“You have my word.”
“Your word. Very well, Your Majesty. I suppose I have little choice. If you mean to kill me, there’s little I can do to stop you, so I might as well speak my mind. I don’t believe you deserve to sit on the throne. I have nothing against Glyndwr, nor did I have any reason to distrust you, until you granted asylum to the Curgh boy. But I believe that you and Javan have contrived to take the throne from Aindreas.”
“Then you’re a fool, Seamus. If Javan had wished to do such a thing, he would have done so in a way that enabled him to keep the crown for himself and his line. Remember, he abdicated, just as Aindreas did.”
“He had no choice in the matter. Had he attempted to take the throne after what his son did, it would have led immediately to civil war.”
“The boy didn’t do anything! We hold in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle a Qirsi woman who admits to hiring the assassin who killed Brienne. Demons and fire, man! Didn’t you even bother to read the missive I sent?”
“One more Qirsi deception. They’ve shown time and again that they can’t be trusted, and yet you’re so ready to believe this woman who came to your castle. You would seek any evidence, no matter how weak, to justify your faith in the Butcher of Curgh.”
Kearney closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “Why would she lie about this? The conspiracy wants you and Aindreas and the others to believe in Tavis’s guilt. They have no reason to offer proof to the contrary.”
“The Qirsi have been lying to us for too long, deluding us with false counsel, striking at us with hidden blades.” The duke’s eyes flicked toward Keziah. “We can only guess at what their purpose might be. Our only recourse is to stop relying on white-hairs entirely. Nothing they say can be trusted, and that includes this woman in your prison tower. Perhaps she seeks to save herself by telling you what you wish to hear. Or maybe she’s been ordered by her leaders to say these things. I don’t know. But I will not believe in Tavis’s innocence simply because a traitorous Qirsi says that I should.”
“Is that why your first minister isn’t here, Seamus? Have you lost faith in all your Qirsi?”
“Yes. To be honest, Your Majesty, I’m surprised and disappointed to find that you haven’t.”
Kearney opened his mouth, then stopped himself, glancing at Keziah with an apology in his green eyes. She knew that he wanted to defend her. “I still don’t understand this show of defiance,” he said instead. “Why not remain in your castle, and let us march past?”
“That,” the duke said, his eyes meeting the king’s, “would have been an act of cowardice.”
It seemed that Kearney didn’t know what to say. For as long as Keziah had known him, he had prided himself on his honor, his refusal to compromise his principles under any circumstance. Though Seamus had committed treason, and then had chosen to flaunt his defiance, there was a certain perverse dignity in this display. At last the king shook his head once more, a bitter smile on his lips. “You’re an ass, Seamus,” he muttered, and sheathed his sword.
The duke’s face reddened, but before he could answer, they heard voices raised in anger at the front of the column.
Kearney leveled a finger at Seamus. “Any blood spilled here is on your head!” Then he kicked at his mount and raced toward the commotion, Keziah and the duke following in his wake.
Near the front of the column, two men were wrestling on the ground, one wearing the colors of the king, the other obviously from Domnall. They had their daggers drawn and the duke’s man bore a deep gash on his shoulder. A large group of men, many of them with their swords drawn, had formed a ring around the two combatants. Kearney’s captains were shouting for the king’s men to stand down, but they had done nothing to separate the two who were fighting, and already other men were pairing off, preparing for combat. It wouldn’t take much for the confrontation to escalate into a full battle.
Reaching the ring of soldiers, Kearney didn’t hesitate. He swung himself off of his mount, pushed his way through the bystanders, and, drawing his sword, plunged the blade into the earth just beside the men’s heads.
The two fighters froze, twisting their necks to stare up at the king. All other conversations stopped.
“Get up!” Kearney said, his tone a match for the ice in his eyes.
Slowly, the two soldiers untangled themselves and stood, both of them looking as sheepish as chastised boys.
“Captain!”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Didn’t I tell you that these men were not to respond in any way to the duke’s soldiers?”
“You did, Your Majesty.”
“And did you convey those orders to the men?”
“Of course I did, Your Majesty.”
“Did you think that your captain’s commands didn’t apply to you?” Kearney asked the soldier.
“No, Your Majesty! But this man called you a milksop and-”
“I don’t care what he called me, and neither should you. This man and his duke intend to hide in their castle while we fight to defend the realm.” Kearney grinned and looked up at Seamus, who remained on his mount. “Why should it matter to us what any of them say?”
The soldier grinned in return. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Get these men moving again, Captain. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Seamus’s men were glaring at the king, but none of them said a word, nor did any dare to raise a weapon against him. Still, Keziah wished that Kearney would take to his mount again; he’d be safer in his saddle. The king appeared unconcerned.
“Lord Domnall,” he said, allowing his voice to carry. “I hereby declare you and your house to be in rebellion. I’ll take no action against you so long as your army remains in the dukedom, but any effort you make to journey beyond your lands will be considered an act of war against the realm and will be met appropriately. With one exception. You may march with us now to meet the invaders at Galdasten. If you do so, all this will be forgotten.”
The duke stared at him a moment, then clicked his tongue at his mount and steered the beast away, back toward his castle. He called out to one of his commanders, who began to shout commands at Domnall’s soldiers. Soon all of them were following their duke.
Kearney watched them go, his expression as bleak as Keziah had ever seen it, his sword lowered and seemingly forgotten.
“You were right when you called him an ass,” she said softly.
“Perhaps. But there’ll be others like him. And they may cost us everything.” He walked past her, and climbed onto his mount. “I suppose we should ride apart again.”
“It’s safest if we do.”
He nodded, casting one final look at Domnall castle before returning to the front of the column. Keziah turned her mount and started down the road with the last of Kearney’s soldiers. A moment later her guard fell in just behind her, still silent, his face like a stone wall. It was all Keziah could do not to rail at the man.
Kearney and his army managed to put several leagues between themselves and Domnall by the time daylight started to fail and they were forced to make camp. As usual, Keziah ate her supper alone, save for the reticent guard. After, she unrolled her sleeping roll and lay down, conscious of the guard doing the same a short distance away. Prior to leaving the City of Kings, Kearney had offered to have his men carry a tent for her, but the archminister refused. If the soldiers had to sleep beneath open skies, she reasoned, so would she. They carried a tent for Wenda, but the high minister was by far the oldest of the king’s Qirsi-Keziah didn’t begrudge her this small comfort. Indeed, had she realized how bothersome she would find the guard’s constant presence, she might have accepted Kearney’s offer herself.
The clouds that had covered the skies for the past several days had finally started to break up, and as they drifted overhead, like ice in the northern rivers, she could see an occasional star shining bright in the blackness beyond. The moons offered some light as well, Ilias’s.red glow blending with Panya’s white to give a rose cast to the grasses and boulders of the moor.