The Weaver felt his smile fade. He had spoken of gold to many others within the movement, but had hoped that it would not be necessary with this woman. “Is that why you agreed to serve me? To grow rich?”
He read Keziah’s retreat in the widening of her eyes and the coloring of her cheeks. “No, Weaver. I never-”
“This is a war, Archminister We fight to free ourselves of the Eandi, to break their hold on the Forelands. We fight for our children and the generations that follow, so that they might grow up in a land where they can aspire to be kings and nobles rather than servants and Revel clowns. Service to our people should be compensation enough. Victory will be our reward.”
“Of course, Weaver,” she said, staring at the ground, looking abashed “Please forgive me ”
“You’ve already received a good deal of gold,” he went on, softening his tone. “And in time you will receive more. Eandi nobles shouldn’t be the only ones who know the joys of wealth But you must be patient. When you’ve proven yourself to me, when I know a bit more about you, I’ll be happy to send you more gold.”
The woman looked up “When you know more about me?”
“We’ve made a good start tonight, and as your service to the movement continues, so will our understanding of each other. I make it a point to learn as much as possible about those who serve me. The more I know about you, the better I can use you to achieve our goals.”
He felt her apprehension flare like distant lightning. “This troubles you ”
“I-I don’t want others to learn that my father was a Weaver. I’m sorry, Weaver, but I fear for my life. I know that you live with this fear each day, but I thought when he died…”
“That the secret would die with him?”
She nodded.
“I understand. Rest easy, Archminister. Those upon whom I rely for such information know to be discreet, just as they know that if they fail me in any way, they’ll die. You have my word, they will guard your secret. And of course, I will as well.”
“Yes, Weaver. Thank you.”
She was still afraid, but that would pass with time. He could offer her no more assurances. He sensed that dawn was approaching, and he knew that his magic would fail him if he remained with her much longer.
“The night is almost done,” he said “We’ll speak again soon. For now, I want you to begin winning back the trust of your king. I’ll have other tasks for you shortly, but none is more important than this Do you understand?”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“Until next time then.”
He released her, and was aware once more of the chair and the fire and the sounds of the palace awakening. He opened his eyes and stood too quickly, so that the chamber pitched and rolled like a ship caught in a harvest storm He had demanded too much of himself this night. He needed to rest, but already he could see the first light of day seeping through the shutters that covered his window. Harel would be awake soon, summoning him to the imperial chambers, forcing the high chancellor to listen to his foolish prattle. As far as Dusaan was concerned, the invasion and all that would follow couldn’t come soon enough Feeling a bit more steady on his feet, he poured himself another cup of water and reflected on the conversations that had occupied his night. Only then did he grasp the significance of what he had done Four dreams, four women Among followers of the Old Faith, it was said that the gods always worked in fours The world began with the four ancient ones, Morna, Bian, Amon, and Ehned, and followed a cycle of four seasons, the snows, the planting, the growing, and the harvest. Determinings took place when a child turned twelve and Fatings four years later, at sixteen.
It was an omen, but for good or ill, Dusaan couldn’t say. He saw great promise in all of them, but peril as well If Jastanne found a way to control Aindreas, to make him a reliable tool for the movement, they might be able to bring civil war to Eibithar, their success atoning for Shunk’s failure at the siege. Still, though he had much faith in Jastanne, Dusaan disliked relying on any Eandi, particularly one as dangerous as the duke of Kentigern.
Yaella had served him well for several years, but the Weaver could not help but wonder how Shunk’s death would affect her What if her suspicions of him lingered beyond this night? And what if Cresenne’s love of the Revel gleaner proved more powerful than her devotion to the movement and her fear of Dusaan? He had little doubt that she would find Gnnsa, but he couldn’t say with any certainty what she would do once they were together.
All of which brought him to Kearney’s archminister. Dusaan and Keziah had much in common. They were the highest-ranking Qirsi in the two most powerful realms of the Forelands Both knew what it was to harbor a secret, one that would bring execution were it revealed. True, she wasn’t a Weaver herself. But to be the daughter of a Weaver was no less dangerous. In many ways it was more so, since she hadn’t a Weaver’s powers to draw upon in case the Eandi learned the truth There remained so much that he didn’t know about her, but that would change soon. Already one of his chancellors, another merchant captain who frequented the ports of the eastern Forelands, including those near Keziah’s old home in Eardley, had begun to learn what he could of the woman. Dusaan suspected that before long, Keziah ja Dafydd would prove more important to the success of his movement than any other Qirsi in the seven realms.
Certainly one of them would. There had been four of them, and the gods worked in fours One of these women would help him carry the Qirsi movement to glory. Even as he formed the thought, however, he heard an echo in his mind, as if the gods themselves were warning him Perhaps to glory, their voices seemed to say Or else to ruin.
Chapter Thirty-five
North edge of the Moors of Durril, Aneira
It had been five days since their encounter with the singer in Mertesse, five days since their hasty departure from the inn at which they had been staying, five days since Tavis had spoken a word to him. They had traveled a good distance in that time, skirting Mertesse Forest as they walked eastward, putting as many leagues as possible between themselves and the assassin. Tavis had made no effort to slow their progress, though Gnnsa knew that the boy wanted to return to the walled city and face the singer again Perhaps he realized that he had little hope of besting the man a second time, that if he tried again, he’d be killed. If so, he must also have known that Gnnsa had cost him the best opportunity he might ever have to avenge Bnenne’s death. Whatever the reason, he walked when Gnnsa asked him to, stopped when the Qirsi did, and ate what food he could find in his carry sack, all the while refusing even to meet Gnnsa’s gaze.
For his part, the gleaner had tried to justify his choice every waking hour since leaving the walled city He did more that night than stop Tavis from taking his revenge and possibly reclaiming his place in the Order of Ascension. He kept the boy from killing an assassin, a man who was as certain to murder again as Ihas was to follow Panya into the night sky, a man who had sold his blade to the conspiracy and would likely do so again. And for what? So that this assassin might kill Shunk and preserve Gnnsa’s secret. The gleaner didn’t need Tavis’s bitter silence and smoldering glare to make him question the choice he had made His own doubts were almost more burden than he could bear He tried to convince himself that Shunk’s death had been necessary, if not for himself, then for Keziah. “If the Weaver contacts him we’re lost,” she had said several nights before, confirming what he already knew to be true. “Just kill him and get out of Mertesse.” Little did she know that he would find a way to kill Shunk without having to raise the blade himself.
In recent days he had come to understand that it was this last point, his reliance on the singer, that lay at the core of his guilt Not that he had let an assassin live, or that he had allowed a man to be killed, but rather that he had not killed Shunk himself. He didn’t question that it had been the safest course, nor did he think that Keziah would fault him for his choice. He had no doubt that the assassin would find a way to enter the castle, kill the traitor, and escape with his life His own chances of success would have been far less certain. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling that he had taken the coward’s way out, at a terrible cost to the boy.