Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  “What if you told him that I had just come from Kentigern and that I had information about Brienne’s murder?”

  “That might persuade him to speak with you,” she said. “If I told him that Lord Tavis was with you, that would certainly do it.”

  Grinsa shook his head. “No. In his eyes, and those of Lord Tremain, Tavis is guilty and a fugitive. I don’t want Tavis being arrested the moment he sets foot in the castle.”

  “Kearney wouldn’t do that! If he agrees to meet with both of you, that’s what he’ll do, without breaking faith!”

  “I’m not worried about Kearney,” Grinsa said. She could tell that he was struggling to keep his voice calm. “But Lathrop will be there as well—courtesy dictates that Kearney invite him to such a meeting. And as a minor lord he can’t risk angering Aindreas by harboring the man all the kingdom believes killed Lady Brienne.”

  He was right, of course. Again. There was nothing worse, Keziah decided in that moment, than being caught between Kearney and her brother when both of them had set their minds to something.

  “All right,” she said. “When do you want to speak with him?”

  “Midmorning. We’ll be at the castle gate when the bells ring.”

  She nodded. “I’ll ask Evetta to leave word with the guards that you’re to be allowed in. How will you disguise Lord Tavis?”

  “He’ll still be wearing the novice’s robe. And I’ll be dressed as a cleric. Have the guards looking for visitors from the sanctuary.”

  She nodded a second time and peered out the window. The sky was darkening.

  “I should go,” she said. “I’m expected at the banquet.”

  Grinsa’s smile looked forced. “Of course.”

  She wanted to put her arms around him again, but at that moment she didn’t feel that she could. How could the distance between them seem so great in a room so small?

  “My lord,” Keziah said, offering a small bow to the boy.

  “I’ve heard your duke is fair-minded, First Minister. I’m sure he’ll grant our request.”

  The minister thought it a strange comment. But she had the distinct impression that the boy was trying to show his gratitude. “Until tomorrow, my lord.”

  She started toward the door, but Grinsa caught her hand. “Kezi,” he said, making her look at him. “When this is over we’ll have some time together, just the two of us. I promise.”

  It was an apology of sorts, an acknowledgment of how much he had asked of her already, and how much more was to come.

  She tried to smile—he deserved that much. But in the end she failed. “I’d like that,” she said. “But when will this ever be over?”

  They followed a roundabout path to the castle gate. There weren’t many Qirsi serving as clerics in the sanctuaries of the Forelands, but there were enough to make the brown robe Grinsa had borrowed convincing. Even in his white robe, however, Tavis did not look like a novice, especially with the scars he bore on his face. Better to avoid the crowds in the marketplace, Grinsa decided. It was going to be hard enough getting past the castle guards.

  Tavis said little as they walked through the lanes of the city, and Grinsa was grateful for his silence. The boy had a way of finding just the right words to infuriate him. The evening before, just after Keziah left the sanctuary, her expression so sad that Grinsa wished they had never come to Tremain, Tavis had turned to him and asked, “So how long has she been sharing her duke’s bed?”

  Never mind that the young lord was disturbingly perceptive. He should never have asked the question at all. Tavis knew that such a love was forbidden by law. Everyone did. He had to know as well that merely to speak of it was to risk disgracing both Keziah and the duke.

  Grinsa didn’t even answer the question. He merely walked out of the dwelling, not returning until well after the evening meal. They hadn’t spoken of the matter since, but Grinsa feared that before this day was through, the boy would say something even more damaging.

  “No one is to know that Keziah is my sister,” he said, looking at Tavis sidelong as they walked.

  “I know. You’ve told me three times now.”

  “They can’t know that I’m a Weaver, either.”

  The boy let out a short, mirthless laugh. “I know that, too.”

  “If someone asks, you were healed by other Qirsi in the sanctuary at Kentigern.”

  “Anything else?” Tavis asked, his voice flat.

  “Actually, yes. It would be helpful if you managed to treat Lord Glyndwr with some courtesy. If he grants you asylum he’ll be putting his house at risk. Aindreas might take it as an act of war and attack him.”

  “And Curgh will come to his defense. Kentigern can’t possibly defeat both his house and mine.”

  Grinsa stopped, grabbing the boy’s arm to pull him to a halt as well. Tavis wrenched his arm out of the Qirsi’s grip and stood there, glaring at the gleaner.

  “You’re missing the point, you fool!” Grinsa said. “We’re trying to stop a war, not start one on terms more favorable to the House of Curgh. As long as you’re living under the formal protection of Glyndwr, you can’t take the throne. I’m hoping that will satisfy Aindreas enough to keep him from starting a war with your father.”

  “I understand,” the boy said through clenched teeth. “But before you said that Glyndwr is risking war with Kentigern, and I was just saying that my father won’t allow any harm come to Glyndwr if Kearney agrees to grant me asylum.”

  Grinsa looked away; after a moment he nodded. He had to remind himself that Tavis was barely past his Fating and had endured more in the last turn than most young nobles did in a lifetime.

  “Come on,” he said, starting to walk again. “The bells will be ringing soon.”

  They reached the gate a few moments later and the guards waved them through. As they hurried into the ward, however, crossing the gardens toward the duke’s chambers, one of the guards called after them.

  “What happened to the lad’s face?”

  “Thieves,” Grinsa called over his shoulder, not bothering to stop and hoping the guards wouldn’t ask why thieves would trouble themselves with a novice who carried no gold or valuables.

  Keziah was waiting for them at the far end of the castle’s second, smaller ward. There was another Qirsi with her, an older woman with short white hair whom Grinsa recognized as Tremain’s first minister, the woman to whom he had instructed the cleric to deliver his message.

  He could tell from looking at his sister that she was unsure of how to handle the introductions, so he introduced himself to the first minister.

  “I take it you’re not really a cleric,” Evetta said.

  Grinsa grinned and shook his head. “No.”

  The minister narrowed her eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Not formally. For the last few years I’ve traveled with the Revel. You’ve probably seen me at the banquets.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, nodding and smiling. “That’s it.” She turned to Tavis. “And who is your companion?”

  Grinsa and Keziah exchanged glances, and after a moment she nodded.

  “This is Lord Tavis of Curgh,” Grinsa said.

  Evetta’s eyes flew to his face as if searching for some sign that he was joking. An instant later she looked at the boy again, with fear in her eyes, and loathing as well.

  “Why have you brought him here?” she demanded. “Are you trying to drag Tremain into a civil war?”

  “I’m trying to prevent a civil war,” Grinsa said. “We’ve come here to ask Kearney to give the boy asylum. If he agrees, we’ll be leaving with the Glyndwr army. If he refuses, we’ll try one of the other major houses. Either way, we’ll be out of Tremain before nightfall. You have my word.”

  “What makes you believe that Kearney would agree to such a thing?”

  “Foolishness. Blind hope. Desperation. Take your pick. Most likely it’s a combination of the three.”

  “Grinsa and I discussed t
his matter yesterday,” Keziah said. “I think there’s a good chance the duke will grant the boy’s request. Certainly I intend to advise him to do so.”

  Evetta continued to stare at the young lord. “His wounds are mending nicely,” she said at last, much to Grinsa’s surprise. “The healing was done well.” She looked at the gleaner. “Your work?”

  He shook his head. “No. It was done by friends of mine in the sanctuary at Kentigern.”

  The woman nodded, facing Tavis once more. “The whole kingdom wants to know if you killed her, boy.”

  “Are they ready to believe that I didn’t?” the boy asked.

  “Is it the truth?”

  “Yes,” Grinsa said, before Tavis could answer. “He’s innocent. I’m certain of it, as is the prioress of Bian’s Sanctuary in Kentigern, who heard him speak with Brienne’s spirit this past Pitch Night.”

  Evetta appeared to consider this. “Even serving my duke, I remain devoted to the Old Faith. The word of a prioress carries some weight with me. Still, I want to hear it from the boy.”

  Grinsa saw Tavis bristle and the Qirsi held his breath, fearing that the young lord would lash out at her as he had at Keziah the day before.

  “I didn’t kill her,” he said after a brief silence. “I can’t seem to convince anyone of this, but I had already started to love her. I wanted her to be my queen.”

  “You seem to have convinced Grinsa,” the woman told him. “And Keziah as well. That’s a good start.”

  “What about you?” Keziah asked. “Are you convinced?”

  The minister gave a thin smile. “Not yet. But I’ll let you take him to my duke, and I won’t call the guards.”

  It was as much as Grinsa could have asked. “My thanks,” he said, as the minister led them into the castle.

  It was a short walk through the dark corridors to Lathrop’s chamber. Evetta knocked on the door, and hearing her duke call for her to enter, she pushed it open and ushered them inside.

  Lathrop was seated at his table, appearing too large for his chair. Kearney sat nearby, his legs crossed casually, his silver hair and easy grace giving him an air of elegance that Grinsa had seen in few others, even among the nobles of Eibithar. A third man stood beside Kearney’s chair. He was bald with blunt, crooked features and a hard look in his eyes. A sword hung on his belt, and it seemed to Grinsa that his hand strayed to the hilt as they entered the room. He had never seen this man before, not even at the Revel banquets in Glyndwr, but Grinsa knew from all that Keziah had told him that this must be Gershon Trasker, Kearney’s swordmaster. He knew as well that this would be a far more difficult conversation with the swordmaster present.

  Keziah looked at Evetta, as if waiting for her to make the introductions. But Tremain’s first minister shook her head.

  “You requested this meeting,” Evetta said. “It’s yours to oversee.”

  “Who are these men, Keziah?” Kearney asked, getting to his feet.

  “This is Grinsa jal Arriet, my lord. He’s a gleaner with the Revel.”

  The duke was eyeing Tavis closely. He glanced at Grinsa for an instant and nodded. “I recognize you from the banquets,” he said. “I also recognize the boy, though I’m not certain from where or when.” He stepped closer to the young lord, examining his scars.

  Tavis stood utterly still, suffering the man’s stares, his eyes lowered.

  “Where did you get these wounds, boy?” the duke asked.

  Tavis looked at Grinsa.

  “It’s all right,” the Qirsi said. “It’s why we’re here.”

  The boy raised his eyes, meeting the duke’s gaze. “I got them in Kentigern’s dungeon, my lord, from the duke himself.”

  Grinsa saw recognition flash like lightning in the duke’s green eyes. “Tavis,” he whispered. He took a step back, then whirled toward Keziah. “Demons and fire! You brought him here? What were you thinking?”

  “I brought him here, my lord,” Grinsa said. “Keziah merely arranged for us to meet. And she did so as a favor to me.”

  “To what purpose?” the duke demanded.

  “Am I to understand that this is Lord Tavis of Curgh?” Lathrop asked, standing as well and stepping out from behind his table.

  The boy had sense enough to bow to him. “My Lord Duke,” he said. “I know that my presence here places your castle at risk. I wouldn’t have come if I had anywhere else to turn.”

  “To turn for what?” Lathrop asked. “What is it you want?”

  “We’ve come to ask Lord Glyndwr to grant Tavis asylum,” Grinsa said, “pledging his protection to the boy until we can prove his innocence.”

  The duke of Tremain gaped at him, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Grinsa, though, was more concerned with Kearney, who kept silent at first, his expression betraying nothing. After several moments he turned to Keziah.

  “You knew of this?”

  “I met with Grinsa yesterday, my lord, at the sanctuary. We spoke of this then.”

  It was cleverly done. Keziah had made it clear to Grinsa that she didn’t wish to lie to her duke any more than was necessary. He believed that eventually she would have no choice in the matter, but for now it seemed the truth was enough to mislead him and preserve their secret.

  “And how is it that you know this man?” Kearney asked, sounding just for that instant more like her lover than her duke.

  Keziah heard this as well, for a smile flitted across her features. “Grinsa and I grew up together, my lord. I’ve known him and trusted him all my life.”

  The duke frowned, but he seemed to accept this. “How has this come to concern you, gleaner?” he asked Grinsa. “The Revel is no closer to Kentigern than it is to Tremain.”

  “No, my lord, it’s not. But I gleaned for the boy when we were in Curgh and I saw what awaited him in Kentigern.”

  “Is it common for gleaners to involve themselves this way in the lives of those they meet under the tent?”

  “No. But neither is it common for a gleaner to foresee such plain injustice. What kind of a man would I be had I done nothing?”

  The duke regarded him coolly. If he heard the goad in Grinsa’s words he ignored it.

  “You believe him innocent.”

  “I do. He was in Bian’s Sanctuary this past Pitch Night, my lord. The prioress there heard him speaking with the Lady Brienne’s spirit. They spoke as lovers, my lord. She didn’t accuse him, and he showed no fear of her.”

  “Sorcery and a sorcerer’s faith,” the swordmaster muttered, shaking his head.

  Kearney raised an eyebrow. “You wish to say something, Gershon?”

  “You read the message from Kentigern, my lord.” He gestured toward Tavis. “You know how they found him and the girl. Just because this Qirsi says he’s innocent—”

  “The prioress isn’t Qirsi,” Grinsa said.

  Gershon glared at him a moment, then turned back to the duke. “Just because this Qirsi says he’s innocent, doesn’t make it so.”

  “Do you think the prioress would lie?” Kearney asked.

  “She might. That’s not the point. I’m sure this Qirsi would lie about what she said.”

  Grinsa saw Keziah open her mouth, her pale eyes blazing, and he shook his head. She clamped her mouth shut again and turned away.

  “The gleaner isn’t lying.”

  They all turned toward Tavis, who had spoken.

  “I didn’t murder Brienne, and I did speak with her in the sanctuary. Yes, it was my dagger that they found in her chest. And yes, they found me covered with her blood, in a room that had been locked from within. But I swear on her memory that I didn’t kill her.”

  “And why should we believe you, Lord Tavis?” Kearney asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

  “You can see the scars on my face, my lord. The marks on my back and chest are far worse. Aindreas spared nothing with his torture. All because he wanted me to confess, and I wouldn’t.” His mouth twitched, as if he was trying to smile. “Call it Curgh pride if yo
u want. Kentigern did. Certainly it would have been far easier for me to confess and be done with it. But I didn’t kill her, and I would rather die than lay claim to another man’s crime. Aindreas thought to brand me a murderer with these scars, when in truth, they’re the most visible proof of my innocence.”

  For some time, none of them spoke. Kearney stepped to the window and stared out at the morning. The sky had turned grey and the air smelled like rain.

  “Why seek asylum for the boy?” the duke asked. “You’ve gotten him out of Kentigern. Why not just flee the kingdom? He’d be just as safe that way.”

  “True,” Grinsa said. “But as long as he’s running, Aindreas will pursue him, and he and Javan will continue to threaten war.”

  Kearney turned and grinned. “You’d rather have him threatening me than Javan?”

  Grinsa smiled in return. He could see why Keziah was drawn to this man. “As long as Tavis is under the shield of another house, he has no claim to the throne. I’m hoping that Aindreas will be satisfied by that.”

  “From what I’ve heard,” Lathrop said, “he doesn’t even want Javan to be king.”

  Grinsa nodded. “I’ve heard that as well. But none of the other houses will join him in opposing Javan, not if Tavis is removed from the line of ascension. There’s also another matter to consider. If you grant him asylum, when we find the man who killed Brienne, Tavis can reclaim his legacy. If he flees the land, no one will ever accept him as duke or king. This is an innocent man, my lord. Someone has murdered Brienne in order to deny him his rightful claim to the throne. They can’t be allowed to succeed.”

  Kearney seemed to weigh this briefly before turning to his swordmaster. “Gershon?”

  The man shrugged. “I’m not convinced this will keep them from going to war.”

  “Perhaps not alone,” Grinsa said. “But combined with your presence in Kentigern, it might.”

  “And where will the boy be while we’re in Kentigern,” Gershon asked.

  “With you, of course.”

  “What?” the swordmaster said. “That’s madness.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” Kearney said before Grinsa could answer. “In flight, Lord Tavis appears guilty. But by returning to Kentigern, even under my protection, he demonstrates his faith in his own innocence.”