She could see the spires already, and she walked quickly toward them, her pulse quickening. In spite of everything else, she was eager to see her brother again. It had been more than half a year since the Revel’s last visit to Glyndwr, and even then, she and Grinsa had not dared spend too much time together for fear of drawing attention to themselves.
The sanctuary gate was open and she made her way through the courtyard to the grand shrine with its narrow, soaring towers. This was Adriel’s Turn, and later that night, after darkness fell, the shrine would be filled with young lovers seeking the blessings of the goddess and offering their devotions in anticipation of the Night of Two Moons, three nights hence. That night, perhaps the most anticipated night of the year among the men and women of the Forelands, they would consummate their affairs and, according to legend, assure themselves of everlasting love. But with the golden light of late day shining through the brilliant stained-glass windows behind the altar and along both sides of the building, the shrine was nearly empty.
Keziah made her way toward the altar slowly, wondering suddenly if this was where she was to meet Grinsa, or if he was in another part of the sanctuary.
“May I help you?” someone asked from behind her.
She turned so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. A woman stood before her, a cleric, judging from the color of her robe.
“You seem lost,” the woman said, smiling kindly.
“No, I’m not. I’m just … I’m looking for someone.”
The cleric glanced around the shrine. A young couple sat close together on one of the wooden benches near the back of the building, and an older woman was kneeling before the altar, crying quietly. Otherwise there was no one in sight.
“Perhaps this person intended to meet you here tonight. It’s a bit early yet.”
Keziah smiled, though she felt herself blush. She was about to
explain that she wasn’t meeting a lover, when it occurred to her that this would only make the woman curious. Maybe it was best to play along. “No,” she said. “We were to meet now, at the ringing of the prior’s bells. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, maybe we should look else—”
“It’s all right, Sister,” came another voice.
Keziah turned again, and saw a woman in a robe of deepest red standing behind the altar. The prioress.
“She’s here to see me.”
The cleric’s eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly, nodding once and withdrawing.
“Do you care to offer blood?” the prioress asked, gesturing for Keziah to approach the altar.
“Of course,” she said, wondering if she truly had a choice.
She walked toward the altar, which was made of dark wood with a wide swirling grain and exquisitely intricate carvings of the various gods and goddesses. An ornate sconce stood at the center of the altar, holding four long, tapered candles of red and white. Beside it rested a stone bowl and a long-handled knife, also made of stone.
Keziah stepped past the crying woman and around to the far side of the altar where the prioress waited for her. She held out her arm and, as an afterthought, looked away.
“My name is Janae,” the woman said, as she lifted the bowl and dragged the blade across the minister’s arm. “I assume you’re Keziah.”
“Yes.” She barely noticed the cut at all, though she did feel warm blood flowing down her arm and dripping to the bowl.
“You don’t like to see blood, Keziah?”
“Not my own, not if I don’t have to.”
The prioress laughed.
“I’ll take you to them in a moment,” the woman said after a brief silence.
Them. Grinsa was with Tavis. Keziah had been so intent on finding her brother that she had forgotten the young lord entirely. She was nearly as reluctant to meet him as she was impatient to see Grinsa. It was because of him that they had left Glyndwr, disrupting her life and putting Kearney’s at risk.
“There,” Janae said, dabbing at the cut with a soft cloth. “We should bind your arm before we go to them. Unless you care to heal yourself.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have that power.”
The prioress nodded, pulling a long cloth from within her robe and wrapping it around the wound with sure hands.
“You’ve a deft touch, Mother Prioress.”
“I should. I’ve lifted that blade many times.”
A moment later, the bandage was in place.
“Come with me,” Janae said, starting toward a small door near the altar.
Keziah followed. In a moment they were in a second courtyard, smaller than the one between the gate and the shrine. It opened onto several small buildings, each of them appearing to be a dwelling for clerics. The prioress led her to the last of these, pushing open the door and indicating with a hand that Keziah should enter.
The minister hesitated, but only briefly. Grinsa was reclining on a small bed by the far wall, looking tired, though no more so than he had the last time he entered her dreams. He rose when he saw her, smiling broadly and walking to her to take her in his long, strong arms.
He looked and felt and smelled just as he had in the visions. But the dreams, real as they were, could not replace actually being with him.
He kissed the top of her head. “It’s good to see you, Kezi.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t ready to speak just yet. She merely dried her tears on his shirt and stepped back, returning his smile.
His eyes strayed toward the window, and she followed the direction of his gaze. A young man sat in a chair, watching them, his expression unreadable. He had straight hair the color of wheat, and dark blue eyes. His features were fine and youthful, without being womanly, as those of young Eandi nobles sometimes were. Had he been smiling, and had it not been for all the dark angry scars on his face—one at his temple, another near his right eye, and one more across his other cheek—she might have thought him handsome. Even with his wounds, even wearing the fine white robe of a sanctuary novice, the young lord was hardly what she had expected. He didn’t look like a murderer or a spoiled court boy. He looked, she had to admit, strong and thoughtful, as a young king should.
“Keziah ja Dafydd, first minister of Glyndwr,” Grinsa said, still looking at the boy, “allow me to present Lord Tavis of Curgh.”
Keziah bowed, searching for something appropriate to say. “My
Lord Tavis. I’m … honored to meet you. I wish I could have done so under different circumstances.”
The young lord offered only the slightest of nods in response, his dark eyes going from Keziah to Grinsa and back to Keziah again. “So the two of you are sister and brother,” he finally said, his expression still revealing little. “I never would have guessed from looking at you.”
She glanced at her brother, unnerved by Tavis’s comment.
“It’s all right,” Grinsa said softly. “Keziah is Lord Glyndwr’s most trusted advisor,” he told the lord. “I thought the two of you should meet before we went to the duke to ask for asylum.”
Tavis seemed to consider this. “Glyndwr never struck me as a particularly bold man,” he said to her at last. “Do you think he’ll agree?”
She had to fight an impulse to just walk out. Tavis was about to ask Kearney to grant him a great kindness, one that carried grave dangers for the entire dukedom, and not only had the boy insulted her duke, he hadn’t even shown the courtesy of referring to him as Lord Glyndwr. Despite his regal looks, she found it very easy to dislike this young lord. Already she couldn’t imagine counseling Kearney to grant the boy’s request. “I don’t know, my lord,” she said. “Do you intend to be as rude with him as you’re being with me?”
“Keziah!”
She ignored her brother, keeping her eyes on Tavis.
“I wasn’t aware that I was being rude,” Tavis said. “You’ll have to forgive me for not getting up to kiss your hand. After the half turn I spent being tortured in Kentigern’s dungeon and the two days I had to ride in a merchant’s cart, buried under a mountain of broadcloth, I still have trouble moving my legs without it causing me a good deal of pain. But I suppose you’re right. I should be polite. Perhaps you’d like me to be cheery as well. And why not? I’m so looking forward to passing the rest of my days in the highlands. Better that than the dreary future I would have endured as duke of Curgh and king of Eibithar.”
“That’s enough,” Grinsa said. He cast a disapproving look at Keziah. “Both of you.”
The room felt terribly small. She wanted to be far away from Tavis. She didn’t even wish to be near her brother just then. Part of her was so angry with the boy, she would have liked to strike him. Another part of her was so ashamed of herself she couldn’t bring
herself to look at either of them. She couldn’t imagine what Tavis had been through over the course of the past turn. What bothered her, though, was that she hadn’t even tried. She should have been able to muster some compassion for the boy. His scars screamed out for it. Yet his manner made such feelings nearly impossible, and she hated him for it.
An uneasy silence settled over the chamber, heavy as an early snow. Keziah needed to return to the castle to prepare for the banquet. They hadn’t much time and there were matters they needed to discuss, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“Is Kearney planning on leaving in the morning?” Grinsa finally asked.
Keziah nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the stone floor.
“So you’ll have to convince him tonight to speak with me.”
“I’ll try.”
“It’s not enough to try, Kezi.”
She looked up and found him staring at her, a pained expression in his yellow eyes.
“We’ve been through all this before,” he said, pleading with her. “You know what’s at stake. Don’t make me convince you again, Kezi. We haven’t the time.”
She ran a hand through her white hair, glancing briefly at Tavis. He was still watching her, wearing that same placid expression. If he was angry with her or afraid that she wouldn’t help them, he showed no sign of it.
What are you thinking?
she wanted to scream at him.
Do you feel anything anymore?
She faced her brother again. “Kearney won’t want to stay,” she said. “He was reluctant to stop here in the first place. We could have covered another league today had we kept going, and had it not been for Gershon arguing that the men needed to rest, we would have.”
“What if you told him that I had just come from Kentigern and that I had information about Brienne’s murder?”
“That might persuade him to speak with you,” she said. “If I told him that Lord Tavis was with you, that would certainly do it.”
Grinsa shook his head. “No. In his eyes, and those of Lord Tremain, Tavis is guilty and a fugitive. I don’t want Tavis being arrested the moment he sets foot in the castle.”
“Kearney wouldn’t do that! If he agrees to meet with both of you, that’s what he’ll do, without breaking faith!”
“I’m not worried about Kearney,” Grinsa said. She could tell
that he was struggling to keep his voice calm. “But Lathrop will be there as well—courtesy dictates that Kearney invite him to such a meeting. And as a minor lord he can’t risk angering Aindreas by harboring the man all the kingdom believes killed Lady Brienne.”
He was right, of course. Again. There was nothing worse, Keziah decided in that moment, than being caught between Kearney and her brother when both of them had set their minds to something.
“All right,” she said. “When do you want to speak with him?”
“Midmorning. We’ll be at the castle gate when the bells ring.”
She nodded. “I’ll ask Evetta to leave word with the guards that you’re to be allowed in. How will you disguise Lord Tavis?”
“He’ll still be wearing the novice’s robe. And I’ll be dressed as a cleric. Have the guards looking for visitors from the sanctuary.”
She nodded a second time and peered out the window. The sky was darkening.
“I should go,” she said. “I’m expected at the banquet.”
Grinsa’s smile looked forced. “Of course.”
She wanted to put her arms around him again, but at that moment she didn’t feel that she could. How could the distance between them seem so great in a room so small?
“My lord,” Keziah said, offering a small bow to the boy.
“I’ve heard your duke is fair-minded, First Minister. I’m sure he’ll grant our request.”
The minister thought it a strange comment. But she had the distinct impression that the boy was trying to show his gratitude. “Until tomorrow, my lord.”
She started toward the door, but Grinsa caught her hand. “Kezi,” he said, making her look at him. “When this is over we’ll have some time together, just the two of us. I promise.”
It was an apology of sorts, an acknowledgment of how much he had asked of her already, and how much more was to come.
She tried to smile—he deserved that much. But in the end she failed. “I’d like that,” she said. “But when will this ever be over?”