David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“It took Gershon pointing it out to me, but I think I finally understand how difficult all of this has been for you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He gave a deep frown, shaking his head. “Why is it that everyone speaks to me as if I were some fearsome tyrant?”

In spite of everything, she had to fight to keep from smiling. “Is that what I’m doing, Your Majesty?”

“Yes! You and Gershon used to be candid to the point of impertinence.”

“And you preferred that?”

“To this constant obeisance? I should say so.”

“Perhaps he and I should go back to fighting with each other as well.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Not really.” She passed a hand through her hair, feeling awkward and unsure of just what he wanted from her. “I haven’t really known how to talk to you since your ascension to the throne. So much has changed.”

“I’d still like to be your friend, Keziah. That hasn’t changed at all.”

“But you can’t be. That’s why I concealed all this from you. Until we’ve defeated the conspiracy, we have to make it seem to everyone who sees us together that we’re suspicious of one another, that while we appear to be working together, neither of us is happy about it.”

“But surely in our private conversations-”

“There can’t be many of those. Occasionally we can contrive an opportunity for one. I can give offense in some way, and you can summon me here. It will seem that you’re reproaching me for my behavior. But we can’t do that too often, or Marston and others will wonder why you haven’t banished me from the castle.”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Is this what it’s been like for you since Paegar died? Lies and contrivances?”

Keziah looked away, a sudden pain in her chest making her breath catch. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have to believe it,” she whispered. “Or else it’ll kill me.”

“Have you been able to speak with anyone about this?”

“Gershon, Cresenne, Grinsa while he was here.”

“Cresenne?”

She smiled, glancing at him once more. “Yes. She and I have become good friends.”

“And you trust her to keep this secret?”

“She doesn’t speak with anyone else, and since she turned against the Weaver she has no reason to betray me.”

“So you could trust a traitor with this, but not me.”

She winced. “Your Majesty-”

“I understand, Keziah. Truly, I do. But we’re living in. . difficult times.”

“You said that you had spoken to Gershon, and that you had a sense of how dear a price I’ve paid for all this. If that’s so, then you must also realize that I still love you, that I’ve never stopped loving you.”

The king nodded, as if suddenly unable to speak.

“Good.” She made herself smile. “As long as you know that, as long as you remember it when I seem to be defying you or offering questionable counsel, the rest will be easy.” She laughed, though it sounded forced, almost desperate. “Well, easier.”

Kearney looked skeptical, but Keziah actually believed this to be true. Either the Weaver would kill her or he wouldn’t. Either she could learn something of value, or she couldn’t. But at least she no longer had to live with the fear that Kearney hated her, that she had destroyed beyond hope of repair all that they had once shared.

“But this Weaver-”

She shook her head. “Don’t. Please. The less I tell you about all this, the better for both of us.”

“You said before that he had hurt you.”

“Not as much as he has others.”

“I’ll kill him if he does again.” He looked off to the side, a rueful smile on his lips. “I suppose that sounds terribly foolish.”

“Maybe a little foolish, but I’m grateful anyway.”

They fell into a long silence. Keziah knew that she should leave him, but she couldn’t bring herself even to stand. And Kearney seemed content to let her remain there.

“Perhaps I should be going, Your Majesty,” she said at last, pushing herself out of the chair.

“Yes, all right.”

She started to walk past him, but he caught her hand and their eyes met.

“You know that I love you, too. And always will.”

“Yes,” she murmured, unable to say more. It seemed that the hand he held was ablaze.

They stood that way for a moment. Then he let go and looked away, as if frightened by what had just passed between them.

Keziah hurried from the chamber, afraid as well.

Marston was just stepping into the corridor when he saw the archminister emerge from Kearney’s presence chamber. Ducking back out of view and then peering cautiously into the hallway, he watched her make her way to the next tower and disappear into the stairwell. Only then did he step into the corridor himself and walk to the king’s door. He raised a hand to knock, then glanced at one of the guards standing on either side of the door.

“Is His Majesty alone?”

“Yes, my lord. He is now.”

Marston nodded, feeling rage well up in his chest, like blood from a wound. It had taken him the better part of a turn to prevail upon the king to banish the woman from his court. He had fought to overcome the king’s admirable loyalty to those who served him, he had argued the point on a number of occasions with Gershon Trasker, and if the rumors of Kearney’s love affair with the woman were true-and he felt certain that they were-he had even had to overcome the king’s lingering affection for the woman.

And at long last, that very morning, he had finally seen all of his hard work rewarded. He believed the archminister to be the most dangerous person in the realm. Not only was he certain that she had betrayed the king, but he believed that she had been using what remained of his passion for her to bend him to her will. She had openly defied Kearney’s authority, insulted his guests, and repeatedly offered poor counsel; there was no other explanation for her continued presence in the castle.

He had barely been able to conceal his pleasure when the king ordered Gershon to send her away, and he had been even more pleased later in the morning when she failed to appear at the gate to bid farewell to the dukes of Heneagh, Tremain, and Curgh. Clearly the swordmaster had informed her of Kearney’s decision and even after their audience with the king, Kearney had not changed his mind.

But now, somehow, the woman had been allowed to speak with Kearney in private. There was no telling what she had said or done. She might have seduced or ensorcelled him. Perhaps she had done both. Even before Marston entered the presence chamber, he sensed his victory slipping away.

He knocked once on the door, awaited the king’s reply, then pushed open the door and entered the chamber.

Kearney sat on his throne, his face white as a Qirsi’s save for the bright red spots high on his cheeks.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” the thane said, bowing.

The king nodded to him. “Lord Shanstead. I take it preparations for your departure go well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We ride with first light.”

“I’m grateful to you for making the journey from Thorald, and I appreciate as well your candor and your insight. A lesser man in your position might have sought to undermine my authority, seeing in present circumstance a path to power. As long as I live, the House of Thorald will have a friend on the Oaken Throne.”

Marston bowed a second time. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You honor me, and my people.”

Kearney took a breath, seeming to gather himself. “You should know that I’ve changed my mind about the archminister,” he said, pressing his fingertips together and staring straight ahead. “I realize that you believe she should be sent away, that she’s a danger to the realm and to me. I even understand why you might feel this way. But I’ve come to believe that there are compelling reasons to keep her here with me.” He glanced up at Marston. “And that’s what I intend to do.”