by DAVID B. COE
“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 a
bout 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 o
nce 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.
