Bonds of Vengeance (19 page)
Grinsa eyed her closely, searching for some sign that she found this talk of a civil war disturbing. Seeing none, he felt his own apprehension growing.
“I take it the Weaver was pleased by this.”
“Yes. I have no proof of this, but I think he must have someone else working on Aindreas’s end, and perhaps in Galdasten as well. I expect he plans to push both sides away from any thought of reconciliation, hoping that this time we can bring about a civil war that involves all the major houses.”
It seemed to Grinsa that the Deceiver himself ran an icy finger down his spine. “We?”
“What?”
“You said he hoped that ‘we’ could bring about a civil war.”
“Yes, the conspiracy.”
“So you count yourself as one of them now?”
“What choice do I have?” She brushed a wisp of hair from her brow. “I’m trying to convince Kearney that I’ve turned against him, and I’m trying to convince the Weaver that I’ve joined his cause. Day and night, awake and asleep, I’m acting the part of a traitor. If I’m to play the role properly, I have to give myself over to it. My life depends upon it.”
Again, he would have liked to find some way to ease her burden, or at least express his sympathy. But he didn’t know how. Throughout their lives, he had been the older sibling, the Weaver, the one who faced dangers and took risks in order to protect her. Now, for the first time, he found himself overwhelmed by the sacrifice Keziah was making, not only for him but for all the Forelands. It felt strange to him, and just a bit frightening.
“You weren’t with Kearney when he met us in the ward. Have you lost his trust?”
She gave a wan smile. “Not entirely, not yet. The Weaver wants me
to repair the damage I’ve done to our rapport. He says that if Kearney no longer trusts me, or worse, if he banishes me from the castle, I’m of little value to the conspiracy. I’ve assumed that to mean that the Weaver would then have me killed.”
“Is it working? Is Kearney starting to turn to you again?”
She straightened, folding her arms over her chest. “As you say, I wasn’t with him when he greeted you. I’ve tried apologizing for my behavior. I’ve explained to him that I was embittered by the end of our love affair and desperate to hurt him, but that I still wish to serve him as archminister.”
“And what does he say?”
“Very little. He hasn’t ordered me from the castle yet, for which I suppose I should be grateful, but neither has he begun to confide in me again.”
Grinsa looked at the nearest of the guards. “It seems the king’s men have a rather low opinion of all Qirsi. One of them tried to keep me from finding you until I told him that I was here as a guest of the king.”
“They take their cue from Gershon.”
“The swordmaster? I thought he knew you were attempting to join the conspiracy and approved.”
“He does. But he’s always hated our people, and me most of all. We both felt that it would be dangerous for him to grow tolerant of me too abruptly. He continues to speak against me to the king, questioning my loyalty even as I try to regain Kearney’s favor.”
“Doesn’t he realize that he’s putting your life in peril by doing so?”
Keziah shrugged again, a haunted look in her eyes. “There’s peril in everything we do right now. This seemed the safest course.”
The gleaner shook his head. He didn’t like any of this, least of all his own sense of powerlessness.
“Tell me why you’ve come here,” she said, after a lengthy silence. “Did you find Brienne’s assassin?”
“Actually, yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Is he here with you?”
“No. We let him go.”
“What?”
As briefly as he could, Grinsa told her of Tavis’s encounter with the assassin, how the boy surprised the singer in the corridor of a tavern in Mertesse and nearly managed to kill him. And he explained as well, why, in the end, Grinsa insisted that the young noble let him go, so that
the man could kill the traitor Shurik, as he had been hired to do. For Shurik knew that Grinsa was a Weaver, and so long as he lived, he was a threat not only to the gleaner himself but also to Keziah.
“So he’s still free?”
“I’m afraid so. It was the price we had to pay for Shurik’s death.”
“Did you learn anything from him? Can you prove Tavis’s innocence?”
“We can, but not because of anything the assassin told us.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
Grinsa took a long breath. It was still difficult even to talk about all this. He was forced to wonder if he could carry through on his threats if Cresenne refused to help them.
“Tavis and I are here with Cresenne.”
Keziah looked puzzled. “Cresenne?”
“The woman from the Revel.”
Comprehension flashed in her eyes like lightning. “The traitor? The one you loved?”
He nodded.
“Are you all right?”
It was his turn to shrug. “What choice do I have?”
“Poor Grinsa,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “Always the strong one.”
“There’s more, Kezi.” He paused, searching for the right words. Realizing there weren’t any, he just told her. “I’m a father. Cresenne and I have a daughter.”
She stared at him a moment, as if she didn’t understand what he had said. Then a dazzling smile lit her face and tears began to flow freely from her eyes. “Oh, Grinsa! That’s wonderful! That’s the happiest thing I’ve heard in so long. What’s her name?”
“Bryntelle.”
“Bryntelle,” she repeated. “I like that.”
He frowned. “You know what this woman has done. You know how she hurt me.”
“Yes, of course I do. But you have a child. In the midst of all this madness—the betrayals and the fear and the killing—you’ve become a father.” A small breathless laugh escaped her. “I’m an aunt!”
“I suppose you are.”
“Don’t you see how wondrous that is?”
“It doesn’t feel wondrous to me,” he said grimly. “Cresenne is the
one who hired the assassin in the first place. She had Lady Brienne killed. And merely by admitting this to Kearney, she can put to rest for good all doubts as to Tavis’s innocence. Yet she refuses, and I find myself forced to use our child as a cudgel to compel her to speak the truth. I’ve told her that unless she tells all to the king, I’ll have Bryntelle taken from her.”
“And still she resists?”
“Thus far, yes. But the true test comes tomorrow, when I take her before Kearney.”
“You believe she remains that devoted to the movement?”
He shook his head. “I believe she’s that afraid of the Weaver.”
Keziah shuddered. “She should be. If she betrays him in any way, he’ll kill her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should speak with her.”
“To what end? I can’t risk telling her what I’m doing.”
“I know that. But you know the Weaver. You understand her fear far better than I do. It may be that you can find a way to convince her. If you succeed, it may help you regain a measure of the king’s goodwill.”
“It may also cost the woman her life.”
“If she doesn’t help us, she’ll spend the rest of her life in Kearney’s dungeon, bereft of her child and branded a traitor. Her only hope lies in working with us and allowing me to protect her.”
Keziah looked up at the falls again. “I’ll try,” she said at last. “But I doubt that even you can protect her, Grinsa. Your powers are formidable, they may be a match for those of the Weaver. But he can reach her in her sleep. How do you protect her from a man who can do that?”
“I don’t know. But there was a time when I would have given my life for her. I suppose I still would. Not because I love her, though it’s possible that I do, but because of Bryntelle. What kind of a father would I be if I allowed something to happen to her mother?”
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.