“One need only look at what this man has done-not only to Cresenne but also to Tavis, to Lady Brienne, and to countless others-to know that he has little in common with my brother. If you can’t see this as well, Your Majesty, then I weep for Eibithar.”
Kearney’s face reddened, and Grinsa feared that Keziah had pushed him too far. A moment dragged by in silence, and another.
At last the king gave a small nod. “You make a good point, Archminister. But you must realize as well that I’m bound by the laws of the land. I can no more embrace a Weaver as my ally than I can the Aneiran king.”
“And you must realize, Your Majesty,” Grinsa said, “that in order to defeat the conspiracy you may have to do both. The realms of the Forelands can’t stand against this enemy without uniting, and you would do well to consider the advantages of having a Weaver by your side in the coming conflict.”
“Come now, Grinsa. The people of the Forelands defeated a Qirsi army led by several Weavers nine centuries ago. This new Weaver may be clever, but he’s only one man.”
“He’s one man with followers in every corner of the land, Your Majesty. And he’s already succeeded in dividing kingdoms against themselves, in pushing neighboring realms to the brink of war.”
Kearney appeared to falter, his doubts written on his face. “Do you have any idea who he is?”
“No. But I know what he looks like now.”
Keziah gripped his arm. “You saw him? You didn’t tell me that.”
“It was just a glimpse, enough to give me an impression of the man. Nothing more. Really, I’m no closer to knowing his name or his whereabouts than I was before. But he knows that I saw him, and clearly he didn’t want that.”
“Who else knows that you’re a Weaver?” the king asked, drawing Grinsa’s gaze once more.
“Keziah, Tavis, Cresenne, and one other who I won’t name. I assure you, though, this person can be trusted.”
Kearney nodded. “I see.” He sat, leaning back in his chair and passing a hand through his silver hair. “I have no desire to see you executed, Grinsa. I hope you know that.”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Truth be told, I would feel better going to war against a Weaver with you by my side.”
“My sword and my magic are yours, to use as you will.”
“I thank you for that. But you understand that others won’t be so welcoming. There is more fear of the Qirsi in the courts today than I’ve ever seen-I daresay matters are worse now than they’ve been in centuries. If the dukes learn that you’re a Weaver, they’ll demand that I move against you. My hold on the crown is already precarious. I’d have no choice but to heed their wishes.”
“Neither of us wants that, Your Majesty. I don’t want you as an enemy, and I assure you, you don’t want me as one either.”
Kearney eyed him as a soldier might study his next opponent in a battle tournament. “Are you threatening me, gleaner?”
“Not at all. But I’m not certain you appreciate fully the power wielded by a Weaver. It’s not just that we can wield the magic of others as if it were our own. We’re far more powerful in our own right than are other Qirsi. Your dungeon couldn’t hold me, and your executioner wouldn’t survive his attempt to carry out my sentence. I offer this not as a threat or a boast but simply as a statement of fact.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“I’d say that lies mostly with you, Your Majesty. You asked me how I had come to understand the Weaver so well. I answered truthfully. I’ve lived my entire life without revealing the extent of my powers to the wrong person. And now I must ask you: is my secret safe, or must I leave here, taking Keziah, Cresenne, and my child with me?”
“I’ve no intention of betraying your confidence. As I’ve already said, it would greatly complicate matters for me.” He glanced at Keziah, his expression softening for just an instant. “It would also deny me the services of a minister I value more than I can say.”
Seeing how his sister blushed, Grinsa allowed himself a small smile. “Then I’d say our discussion is over.”
“Not quite. If at some point others learn of. . what you are, we’ll have to revisit this matter. The laws of the land are clear.”
“I understand.”
“Very well,” the king said, standing. “I expect a number of nobles to arrive here today. Javan was but the first. If you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.”
Grinsa bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He started to turn away.
“Gleaner,” the king said, stopping him.
Grinsa faced Kearney once more.
“Your daughter. . will she be a Weaver as well?”
“It’s far too early to say, Your Majesty. But her chances are better than those of most Qirsi children.”
“Because you’re a Weaver.”
“Yes, and because her mother is powerful as well.”
“And yet you fight to preserve our courts, though they would condemn her to a life of secrecy and fear. Why?”
“Because Eibithar is my home. And because the alternative is a kingdom ruled by the Weaver, and I’ve seen what kind of man he is.” With that he left. Cresenne would not be awake again for hours, and though he knew he was being foolish, that the Weaver couldn’t reach them in Audun’s Castle, at least not yet, he didn’t want Bryntelle to be out of his sight for too long.
For some time after Grinsa left, Kearney simply stood in the middle of his presence chamber, saying nothing. Keziah knew that he had told her brother the truth. With Eibithar’s nobles converging on the City of Kings, he did have much to do. But it seemed he could only stare at the door, struggling with his thoughts and his fears.
“You should have told me,” he said at last. “I know we don’t speak much anymore, but there was a time when we told each other everything.” He glanced at her. “Or so I thought.”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she said.
“No, I don’t suppose it was.” He paused, then, “Did you keep much else from me?”
“No, just this.”
“And now?”
She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your Majesty?”
“What are you keeping from me now?”
For a second time this morning, Keziah had the opportunity to tell Kearney of her attempts to win the Weaver’s trust. She had longed to do just that for several turns, since the first night she conceived her plan. In trying to convince those around them that she had been embittered by the end of their love, that she could be turned to the Weaver’s cause, she had done terrible damage to what remained of their friendship. She had very nearly succeeded in having herself banished from the castle. Now she could tell him why she had done it. She could make him see that she hadn’t meant to hurt him, that she had done all this for him and his kingdom. But once more, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.
Watching Cresenne writhe in her sleep, hearing her cry out, seeing the gashes open on her face as if she were being attacked by some unseen taloned demon from the Underrealm, Keziah had felt fear of the Weaver grip her heart. But she had also felt rage. The Weaver claimed to love his people; he claimed as his goal a glorious future for all Qirsi and their children. Yet he tortured this woman as her babe lay beside her, crying in the darkness. Keziah wanted to destroy him. And if she admitted to Kearney that she was trying to do just that, despite the danger to herself and his kingdom, he would find some way to stop her. So instead she lied. Again, though it pained her to do so.
“I’m keeping nothing from you, Your Majesty. I swear it.”
Even as she spoke the words, however, Keziah was struck at last by the full import of what had happened the night before. She felt her stomach heave and took a step forward, bracing herself on the table to keep from falling to her knees.
Kearney was by her side instantly, an arm around her shoulders, and a look of deepest concern in his green eyes. “Are you all right?”