“The child can live,” he said.
Keziah’s relief was palpable. “That would make this easier.”
He nodded. “Good. Do you understand what I expect of you?”
“I do, Weaver.”
“Then the next time we speak, I expect to hear that she’s dead.”
“It will take me some time, Weaver. If I’m to win the gleaner’s trust-”
“You’ve already befriended the woman, and she trusts the gleaner. That should make it much easier for you, and quicker as well. I’ll allow you some time, but every day she lives, she further weakens the movement, endangering all of our lives and the cause for which we’re fighting. I won’t tolerate much delay.”
She took a breath, nodded. “I understand, Weaver.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
Dusaan opened his eyes to the dim golden light of his chamber. The fire had burned low again, but he didn’t bother to add more wood. Instead, he rose from the chair, stretched, and crossed the chamber to his bed. Dawn was still a few hours off, and after all that had happened the previous night he needed at least some sleep.
Before he could lie down, however, someone knocked at his door. For just a moment he had an urge to reach for his dagger, though his powers were all the protection he needed. The knock came a second time.
“Who’s there?” he called.
“Nitara.”
The underminister. Why would she come to his bedchamber at this hour?
He pulled open the door. She stood before him in a sleeping shift, torch fire reflected in her pale eyes, her hair hanging loose to her shoulders.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The woman faltered, as if unsure of why she had come to his chamber. “I–I wish to speak with you.”
“Now?”
She swallowed, then, “I know who you are, what you are.”
He should have known what to say to this. He should have had some response. But he could only stare back at her, wondering whether to be alarmed or relieved.
More than a turn had passed since Nitara and Kayiv had spoken with the high chancellor about the Qirsi movement. As the chancellor promised, they had each received a payment of gold several days later: one hundred imperial qinde apiece, left on their beds in small leather pouches. The following day, she and Kayiv spoke in private with the high chancellor a second time, though their conversation lasted only long enough for Dusaan to confirm that they had been paid and to promise them that they would soon be called upon to complete some small task. Neither of the ministers had heard anything since.
Kayiv seemed relieved by this-his doubts about the conspiracy and the high chancellor had only grown with the passage of time, forcing Nitara to wonder if he was truly the man she had once believed him to be. He spoke now of the need to find a path to peace, of the dangers the conspiracy presented to all Qirsi in the Forelands. He never said such things in front of the chancellor, of course. He was no fool. Still, she found herself losing patience with his misgivings and his cowardice.
For her part, Nitara was eager to take action on the movement’s behalf. She almost didn’t care what it was, so long as she had the opportunity to do something. She had been waiting for so long to strike at the courts. Listening to Kayiv feet like an old man, she felt her own fervor for the movement growing, until it seemed that every word he spoke against the conspiracy fueled her own hatred of the Eandi and their allies among her people.
She remained fond of him, and she thought him a skilled lover, but had there been other men of interest to her in the emperor’s palace, she would already have turned him from her bed.
This at least is what she told herself. For as it happened, there was one man with whom she had become fascinated in the past turn. The high chancellor himself.
She had never seen a Qirsi who looked as he did: tall as a king, broad in the chest and shoulders, like an Eandi warrior, with wild white hair and eyes as golden as the coins she had hidden beneath her bed. A part of her was ashamed that she should find herself drawn to a man in part because he possessed physical strength more characteristic of the Eandi than the Qirsi. But she saw in his formidable presence and regal features the future of her people, the promise of victory in the coming war. She could no more keep herself from imagining his face as she lay with Kayiv than she could stop counting the gold each night before she slept, running her fingers over the smooth edges of the coins as if they were a lover’s lips.
Even before he revealed to them his involvement in the movement, she had thought him handsome. But she had not allowed herself more than that. He was high chancellor, she had told herself. He had no time for her, no inclination to look at her as anything more than another of his underlings. And back then she had been satisfied to pass her nights in Kayiv’s arms.
As she grew more consumed with her desire for the man, other thoughts began to intrude on her as well, so that it seemed the high chancellor haunted her dreams at night and occupied every waking moment. These thoughts were more dangerous than mere passion, and more intriguing as well.
The movement was led by a Weaver, he had told them, a man who could walk in the dreams of those who served him. All of them answered to this Weaver, and it was this man, not the high chancellor, who would lead them to the glorious future they had envisioned. Except that Nitara couldn’t imagine the high chancellor answering to anyone, not even a Weaver. Indeed, the more she considered the matter, the more she wondered if Dusaan himself were the movement’s leader. He was the highest-ranking Qirsi in the most powerful realm in the Forelands. Who better to lead a movement that would strike at the Eandi courts? More to the point, how many other Qirsi, regardless of his or her powers, would have the resources and knowledge necessary to create such a movement, to pay those who joined it, and to direct others to strike at the weaknesses of the other realms? It had to be Dusaan. He had access to the emperor’s treasury, and he knew more about Braedon’s rivals than any man in the empire, including Harel. Such a man wouldn’t have taken orders from some festival Qirsi, even if that person were a Weaver, nor would he have allowed himself to be ordered about by a court Qirsi from a lesser realm. He was too proud, too convinced of his own superiority. And why not? He was brilliant and strong and he looked like a king.
Nitara had considered all of this for some time now, and she no longer doubted that Dusaan, despite all that he had told her and Kayiv, was the movement’s leader. But that left her to question whether he had invented for their benefit this Weaver of whom he spoke. He would have good reason for doing so. By telling them that a Weaver led the movement, he not only convinced them that he was a mere soldier in a greater cause but he also fueled their belief that the movement could prevail against the armies of the courts.
Reflecting on all the high chancellor had told them that day, however, Nitara couldn’t bring herself to believe this. She had sensed through much of their conversation that Dusaan was not telling them everything. Kayiv had the same impression and had feared ever since that Dusaan had lied to them, hoping to expose them as traitors. She knew he was wrong, but only when she recalled how he had spoken of the Weaver did she begin to sense how wrong he had been.
“None of those who serve him know his name or where he can be found,” Dusaan had said. None of those. Not, none of us.
It could have been nothing. But the high chancellor was not a man to choose his words carelessly, particularly on a matter of such importance.
She knew little of Weavers beyond what the legends told of their magic. They were the most powerful of all Qirsi, sorcerers who could meld the power of many into a single weapon. This was why they had been chosen to lead the Qirsi invasion nine centuries before, and this was why the Eandi, upon defeating the Qirsi army, had vowed to kill all Weavers in the Forelands, a practice that continued to this day. She knew no more than that. But didn’t it make sense that Qirsi who wielded such magic should be strong in other ways as well? Wasn’t it possible that when she told herself that Dusaan looked like a king, she meant to say that he looked like a Weaver?