“Our lords have chosen to gather apart from us,” Fotir found himself saying. “We may take this to mean that they don’t trust us, that they only wish to keep us occupied as they speak of fighting the conspiracy. Or we may take it to mean that they expect us to devise our own strategy for defeating the Weaver and his movement. I choose to believe the latter, and I think this as promising an approach as any.”
“Do you believe Javan would approve of such a plan?”
“Perhaps not,” Fotir said. “But as the archminister says, the time may have come when we must act on behalf of our lords without their approval.”
He glanced at the archminister, only to find that she was already staring at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
“One need only look at Cresenne to know how steep the price of failure will be,” Grinsa said.
“Does that mean you think it a bad idea?” Keziah asked.
“Not at all. Just perilous.”
Keziah regarded him another moment before eyeing the others. “What of the rest of you?”
“I agree with the first minister,” Wenda said, nodding toward Evetta. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
Dyre shook his head. “Nor do I.”
Two of the king’s underministers, who had said nothing up until now, voiced their opposition as well.
“It seems we’re outnumbered,” the archminister said with a small shrug. “I feel certain that before this conflict is over, we’ll have to take risks that seem unfathomable today, but for now we’ll honor the wishes of those who argue for prudence.”
Once more Fotir had the sense that there was more to what she was saying than she let on. Despite her words, the archminister seemed relieved to be in the minority, which made sense only if she were concealing something. Perhaps she was a traitor after all. But Fotir didn’t think so.
Dyre looked quite pleased, but Xivled continued to gaze at Keziah, as if he, too, were trying to gauge what lay behind her words.
“Isn’t it possible, Archminister,” he asked, “that as more nobles arrive in the royal city, and with them more ministers, a similar discussion might yield a different judgment?”
“Would that it were, Minister,” she said. “But the king doesn’t expect many more nobles to answer his summons. Kentigern won’t come, and neither, it seems, will Galdasten. And with both of them refusing to make the journey, Eardley, Sussyn, and Domnall have declined as well. Rennach has made no reply at all. We expect the dukes of Labruinn and Heneagh to arrive in the next few days, but even if both first ministers support our position, that leaves us with only a split vote.” She looked at the gleaner. “Forgive me, Grinsa. But in deciding matters of the court, I can’t allow you to have a formal voice.”
He inclined his head. “Of course, Archminister. I understand.”
“But with a split vote-”
“No, Minister. I don’t think it wise to take such a momentous step with the ministers so deeply divided. As I say, in time, I believe we’ll have little choice but to reconsider this question. But for now we’ll have to find another way to strike at the conspiracy.”
Shanstead’s minister continued to stare at her, tight-lipped and silent. And though Fotir couldn’t be certain, he could only assume from the man’s expression that Xivled thought the archminister a renegade.
“I’m not certain it’s our place to strike at the conspiracy at all,” Dyre said. “We serve the courts, and when our lords are ready to fight the traitors in earnest they will. My objection to what the minister proposed,” he went on, gesturing toward Xivled, “had little to do with it being dangerous, though surely it is that. Rather, I opposed it because the king would oppose it, as would the dukes, I imagine.”
“So we’re to do nothing, then?” Evetta asked. “Even I don’t believe that.”
“I’m not suggesting that we do nothing. But we can only do so much. We can remain loyal to our dukes and vigilant in looking for those who might betray them. We can recommend courses of action that the nobles might not consider, but then it becomes their choice as to whether to follow our advice or ignore it.”
“You’ve a narrow view of a minister’s role, cousin,” Fotir said.
“As is appropriate. Perhaps if the dukes of Thorald and Kentigern had kept their ministers on a tighter rein, the realm wouldn’t have suffered as it has over the past half year.”
Fotir saw Xivled bristle, but before the younger man could respond, the archminister stood, shaking her head.
“No,” she said. “We’re not going to do this. We’re not going to blame anyone for the actions of a few traitors and a Weaver we don’t even know. This conspiracy reaches across all the realms of the Forelands. It’s been claiming lives in the courts for far longer than any of us realized until recently. Either all of us are to blame for its success thus far, or none of us are. We can disagree as to what actions to take, but I will not allow this discussion to descend into a fight over which houses have failed the realm.”
She paused, staring at each of the Qirsi in turn, as if daring them to argue with her. “Now, given that we’ve decided not follow the minister’s suggestion, at least for now, what other options can we offer the king and his dukes?”
For a long time, no one spoke, and when finally the discussion did resume, the ministers could think of few suggestions to pass on to the nobles. When the midday bells rang in the city, Keziah reluctantly ended their discussion.
The king’s underministers left the hall immediately, speaking quietly among themselves. The others remained for a few moments until Grinsa stood and excused himself, explaining that he wished to return to Cresenne’s chamber in the prison tower. Fotir stood as well and the two men walked from the hall together.
“I had hoped our discussion would yield more than it did,” the minister said, as they descended the tower stairs to the inner ward.
Grinsa gave a wan smile. “I’m sure all of us did. But though I’m disappointed, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
“You think we should have allowed Xivled to join the movement?”
The gleaner glanced at him, but didn’t answer.
“I actually had the sense listening to the archminister speak that she had already considered doing so herself. I even wonder if she’s done more than just consider it.”
Still Grinsa kept his silence, and they walked the rest of the way to the prison tower without a word passing between them.
When they arrived at her chamber, Cresenne was awake, walking a slow circle with her baby in her arms. Seeing her, it finally occurred to Fotir that the gleaner might not want him there, that Grinsa’s silence had not been a response to what the minister said, but rather to his presumption that he could accompany the man back to the tower.
“My apologies, gleaner,” he said, abruptly feeling a fool. “I should leave the two of you-” He smiled sheepishly. “I mean, the three of you.”
“Not at all, Minister. I’m glad you’re here. Cresenne needs to sleep, and I’d enjoy your company.”
One of the guards unlocked Cresenne’s door, and the two men stepped past him into the chamber. It was warm within, the air too still.
“I’m sorry I had to leave,” Grinsa said, taking the child from Cresenne.
She walked to the bed and sat. “It’s all right.” Her eyes strayed to the minister briefly before returning to Grinsa. She looked as if she were eager just to sleep, but felt that she needed to talk to them, at least briefly. “Did you decide anything important?”
“No,” the gleaner said. “But one of the ministers suggested that it might be useful to have a Qirsi loyal to the courts join the conspiracy.”
Cresenne’s eyes widened, and once more her gaze flicked toward Fotir. “Did you?. .” She stopped, shaking her head, as if unsure of how to finish the thought.
Grinsa shook his head. “No. Most of the ministers thought it too dangerous and the archminister ruled it out for now.”