Bonds of Vengeance (21 page)
“If I was with the conspiracy, why would I be trying to convince you to tell them what they want to know?” She wouldn’t lie to the woman. Better to let Cresenne provide her own answers.
“To deflect the king’s suspicions, and Grinsa’s for that matter.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it? For all I know, the Weaver wants me to betray the movement. He doesn’t trust me as he once did. He’d probably like an excuse to kill me. So he gets you to befriend me, to wheedle information from me.”
He doesn’t trust me as he once did
. Perhaps there was another way. Perhaps this woman could be trusted with the truth after all.
“From what I’ve seen of your Weaver, he doesn’t need an excuse to kill those who serve him, particularly if he loses faith in them. Besides,
the answers I seek from you will hurt your conspiracy, not help it. You had an assassin kill Brienne. If you’ll admit that, it may allow us to win back Kentigern’s loyalty and avoid the civil war your Weaver wants so desperately.”
“Now I know you’re with the conspiracy. You know too much about the Weaver and his wishes.”
“You say he doesn’t trust you anymore. Does he know whose child you carry? Does he know who and what Grinsa is?”
Cresenne swallowed, nodded.
“What will he think when he learns that the two of you are together?”
“If you’re threatening me it won’t work. The Weaver has told me to find Grinsa. He’ll be pleased.”
“I’m not threatening you, Cresenne, and I’m not with the conspiracy. But I know the Weaver well enough to realize that if he’s had doubts about you already, your presence here with Grinsa and the child you share will only serve to deepen them.” She knelt before Cresenne, looking up at her. “Your time with the movement is over,” she said softly. “Surely you see that.”
There were tears on the woman’s face, and she brushed them away quickly, as if annoyed. “It’s not that easy. He can find me anytime he wants. If I try to leave the movement, he’ll kill me. I know it. I don’t get to decide when my time is over. Only he has that power.”
“He’s not as strong as you think he is.”
“Perhaps I’ve been wrong about you. If you were with the movement you’d know how foolish you sound. Of course he’s strong. He’s a Weaver.”
“So is Grinsa. And if you’d stop pretending that you feel nothing for him anymore, you’d understand that he wants to protect you. Both of you.”
“He can’t protect me. No one can.”
Keziah shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. But you have two choices, Cresenne. You can remain with the movement, protecting its secrets and its leader. That path leads to Kearney’s dungeon and it leaves your daughter without a mother. Or you can trust Grinsa and me, and try to make right some of the damage you’ve done over the past few years. I don’t know where that path leads—none of us does—but at least you’ll get to find out with Bryntelle in your arms and her father by your side.”
Cresenne didn’t respond, and after several moments Keziah climbed to her feet again, intending to leave.
“I’ll let you think about it. If you need me I’ll be just outside the door.”
“Why did you say that before?”
“Say what?”
“That the Weaver isn’t as strong as he thinks he is. If you’re not with the conspiracy, how can you know all that you do?”
Keziah hesitated. There was so much peril in what she was about to do. “Were I to tell you, I’d be placing my life in your hands. You wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, not even the Weaver. Especially the Weaver.”
“It’s very difficult to keep things from the Weaver.”
“But it can be done.”
Cresenne’s eyes widened. “You are with the conspiracy,” she whispered. “But as an agent of the king.”
She nodded. “In a sense, yes. Although Kearney doesn’t know. He . . . wouldn’t approve.”
“How long?”
“Not very. Just over a turn.”
“If the Weaver finds out—”
Keziah shuddered, but managed a wan smile. “I know. But I’ve found a way to conceal my loyalties while making him believe that I’ve opened myself to him fully. That’s what you must do, Cresenne, not only for yourself and Bryntelle but for me as well. And for Grinsa.”
“Why would you trust me with this?” the woman asked, shaking her head.
“Because I’ve seen how you look at that baby. Anyone who can love one child so much is capable of doing good, no matter what she’s done in the past.”
“There are those who’d say you’re a fool to trust me, Grinsa foremost among them.”
“I know. And I’ll tell Grinsa what I’ve done. If you betray me to the Weaver, and I die because of it, I assure you Grinsa will avenge me. Our bond goes deep.”
Cresenne held her gaze. “I understand.”
I doubt that
. “Good. I’ll wait for you in the corridor.”
She let herself out of the chamber, her hands trembling and her mind filled with doubts. Perhaps she was a fool. But after confiding in no one but the swordmaster for so long, it felt good to have placed her faith in another, no matter the risks.
For a long time after the two women left the chamber, none of the men spoke. Grinsa gazed at the door, as if he longed to follow them. His sister, his lover, his daughter. The three most important people in his life. For more than half a year, Tavis had seen the lengths to which the gleaner had gone to protect him. He could only imagine what the man would do to keep these three safe.
The king still sat by the hearth, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together. There was a troubled look in his eyes and Tavis could see the muscles in his jaw clenching.
“Can they be trusted together?” Gershon Trasker asked at last, staring after the women much as Grinsa was. The swordmaster reminded Tavis a good deal of Hagan MarCullet, his father’s swordmaster, whose son, Xaver, remained Tavis’s pledged liegeman to this day. Like Gershon—maybe like all Eandi warriors—Hagan was suspicious of Qirsi, and quickly grew impatient with talk. Gershon’s hand rested on the grip of his sword. It almost seemed that he was waiting for Kearney to give him leave to draw his blade and bring the women back.
“Give them some time,” the king said softly. “Perhaps Keziah can convince her to talk to us.”
Grinsa turned at last to face Kearney. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t, Your Majesty.”
“It’s not your fault, gleaner, but rather mine for asking you to question her. It seems clear that she wanted to do whatever she could to hurt you.”
“She had cause.”
“She had cause?” Tavis repeated, barely able to believe what he had heard. “She betrayed you, sent an assassin for you, gave gold to the men who killed Brienne! And you’re blaming yourself?”
“The lad’s right,” Gershon said. “You’ve done nothing to her that she didn’t deserve. In my opinion, you’ve shown her too much kindness.”
The king shook his head. “It’s not as easy as all that, Gershon, and you know it. She’s had his child.” He glanced at Grinsa. “And if I’m not mistaken, before her betrayal you loved her very much.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Love . . . complicates matters.”
Something in the king’s tone told Tavis that he was speaking as much of himself as of Grinsa. He knew that the king and his archminister, Grinsa’s sister, had once been lovers, and it seemed from what he had observed since their arrival in the City of Kings the day before, that their love had ended since last he saw them.
“It does, Your Majesty.”
“Do you think she’ll actually risk losing her child just to spite you? Does her thirst for vengeance run so deep?”
“No,” Grinsa said. “Her love of the child is more powerful than her rage at me.”
“But were it not for the child, how far do you think her anger would take her?”
“Your Majesty?”
Kearney looked away. “It’s a foolish question. Forget I asked it.”
“I believe, Your Majesty, that love doesn’t merely vanish to be replaced by hatred. Cresenne tried to have me killed, and though I cursed her name a thousand times for doing so, I’ve never stopped loving her. I wish I could. I would have been happy never to see her again. But not because I don’t still want her. And child or none, I would do anything to keep her safe. As you say, love complicates matters. Just as I still love her, I believe in some small way she still loves me, though she denies that she ever did. We’re tied to each other, and I expect we always will be. Such is the nature of Adriel’s gift.”
The Qirsi talked only of his love for Cresenne, yet it was clear to Tavis that he was speaking to the king’s pain at losing Keziah.
Perhaps Kearney recognized this as well, for he stared at Grinsa for some time before finally nodding, and saying, “You may well be right, gleaner.” He paused briefly, looking uneasily at Tavis and Gershon. “You’ve known her longer than any of us. Do you believe she’s capable of betraying the land?”
“Of whom do you speak, Your Majesty?”
Kearney’s face shaded scarlet. “Forgive me. I speak of Keziah, my archminister.”
The king couldn’t have known how difficult a question he had asked. Grinsa and Tavis knew of the archminister’s attempt to join the conspiracy—the gleaner had told Tavis something of what she had done to convince those in the king’s court that her loyalties to Kearney had grown tenuous. Indeed, Tavis gathered that the only other person who knew her true intentions was the swordmaster, meaning that in this chamber, Kearney was the one person who didn’t understand that Keziah was risking her life to defeat the conspiracy. Grinsa would never have called his sister a traitor, even though she might have wanted Kearney to believe she was capable of such treachery. But neither could he defend her as fervently as he probably would have liked.
“Your Majesty,” Gershon said quickly. “I don’t believe it’s wise to speak of such things in the presence of men from another house.”
“It’s all right, Gershon. Under the law, Tavis is of Glyndwr still, and will be until he no longer requires the protection we’ve offered him. And the gleaner has known the archminister since she was a child.”
The swordmaster frowned, casting a quick look at Grinsa. To Tavis’s amazement, the gleaner winked at the man in such a way that the king couldn’t see. Gershon’s mouth dropped open for just an instant. Then he recovered, looking sidelong at the king.
“I’ve known Keziah for many years, Your Majesty,” the gleaner said slowly. “And though we seldom see each other anymore, we still understand each other quite well. But I’m afraid I can’t speak to her feelings about the conspiracy. Even those of us who would give our lives fighting against it have sympathy for the cause. There are those among our people who have suffered greatly under Eandi rule. Do I think Keziah will betray you? No, I don’t. Am I certain of this? No, I’m afraid I’m not.”
The king eyed him a moment longer, tight-lipped and pale. “Thank you, gleaner. I’m grateful for your honesty.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Kearney stood and walked back to his writing table. As he did, Gershon looked at the gleaner again and nodded once.
“You’ve been quiet through all of this, Lord Tavis,” the king said. “What do you think of this woman who holds your life in her hands?”
Tavis shrugged, abruptly feeling uncomfortable under the gazes of these three men. “I think she’s fortunate that Grinsa is as wise and forgiving as he is, Your Majesty. And I fear that even the threat of having her child taken from her won’t persuade a woman with such a black heart to tell the truth.”
Kearney frowned. “I certainly hope you’re wrong.”
“As do I, Your Majesty. But since this ordeal began, I’ve thought on several occasions that my salvation was at hand, only to have my hopes dashed. I find that hope doesn’t come easily anymore.”
“You’re terribly young to have such a grim view of the world.”
I haven’t been young since Aindreas threw me in his dungeon
. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps this woman will surprise you, Lord Tavis. The love of a mother for her child can be quite powerful. I believe that’s a lesson
your own mother taught Aindreas at the Battle of the Heneagh just a few turns ago.”
Tavis had to smile, remembering the sight of his mother in full battle garb, riding toward him as the armies of Curgh and Kentigern did battle on the broad plain west of the Heneagh River. “I pray that you’re right, Your Majesty.”
There was a knock at the door, and all of them turned at the sound.
“Come,” the king called.
The door opened, revealing the two Qirsi women standing side by side. Cresenne looked small, though she was nearly the same height as the archminister. She still held her baby close, and her face was so white that Tavis wondered for a moment if she was ill.
But Keziah was smiling, a hand resting lightly on the other woman’s shoulder, and she whispered something to her.
Cresenne stepped into the chamber, the archminister following.
“We’re sorry to have kept you waiting, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. “Please sit, all of you. Cresenne has much to tell you.”
