Bonds of Vengeance (49 page)

Keziah cast a quick look at Grinsa. “Your Majesty—”

Kearney raised a single finger, silencing her. “I watched you in the prison tower. You spoke to Cresenne once or twice before she awoke, but mostly you sat silently, holding her. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it occurs to me that you could have been communicating with her all that time, sharing her thoughts.” He had been pacing the floor of his chamber and now he stopped in front of Grinsa. “I also noticed that you put her to sleep with a word, or rather, with a thought.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“So I’ll ask you again. How is it that you know so much about Weavers?”

He could count on one hand the number of people who knew the extent of his powers. Keziah; Tavis; Fotir jal Salene, Curgh’s first minister, who helped Grinsa free Tavis from the dungeon of Kentigern Castle; and now Cresenne, as well. Shurik jal Marcine had known, but Grinsa had seen to it that the traitorous minister died in Mertesse, though at great cost to Tavis. Others had known once—his wife, and
the Qirsi master who trained him in the use of his magic—but they, too, were dead now. His parents never knew. He had gone to great lengths to guard his secret, to avoid endangering his own life and Keziah’s. And now he found that he had little choice but to reveal the truth to Eibithar’s king, the one man in all the realm who had the authority to put him to death, as all known Weavers in the Forelands had been put to death over the past nine hundred years.

“It’s just as you suspect, Your Majesty,” he said, his eyes meeting those of the king. “I know of Weavers because I am one myself.”

“Oh, Grinsa,” Keziah said, her voice breaking.

Kearney glared at her. “I take it you’ve known all along.”

“She has, Your Majesty. Keziah is my sister.”

He blinked, looked at the minister. “Your sister?”

“She said nothing to you about my powers because I asked her not to, and because under Eandi law, not only are all Weavers to be put to death but their families as well.”

Kearney’s eyes never strayed from Keziah’s face. “Damn,” he whispered.

“You have a choice to make, Your Majesty. If you follow Eandi law, you must have me executed along with your archminister, Cresenne, and our child. If you listen to your heart, however, I think you’ll realize how cruel and arbitrary your laws are on this matter.”

“My heart has nothing to do with it. You’ve just told me of a man who can walk in the dreams of others, who can reach out across the land and use healing power to tear gashes in a woman’s face, who can turn an army of Qirsi into a weapon so powerful I can scarcely comprehend it.” He shook his head and stepped behind his writing table, as if eager to place something substantial between the gleaner and himself. “If you wish to convince me that Weavers are not to be feared, you’ve failed. If anything, I have more sympathy now for the practices begun by our forebears.”

“You can’t mean that,” Keziah said, looking appalled.

“I do.”

“Grinsa is nothing like the Weaver who did this to Cresenne. The Weaver is driven by spite and envy and hatred. He despises the Eandi with a passion that borders on frenzy. Grinsa could never be like that.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “How is it that you know so much about this other Weaver?”

Grinsa wondered if his sister would tell Kearney of her efforts to
learn about the conspiracy, about her dreams of the Weaver. This, it seemed, was a day for revealing hard truths, and though she had not borne her secret for as long as Grinsa had borne his, hers was no less burdensome. She appeared to consider this, but only for an instant. Then her expression hardened, and she stared back at her king.

“One need only look at what this man has done—not only to Cresenne but also to Tavis, to Lady Brienne, and to countless others—to know that he has little in common with my brother. If you can’t see this as well, Your Majesty, then I weep for Eibithar.”

Kearney’s face reddened, and Grinsa feared that Keziah had pushed him too far. A moment dragged by in silence, and another.

At last the king gave a small nod. “You make a good point, Archminister. But you must realize as well that I’m bound by the laws of the land. I can no more embrace a Weaver as my ally than I can the Aneiran king.”

“And you must realize, Your Majesty,” Grinsa said, “that in order to defeat the conspiracy you may have to do both. The realms of the Forelands can’t stand against this enemy without uniting, and you would do well to consider the advantages of having a Weaver by your side in the coming conflict.”

“Come now, Grinsa. The people of the Forelands defeated a Qirsi army led by several Weavers nine centuries ago. This new Weaver may be clever, but he’s only one man.”

“He’s one man with followers in every corner of the land, Your Majesty. And he’s already succeeded in dividing kingdoms against themselves, in pushing neighboring realms to the brink of war.”

Kearney appeared to falter, his doubts written on his face. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

“No. But I know what he looks like now.”

Keziah gripped his arm. “You saw him? You didn’t tell me that.”

“It was just a glimpse, enough to give me an impression of the man. Nothing more. Really, I’m no closer to knowing his name or his whereabouts than I was before. But he knows that I saw him, and clearly he didn’t want that.”

“Who else knows that you’re a Weaver?” the king asked, drawing Grinsa’s gaze once more.

“Keziah, Tavis, Cresenne, and one other who I won’t name. I assure you, though, this person can be trusted.”

Kearney nodded. “I see.” He sat, leaning back in his chair and passing
a hand through his silver hair. “I have no desire to see you executed, Grinsa. I hope you know that.”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“Truth be told, I would feel better going to war against a Weaver with you by my side.”

“My sword and my magic are yours, to use as you will.”

“I thank you for that. But you understand that others won’t be so welcoming. There is more fear of the Qirsi in the courts today than I’ve ever seen—I daresay matters are worse now than they’ve been in centuries. If the dukes learn that you’re a Weaver, they’ll demand that I move against you. My hold on the crown is already precarious. I’d have no choice but to heed their wishes.”

“Neither of us wants that, Your Majesty. I don’t want you as an enemy, and I assure you, you don’t want me as one either.”

Kearney eyed him as a soldier might study his next opponent in a battle tournament. “Are you threatening me, gleaner?”

“Not at all. But I’m not certain you appreciate fully the power wielded by a Weaver. It’s not just that we can wield the magic of others as if it were our own. We’re far more powerful in our own right than are other Qirsi. Your dungeon couldn’t hold me, and your executioner wouldn’t survive his attempt to carry out my sentence. I offer this not as a threat or a boast but simply as a statement of fact.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“I’d say that lies mostly with you, Your Majesty. You asked me how I had come to understand the Weaver so well. I answered truthfully. I’ve lived my entire life without revealing the extent of my powers to the wrong person. And now I must ask you: is my secret safe, or must I leave here, taking Keziah, Cresenne, and my child with me?”

“I’ve no intention of betraying your confidence. As I’ve already said, it would greatly complicate matters for me.” He glanced at Keziah, his expression softening for just an instant. “It would also deny me the services of a minister I value more than I can say.”

Seeing how his sister blushed, Grinsa allowed himself a small smile. “Then I’d say our discussion is over.”

“Not quite. If at some point others learn of . . . what you are, we’ll have to revisit this matter. The laws of the land are clear.”

“I understand.”

“Very well,” the king said, standing. “I expect a number of nobles to
arrive here today. Javan was but the first. If you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.”

Grinsa bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He started to turn away.

“Gleaner,” the king said, stopping him.

Grinsa faced Kearney once more.

“Your daughter . . . will she be a Weaver as well?”

“It’s far too early to say, Your Majesty. But her chances are better than those of most Qirsi children.”

“Because you’re a Weaver.”

“Yes, and because her mother is powerful as well.”

“And yet you fight to preserve our courts, though they would condemn her to a life of secrecy and fear. Why?”

“Because Eibithar is my home. And because the alternative is a kingdom ruled by the Weaver, and I’ve seen what kind of man he is.” With that he left. Cresenne would not be awake again for hours, and though he knew he was being foolish, that the Weaver couldn’t reach them in Audun’s Castle, at least not yet, he didn’t want Bryntelle to be out of his sight for too long.

For some time after Grinsa left, Kearney simply stood in the middle of his presence chamber, saying nothing. Keziah knew that he had told her brother the truth. With Eibithar’s nobles converging on the City of Kings, he did have much to do. But it seemed he could only stare at the door, struggling with his thoughts and his fears.

“You should have told me,” he said at last. “I know we don’t speak much anymore, but there was a time when we told each other everything.” He glanced at her. “Or so I thought.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she said.

“No, I don’t suppose it was.” He paused, then, “Did you keep much else from me?”

“No, just this.”

“And now?”

She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your Majesty?”

“What are you keeping from me now?”

For a second time this morning, Keziah had the opportunity to tell Kearney of her attempts to win the Weaver’s trust. She had longed to do just that for several turns, since the first night she conceived her
plan. In trying to convince those around them that she had been embittered by the end of their love, that she could be turned to the Weaver’s cause, she had done terrible damage to what remained of their friendship. She had very nearly succeeded in having herself banished from the castle. Now she could tell him why she had done it. She could make him see that she hadn’t meant to hurt him, that she had done all this for him and his kingdom. But once more, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.

Watching Cresenne writhe in her sleep, hearing her cry out, seeing the gashes open on her face as if she were being attacked by some unseen taloned demon from the Underrealm, Keziah had felt fear of the Weaver grip her heart. But she had also felt rage. The Weaver claimed to love his people; he claimed as his goal a glorious future for all Qirsi and their children. Yet he tortured this woman as her babe lay beside her, crying in the darkness. Keziah wanted to destroy him. And if she admitted to Kearney that she was trying to do just that, despite the danger to herself and his kingdom, he would find some way to stop her. So instead she lied. Again, though it pained her to do so.

“I’m keeping nothing from you, Your Majesty. I swear it.”

Even as she spoke the words, however, Keziah was struck at last by the full import of what had happened the night before. She felt her stomach heave and took a step forward, bracing herself on the table to keep from falling to her knees.

Kearney was by her side instantly, an arm around her shoulders, and a look of deepest concern in his green eyes. “Are you all right?”

She barely managed to weather another wave of nausea. “I will be,” she whispered. “Just weary. I think the night has finally caught up with me.”

“You should sleep.”

“No, not with the dukes coming.”

Kearney shook his head. “It’s only Shanstead and Tremain arriving today. Perhaps Domnall as well. Wenda can stand for you, or Dyre.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to . . . I’ll get some air, perhaps have something to eat.” Actually she didn’t think she could keep any food down. “I’ll be fine,” she said again.

“You’re certain?”

She nodded, forcing herself to stand straight. Her head spun, but she managed a smile and the king stepped away from her. “When do you expect Marston?”

“By midday,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty.” She stepped slowly to the door, squeezing her eyes shut against the dizziness and biting back the bile rising in her throat.

The air in the corridor was cooler, which helped a bit. She smiled her way past the guards and hurried to find Grinsa.

She found him in the corridor that ran between the prison tower and the stables, walking slowly with Bryntelle in his arms, singing to her in a low voice.

He turned at her approach, smiling a greeting.

“I’ve almost gotten her to fall asleep,” he whispered.

“We have to talk.”

His smile vanished. “What’s happened now?”

She glanced up and down the hallway to be certain that they were alone. “Have you stopped to wonder what the Weaver will do when he realizes that you’re both here, with me?”

Clearly he hadn’t. He just stared at her. But a moment later, Bryntelle began to cry, as if she sensed his alarm.

“He’ll order me to kill you both.”

Grinsa shook his head. “No, he won’t. He knows better than to send you after me. He’ll have you kill Cresenne, perhaps Bryntelle also, though that would complicate things greatly.” He twisted his mouth, gazing down the corridor as if he could see the Weaver standing in the shadows. “He’ll tell you to befriend me,” he said after a brief pause. “He’ll want you to win my trust so that you can find out where I’m going next. He can’t have both of us killed here, and given how much she knows about him and his movement, he’ll still consider Cresenne the greater threat.”

Keziah was trembling now. The nausea had passed, though her stomach felt hard and cold, like a stone on the moors. “So what do I do? If I don’t kill Cresenne, he’ll know that I’ve been lying to him. And if he speaks to me of arranging your murder, I may not be able to keep from him that you’re my brother.”

“You have to, Kezi.”

“You make it all sound as if it’s just that easy.”