“What are these falls?” Diani asked in a hushed voice.
“Raven Falls, I believe,” the queen said. “I’d never go so far as to say that any realm was as beautiful as our own, but surely Eibithar comes closest.” She inhaled deeply, as if trying to breathe in the splendor. “We’ll rest here briefly before beginning the descent.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Abeni. “I’m afraid going down from the highlands will be no easier than the climb into them.”
A moment later they were joined by the dukes of Brugaosa and Norinde, the duchess of Macharzo, and their Qirsi.
Craeffe and Filtem still looked ill at ease atop their mounts, and Abeni took some solace in knowing that however much she would suffer on the way down from the highlands, they would suffer more. She shared their cause, but she had never liked either of the Qirsi, particularly Craeffe, who had long envied Abeni’s status as a chancellor in the Weaver’s movement. Fortunately, their mutual dislike made it far easier for them to spend time in each other’s company without drawing the attention of Olesya and her nobles. The real danger was not Diani or the queen-Abeni and her allies knew better than to say anything revealing in front of them. But the fourth Qirsi in their midst, Vanjad jal Qien, Brugaosa’s first minister, remained loyal to his lord and to the realm. As far as Abeni could tell, the man had never even considered whether his duke deserved such devotion. He was, in her mind, the worst kind of Qirsi traitor.
But he stood with them now, as the Eandi spoke among themselves, keeping Abeni from relating to Craeffe and Filtem what the Weaver had told her.
“I trust you slept well, cousin?” Abeni said, eyeing Craeffe.
The woman seemed as unprepared for her graciousness as Diani had been. “I suppose,” she said. And then as an afterthought, “You?”
“Actually, no. I had a dream that kept me awake for much of the night.”
Craeffe’s eyes widened, and she looked sharply at Filtem. After a moment, he gave a nod that was almost imperceptible.
“Minister,” he said, placing a hand lightly on Vanjad’s shoulder, “I wonder if I might have a word with you, in private.”
“Of course, cousin.”
The two men walked off a short distance, leaving Abeni alone with Craeffe, who would tell Filtem later all he needed to know.
Abeni and Macharzo’s minister gazed out at the distant Moorlands, the wind stirring their white hair. To anyone watching, they would have seemed to be discussing the terrain.
“The Weaver came to you?”
“Yes. Our conversation was brief, but quite illuminating.”
“Strange that he didn’t contact Filtem or me as well.”
Abeni smiled, as if the minister had said something amusing. “Actually, cousin, it’s not strange at all. This is precisely why he has chancellors in his movement. He told me knowing that I would, in turn, tell you.” She extended an arm, as if pointing at some feature of Eibithar’s landscape, and Craeffe nodded, though Abeni could see that the muscles in her jaw were bunched. “I’m surprised that after all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to this.”
“Just tell me what he said, and be done with it.”
Craeffe pointed at something else, and Abeni looked off in that direction, passing a hand casually through her hair.
“Very well.” The archminister related her conversation, repeating as best she could exactly what the Weaver had said about how they would know him on the battlefield, and how he would reach for their power. Speaking the words, she felt her excitement return in a rush; by the time she had finished, her hands were trembling, and her cheeks burned as if she were a love-struck girl.
For all her carefully rehearsed indifference, Craeffe could not entirely conceal her own astonishment at what she heard.
“How long did he say it would be?” she asked, breathless and grinning.
“He didn’t. He just said to look for him when we reached the Moorlands. For all we know, he’s already there.”
“I’ve been with the movement for some time now,” she whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this for even longer. But until now, I don’t think I ever really believed it would happen.” She looked at Abeni with a diffidence the archminister had never seen in her before. “Forgive me, Chancellor. I hope you understand.”
Abeni wasn’t certain what to say. It occurred to her that if the promise of seeing the Weaver could humble Craeffe ja Tref in this way, his powers must truly be great. But this she kept to herself. “I think I do understand, First Minister,” she said at last. “We’ve all been waiting so long. But we can’t allow our anticipation of what awaits us on the Moorlands to make us careless, not when we’re so close.”
Craeffe nodded. Were those tears glistening in her pale eyes?
“You’ll speak with Filtem?”
“Of course, Archminister.”
“What powers does he possess?”
“Gleaning, fire, and mists and winds,” she said. “And I have gleaning, fire, and shaping.”
Abeni nodded. “I have gleaning, shaping, and mists and winds. No wonder he’s so pleased that we’re together. Our powers blend quite well.”
Filtem and Vanjad were walking back in their direction, chatting amiably, though Filtem had an eye on Craeffe.
“Sorry to abandon you, cousins,” the minister said, grinning at them. “But occasionally the common interests of our dukes make it necessary for us to speak beyond the hearing of those who serve Sanbira’s matriarchs.”
It was a fine cover for what he had done. Norinde and Brugaosa were closely allied, in large part because the two dukes did not trust Olesya or her duchesses.
“You’re forgiven, cousin. At least this time.”
Vanjad gave an earnest look. “I assure you, Archminister, we spoke only of matters pertaining to our houses. We did not speak ill of the queen or those who serve her.”
“The thought never entered my mind, First Minister.”
A few moments later, the queen, her master of arms, and the nobles returned as well. Behind them, soldiers were climbing onto their mounts once more. Diani was regarding the ministers warily, as if she regretted going off with the queen and leaving the Qirsi to themselves.
Olesya swung herself onto her horse and glanced back at the ministers. “Are you ready to ride on, Archminister?”
“I am, Your Highness.”
The queen nodded and kicked at her mount.
Abeni gave a quick smile to Craeffe and the others. “See you at the bottom,” she said. She remounted and soon had pulled abreast of the queen and the duchess of Curlinte.
Diani refused to look at her, but Olesya glanced over, her dark eyes dancing.
“Judging from the way your fellow ministers looked, I gather that Qirsi don’t ride much.”
“Some do, Your Highness, but not many. Still you needn’t worry; I have no doubt that we’ll all manage the descent.”
“I should hope so. We’ll have need of you once we reach the Moorlands.”
Abeni had to smile. “We’ll be ready, Your Highness. You have my word on that.”
* * *
She knew the Qirsi was lying, that in fact everything the archminister said and did was a pretense intended to disguise her treachery. Diani was galled by every kind word that came from the woman’s mouth, every courtesy she extended to the queen or Sanbira’s other nobles. The duchess could almost see the blood staining her hands, the wraiths hovering at her shoulder, reminders of every murder committed in the name of the conspiracy. She looked at the woman, and she felt anew her grief over the garroting of her brother. She heard Abeni’s voice, obsequious and smooth, and she winced at the remembered pain of the arrows that had pierced her own flesh on the Curlinte headlands.