Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Twenty

Gershon’s father, a fine soldier in his own right, had often said that a man could grow old and die watching nobles say hello. Standing in the shadow of Audun’s Castle, watching Kearney greet Marston of Shanstead, the swordmaster had to agree. The ceremony welcoming the thane to the royal city seemed to drag on for an eternity, until, unable to stand it any longer, Gershon muttered a bit too loudly, “Imagine if the duke himself had come.”

One of his soldiers snickered and the king gave them a look that would have melted steel.

It was nearly time for the ringing of the prior’s bells before Marston’s company was in the castle and the thane and king were able to talk. Still Gershon sensed that the younger man was reluctant to speak freely, as if he feared that their conversation would be overheard by enemies of the realm, though the only ones in the chamber with them were the archminister, Marston’s minister, Gershon, and a pair of servants. For some time, Marston and Kearney continued to trade pleasantries, discussing the severity of the snows that had just ended and their hopes for a mild growing season.

Only when the king asked after Marston’s father did the swordmaster have the impression that they were approaching matters that truly concerned the thane.

“My father sends his respects, my liege,” the young man said, looking grave. “He would have liked to make the journey himself, and he instructed me to thank you for your invitation and to apologize for his absence.” The man gave a wan smile. “It seems my father thinks me a poor substitute.”

The king shook his head, offering a sympathetic grin. “I doubt that. But I hope you’ll tell him that he was missed, and that we look forward to making him a guest at Audun’s Castle when he can make the journey.”

“I will, my liege.” But there was a catch in Marston’s voice, the briefest of hesitations when he spoke, which told Gershon that Tobbar of Thorald would never again set foot in the City of Kings.

Apparently Kearney heard it as well. “He shows no improvement?”

Marston sat straighter, as if gathering himself. Gershon had only met Tobbar once or twice, most recently at Kearney’s investiture, when he had already begun to grow thin and weak with the illness that had kept him from this journey. He could see so much of the duke in his son’s ruddy face. The penetrating grey eyes and noble straight nose, the kindness that seemed to linger in even the saddest of smiles. Aside from the years, there was little to separate father from son.

“Forgive me for being blunt, my liege, but my father is dying. The healers have told us for some time now that his illness lurks too deep for their magic and their herbs. They ease his pain as much as they can, but they’ve long since given up on trying to cure him.”

Kearney looked pained. “I’m sorry, Lord Shanstead. Your father is a fine man who has led his house with wisdom and compassion under the most difficult of circumstances. Bian, it is said, has a jealous heart, and he steals the brightest jewels so that his realm will glitter. Our world will be darker for his passing.”

Marston looked away, his jaw tightening. “Yes, my liege. Thank you.”

“You sent a message during the snows, in which you wrote of the treachery of your father’s first minister.”

The thane faced Kearney again, though not before casting a wary look at Keziah. “I did, my liege.”

“It’s all right, Lord Shanstead. I’ve already spoken of your message with all my ministers as well as with Gershon.”

Marston didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. “Of course, my liege.”

“Perhaps you should tell me more about what happened.”

Still appearing uncomfortable, Shanstead told them how his suspicions of Enid ja Kovar had grown over the preceding year, and of how his own minister agreed to act the part of an embittered servant who wished to join the Qirsi conspiracy. After listening to the man rail against the thane, Enid offered to help him join her cause, at which point Marston’s minister left her, related to the thane all that had been said, and accompanied Marston to Tobbar’s chamber, where he repeated his account.

“As you might expect,” Marston said, “my father was reluctant to believe him at first. Enid had served the House of Thorald for more than six years, and the duke had never thought to question her loyalty. When we summoned her to his chambers, she denied it, accusing Xiv here of fabricating the tale.”

Gershon looked for a moment at the thane’s minister, who was sitting quietly in the far corner of the chamber, his gaze fixed on his lord. Unlike most Qirsi, he wore his white hair short, so that at first glance he appeared to have none at all.

“I proposed that we search her chamber for gold, knowing that the conspiracy pays its servants well. She refused, of course. That was when my father knew she had to be lying. When the duke said as much to Enid, she admitted everything, calling him the foulest names and making it clear to all that her charm and wit had only served to conceal a black heart.”

“Did you learn anything from her?”

“No, my liege. She took her own life before we could question her. She remained loyal to her cause to the very end.”

“This must have come as a blow to your father.”

Marston nodded. “It did, my liege, in more ways than you may think. Enid came to Thorald shortly after the death of Filib the Elder. For years we assumed that the murder of Filib the Younger was the work of thieves who had come to Thorald with the Revel. My father and I now believe that his death may actually have been the work of assassins hired by the first minister.”

Gershon sat forward. “Demons and fire! Do you have evidence of this?”

“No, not yet.”

“It makes a good deal of sense, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. “Galdasten had been removed from the Order of Ascension several years before, and Filib’s death removed Thorald, thus making Curgh and Kentigern the two leading houses in the land.”

Kearney looked incredulous. “Are you suggesting that the conspiracy was already planning Brienne’s murder when Filib died?”

“Not exactly. I doubt they could have foreseen all the circumstances that led to Brienne’s death. But if they wished to use the Rules of Ascension to push the land toward civil war, it would have made sense for them to eliminate as many of the major houses as possible from the order. They would find it far easier to turn events to their purposes if they only had to concern themselves with two or three houses rather than four or five.”

“My pardon, my liege,” Marston said, looking from Kearney to Keziah. “But you speak of Brienne’s murder being the work of the Qirsi with such certainty. Are you convinced that this woman you hold in your dungeon is telling the truth?”

“I am, Lord Shanstead, though you should know that she’s in the prison tower, not the dungeon.”

“But why, my liege?”

“She has a newborn babe and despite what she’s done in the past, she’s cooperating with us now. I saw fit to show her a measure of mercy.”

Marston didn’t look at all pleased, but he seemed to know better than to argue the point further. “She can offer proof that the conspiracy had Kentigern’s daughter killed?”

“She claims to be the one who planned the murder and hired the assassin.”

Marston’s eyebrows went up. “Then you can prove Lord Tavis’s innocence.”

“We can.”

“Does Lord Kentigern know of this? Is he coming here?”

Kearney glanced at Gershon, who couldn’t keep the frown from his face. “Lord Kentigern has yet to reply to my summons,” the king said at last. “I don’t hold out much hope that he will.”

“But surely the others. .” The younger man trailed off, a plea on his face.

“We haven’t yet heard from Galdasten, Sussyn, or Eardley.”

“Damn,” Marston said, shaking his head.

“Javan arrived yesterday,” the king told him, as if this were consolation, “and we expect Lathrop before nightfall.”

“Yes, but they were allies already. We need the other houses.”

Kearney gave a wan smile. “I know.”

“Forgive me, my liege. I didn’t mean to imply-”

“No apology is necessary, Marston. I share your frustration.”

Marston glanced at his minister, who stared back at him for a moment, then nodded.

“Archminister,” the Qirsi said. “May I have a word with you?”

Keziah faltered, looking toward the king.

“It’s all right,” he said.

She forced a smile and led Shanstead’s minister from the chamber, leaving the king, with Gershon and Marston.

“You wish to speak without the ministers present?” Gershon asked, eyes narrowing.

The thane looked weary and young in the dim light of the chamber, and though he was eyeing the swordmaster, he addressed himself to the king. “Again, my liege, forgive my presumption. I’ve found, in discussing such matters with my father, that it’s easier to speak freely when there are no Qirsi listening to the conversation.”

“Do you doubt your minister, Lord Shanstead?”

Marston took a breath. “No, my liege.”

“So it’s my archminister whose loyalty you question.”

The thane winced and Gershon had to keep himself from smiling, even as he sympathized with the man. It was one thing to speak so with one’s father, even when he was duke of a major house. But it was quite another to raise the matter with a king.

“I’m afraid I haven’t handled this very well, my liege.”

“It’s all right, Marston. You may speak, though you should understand that I’ve known Keziah for a long time. I daresay I know her as well as any man in the realm. She’s no traitor.”

“Of course, my liege. In that case I’ll say no more, save to ask you if you’ve noticed anything unusual in her behavior.”

This time it was Kearney’s turn to falter, and abruptly there was no longer anything amusing about their conversation.

The king looked at Gershon, who had little choice but to say, “She has been acting oddly since Paegar’s death.”

“Paegar?” the thane asked.

“One of my underministers. He fell in his chamber, striking his head on the edge of the hearth. He and the archminister were close, and after his death she. . changed. She grew defiant and embittered. I finally had to threaten to have her removed from the castle permanently. Since then, she’s been more like herself.”

“If I may ask, my liege, were she and this Paegar lovers?”

“No,” Kearney said, a bit too quickly.

“I see. You say that he fell in his chamber.”

“I know how it sounds, Lord Shanstead, but the door was locked from within. It was an accident, albeit a strange one.”

Gershon wanted desperately to leave it at that, but he knew that he couldn’t, that the archminister would have been the first to tell him so. The swordmaster had long questioned the wisdom of what she was doing and he feared for her life, but he had also sworn to help her in this endeavor. To keep silent now, after she had worked so hard to draw the attention of the conspiracy’s Weaver, made no sense at all.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Gershon?”

“It’s probably nothing, Your Majesty. Merely something the surgeon said the day we found Paegar’s body. I gave it little thought at the time. As you say, the door was locked from within. But after what happened last night to the woman. .” He shrugged.

“Go on.”

Both men were watching him intently.

“He said that he had rarely seen a simple fall result in such a severe wound. He went on to say that he still thought the fall had killed the minister-the way the blood had stained the floor made him all but certain. But now, after seeing what can be done to a person in their sleep, I have to wonder if the Weaver found some way to make him fall.”

“The Weaver?” Marston repeated, looking truly frightened.

The king nodded. “That’s one of the things we’ve learned from the Qirsi woman. It seems the conspiracy is led by a Weaver who can communicate through the dreams of those who serve him.”

“Gods save us all!”

“Indeed,” Kearney said. “We learned last night that this Weaver not only can communicate across great distances with his underlings but can attack them as well. It seems he learned somehow that the woman is helping us and sought to silence her. She’s lucky to have survived the encounter.” He turned to Gershon. “And now you believe he may have attacked Paegar as well?”

“It’s possible, Your Majesty.”

“Do you have reason to believe that Paegar was working with the conspiracy?”

He did. There had been a good deal of gold in the man’s chamber, far more than there should have been. But Gershon had promised Keziah that he wouldn’t reveal this to anyone, not just for fear of endangering her life but also because she didn’t want to see her friend disgraced. Already he regretted having said anything to the king and thane, but there was no turning back now.

“No, Your Majesty. But it seems that no court in the Forelands has been completely immune to Qirsi treachery. I find myself wondering if perhaps Paegar was the traitor here.”

Kearney walked to the window and stared out at the courtyard below. “I don’t like to impugn a man who can’t protest his innocence. Paegar served me well for the few turns we were in this castle together, and he was with Aylyn for eleven years before that. He deserves better than to be branded a traitor without cause.”

Gershon lowered his gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The three men were silent for some time.

“Tell me more about your archminister, my liege,” the thane finally said. “You said she was behaving strangely.”

The king shot Marston a dark look, but then nodded, his mouth twitching. “Yes, she was. She grew impudent, she questioned my judgement, she even insulted one of our guests, a noble from Wethyrn.”

“Did she continue to offer sound counsel?”

“Actually, no,” Kearney said. “Her counsel suffered as well, until I found myself relying more on my high minister and underministers than on her.”

The thane glanced at Gershon, raising an eyebrow.

“It does give one pause, Your Majesty,” the swordmaster said. “All this time we thought that the archminister merely grieved for a lost friend. Perhaps there was more to it than that. Perhaps they were both in league with the Weaver.”

“No!” the king said, stepping away from the window. “Keziah wouldn’t betray me that way.”

“My father said the same thing about Enid, my liege.”

“This is different! She’s different!”

Clearly Marston didn’t believe this, but it seemed the young noble knew when to retreat. “Of course, my liege.”

“Leave me now,” the king said, refusing to look at either of them. “Both of you. I wish to be alone.”

Gershon rose and stepped to the door, gesturing for the thane to follow. “Shall I send word when Lathrop arrives, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. That will be fine.”

The swordmaster led Marston out of the chamber, closing the door softly behind them.

Once in the corridor, the thane closed his eyes and leaned back against the cool stone wall. “That didn’t go as I had hoped.”

“No, I don’t suppose it did.”

“I didn’t realize that he still felt so strongly for her.”

Gershon frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Come now, swordmaster,” Marston said, opening his eyes. “Shanstead may not be the seat of the dukedom, but it’s more than a farming village, and it lies in the heart of Thorald. We hear what others hear.”

“And what have you heard?”

“That the king and his archminister were once lovers.”

It was an irony more bitter than tansy that word of Kearney’s love affair with Keziah had spread through the land only after he became king, and their love ended. It was forbidden under the laws of every realm in the Forelands for an Eandi man to lie with a Qirsi woman. Qirsi and Eandi alike called such unions the sin of the moons, for Panya and Ilias, a Qirsi woman and Eandi man who defied the laws of men and the commands of their gods for a love that ended in tragedy. Over the past several turns these rumors had become one more arrow in the quiver of those who refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of Kearney’s claim to the throne.

Gershon didn’t know that he had reached for hilt of his sword until the blade was halfway out of its sheath.

“Stand down, swordmaster,” Marston said sharply. The younger man’s hands trembled, but his voice was steady. A pair of guards standing a short distance from them had paused in their conversation to watch the two men. “I meant no offense to you or your king,” Marston began again, dropping his voice. “You must realize by now that I’m loyal to the throne. If I could speak for Thorald, I would throw the weight of our house behind the king and end this conflict before it begins.”

The swordmaster slowly slid his sword back into place.

“The rumors are true, then,” the thane said.

“You’ll never have that from me.”

“All right. But do you think the woman could have turned? Would her bitterness at losing him have run that deep?”

“As I said, you’ll never get me to say anything about this.”

“Damn it, man! We’re speaking of the future of Eibithar! Don’t you understand? If the archminister has betrayed him, then the rest of this means nothing! It won’t matter that this Qirsi woman has confessed, or that Lord Tavis has been vindicated, or even that you might be able to end the threat from Kentigern! She can destroy everything.”

Gershon didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t very well defend Keziah, not without raising suspicions of a different sort. But neither could he bring himself to impugn her further. She was in too much danger already, and though he had never cared for her, he had in the past few turns, come to respect her courage and accept that in her own way she served Kearney as faithfully as anyone in the realm, including himself.

“You heard the king,” he finally told Marston. “He believes that she’s loyal, and he knows her better than anyone. That’s good enough for me.”

“It shouldn’t be. He’s blinded by his passion for the woman. Surely you can see that.”

This time Gershon did draw his sword, holding it loosely before him, its tip lowered.

“You’re a good man, Lord Shanstead. Young yet, but wise beyond your years and brave. Some might say too brave for your own good. Be that as it may, if you speak thus about my lord and king again, I’ll have no choice but to kill you where you stand.”

Marston eyed him for a long time, his hands hanging at his sides though he wore a blade on his belt as well. The guards were staring at them again, the silence in the corridor as thick and dark as smoke from damp firewood.

When at last the thane spoke, it was in a voice scraped bare by fear and anger. “Watch her,” he said. “Believe what you will. Make your threats against me if you must. But watch her as you would a beggar in your marketplace.”

Gershon said nothing, but he nodded and after a moment sheathed his sword once more.

Their eyes met briefly, but before either man could speak, the city bells began to toll for a second time.

“Tremain arrives,” Marston said, looking toward the narrow window at the end of the corridor. “What do you know about his Qirsi?”

Keziah and Shanstead’s minister walked wordlessly to the nearest of the towers, descending the steps to the inner courtyard and then making their way toward the gardens, which were just beginning to blossom after the harsh cold of the snows. Even after putting some distance between themselves and the guards standing watch in the ward, neither of them spoke. Keziah couldn’t help noticing that the minister was quite handsome. She usually liked Qirsi men to wear their hair long, as did Grinsa and so many of the other ministers. But though his hair was as short as the duke of Curgh’s beard, she found herself drawn to him; the pale eyes and angular features reminding her of a boy she had known years ago, when she and Grinsa still lived in Eardley. Shanstead’s minister was only slightly taller than she, but broad and muscular for a Qirsi.

Walking in the sun now, she also noticed the glint of a gold band on his finger, and she gave an inward smile. Always the joined ones. Just once, why can’t I find a man who wears no ring?

She knew why they had left Kearney’s chamber. The thane wished to speak to the king of the conspiracy, and he didn’t want any Qirsi present. And no doubt he had instructed his minister to try to learn whether Keziah had betrayed the king.

“Isn’t this where you ask me if I can help you join the Qirsi movement?”

The man glanced at her, a slight smile on his lips. “In Shanstead we call it the conspiracy.”

Keziah grinned. So handsome. “Xivled, isn’t it?”

“Yes. My friends call me Xiv.”

“Does that mean that I can?”

He laughed. “Yes.”

“Thank you. Tell me, Xiv, does your thane believe me to be a traitor?”

“My thane knows little more about you than I do, Archminister. He makes no judgements as to your loyalty to the king, or lack thereof.”

“But he wonders.”

“Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t we all?”

“Not necessarily,” Keziah said, shaking her head. “You think you serve the realm by questioning the loyalty of every Qirsi in every court. But all you’re doing is fueling the doubts of our lords, widening the chasm that already divides Eandi from Qirsi. You’re making matters worse, and you’re not learning anything new. I congratulate you for unmasking the traitor in Tobbar’s court, but I fear that your success has made you too bold.”

“You’re wrong.” He halted, faced her, looking earnest and young. “We didn’t create the chasm of which you speak, nor are we responsible for the deepening mistrust between the races. But the conspiracy is real. There are traitors in nearly every court in the Forelands. That’s the reason the conspiracy is so strong, so dangerous. I was once a trusting person, as was Lord Shanstead. I wish I could be still. I don’t enjoy questioning the motives of every Qirsi I meet, or assuming the worst about a person until she can prove to me that she deserves my trust. But that’s the world in which we now live. The conspiracy has done this, and so long as we continue to trust without question, we enhance its strength.”

“I don’t believe that. Allowing the treachery of a few to destroy our ability to trust one another-that enhances their strength. They seek to divide us, and you’re making it easier for them.”

“We’re never going to agree,” he said. “We could argue this way until nightfall, and we’d still be just where we are now.”

“Probably.” Keziah began to walk again, and he with her. She had met a great number of Qirsi ministers over the years, particularly in the turns she had spent in Audun’s Castle. Many of them-most, really-had struck her as well-meaning, faithful servants to their lords. That was one reason she took exception to Xivled’s suspicions. But Xiv was the first she had met about whose loyalty she had no doubts at all. Perhaps it was because he questioned her fealty to the king, as he seemed to question the fealty of all ministers. Perhaps he had thought up the perfect way to hide his treachery. She smiled at the notion. This man was no traitor. Indeed, she found herself thinking that she could tell him of her attempt to win the Weaver’s trust. If anyone could see the merit in her plan, he could. She didn’t dare, of course. But she thought it a measure of the minister’s charm that she would even consider it. “So have you decided yet if I can be trusted?” she asked instead

“Not yet, no.”

“There are many in this castle who’ll tell you that I’ve been defiant of my king, that I’ve behaved strangely. Some, I’m sure, think me a traitor.”

“Are you?”

Keziah smiled again. “Either way, you know that I can only give you one answer.”

“That’s not true. You could simply confess and be done with it.”

“Must you argue with everything I say?”

He looked down, smiling once more, but looking embarrassed. “Forgive me, Archminister.”

“Let me ask you a question,” she said, pressing her advantage.

“Of course.”

“Now that we can prove Tavis’s innocence, do you believe Tobbar will ally himself with the king and Javan?”

The minister creased his brow and inclined his head slightly. “I can’t say. Lord Tavis’s guilt or innocence was always but one consideration among many in the duke’s decision to withhold support from both sides in this conflict. He fears that adding Thorald’s might to either side will tip the balance so greatly in that duke’s favor that he’ll feel emboldened and will attack the other. Nothing has happened to allay that concern.”

“And your lord is of the same mind?”

“Lord Shanstead would never presume to challenge his father on a matter of such importance.”

“At least not openly.”

“What are you suggesting, Archminister?”

“That Marston strikes me as a sensible but passionate man. I find it hard to believe that he would do anything to weaken the Rules of Ascension, particularly with his sons in line for the throne. But by the same token, I also have difficulty believing that he enjoys watching Thorald stand idly as the other houses line up against one another. He seems to understand that the kingdom must unite if it’s to face the Qirsi challenge, and with Tavis absolved of Brienne’s murder, he’ll be eager to throw Thorald’s support to Javan and end the threat from Kentigern.”

“You gathered all of this from the discussion we observed today?” Xiv asked, sounding impressed.

“And from what I’ve heard of him from others.”

The man nodded, his brow furrowing again. “You understand, I can only say so much. But I do believe that if my lord were duke. . matters might stand somewhat differently.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Keziah said, not bothering to mask her surprise. “I appreciate your candor.”

“I’d ask you not to repeat what I’ve said to anyone, Archminister. Not even the king, at least not yet.”

“Of course. I’ll merely tell him that these are my impressions of the thane.”

“Thank you.”

She considered asking the minister how much longer he thought the duke of Thorald would live, but some questions lay beyond the bounds of propriety, even for the highest-ranking Qirsi in the land.

Rather, she sensed that he was eager to rejoin his lord, so that they might share what they had learned from the king and from Keziah. “Was there more you wished to ask me, Minister?” she said. “Or am I free to return to the king?”

Before Xiv could answer, the city bells began to echo through the castle ward. Keziah glanced up at the sun. It was too early for the prior’s bells. “It seems the duke of Tremain has come,” she told him. “I should be at the gate to greet him.” She smiled. “Thank you for a most interesting conversation.”

She started to walk away, but Xivled called to her, making her face him again.

“I asked you before if you were a traitor,” he said. “You never answered me.” He wore a smile, but the archminister could see that he was keenly interested in her response, or more precisely, how she offered it.

“You’re right,” she answered, turning away once more. “I never did.”

With the arrival of the two lords, and the welcoming ceremonies and the grand feast planned for that evening, Audun’s Castle fairly hummed with activity. The royal guard marched to and from the city gates, accompanying the nobles and their ministers. Even in the prison tower, which was on the other side of the inner keep from the kitchen, Grinsa could hear the shouts of the kitchenmaster and smell the faint, appealing aromas of roasting meat and baking bread. And through it all, Cresenne slept, looking small and frail against the dingy linens on her bed. She flailed at times, crying out and raising her hands as if to ward off a blow, but she didn’t wake. The wounds on her ashen face, dark and ugly in the dim light of the chamber, seemed to scream at him, an accusation. How could you allow this to happen? You said you’d protect her. If only she told all she knew, you would do everything in your power to keep her safe, and the baby too. He spoke bravely of keeping the Weaver from hurting her again, but he knew that if the man was determined to harm her, even kill her, there was little anyone could do to stop him.

The gleaner would have liked to meet with Marston of Shanstead and Lathrop of Tremain himself, to hear how the king and Keziah presented all they had learned from Cresenne. But he refused to leave her side, or to trust care of Bryntelle to anyone else.

A turn before, hoping to compel Cresenne to tell all she knew about Brienne’s murder, he had threatened to take the child from her, to find a wet nurse in the city who might feed the babe. This day, he had been forced to do just that, not to punish Cresenne but to let her rest through Bryntelle’s feedings. The wet nurse came and went, answering Grinsa’s summons, suckling the child, then retreating to some unseen chamber to await word once more. It might have made more sense to let her remain in the tower-she was Qirsi as well, young and quiet and harmless-but Grinsa wanted to be alone with his family, just this once, while he still could.

After Bryntelle’s previous feeding, he had held her, walking slow circles around the chamber, whispering stories of his parents and his own childhood until she finally dropped off to sleep. During the past few days she had fallen asleep in his arms several times, but it still thrilled him. He continued to hold her and walk, watching the daylight fade and the chamber darken. He lost all sense of the time, but as the first stars appeared in the sky above Audun’s castle, barely visible through the narrow window in the prison chamber, the baby awoke again and began to cry.

Grinsa stepped to the chamber door and called softly to one of the guards. “Have the wet nurse brought again,” he whispered.

“It’s all right, Grinsa,” Cresenne said from behind him, her voice barely carrying across the empty chamber.

Bryntelle stopped crying at the sound.

Grinsa turned from the door and lit a torch with the merest thought. She was sitting up, squinting at the firelight. After a moment, she passed a hand through her tangled hair, pushing it back from her face.

He sat beside her on the bed and let her take Bryntelle. She began to pull off her shirt, then hesitated, looking at him uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing and turning away. He wandered to the door. The guards were by the stairway, talking in hushed voices. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Sore.”

“Where?”

“All over. My hand and face especially.”

“They should get better with time.”

Silence. Then, “Do I look awful?”

“I’m not sure you could.”

“You know what I mean.” But there was a softness to her voice that he hadn’t heard in so long.

“No, not awful. The scars are still dark, so you may be taken aback when you first see your image in a looking glass. But they should fade to white eventually.”

She made a strange, choked sound. “Thank you,” she said, the words coming out as a sob.

He turned to see her crying.

“For what?”

“Saving me. He would have killed me, Grinsa. He would have tortured me for as long as he could keep me alive, but then he intended to kill me. He told me so.”

He walked back to the bed and sat once more. “You should thank the guards. And Keziah. They summoned her and she sent for me. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t have gotten here in time.”

She nodded, wiping away her tears. Grinsa sat with her for a moment longer, then stood, intending to return to the door.

“It’s all right,” Cresenne said. “You’re her father. You should be able to watch her eat.”

The gleaner smiled, though he still looked away.

“You found a wet nurse.”

He looked back quickly, fearing she might be angry. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just thought-”

“I understand, Grinsa. I was going to thank you for letting me sleep.”

He exhaled, and they both laughed. “We’ve been angry with each other for so long, we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be civil.”

“We owe it to her to remember,” she said, looking down at Bryntelle. “Perhaps we owe it to each other as well.”

Before it’s too late. She didn’t have to say the words. They hung over the chamber like a storm cloud, making the air heavy and carrying the promise of violence and uncertainty.

“I do believe we can protect you, Cresenne. It won’t be easy, but we can do it.”

She was still gazing at the baby she held to her breast, her tears falling anew. “How? You see what he did to me last night.” She looked up at him. “Are you that powerful? Could you do that to him?”

“I am that powerful, but to do it to the Weaver I’d first have to know who he is and where he can be found. The time will come when I can fight him, but for now I’m concerned with protecting you. And as to how, you’ve already made a good start today.”

She frowned.

“You’re going to have to change your sleep habits. You can’t sleep at night anymore-that’s when he’ll look for you. From now on, until the Weaver is dead, you sleep by day and remain awake at night.”

“And Bryntelle?”

“Her, too, of course. You’ll have to change the way you feed her. It will take a bit of time, and you won’t be getting as much sleep as-”

“Wait,” she said, her puzzlement giving way to fright. “This is your plan for keeping me alive? Sleep in the day, stay awake at night? That’s it?”

“At least for now, yes.”

Cresenne gave a chilling laugh. “That will work for about a day, and then he’ll figure it out, and he’ll kill me anyway.” She shook her head. “No, the only thing that will keep me alive, is if you’re here with me whenever I go to sleep, so that you can enter my dreams and drive him off before he hurts me again.”

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Are you suggesting that we share a bed again?”

“This isn’t funny, Grinsa.”

“No, it’s not. I understand that you’re afraid, but sleeping during the day will do more than you think to stop him.” She started to object again, but he raised a hand, silencing her. “We don’t know who the Weaver is yet, but I’ve an idea of what he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s ambitious and he’s accustomed to having people follow his commands. He also goes to great lengths to hide his identity. Even those who serve him don’t see his face, or the place he conjures for your dreams, right?”

She nodded.

“That tells me that he’s a man of some influence, someone who fears being recognized.”

“But if you had been in his position wouldn’t you have feared recognition, even posing as a Revel gleaner?”

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t have gone so far as to conceal the terrain. He seems to believe that to know where he is, is to know who he is. That leads me to believe that he’s a minister somewhere, perhaps an important one, in the court of a duke, maybe a sovereign.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Cresenne said. “But what does that have to do with the time I sleep?”

“A man of such importance has demands on his time, things he has to do, a lord to whom he answers. As with most ministers, his nights are his own to do with as he pleases. But his days belong to the court. You’re right, he may reason out very quickly how you’re avoiding him, but there may not be anything he can do about it, at least not immediately.”

She still looked doubtful.

“Contacting another through their dreams requires a considerable effort.” He looked back at the door for an instant. “I know,” he went on, lowering his voice, “because that’s how I communicate with Keziah. I can only imagine what it is to hurt someone using the same magic. Just touching Keziah, or kissing her cheek, takes a good deal of power, far more than just speaking.”

“What is she to you?” Cresenne asked abruptly. “Were you lovers? Is that how she knows you so well?”

Grinsa shook his head, smiling. “No, we weren’t lovers. We’re just close-I’ve known Keziah nearly all my life.”

The woman shook her head. “She says nearly the exact same thing whenever I ask her about you.”

“And yet you persist in looking for more. Accept it as the truth, and stop asking.”

“I’m sorry. I interrupted you.”

“My point was simply this: it takes a great effort to contact another through her dreams. It’s not something the Weaver can do in a spare moment as he waits for his lord to finish a meal. He needs time to prepare himself and more time still to rest afterward. Sleeping during the day won’t keep you safe forever, but it will protect you for a time, and perhaps that will be enough.”

Cresenne pushed her hair back again and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want Bryntelle being raised as if she were an owl.”

He grinned. “Neither do I. But we’re not talking about years. I intend to find the Weaver long before her first birthday. It’s just for a few turns.”

“All right,” she said, nodding and taking a breath. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He looked toward the door. “I should go soon. Tavis and I have been asked to the feast. But before I leave, is there anything else you can tell me about the Weaver, anything at all? Something you haven’t mentioned before, maybe because you didn’t think it was important?”

She seemed to consider the question for a moment, then she shook her head.

“What did you call him?”

“What?”

“When you spoke in your dreams, what did you call him?”

Cresenne gave a small shrug. “Weaver. I made the mistake of calling him “my lord’ once, many years ago, and he grew angry. He didn’t want me to address him as I would an Eandi lord.”

“What did he call you?”

“He used my name most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Well, eventually, as I gained more influence in the movement, he gave me a title. He didn’t use it much, but others did.”

Grinsa felt his heart begin to race. “What title?”

“He made me one of his chancellors.”

“His chancellors,” the gleaner said breathlessly, repeating the words as if they were the name of his first love.

“Does that tell you something?” Cresenne asked, frowning once more.

“Maybe. Most of the kings and queens in the Forelands call their Qirsi ministers. The suzerain of Uulrann refers to all Qirsi as enchanters, but he gives no formal title to those who serve him. The emperor of Braedon, however, has chancellors as well as ministers. His chancellors are those who have been with him the longest, who have the most authority among his advisors.”

“That’s what we were,” Cresenne said. “There were only a few of us-the others in the movement answered to us, rather than to him directly.”

“Braedon,” he whispered. He had seen the Weaver’s face the night before, but he hadn’t noticed much about the moor on which they had been standing. It could have been anywhere in the Forelands.

He stood and walked to the door, calling for a guard.

“Are you going to the feast?”

“Yes,” he answered, as the guard unlocked the door. “I wish to ask the king what he knows about Braedon’s high chancellor.”