Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Eight

The following morning, Cresenne ja Terba, Qirsi traitor, and the mother of Grinsa’s daughter, was brought before King Kearney of Eibithar. Keziah had wondered if the king would even ask her to attend his questioning of the woman. Such was the state of their relations at this point that the archminister wouldn’t have been surprised if he had asked Wenda or one of the other ministers to join the discussion in her stead. But perhaps remembering that she knew Grinsa-she hadn’t told Kearney that they were brother and sister-he had sent word late the previous evening that she was to be in the king’s chambers by midmorning bells.

Keziah couldn’t help but be curious about this woman who had scored her brother’s heart and borne him a child. She had known Pheba, Grinsa’s Eandi wife who died of the Pestilence several years before, but not well. Though she loved her brother, and in the midst of her own affair with Kearney had no right to judge him for falling in love with an Eandi, she had thought Pheba the wrong woman for him. It was not just that she was Eandi, nor that as a Weaver he had much to fear from tying himself so closely to Ean’s race. Pheba had seemed too strong-willed, or perhaps Grinsa had just been too young.

Whatever the reason, Keziah never felt close to her brother’s wife. She mourned Pheba’s death, or rather Grinsa’s loss, but she always hoped that he would find a way to love again, and that this time he would choose a Qirsi woman.

There was an old Qirsi saying: a wish realized is a most dangerous thing.

Reaching Kearney’s door, she knocked, waited for his reply, then entered. Only when she was in the chamber did she realize that she was the first to arrive; even Gershon Trasker, Kearney’s swordmaster, wasn’t there yet. As part of her effort to repair the damage she had done to her rapport with the king, Keziah had arrived promptly for all their recent discussions. But this was the first time in well over a turn that she had found herself alone with him.

He was at his writing table, poring over several scrolls of parchment. He stood when she stepped into the room, but remained where he was, his eyes widening slightly, as if he were afraid to be alone with her.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she said. “I seem to be early. Have I mistaken the time of our meeting?”

He shook his head, his jaw set. “No. I expect the bells will be ringing shortly.”

“Shall I leave you until they do?”

He glanced down at his scrolls again. “Not unless you wish to.”

There was a correct reply to this. She felt sure of it. But she had no idea what it might be. After a moment’s silence, she walked to a chair near his table and sat.

For some time, he continued to stare at his papers, rustling them noisily. At last he cast a quick look her way, and forced a smile. “You must have been. . pleased to see the gleaner again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Even now, after all that had passed between them, he still could not speak to her of Grinsa without sounding like a jealous lover.

“He’s the reason I asked you here, you know.”

“I thought so.”

“Knowing him as you do, I thought it best that you be present. This promises to be a most delicate discussion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I hope I can trust you not to say anything. . inappropriate, either to me or to Lord Tavis.”

Keziah grimaced. When she was still trying to attract the attention of the conspiracy, and trying as well to make herself suspect in the king’s eyes, she had been insolent and insulting, not only to Kearney but also to several of his noble guests. During one feast given in honor of the dukes of Rouvin and Grinnyd, she had so offended the Wethy noble that Wenda had felt compelled to apologize on Keziah’s behalf. No doubt, word of her transgression had found its way back to the king.

“Of course, Your Majesty. As I’ve already told you, I wasn’t myself in the days immediately following Paegar’s death. But I’m better now. You needn’t worry about me anymore.”

“I’d like to believe you, Keziah. But I’m not yet ready to surrender all to trust.”

She nodded, her eyes stinging. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

This was all of her own doing. She had chosen to alienate her king, to draw the eye of the Weaver so that she might learn more of his movement. But still, it grieved her to think that Kearney, who she had loved more than any other man in her life, should now find it so hard to trust her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Keziah stared at her hands, but she sensed that Kearney was watching her, perhaps waiting for her to say more. When she finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, however, she found that he had turned his attention back to the scrolls on his table.

The bells began to toll in the city, and before they had finished there came a knock on the king’s door.

“At last,” he murmured. Then, in a louder voice, “Enter!”

The door opened revealing Gershon and two soldiers. The swordmaster walked into the room, eying the minister and the king with interest. At the same time, the guards stepped to the side. Behind them stood Grinsa, Lord Tavis, and a Qirsi woman.

Kearney stepped out from behind his table and beckoned them into the chamber with a wave of his hand.

Seeing Keziah, Grinsa gave a tight smile, but he remained by the woman, as if guarding her. It took Keziah a moment to realize that she was carrying a baby.

She almost stood then, to get a better look at her niece, but to have done so would have raised too many questions. Instead, she studied the girl’s mother. She shouldn’t have been surprised that the woman was beautiful-Pheba had been as well. But Keziah had to admit that she had never met any woman so attractive. She had long, fine hair that she wore pulled back loosely from her oval face. Her eyes were quite pale, no deeper in color than the parchment on Kearney’s table, and her lips were full and wide. She glanced around the room warily, her eyes lingering briefly on Keziah before flitting away once more. She clutched her baby to her breast, as if expecting one of them to rip the child from her arms at any moment, and she kept herself as close to Grinsa as he did to her. If Keziah hadn’t known that she had hurt him, that she had gone so far as to send an assassin to kill him, she might have thought them very much in love.

“Please sit,” the king said, crossing to the hearth and turning so that he faced all of them.

Cresenne looked to Grinsa, who led her to one of the chairs near the hearth, taking the other one himself. Tavis sat near Keziah, nodding to her once as he lowered himself into the chair. He appeared just as she remembered him. Straight hair the color of wheat, dark, intelligent eyes, the refined features of an Eandi noble. He would have been handsome had it not been for the lattice of dark, angry scars that covered his face, remembrances from his stay in the dungeon of Kentigern Castle.

Kearney pulled a chair just in front of Cresenne’s and sat as well, facing her. “I know you won’t believe this,” he said, “at least not at first. But you have nothing to fear from me. Answer our questions honestly, and no harm will come to you or your child.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked, her voice barely carrying to where Keziah sat.

Kearney smiled. “Let’s not talk about that for now. Listen first to what I have to say. Consider what I ask of you.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

The king indicated Gershon with a nod of his head. “That’s Gershon Trasker, captain of the King’s Guard and my swordmaster since I first became duke of Glyndwr. I asked him here so that he might assess the risk posed by the. . by your movement.”

She stared at the swordmaster, who offered no response at all. No doubt he thought the woman should be imprisoned immediately for her betrayal, the king’s questions saved for the dungeonmaster and his instruments of torture. Keziah knew that Gershon had little tolerance for traitors, and even less when their eyes were yellow.

“The woman sitting beside Lord Tavis is Keziah ja Dafydd, my archminister.”

Cresenne looked at her again, but quickly turned her attention back to the king.

Kearney started to say more, then stopped himself, his eyes meeting Keziah’s for just an instant. Then he faced Grinsa. “Gleaner, I believe you know better than I what questions she might be able to answer. Would you?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Pardon, Your Majesty,” Gershon broke in, standing as he spoke, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “But before we continue, I’d like to know what powers this woman possesses.”

Cresenne smiled coldly. “Gleaning, healing, and fire, swordmaster. I’m hardly a threat to your king. I’d imagine you have more to fear from his archminister.” She eyed Grinsa, the smile lingering. “Or perhaps the gleaner.”

It was a curious comment, and a dangerous one. Clearly she knew of Grinsa’s powers, but did she know as well that Keziah had spoken with the Weaver who led her movement?

Whatever she meant to imply, Gershon did not seem mollified. “Fire, eh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Think for a moment, swordmaster. Not like a warrior but like a man and a father. Do you honestly think I’d do anything so foolish with my child in my arms?”

That seemed to reach him. His mouth twisted sourly, but after another few seconds he nodded, returning to his seat.

“Gleaner?” the king prompted once more.

Grinsa sat forward. “How long have you been with the conspiracy, Cresenne?”

She furrowed her brow. “Conspiracy? I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

“Would you prefer I called it the Qirsi movement?”

“I still wouldn’t know what you were-”

“Stop it!” The gleaner glared at her. “You think this is a game. You think that I’ll be stayed by pity and love of our child. You’re wrong. Archminister,” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Please take my daughter from the chamber. I have no doubt that you can find someone in the castle who’ll care for her until I’m finished here.”

Keziah glanced at Kearney, who nodded his approval. She stood and started walking to where Cresenne sat. She could see the baby now, eyes closed, lips slightly pursed. She had not spent much time with babies. She knew little about how to care for them; she wasn’t even certain she could hold her niece properly. But even she could see how beautiful the child was, her face a perfect blending of Cresenne’s features and Grinsa’s.

As she approached, Cresenne shrank back against her chair, tightening her grip on the baby. Her eyes, wild and afraid, flew to Grinsa’s face. “You can’t do this.”

“If you resist,” he said calmly, “if you make us take Bryntelle by force, she’s more likely to be hurt.”

“You bastard! She’s your daughter!”

“And as I’ve told you already, I won’t allow myself to be swayed by that. This is your doing, Cresenne, not mine.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Keziah said softly, holding out her arms for the child. “You have my word.”

Still Cresenne clung to her. “She’ll be hungry soon. She’ll need me.”

Grinsa looked away. “I’ve no doubt we can find a wet nurse in the city.”

Cresenne glared at him. “I despise you,” she whispered. “I don’t care that you are her father. I wish you were dead.”

“Yes, I know. You made that clear when you sent the assassin for me.” His face wore a bitter smile, but Keziah could see how this was hurting him. “Take the child, Archminister.”

Reluctantly, her hands shaking as if from a palsy, Cresenne placed Bryntelle in Keziah’s arms. She was crying now, and she fussed over the child a moment, tucking in her swaddling until it was snug and smoothing the wisps of snowy hair on the baby’s head.

“Her name is Bryntelle,” she said, meeting Keziah’s gaze.

“I know. Neither of you has anything to fear from me.”

The woman gave a hesitant nod. Keziah straightened and started toward the door. Before she was halfway across the chamber, however, Cresenne, cried out, “Wait!”

Keziah halted, turned.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” she said. “Just don’t leave with her.”

“It’s too late for that,” Grinsa said.

The archminister shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Her brother shot her a baleful look, but once more the king nodded. “Let me remain here,” she went on. “I’ll hold Bryntelle. So long as Cresenne answers your questions, I’ll stay. But if she refuses you again, I’ll leave immediately, taking the child with me.”

A frown creased Grinsa’s forehead, but he looked to Cresenne, as if gauging her response.

“Very well,” the woman said.

Grinsa exhaled heavily. “Let’s begin again. How long have you been with the conspiracy?”

The woman stared at her hands. “Nearly three years.”

“Why did you join?”

“They offered me gold.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Her gaze met Grinsa’s for just an instant, then dropped again. “No. It offered me a way to strike at the Eandi courts. The movement seeks to end Eandi rule in the Forelands.”

Kearney turned to Gershon, his face grim. He didn’t look surprised-no doubt he had expected something like this. Her words would have served only to confirm his darkest fears.

“How does your movement intend to do this?”

“I don’t know. I know that’s our goal, and I know that much of what we’ve done has sought to bring turmoil and instability to the seven realms. But beyond that, I’ve been told nothing.”

“You’ve told me already that you’re paid by couriers and Qirsi merchants. Do you know where the gold comes from?”

She shook her head.

“Are you paid in common currency or imperials?” the king asked.

“Common currency.”

Kearney looked disappointed. “Forgive me, gleaner. Please go on.”

“What do you know about the movement’s leaders?”

Cresenne started to reply, then stopped herself. She stared at Grinsa, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

“What can you tell us about the movement’s leaders?”

There was something strange in the way Cresenne was looking at him, as if she abruptly knew that she had the advantage. It took Keziah only a moment to understand why. Apparently Grinsa had made clear to her that he knew of the Weaver, only to find himself unable to use that knowledge now for fear of bringing harm to Keziah. She felt certain that Cresenne didn’t know all of this, only that he knew more about the movement than he was willing to allow the others to hear, and that this provided her with a refuge of sorts.

“Very little,” she said.

Gershon narrowed his eyes.

“As I told you a moment ago, they pay me through couriers, and they give me instructions the same way. I believe they prefer not to be known, even by those who support their cause.”

“I think you’re lying,” Gershon said.

Grinsa nodded. “I believe she is as well, swordmaster.”

Cresenne said nothing. She merely watched Grinsa, as if daring him to challenger her.

“But perhaps we should return to this later,” the gleaner went on smoothly. “Tell us about the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern.”

Keziah sensed Tavis’s anticipation, though he didn’t move or change his expression

“I know only what I’ve heard.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Grinsa said. “The assassin you sent for me said that you didn’t want me helping Tavis, that you didn’t want me reaching Kentigern at all. Now, why would he have thought that?”

“I sent no assassin.”

Grinsa looked up at Keziah. “Go. Take Bryntelle and go.”

Keziah started to leave the room, though she didn’t care for the idea. Before she could go, however, the baby woke and began to cry. It was almost as if she felt her mother’s distress and cried out in answer.

“She needs to eat,” Cresenne said quickly.

“We’ll find a wet nurse.” Keziah had never known Grinsa could sound so cold.

“Not soon enough. She’s just a babe. She can’t wait while you search the city for a woman to nurse her.”

“It’s all right, gleaner,” the king said. “We’ll have a brief respite while Cresenne nurses her child. Then we’ll continue.”

Grinsa looked displeased, but he knew better than to argue with Kearney.

“Go with her, Archminister,” Kearney said. “Take her to my private quarters.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Keziah glanced at Grinsa as she waited for Cresenne by the door. Her brother eyed her briefly, then gave a small nod, one none of the others would have noticed.

The two women left the chamber, walked down the corridor to the nearest of the castle’s spiral stairways, and climbed to the next floor. From there, it was but a short walk to the king’s private quarters. Cresenne said nothing as they walked. Keziah assumed that she was too angry with Grinsa, or just unwilling to show any courtesy to a servant of the king. But only when they reached the door and it occurred to the minister that she was still carrying Bryntelle did she realize that the woman was too distracted to speak. Keziah could guess as to why.

“Why don’t you hold her,” she said, holding Bryntelle out to the woman.

“What?” Cresenne looked at her briefly, then blushed deeply, taking the baby from her. “Of course. Thank you.”

Keziah pushed open the door, motioning the woman inside.

Cresenne took the chair closest to the hearth, loosened her shirt and placed the child so that she could reach her breast. Bryntelle began to suckle immediately.

Keziah had to smile at the sounds the child made as she fed. It was hard to believe that such a small person could make so much noise.

“She’s a beautiful child.”

Cresenne smiled, though she didn’t look up. “Thank you.”

“It’s hard for me to think of Grinsa as a father.”

That did draw the woman’s gaze. Keziah wished instantly that she had kept that thought to herself. She wanted to win the woman’s trust. Making it clear from the outset that she was Grinsa’s friend wasn’t likely to make matters easier for her.

“You know him?”

“We grew up together.” Hiding the truth about Grinsa had become habit by now. She didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

“You know him well, then.”

“To the extent that anyone does.”

Cresenne seemed to weigh this, looking down at the baby again. For a time she seemed to wrestle with something-Keziah guessed that Cresenne wanted to ask if she knew of Grinsa’s powers. In the end, she seemed to decide against it.

“Were you ever his lover?” she asked instead.

Keziah smiled. “No.”

“But you care for him.”

“Very much.”

“I wish I’d never met him.” This she said quietly, as if to herself.

“If you’d never met him, you wouldn’t have Bryntelle.”

“Will he really take her from me?”

“I believe he will. He’ll grieve at doing so, but he’s stubborn and when he decides he wants something, he won’t be deterred. You can establish Tavis’s innocence, and you can tell us a great deal about the conspiracy. That’s what he wants, and if you refuse him, he’ll take her.”

“His own child.”

“Don’t be too quick to judge him,” Keziah said, her anger growing. “She’s your child as well, and yet you risk losing her to save yourself.”

Cresenne glowered at her for a moment, then looked away.

“You don’t understand.”

“Understand what? That you’re frightened. That you fear betraying the conspiracy lest word of what you’ve done gets back to the Weaver?”

Her gaze snapped up once more, her mouth dropping open.

“Yes,” Keziah said. “I know about your Weaver.”

“You’re the one who told Grinsa about him,” Cresenne whispered.

It was close enough to the truth. “Yes.”

“So he was protecting you in there.”

“I suppose.”

“But how did you learn of the Weaver?”

“That’s not important.”

“It would be to him.”

Keziah felt the color drain from her face.

“I expect it would be to your king as well, since he obviously knows nothing of the Weaver yet.”

Keziah started to deny this, but Cresenne stopped her with a shake of her head. “Don’t bother lying to me. If your king knew, Grinsa would have spoken of the Weaver openly a few moments ago.” She stared at Keziah for some time, looking thoughtful. “Have you betrayed him? Is that it?”

“No.”

“That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

She wanted to protest her innocence. It was one thing to play the traitor in her conversations with the Weaver, who walked in her dreams and never revealed his identity; it was quite another to have this woman thinking she had betrayed her king and her land. But as she continued to think about it, she realized that having Cresenne believe she was a traitor would help her continue her deception. The Weaver had access to Cresenne’s thoughts just as he did to Keziah’s. If the minister could make this woman believe that she was with the conspiracy, it might help her allay whatever doubts remained in the Weaver’s mind.

“If I was with the conspiracy, why would I be trying to convince you to tell them what they want to know?” She wouldn’t lie to the woman. Better to let Cresenne provide her own answers.

“To deflect the king’s suspicions, and Grinsa’s for that matter.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it? For all I know, the Weaver wants me to betray the movement. He doesn’t trust me as he once did. He’d probably like an excuse to kill me. So he gets you to befriend me, to wheedle information from me.”

He doesn’t trust me as he once did. Perhaps there was another way. Perhaps this woman could be trusted with the truth after all.

“From what I’ve seen of your Weaver, he doesn’t need an excuse to kill those who serve him, particularly if he loses faith in them. Besides, the answers I seek from you will hurt your conspiracy, not help it. You had an assassin kill Brienne. If you’ll admit that, it may allow us to win back Kentigern’s loyalty and avoid the civil war your Weaver wants so desperately.”

“Now I know you’re with the conspiracy. You know too much about the Weaver and his wishes.”

“You say he doesn’t trust you anymore. Does he know whose child you carry? Does he know who and what Grinsa is?”

Cresenne swallowed, nodded.

“What will he think when he learns that the two of you are together?”

“If you’re threatening me it won’t work. The Weaver has told me to find Grinsa. He’ll be pleased.”

“I’m not threatening you, Cresenne, and I’m not with the conspiracy. But I know the Weaver well enough to realize that if he’s had doubts about you already, your presence here with Grinsa and the child you share will only serve to deepen them.” She knelt before Cresenne, looking up at her. “Your time with the movement is over,” she said softly. “Surely you see that.”

There were tears on the woman’s face, and she brushed them away quickly, as if annoyed. “It’s not that easy. He can find me anytime he wants. If I try to leave the movement, he’ll kill me. I know it. I don’t get to decide when my time is over. Only he has that power.”

“He’s not as strong as you think he is.”

“Perhaps I’ve been wrong about you. If you were with the movement you’d know how foolish you sound. Of course he’s strong. He’s a Weaver.”

“So is Grinsa. And if you’d stop pretending that you feel nothing for him anymore, you’d understand that he wants to protect you. Both of you.”

“He can’t protect me. No one can.”

Keziah shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. But you have two choices, Cresenne. You can remain with the movement, protecting its secrets and its leader. That path leads to Kearney’s dungeon and it leaves your daughter without a mother. Or you can trust Grinsa and me, and try to make right some of the damage you’ve done over the past few years. I don’t know where that path leads-none of us does-but at least you’ll get to find out with Bryntelle in your arms and her father by your side.”

Cresenne didn’t respond, and after several moments Keziah climbed to her feet again, intending to leave.

“I’ll let you think about it. If you need me I’ll be just outside the door.”

“Why did you say that before?”

“Say what?”

“That the Weaver isn’t as strong as he thinks he is. If you’re not with the conspiracy, how can you know all that you do?”

Keziah hesitated. There was so much peril in what she was about to do. “Were I to tell you, I’d be placing my life in your hands. You wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, not even the Weaver. Especially the Weaver.”

“It’s very difficult to keep things from the Weaver.”

“But it can be done.”

Cresenne’s eyes widened. “You are with the conspiracy,” she whispered. “But as an agent of the king.”

She nodded. “In a sense, yes. Although Kearney doesn’t know. He. . wouldn’t approve.”

“How long?”

“Not very. Just over a turn.”

“If the Weaver finds out-”

Keziah shuddered, but managed a wan smile. “I know. But I’ve found a way to conceal my loyalties while making him believe that I’ve opened myself to him fully. That’s what you must do, Cresenne, not only for yourself and Bryntelle but for me as well. And for Grinsa.”

“Why would you trust me with this?” the woman asked, shaking her head.

“Because I’ve seen how you look at that baby. Anyone who can love one child so much is capable of doing good, no matter what she’s done in the past.”

“There are those who’d say you’re a fool to trust me, Grinsa foremost among them.”

“I know. And I’ll tell Grinsa what I’ve done. If you betray me to the Weaver, and I die because of it, I assure you Grinsa will avenge me. Our bond goes deep.”

Cresenne held her gaze. “I understand.”

I doubt that. “Good. I’ll wait for you in the corridor.”

She let herself out of the chamber, her hands trembling and her mind filled with doubts. Perhaps she was a fool. But after confiding in no one but the swordmaster for so long, it felt good to have placed her faith in another, no matter the risks.

For a long time after the two women left the chamber, none of the men spoke. Grinsa gazed at the door, as if he longed to follow them. His sister, his lover, his daughter. The three most important people in his life. For more than half a year, Tavis had seen the lengths to which the gleaner had gone to protect him. He could only imagine what the man would do to keep these three safe.

The king still sat by the hearth, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together. There was a troubled look in his eyes and Tavis could see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Can they be trusted together?” Gershon Trasker asked at last, staring after the women much as Grinsa was. The swordmaster reminded Tavis a good deal of Hagan MarCullet, his father’s swordmaster, whose son, Xaver, remained Tavis’s pledged liegeman to this day. Like Gershon-maybe like all Eandi warriors-Hagan was suspicious of Qirsi, and quickly grew impatient with talk. Gershon’s hand rested on the grip of his sword. It almost seemed that he was waiting for Kearney to give him leave to draw his blade and bring the women back.

“Give them some time,” the king said softly. “Perhaps Keziah can convince her to talk to us.”

Grinsa turned at last to face Kearney. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t, Your Majesty.”

“It’s not your fault, gleaner, but rather mine for asking you to question her. It seems clear that she wanted to do whatever she could to hurt you.”

“She had cause.”

“She had cause?” Tavis repeated, barely able to believe what he had heard. “She betrayed you, sent an assassin for you, gave gold to the men who killed Brienne! And you’re blaming yourself?”

“The lad’s right,” Gershon said. “You’ve done nothing to her that she didn’t deserve. In my opinion, you’ve shown her too much kindness.”

The king shook his head. “It’s not as easy as all that, Gershon, and you know it. She’s had his child.” He glanced at Grinsa. “And if I’m not mistaken, before her betrayal you loved her very much.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Love. . complicates matters.”

Something in the king’s tone told Tavis that he was speaking as much of himself as of Grinsa. He knew that the king and his archminister, Grinsa’s sister, had once been lovers, and it seemed from what he had observed since their arrival in the City of Kings the day before, that their love had ended since last he saw them.

“It does, Your Majesty.”

“Do you think she’ll actually risk losing her child just to spite you? Does her thirst for vengeance run so deep?”

“No,” Grinsa said. “Her love of the child is more powerful than her rage at me.”

“But were it not for the child, how far do you think her anger would take her?”

“Your Majesty?”

Kearney looked away. “It’s a foolish question. Forget I asked it.”

“I believe, Your Majesty, that love doesn’t merely vanish to be replaced by hatred. Cresenne tried to have me killed, and though I cursed her name a thousand times for doing so, I’ve never stopped loving her. I wish I could. I would have been happy never to see her again. But not because I don’t still want her. And child or none, I would do anything to keep her safe. As you say, love complicates matters. Just as I still love her, I believe in some small way she still loves me, though she denies that she ever did. We’re tied to each other, and I expect we always will be. Such is the nature of Adriel’s gift.”

The Qirsi talked only of his love for Cresenne, yet it was clear to Tavis that he was speaking to the king’s pain at losing Keziah.

Perhaps Kearney recognized this as well, for he stared at Grinsa for some time before finally nodding, and saying, “You may well be right, gleaner.” He paused briefly, looking uneasily at Tavis and Gershon. “You’ve known her longer than any of us. Do you believe she’s capable of betraying the land?”

“Of whom do you speak, Your Majesty?”

Kearney’s face shaded scarlet. “Forgive me. I speak of Keziah, my archminister.”

The king couldn’t have known how difficult a question he had asked. Grinsa and Tavis knew of the archminister’s attempt to join the conspiracy-the gleaner had told Tavis something of what she had done to convince those in the king’s court that her loyalties to Kearney had grown tenuous. Indeed, Tavis gathered that the only other person who knew her true intentions was the swordmaster, meaning that in this chamber, Kearney was the one person who didn’t understand that Keziah was risking her life to defeat the conspiracy. Grinsa would never have called his sister a traitor, even though she might have wanted Kearney to believe she was capable of such treachery. But neither could he defend her as fervently as he probably would have liked.

“Your Majesty,” Gershon said quickly. “I don’t believe it’s wise to speak of such things in the presence of men from another house.”

“It’s all right, Gershon. Under the law, Tavis is of Glyndwr still, and will be until he no longer requires the protection we’ve offered him. And the gleaner has known the archminister since she was a child.”

The swordmaster frowned, casting a quick look at Grinsa. To Tavis’s amazement, the gleaner winked at the man in such a way that the king couldn’t see. Gershon’s mouth dropped open for just an instant. Then he recovered, looking sidelong at the king.

“I’ve known Keziah for many years, Your Majesty,” the gleaner said slowly. “And though we seldom see each other anymore, we still understand each other quite well. But I’m afraid I can’t speak to her feelings about the conspiracy. Even those of us who would give our lives fighting against it have sympathy for the cause. There are those among our people who have suffered greatly under Eandi rule. Do I think Keziah will betray you? No, I don’t. Am I certain of this? No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

The king eyed him a moment longer, tight-lipped and pale. “Thank you, gleaner. I’m grateful for your honesty.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Kearney stood and walked back to his writing table. As he did, Gershon looked at the gleaner again and nodded once.

“You’ve been quiet through all of this, Lord Tavis,” the king said. “What do you think of this woman who holds your life in her hands?”

Tavis shrugged, abruptly feeling uncomfortable under the gazes of these three men. “I think she’s fortunate that Grinsa is as wise and forgiving as he is, Your Majesty. And I fear that even the threat of having her child taken from her won’t persuade a woman with such a black heart to tell the truth.”

Kearney frowned. “I certainly hope you’re wrong.”

“As do I, Your Majesty. But since this ordeal began, I’ve thought on several occasions that my salvation was at hand, only to have my hopes dashed. I find that hope doesn’t come easily anymore.”

“You’re terribly young to have such a grim view of the world.”

I haven’t been young since Aindreas threw me in his dungeon. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Perhaps this woman will surprise you, Lord Tavis. The love of a mother for her child can be quite powerful. I believe that’s a lesson your own mother taught Aindreas at the Battle of the Heneagh just a few turns ago.”

Tavis had to smile, remembering the sight of his mother in full battle garb, riding toward him as the armies of Curgh and Kentigern did battle on the broad plain west of the Heneagh River. “I pray that you’re right, Your Majesty.”

There was a knock at the door, and all of them turned at the sound.

“Come,” the king called.

The door opened, revealing the two Qirsi women standing side by side. Cresenne looked small, though she was nearly the same height as the archminister. She still held her baby close, and her face was so white that Tavis wondered for a moment if she was ill.

But Keziah was smiling, a hand resting lightly on the other woman’s shoulder, and she whispered something to her.

Cresenne stepped into the chamber, the archminister following.

“We’re sorry to have kept you waiting, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. “Please sit, all of you. Cresenne has much to tell you.”