“I don’t believe that. Allowing the treachery of a few to destroy our ability to trust one another-that enhances their strength. They seek to divide us, and you’re making it easier for them.”
“We’re never going to agree,” he said. “We could argue this way until nightfall, and we’d still be just where we are now.”
“Probably.” Keziah began to walk again, and he with her. She had met a great number of Qirsi ministers over the years, particularly in the turns she had spent in Audun’s Castle. Many of them-most, really-had struck her as well-meaning, faithful servants to their lords. That was one reason she took exception to Xivled’s suspicions. But Xiv was the first she had met about whose loyalty she had no doubts at all. Perhaps it was because he questioned her fealty to the king, as he seemed to question the fealty of all ministers. Perhaps he had thought up the perfect way to hide his treachery. She smiled at the notion. This man was no traitor. Indeed, she found herself thinking that she could tell him of her attempt to win the Weaver’s trust. If anyone could see the merit in her plan, he could. She didn’t dare, of course. But she thought it a measure of the minister’s charm that she would even consider it. “So have you decided yet if I can be trusted?” she asked instead
“Not yet, no.”
“There are many in this castle who’ll tell you that I’ve been defiant of my king, that I’ve behaved strangely. Some, I’m sure, think me a traitor.”
“Are you?”
Keziah smiled again. “Either way, you know that I can only give you one answer.”
“That’s not true. You could simply confess and be done with it.”
“Must you argue with everything I say?”
He looked down, smiling once more, but looking embarrassed. “Forgive me, Archminister.”
“Let me ask you a question,” she said, pressing her advantage.
“Of course.”
“Now that we can prove Tavis’s innocence, do you believe Tobbar will ally himself with the king and Javan?”
The minister creased his brow and inclined his head slightly. “I can’t say. Lord Tavis’s guilt or innocence was always but one consideration among many in the duke’s decision to withhold support from both sides in this conflict. He fears that adding Thorald’s might to either side will tip the balance so greatly in that duke’s favor that he’ll feel emboldened and will attack the other. Nothing has happened to allay that concern.”
“And your lord is of the same mind?”
“Lord Shanstead would never presume to challenge his father on a matter of such importance.”
“At least not openly.”
“What are you suggesting, Archminister?”
“That Marston strikes me as a sensible but passionate man. I find it hard to believe that he would do anything to weaken the Rules of Ascension, particularly with his sons in line for the throne. But by the same token, I also have difficulty believing that he enjoys watching Thorald stand idly as the other houses line up against one another. He seems to understand that the kingdom must unite if it’s to face the Qirsi challenge, and with Tavis absolved of Brienne’s murder, he’ll be eager to throw Thorald’s support to Javan and end the threat from Kentigern.”
“You gathered all of this from the discussion we observed today?” Xiv asked, sounding impressed.
“And from what I’ve heard of him from others.”
The man nodded, his brow furrowing again. “You understand, I can only say so much. But I do believe that if my lord were duke. . matters might stand somewhat differently.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Keziah said, not bothering to mask her surprise. “I appreciate your candor.”
“I’d ask you not to repeat what I’ve said to anyone, Archminister. Not even the king, at least not yet.”
“Of course. I’ll merely tell him that these are my impressions of the thane.”
“Thank you.”
She considered asking the minister how much longer he thought the duke of Thorald would live, but some questions lay beyond the bounds of propriety, even for the highest-ranking Qirsi in the land.
Rather, she sensed that he was eager to rejoin his lord, so that they might share what they had learned from the king and from Keziah. “Was there more you wished to ask me, Minister?” she said. “Or am I free to return to the king?”
Before Xiv could answer, the city bells began to echo through the castle ward. Keziah glanced up at the sun. It was too early for the prior’s bells. “It seems the duke of Tremain has come,” she told him. “I should be at the gate to greet him.” She smiled. “Thank you for a most interesting conversation.”
She started to walk away, but Xivled called to her, making her face him again.
“I asked you before if you were a traitor,” he said. “You never answered me.” He wore a smile, but the archminister could see that he was keenly interested in her response, or more precisely, how she offered it.
“You’re right,” she answered, turning away once more. “I never did.”
With the arrival of the two lords, and the welcoming ceremonies and the grand feast planned for that evening, Audun’s Castle fairly hummed with activity. The royal guard marched to and from the city gates, accompanying the nobles and their ministers. Even in the prison tower, which was on the other side of the inner keep from the kitchen, Grinsa could hear the shouts of the kitchenmaster and smell the faint, appealing aromas of roasting meat and baking bread. And through it all, Cresenne slept, looking small and frail against the dingy linens on her bed. She flailed at times, crying out and raising her hands as if to ward off a blow, but she didn’t wake. The wounds on her ashen face, dark and ugly in the dim light of the chamber, seemed to scream at him, an accusation. How could you allow this to happen? You said you’d protect her. If only she told all she knew, you would do everything in your power to keep her safe, and the baby too. He spoke bravely of keeping the Weaver from hurting her again, but he knew that if the man was determined to harm her, even kill her, there was little anyone could do to stop him.
The gleaner would have liked to meet with Marston of Shanstead and Lathrop of Tremain himself, to hear how the king and Keziah presented all they had learned from Cresenne. But he refused to leave her side, or to trust care of Bryntelle to anyone else.
A turn before, hoping to compel Cresenne to tell all she knew about Brienne’s murder, he had threatened to take the child from her, to find a wet nurse in the city who might feed the babe. This day, he had been forced to do just that, not to punish Cresenne but to let her rest through Bryntelle’s feedings. The wet nurse came and went, answering Grinsa’s summons, suckling the child, then retreating to some unseen chamber to await word once more. It might have made more sense to let her remain in the tower-she was Qirsi as well, young and quiet and harmless-but Grinsa wanted to be alone with his family, just this once, while he still could.
After Bryntelle’s previous feeding, he had held her, walking slow circles around the chamber, whispering stories of his parents and his own childhood until she finally dropped off to sleep. During the past few days she had fallen asleep in his arms several times, but it still thrilled him. He continued to hold her and walk, watching the daylight fade and the chamber darken. He lost all sense of the time, but as the first stars appeared in the sky above Audun’s castle, barely visible through the narrow window in the prison chamber, the baby awoke again and began to cry.
Grinsa stepped to the chamber door and called softly to one of the guards. “Have the wet nurse brought again,” he whispered.