by DAVID B. COE
For years he had heard rumors of a forbidden love affair between Kearney of Glyndwr and his exquisite first minister, but always he had chosen not to give credence to what he heard, believing such talk unseemly. But since Kearney’s ascension to the throne he had spent a good deal of time in the company of the king and archminister, and it seemed clear to him that there was more to their rapport than met the eye. Only today, though, seeing how the king looked at her, did he know for certain that the rumors had been true. Kearney had been horrified by her wounds, and so relieved to find her still alive that he could barely speak. And Fotir had also seen how she looked at the king, her breath catching at the mere sight of him, her skin seemingly aflame with his caress.
How could a mere minister compete with a king, particularly one as noble and strong as Kearney? Why would he even try?
So Fotir wandered the camp, helping as he could, avoiding Grinsa and the archminister. Until at last his need to see her again overwhelmed his good sense.
The king was there when he reached them, and Fotir tried to turn away without being noticed. Kearney saw him before he could flee.
“First Minister!” the king called. “Please join us for a moment.”
How had he come to this? He hardly recognized himself. Fotir was renowned throughout the land for his formidable intellect and powerful magic. And here he was wishing he could run and hide, like some lovelorn schoolboy. It would have been laughable if … Actually, it was laughable.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he said as he drew near the others.
Grinsa was still intent on Keziah’s injured hand, but the king was grinning at him, still grateful no doubt, for Keziah’s rescue. For her part, the archminister favored him with a smile, but said nothing.
“We were just discussing something, and it seems from what I’ve been told that you’re one of the few others in all the Forelands who can offer an informed opinion on the matter.”
Now that he was closer to the man, Fotir realized that the king’s smile a moment before had been forced. Kearney didn’t look at all pleased, and Grinsa seemed to be concentrating on Keziah’s hand so that he wouldn’t have to meet the king’s gaze.
“How can I help, Your Majesty?” Fotir asked, all other considerations forgotten for the moment.
To his surprise, it was Keziah who answered. “I believe, First Minister, that both my king and my brother would like you to convince me that I’m a fool.”
“That’s not fair,” Grinsa said, his eyes snapping up to meet hers.
Once again, Fotir found that he had been wrong. It seemed that Grinsa wasn’t angry with the king, but rather with Keziah.
“The gleaner’s right, Archminister. Neither of us thinks you a fool, nor do any of us question your courage. But what you propose is lunacy.”
“So now you think me mad?” She laughed, though it sounded forced and, Fotir had to admit, just a bit crazed. “That’s hardly more flattering, Your Majesty.”
“Keziah, if you’d just listen for a moment-”
“No. The king asked Fotir to join us so that he might render an opinion. We should let him.”
“I’m not certain that I want to get in the middle of this.”
Grinsa glanced at him, shaking his head. “I’m certain that you don’t.”
“Come now, First Minister. You were brave enough to rescue me once. Surely you won’t hesitate to do so again.”
Fotir felt his face redden. It was far too close to what he himself had been thinking not long ago. “I don’t wish to put myself between you and the king, Archminister,” he said, and immediately regretted his choice of words.
Keziah regarded him for a moment, then turned to her brother.
“That feels much better, Grinsa. I’m grateful.”
The gleaner nodded, still looking grim.
“Let me tell you what it is I want to do,” she said, facing the first minister again. “And if you truly feel that I’m foolish-” She cast a quick look at Kearney. “Or mad-then I’ll relent.”
“All right.”
“You know that I’ve joined the Weaver’s movement, or at least feigned doing so in order to win his trust. You also know what he did to Cresenne when she betrayed him, and so you have some idea of what he’ll do to me when he learns that I’ve been deceiving him all this time.”
Fotir nodded, shuddering at the memory of Cresenne’s scars.
“Now that the other, true traitors among us are dead, I’m apparently the only one of his servants remaining on this plain. He’ll be suspicious of this, of me, especially since he ordered me to kill the king, and the king still lives.”
“You expect him to enter your dreams tonight?”
“We expect him and his army to reach us tomorrow. I’d be very surprised if he didn’t come to me before morning.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t sleep at all tonight,” Grinsa said. “By this time tomorrow, all of this will be over, for good or bad. Why risk dreaming of him at all?”
Fotir had to admit that the gleaner made a good point.
“You agree with him,” Keziah said, eyeing the minister, a pained expression on her face.
“I don’t know yet what you propose, Archminister. I’ll make no judgments until I do.”
She looked relieved. “Thank you. I think we should let him enter my dreams, and I think Grinsa should be there as well.”
“Is that possible?” Fotir asked, looking from Keziah to the gleaner.
“She wants me to use her mind to strike at him, to make her dreams into a battlefield.”
“He asked if it was possible, Grinsa, and you know that it is. We both do.”
Fotir sensed that there was far more at work here than there appeared, but he didn’t presume to ask questions. What Keziah suggested struck him as extraordinarily dangerous, but also cunning. If Grinsa managed to hurt the Weaver in this way, or-dare he think it? — kill the man, it might save thousands of lives.
“Can you fight him as she says?” Fotir asked.
Grinsa nodded reluctantly. “I believe it’s possible, but only at terrible risk to her.”
Fotir could tell from the look in the gleaner’s eyes and the tone of his voice that there was more at work here than just concern for his sister. Grinsa feared the Weaver. He didn’t believe fully in his ability to defeat the man, be it in Keziah’s mind or on the battle plain.
“If it seems the battle isn’t going your way, can you wake her in time?”
“You would actually consider this, First Minister?”
Fotir faced the king. “I share your concern, Your Majesty.” I love her, too. “But I see much promise in Keziah’s idea. If the Weaver can be defeated in this way-”
“We don’t know that he can!”
Keziah placed her healed hand on the gleaner’s arm. “Let him finish, Grinsa.”
“If he can be,” Fotir went on, “and this war can be prevented, it might be worth the risk.”
“And what if I fail? What if I’m not strong enough to defeat him or even to protect her?”
“If you can’t defeat him,” Keziah said, drawing Grinsa’s gaze once more, “he’s going to kill me anyway. Maybe not tonight, but soon.” Grinsa looked at her with such tenderness that the archminister actually smiled. “You can’t protect me forever, Grinsa.” She glanced at Kearney, the expression in her eyes almost seeming to ask the king’s permission. “None of you can.”
“So you mean to go through with it.”
Before any of them could speak, a voice called to the king.
“What now?” Kearney muttered.
A moment later the thane of Shanstead joined them in the firelight, the young duchess of Curlinte beside him. “Pardon me for interrupting, Your Majesty.”
“This really isn’t a good time, Lord Shanstead. Can it wait until later?”
“Actually, Your Majesty, I wished to see how the archminister is faring, and to have a word with her.”
The king bristled. “To what end?”<
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“It’s all right, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. Looking past him, she went on, “I’m feeling much better, Lord Shanstead. You’re kind to ask.”
“Not at all, Archminister.” He hesitated. “I wanted … well, I felt that I owed you an apology. And you, too, gleaner. It seems I misjudged you both.”
Kearney glanced at his archminister, and she at him. “That can’t have been easy for you to say, Lord Shanstead.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“It takes an honorable man to admit his errors. Your father would be very proud.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“How fares your queen, Lady Curlinte?”
“Abeni’s betrayal was a blow, Your Majesty, as was her death. But Her Highness is known as the Lioness of the Hills for good reason. She’ll be ready to do battle come morning.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
There was a brief, awkward silence. Then Marston bowed, forcing a smile. “Well, I’ll let you return to your conversation. Forgive the interruption.”
“Not at all, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “We’ll speak again later.”
The thane nodded, and he and the duchess walked away.
Kearney stared after them. “It seems you’ve won them over.”
Keziah smiled grimly. “And all it took was two broken hands and quite nearly my death.”
“Eandi suspicions won’t vanish overnight, Archminister.”
“No, Your Majesty. Indeed, I expect they’ll outlive us all, even should we defeat the renegades.”
“We can deal with that later,” Grinsa said. “Right now, all that matters is the Weaver.”
Keziah could still see Shanstead and the duchess making their way through the camp. “I will say this: they make a fine couple.”
“A couple?” Kearney said, frowning. “Are you certain?”
Keziah turned to Fotir. “Don’t you think so?”
The minister shrugged. “I can’t say that I noticed.”
She rolled her eyes. “How can men who see so much on the battlefield be so blind when it comes to matters of the heart?” She cast a look at her brother. “I suppose you didn’t notice either.”
“I don’t think I want to answer.”
Kearney and Fotir laughed. Keziah merely arched an eyebrow.
“When would you do this?” the king asked at length, growing somber once more. “When would you confront the Weaver? Tonight, obviously. But when?”
“It will be a few hours still before he tries to reach for me,” Keziah said. “Perhaps when Panya rises.”
Grinsa shook his head. “I’ve lost track of the days. I don’t even know how deep into the waning we are or when the moons will be rising.”
“We’ve five days left until Pitch Night,” Fotir told him.
“Then, yes. We should wait for Panya’s rise.”
“Very well,” Kearney said heavily.
“We have your permission, Your Majesty?” Keziah asked.
“Would it matter if you didn’t?”
“Of course it would. You’re my king. If you command me not to do this, I won’t.”
“As your friend, I’d gladly give such a command. But as your king, I know that I can’t.” He paused, still looking at her, but then turned to Grinsa and said quietly, “Guard her well, gleaner.”
“You know I will, Your Majesty.”
Kearney nodded to Fotir, then strode away, as if suddenly eager to be as far as possible from the three Qirsi.
“He’s frightened for you,” Grinsa said.
Keziah shrugged. “He’s an Eandi king who’s being forced to rely on magic that he doesn’t fully understand. That’s what frightens him.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
Keziah eyed Fotir briefly, appearing uncomfortable. “I suppose,” was all she said.
“I should leave you,” Grinsa said. “Rest. Just don’t sleep.”
She grinned. “I won’t. Thank you for healing me, Grinsa.”
He started away. “Of course.”
“Wait, gleaner,” Fotir called, stopping him. “I’ll walk with you. Will you be all right alone?” he asked the archminister.
“It hardly seems that I have a choice.” Fotir wasn’t certain how to respond, and clearly Keziah sensed this. “I meant it as a joke, First Minister. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and smiled. Then he joined the gleaner and they made their way through the camp toward Javan and the Curgh army.
“You fear what you’re about to do,” Fotir said, eyeing Grinsa as they walked.
“Very much.”
“I had the sense a moment ago that you’re unsure of whether you can defeat the Weaver.”
Grinsa looked at him sharply, then faced forward again. “You saw that?”
“A minister learns to judge much from a person’s expression and tone of voice.”
“Well, you’re right. What Keziah wants to do is terribly dangerous. Yes, we may be able to strike at the Weaver, but he’ll have an opportunity to strike at us as well. We’ll be on equal footing. I’ll have to protect Keziah and myself.” He shook his head. “I think it’s a grave mistake.”
“I understand your reluctance, truly I do. But I also believe that the archminister’s idea has much to recommend it. It seems that the Weaver is always a step ahead of us, but I can’t imagine he’ll be expecting this.”
Grinsa nodded once, as if conceding the point. “Probably not, no. I suppose that’s worth something.” He eyed Fotir briefly, a small smile on his face. “You’re quite taken with her, aren’t you?”
Fotir faltered in midstride. “What makes you say that?”
“I may be slow to fathom matters of the heart as my sister says, but not when it comes to her.”
For several moments, the first minister offered no reply. “Please don’t say anything to her,” he said at last. “It would only make matters worse. Besides, her heart belongs to another.”
“It did once. I don’t know that it still does.”
Fotir shook his head. “Nevertheless, I’d rather she didn’t know.”
“Your secret is safe, First Minister.”
“I’m in your debt. I should return to my duke. No doubt he’s wondering where I am. But if you need my help, you know where to find me. I may wish to keep my feelings for Keziah hidden, but I’d do anything to keep her alive, and you as well.”
“You’ve already done much today, First Minister. But I’ll keep that in mind.”
Fotir gripped his arm briefly, then went to join his duke. He was embarrassed by the ease with which the gleaner had divined his thoughts, but he was certain that Grinsa would keep what he knew to himself. Who kept a secret better than a Weaver?
* * *
Grinsa found Tavis on the fringe of the Curgh camp, sitting alone, of course, eating a small meal of roast fowl and bread. The young lord looked up at the sound of Grinsa’s approach, regarding the gleaner with a slight smile, his brow creased.
“Why are you looking so pleased?” he asked.
Grinsa did nothing to conceal his surprise. “Am I?”
“More than I’ve seen you in some time.”
“Well, I’ve just come from Keziah, and…” He paused. He had been thinking about his sister and Fotir. For too long she had mourned the end of her love affair with the king. Perhaps, with time, Fotir could help her heart to heal. Still, the first minister served in the court of Tavis’s father, and Grinsa had given his word that he would say nothing of this to anyone. “And I’m pleased by how well she’s healed from her injuries,” he said, for that also was true.
“I’m glad to hear it. You must be tired.” Tavis gestured at his plate. “Do you want some of this?”
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”
“I’ve had plenty.”
Grinsa sat and took the offered food. “Thank you.” He bit into the fowl. “It’s good. Where did you get it?”
“Actually some of my father’s me
n gave it to me.” He grinned. “So I suppose there’s a chance it’s poisoned.”
“I doubt that. Hungry soldiers wouldn’t waste good fowl to poison a noble. Careful with the wine, though.”
Tavis grinned. “It seems I’ve won back a bit of their respect.”
“You fought bravely today. Kearney told me so himself.”
“Xaver was the brave one.”
“Is that why you’re here alone?”
The boy scowled. “No!” A moment later his expression softened. “Maybe. I’m happy for Xaver, really I am. What he did today showed great courage. I’ve no doubt that he saved Kearney’s life. And he’s my best friend.” He glanced at the gleaner. “Or at least one of them. I’m glad that he’s getting so much attention.”
“But?”
He smiled for just an instant. “But just once I’d like it if someone thought of me as a hero.”
“That might not be your fate, Tavis.”
“Are you saying that as a gleaner or a friend?”
“Both. That doesn’t mean it’s true-as I’ve told you before, our fates are constantly shifting, changing. But I’m afraid your future will always be dogged by shadows from your past.”
He nodded, gazing across the camp, the bright fires and torchlight sparkling in his eyes. “I think you may be right.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be happy, nor does it mean that you won’t reclaim your place among Eibithar’s nobility.”
“I understand.”
Grinsa started to say more, then stopped himself, sensing that the young lord really did grasp the import of what he was saying.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said instead. “Something Keziah and I are going to try later tonight. It doesn’t involve you, but I wanted you to know.” He explained briefly what his sister and he had in mind to attempt.
“That sounds like it could be dangerous for both of you.”
“For her more than for me.”
“Knowing the two of you as I do, I’m not certain that you can separate one from the other.”
Grinsa hadn’t thought of it in those terms. “Perhaps not.”
