“The gleaner’s right, Archminister. Neither of us thinks you a fool, nor do any of us question your courage. But what you propose is lunacy.”
“So now you think me mad?” She laughed, though it sounded forced and, Fotir had to admit, just a bit crazed. “That’s hardly more flattering, Your Majesty.”
“Keziah, if you’d just listen for a moment-”
“No. The king asked Fotir to join us so that he might render an opinion. We should let him.”
“I’m not certain that I want to get in the middle of this.”
Grinsa glanced at him, shaking his head. “I’m certain that you don’t.”
“Come now, First Minister. You were brave enough to rescue me once. Surely you won’t hesitate to do so again.”
Fotir felt his face redden. It was far too close to what he himself had been thinking not long ago. “I don’t wish to put myself between you and the king, Archminister,” he said, and immediately regretted his choice of words.
Keziah regarded him for a moment, then turned to her brother.
“That feels much better, Grinsa. I’m grateful.”
The gleaner nodded, still looking grim.
“Let me tell you what it is I want to do,” she said, facing the first minister again. “And if you truly feel that I’m foolish-” She cast a quick look at Kearney. “Or mad-then I’ll relent.”
“All right.”
“You know that I’ve joined the Weaver’s movement, or at least feigned doing so in order to win his trust. You also know what he did to Cresenne when she betrayed him, and so you have some idea of what he’ll do to me when he learns that I’ve been deceiving him all this time.”
Fotir nodded, shuddering at the memory of Cresenne’s scars.
“Now that the other, true traitors among us are dead, I’m apparently the only one of his servants remaining on this plain. He’ll be suspicious of this, of me, especially since he ordered me to kill the king, and the king still lives.”
“You expect him to enter your dreams tonight?”
“We expect him and his army to reach us tomorrow. I’d be very surprised if he didn’t come to me before morning.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t sleep at all tonight,” Grinsa said. “By this time tomorrow, all of this will be over, for good or bad. Why risk dreaming of him at all?”
Fotir had to admit that the gleaner made a good point.
“You agree with him,” Keziah said, eyeing the minister, a pained expression on her face.
“I don’t know yet what you propose, Archminister. I’ll make no judgments until I do.”
She looked relieved. “Thank you. I think we should let him enter my dreams, and I think Grinsa should be there as well.”
“Is that possible?” Fotir asked, looking from Keziah to the gleaner.
“She wants me to use her mind to strike at him, to make her dreams into a battlefield.”
“He asked if it was possible, Grinsa, and you know that it is. We both do.”
Fotir sensed that there was far more at work here than there appeared, but he didn’t presume to ask questions. What Keziah suggested struck him as extraordinarily dangerous, but also cunning. If Grinsa managed to hurt the Weaver in this way, or-dare he think it? — kill the man, it might save thousands of lives.
“Can you fight him as she says?” Fotir asked.
Grinsa nodded reluctantly. “I believe it’s possible, but only at terrible risk to her.”
Fotir could tell from the look in the gleaner’s eyes and the tone of his voice that there was more at work here than just concern for his sister. Grinsa feared the Weaver. He didn’t believe fully in his ability to defeat the man, be it in Keziah’s mind or on the battle plain.
“If it seems the battle isn’t going your way, can you wake her in time?”
“You would actually consider this, First Minister?”
Fotir faced the king. “I share your concern, Your Majesty.” I love her, too. “But I see much promise in Keziah’s idea. If the Weaver can be defeated in this way-”
“We don’t know that he can!”
Keziah placed her healed hand on the gleaner’s arm. “Let him finish, Grinsa.”
“If he can be,” Fotir went on, “and this war can be prevented, it might be worth the risk.”
“And what if I fail? What if I’m not strong enough to defeat him or even to protect her?”
“If you can’t defeat him,” Keziah said, drawing Grinsa’s gaze once more, “he’s going to kill me anyway. Maybe not tonight, but soon.” Grinsa looked at her with such tenderness that the archminister actually smiled. “You can’t protect me forever, Grinsa.” She glanced at Kearney, the expression in her eyes almost seeming to ask the king’s permission. “None of you can.”
“So you mean to go through with it.”
Before any of them could speak, a voice called to the king.
“What now?” Kearney muttered.
A moment later the thane of Shanstead joined them in the firelight, the young duchess of Curlinte beside him. “Pardon me for interrupting, Your Majesty.”
“This really isn’t a good time, Lord Shanstead. Can it wait until later?”
“Actually, Your Majesty, I wished to see how the archminister is faring, and to have a word with her.”
The king bristled. “To what end?”
“It’s all right, Your Majesty,” Keziah said. Looking past him, she went on, “I’m feeling much better, Lord Shanstead. You’re kind to ask.”
“Not at all, Archminister.” He hesitated. “I wanted … well, I felt that I owed you an apology. And you, too, gleaner. It seems I misjudged you both.”
Kearney glanced at his archminister, and she at him. “That can’t have been easy for you to say, Lord Shanstead.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“It takes an honorable man to admit his errors. Your father would be very proud.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“How fares your queen, Lady Curlinte?”
“Abeni’s betrayal was a blow, Your Majesty, as was her death. But Her Highness is known as the Lioness of the Hills for good reason. She’ll be ready to do battle come morning.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
There was a brief, awkward silence. Then Marston bowed, forcing a smile. “Well, I’ll let you return to your conversation. Forgive the interruption.”
“Not at all, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “We’ll speak again later.”
The thane nodded, and he and the duchess walked away.
Kearney stared after them. “It seems you’ve won them over.”
Keziah smiled grimly. “And all it took was two broken hands and quite nearly my death.”
“Eandi suspicions won’t vanish overnight, Archminister.”
“No, Your Majesty. Indeed, I expect they’ll outlive us all, even should we defeat the renegades.”
“We can deal with that later,” Grinsa said. “Right now, all that matters is the Weaver.”
Keziah could still see Shanstead and the duchess making their way through the camp. “I will say this: they make a fine couple.”
“A couple?” Kearney said, frowning. “Are you certain?”
Keziah turned to Fotir. “Don’t you think so?”
The minister shrugged. “I can’t say that I noticed.”
She rolled her eyes. “How can men who see so much on the battlefield be so blind when it comes to matters of the heart?” She cast a look at her brother. “I suppose you didn’t notice either.”
“I don’t think I want to answer.”
Kearney and Fotir laughed. Keziah merely arched an eyebrow.
“When would you do this?” the king asked at length, growing somber once more. “When would you confront the Weaver? Tonight, obviously. But when?”
“It will be a few hours still before he tries to reach for me,” Keziah said. “Perhaps when Panya rises.”
Grinsa shook his head. “I’ve lost track of the days. I don’t even know how deep into the waning we are or when the moons will be rising.”
“We’ve five days left until Pitch Night,” Fotir told him.
“Then, yes. We should wait for Panya’s rise.”
“Very well,” Kearney said heavily.
“We have your permission, Your Majesty?” Keziah asked.
“Would it matter if you didn’t?”