"I know. But at least they'd still be alive. If this doesn't work, we can try something else. But for now, the important thing is that we convince the n'qlae to help us. Do you think we can?"
Cresenne nodded. "I don't know, but we should try. You should also speak with Besh and Sirj, to prepare them. As I said, they're not going to like this."
"I will," he said. "Tomorrow."
"What if E'Menua executes them tonight?"
"He won't," Grinsa said. "He'll want to make a spectacle of it. He'll want to use their deaths to humiliate me."
She nodded. "You're probably right."
They stood looking at each other. After a moment, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"It wasn't supposed to be this complicated," she said.
He smiled sadly. "No, it wasn't."
Bryntelle gave a small squeal at something she'd done with the stick. This time Grinsa's smile was full and genuine. He bent down and scooped the child into his arms. She squealed again, and he kissed her cheek.
"We have smoked rilda meat," Cresenne said. "And silverroot. Let's have supper like any other Fal'Borna family, and pretend none of this is happening. At least for a little while."
"That sounds nice," Grinsa said. "Doesn't it, Bryntelle?" Bryntelle brushed his nose with her hand and laughed. "She thinks so, too," Grinsa said, turning to Cresenne.
She was smiling. "It's nice to see the two of you together again. I'd like to see more of that."
"Me, too."
Grinsa carried an armful of firewood into the z'kal. Before long the silver-root was boiling on a low fire, and the aroma of watermint and thyme filled the shelter. He and Cresenne ate a quiet dinner and after putting Bryntelle to sleep, they slipped out of their clothes and lay together on the small pallet, surrendering to their passion once more. He had missed everything about her-the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the softness of her hair.
"This concubine thing has its advantages," Cresenne said after, her head resting on his chest, her eyes closed.
"I was thinking the same thing."
She smiled, but said nothing. A few moments later, she started slightly, seeming to rouse herself.
"I'm falling asleep," she murmured.
"You should," he told her. "There's no reason why both of us need to stay up all night."
"I should be up with you, though."
"No. Sleep. I'll be all right. And you'll need to get up with Bryntelle in the morning."
She took a breath, then raised her head to look him in the eye. "All right," she said, sounding more awake. She kissed him softly on the lips, rolled off of him, and lay beside him, her eyes open and reflecting the faint firelight. "You think this will work?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm running out of ideas."
Cresenne nodded. "Wake me if you need me."
"I will."
Grinsa rose from the pallet, pulled on his clothes again, and stepped out into the cold night air. Clouds hung low over the sept, obscuring the stars but glowing slightly with the light of Panya and Ilias, the two moons. The sept was quiet save for the occasional whinny of a horse and a low thread of laughter coming from a nearby shelter. He pulled his overshirt tight around his shoulders and sat on a log by the z'kal.
Closing his eyes, he reached forth with his magic, seeking out the magic of the Weavers nearest to him. He sensed Q'Daer immediately, and then a second similar presence who must have been L'Norr. E'Menua and D'Pera were together, of course. He hesitated, deeply conscious of the risk he was taking. Then he stepped into the n'qlae's dreams, as a Weaver could.
Whenever he had used this magic to speak with Cresenne or his sister, Keziah, he had used the same setting: a stretch of the Caerissan Steppe near where he grew up in the kingdom of Eibithar in the Forelands. It was familiar to him, just as it had been to Kezi, and it was similar enough to the lands in Wethyrn, where Cresenne spent her youth, to be familiar to her as well. But it would have been utterly alien to the n'qlae, and that would make what was bound to be an unnerving encounter for her even more difficult. Instead, he summoned an image of the Central Plain here in the Southlands. It was an imperfect image; he didn't know this land well enough to get the setting just right. But it would serve his purpose.
As soon as he reached into the n'qlae's mind with his magic, he saw her in the dream landscape he had conjured. She stood before him wrapped in a blanket and nothing more. She turned a quick circle, looking to see who had entered her dreams. When she spotted him, her pale eyes blazed.
"How dare you!" she said. "Leave me at once!"
"I'm sorry, N'Qlae," he answered, keeping his voice low and even. "I can't do that. I need to speak with you, and I don't want the a'laq overhearing our conversation or seeing us together."
"And you think I won't tell him as soon as I wake up?"
"No, I don't."
"Then you're a fool."
"You don't want those men killed. And you don't want the magic you used to get Besh to tell the truth to be the reason he dies."
She looked away, her lips pressed so thin that they had whitened. "I don't know what your woman told you, but if you think that I'll defy my husband, that I'll let you disgrace him in front of the entire sept, you're wrong."
"That's exactly what Cresenne told me you'd say. She knows how much you love E'Menua, and I know that he's revered by every man and woman in the sept." He smiled. "Don't you see? That's why I've come to you this way. I don't want to embarrass him, and I don't want another open conflict with him."
She appeared to consider this. "What is it you do want?" she asked at last. "You know that he can't turn around and declare the Mettai our friends," she went on before Grinsa could respond. "Not after what the older one said."
"You mean what the a'laq made him say."
D'Pera stared back at him.
"You're right," he said after a brief silence. "I do know that he can't pretend none of this ever happened. For better or worse, the warriors guarding the Mettai heard Besh say those things. But you and I both know that Besh wouldn't have said any of it without E'Menua's interference."
Again she didn't answer.
"You'd let him get away with this, wouldn't you? You'd let these two men die, even though you know them to be innocent of any crime against your people. And you'd do this simply because E'Menua wants it. He's like a willful child whose parents would rather coddle than discipline."
"That's my a'laq you're talking about!" D'Pera said, her voice rising.
Grinsa let out a short, sharp laugh. "Yes, I know. Q'Daer has said the same thing to me a few times now. It seems I'm not as impressed by that as the rest of you."
"You're not Fal'Borna. You can't possibly understand what an a'laq means to his people."
"No, I don't suppose I can. But coming from the Forelands I know that it's possible for Eandi and Qirsi to live together, to build friendships." He faltered, but only briefly. "Aside from Cresenne, no one in the Southlands knows this about me, but I was once married to an Eandi woman."
She looked at him with a mix of disgust and horror. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to understand why I'm fighting for these men. I actually understand what it means to be Fal'Borna better than you think. I've learned a lot in the past few turns. But your people seem to think that this is the only way to live, and it's not. Besh and Sirj have risked their lives time and again to protect the Y'Qatt and the Fal'Borna from the curse that the Mettai witch set upon you. Despite the color of their eyes and color of your hair, despite the Blood Wars, they gave up everything to save the lives of complete strangers who they've been taught to hate since they were children.