“This man who helped you, Curgh’s first minister, he knows you’re a Weaver?”
Grinsa nodded. “I had little choice but to tell him.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have before, but he risked his life for the boy, and he saw that I was willing to do the same.”
“But still, he’s a minister. His loyalties lie with the Eandi.”
“That’s a strange thing to hear coming from you.”
“Nevertheless,” she said. “I wish you had found another way.”
“No one will ever know you’re my sister, Kezi. You have nothing to fear.”
She felt her features hardening. “I’m not worried about me,” she said angrily. “How dare you even think it! This deception has always been your idea. I just don’t want to see you burned like the ancient Weavers, and all the Weavers since.”
Grinsa closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, and I’m not thinking clearly. Don’t be angry.”
She nodded, though she wouldn’t meet his gaze. It had been his idea. They both knew it. But they both knew as well how necessary it had been. So great was the fear of Weavers among the Eandi that not only were all Weavers executed when they were discovered, but so were their parents, siblings, and children. It had been this way for nearly nine centuries, since the failure of the Qirsi invasion and the execution of the Weavers who commanded the army of the Southlanders. Grinsa and Keziah had no other siblings, and their parents had died many years before. But since realizing the extent of his power, as an apprentice, Grinsa had insisted that they hide their kinship. Only Nesta, the Qirsi master who had trained them both and had been the first to suggest that Grinsa might be a Weaver, had known the truth. And she had sworn herself to guarding their secret until the day she died.
Their deception was made somewhat easier by Qirsi custom, which dictated that all boys be named for their mothers and all girls
for their fathers. Hence, she was Keziah ja Dafydd; he was Grinsa jal Arriet. It helped as well that he looked just like their father, while she favored their mother. Even those who saw them together would never guess that they were related.
“Please, Kezi,” he said softly. “Forgive me. I’m so tired. I can’t stay much longer, and I still need to ask your help.”
Reluctantly she looked at him again, her eyes finding his. “What is it you need?”
“The duke of Curgh’s minister told me that his lord threatened war if any harm came to his son, and that Kentigern countered with similar threats. Javan isn’t king yet, but Aylyn has little time left. Everyone knows that. If he dies, making Javan king before all of this is settled, I fear that Aindreas will try to keep him from the throne. Eibithar will fall into civil war.”
“It sounds as though the houses could go to war even if Aylyn lives.”
He nodded. “Quite possibly.”
“But what do you want of me?”
“I want you to prevail upon your duke to intervene.”
“Kearney? What can he do?”
“He can ride to Kentigern and speak with both men. He can talk them out of going to war.”
Keziah shook her head. She didn’t like this idea at all. Kearney was likely to be killed if he tried to put himself between the armies of Curgh and Kentigern. “Why would Javan and Aindreas listen to the duke of Glyndwr? Kearney’s house ranks below both of them. To the other major houses, Glyndwr is barely more than one of the minors.”
Grinsa gave her a sour look. “We grew up in a minor house, Kezi. You know there’s a great distance between Glyndwr and the minors, even Eardley.”
She and Grinsa had grown up in the House of Eardley, the wealthiest and most influential of Eibithar’s seven minor houses. Their father had been a minister to Eardley’s duke. And Grinsa was right. Glyndwr had far more in common with the other major houses than it did with Eardley and the lesser houses. Just this night her duke had entertained a duke from Caerisse. None of the lesser dukes ever would; none of them brought enough to a potential alliance to attract such attention from the nobles of other kingdoms.
“You may be right,” she said at last. “But I doubt that Curgh and
Kentigern would agree with you. To them Glyndwr is just a lonely fortress on the steppe. In the absence of a true threat from the eastern kingdoms, they’d just as soon ignore us.”
“Perhaps,” he said, conceding her point in turn. “But who else is there? Aylyn is too old to make the journey. The other dukes have always viewed Tobbar of Thorald as a regent and nothing more. And with Filib dead, he’s not even that. The new lords of Galdasten are still four generations away from being recognized once more in the Order of Ascension. The minor houses haven’t the strength to enforce the peace. Don’t you see? Kearney is our only hope.”
Of course she saw it. How could she not?
I don’t want to lose him. Why can’t we stay here, where we’re safe, where the snows are the greatest threat and he only needs his sword for ceremonies?
She let out a long sigh. “How quickly do you need us there?”
Keziah couldn’t help but smile at the relief she saw on her brother’s face.
“Thank you, Kezi. I know I’m asking a lot, but this is the only way to stop a war. I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t have asked this of you otherwise.”
He was telling the truth. She had always been able to tell. But she heard something else in his words as well. He was asking even more of her than he was saying. Something was going to happen on this journey to Kentigern, something that would change her life and that of her duke. She suspected that Grinsa knew already what it was.
“How quickly?” she asked again, shivering slightly in the wind.
“Soon. Word of these events should reach Glyndwr in the next few days. You must convince him immediately. Things are happening very fast. Too fast really. Tavis’s escape will only make matters worse.
She started to say something, then stopped herself.
“I had to save him,” Grinsa said, reading her thoughts. “Another day in Kentigern’s dungeon and he would have died.”
“Was he worth saving? Can you justify risking civil war for this one life?”
She expected him to grow angry, but instead he merely shrugged, as if he had already asked himself the same question.
“I think so,” he told her. “I know that our fates—his and mine—lie together, and I can only assume that he’ll be needed in whatever conflict is coming.” He took a breath. “I had a vision of Tavis’s Fating before the Revel even reached Curgh. It showed the two of us
journeying across the Forelands together, fighting battles side by side. It’s little more than a guess, but I believe we were fighting against the conspiracy. I couldn’t show him his real Fating without giving away too much about my powers. I had to change it.” It seemed to Keziah that her brother was trying to convince himself of this, and that he failed. “I suppose you could say that I altered his Fating to save myself,” he went on, shaking his head, “but I also did it to warn him of what was coming, to prepare him in some way. In the end, I think I just made things worse for him. I never imagined that he’d turn his blade on his liege man.”
“None of us can foresee everything, Grinsa,” she said softly. “Not even you.”
“I know. I’ve wondered since Tavis’s Fating if I read too much in that vision, if maybe his role in this conflict will be less than I thought.” He met her gaze again. “Even if that’s the case though, I’m still certain that his death would have brought war. By saving him, I might have kept Curgh and Kentigern from destroying each other, at least for a time.”
Keziah nodded. Even as a child, Grinsa had been wise beyond his years. It almost seemed that the gods had prepared him to carry the burdens that came with being a Weaver. She could hardly question his judgment now, after all these years.
“As soon as word arrives, I’ll talk to Kearney,” she said. “I expect him to resist the idea. He’s not usually one to involve himself in the affairs of other realms. But I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
Grinsa stepped forward and put his arms around her. She pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling warm and safe for just that moment. He smelled like home.
“Be well, Kezi. I hope to see you soon.”
She didn’t. As much as she missed her brother, she hoped that Kearney would refuse to ride to Kentigern. She kept this to herself, however. “I love you, Grinsa” was all she said.
An instant later she was awake. Her room was dark, save for the glowing remains of her fire. She rose from her bed and stepped to the window, staring out over the highlands and Lake Glyndwr. Panya hung above the lake, a thin white crescent reflected in the shimmering, windswept waters. Daylight was still hours away.
She wanted to go to Kearney then, without waiting for dawn, but she knew he was with the duchess. Not that she could tell him
anything of her dream anyway. She couldn’t even speak to him of the threat faced by the kingdom until news of Brienne’s murder arrived from Kentigern. There was nothing for her to do but sleep. Still, she remained at the window, watching Panya climb higher into the sky, tasting the lake waters in the wind. After a time, Ilias appeared on the horizon, barely more than a sliver and the color of leaves on a highland oak during the harvest. The lovers.
Keziah turned away from the moons and returned to bed. Sleep wouldn’t come easily, she knew. Too many thoughts raced through her mind. But better just then to try than to stand at her window thinking of Kearney. She had her days for that.
She slept later than she had intended, waking to the midmorning bells as sunlight streamed through her window. Still, she felt as though she could have slept for hours more. Her conversation with Grinsa had left her drained and troubled. Her slumber after the dream had been fitful.
She rose and splashed cold water on her face, before dressing and making her way to Kearney’s ducal chambers. Reaching his door, she heard him laughing within. Apparently he wasn’t alone. She passed a hand through the tangles in her white hair, wishing belatedly that she had taken the time to comb them out. Then she knocked.
“Enter!” he called.
She pushed the door open and found the duke at his writing table. Gershon, the swordmaster, stood next to him, the grin on his face vanishing as he saw her come into the room.
“First Minister!” the duke said, standing and stepping around the table to greet her. He took her hand in both of his. They felt warm, and she looked down at them, not willing to look into his eyes just yet.
“I trust you slept well,” Kearney said.
“Quite, my lord. Thank you.”
Gershon cleared his throat. “I should be going, my lord, I have men to train.”
Kearney released her hands and grinned at the swordmaster. “Of course you do. Don’t be too hard on them, Gershon.”
The man grunted and started toward the door. He didn’t look at Keziah again.
“I’ll consider your counsel, swordmaster,” the duke said as Gershon went past. “We’ll speak of this again.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Kearney faced her again when Gershon was gone, and putting his arms around her, drew her into a deep kiss.
“I missed you,” he said.
“Did you? I’d have thought the duchess would make you forget me entirely.” She regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.
He released her, stepping back around the table to his chair.
Keziah closed her eyes briefly, cursing her stupidity. They had fought about Leilia countless times before, and always it came back to the same unalterable fact: she was his wife, the mother of his heirs, and nothing would ever change that. Bringing it up as she just had only served to make their time together awkward and sad.
He sorted through some of the documents lying before him, his eyes trained on the pieces of parchment. “You left early last night. Were you ill?”
I’m sorry. Don’t be this way
. “Just tired, my lord. I trust the banquet went well.”
“Well enough. Farrar is a fine man. He may even carry some influence with the Caerissan king. But Gershon believes that he may bring less to a military partnership than we first thought.”
“Of course he does,” she said, unable to keep the ice from her voice. “Does Gershon base this on anything or is he just guessing?”
Kearney looked up. “First my duchess and now my swordmaster. Am I to ignore my other ministers as well? What about the prelate, or Morna’s prioress down in the city? Should I ignore all of them, and listen only to you?”
Keziah felt her face shade to crimson. “No, my lord.” She hesitated, struggling to hold his gaze.
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Say what you will.”
“We’re not seeking the strongest lord in Caerisse. We’re merely looking for allies in the event of a war with Aneira. The duke of Rouvin’s influence with his king is far more important to us than his army. There are few dukes in Caerisse who are as strong as Eardley or Heneagh, much less Eibithar’s major houses. I don’t question Gershon’s assessment of Farrar’s army, but neither do I think it should be our first consideration in this matter.”