“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.