The swordmaster continued to glower at Marston, itching to draw his blade. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he managed, through clenched teeth.
He sketched a quick bow to the king, cast one last look at the thane, and strode to the door. Yanking it open, he glanced back at Kearney. “With all respect, Your Majesty, she deserves better.”
“I know,” the king said, and turned away.
Keziah had returned to her chamber and was searching through her wardrobe when she heard the knock at her door.
“Enter,” she called, pushing aside the ministerial robe she had worn in Glyndwr and a number of dresses she had stopped wearing when her affair with Kearney ended.
She heard the door open, the scrape of a boot on the stone floor of her bedchamber. Glancing back, she saw Gershon Trasker closing the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Before he could answer, she turned her attention back to the wardrobe. “Do you know if there are any mail coats in the armory that would fit someone my size? I had one, but I can’t find it. For that matter, I don’t see my sword here either.”
“We need to talk.”
The archminister frowned, stood up. “All right,” she said absently. She kept a small chest at the foot of her bed. It might have been in there.
“Keziah.”
She turned at that. Gershon almost never called her by name. Seeing his face, she felt a sudden tightness in her chest. His face was flushed, his lips pressed in a thin, hard line. For a moment she wondered if he had brought tidings of a death. She saw Grinsa’s face in her mind and began to tremble.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“It’s the king.”
“The king? What about him? Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine. But surely you’ve noticed that he’s been turning to the thane of Shanstead for counsel.”
“Yes, what of it?”
“And I’m sure you’ve noticed as well that Marston has little regard for your people, that he’s quick to question the loyalty of every Qirsi he meets.”
“Yes, swordmaster, I’ve noticed,” she said, her patience wearing thin. “Now for pity’s sake, tell me what this is about!”
He held her gaze for but a moment before averting his eyes. She noticed that his hands were shaking. “The king has decided that the woman has to leave Audun’s Castle. He wants her sent to Glyndwr.”
“You mean Cresenne?”
He nodded.
“But that makes no-”
“Wait. There’s more to it than that. He wants you to escort her there. This isn’t about her at all. The thane has convinced him that you aren’t to be trusted, that in fact you’re a threat to Kearney and the realm.”
The tightness in her chest was suddenly an ache so unbearable she could hardly draw breath.
“He wants to send me away?” She felt tears on her face, but she ignored them. Her entire body was trembling. How had it gotten so cold so quickly?
“It’s Marston making him do it,” Gershon told her bitterly.
She tried to force her mind past the hurt and the grief. This was important in ways that went far beyond her heartache, she knew it was. But all she could think about was the fact that Kearney had chosen to banish her from his castle. Not too long ago they had been in love; now he couldn’t even stand to have her near him.
“This is all my fault,” she murmured. “I made him do this.”
“Archminister-”
“Marston didn’t do this, I did.”
“Keziah, you have to listen to me.”
She looked at him, his face a blur through her tears.
“Think for a moment. What will the Weaver do if you’re sent away from Kearney’s court?”
Yes, the Weaver. That was it. She swiped at her tears with an open hand, trying to clear her mind.
“Keziah?”
“Yes, I know. The Weaver.” She swallowed, took a breath. “He won’t be pleased. He told me some time ago that if the king sent me away, or if I lost Kearney’s trust entirely, I’d no longer be of use to the movement. He didn’t say what he’d do if that happened, but I can imagine.”
“As can I.”
She was trembling still, but now out of fear rather than anguish. She was terrified of the Weaver and what he would do to her if he ever learned the true reason she had joined his movement. But already her mind had turned to Cresenne ja Terba, the woman who had betrayed Grinsa, her brother. The woman who had also given birth to his daughter, Keziah’s niece. “There’s more to this than you know. The Weaver has commanded me to kill Cresenne.”
The swordmaster’s eyes widened. “Demons and fire.”
“As long as we’re both in the castle, she in the prison tower under the watch of Kearney’s men, I can make excuses for not doing so. But as soon as we leave the City of Kings together, I won’t be able to delay any longer.”
“And if you fail him in this?”
“He’ll kill us both. I’m certain of it.”
“Then you have no choice. You have to tell the king.”
“Tell him what?”
“Everything, of course. Your belief that Paegar was a traitor, your decision to draw the attention of the movement, your efforts to win the Weaver’s trust. All of it.”
Keziah shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“You have to!” He crossed to where she stood. “I don’t give a damn about the other woman. I understand that she’s important to the gleaner, and therefore to you. I even understand that having given his word to guard her, the king can’t very well turn around and order her execution. But in my mind, that’s what she deserves. She’s a traitor, and a murderer, and she’s almost solely responsible for the divisions that have weakened this realm. To be honest, I’d gladly kill her myself. You, though-you’re a different matter. You’ve put your life at risk in order to serve the king and save our land.”
At another moment, hearing the swordmaster speak to her so might have moved her. They had spent years hating each other, vying with one another in the court of Glyndwr for Kearney’s ear. They might never truly be friends, but clearly she had earned the man’s respect.
“That’s why we can’t tell Kearney any of this!” she said, pleading with him. “If he knows, he’ll treat me differently and someone’s bound to notice. We have to find some other way to convince him that I should remain here.”
“There is no other way. He’s ordered me to prepare you and the woman for the journey to Glyndwr. You’re to leave two mornings hence. Either we tell him now-”
“No.” She was crying again, shivering as if from a frigid wind. If only Grinsa had stayed. Kearney could send Keziah away without endangering Cresenne and the baby. She would still have had this ache in her chest-leaving Kearney would never be easy. But it might also have come as a relief. Better to render herself superfluous to the Weaver and his movement than continue to endure the king’s contempt and mistrust. Yes, it might mean her death, but she wasn’t certain that she cared anymore. She was so weary. For too long she had been lying to her king, lying to the Weaver, harboring secrets that could get her killed. She just wanted it all to end. “I won’t tell him,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Demons and fire, woman! Do you intend to let the Weaver kill you? Is that it?”
When she didn’t answer, his eyes grew wide. “That’s just what you intend, isn’t it?”
She turned her back to him and stared out the window.
“And will you let him kill the woman as well? And her child?”
“He won’t do anything to the child.”
“You mean aside from killing her mother.”
“What if I offered to leave without Cresenne and Bryntelle? You said before that this wasn’t about her. Would he be satisfied if I left alone?”
“He might. I’m not really sure. I think Marston would object, but I might be able to prevail upon the king to allow it anyway.”
“Would you do that?”
“No.”
She whirled toward him. “Why not?” she demanded, hardly believing that he would refuse her.