She and the gleaner were swordsmen in a duel that had proven all too evenly matched. Each had a blade at the other’s throat and a second pressed against the other’s heart. A word from her and he would be executed as were all Weavers. A single thought conveyed to the Weaver who led the conspiracy and assassins would descend upon them like locusts on a ripe crop. A word from him and the baby would be torn from her arms and she would be executed as a traitor, leaving Bryntelle without a mother. Fear of the other stayed their hands. Fear, and love, though neither of them would have admitted it.
Watching Grinsa as he held Bryntelle, Cresenne wondered if he could really follow through on his threats, just as she questioned whether she could bring herself to have him killed. How could she ever explain such a thing to Bryntelle? How could she justify lying to the child about her father’s death?
Still, though Cresenne doubted that Grinsa could harm her, she hadn’t the courage to test his resolve. She claimed as long as she could to be too weary and sore to journey, but when at last both Glyndwr’s healer and herbmaster pronounced her fit to leave the castle, she did not resist Grinsa’s demand that she travel north off the steppe to Eibithar’s City of Kings. She still had no intention of revealing to the king all she had done on the Weaver’s behalf. She may well have loved Grinsa. She may even have harbored hopes of reconciling with him, of finding some way to rediscover their love so that the three of them could be a family. But she owed nothing to Tavis of Curgh. She wasn’t about to risk the Weaver’s wrath merely to prove his innocence.
The journey, which was only twelve leagues, went slowly, mostly because Cresenne insisted on resting each time Bryntelle needed to nurse. Still, this did not delay them as much as she had hoped it would. It seemed the baby found the rocking motion of the mount comforting. She slept far more and ate far less than usual as they rode.
Grinsa spent most of the journey beside them, straight backed and alert atop his mount, as if expecting an assault at any moment. As his father had instructed, Kearney the Younger had given them leave to take as many soldiers as they desired. In the end, fearing that too large an escort might draw unwanted attention, Grinsa and Tavis asked for only eight, a small number given how many people in Eibithar wanted the Curgh boy dead. It only took Cresenne half a day to understand that the young noble feared Glyndwr’s men as much as he did road brigands or assassins from Kentigern. He rode alone much of the time, in front of Grinsa and Cresenne, but behind the first line of guards. He spoke to no one, and eyed the soldiers as one might rivals on the first day of a battle tournament. Cresenne could see the boy measuring himself against them, trying to determine if he could protect himself should they turn on him.
Though a short journey, the terrain proved difficult. For the first few days, as they steered their mounts through the highlands, the wind blew hard and cold from the west, howling in the boulders strewn across the land and making the tall brown grasses bow and quiver like frightened supplicants in Bian’s Sanctuary. On the third day, they began the slow descent off the Caerissan Steppe, following a winding path that had been worn by years and years of use. At times the path grew so narrow that they had to ride in a single line. The wind continued to blow, and though Cresenne had hoped to keep them from reaching the royal city too quickly, she longed for this portion of their journey to end.
“What is it you see in the boy?” she finally asked Grinsa on that third morning, as they made their way down the slope of the steppe. The path was wider here, and Grinsa was just beside her.
She kept her voice low, but still the gleaner immediately looked at Tavis to see if he had heard. When the boy gave no indication that he had, Grinsa slowed his mount slightly, to put more distance between himself and Tavis. Cresenne did the same.
“I see what you see,” he said softly. “An arrogant, spoiled boy, embittered by his dark fate, and more concerned with his own welfare than that of those around him.”
She raised an eyebrow. “My, what a special friend you’re found.”
“I also see much promise in him, and many fine qualities that already distinguish him from other nobles. He’s fiercely loyal to his realm and his house. He has more courage than you might expect-the scars he bears are testimony to his strength as well as his pride. And he’s uncommonly clever. I believe, in time, he’ll make a fine ruler, either for his dukedom or his kingdom.”
“I see. Has he offered to make you his first minister?”
Grinsa laughed. “If you’re trying to goad me, it won’t work. Tavis would never think to do so, and I have no ambitions of that kind.” He glanced at her, his expression turning grim. “But you should know this as well. He knows as much about my powers as you do, and he has never once tried to use that knowledge against me, nor has he shown any fear of my abilities. And of the two of you, I worry far less about him betraying me than I do about you.”
He kicked at the flanks of his horse and sped forward until he had caught up to the boy. And for the rest of that day, Cresenne and Bryntelle rode alone.
They reached the royal city on the sixth day after their departure from Glyndwr. They had been able to see the city from the slope of the steppe for several days, and even from leagues away, Cresenne could not help but be impressed by the size of the city and its great castle. Both were square in shape, the fortress centered within the stone walls of the city. There was a sanctuary in each corner, one each, she knew, for the four ancient ones, Elined and Amon, Morna and Bian. But until their small company came to the city gates, she did not appreciate the true immensity of Eibithar’s City of Kings. Neither the castle nor the city could be called beautiful. There was something ponderous and unimaginative in the design of both. She saw here none of the grace of the castles of southern Caerisse or Aneira, nor even the more subtle beauty of the older Eibitharian cities. What she did see was power, raw and unassailable. A royal city was supposed to be the realm’s last defense against any invader, and more than all the other royal seats in the Forelands, except perhaps for the Imperial Palace in Curtell, the City of Kings met that need. She could not imagine any army, or combination of armies, defeating these walls and gates. Staring at the white stone and the formidable soldiers standing before them, Cresenne found herself wondering if the Weaver had ever seen this castle.
She had been curious to see if Tavis would be welcomed as a noble, but other than an ordinary complement of guards, no one awaited them at the city gate. If the Curgh boy was surprised by this, he gave no indication of it. But though Tavis wasn’t met at the gate by the king or those who served him, he certainly was recognized. Guards glared at him, as did commoners in the streets and the city marketplace. Many of them pointed openly at the boy and a few brave souls shouted obscenities at him. The soldiers of Glyndwr offered no response, though one or two of them smirked at their companions. Tavis, to his credit, kept his eyes trained on the lane before him. Clearly he heard what was said-even riding behind him Cresenne could see his ears and neck reddening-but he didn’t say anything or change the gait of his mount.
After a few moments, Grinsa looked over at Cresenne, and said simply, “I should ride with him,” before leaving her to join Tavis.
She couldn’t say for certain whether he did this to offer comfort to the boy or out of concern for his safety, but he remained by the noble’s side until they were within the castle’s inner walls.
The king met them at the interior gate. He was dressed simply in soldier’s garb, and aside from the silver, red, and black baldric he wore on his back, there was little about him to indicate that he was a noble at all. At least, this was Cresenne’s initial impression, watching him from a distance as he offered a solemn greeting to Tavis and Grinsa. The three men spoke quietly for several moments, or rather, Grinsa did a good deal of talking while the king and Tavis listened. At last, Kearney nodded and led the three of them to where Cresenne still waited on her mount. She was holding Bryntelle, of course, and as the king approached, she pulled her baby closer to her chest.