If that vision from so long ago had yet to be realized, then perhaps Tavis had nothing to fear from the singer. If, on the other hand, that moment had passed. .
Except that visions didn’t always work that way, either.
Grinsa spat a curse.
Of all his powers, gleaning was the one he liked least. The glimpses it offered of the future carried burdens he didn’t wish to bear and uncertainties that often left him frustrated and fearful. Even this latest dream, the meaning of which seemed so clear at first, had become muddied in his mind over the past few hours. If he chose to remain with Cresenne and Bryntelle, would it make a difference? Tavis might resume his pursuit of the assassin without him. Certainly the boy was stubborn enough to do so. And though the gleaner had seen the events on the Wethy shore as if he were there, Tavis and the assassin had paid him no heed. Even when he called out to the young lord, Tavis didn’t appear to hear him. Had his voice been overwhelmed by the sea and the storm? Or was it that he wasn’t even there? Had Qirsar, the god of the Qirsi, merely offered a glimpse of what awaited the boy if Grinsa did not accompany him on his coming journey eastward? The god had done such things before, many times.
Yes, it was a warning. But of what? If you go with the boy to the Wethy Crown, he may die; if you don’t go with the boy, he may die. Either was possible. Keeping Tavis in Eibithar seemed the only way to ensure his safety. And so long as the young lord didn’t learn that the assassin had gone east, Grinsa thought he could do that much.
He continued on across the ward, reaching the base of the prison tower a few moments later. He climbed the stairs quickly and upon emerging into the corridor outside Cresenne’s chamber, heard Bryntelle cry out. Hurrying to the chamber door, the gleaner saw Cresenne sitting on her bed, with the baby lying in her lap.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
Cresenne looked up, a brilliant smile lighting her face. “She laughed!”
“Really?”
“Yes. Come and see.”
One of the guards opened the door for him, and he stepped quickly to the bed to sit beside them.
“Watch.” Cresenne lowered her face to the baby’s belly and kissed it loudly, shaking her head as she did. Bryntelle let out a delighted squeal, her mouth opening in a wide, toothless grin. Cresenne did it a second time, drawing the same response.
“You see?” she said, straightening. “You try it.”
Grinsa smiled, but shook his head. “I don’t think she’s ready to laugh for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
He shrugged, staring at his daughter, unwilling at that moment to risk a look at the woman beside him.
“At least take her. She’s in a wonderful mood.”
“All right.”
He allowed Cresenne to place Bryntelle in his arms, grinning when the child continued to smile and coo. Cresenne laid her hand gently on his arm, leaning closer so that she could look at the baby as well. It almost seemed that his skin was aflame where she was touching him.
“You see?” she said, glancing at him.
He merely nodded, still not looking at her.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just enjoying her.” Both of you, really.
“Something’s troubling you. I can tell.”
As quickly as it had begun, the moment passed. Briefly, as they sat there together, they truly had been a family. But this was a prison, and even as they spoke, the land moved inexorably toward war.
“It’s nothing. I had a vision, that’s all.”
“Of what?” He could hear fear tightening her voice, and he regretted saying even this much.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. What did you see?”
“I saw Tavis fighting the assassin.”
“Did you see the outcome?”
“No.”
She nodded, removing her hand from his arm and shifting on the bed so that there was more distance between them. “Where?”
“The Crown.”
“Is that where you’re going next?”
“I don’t intend to go anywhere, Cresenne.” He made himself meet her gaze. “I don’t know yet what this vision means. I’m not even certain that I’m to be there with them.”
“Of course you are. You’re tied to the boy in some way. You told me that long ago, in Galdasten.”
The gleaner remembered, of course. There had been a storm that night, much like the one to which he had wakened out of this most recent vision. Was there meaning in that as well?
“You must be tired,” he said. “You should get some rest. Bryntelle will be fine with me.”
Cresenne leaned forward and kissed the baby on the forehead. Then she stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes.
“If it means anything,” she said, already sounding sleepy, “I know that you don’t want to leave us, that it will pain you to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I think you are. In the end I think you’ll decide that you have no choice. You’ve pledged yourself to protecting both Tavis and me, but you can only be with one of us at a time. And you feel somehow responsible for the boy.”
“Don’t you think I feel the same way about you, about Bryntelle?”
“Bryntelle isn’t in danger. Keziah told us so. And whatever danger I’m in is of my own making. That’s what you’ll decide.” She opened her eyes for just a moment. “And you’ll be right.”
She closed her eyes once more and rolled away from him. After a few moments he stood and began walking around the chamber with Bryntelle, rocking her gently and singing an Eibitharian folk song in a near whisper. Soon both the baby and her mother were asleep.
The day passed slowly. Grinsa couldn’t keep the vision from his mind, nor could he help but think that in the end, Cresenne’s words would prove as prescient as any gleaning. It seemed that Bryntelle was beginning to adjust to the strange hours she and her mother were keeping. She slept for the rest of the morning and well past midday before waking, hungry and wet. Grinsa changed her swaddling, then woke Cresenne so that the baby could nurse.
As Bryntelle ate, the city bells began to toll. It was far too early for the prior’s bell.
Cresenne frowned, looking from the window to Grinsa.
“Has another duke arrived?”
“None were expected after Labruinn and Heneagh. The rest have refused to come.”
“Then what?” She sounded alarmed, and Grinsa silently cursed the Weaver once more. Cresenne had lied to him when they were still lovers and the gleaner couldn’t be certain that he had known her as well as he believed at the time. But she hadn’t struck him then as the type of person who was easily frightened. Only now, bearing scars from the Weaver’s assault, did her face turn the color of ash at the merest hint of danger.
“It’s probably just a messenger,” he said. “From one of the other dukes, I’d guess.” He made himself smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
But he could feel his own pulse pounding too hard in his temples, and though he tried to appear calm, he found himself looking repeatedly toward the window on the chamber’s steel door, as if expecting at any moment to see Keziah’s face, or the king’s.
Eventually the pealing of the bells ceased, and though he could hear voices rising to the narrow window from the castle ward, none of what he heard gave him cause for concern. Still, he wasn’t entirely surprised when at last he heard the scrape of a boot in the corridor and a low voice speaking to the guards.