A moment later a face loomed at the door’s steel grate. It wasn’t the king or Keziah. Rather, it was Tavis.
“Forgive me,” the young lord said, his dark eyes flicking briefly toward Cresenne, who covered herself with a corner of the bed linens.
“What is it, Tavis?”
“A message. I think you should hear it.”
“Can it wait?”
“It’s all right,” Cresenne said, her voice low and tense. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”
He looked at her and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, swiping at a tear that had appeared suddenly on her cheek. “It’s not your fault. I knew this would come. Actually I dreamed it. I just didn’t expect it would happen so soon.”
Grinsa and Lord Tavis entered Kearney’s presence chamber together but quickly separated, Tavis going to where his father stood near the window, and the gleaner sitting on the arm of Keziah’s chair. The other dukes were there as well, as were the thane of Shanstead and Gershon Trasker. All of the nobles had brought their ministers, so that the chamber felt crowded and warm.
When Tavis and Grinsa arrived, the king had just asked the older dukes-Javan, Lathrop, and Welfyl, the duke of Heneagh-about the realm’s past relations with the matriarchy in Sanbira. Now Welfyl, bent and frail looking in his chair by the dormant hearth, began a rambling reply, telling of his one visit to Sanbira in 853, when the queen at that time, Meleanna the Ninth, had honored him with an invitation to Castle Yserne.
“What’s happened?” Grinsa asked, his voice so low Keziah could barely hear him.
“Didn’t Tavis tell you?”
Welfyl paused long enough to frown at the two of them before continuing his tale.
“Only that a message had come,” Grinsa went on, lowering his voice even further. “I gather it’s from the queen.”
“Yes.”
“My pardon, Lord Heneagh,” Marston said, interrupting the old duke before Keziah could tell her brother more, “but I’d be interested in knowing if the queen ever spoke to you of an alliance between our two realms.”
“I was getting to that,” Welfyl said crossly. “Meleanna told me at dinner that night that the Matriarchy wished to avoid alliances with any of the northern realms. She said that the Sanbiris valued their friendship with Eibithar, but that they didn’t wish to risk offending the lords of Aneira and Braedon. ‘We have no wish to be party to your quarrels,’ is how she put it.” His brow furrowed. “Or something to that effect.”
“It seems Olesya is more willing than were her grandmother and mother to take such risks,” the thane said, turning to the king. “I believe this is a fine opportunity, my liege. We’d be wise to accept her offer as quickly as we can.”
Grinsa was watching the king as well. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. But am I to understand that the queen of Sanbira has proposed an alliance?”
“Yes, she has. I assumed that Lord Tavis had informed you on your way here.”
“No, Your Majesty. He merely said that a message had come. I believe he thought it more appropriate that you inform me, since the message was clearly intended for you.”
Keziah knew better. The tension between the young lord and her brother had been thick as a coastal fog when they entered the chamber. She could imagine the two of them walking in complete silence all the way from the prison tower. But Grinsa would conclude properly that the state of their friendship was no concern of Kearney’s or the other nobles. The message was what mattered.
“I’ve already read it to the other lords,” Kearney said, “so I won’t waste time with it again. Briefly, the queen writes of an attempt on the life of one of her duchesses, Diani of Curlinte. Diani is young-her mother just passed to Bian’s realm a few turns ago-and she survived the attempt. But House Curlinte is closely tied to the royal house, and it seems Diani’s first minister was behind the assassination attempt. The queen fears the conspiracy will strike at her again, and she proposes an alliance to fight the Qirsi threat.”
Grinsa’s gaze had shifted to the boy, who was staring back at him, his face pale, so that the scars he bore appeared even more livid than usual. Keziah couldn’t say what passed between them in those few moments, but within the span of a single heartbeat, Grinsa looked as troubled as the boy.
“I must disagree with the thane, Your Majesty,” Fotir said from where he stood, near his duke and the young lord.
“How so, First Minister?”
“I don’t believe this message represents a change in the Sanbiri attitude toward alliances. The queen doesn’t suggest that we join forces with her against any other realms, but rather only against the conspiracy. I can’t know for certain, of course, but I would guess that she sent similar messages to every sovereign in the Forelands.”
Grinsa nodded, his mouth still set in a thin line. “That sounds likely to me, as well.”
“This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t pursue the alliance anyway,” Fotir went on. “But you should recognize her offer for what it is.”
“The queen’s letter also proves beyond doubt what we’ve thought for some time now.” Javan. “The conspiracy is a threat to every realm and every court. From this day forward, any time we hear of a noble’s death, we must question the circumstances surrounding it. We can’t assume that anything is as it seems. Not until this threat has passed and the Qirsi have been defeated.”
Marston nodded. “I agree with Lord Curgh. And though it saddens me to say it, I’d add that we can no longer simply trust the counsel of our Qirsi without question. It seems there are more traitors in the Forelands than we feared. Blind trust can only lead to disaster.”
“So we’re to assume then that all of them have betrayed us?” Lathrop shook his head. “That’s nonsense.”
Keziah felt as if an arrow had buried itself in her chest. Several of the other ministers looked angry. She thought Evetta might cry. Even Xivled, who had appeared unfazed by the decision of the king to exclude Qirsi from his discussion with the dukes a few days before now seemed disturbed by what his lord had said. But Keziah’s pain had far less to do with Shanstead’s words than with the way Kearney was looking at her. She had worked hard to make him doubt her. But more recently, since the Weaver instructed her to begin winning back the king’s trust, she had tried as best she could to do just that. It had seemed a gift, a spar of light in the shadows she had woven about herself. She had known it wouldn’t last, but for just a short while she had thought to continue her deception of the Weaver while also repairing some of the damage she had done to what remained of the love she and Kearney once shared.
Seeing how he regarded her now, however, she understood that it was too late. She saw fear in his green eyes, and so much suspicion. There might have been love there as well, a residue of the passion she remembered from their time in Glyndwr. But it had been twisted and defiled by all that had come since. Marston might find it hard to convince the other nobles to stop trusting the Qirsi who served them, but he had already swayed the king.
Caius of Labruinn glanced at his first minister, the oldest of the Qirsi in the king’s chamber. “Forgive me, Ottah,” he said, “but I’m not ready to dismiss the thane’s suggestion so quickly. No doubt the duchess of Curlinte trusted her minister, just as Lord Shanstead’s father trusted his.”
Caius was a young man in comparison to the other dukes. Not as young as Marston, but close. The young ones, it seemed, would lead this battle. Perhaps they hadn’t grown as close to their ministers, having only led their houses for a few years. Perhaps, having come into their birthrights at a time when the conspiracy was already beginning to spread across the land, they found it easier to question the loyalty of those who served them. Whatever the reason, Keziah found herself hating this man, and the thane as well.
Caius had risen from his chair and was pacing the floor now. “It seems there’s something in the Qirsi heart that breeds treachery. It runs like a river through the history of your people.”