“No,” the gleaner said quietly. “But I didn’t suspect Cresenne either. And she and I shared a bed.”
They stepped into the great hall a few moments later. The other ministers had already arrived and they turned toward the doorway when Fotir and Grinsa entered, several of them eyeing the gleaner warily.
“What’s he doing here?” asked Dyre jal Frinval, one of the king’s high ministers.
“This is Grinsa jal Arriet,” Fotir said. “He knows the Qirsi woman being held in your prison tower, and he’s spent the last several turns traveling with Lord Tavis, guarding the boy’s life. I asked him to join us.”
“This isn’t Curgh, cousin. I don’t care who he is or what he’s done, you had no right to bring him, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“It’s all right, High Minister,” the archminster broke in. “I see no reason why the gleaner shouldn’t join us.”
“You can’t be serious,” Dyre said. “As the First Minister just said, this man has ties to both Tavis, who may be a murderer, and this woman who bore his child, who admits to being a traitor. Isn’t that reason enough?”
Fotir couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You still think Tavis is a murderer? Even after hearing of the woman’s confession?”
“I don’t know what to believe. Your friend there brought the woman to us, perhaps hoping that the king would take pity on her because of her child. This could all be a Curgh trick, intended to establish Tavis’s innocence.”
The others were watching Dyre, looking uncomfortable. But none of them disputed anything he had said.
Fotir chanced a look at Grinsa, expecting the gleaner to be beside himself with rage, just as Fotir would have been had the minister said such things about him. Instead, Grinsa wore a small smile, as if all of this amused him.
“And what of the attack on the woman two nights ago?” the archminister asked. “Was that a trick as well?”
Dyre shifted in his chair. “I don’t know what that was.”
“Then let me tell you,” Grinsa said. “It was an attempt to silence her by the conspiracy’s leader. He wanted her to suffer first, before he killed her, so he entered her dreams and used her own magic to shatter her hand and carve gashes in her face.”
“How can you know this?” Dyre demanded.
“Cresenne told me so,” the gleaner answered. “And it’s the only explanation that makes any sense. The guards saw the wounds open on her face-there was no blade, there was no intruder. Only the woman and her dreams.”
“So the movement is led by a Weaver.”
They all turned to look at Tremain’s first minister, Evetta ja Rudek. She had paled noticeably, her fear written plainly on her soft features.
Keziah nodded. “It is. We learned this from Cresenne as well.”
“Do we know the name of this Weaver?” Xivled asked. “Or where he can be found?”
“Not yet.”
“She hasn’t told you?”
“She doesn’t know,” Grinsa said.
Dyre looked skeptical. “Or so she claims.”
The gleaner glared at him. “Don’t be a fool. You honestly believe that she would still defend this man after what he did to her? She’s forced now to sleep by day, because she fears that if the Weaver comes to her again he’ll kill her. And because her child needs to be nursed and cared for, she’s forced to have the baby sleep during the day as well. She wants us to find him. She wants him dead. And if a minister of Eibithar’s king is too blinded by suspicion to see that then I fear for the realm.”
“How dare you speak to me so! You, a Revel gleaner-”
“Stop it,” the archminister said, her voice flat, as if she were too tired to grow angry with them. “Both of you.” She cast a reproachful look at Grinsa before facing the high minister. “I don’t believe she’s lying about this, Dyre. Grinsa’s right. She’s frightened. If she knew anything that could help us defeat the Weaver, she’d gladly tell us so.”
The high minister didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, conceding the point.
Keziah turned to Xivled. “Minister, it’s because of you that we’re here. Perhaps you’d like to lead our discussion.”
“It was your idea to meet separately from our lords?” Fotir asked.
“Actually it was Lord Shanstead’s idea.”
Dyre sat forward, grinning darkly. “Doesn’t he trust you, cousin?”
“Like so many of us today, High Minister, my lord isn’t certain whom he can trust. Recent events in Thorald have left him. . troubled. He thought it best not to risk giving any more information to the conspiracy than was necessary.” He faced Keziah again. “As to leading our discussion, Archminister, I’d first like to know all that you can tell us about this woman who sits in your prison tower and what you’ve learned from her of the conspiracy.”
Keziah nodded, taking a long breath. Then she began to speak, and for some time, the other ministers merely listened as she told them of Cresenne’s role in the killing of Lady Brienne, and her description of the Qirsi movement, its network of couriers for delivering gold, and the Weaver who led it. Long after she finished, the Qirsi continued to sit in silence, as if trying to absorb all she had said.
“Forgive me for asking this,” Evetta said at last, her eyes on Grinsa, “but you believe all that she’s told you? Don’t you think it’s possible that she’s making up some of these details in the hope that it will give the king reason to keep her alive?”
“I do believe her,” Grinsa said. “Even had I not before the attack on her, I would now. The Weaver wants her dead, which tells me that he fears her, that he doesn’t want her telling us more than she already has.”
Evetta nodded, seeming satisfied with his reply.
Xivled sat back, pressing his fingertips together. “When my Thorald first minister died, she had over two hundred qinde hidden in her chamber. Because of this, Lord Shanstead and I came to the conclusion that if we can find the source of the Qirsi gold we’ll be able to find the people who lead the movement. What you’ve told us of the couriers only serves to make me that much more certain of this.”
“I’ve thought much the same thing,” the archminister said.
Wenda ja Baul, another of Kearney’s high ministers, looked from one of them to the other “How would we do that?”
“By joining the conspiracy ourselves,” Xivled said. He and Fotir shared a brief look. They had spoken of this before, during Qirsar’s turn, when Fotir and his duke journeyed to Thorald to speak with Tobbar and Marston. They had agreed then that if one of them could join the movement, it would allow them to learn a great deal about its leaders and its weaknesses. Xivled had raised this possibility with the thane only to have Marston reject the idea as too dangerous.
Evetta shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”
“It makes a good deal of sense to me,” Grinsa said. “There are risks, to be sure, but think of how much we could learn.”
“There isn’t a lord in the Forelands who would allow such a thing.”
“Sometimes,” the archminister said, staring at her hands, “we have to defy our lords in order to do what’s best for them.”
“Meaning what?” Evetta demanded. “You actually think this is a good idea?”
“I believe it’s worth considering.”
But Fotir thought the archminister meant even more than that. It occurred to him in that moment that she had already made up her mind to try this, that perhaps she had already succeeded in contacting the movement. His first response to the notion was to wonder how she could have been so foolish. Had it been Xivled, he wouldn’t have felt so; Xivled, if he failed, brought danger only to the court of Shanstead. If Keziah failed, she endangered the royal court of Eibithar. Still, he could not help but be impressed as well by her bravery. She was small and slight, with a face so youthful that he found it hard to imagine her in the court of a king, much less as archminister. And yet, it seemed possible that she had taken it upon herself to challenge a Weaver.
Evetta looked imploringly at the other ministers. “Please tell me that I’m not the only one who believes this to be sheer folly.”