Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Eighteen

City of Kings, Eibithar, Osya’s Moon waning

The first of the Eibitharian dukes was to arrive at Audun’s Castle before nightfall, meaning that this was Cresenne’s last day of freedom. Keziah had explained as much to her the day before, but Cresenne knew that the king would be coming to tell her so himself. It was his way, she had come to realize. She wasn’t yet ready to say that she had been wrong about Eandi nobles and the Qirsi who served them. But she did have to admit that Kearney and Keziah were different somehow. Even Lord Tavis was not quite as she had expected.

After speaking with the archminister that first day, Cresenne had answered all of Grinsa’s questions, at least all that she could. She had even told them of the Weaver, though she had begged the king not to reveal this to anyone other than his nobles. And to her surprise he granted her request. She expected the Curgh boy to exult in his exoneration, but though Cresenne sensed his relief when she told the others of her role in Lady Brienne’s murder, Tavis offered no outward response.

She had spoken with Keziah a number of times since that day, and, most surprising of all, she actually felt that they were becoming friends. They were far more alike than Cresenne ever would have guessed, and after her initial discomfort around Bryntelle, Keziah had taken an interest in the child. Best of all, Grinsa seemed genuinely disturbed by their growing bond. Cresenne would have befriended the emperor of Braedon had she been certain that it would irk the gleaner.

After their first conversation, when Keziah convinced Cresenne to speak to Kearney openly of her involvement in the movement, the two women had not spoken of the Weaver again. Indeed, they had hardly mentioned the movement, or the threat of civil war, or even the messages Kearney had sent, summoning the other dukes to the City of Kings. Mostly they talked of their childhoods, of their families and their loves. Cresenne still sensed that the archminister wasn’t telling her all, particularly when the topic turned to Grinsa or the king, and she guessed that one or both of the men had been her lover. But she didn’t push the woman on these matters. For the first time in memory, she had a friend, and she was content simply to enjoy their friendship and to accept the limits placed upon it by the minister.

Which was why the previous day’s conversation had come as such a blow.

They were in the gardens, enjoying the first clear day in what felt like ages. Keziah had carried Bryntelle for a time, cooing at the girl and playing with her until the baby began to fuss for her mother. But after handing the child back to Cresenne, she grew quiet, her eyes fixed stubbornly on the path before her. At first Cresenne thought nothing of it, but as the silence between them stretched on, she grew wary. For all the laughter and easy conversation she had shared with Keziah, Cresenne had never forgotten that she was, when all was said and done, a prisoner of the king and a renegade in the eyes of all around her.

The baby had fallen asleep, and Cresenne held her in the crook of her arm, gazing down at her and turning her body to keep the sun off Bryntelle’s face.

“If you’ve something to say, you’d best get it over with,” she told the minister. “Bryntelle will wake soon, and she’ll need to eat.”

“All right,” Keziah said quietly. But for a long while she said nothing, each moment of silence heightening Cresenne’s apprehension. “The king asked me to talk with you,” the minister began at last, still staring at the ground. “I’m speaking as archminister now, rather than as your friend.” She glanced over briefly. “And I am your friend, Cresenne. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“I understand.” Really she didn’t. Her stomach was balling itself into a fist, and she wasn’t even certain why.

“Javan of Curgh arrives here tomorrow, and possibly Lathrop of Tremain as well.”

“yes, I’ve heard.”

“In the next few days, the king expects Marston of Shanstead to arrive from Thorald, and also the duke of Heneagh. He’s even hoping that some of those who have pledged themselves to Aindreas’s cause, will come. Domnall perhaps, and Eardley.”

“What’s your point, Keziah?”

“The king trusts you, and he’s been willing to allow you to remain free in the wake of your confession. But the dukes are not likely to be so generous. Javan in particular will want to know why Kearney grants these liberties to the woman responsible for his son’s suffering.”

She should have expected it. They thought her a traitor, she had admitted being party to an assassination. Cresenne supposed that she should have been grateful for the freedom she had enjoyed until now. Yet she couldn’t help feeling that they had betrayed her. Keziah called herself Cresenne’s friend. Kearney had promised that she had nothing to fear from him. And now they wished to lock her away, so as to avoid offending a handful of dukes.

“You must understand,” the minister continued. “With Aindreas threatening rebellion, the king can’t take for granted the support of any duke. Thorald and Curgh, the major houses, are especially important. If Galdasten-”

“So he wants me in the dungeon?”

“No!” Keziah sounded horrified. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“Then what?”

“The prison tower. With the days growing warmer, it should be quite comfortable, and of course Bryntelle will remain with you. The dukes will be here for some time, but when they finally leave, you’ll be free to leave the tower.”

It was more than she should have expected, but still she trembled at the thought of being locked away. Was this how she would spend the rest of her life? A prisoner in the king’s castle? They wouldn’t execute her. She felt fairly certain of that. But they couldn’t let her go free. Ever. Bryntelle would grow up with iron bars on her windows and guards at her doors. Or she would grow up in the home of another, knowing that the world considered her mother a traitor and murderer.

“What if I refuse?”

Keziah halted and faced her, her expression bleak. “Don’t.”

Cresenne took a breath, nodded. “I should return to my quarters, then. I don’t have a lot, but I should probably gather the few things I carried with me from Aneira.”

“Can I help?”

“No.” She couldn’t help but be moved by the stricken look on Keziah’s face. Clearly this conversation had pained the archminister. “I’ll be all right,” she added, trying to smile.

“May I stop by later?”

“Why don’t you walk me to the tower tomorrow? I’d be grateful.”

The minister smiled, her relief palpable. “Of course.”

Cresenne and Bryntelle passed the rest of the day in their chamber. It took Cresenne but a few moments to gather her possessions, but after speaking with the archminister, she had no desire to be seen by anyone else. Solitude promised to be something she would have in abundance for the rest of her days, but privacy was another matter. There were no bars on the door to this room, and though there were guards posted just outside in the corridor, she didn’t have to see them or hear them or endure their stares. For one last day, she savored the basic comforts of the room she was in as she would have the luxuries of being queen.

She slept fitfully and had awakened early this morning, unable to get back to sleep after hearing the peal of the dawn bells. Keziah hadn’t told her what time of day she was to be taken to the tower and Cresenne thought it best to be ready whenever the minister and Kearney’s guards arrived. She sat with Bryntelle asleep in her lap. She had pulled the tapestry away from the chamber’s lone narrow window so that she could watch the sky brighten and listen to the crack of wooden swords and the shouted commands of the king’s swordmaster as he trained the royal army in the ward below.

A knock at the door startled her so that Bryntelle awoke and began to cry.

“Come in!” she called, cradling the girl to her chest.

The door opened, revealing the king. Cresenne stood and bowed as well as she could with the baby in her arms. “Your Majesty.”

“Good morning,” he said, sounding unsure of himself.

“Please come in, Your Majesty.”

He hesitated still, eyeing Bryntelle. “Perhaps I should return another time.”

“There’s no need. She just woke up. She’ll be fine in a moment.”

The king nodded, then entered the room, still looking uneasy. “The archminister spoke with you?”

It seemed there was a hand squeezing her heart. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He had begun to walk a slow circle around the room, but he stopped now and faced her. “I am sorry. I want you to believe that.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” She tried to keep her voice even, but failed.

“You doubt me.” Before she could respond, Kearney shook his head. “I don’t blame you, though it is the truth. I do this because the dukes will expect no less. As it is, I’ll have to answer to those who will wonder why I haven’t had you executed.”

“I’m grateful for your mercy, Your Majesty.”

“And I’m grateful for all you’ve told us. When the dukes leave the City of Kings, as they must eventually, you’ll be free once again.”

“Free to roam the castle, Your Majesty? Or free to leave, to take my child and make a life for myself elsewhere in the Forelands?”

Seeing him struggle with the question, she knew.

“We can offer you a fine life here in the castle, Cresenne. Your child will grow up with the sons and daughters of those who serve me. She will be taught with them, she’ll enjoy all the freedoms and privileges they enjoy.”

“But I’ll remain a prisoner, not in the tower perhaps, but in the castle.”

“Yes.”

“And whenever your dukes journey here, and whenever you welcome nobles from the other kingdoms, I’ll return to the tower.”

“I would think so, yes.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but that isn’t freedom.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose it is. Though you’ve helped us a good deal in the past turn, you’re still guilty of crimes against this realm. You made some poor decisions long ago, and now you must live with the consequences of those choices.”

I chose to fight for my people! What else could I have done? She knew she couldn’t say this. She wasn’t even certain she still believed it entirely. And yet she felt that she could barely contain her rage. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had been wrong to turn against the Weaver, even knowing that Kearney and Grinsa would have taken Bryntelle from her.

“There is another way,” he said after a lengthy silence. “I can offer you asylum in Glyndwr, just as I did for Lord Tavis after his escape from Kentigern. You would be confined to the castle there, just as you are here, and there are far fewer children in Glyndwr Castle than there are in the royal palace; your daughter might be lonely at times. But Glyndwr receives few visitors, so you’d spend little or no time in the prison tower there.”

He was offering her exile. He made it sound inviting, at least when compared with the life that awaited her here, but there could be no other name for it. Eibithar’s king was asking her to choose between banishment and imprisonment.

“You don’t have to decide today.”

“How soon would I leave, were I to agree to this?”

“As soon as the dukes have departed. I’d send a sizable group of men with you-you and your daughter would be safe. The snows linger a bit longer in the highlands, but the journey wouldn’t be difficult this time of year.”

She looked down at Bryntelle. At least she wouldn’t have to see her mother in a prison every second turn. “I’ll consider it,” she said.

“Good. Personally, I think it a far better place for you than Audun’s Castle. That doesn’t mean that you’re not welcome to remain here. But I believe Glyndwr would be easier. For both of you.”

And for you as well. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He took a breath, his eyes falling on the baby. “She’s well, I take it.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” He stood there a moment longer, then crossed to the door. “I’ll leave you. Keziah should be along shortly to take you to. . to where you’ll be staying.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

He left her, closing the door softly behind him. Once more Cresenne found herself thinking that there was more to him than she had thought. True, he had angered her-who was this Eandi king to question her choices? — but clearly he had been disturbed at having to imprison her, despite what she had done, despite the consternation his generosity was sure to evoke from his dukes. When she asked herself if the Weaver would do the same for an Eandi in her position, she had to admit that he wouldn’t. No doubt others in the movement would take Kearney’s compassion as a sign of weakness, but Cresenne saw it differently. It seemed to her that if all Eandi were like Kearney of Glyndwr, there might never have been a conspiracy.

Keziah came for them a short time after Cresenne’s encounter with the king. Two soldiers stood with her in the corridor, but otherwise she was alone.

“I have a key to the tower chambers,” she said. “The king and I thought it best that we involve as few others as possible.”

Yet another kind gesture from the king and his minister. And in that moment an odd thought struck her: what must Tavis of Curgh have thought of all Kearney had done for her? He would have had every right to be offended, even appalled. But for some reason Cresenne doubted that he was. Forced to reconsider her opinion of the king and his archminister, she had begun to question her perceptions of all Eandi, as well as the Qirsi who served them.

The archminister glanced at the soldiers for a moment. “Stay here,” she said. “We’ll be out in a moment.” Without waiting for a reply, she stepped into the chamber and shut the door.

Cresenne gave a puzzled look.

“I need to examine your things before I allow you to take them to the tower. Kearney made me promise that I would, at Gershon’s urging no doubt.” She smiled, as if at a great joke. “I didn’t think you’d want the soldiers watching.”

Cresenne made herself smile as well, but her stomach was knotting again. It seemed each time she decided that she had misjudged the Eandi, something new happened to make her question that decision.

“You have a weapon in here, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yes, a dagger.”

“I’ll have to take that of course.”

“Of course.”

“And you have gold?”

The minister was pretending to serve the movement. She would have been paid by the Weaver, just as Cresenne had.

“You know I do,” she said, her voice flat. “You have to take that as well?”

“Not all the men who serve the king are immune to bribery. A prisoner with gold is halfway to freedom.”

It was an old saying, but it did nothing to cushion the blow.

“I’ll keep it for you,” Keziah told her, misreading her silence as she pulled the blade and leather pouch from Cresenne’s satchel. “The dagger as well. Both will be returned to you.”

“You told me my imprisonment was for appearances only, that I would be freed after the dukes left.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Then why is any of this necessary?”

Keziah straightened, her eyes meeting Cresenne’s. “I also told you that the dukes would likely be here for some time. Imprisonment does strange things to people. Even knowing that you’re to be released eventually, you may find yourself desperate to win that freedom before we can offer it.”

Cresenne wanted to argue, but looking down at Bryntelle, she knew that the minister was right. It would take all of her strength just to endure a few days in the tower. What if the dukes remained in Audun’s Castle for half a turn, or more?

“This is your life now, Cresenne. Freedom as you’ve known it is no longer yours. It pains me to say this, but it is the truth.”

Cresenne felt tears on her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Hadn’t she said much the same thing to Kearney just moments before? Why would hearing it from this women affect her so?

“Surely you’ve thought of this yourself,” Keziah said, sounding nearly as forlorn as Cresenne felt.

“Yes,” she said through her tears. “And I’ve spoken with the king of going to Glyndwr, of accepting asylum there to escape the confines of this castle.”

The minister appeared to consider the idea for a moment. Then she nodded. “I think you should.”

Cresenne agreed. She knew in that moment that she and Bryntelle would be making the journey to the highlands as soon as the last of the dukes left the city of Kings. But she kept this to herself for now.

“I told the king I’d think about it,” was all she said.

Keziah nodded a second time. “Good.” For several moments she continued to watch Cresenne, holding the dagger in one hand and the pouch of gold in the other. “We should go,” she said at last. “Javan arrives within the hour. Preparations have already begun.”

Holding Bryntelle tightly in her arms, she followed the woman out of the room and then down the stone corridor as the two guards fell in step just behind her. It would have been a far shorter walk had Keziah crossed through the inner ward, but the minister kept to the shadowed hallways, sparing her the humiliation of walking past Gershon Trasker’s soldiers; one more kindness among so many.

Despite their roundabout route, they reached the prison tower far too soon. Cresenne had hoped that the anticipation of her captivity would prove to be worse than the reality, but upon stepping foot in the sparse chamber, she began to tremble so violently that she had to sit for fear of collapsing. There was a single straw bed against the wall opposite the door, and she lowered herself onto it, still clutching her child. A simple wooden cradle had been placed by the bed, and a clean woolen blanket laid within it.

“Are you all right?” the minister asked.

“I will be,” she managed, her voice shaking.

“Shall I stay?”

“No. We’ll be fine.”

Keziah started to say something, then stopped herself. “Very well. The next few days promise to be quite full, but I’ll do my best to come see you.”

“Thank you.”

The minister stepped out of the chamber and one of the guards pushed the door shut, the clang of iron on iron making Cresenne jump. She heard him lock the door, his keys jangling like gold coins, but she didn’t look up. She didn’t want him seeing the tears on her cheeks.

“I don’t want her mistreated in any way,” the minister said, her voice barely audible through the small iron grate on the door. “If she needs anything, or if her child is in any distress at all, I want you to come to me immediately, no matter the time, day or night. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Archminister.”

Even as Keziah’s footsteps retreated down the stairway, Bryntelle awoke and began to cry.

“Are you hungry, little one?” she asked, swiping at her own tears and unbuttoning her shirt.

Lifting the baby to her breast, she happened to glance toward the door, only to find one of the guards leering at her through the iron bars.

Didn’t you hear the archminister? she wanted to scream at the man. Don’t you think that mistreatment includes gaping at me as I feed my baby? She glared at him, but he didn’t look away. At last, she lay down on the bed, her back to the door, and fed Bryntelle that way.

She heard his boot scrape on the floor as he finally turned away, heard him mutter, “Qirsi whore.”

After a time, Bryntelle tired of eating, but she remained awake, cooing at Cresenne and gazing around their new surroundings with wide eyes. Eventually Cresenne refastened the buttons on her shirt and sat up, casting a dark look toward the door. The guards were ignoring her.

From the city, she could hear horns blowing and people cheering. It seemed Javan of Curgh had arrived. She stood and carried the baby to the lone window, but could see nothing from there save the spires of Morna’s Sanctuary, and the ridge of the Caerissan Steppe rising beyond the great walls of the city.

Still she remained by the window for a long while, listening as the cheers grew nearer and finally faded. Javan was in the castle.

Only a short time later, she heard voices from the corridor and then footsteps just outside her chamber. She had known the duke of Curgh would come to her eventually, but she didn’t expect him so soon, nor had she thought that he would bring his son and wife, as well as Grinsa and a second Qirsi who must have been his first minister.

“This is her?” the duke asked, stopping before her door, his lean, bearded face framed in the small grate.

“Yes, my lord.” Grinsa.

Javan stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. Bryntelle gave a small cry, and his gaze flicked to her for just an instant before returning to Cresenne.

She shifted Bryntelle to the other side, feeling uncomfortable under the duke’s glare.

“I assumed you were helping the king so that you might avoid the gallows.” Javan glanced at the baby again. “I see now that you had other reasons.”

Cresenne could think of nothing to say.

“If it were up to me, you’d hang anyway. I suppose you know that.”

He watched her, as if awaiting a response. She gave none. A part of her wished that Grinsa would say something in her defense, but she knew that he wouldn’t. And they had the gall to call her a traitor.

“You have nothing to say to me?” the duke demanded.

“No, my lord. I don’t.”

His lip curled up, as if he were snarling at her. “Kearney is wrong to show you mercy. You’re a beast and I pity your child.”

She shouldn’t have cared what this noble thought of her. She should have kept her silence. But his words stung, and Cresenne found that she couldn’t just let him leave.

“I cost you the throne, my lord, and little more. If your ambitions had been the only casualties of my actions, I would feel no remorse at all. As it is, I feel that I owe an apology only to your son, and to the family of Lady Brienne.”

“Now I truly feel sorry for the babe you hold in your arms. For if you believe that my son’s imprisonment and torture cost me nothing, then you don’t know what it is to be a parent.”

He might as well have slapped her. She felt tears fall from her eyes, and a tightness in her chest that almost stopped her breathing. Before she could answer him, Javan stepped away from her door. A moment later another face replaced his. The duchess. She had golden hair and bright green eyes, and she looked at Cresenne with an odd mix of distaste and sympathy, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to hate the woman she saw, though she knew she should.

“I’m sorry,” Cresenne whispered, tears now coursing freely down her cheeks.

The duchess offered no reply, and a moment later was gone.

Tavis appeared in the door’s window next, his face truly a blend of his mother’s and father’s, though he was forever marked by the rage and grief of Kentigern’s duke. Strangely, he seemed to hate her least of the three of them. He didn’t say anything, however. And having just apologized to the boy’s mother, Cresenne couldn’t bring herself to say the words a second time. She and Tavis merely held each other’s gaze until finally the boy stepped away from the door.

She heard someone speak in the corridor, but couldn’t make out what was said. For a few moments it seemed that all of them were leaving the tower. Then another face loomed in the small opening. Grinsa’s.

“The others have returned to the king’s chamber,” he said.

“You should have gone as well.”

“I was concerned for you.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Of course you were.”

“I should have known that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Yes, you should have. You should have known it, and so you should have gone away with your Eandi friends.”

He whirled away from the door, and once more she thought he would leave her. Instead he called for one of the guards.

Almost immediately, Cresenne heard the familiar sound of boot on stone.

“Open the door,” Grinsa said.

The man did as he was told.

“Now go.”

The guard stared at him briefly. “I don’t take orders from you. And I’m not going to leave two white-hairs alone, not when one of them is a traitor.”

“I’m the baby’s father.”

“All the more reason for me to stay.”

“I’m also a friend of the king.”

“So you claim.”

Grinsa gritted his teeth. Then he turned to look at one of the torches, and an instant later it exploded like shattered glass, sending embers and fragments of wood in all directions.

“I could do the same to this door any time I wish. I could also do it to your sword. Or your skull. If I wanted to help her escape, I could do so any time I wished, and there would be nothing you and your friends could do to stop me. But that’s not my intention. Now leave us.”

The guard looked frightened, but still he hesitated.

“Leave!”

At last, the man hurried to the tower stairs, and with one last backward glance, started down them to the floor below.

The gleaner entered the chamber.

“I don’t want you here,” Cresenne said. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“What is it you think I’ve done to you, Cresenne? I’m the one who’s been wronged, not you. You lied to me. You used me to get information about Tavis and his gleaning. You sent an assassin to kill me. All I did was love you.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. We both lied. I didn’t tell you I was with the movement, and you didn’t tell me you were a Weaver.”

He cast a quick look toward the door, as if fearing that one of the guards had heard. But no one was there.

“You can’t possibly equate the two. I kept my powers hidden to protect myself and. . and others as well. I even wanted to protect you. That’s how much I cared for you. I thought that there was a chance we might remain together forever. And you know as well as I what the Eandi do to the wives of Weavers.”

“And still you serve them.”

“I serve no one. I seek only to prevent war.”

She laughed. “You really believe that, don’t you? With one breath you speak of saving yourself and the people you love from Eandi executioners, and in the next you claim to be your own master. You’re a fool, Grinsa.”

He looked as though he might say more, but then he heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I am.”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and stepped from the chamber, pulling the door closed behind him.

Bryntelle started at the sound, then began to cry.

“Grinsa, wait.”

Cresenne crossed to the door, fearing that he would leave the corridor. But reaching the grate, she saw that he was standing at the entrance to the stairway, looking back at her, his face pale in what remained of the torchlight.

She wasn’t certain what she wanted to say to him. She just knew that she didn’t want him to go after all. At least not like this.

“When I told you before that I didn’t love you, that I’d never loved you. .” She looked away. “That wasn’t true.”

“I know,” he said, and left her.

The rest of her day seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Mercifully, no one else came to see her, her solitude interrupted only by the arrival of her evening meal as the sky outside her window began to darken. But even then, too sickened by her encounters with Javan and the gleaner to eat, she merely sat on the bed, feeding Bryntelle when the child cried, and waiting for the day to end so that she could just sleep.

Still, when sleep finally came, it caught her unaware, like an army advancing through a mist-laden wood. One moment she was sitting beside Bryntelle on the bed. The next she was on the broad plain she had come to know so well, the Weaver before her, framed by the harsh white sun he always conjured for these dreams, his hair looking as black as the sky and even more wild than usual.

Cresenne didn’t have any time to feel fright or surprise, or to think that this would be the dream of her death, the one she had dreaded for so long. She merely opened her eyes to the unfathomable sky, the brilliant light, the Weaver, and was staggered by a blow to the temple.

“You whore!” the Weaver roared, striking her again, so that she fell to the ground.

She knew she was going to die, that somehow he had learned of her betrayal. But all she could think as she began to weep was that it wasn’t right for so many people to be calling her whore.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think you could hide from me?”

Somehow she was hoisted roughly to her feet, though the Weaver hadn’t moved. An instant later he struck her a third time, the invisible fist landing on her cheek. She crumpled to the grass once more, her vision blurring and a sound like crashing waves buffeting her mind.

“It’s the gleaner, isn’t it?”

She lay still, her eyes closed, waiting for the pain to recede.

“Tell me!” This time he didn’t bother to lift her. Instead, it seemed to be the hard toe of his boot gouging viciously into her side, causing her to gasp and then retch.

“Is he there with you? Is he in Audun’s Castle? Is he in your bed?”

He kicked her again. The stomach. Or did he? He hadn’t moved. It was so hard to keep her thoughts clear.

An instant later she was thrust to her feet again, like a child’s doll.

“He is there, isn’t he?”

She should have answered him. She was going to die anyway. Why not give him what he wanted and be done with it? It was only Grinsa he wanted. Grinsa, whom she hated.

Except that she didn’t, couldn’t. As much as she wanted to despise the gleaner, to curse his name and rid herself of him forever, she couldn’t bring herself to tell the Weaver what he already seemed to know. It was a useless act of defiance and she was a fool. He would hurt her until she told him, though he had guessed it already. He wanted to hurt her before ending her life, and this would serve well as his excuse.

But more than that, she thought that she could hear Bryntelle crying. She couldn’t say for certain whether it was a trick of her mind, or truly her child wailing in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle, the sound reaching across the boundary between her dream and the waking world. It made little difference. What mattered was that Cresenne was going to die, leaving Bryntelle no one in the world but the gleaner. She couldn’t betray Grinsa to the Weaver without making an orphan of their daughter. And that she refused to do.

Something touched her face in a strange sort of caress. It took a moment for the pain to reach her, but then abruptly she was in agony. She clutched at her cheek, recoiled at what she felt. Staring at her hands, she saw blood. So much blood. He slashed her a second time, along her jaw.

“You protect him? You dare choose him over me?”

Another gash opened on her brow, blood pouring into her eyes, blinding her, stinging like lye.

A sob escaped her, and she fell back to the ground, not from a blow, but simply from the weight of all he had done to her.

“This is but the beginning,” he said with relish. “This will be the longest night of your life, and the last. You betrayed me. You betray me even now, protecting the gleaner. But I’ll break you before you die. And I’ll find a way to make an example of you, so that any others who might turn against me will know how you suffered and will think better of it.”

Bryntelle’s crying grew louder in her mind, and Cresenne did all she could to shelter the sound from the Weaver. She didn’t know if he could reach the baby from wherever he was-Bryntelle hadn’t come into her power yet, of course, and Cresenne didn’t know if a child so young could dream lucidly. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

Then another thought The sound of her child was a message of sorts. It was telling her something. If only she could think of what it was.

Before she could consider it further, something crashed down on her hand. The Weaver’s heel. A hammer. A stone. She felt bone shatter, screamed out in pain.

A hand touched the top of her head and she flinched away.

“It’s all right,” Grinsa’s voice whispered. “It’s me. You need to wake up, Cresenne. Open your eyes and end this.”

“I can’t.”

“Whose voice is that?” the Weaver asked.

“Wake up, Cresenne. Now. Bryntelle needs you.”

“I see you!” the Weaver said, his voice a mix of fear and triumph. “I see you, Grinsa jal Arriet.”

Cresenne looked up at the gleaner, his face bathed in the Weaver’s light. His lips were pressed thin, the look in his eyes hard and dangerous. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather at the wild-haired figure standing before them.

“Wake up, Cresenne,” he said again, his gaze never straying from the Weaver.

Cresenne knew she should do what he said, but she didn’t know how. All she could do was stare at Grinsa, and listen to the Weaver’s threats.

“I see you,” the Weaver repeated once more. “I know you. I can reach you now.”

Grinsa bared his teeth in a baleful grin. “I’ll be waiting for you. But just to make matters even. .”

He raised his hand and brilliant flame leaped from his palm, golden as early morning sunlight and a match for the Weaver’s white radiance.

Cresenne heard the Weaver cry out, heard Grinsa say, “Now we know you, too.”

She turned to look at the man who had walked in her dreams for so long, and for just an instant caught sight of him. He was tall, lean, muscular. His jaw was square, his eyes the color of gold rounds, and his hair like the mane of some great white lion. She had time to think that he looked just as a Qirsi king should, and then he was gone.

She was in her chamber again, the prison tower of Kearney’s castle. Keziah was there, holding Bryntelle in her arms, her eyes wide and her face damp with tears. Kearney was there as well, and Gershon Trasker. Cresenne knew that she should have been trying to take Bryntelle. Her baby was crying. But all she could do was lie on her bed, marveling at the fact that she was still alive.

Grinsa cupped her face in a tender hand-his were the most gentle hands she had ever known-and forced her to meet his gaze.

“Where did he hurt you?” the gleaner asked, looking like he might cry as well.

“My face. My hand.” She moved her uninjured hand to the place on her side where the Weaver had kicked her. “Here.”

Grinsa nodded. “I’ll heal you. You’re going to be all right.”

She wanted to hold Bryntelle. And sleep. She needed to sleep. She was so very tired. But instead she looked at the gleaner and shook her head.

“Healing me will do no good. Don’t you see, Grinsa? He’s going to kill me. He failed tonight, but it’s just a matter of time. He can reach me anywhere.”

“We’ll find a way to protect you.”

She shook her head, though it hurt to move. “There is no way. You should take Bryntelle and leave here. Now. Tonight. You heard what he said. He knows you now. He’ll find you. He’ll find her.”

“Bryntelle isn’t going anywhere without you. And the Weaver isn’t going to find me until I decide the time is right.”

She started to argue, but he touched a hand to her bloodied brow and said a single word, “Sleep.”

Helpless, in pain, fearing for her life and her child, she fell back into darkness.