Seeds of Betrayal: Book 2 of the Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy

by DAVID B. COE

  Tavis raised this possibility with Grinsa as word of the atrocity spread through the streets, but the gleaner dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head, his eyes rising to the castle towers as if he could see the minister through the grey stone walls.

  “Everything we’ve heard tells us that those who died, Eandi and Qirsi, were older. Evanthya is a young woman. Even if she was stricken, I’m sure she survived. Besides,” he added, glancing at Tavis, “this is no time for an Eibitharian noble to be captured sneaking out of Aneira’s royal city.”

  How could he argue?

  So they remained in the city, wandering the marketplace by day, and haunting the taverns at night, making themselves familiar to those who frequented the inns, and, they hoped, gradually earning their trust. They didn’t ask about the assassin again, at least not for several days. But Grinsa suggested to Tavis that he stop trying to hide his scars.

  “Let them see you,” he told the young lord. “Let them wonder about the wounds and the blade that caused them.”

  At first, Tavis found their stares and questions almost impossible to bear. Every eyebrow that went up at the sight of his face, every whistle through gritted teeth that greeted him as he entered an inn, every thoughtless remark—“Lad looks like he’s been through a war” “I’ve never known road thieves to have such a heavy hand” “A pity, seems he might have been fair of face once”—brought back his grief at losing Brienne and dark memories of the horrors he endured in Kentigern’s dungeon. Still, he understood the reasoning behind Grinsa’s request. Convincing the men and women they met in the taverns to talk about the assassin had been difficult. If he and the gleaner could win their trust, and at the same time make them believe that the singer was responsible for Tavis’s injuries, they just might learn something about the man or his whereabouts.

  As of yet, however, on the last day of both the turn and the year, they hadn’t gleaned anything new. Still weary after another uncomfortable night in the tiny bedchamber they were renting, Tavis’s patience had run out.

  “Father’s gold isn’t going to last much longer,” he said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance as they walked past the peddler’s carts. “And we’ve nothing to show for all the qinde we’ve spent here.”

  Grinsa scanned the marketplace, as if too intent on his vain search for the minister to bother looking at him. “If we weren’t spending the gold here, we’d be spending it elsewhere,” he said. “Unless you’re ready to start sleeping in the wood rather than in a bed.”

  “The snows are almost on us,” Tavis said. “No doubt they’ve begun already to the north. And you speak of sleeping in the wood?”

  Still the gleaner didn’t look at him, though he did grin. “As you say, your father’s gold can’t last forever. Eventually you’re going to have to choose between sleeping on the ground and working to earn more gold.”

  Tavis shook his head and muttered a curse. Neither possibility appealed to him.

  “Let’s just find the assassin and be done with it. If I’m going to suffer through the snows, I’d just as soon do it in my own castle.”

  They both knew that wasn’t likely to happen this year, perhaps not ever again. But Grinsa had the grace and sense not to say anything.

  They passed much of the morning walking the length and breadth of the marketplace, nodding to those they recognized from the taverns and stopping to greet peddlers with whom they had spoken before. Once again, neither Tavis nor Grinsa mentioned the assassin, or asked questions of any sort. Despite his concerns about their gold, Tavis sensed that the gleaner had no intention of leaving Solkara any time soon. He could also see that Grinsa continued to search the marketplace with his eyes, even as he spoke and laughed with the sellers.

  By midday they had covered much of the city, and they paused as the bells rang, trying to decide whether to return to the inn at which they were staying, or buy a small meal from one of the food vendors.

  Tavis’s feet ached, and he told the gleaner as much, hoping he could convince Grinsa to go back to the inn.

  “It will cost us less to eat in the marketplace,” the Qirsi said. “If you’re truly concerned about your father’s gold…” He didn’t bother to finish. He didn’t have to.

  Before Tavis could respond, however, they heard a light footfall behind them.

  “I’d have thought you’d be harder to find. Men such as yourselves should travel the city with care.”

  They both turned to see the minister standing before them. She held a dagger in her hand, though she held it close to her body so that others in the marketplace wouldn’t see. Her bright golden eyes were fixed on Grinsa and her expression was grim.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re all right,” the gleaner said. “I was concerned when I heard of the poisoning.”

  The woman actually laughed, though the look in her eyes didn’t change. “Were you?”

  “Yes. I trust your duke is well?”

  A moment’s hesitation, then, “Yes. Thank you.”

  Grinsa’s gaze wandered to her dagger. “Is that intended for us?”

  Her face blanched, even as her blade hand remained steady. “I carry it to protect myself.”

  “From us.”

  A pause, then, “Yes.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that you don’t need it, that we bear you no malice?”

  “No, I don’t think I would.”

  The gleaner shrugged, but Tavis could see that he was troubled. “Very well,” he said. “Is this a chance meeting, or have you come looking for us?”

  “The latter. I want to ask you some questions.”

  “Can you give me any reason why we should answer? You show no trust, you doubt me when I say that I was concerned for your safety, and you stand before us bearing a blade. Are you offering anything in return, Minister?”

  “I offer your continued freedom,” she said. “I could just as easily have you arrested as members of the Qirsi conspiracy. I have no doubt that the men in Solkara’s dungeon would have no trouble getting answers to the same questions I wish to ask. But their methods are sure to be far less gentle than mine. An hour with them, and this blade will seem a trifle.”

  At the mere mention of the dungeon, Tavis felt himself begin to tremble and sweat. He was certain that hers was an empty threat, but his memories of Kentigern were still too fresh in his mind.

  Grinsa laid a hand on his shoulder, his eyes still on the minister. “I don’t think you have any intention of having us arrested. You have no evidence that we’re part of the conspiracy, unless you refer to our inquiries about the Eandi singer. And if that’s the case, you’d have to explain your own knowledge of the man, which I can’t imagine you want to do.”

  The woman opened her mouth, closed it again. The hand holding the blade fell to her side.

  “As it happens, Minister, we might be willing to answer your questions, but only if you agree to answer ours in return.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said.

  “Then you’d best call for the Solkaran army, or prepare yourself to use that dagger. Because you have no other means of compelling us to tell you anything.”

  The minister glared at him, seeming to weigh her choices. Her grip on the blade tightened, whitening her knuckles, and Tavis sensed that she was ready to summon the castle guard. After what seemed a long time, however, her expression softened somewhat. She glanced down at her blade, then sheathed it.

  “I can’t tell you everything,” she said, her voice low. “But I will answer some of your questions.”

  “Fair enough,” Grinsa answered after a moment’s pause. “Where shall we go?”

  She glanced about, appearing unsure of herself.

  “You don’t want to be seen or heard speaking with us at any length, but neither do you trust us enough to go somewhere private.”

  The minister met his gaze again. “You understand me quite well, don’t you?”

  “I know how I’d feel. Why don’t we re
turn to the inn at which we met the first time? We’ll have some privacy there, but the innkeeper can guarantee your safety.”

  “Very well.” She gestured toward the far side of the marketplace. “After you.”

  They walked to the inn in silence, the minister a few steps behind them, as if she expected them to flee at any moment. Tavis wasn’t certain that he trusted her any more than she did the two of them. Not only did she have a blade at the ready, but she was also Qirsi. Who knew what powers she possessed? Grinsa appeared perfectly willing to keep his back to her, however, and not for the first time, Tavis was glad to be traveling in the company of a Weaver.

  The inn was called the Grey Dove, named like other Qirsi establishments, for the pale sorcerers who came there to eat and drink among their own kind. Entering the tavern just after the ringing of the midday bells, they found it far more crowded than it had been several mornings before. They couldn’t help but be seen together, but with the crowd came a din that would keep others from listening to their conversation. They waded through the mass of white-hairs to an empty table near the back of the great room. The minister appeared uncomfortable, and she continually looked around, as if expecting at any moment to be recognized by one of the inn’s patrons.

  “Would you rather go elsewhere?” Grinsa asked, his voice just loud enough to carry over the noise.

  The minister shook her head, tight-lipped and wary. She sat, as did Grinsa and Tavis, but for some time none of them spoke. Eventually a serving girl came to their table, bearing bowls of stew and a loaf of dark bread. A second girl came a few moments later, and placed three cups of red wine on the table. Tavis began almost immediately to eat, but the two Qirsi merely sat, the minister staring at her food, and Grinsa watching her.

  “You think we’re with the conspiracy,” the gleaner said at last, drawing her gaze.

  “Aren’t you?” she asked, sipping her wine.

  “You think this because we were asking about the Eandi singer. The one who is also an assassin.”

  The minister returned her cup to the table with a quivering hand, spilling some of her wine. She fumbled for her napkin, but Grinsa wiped away the wine before she could reach it.

  “I sensed the day we met that you might know this man as well,” Grinsa went on. “Does that mean that you’re part of the conspiracy?”

  “No!” she said, looking up. “I have nothing to do with it.”

  “Why should we believe you?”

  “I’m first minister to the duke of Dantrielle. I’ve served him loyally for more than five years now.”

  Grinsa gave a small shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first Qirsi minister to betray her duke.”

  “But I haven’t—” She stopped, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t really believe I’m with the conspiracy, do you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Answer me.”

  After a few moments Grinsa shook his head, a smile touching his lips. “No, I don’t. But you’ve assumed from that first day that we were, and I thought this would be the best way for me to answer your suspicions.”

  “So you still maintain that you have nothing to do with the movement either?”

  “It’s the truth,” Grinsa said. “I’d even go so far as to say that we’re enemies of the Qirsi who lead it.”

  The woman looked at Tavis, making no effort to hide her curiosity about his scars. He resisted the urge to turn away, suffering her gaze as best he could.

  “That morning you told me that the singer did this to the boy. Is that true as well?”

  The gleaner hesitated. “In a manner of speaking. I believe I said that the singer was responsible for his scars, which is closer to the truth.”

  “Now you’re weaving mists with your words.”

  “Perhaps,” Grinsa admitted. “But I can’t tell you more. Not without endangering the boy’s life, and my own.”

  “I see. Then it seems we’ve nothing more to say to each other.”

  “You still don’t believe me,” he said.

  “Actually, I do. I’m not certain why; I suppose I’ve no choice but to trust my instincts. And they tell me that you’re not a traitor.”

  “Then why would you assume that our conversation is over? Unless you don’t consider yourself allied with those who oppose the conspiracy.”

  “Of course I do. But I needed information about the movement, about those involved with it. Obviously, you don’t have any knowledge of this.”

  “No,” Grinsa said, “I don’t. But you can still help us. I’m no friend of these renegade Qirsi, and neither are you. We’re partners in this struggle, and I need information. The singer—the assassin—has killed on behalf of the conspiracy. My friend and I need to find him.”

  The woman turned away. “I can’t help you with that.”

  “You can tell me where you saw him, where he was going. Anything you can tell us might prove to be of value.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t want you to find him.”

  “What?” The gleaner sat back, looking for the first time like she had truly surprised him. “Why—?” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Are you lovers? Is that it?”

  The minister burst out laughing so loudly that others in the tavern paused in their conversations to stare at her. The gleaner’s face reddened, but the woman didn’t appear to notice.

  “No,” she said, when her laughter finally subsided. “We’re definitely not lovers.”

  “Then what?” Grinsa asked.

  She fell silent again, refusing to look at either of them. Tavis assumed that she would refuse to answer, but he was wrong.

  “I’ll tell you,” she said at last, her voice so low that both Tavis and Grinsa had to lean closer just to hear her. “But I’ll give you no details, no names, no places. You’ll just have to trust that I’m telling you the truth, and that I have the best interests of the land at heart.”

  Grinsa nodded. It seemed to Tavis that the gleaner didn’t know what else to do.

  “I’ve hired him. I’ve sent him to kill someone we believe is part of the conspiracy.”

  “What?” Tavis said, unable to stop himself. “Are you mad?”

  The minister’s eyes narrowed once more. “You’re from Eibithar! I’d know that accent anywhere.”

  Tavis felt himself flush.

  “Yes, he is,” Grinsa said, sighing. “Our search for this man has brought us far. But that’s not important now. I need—”

  “Not important?” the minister repeated, her voice rising. “One moment you tell me that we’re allies in a struggle against the conspiracy, and the next I learn that you’ve brought an enemy of my realm to the royal city.”

  “He’s not an enemy of your kingdom!”

  “Of course I am,” Tavis said.

  Grinsa winced and shook his head.

  “At least one of you is being honest, gleaner,” the minister said.

  “The man we seek is an enemy of Qirsi and Eandi alike,” the young lord continued, facing the woman. “He’s an enemy of Eibithar, but he also may have killed your Lord Bistari, which I believe makes him an enemy of Aneira as well. Isn’t it possible, Minister, that in this instance the interests of our two kingdoms, indeed, of all the seven, are the same?”

  She eyed him closely, as if trying to see beyond his scars. “Who are you?”

  Tavis almost told her then. For just an instant, for the first time in what seemed an age, he felt like a noble again, like a man whose life revolved around the courts and the exigencies of statecraft. Before Kentigern he had given little thought to what it actually meant to be a noble. Only now that his title was gone, and with it his future, did he realize that he had lost more than comfort and wealth and power. He had trained all his life to be duke and perhaps king. It was his calling, the one trade at which he might have excelled.

  “His name isn’t important,” Grinsa said, gently placing a hand on Tavis’s arm, as if reading his thoughts. “
But he makes a good point.”

  The minister looked from one of them to the other, before finally nodding. “Yes, he does. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to stop the singer now. I’ve given him gold and asked him to kill. I have no way to contact him again, and even if I did, I’m not certain that I would. We’re at war with the conspiracy, and I’ll not quibble about fighting my battles with a bloodied weapon.”

  “Can you at least tell us which direction he’s gone, so that after he’s served your purposes we can find him?”

  “How do I know you won’t find him too soon? Do you intend to engage him in conversation before seeking your vengeance?”

  The gleaner frowned, but said nothing.

  “I thought not. I’ve sent him to one of Aneira’s houses, but that’s all I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve told us nothing at all,” Tavis said.

  “Of course I have. You know now that he’s still in this kingdom. That should help you quite a bit.”

  Tavis started to argue the matter, but Grinsa tightened his hold on the young lord’s arm, silencing him.

  “Can you tell us anything about this person you sent him to kill?” the gleaner asked.

  She faltered. “Like what?”

  “You said before that you believe this person is part of the conspiracy. You’re not certain though, are you?”

  “I’m certain enough.”

  But Tavis could tell from the tightness of her voice, and the way her hands began to tremble again, that she had doubts.

  “If you tell me this person’s name, I may be able to put your mind at ease, or perhaps offer to track the assassin and stop him, before he murders an innocent.”

  The minister’s face turned white, but she shook her head. “I can’t. As I said, I’m certain enough.”

  Grinsa let out a breath and sat back. “Very well.”

  “I should leave,” the minister said. “I’ll be missed in the castle.”

  “Of course.”

  She stood, but did not move away from the table, her eyes fixed on her cup of wine as if she were searching for something lost.