Glyndwr baldric-silver, red, and black-strapped to his back. The silver in his hair and the youthfulness of his face made him appear ageless and regal, as a true king should. Leilia, on the other hand, looked even older and sadder than usual. Keziah had expected that the end of her affair with Kearney would give new life to the queen, but clearly it hadn’t. Perhaps she realized now that Keziah hadn’t destroyed their marriage or stopped Kearney from loving her; she had done all of that herself.