Weavers of War

Chapter Twenty-seven

Curgh, Eibithar, Morna’s Moon waxing

They remained on the Moorlands for several days, collecting the dead, building pyres from the scant brush found among the grasses, and sending dark black clouds of smoke into the clear planting sky. At the insistence of Kearney and Sanbira’s queen, even the renegades were given the honor of a single vast pyre that for hours poured foul smoke into the air. Only the Weaver’s body was left to rot under the sun, its putrid remains picked at for days by crows and vultures.

Tavis’s father and Xaver MarCullet were given over to flame and vapor the first night after the battle, as stars burned brightly over the moor and slivers of moonlight shone weakly in the east. Tavis stood with Hagan MarCullet, his hand resting on the swordmaster’s stooped shoulder, his vision blurred with tears. He hadn’t cried so much in a single day since he was a child, and his throat and chest ached. Later that night, Aindreas of Kentigern was laid out on his own pyre, and Tavis watched that one burn as well, his emotions as roiled as a river in flood.

The following morning, the last of Adriel’s turn, he penned a message to his mother, informing her that he would be returning to Curgh early in the new turn, accompanied by the king and a number of nobles. He had planned to tell her of the duke’s death upon reaching the castle, but she needed to know that Kearney was coming, and she would not have wanted to have the king there when she learned that her husband was dead. As it was, he needed only write of their plans to tell her all she needed to know. Had Javan been alive, he, and not Tavis, would have sent such a message.

At first, Tavis had been reluctant to have the king accompany him back to Curgh. He liked Kearney a great deal, but even without accepting the king’s offer of asylum and a home in Glyndwr, he had lived under the protection of the Crown for too long. Kearney had argued, though, that now more than ever, Tavis needed his help.

“You lead your house now, Lord Curgh. We must make it clear, to friend and foe alike, that I trust completely in your innocence and your ability to govern a major house.”

His innocence. Tavis knew that some in the realm would die of old age still believing that he had killed Brienne, and he no longer cared to try to convince them otherwise. But he was wise enough to recognize the generosity of Kearney’s offer, and to know that he would have been a fool to refuse him.

And had he not, Fotir, ever the first minister, would have prevailed upon him to accept anyway.

“He puts himself at risk for you, my lord,” the Qirsi told him quietly. “There are many, including ministers in his own court, who would tell him that you’re not worth the cost of such a gesture.”

“I know. I have no intention of refusing him. I just wish for a bit of peace.”

Fotir had smiled at that. “I don’t doubt it, my lord. You’ll have it soon enough.”

When at last they set out for Curgh, Tavis was accompanied by a host of soldiers, nobles, and ministers. Not only did Kearney ride with him, but so did Lathrop of Tremain, Caius of Labruinn, Marston of Shanstead, and their companies. Naturally, Grinsa rode with him, too, although not without some reluctance, for he was eager to return to the City of Kings and see Cresenne and his daughter. Tavis noticed as well that the duchess of Curlinte rode with Marston rather than setting out for Sanbira with her queen.

Well before they reached Curgh, Tavis began to feel that he was home at last. He hadn’t seen the castle of his forebears in more than a year, since he set out with Xaver and his father for Kentigern. In the time since, he had sailed the waters of Kreanna to Wethyrn and had battled the assassin Cadel on the rocky shores of the Wethy Crown. Yet only now, still leagues south of the castle, but sensing the first hint of brine in the wind, did he find himself thinking of the high cliffs of Curgh and the frothing waters of Amon’s Ocean below.

They came to the great walls of Curgh City late on the fourth day of their journey from the battle plain. The King’s Guard and the armies of Thorald and Tremain stopped at the gates and made camp in the shadow of the city. Kearney and the other nobles followed Tavis through the gates and into the streets of Curgh, where they were greeted by cheers from the city folk. For Tavis, it was a bittersweet homecoming. He had assumed since Kentigern that he would never hear his name shouted with such reverence by Curgh’s people. But he sensed as well the shock of those lining the streets at not seeing their duke in the king’s company. Upon entering the castle, he leaped from his horse and rushed to his mother’s outstretched arms. For several moments they held each other, heedless of the king and the protocol of royal visits, and they wept, grief for Javan mingling with joy at Tavis’s redemption.

“If I could have saved him, I would have.”

“I know that.”

At last, Shonah released him, wiping the tears from her face and curtsying to the king.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady. I hope that you’ll accept my condolences on the loss of your husband. He was a wise leader, a courageous warrior, and a good friend. The land grieves for him.”

“You honor us, Your Majesty.”

“You do us the honor, my lady, by making us guests in your home at such a time.”

The duchess curtsied again, then turned to Hagan, who had yet to dismount. She favored him with a smile, then faltered searching the ranks of Curgh’s army. After a moment, she spun toward Tavis.

“Xaver?” she whispered.

Tavis swallowed and shook his head.

“Oh, Hagan.” She walked to the swordmaster and took his hand, her face streaked with tears once more. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

The swordmaster nodded but said nothing. He remained on his horse, looking straight ahead, his jaw quivering, as if it was all he could do to keep from bawling like a child. Shonah brushed the swordmaster’s hand with her lips, then faced Kearney and the other nobles once more.

“Please make yourselves welcome. Quarters have been arranged for you and your ministers and there will be a feast tonight to celebrate your victory over the enemies of our realm.”

The king and his company dismounted and followed Shonah into the castle. Tavis hesitated, eyeing Hagan, wondering if he should remain with him.

“Leave him,” the gleaner said softly. “He’ll join us when he’s ready.”

Tavis knew he was right. He cast one more look at the swordmaster before leaving the ward with Grinsa.

The next few days seemed a blur of feasts and ceremony. Tavis’s investiture was a modest affair, as ducal ordinations tended to be. It had been several centuries since dukes of Curgh wore any sort of crown, and never had they held scepters or other tokens of their title. But Tavis did take his father’s sword as his own, and after a brief ceremony in the castle’s lower ward at which he swore fealty to the Crown, he hosted yet another banquet, this one open to the people of Curgh City.

The following morning, a rider arrived from Heneagh bearing a message of sympathy to Shonah and congratulations to the new duke. Later in the day, similar missives arrived from Domnall and Sussyn, two houses that had supported Aindreas of Kentigern in his feud with the king.

“Perhaps this will bring the other houses back to the fold, Your Majesty,” Tavis said, showing the messages to Kearney in his father’s old presence chamber.

“We can hope so,” the king said, sounding skeptical. “I expect it will take some time for Galdasten and Kentigern to sort through all that’s happened in the past year. Aindreas’s boy is still several years shy of his Fating, and Renald’s sons were killed by the Qirsi. Both houses have a good deal to sort through. I don’t imagine they’ll be ready to reconcile with your house or the throne any time soon.” He smiled thinly. “And Elam has always been a stubborn fool, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be sitting atop my ramparts waiting for messengers from Eardley.”

Tavis grinned. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“How is Hagan?” the king asked, his smile fading.

The young duke shrugged, then shook his head. “Not well. The Hagan of old would be scouring the countryside for probationers to replace the men we lost on the moor, and he’d be working those soldiers who remain day and night. Instead he walks the castle corridors or locks himself away in his chamber. He won’t even speak with my mother.”

“It’s bound to take some time.”

“I suppose. At least when he lost Daria, he still had Xaver to care for. But now … He speaks of returning to MarCullet and the home of his youth. He’s still an earl, you know.”

Kearney raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”

“I never thought of him as the kind of man who could live a noble’s life, but maybe that’s what he needs, at least for a while. Mother thinks so.”

“Your mother may well be right. Perhaps Hagan can find peace in the home of his forebears.”

“I hope so, Your Majesty.”

One final matter remained before Kearney and the other dukes left Curgh for their homes, one about which Tavis knew little until Grinsa explained it to him the following morning. It seemed that Kearney had agreed to a conclave of sorts between the nobles and their Qirsi, an opportunity for men and women of both races to speak of recent events and all that lay behind them.

“He agreed to it just after the battle with Dusaan,” Grinsa told him, as they walked through the castle ward. “It was Keziah’s idea, but I think that one of the renegades goaded the king into agreeing to it. I can’t believe he’s eager to hear what Keziah and the others have to say.”

“I don’t imagine. I’m not sure that I am, either.”

The nobles and their Qirsi met in the castle’s great hall, where Tavis’s father had welcomed so many dukes and thanes, honoring them with feasts. Fotir was there, of course, having made all the arrangements for the discussion with the approval of Tavis’s mother. Sitting with him were Keziah, Xivled jal Viste, and the ministers of the dukes of Labruinn and Tremain. They sat on one side of the great table, across from Marston, Caius, Lathrop, Diani of Curlinte, and Gershon Trasker. Tavis and Grinsa entered the hall in silence, taking their places on either side of the table. On this day, Tavis gave up pride of place to the king, allowing him to preside, as was proper. Servants had put out cheeses, breads, fruits, and flasks of wine, but no one ate or so much as filled a goblet. None of them even spoke.

“I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to where to begin,” Kearney finally said, looking around the table.

“Perhaps the archminister would like to tell us why we’re here,” Marston said.

Xivled bristled, and it occurred to Tavis that he hadn’t seen the thane and his minister together since they arrived in Curgh.

“All I meant was that we’re here at her request,” Marston went on, casting a quick look at his minister. “I’d like to know what she hopes to accomplish with this discussion for which she was so eager.”

“That’s a fair question, my lord,” Keziah said.

Xivled shook his head, glaring at the thane. “I think you’re too generous, Archminister. It should be obvious to all why this meeting was necessary.”

“What’s obvious to the Qirsi at this table might still be a mystery to the rest of us,” Kearney said. “Please, Minister, tell us why you think we’re here.”

“To put an end to the mistrust,” Xivled said, as if the rest of them were simple. “To begin to repair the damage that’s been done by this war and the conspiracy.”

“You can’t think to do that in one day, lad,” Lathrop said, his tone gentle. “These conflicts are as old as the kingdom itself.”

“I know that, my lord. But we have to begin somewhere.”

“And where would that be?” Caius demanded, sounding far more belligerent than had the duke of Tremain. “What is it you’re asking of us?”

“You might begin, my lord, by not treating every Qirsi you meet with such disdain.”

“I don’t believe I do, Minister.”

Xivled started to respond, but Keziah silenced him with a sharp glance.

“I believe what the minister means, my lord, is that while we treat our lords with deference, we in turn are often treated with somewhat less respect.”

“Demons and fire, woman! We’re nobles! Do you expect us to bow to you?”

“We don’t have to bow to them to show them courtesy, Lord Labruinn,” Tavis said. “But in the past, nobles in the Eibitharian courts have spoken of collecting Qirsi ministers as one might horses or fine swords.” He glanced at the duchess of Curlinte. “Nor was that practice unique to our realm. It’s time we began to see the Qirsi as something more than chattel.”

“That seems a small step,” Lathrop said. “From what I understand, the Weaver was speaking of creating a new nobility of Qirsi lords and dukes. If that’s what the Qirsi in Eibithar truly want, we’re doomed.”

“That’s not what we want,” Xivled said.

Marston eyed him briefly, then looked down at his hands. “Perhaps you don’t, but some might.”

“There!” the minister said, pointing at his thane. “That’s what I object to. The suspicion. You assume the worst about us, though you have no cause.”

“No cause? Xiv, consider what’s just happened throughout the Forelands! How can you say that I have no cause?”

Tavis cast a quick look at Grinsa, only to find that the gleaner was already watching him. After a moment, Tavis gave a small shake of his head. This was going poorly.

“Ambition and treachery can be found in any heart, my lord,” Xivled said. “Eandi or Qirsi.”

Marston looked like he wanted to say more, but he wisely chose to remain silent.

“You’re awfully quiet, gleaner,” Gershon Trasker said after a time. “You had much to say in the days before the war. What say you now?”

Grinsa shrugged, the deformity of his shoulder making the movement appear awkward and strange. “There’s little I can say, swordmaster. You’re all speaking of trusting one another, of taking the first tentative steps down a long, difficult path. I’m a Weaver. There’s no place for me in your society, at least not for now. In a sense, this discussion has nothing to do with me.”

Fotir turned to face him, his brow furrowed. “Surely you can offer us some counsel. How are we to overcome these divisions?”

“Truly, I don’t know. The only advice I can give you is to be patient. As Lord Tremain has said, this question is old as the seven realms. It won’t be answered in a day, or a year, or even ten years. And in the meantime, you must guard against falling back into old conflicts, into fear and mistrust. Patience, and tolerance-they will see you through.”

“It seems you had counsel for us after all, gleaner,” the king said, smiling. “You have our thanks, once again, as well as my promise that we’ll heed your words.” He reached for a flask of pale wine and filled his goblet. “Come friends. Let us eat, and enjoy one last day of Lord Curgh’s hospitality. It’s important that we speak of these matters, but there comes a time when we must simply live and do the best we can.”

Slowly, the others filled their cups. When they had, Kearney raised his goblet. “To Eibithar,” he said. “Long may she know peace.”

“To Eibithar,” the others answered.

Their small feast lasted much of the morning. Soon after the ringing of the midday bells, the nobles and their ministers began to say their farewells and leave the hall. Most, it seemed, intended to leave Curgh the following morning. Marston and Lady Curlinte were among the last to leave, and though Tavis hadn’t known what Xivled would do, in the end the minister followed his lord from the great chamber. Soon, all had left the hall save for Tavis, Grinsa, and Kearney. They sat together in silence for some time, until at last the king cleared his throat. “I think it’s time I was returning to the City of Kings,” he said. “I’m grateful to you for your courtesy, Tavis, but I have a family as well, and I’m eager to see them.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

“If you’d like, I can leave a small contingent of soldiers, at least until you’ve had some time to rebuild your army.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Curgh has protected her own walls for centuries, and she can do so now.”

The king nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll be riding in the morning.”

Grinsa, who had been staring at his wine, looked up at the king. “If I may, Your Majesty, I’d like permission to ride with you.”

“You’re leaving, too?” Tavis said, though of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“It’s been too long since I saw my daughter, Tavis. You didn’t really think I’d remain here forever, did you?”

“No, but…” He shook his head. “No.”

“You’re welcome to ride with me, gleaner. But what will you do once you reach the City of Kings?”

“That depends in large part on you, Your Majesty. Cresenne remains a prisoner in Audun’s Castle. And it’s now common knowledge that I’m a Weaver.”

Tavis had wanted to say something during their discussion, but the time hadn’t been right. Now, though, he didn’t hesitate. “After all that Grinsa’s done, it shouldn’t matter that he’s a Weaver!”

“But you know it does, Tavis,” the king said. “Even before we left the Moorlands, nobles were speaking to me of having him imprisoned or even put to death. Throughout Eibithar, people are more frightened of Weavers than they’ve been in centuries. I can’t simply ignore the laws of the realm.”

“Even if those laws are unjust?”

“We’ll try to change the laws, and perhaps over time we will. But as Grinsa himself has said, we’re just starting a long and difficult process. The people aren’t ready to have Weavers living among them, not so soon after this war.” Kearney looked at Grinsa. “As I’ve told you before, I have no desire to see you executed, nor do I wish Cresenne ill. But I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

“I have an idea,” Grinsa said. “But it will demand some pliancy on your part, Your Majesty.”

Kearney regarded him a moment, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

Since arriving in Curgh, Keziah had managed to avoid them both. She walked in the city marketplace or wandered the castle wards and gardens. She attended the feasts, of course, as well as Tavis’s investiture and this day’s discussion. But she always kept to herself and she excused herself from the celebrations and feasts as quickly as she could. Anything to avoid being alone with Kearney or Fotir. Soon she would be leaving for Audun’s Castle, and none of this would matter anymore, but until then, she had no desire to speak with either of them.

Or so she wanted to believe.

Her wounds had healed. The bones in her ribs and leg no longer ached as she walked, and her hands, shattered by Sanbira’s archminister, hadn’t hurt for several days now. She had slept better over the past several nights than she had in more than a year. What a joy it was to lay down at night without dreading her dreams. A part of her, she realized now, had never truly believed that the Weaver could be defeated, or that she would ever be free of him. Their victory on the Moorlands had come at a great price, but it seemed to her miraculous nevertheless.

So why did she remain so unhappy?

Late on this day, the ninth of the waxing, she found herself in the gardens once more, strolling past brilliant, fragrant blooms of rose and sweet violet. The sun angled sharply across the courtyard, casting long, dark shadows that cooled the air. Her thoughts had turned again to Fotir, as they often did these days. They had hardly spoken to one another since reaching Curgh. The first minister was occupied with Curgh’s young duke and its grieving duchess. They needed him far more than did Keziah, and it was only right that he should be more concerned with them than with anything, or anyone, else. She couldn’t help but remember, however, how their conversation ended the night before the war with Dusaan. She could still feel the warmth of his hand holding hers. And she could still hear his question, so deserving of an answer, so difficult to address.

What about the king?

Indeed.

She heard footsteps on the stone path behind her and she turned, half expecting to see the minister. Instead it was Gershon Trasker.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all, swordmaster. Is there something you need?”

“I just thought you should know: the king has decided that we’re to leave tomorrow morning.”

Why did that make her so afraid? “All right. Thank you.”

She thought he would go, but he didn’t. He glanced about, looking at the flowers as he might a collection of daggers or battle shields. Keziah couldn’t remember ever seeing Gershon in the gardens of Audun’s Castle, or Glyndwr for that matter.

“Have your injuries healed?” he finally asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. And my men are treating you better?”

Keziah had to smile. “Yes, they are. Thank you for that, as well.”

“It’s the least you deserve, given all that you’ve done for us.”

“I did it for myself, swordmaster. You speak as though I did the Eandi a favor. That wasn’t it at all. I was trying to protect my king, my realm, and my people. I was trying to save myself.” She looked away. “Besides,” she went on, trying to soften what she had said, “I’m not certain that what I did mattered in the end.”

“Of course it did.”

“The Weaver very nearly defeated us, despite my efforts. And I had little to do with our victory. That was Grinsa, and a woman in the Weaver’s army who turned against him at the end. We don’t even know her name.”

“You showed courage and loyalty. You helped us kill the three traitors from Sanbira. They might well have tipped the balance in the Weaver’s favor before the end.”

There was no point in arguing the matter. Gershon was showing her as much kindness as he ever had. Best just to accept his praise and be grateful.

“Again, swordmaster, thank you. Had it not been for you, I never would have made it through these past several turns.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed, as he always did when she paid him compliments. “Well, maybe you’ll show your gratitude by not making yourself such a nuisance all the time.”

Keziah laughed, though abruptly her chest was aching. She stepped quickly to where he stood, kissed his cheek, and ran from the gardens, knowing at last what she had to do.

By the time she reached the king’s chamber, her heart was pounding, her courage failing her. Resisting an urge to flee, she knocked on his door.

“Enter!” came the reply.

She pushed the door open and walked in. To her relief, he was alone, save for a young servant.

Kearney was sitting at a small writing table, but seeing her, he quickly stood. “Ke-” He glanced at the boy. “Archminister.”

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Majesty.” She realized that she was wringing her hands, and she allowed them to fall to her sides.

“Not at all. Is something troubling you?”

She hesitated, her eyes welling.

“Please leave us,” he said to the servant.

The boy let himself out of the chamber.

He crossed to where she was standing and took her hands. “Now, what’s happened?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but began to cry instead.

“What is it, Kez?”

She was trembling, her legs shaking so badly that she had to tighten her grip on his hands just to keep from collapsing to the floor.

“Kez?” he said, sounding truly afraid.

“I can’t go back with you,” she blurted out.

He blinked. “What?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He released her hands and took a step back. “Do what?” he asked.

But he already knew. She read it in those grey eyes. Strangely, seeing such hurt in them now emboldened her, convincing her that she was doing the right thing. Finally. She wiped her tears away.

“There was a time when I loved you more than anything in the world,” she told him. “In a way, I always will love you. But we can never be together again, and so long as I remain in your court, I’ll never be able to love another.”

“All the more reason to keep you as my archminister.” He smiled halfheartedly, then looked away, shaking his head. “That was meant as a joke. I suppose it wasn’t very funny.”

“I’d ask you to release me from your service, Your Majesty. I think it’s best for both of us.”

“Do you love another, Kez?”

“I’m not certain.”

He frowned. “You’re not certain?”

“It’s possible that I do, yes. But that’s not the reason I want to leave your court, at least not entirely. I see the way you look at me. It’s only a matter of time before others notice as well.”

“I look at you that way because I love you.”

“I know. And that’s why I have to leave you.”

“Where will you go?”

“Actually, I was going to ask Lord Curgh if I might serve in his court.”

Comprehension lit his face, and for a moment she feared that he would grow angry. But he merely smiled. “I hope you’ll be very happy here. If Tavis is as wise as I think he is, he’ll soon find himself being served by the two finest ministers in Eibithar.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He stepped forward and put his arms around her, kissing her brow. “I’ll miss you, Kez,” he whispered.

“And I you.”

He held her a moment longer, then stepped back. “I hereby release you from service in the court of Audun’s Castle. May you find happiness on whatever path you choose.”

She smiled, tears on her cheeks once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said softly, and left him.

She hurried through the castle corridors, nearly breaking into a run. Coming at last to Tavis’s presence chamber, she knocked and let herself in at the duke’s summons.

Fotir was with him. Of course.

“Archminister,” Tavis said. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, my lord, I no longer go by that title.”

The two men shared a glance.

“What do you mean?” the young duke asked.

“I’ve left the king’s court. I asked him to release me from his service, and he kindly granted my request.”

Fotir shook his head. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I was wondering, my lord,” she went on, ignoring him for the moment, “if you might have use for another minister in your court.”

Tavis’s eyes widened. “My court?”

“Yes.”

“I … I have first and second ministers already. Curgh’s wealth is substantial, but I can hardly afford-”

“You wouldn’t have to pay me much.”

Fotir was smiling now, regarding her with astonishment. “Why are you doing this?”

Their eyes met, and Keziah realized she was grinning stupidly. “Why do you think?”

Tavis looked from Fotir to Keziah and then back again, amusement and puzzlement on his scarred face. “What do you think of all this, First Minister?” he asked. “After what I said today about not collecting ministers as if they were Sanbiri swords, can I really add another to my court?”

The minister didn’t take his eyes off of her, but he began to laugh. “I’m not certain that I can offer an objective opinion on this, my lord.”

“Then don’t.”

At that, Fotir turned to the young duke, gratitude written on his features. He really was quite handsome. “Yes, my lord, I think you can.”

“Very well.” Tavis faced Keziah once more. “Welcome to the Curgh court, Minister.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I suppose this means that you won’t be riding south with your brother.”

“My brother?” she said.

“Yes. He’s leaving with the king tomorrow.”

It made sense. No doubt Grinsa was eager to return to Cresenne and Bryntelle. But there was something in the duke’s tone …

“You haven’t spoken to him,” Tavis said.

“No, my lord.”

“I think you should. He’s in his chamber, I believe, preparing for his journey.”

Keziah started to leave the chamber, then faltered, meeting Fotir’s gaze.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

She nodded and went in search of her brother. There was a knot in her stomach, though she wasn’t sure why. Reaching his chamber, she found the door ajar. She knocked once before stepping inside.

Grinsa was bent over his travel sack, but he straightened at the sight of her. His face was pale, his expression grim. Keziah shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’re leaving,” she said.

“Yes. I’m riding south with you and the king.”

“I’m not going south.”

He frowned. “You’re not?”

“I’m no longer archminister.”

“What?”

“It was my choice. I can’t serve Kearney anymore. It’s just too difficult.”

“Where will you go?”

A small smile touched her lips. “I’m staying here in Curgh.”

“Oh, Kezi,” he said, taking her in his arms. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” He looked down at her. “Fotir’s a good man.”

“Who said anything about Fotir?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “How is it that I can never surprise you?”

“You have surprised me, again and again. You surprised me when you risked your life to deceive the Weaver, and again when you suggested that we strike at him through your dreams the night before the battle. And you surprised me just now. A year ago you wouldn’t have been able to make such a choice.”

“I think you’re right.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Just because I’m no longer archminister doesn’t mean that I can’t visit Audun’s Castle.”

“I won’t be staying in Audun’s Castle.”

Keziah shivered again. “Tell me,” she said, not wanting to hear.

“It’s nothing you don’t already know. Cresenne is a prisoner of the realm, and I’m a Weaver. We have no future here-certainly Bryntelle doesn’t.”

“But the war is over. Surely you have nothing more to prove to Kearney and the rest. And Cresenne has suffered enough for what she did.”

“There are many who would disagree with you. I love her, but if I didn’t, I’m not sure that I’d want to see her go free. As for me, the law is quite clear on what’s to be done with Weavers.”

“Kearney can change the law! I’ll talk to him!” She was shaking once more. She had finally found the strength to live without Kearney. But how could she ever live without Grinsa?

He touched her cheek, looking at her with so much love. “I don’t want you to talk to him.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Something I’ve always dreamed of doing. We’re going to the Southlands.”

“The Southlands?” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “How?”

“I don’t know yet. I expect we can find a merchant ship to take us. There are still a few Qirsi ships that sail beyond Sanbira on the Sea of Stars. Or maybe we’ll cross the Border Range. We’ve still several turns before the snows.”

“Does Cresenne know?”

“Not yet. But aside from Bryntelle and me, there’s nothing holding her here.”

“The Southlands,” she said again. Keziah had never thought that anyplace could sound so far away. She pressed her face against his chest, muffling her sobs. “I’ll never see you again.”

“You don’t know that. And besides, I’m a Weaver. I can always find my way into your dreams.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.”

“What will I do without you?”

“You’ll live a long, happy life. You’ll serve a young duke who may yet prove himself one of the great leaders this land has ever known. You’ll love a fine minister who will be devoted to you. And you’ll find that you’re stronger and more capable than you know.”

She smiled at him through her tears. “You gleaned all that?”

“I didn’t have to glean it. I know it in my heart.”

He kissed her forehead again, and Keziah held on to him as if she never intended to let go.