David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“I had hoped our discussion would yield more than it did,” the minister said, as they descended the tower stairs to the inner ward.

Grinsa gave a wan smile. “I’m sure all of us did. But though I’m disappointed, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“You think we should have allowed Xivled to join the movement?”

The gleaner glanced at him, but didn’t answer.

“I actually had the sense listening to the archminister speak that she had already considered doing so herself. I even wonder if she’s done more than just consider it.”

Still Grinsa kept his silence, and they walked the rest of the way to the prison tower without a word passing between them.

When they arrived at her chamber, Cresenne was awake, walking a slow circle with her baby in her arms. Seeing her, it finally occurred to Fotir that the gleaner might not want him there, that Grinsa’s silence had not been a response to what the minister said, but rather to his presumption that he could accompany the man back to the tower.

“My apologies, gleaner,” he said, abruptly feeling a fool. “I should leave the two of you-” He smiled sheepishly. “I mean, the three of you.”

“Not at all, Minister. I’m glad you’re here. Cresenne needs to sleep, and I’d enjoy your company.”

One of the guards unlocked Cresenne’s door, and the two men stepped past him into the chamber. It was warm within, the air too still.

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” Grinsa said, taking the child from Cresenne.

She walked to the bed and sat. “It’s all right.” Her eyes strayed to the minister briefly before returning to Grinsa. She looked as if she were eager just to sleep, but felt that she needed to talk to them, at least briefly. “Did you decide anything important?”

“No,” the gleaner said. “But one of the ministers suggested that it might be useful to have a Qirsi loyal to the courts join the conspiracy.”

Cresenne’s eyes widened, and once more her gaze flicked toward Fotir. “Did you?. .” She stopped, shaking her head, as if unsure of how to finish the thought.

Grinsa shook his head. “No. Most of the ministers thought it too dangerous and the archminister ruled it out for now.”

The woman nodded, but still seemed uncertain of what to say. For a third time, Fotir found himself thinking that there was more to what was being said than either speaker was letting on. Before he could give voice to his suspicions, however, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned toward the door, as did Cresenne and the gleaner.

A moment later, Keziah stepped into the corridor.

“Open the door,” she said to the nearest of the guards without even looking in the chamber. “Then I want both of you to leave the corridor. I’ll tell you when you can return.”

“Yes, Archminister.”

The door opened again and Keziah entered the chamber. Seeing Fotir, she faltered, glancing quickly at Grinsa. But she said nothing until the guards had gone.

“I had hoped we could speak in private,” she said to the gleaner.

Fotir started toward the door, which remained open. “I’ll leave you, Archminister.”

“No, don’t.” Grinsa. “He knows about me, Keziah. I’ve told you that before.”

“Yes, but-”

“He holds my life in his hands. He might as well hold yours as well.”

A strange look came into the archminister’s eyes. There was so much more passing between them than Fotir could possibly understand. But he was certain now that the archminister served the king loyally.

Keziah faced him, eyeing him appraisingly. “Even before we met in Kentigern, I had heard a good deal about you, Fotir jal Salene. I wonder if you’re prepared to match your reputation.”

“And what is my reputation, Archminister?” He knew that some thought him arrogant, disdainful of his own people, and more attached to his duke than to any Qirsi in the land. But he sensed that she referred to something else.

“I’ve heard it said that you’re the most brilliant minister in the land, and one who is less likely than most to be lured into the conspiracy. It’s said that this is why your duke places such faith in your counsel.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Did you mean what you said in front of the other ministers? Are you prepared to accept that there are times when, in order to serve the courts, we must keep truths from those nobles who trust us most?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Archminister. As Grinsa said, I know who and what he is, and I know what he did for Lord Tavis.”

Keziah nodded, although her expression didn’t change. For some time, she merely continued to stare at him. Then she took a breath. “Very well. It should have been obvious to you that I support the idea of having a loyal Qirsi attempt to join the conspiracy. As it happens, I’ve done more than just consider the notion. I’ve acted on it. I’ve spoken with the Weaver, and I’ve begun to win his trust.”

“I suspected as much, Archminister.”

Keziah’s face whitened so that it was nearly a match for her hair. “You what?”

“Please don’t be afraid. I don’t think any of the others would have drawn the same conclusion. Indeed, I believe Xivled thinks you a traitor.”

That brought a smile to her lips, though she still looked frightened. “I’m sure he does. He as much as told me so the last time we spoke.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, Archminister. I’ll tell no one what I’ve heard here, and I’ll do everything in my power to help you. You have my word.”

“And you my thanks, First Minister.”

“You wished to speak with us, Kezi,” Grinsa said. “What’s happened?”

“He’s instructed me to kill Cresenne.”

The other woman blanched, much as the archminister had done moments before.

“What about Bryntelle?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“He told me to spare the child.”

“Gods be praised.”

“And me?” Grinsa asked.

“As you guessed yesterday, I’m to win your trust, so that I can get close enough to Cresenne to kill her, and so I can help the Weaver find you when he decides it’s your turn to die.”

For the first time that day, Fotir truly felt afraid. “He knows about you?” he asked the gleaner.

“Yes. In order to save Cresenne’s life, I had to enter her dream. He saw my face. And I saw his.”

Fotir gaped at him, fear giving way to hope. “Did you know him?”

“No.” But even as Grinsa said this, he appeared to be thinking of something else. “I had hoped to speak with the king last night, but I never had the opportunity.” He looked first at Keziah, and then at Fotir. “I suppose I could ask the two of you, though. What do you know of Braedon’s high chancellor?”

“Almost nothing,” Keziah answered. “We’ve never met, and with the king preoccupied with Kentigern and his allies, he’s had little opportunity to look beyond Eibithar’s borders.”

Fotir shook his head. “I know very little, as well, beyond his reputation.”

“Even that would be more than I know,” Grinsa said.

The minister shrugged. “His name is Dusaan jal Kania. From what I hear, he’s intelligent, powerful, and ambitious, just as one might expect of the most influential Qirsi in the empire.”

“Do you know what he looks like?”

“No. I’ve heard that he’s tall, that he’s built more like a warrior than a minister. But that could be said of you as well.”

“Precisely.”

“You think he’s the Weaver?”

“When I was with the movement,” Cresenne said, answering for the gleaner, “I was one of the Weaver’s highest-ranking servants. He called us his chancellors.”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” Grinsa said. “But it’s worth considering.”