“I’d always known that I would have to find Cresenne eventually. She serves the conspiracy and she may know something about the Weaver who leads it. But I had hoped to put this off as long as possible. I wanted to find Shurik first, and since his death I’ve hoped that my sister could find out what I might otherwise have to learn from Cresenne. I didn’t expect to see her this soon, and certainly not under these circumstances.”
He didn’t want to ask, but there seemed little choice. “Now that she’s here, what are you going to do?”
The gleaner shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Do you still love her?”
“I’d be a fool if I did.”
Tavis grinned. “That does nothing to answer my question.”
Grinsa actually laughed. “I don’t suppose it does.” His smile gave way to a grimace that told Tavis all he needed to know. “I don’t know if I can love her after what she’s done. But I am still. . drawn to her.”
“Does she know that you’re-?” He stopped himself, searching the ward for Kearney’s guards.
“Does she know the extent of my powers?”
“Yes.”
“I never told her, but I think she’s reasoned it out by now. It’s one of the reasons she called for me today, maybe the only reason. She needed my healing magic.”
“I expect that she called for you because you’re the child’s father. Whatever else lies between you, nothing can change that.”
The gleaner smiled and put his hand on Tavis’s shoulder. “Thank you. You may be right. But still your question raises an interesting point. If she knows I’m a Weaver, she’s a danger to me, to Keziah, and to our hopes of defeating the conspiracy.”
“Maybe now she can be turned from their cause.”
“You mean because of the baby.”
“I’m sorry, Grinsa,” Tavis said, retreating quickly. “I wasn’t implying that we should use your daughter as-”
“It’s all right, Tavis. Before this is over, we may have to think in such terms. For now, though-for tonight-I’d just like to think of Bryntelle as my babe, and nothing more.”
“Of course.”
They both fell silent, though Grinsa gave no indication that he was ready to return to the herbmaster’s chamber.
“There’s more on your mind,” the gleaner said at last. “I can always tell.”
Tavis was eager to tell him of his conversation with Kearney, but this didn’t seem to be the time.
“It’s nothing.”
The Qirsi halted, forcing Tavis to face him. “I don’t believe you. Just speak and be done with it.”
“All right.” He took a breath. “The duke came to the chamber during Cresenne’s childbirth. We spoke briefly, and he suggested that if she is or once was a part of the conspiracy, and if she had anything to do with arranging Brienne’s murder, she might be able to prove my innocence.”
Tavis saw the gleaner’s jaw tighten, but his expression remained the same, and when he finally replied, his voice was even and low. “The duke makes an interesting point. What is it you’d have me do?”
“I don’t know. First, we need to learn all she knows about what happened in Kentigern.”
“I already intended to ask her about that, along with a host of other matters. What then?”
He shrugged. “If it turns out she knows something of the plans to kill Brienne and of the assassin, I suppose we’ll need to bring her before the other dukes, perhaps even the king.”
Grinsa looked away, his lip pressed in a tight line. “I don’t want her journeying with us.”
“It wouldn’t be for long.”
“Any time at all will be too much. She’s dangerous, Tavis. For you, and especially for me.”
“Even now? Even after what you two have shared this night?”
“She lied to me!” Grinsa said, his voice rising. “She tried to have me killed!”
“Perhaps she can change.” It seemed to Tavis that he and the gleaner had reversed roles for just a moment. How often had Grinsa urged him to use reason, to move beyond his anger and resentment?
“Just because of the child?” The Qirsi shook his head. “That’s a great burden to put upon such tiny shoulders.”
“It’s not just the child. You said yourself that you almost lost both mother and daughter tonight. If it weren’t for you, Cresenne might be dead, or she might be mourning the babe rather than nursing her. Whatever happened between you before tonight, it’s all different now. You saved her despite her betrayal, and together you share responsibility for another life.” He chanced a smile. “Even I know enough to see the significance of that.”
“We’re not a family, Tavis. I don’t think we ever can be. We’re adversaries in a war. That’s more powerful than any bond that ties us to each other.” He rubbed a hand over his face, looking haggard and worn. “I’ll consider what you’re asking of me. Truly I will. And I’ll speak with her tomorrow. But I make you no promises.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Tavis gestured toward the tower entrance. “You should sleep. It’s been a long night.”
Grinsa smiled wearily. “Are you ministering to me, Lord Curgh?”
“It seems someone needs to.”
They turned and started back the way they had come. It was snowing harder now and already it was difficult to see their footprints in the dim light of the castle torches.
“I do think you’re mistaken, though,” the young lord said after a few moments. “Whatever else you and Cresenne may have been, you are a family now. Not even this war can change that.”
She would have liked to sleep for days, uninterrupted. But Bryntelle woke her several times during the course of the night, the first few times to suckle, and the fourth time, Cresenne finally realized, because she had soiled her swaddling. When Bryntelle did sleep, Cresenne managed to as well, but as dawn broke, and the baby drifted into slumber during yet another feeding, Cresenne remained awake, lighting a nearby candle with her magic and staring at her daughter in the firelight.
She had promised herself that she would not be one of those mothers who saw her child through ensorcelled eyes. If the babe was ugly, so be it. She would admit as much to herself and to the world. And seeing Bryntelle for the first time, she had to concede that her baby did not look as she had hoped. Her skin was too red, her eyes swollen from the trauma of her birth, her head somewhat misshapen.
With every hour that passed, however, these flaws seemed to diminish, leaving Cresenne with a child she could describe only as beautiful. Overnight, her skin had lightened to a pale shade of pink, the swelling around her eyes had lessened. Her lips were perfectly shaped, as was her tiny nose. Her fingers and toes, wrinkled like the skin of some ancient Eandi, were smaller than Cresenne had ever imagined possible. Wisps of fine hair covered her head and the back of her neck, softer than Uulranni silk and as white as the new snow covering the highlands. Sitting in her bed, she felt helpless to do anything more than gaze upon her baby and weep, not for fear, or exhaustion, but for a joy unlike any she had known before.
Eventually, Bryntelle awoke again, her yellow eyes opening slowly. They were the color of fire, not quite as pale as Cresenne’s but not so bright as those of her father.
“Are you hungry again, little one?” Cresenne whispered, placing a finger on the child’s lips to see if she wanted to nurse. Immediately, Bryntelle took the finger in her mouth and began sucking on it. Cresenne laughed. “Very well.”
She sat up straighter, wincing at the dull ache in her back and hips. She pulled off her shift and raised Bryntelle to her breast. The babe began to suckle greedily.
“You’d think I hadn’t fed you all night.”
She heard a knock at the door and felt her body tense.
“Come in.”
She had expected Grinsa, but instead the herbmaster bustled in, crossing hurriedly to the shelf near her bed where he kept his herbs and stoppered vials of various extracts.
He glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m sore. But other than that I feel all right, thank you.”