Cresenne smiled coldly. “Gleaning, healing, and fire, swordmaster. I’m hardly a threat to your king. I’d imagine you have more to fear from his archminister.” She eyed Grinsa, the smile lingering. “Or perhaps the gleaner.”
It was a curious comment, and a dangerous one. Clearly she knew of Grinsa’s powers, but did she know as well that Keziah had spoken with the Weaver who led her movement?
Whatever she meant to imply, Gershon did not seem mollified. “Fire, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Think for a moment, swordmaster. Not like a warrior but like a man and a father. Do you honestly think I’d do anything so foolish with my child in my arms?”
That seemed to reach him. His mouth twisted sourly, but after another few seconds he nodded, returning to his seat.
“Gleaner?” the king prompted once more.
Grinsa sat forward. “How long have you been with the conspiracy, Cresenne?”
She furrowed her brow. “Conspiracy? I’m not certain I know what you mean.”
“Would you prefer I called it the Qirsi movement?”
“I still wouldn’t know what you were-”
“Stop it!” The gleaner glared at her. “You think this is a game. You think that I’ll be stayed by pity and love of our child. You’re wrong. Archminister,” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Please take my daughter from the chamber. I have no doubt that you can find someone in the castle who’ll care for her until I’m finished here.”
Keziah glanced at Kearney, who nodded his approval. She stood and started walking to where Cresenne sat. She could see the baby now, eyes closed, lips slightly pursed. She had not spent much time with babies. She knew little about how to care for them; she wasn’t even certain she could hold her niece properly. But even she could see how beautiful the child was, her face a perfect blending of Cresenne’s features and Grinsa’s.
As she approached, Cresenne shrank back against her chair, tightening her grip on the baby. Her eyes, wild and afraid, flew to Grinsa’s face. “You can’t do this.”
“If you resist,” he said calmly, “if you make us take Bryntelle by force, she’s more likely to be hurt.”
“You bastard! She’s your daughter!”
“And as I’ve told you already, I won’t allow myself to be swayed by that. This is your doing, Cresenne, not mine.”
“I won’t hurt her,” Keziah said softly, holding out her arms for the child. “You have my word.”
Still Cresenne clung to her. “She’ll be hungry soon. She’ll need me.”
Grinsa looked away. “I’ve no doubt we can find a wet nurse in the city.”
Cresenne glared at him. “I despise you,” she whispered. “I don’t care that you are her father. I wish you were dead.”
“Yes, I know. You made that clear when you sent the assassin for me.” His face wore a bitter smile, but Keziah could see how this was hurting him. “Take the child, Archminister.”
Reluctantly, her hands shaking as if from a palsy, Cresenne placed Bryntelle in Keziah’s arms. She was crying now, and she fussed over the child a moment, tucking in her swaddling until it was snug and smoothing the wisps of snowy hair on the baby’s head.
“Her name is Bryntelle,” she said, meeting Keziah’s gaze.
“I know. Neither of you has anything to fear from me.”
The woman gave a hesitant nod. Keziah straightened and started toward the door. Before she was halfway across the chamber, however, Cresenne, cried out, “Wait!”
Keziah halted, turned.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” she said. “Just don’t leave with her.”
“It’s too late for that,” Grinsa said.
The archminister shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Her brother shot her a baleful look, but once more the king nodded. “Let me remain here,” she went on. “I’ll hold Bryntelle. So long as Cresenne answers your questions, I’ll stay. But if she refuses you again, I’ll leave immediately, taking the child with me.”
A frown creased Grinsa’s forehead, but he looked to Cresenne, as if gauging her response.
“Very well,” the woman said.
Grinsa exhaled heavily. “Let’s begin again. How long have you been with the conspiracy?”
The woman stared at her hands. “Nearly three years.”
“Why did you join?”
“They offered me gold.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Her gaze met Grinsa’s for just an instant, then dropped again. “No. It offered me a way to strike at the Eandi courts. The movement seeks to end Eandi rule in the Forelands.”
Kearney turned to Gershon, his face grim. He didn’t look surprised-no doubt he had expected something like this. Her words would have served only to confirm his darkest fears.
“How does your movement intend to do this?”
“I don’t know. I know that’s our goal, and I know that much of what we’ve done has sought to bring turmoil and instability to the seven realms. But beyond that, I’ve been told nothing.”
“You’ve told me already that you’re paid by couriers and Qirsi merchants. Do you know where the gold comes from?”
She shook her head.
“Are you paid in common currency or imperials?” the king asked.
“Common currency.”
Kearney looked disappointed. “Forgive me, gleaner. Please go on.”
“What do you know about the movement’s leaders?”
Cresenne started to reply, then stopped herself. She stared at Grinsa, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”
“What can you tell us about the movement’s leaders?”
There was something strange in the way Cresenne was looking at him, as if she abruptly knew that she had the advantage. It took Keziah only a moment to understand why. Apparently Grinsa had made clear to her that he knew of the Weaver, only to find himself unable to use that knowledge now for fear of bringing harm to Keziah. She felt certain that Cresenne didn’t know all of this, only that he knew more about the movement than he was willing to allow the others to hear, and that this provided her with a refuge of sorts.
“Very little,” she said.
Gershon narrowed his eyes.
“As I told you a moment ago, they pay me through couriers, and they give me instructions the same way. I believe they prefer not to be known, even by those who support their cause.”
“I think you’re lying,” Gershon said.
Grinsa nodded. “I believe she is as well, swordmaster.”
Cresenne said nothing. She merely watched Grinsa, as if daring him to challenger her.
“But perhaps we should return to this later,” the gleaner went on smoothly. “Tell us about the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern.”
Keziah sensed Tavis’s anticipation, though he didn’t move or change his expression
“I know only what I’ve heard.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” Grinsa said. “The assassin you sent for me said that you didn’t want me helping Tavis, that you didn’t want me reaching Kentigern at all. Now, why would he have thought that?”
“I sent no assassin.”
Grinsa looked up at Keziah. “Go. Take Bryntelle and go.”
Keziah started to leave the room, though she didn’t care for the idea. Before she could go, however, the baby woke and began to cry. It was almost as if she felt her mother’s distress and cried out in answer.
“She needs to eat,” Cresenne said quickly.
“We’ll find a wet nurse.” Keziah had never known Grinsa could sound so cold.
“Not soon enough. She’s just a babe. She can’t wait while you search the city for a woman to nurse her.”
“It’s all right, gleaner,” the king said. “We’ll have a brief respite while Cresenne nurses her child. Then we’ll continue.”
Grinsa looked displeased, but he knew better than to argue with Kearney.
“Go with her, Archminister,” Kearney said. “Take her to my private quarters.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Keziah glanced at Grinsa as she waited for Cresenne by the door. Her brother eyed her briefly, then gave a small nod, one none of the others would have noticed.